It was the late 1970s and my senior year of high school. Since moving to Denver three years earlier, I had lived the life of a monk, or more in tune with the times, a nerd. We moved to the city from a rural community in Kansas, a farming community. The population of the entire town was equal to the number of students in the Denver high school. There I was Mr. Popular – captain of our middle school basketball team, though hardly a star player, the pool of candidates being limited. On our trips back from games, I always got my choice of seats in the back of the school bus to practice our naïve and childish teen antics, eventually making out with just about every good looking girl in the school. My teen mind actively imagined going beyond second base with Judy or Kim, two of the hotter cheerleaders, but my nerves and certainly my body was never quite ready for the great leap into sexual maturity; I settled for second base, some hot kissing and heavy petting.
In the spring of my freshman year, my mother popped a surprise on all of us. She had enough of small town life, having grown up outside of Chicago herself. She was taking my younger brother and me and moving us to Denver now that my older sister was moving off to college. There were no overt signs of a marriage falling apart – no fights, no unaccounted late nights at the office. But one did notice the increasing functionality of home life. We three kids pretty much fended for ourselves, cooking our own dinners, doing our own laundry, as my mom seemed to slip away. Looking back at it today, I certainly don't blame her. In many ways I thank her for getting us out of there and opening up new worlds to us, giving us opportunities for our education that I doubt we would have had had we stayed in rural Kansas.
Of course, that is all hindsight, looking back thirty years later. At the time, it was a shock. Moving away from dad, from the community, from Judy and Kim, from Robert and Paul who were part of my clique, from all I had known, an environment I felt comfortable in, home, was not easy, particularly for a 16 year-old. My sister just graduated from high school and like many of her classmates was headed to KU. She decided to hate my mother, blame her completely for breaking up the family, and spent all her holidays with dad. It also meant I hardly saw her over the next few years. Besides my friends, my place in our little society, I also lost my mentor, my confidant, my older sister. My younger brother dealt with it in stride, he was 11 and perhaps still more adaptable. Given the age difference we never really did anything together, he wasn't really part of my world.
For me, at the time, it was disastrous. I was now the "man" of the house, thrust into an unfamiliar environment. The high school I attended was downtown, highly diverse, and rough. In the first week, "farmer boy" (me) was beaten up no less than three times. I was in no position to defend myself. I was shaken, shocked, and did what seemed natural – turned inwards, creating a shell around me, becoming a complete loner.
I did visit my father for a few holidays and spent a summer there, reconnecting with old friends. But it wasn't the same. I wasn't the same me. I stayed home most of the time watching tv rather than going out with my old friends. I even ignored Judy and Kim, despite the fact that Judy called several times asking me to a party or something.
Through the next two years of high school I slumbered my way through. I did my work, in fact I excelled, but had no social life. I didn't go out, wasn't involved in any school activities; it was just "me, myself, and I", as the old Joan Armatrading song goes. Everyone pretty much left me to my own devices. At least I wasn't into the drug scene or the emerging punk rock scene; I got straight A's, so in their eyes, I was a good kid.
My mother was busy trying to create a life for herself. She was able to get a decent position as an office manager for a mid-size public relations firm in downtown Denver and even started to date. It meant she wasn't around much, leaving me to watch out for my younger brother. Something I wasn't particularly good at. I wasn't my sister.
At school, I was a nerd, a nobody. I didn't even hang out with the other nerds – they were math geeks, I was more into reading about history and foreign lands. I escaped into the past or some exotic place, imagining new worlds to discover, new places to be a different me. Of course it didn't mean I didn't notice anybody else. In the little circle of students in the Advanced Placement courses, I was keenly aware of who was doing what, who was dating whom. No, I never talked to them, but did overhear their conversations; as a "nobody" I guess they felt comfortable enough talking around me.
Being a teen guy, I also had my lusts; there was Ann the super hot cheerleader, Ms. Popularity, with hard legs and oh so perfect breasts; the object of many of my regular fantasies. There was also Katie, one of my favorites. She wasn't the sexiest girl, but she was very pretty, soft spoken, down to earth; the idyllic girl next door. She was tall, about my height, and very slim, short dirty blond hair, and always had a warm smile. She is one of the few that actually made the effort to talk to me once in a while. That itself was enough to make her an object of my desires.
Of course, when she did speak with me I mostly fumbled through the conversation, even when it was about an assignment I knew everything about. I lost my ability to even talk with others, becoming increasingly shy. Perhaps she enjoyed seeing me squirm or perhaps she had a soft spot in her heart for a loser guy, whatever the case I welcomed her willingness to reach out to me. It was only in school, usually just in class before the bell would ring. She never sat next to me at lunch, never saw me after the final bell as I rushed home, never a phone call, but it was enough to keep me inspired, hopeful that if I were to ever go on a date, Katie would be the girl.
All of that changed during the Christmas holidays of my senior year. I had applied for early admission to colleges and had many options, finally choosing a small east-coast liberal arts college – far from home. So I was set, ready to sail through my final semester of high school. Two days into the winter holiday I received a call from Mrs. Alexander, the wife of one of my mother's bosses. They were desperately looking for a babysitter as their regular one was off visiting her grandmother for a few days and my mother had mentioned my availability. I had in fact babysat a few times for some neighbors and friends of my mom. Even though others saw it mainly as a girl's job, I found it easy money and fitting right in with my shy and nerdish ways, particularly as I never went out on weekends anyway.
I gladly accepted, needing the extra money for the holiday season to buy some token gifts for the family. I had never met the Alexanders, but heard mom talk about Mr. Alexander, one of the junior partners in the firm. I arrived at their home just before 7:00 Friday night and was met by Mr. Alexander who introduced me to their young daughter, Melissa. She was a cute and confident 5 year-old, very comfortable meeting me for the first time. Then in swooped Mrs. Alexander and I nearly fainted. She was drop-dead gorgeous; long, free-flowing black hair, dark complexion, sparkling eyes, high neck, slim, a smile that would make any man melt, and braless breasts dangling freely in her low-cut evening gown. For those that remember the tv series Hill Street Blues, Mrs. Alexander was a shoe in for a Veronica Hamel look-alike contest, only with bigger breasts.
I know I was staring at her cleavage when she walked up to introduce herself as Mr. Alexander walked out to finish getting ready himself, but I couldn't help myself. She gave a little "ahem" and smiled radiantly as I looked up, blushing and mumbling incoherently an apology. She graciously ignored the whole thing and ushered me around the house, giving me instructions and filling me on the details of little Melissa's needs for the night. A few minutes later, Mr. Alexander returned and off they went to some Christmas party sponsored by one of the firm's many clients, leaving Melissa and I to watch a little tv before I put her to bed at 8:00.
I knew the Alexanders were not planning on returning till at least midnight so I at first made myself comfortable watching more tv and eating ice cream. By 9:00 my curiosity was getting the better of me and started to explore their house a little, checking out their book collection and piles of magazines, hoping to find something juicy. I did find a few Harold Robbins novels and of course quite a few fashion magazines, but that was it. I then ventured back upstairs to check on Melissa and she was sleeping away. Walking by the master bedroom, I debated with myself, but finally couldn't resist the temptation.
I slowly walked in adjusting my eyes to the darkness. I turned on a lamp on the bedside table and struck gold. Underneath were a stack of Playboys and Penthouses! But I decided to explore a little more and went straight for the dresser, soon finding Mrs. Alexander's drawer of panties, bras, and nylons. Just seeing them turned my 18 year-old cock rock hard. She had an amazing collection of what looked like half-cup bras with matching panties, several teddies and of course a wide collection of garter belts. Items I had only seen pictures of in various catalogues in the homes of others I had babysat for, and of course in the few adult magazines I could get my hands on.
In checking out her panties and bras I came across a book at the bottom of the drawer. I pulled it out and saw that it was a photo album. My heart began to race as I slowly opened it and was rewarded with the most amazing sight – a Polaroid snap of Mrs. Alexander in nothing but a garter belt, black stockings, and stiletto heals! My cock grew at least two inches and ached pressing hard against my jeans. I immediately opened my pants, sitting down on the bed and pulled out my cock as I turned the next page. Engrossed in the nude pictures of Mrs. Alexander, I absent mindedly stroked my cock, cumming almost immediately, shocking myself, shooting a load of cum onto their carpet. I jumped up swearing to myself as I hobbled into their bathroom, washed my cock and hand, adjusted my jeans, and found a sponge and some tissue to clean up the mess. I even pulled out her hair dryer to make sure it was dry by the time they returned.
Making all that noise I was afraid that Melissa might have awoken so I went and checked on her again, but she was still sound asleep. I then returned to the hidden treasure and continued to check out the many pictures. The first few pages were of Mrs. Alexander in various stages of undress, modeling her sexy lingerie collection. But then it got even better. On the next page was a picture of her on her knees in front of Mr. Alexander, his cock buried in her mouth. The picture was taken from the side and it looked like he was holding some kind of remote. There were several pages of them fucking and sucking in different positions and then came a real whopper – pictures of them with another couple. I couldn't believe it and of course my cock was aching for attention. That night I easily masturbated another four times, but being well prepared with a box of tissue.
