I'm an eighteen year old virgin and a babysitter and I was going to be raped. What do you do in a situation like this? The answer is quite simple. Just review everything that has led up to this situation and see if there's anything you should have done differently.
Let me give you some background. I live in a relatively small town. Everyone knows everyone else's business. You just try to keep a secret. A secret only stays a secret when there's a maximum of two people who know it and they both have a vested interest in not letting the secret get out.
So I'm a virgin in a small town and I want to be an ex-virgin living in a small town. What I do not want is for it to be generally known that I'm now an ex-virgin. Give a girl a rep like that and the old women of both sexes would have me tarred and feathered for ever.
So how does one get rid of their virginity discreetly? Visit the nearest city and get picked up by a stranger and seduced? Too dangerous and for a single girl to visit the city unchaperoned? The gossips would have a field day wondering did she or didn't she, and they'd probably opt for she did, and there goes my reputation, sliced to bits by vicious tongues.
Pick one of the local boys and let him seduce you? Appealing with a couple of the boys, but boys talk. Don't tell me they don't. Any time a boy fucks a new girl the news generally beats the girl home. So scratch the local boys. That's boys my age I'm referring to.
Next option, what single men are available? Too few, too unappealing and too many drawbacks. There's generally a reason they're unmarried, and they'd try to pressure a girl into marrying them. Or boast about how they scored.
This leaves me with the married men. There were several of the right age who wouldn't mind a little on the side. The trouble there, of course, is the bragging or the confession. They tell their mates and word gets around or, worse, they tell their wife and all hell breaks loose.
You can see where this is heading, can't you. I had to be deflowered by a husband in the sort of situation where he wouldn't dare boast or confess. I had to be raped.
I know what you're thinking. Why not get myself raped by one of the boys my age? Because they'd probably brag about it anyway, claiming I was willing.
Mr Anders was my rapist of choice. His wife was currently away looking after her sick mother and he'd been stuck home looking after two small children for the last fortnight. His mother watched them while he was at work but he was stuck at home every night. Except Friday night, when he was going for a drink with the boys and I was going to babysit.
Now Mr Anders did not have the name for being a hard drinker. He tended to stop after a couple, just relaxing. He was in his mid-twenties, which isn't too old for my tastes, he's fit and, as far as I can tell, healthy.
I prepared for the sitting appointment carefully. A dark coloured button-up blouse. The dark colour would tend to hide the fact that I wasn't wearing a bra and buttons are so easy to undo. There'd be no need for Mr Anders to have to try to rip it off over my head.
A short flirty skirt that would show off my bikini panties when I turned around fast or whenever I bent over. Dark coloured tights, of course, to present the properly modest appearance. My dad always tends to check what I'm wearing when I leave the house and he seemed happy that I was presenting a nice modest appearance.
Then I was out of the house and off to my job. The weather was a bit hot I decided. It would only be reasonable to undo the top button or two of my blouse. It showed a little cleavage but that couldn't be helped. As a matter of fact I innocently overlooked just how much cleavage it did show. Actually, it was hot enough to make the tights redundant. I slipped them off and put them in my purse.
I fronted up at Mr Anders' place, all fresh and demure. He smiled when he saw me and if his eyes tended to linger a little on my cleavage I didn't notice. The kids were playing in the kitchen and I bent over to say hi. I glanced up at Mr Anders and he was looking down at the kids as well, staring rather fixedly. It would just be vanity on my part to think that he was looking down the front of my blouse.
He gave me several instruction regarding the kids and then left to get ready to go out. I've sat for the Anders before, and normally it's a case of here're the kids and they wander off to get ready. Mr Anders was very conscientious. He came back several times to check on how we were doing.
His timing was a bit odd. I happened to be bending down with my back to the door the first time, and I'm embarrassed to say my skirt probably rode up and showed off my bottom and panties. And, dare I say it, probably my pussy, because I was standing with my legs slightly apart to get a better balance while I lifted the baby.
The next time I was just standing there holding the baby and talking to the toddler. Mr Anders stared at me rather fixedly for a short while, much to my surprise. It wasn't until after he'd gone that I noticed that the baby had pulled another button loose on my blouse and that one of my breasts was actually exposed. How embarrassing.
It seemed to me that every time I bent over I'd find Mr Anders standing in a position that enable him to either see down my blouse or up my skirt. It was fortunate that I was too innocent to notice.
Eventually Mr Anders left. I suspected that he was going to be a little late getting to where-ever he was going. He seemed to be having some sort of trouble with the front of his trousers. He had to adjust them before he actually left. I settled down to play with the kids for a while before tucking them into bed.
My problem now was that with the kids in bed my excuses for bending over were greatly diminished. It wouldn't be seemly for me to just lean forward to give Mr Anders a free peek. It had to be natural and innocent so that he felt he was doing something illicit. That feeling, plus his general horniness and alcohol lowered inhibitions, was what I was counting on.
So the question was - how to show off the goodies to Mr Anders without seeming to show off the goodies. The answer was obvious. Fall asleep on the couch.
When Mr Anders arrived home he found me innocently asleep on the couch. One leg had dropped off the side of the couch, and somehow or other my skirt had ridden up, showing off my panties. Because of the angle I was on my blouse was dragged to the side. No extra buttons had come undone but one full white breast was on display, the pink nipple shocking in its contrast.
