He was working from home as he did most days, tapping and clicking away on his laptop at the kitchen table. The Bill Evans Trio's mellow and melodic harmonies played softly in the background, helping him through the drudgery of being a professional email answerer, as most middle managers are these days.
The doorbell rang out, breaking the rhythm of his work, making him instantly flush with a slight surge of anger. He wasn't expecting anyone, so that meant it could only be some door to door salesman, pushing lawn care or gutter cleaning. He hated interruptions as much as he despised salesmen, yet a few dared to ignore the "no solicitation sign" at the front of his subdivision. He had put up an additional "no solicitation" sign right next to his doorbell, essentially assuring only an idiot would ring the bell.
As he walked to the front door, he could see through the sidelight of the door that it wasn't a salesman, but a young girl, probably still in high school. He opened the door, some of the annoyance still wearing on his face. The girl startled slightly, holding her folder protectively in front of her. She looked young, maybe sixteen, but at his age everyone looked sixteen, even some cops. She was Asian, pretty, with thick, straight black hair pulled up tight to beat the Georgia summer heat; sweat glistened slightly around her pouty full lips.
As she stood on one foot, pivoting her other leg behind her on its toe, she put on her best smile and started her sales pitch, "Hi, my name's Sophia and I live just down the road. I'm sorry to bother you but we're raising money for cheer squad..."
Her words were lost on him as she lowered her arms and his attention was drawn to her body. She was wearing a pink camisole top under an open white oxford shirt and a short denim skirt. His eyes fell on her round budding breasts, stretching the tight pink top. Her skirt was short, showing a beautifully curved gap between her thin but toned legs. The picture was completed with her tiny feet in red, ballerina slippers. Every dirty, old man's dream was standing at his doorway.
She finished her pitch and he didn't have a clue what she said, so he said the only thing that came to mind, "um, how much does it cost?"
"Twenty dollars?" she replied hopefully, ending a statement with a question mark as young people tend to do these days.
"Sure, no problem," he said, still not knowing was agreeing to. Leaving the door open and turning back into the house he said, "Let me get some cash...if you want, come in out of the heat for a minute." Despite it breaking the rules, she needed relief, both from the heat and from going the last two hours while canvassing the neighborhood without a bathroom. She opened the screen door and timidly entered the foyer glancing around.
"Um, Mister?" she called after him sheepishly.
"Call me Andy."
"Andy, I hate to ask, but could I use your bathroom?"
He pointed across the kitchen in the direction of the bathroom and said, "sure, it's right over there."
As she walked past him he got a whiff of her scent. She smelled of strawberries and bubblegum, mixed with a hint of sweet, young sweat; she smelled like innocence. He gazed at the nape of her fragile neck, trailing a whisp of hair that had escaped.
Watching her find her way through his kitchen, her thin but fit frame hinted at an athleticism perhaps honed through years of gymnastics training; she was certainly the top of the cheerleader pyramid. She reminded him of a delicate fawn, picking her way through the underbrush, and the predator in him began to stir as he felt blood beginning to rush to his cock.
"Jesus," he thought to himself, exasperated. "How I'd love to fuck the living shit out of that young thing. I'm going to jail if I'm not careful."
