Living with Carla was a favor to Hank's mother. He didn't want to live with her at all. But she needed a place to stay for the summer, and he had little choice in the matter. Carla's mother and Hank's mother were good friends, and when Carla said she wanted to spend some time living in San Francisco before going to college, Hank's mother quickly volunteered his extra room - without asking, of course.
But while she was there, Hank didn't mind too much - she was a cutie. Carla was only 18, and even though Hank was 23, there was still an enormous attraction between them. Hearing Carla speak Spanish was always a turn-on for Hank, even though he knew it shouldn't be. Carla was born in Spain and raised by Spanish-speaking parents in America, so she spoke it well.
Physically, she was just his type: she was just a little over five feet tall, and very athletic - she had played soccer since she was a little kid, and was in very good shape - and despite her small breast size she more than made up for it with her perfectly round, soft ass. And that's saying nothing of her smile. She had the most wonderful smile Hank had ever seen. It lit up any room she was in. But even that wasn't the main reason Hank found her attractive.
He loved her laugh. She had a very sexy laugh, and she laughed often. Mostly she giggled, and that was adorable enough, but when she laughed, she laughed. Her head tilted back, her curly, dirty blonde hair fell away from her face, and her mouth seemed to fall open. There wasn't a self-conscious bone in her body, and when she laughed, it showed. She wasn't worried about how she looked, whether he teeth were showing, whether her eyes were open or closed, how she sounded... she just laughed as hard and as selflessly as she wanted. That's what Hank found the sexiest. In the first few weeks they spent together, nothing made him happier than being the one to have made her double over in laughter, near tears.
Hank thought of himself as a writer, and he technically was - he had been published in magazines and journals across the country - but he was trying to get through his first book, and it was proving to be a bigger challenge than he had imagined. Hank spent most of his time writing, but Carla always wanted to work out. Running, swimming, playing soccer - it didn't make much of a difference to her. It didn't make too much of a difference to Hank, either, but that's only because he hated it all. He exercised some, but he couldn't quite keep up Carla's relentless pace, so rather than have her go running into the dangerous parts of town, he introduced her to some local fields where she could join pickup soccer games. She went three times a week.
Sometimes he watched her, but it was often almost too much to bear. Seeing her running around in tiny shorts and long socks (a longtime fetish of his), bouncing up and down in excitement, her muscular legs slick with sweat, her big goofy grin every time she scored a goal - all these things served as a constant reminder to how very, very single he was.
In the last game he had watched, one of her new girl friends that she had met through the games slapped her on the ass after a particularly good goal, and Carla had squealed in excitement, then tried to cover it up with a dirty look. The girl, a tall lanky brunette - in most ways opposite to Carla, but still plenty gorgeous - started doing it every goal. Watching Carla's perfect round ass slapped over and over again was too much for Hank, and that sexy look she followed it up with was enough to make him never come back.
Carla, for all her sexiness, seemed so naive and innocent that he knew she wouldn't be interested in sleeping with him, and he was still worried that she might be too young. After all, he had just finished college - just a few months before, she had been in high school!
But that didn't stop him from thinking about her. He often tried to avoid her in his masturbation fantasies, but she always found her way into his head - waiting for him breathlessly in nothing but her soccer socks or yoga pants, begging for his hot, hard cock - but he knew that it wasn't going to happen, and did his best to censor his imagination.
Of course, Carla didn't know that he was struggling. If she did, maybe she wouldn't have dressed so provocatively. She always wore the tightest fitting yoga pants or shortest shorts she owned - and not a panty line in sight - she seemed to wear nothing but bright, colorful thongs (he knew not only because they occasionally peeked over the tops of her pants, but because she left them strewn across the floor).
When she came back from swimming, she would leave her wet bikini on and walk around the house just shy of dripping wet. Her perfect thighs leading up to her bouncing ass whenever she walked around the apartment. When she showered, she always managed to forget her clothes in another room, and Hank had to try and hide his erection many times as she walked by and made small talk wearing nothing but a towel. And yet Hank got the distinct idea that she wasn't a tease. She wasn't acting or dressing how she did for attention, it was just the most comfortable way she knew how to be, and she was too innocent to realize it might be a problem.
It was most certainly a problem. Hank started masturbating more and more, jacking off three times a day most days, every time after one of her little shows. It was affecting his writing, and it was driving him crazy to try and not think of her. And then it happened - the lock on his bedroom door broke. He tried to fix it to no avail, and he knew he wouldn't have the money to call a locksmith for at least a few weeks. Suddenly, his world was thrown completely out of whack.
No longer able to masturbate when Carla was in the house, the way she dressed and moved drove him to the edge. He began to relish the time she spent playing her soccer games. He would stay in his bed late on those days, and before long he gave up on the idea of censoring her out of his fantasies. Every morning that she went out, he imagined what he would do to her if she gave him the chance. The ways he would fuck her, the ways he would kiss her, even the thought of her masturbating (though he was relatively sure she never did it) entered into his imagination as he vigorously got himself off.
One day she walked in on him. It was a Saturday morning, and Carla was supposed to be at her game. Hank started lazily waking himself up by stroking himself slowly. He was getting close, thinking of bending her over on the soccer field and pulling her shorts down to her knees, lining his cock up with her waiting pussy, when Carla walked in without knocking. She was half dressed, and obviously in a hurry. In a flash, Hank pulled his sheet back up and tried not to look at her sports bra and bright colorful panties. No thong today, he noted.
"What are you doing here?" he screamed.
"What are you doing here?" She asked, scared. "I thought you worked today?"
"No. I don't." Hank had calmed down. He was relatively sure she hadn't seen anything. "What do you need?"
"Do you have a ball? I need a soccer ball. I'm running late to my game."
"Yeah, in the corner."
"Thanks."
Hank became extremely self-conscious of the fact that he was still squeezing his own erection as she walked over to the opposite corner of his messy room. Knowing that she had no idea how close he was to cumming when she walked in was a strange turn-on to him, and he tried to keep his cool. His dick jumped under the sheets as he watched her bend over to get it. He watched her little panties ride up and begin to expose her perfect ass. They clung tightly to her curvy cheeks as she searched for the ball.
Hank could just imagine how soft and smooth her pussy lips must be under the thin layers of fabric hiding them. It was just like his fantasy. He could imagine getting out of bed, rock hard and completely naked, and pushing her down into his pile of laundry, ripping her cute little panties down, and -
"Why do you look so scared, silly?" She was now looking back at him over her shoulder, still bent over with one hand on the soccer ball. She had a smile on her face.
"Nothing. You just woke me up. Sorry."
"Sorry to wake you."
It was both exhilarating and terrifying to be talking to the object of his masturbation without her knowing how aroused he was. He tried to extend their conversation.
"Long game today?"
"Who knows? For once, I don't really feel like working out. Maybe I'll come home early. We'll see." She grabbed the soccer ball and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her. "Good night, sleepyhead."
The door slowly swung open behind her as he heard her get dressed and leave the house.
"Dammit."
Hank spent the rest of the day trying not to cum. Everything turned him on - TV, breakfast, even his own novel in progress. When he watched TV, all he could think about was what it would be like to fuck the hot news anchor. When he ate breakfast, he could just imagine Carla slowly eating his banana. And his book was quickly turning into erotica. But with the bedroom door unreliable, and the threat of Carla coming home early, he knew it wasn't safe. He felt like a little kid trying to sneak a quick jack-off session before his parents came home from work.
