"She's too cute to be a minute over seventeen." The line from the Chuck Berry song "Little Queenie" was the first thing that came to my mind when I saw her.
I'd taken a day off in the middle of the week to run a bunch of errands and surprised myself by finishing slightly before noon. Since I wasn't very hungry or in the mood for a fancy place, I stopped at Taco Bell on the way home.
The girl was ahead of me in line with two boys. The boys were about her height. Both had dark hair and short pony tails. One had the sides of his head shaved. They were both wearing baggy dark shorts and T-shirts. I didn't look at them too closely. She was the one who grabbed my attention.
She was a little more mature than I'd first thought, at least eighteen, with straight shoulder length blonde hair and pale white skin. Her face was rather ordinary with icy blue eyes set in square Germanic features, pleasing but not spectacularly beautiful. She was fairly tall, probably 5' 10", and quietly muscular, with a tiny waist and flat stomach. Her breasts were the size and shape of half-baseballs.
The thin fabric of her purple tank top clung to her breasts as if sprayed on, clearly outlining her upturned nipples. The tank top ended just below her breasts, leaving her midriff bare. Her tight blue jeans rode low on her hips. In back, two symmetrical holes frayed into the fabric a few inches below her waist revealed tiny white patches of buttock.
My penis was already swelling as I imagined putting my hands and mouth on her lithe body. I doubted if she'd developed much sexual technique. She was at the age when she could please a boy simply by opening her muscular thighs and letting him into her tight young pussy.
While waiting for my order, I tried to be unobtrusive, but I couldn't stop staring at her. She seemed to sense something. A couple of times, I caught her returning my gaze with a pleased half-smile.
The place was crowded and I was disappointed when she and the boys found a table at the far end of the room. All I could see was her gleaming blonde hair and an occasional glimpse of her face. I gulped my ice tea and took another good long look at her while refilling my cup. She and the boys were talking in low intense voices. They finished eating and stood up. I followed her with my eyes as she walked out the door.
The world seemed drab and flat after she disappeared from view. I spent several minutes finishing my now-tasteless meal, threw my trash into the bin and stepped out into the bright sunlight.
She and the boys were standing beside an old car at the far end of the parking lot, obviously arguing. "Fuck you!" I heard her exclaim, just before she stalked away. The taller boy started after her and grabbed her arm. She jerked free and stomped off, ignoring his protests.
Leaving the parking lot, she walked to the edge of the curb, spread her legs, tilted her hips, lifted her chin, inflated her chest and stuck her thumb out. Any man driving past that didn't get a hard-on at the sight was probably dead. I jumped into my sports car and pulled out into the street, stopping beside her. "Going north?" she asked.
"Sure am!" We both knew my answer would have been the same if she'd said she was going to China.
"Great!" She was grinning as she climbed into the passenger seat and gave me directions to her house. Her name was Tracy. As we were driving to the freeway, she mentioned she was finishing her freshman year in college. She looked so young I had trouble believing that, so I asked her a few questions about classes and quickly concluded she was telling the truth.
"So, what's your name?" Tracy asked.
"Bob Johnson."
"Cool!" she answered with a slight giggle. "Like the blues guitar player who inspired all the English musicians. Do you play?"
"Not guitar. I've had a few classical piano lessons."
"I play classical piano, too." Tracy said. "But I'm mostly a rock guitarist. I'm in an all-girl band named 'Fishnet Barbie.'"
"This is a nice car," she said, leaning back luxuriously in the bucket seat. "I'll bet it's a real babe magnet."
"It can be, but I don't really need it for that." Traffic was light and there didn't seem to be any cops, so I took a slight chance. We did the twelve miles to her exit in seven minutes, smoothly passing the other cars as if they were standing still. At the last moment, I maneuvered onto the exit ramp and decelerated smoothly, gliding to a stop at the light.
She licked her lips, impressed in spite of herself. "That was macho," she remarked.
"Naw, just fun." That was a lie. Of course, I was trying to impress her. It seemed to have worked. Her eyes were wide, she was breathing hard and she couldn't seem to take her eyes off me.
Her gaze wandered from my face to my muscular arms and chest, down to my flat belly, lingered on the stiff fabric of the shorts concealing my crotch, checked my legs and moved back to my face.
"Bob, I just realized," she announced. "You're older than you look. Almost thirty."
"Something like that." Her estimate was in the right decade, almost.
"But you're in really good shape . . . for an old guy," she continued.
"Ever heard 'Use it or lose it?'"
"Those are cute shorts," she said, eyeing the bulge in the fabric.
"It's just stiff cloth. They always look like that."
The index finger of her right hand was slowly circling her left nipple. "Yeah," she said huskily. "Turn right at the next corner. It's the fourth house on the left. You can park in the driveway. Dad's in Chicago until Friday and Mom works in San Antonio and only comes home on weekends."
"Mom and Dad are cool," Tracy added casually. "They arranged for me to get on birth control when I started dating boys."
"You want to come in?" she asked after we'd stopped. "I can fix you some ice tea or something."
I followed Tracy through a large living room dominated by a concert grand piano and into the kitchen. She stopped in the middle of the floor and turned to face me. "Should I take my top off now?" she asked directly. Her tone was neither playful nor angry and the expression on her face was neutral.
Halting about three feet away from her, I responded, "Why should I want you to do that?"
"So you can see my tits," she answered. "You've been looking at them every time you had the chance while you drove me here."
"They are beautiful tits," I admitted, "and it's hard to stop admiring them. But I'm more interested in your pants."
A touch of concern crept into her expression. "What about my pants?" she asked.
"I want to know if you're wearing panties under them," I answered, slowly directing my gaze from her face down to her waist and back up to her face. "Those holes you frayed in the back just show bare skin."
Now Tracy was frowning slightly. She took a slow deep breath while she considered her reply. I watched the result admiringly. "What makes you think you're going to find out?"
"Look me in the eye and tell me you weren't flirting with me on the drive over here," I answered. "If you're not interested, I'll take off."
Tracy glared, opened her mouth to say something, then paused. She closed her mouth and stared at my face for several seconds. She took another slow deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out with a sigh. "Okay," she purred, smiling as she stepped toward me, "I DO want you . . . real bad."
She put her hands up to my cheeks, put her open mouth hard against my mouth, her body flat against my body.
My arms went around her, holding her to me, my hand cradling her head, its fingers half lost among blonde hair, a hand moving fingers over her slim back.
Tracy's tongue stroked mine. Her breasts were pressed so tightly against my chest I could feel her nipples hardening. Her loins ground against mine.
I slid my palms down to cup her buttocks, placing an index finger over each bare spot in her jeans. Her eyes snapped open and her pupils widened in surprise at my steady gaze.
She put both hands on my hips and pushed me a few inches away, just enough to put her hands between our bodies. She unzipped my shorts and reached inside. "No underwear," she muttered as she explored. "Oh God!" she exclaimed an instant later. "You're so big and hard!" She caressed me briefly, then withdrew her hand. My stiff member followed it out my fly and stood at attention for Tracy's inspection.
"That's a real monster," she gasped, staring admiringly. "I can't wait to see how much cream comes out of it."
"You're not going to see it shoot," I stated flatly. Tracy's gaze snapped up to my face. She regarded me with shocked eyes. "You're not going to see it," I repeated, pausing significantly. "You're going to feel it."
"Where am I going to feel that hot white stuff shooting?" Tracy asked, getting into the game. "Are you going to spray it between my breasts? That would be fun."
"Maybe some other time. Think lower."
"My belly?" she asked innocently. "A boy did that once before I even got my pants off."
"Even lower."
"Between my legs?" Tracy asked, looking back down at my hardness.
