The man and the girl sit side by side on the couch watching television. Even though it was a warm night the girl has her duvet draped over her legs and upper body. Perhaps it is just as well, because she is clad in just her nightdress. And she has her feet up on the couch seat with her arms clasped around her knees outside the duvet. The man, distracted by the way the 18-year-old girl is sitting, tries to picture the look of her raised legs in his mind. He knows that they are long and slim, and lightly tanned. He watched her around the house all afternoon doing chores. Bare feet, hip-slung denim mini-skirt and pink halter top with white polka dots, lithe, dainty movements, flashes of bare, sun-brown, slightly rounded stomach. A delicious juicy plum, ripe for the plucking.
The man looks at the girl slyly out of the corner of his eye. She is so young, much younger than he is, and so fresh and pretty. The duvet is not clasped so tightly to her chest as it had been to begin with. Now he can see the swelling curves of the top of her breasts and a hint of cleavage where the cotton material has stretched and parted slightly at a buttonhole.
The girl clasps her knees and stares at the television screen, absorbed in the movie. The man is bored. It is not the kind of film he would normally choose to watch - some teenage pap about a bunch of college kids trying to solve a murder. One of them is going to get iced pretty soon, he mused, probably rather messily. The most likely candidate is the plump, faintly ugly girl in the blue dress who has a habit of going off on her own. It certainly won't be the strawberry blonde 'star' with the big tits and nice tight ass! The dark one will get trapped in a darkened building and run panting and sobbing up the stairs when she should run out the front door. Then the baddie will catch up with her and either throw her though a window or off a balcony. Splat! Flat on her back, legs akimbo, staring eyes, trickle of blood from one nostril and a large, dark pool spreading from beneath her skull. So predictable! Perhaps the blonde is the sex interest for later? Are they allowed to screw in these teen pics? Goddamit, something has to happen to make this movie interesting!
Incy wincy spider… There is a commercial break. The man surreptitiously reaches across to the edge of the girl's duvet. His hand, a big, fat-legged tarantula slowly crawls across the fabric towards his young companion. The girl tenses, aware of his approach, but pretends to ignore him. Until, when his stepping fingers almost reach her hip, she abruptly drops her feet to the floor and brushes his hand away.
The man withdraws, but he is not deterred. In a few moments the girl has put her feet back up on the couch again.
Incy wincy spider…again she pushes his hand off at the last moment while she drops her feet to the floor. And again, and again. The programme is back on now, but she is warming to the game, keeping an eye on the man's hand as it walks in differing directions but always eventually returning to the same goal. Suddenly, he skitters his fingers across the duvet in a rushing assault. The girl screams laughingly and slaps the oncoming hand hard! The spider rolls onto its back, its legs twitching spasmodically. Man and girl watch the dying insect gravely for a few moments, then slowly he drags his hand away.
The girl resumes her knees-raised sitting position and returns her attention to the movie.
Incy wincy spider makes his way beneath the edge of the duvet into the warmth beneath. Slowly, inexorably he steps one finger after another over the seat of the couch towards the greater heat at the centre. The girl knows he is there, but she still jumps when the back of his finger brushes the bare skin of her hip. All the previous raising and lowering her legs has lifted her nightdress up over her legs to around her waist. She clamps her hand down hard on his through the duvet. But the man can still move his index finger. Slowly, gently, he strokes back and forth across the smooth flesh. He can feel the edge of her panties. He had expected her to be wearing underwear, but it is still a disappointment to have its presence confirmed.
The man is tall, even sitting down. He gazes down at the girl. She is rigidly still, unsure of how to react to the man's invasion of her space. The duvet has fallen away further from her upper torso. The hairs on her arms are standing on end. Hard nipples project beneath the thin cotton of her bodice. Reading this as a sign of arousal, the man is encouraged to continue. Gently, but insistently, he extricates his hand from her clutch and slowly slides the backs of his fingers up the length of her outer thigh to her knee. The girl makes no move to stop him. He strokes her skin up and down, softly, unhurried, familiarising her with his touch.
The man turns his hand over so that now he touches the girl with the pads of his fingertips. He is fondling the back of her leg, gliding effortlessly from the round of her buttock, up to the softness at the back of her knee, down her calf with the backs of his fingers to her ankle and then returning up and down to his starting point. And with each downward sweep over her thigh, his fingertips spread her legs slightly a little further, and slip imperceptibly inwards to reach the warm, impossibly creamy satin of her inner skin. Now, when he reaches the end of his journey, the side of his little finger lightly touches the inside edge at the leg of her panties. But he does not linger.
Meanwhile, the girl stares at the television screen seemingly transfixed by the programme. But she sees and hears nothing. There are points of high colour on her cheeks and her chest is heaving enticingly with her ragged breathing. The man yearns to take the swelling curves in his palms to squeeze and fondle their hard-tipped softness, but he knows full well that that will break the spell he has cast over her.
Incy wincy spider…finally stops his miasmic wanderings and rests full-palmed at the fork of the girl's thigh, just touching the edge of the protective cotton at her crotch. The girl's legs are parted a full hands-width now. Time seems to stand still. Their senses, both man and girl, are on a knife-edge of fearful anticipation.
The man has truly not expected to get this far! He wants to make his next move, but is wary. Will she scream and cause a fuss? The girl knows that she has let this go on much too long; that the man should not be touching her like this…but…
Steadily, so as not to startle her, the man shifts his hand until his fingertips rest lightly, fully on the damp fabric covering the girl's secret core. She accepts his advance, closing her eyes and giving out a low sound that is a cross between a sob and a gurgle. Up until now the girl has only known her own touch…and the guilty pleasure. She lets her head loll back against the back of the couch.
Incy wincy spider…explores the plump pouts and creases beneath the cotton cloth. His gentle rubbing action quickly turns slight dampness to outright wet, even through the double thickness of the gusset. The girl reacts pleasurably to his caresses, parting her legs wider still and making tiny, thrusting movements with her abdomen.