I enjoy being a girl and having the boys chase me. I also enjoy making sure that they don't quite catch me. It keeps them interested. Being interested they try harder, not being above a little bribery to try to gain my affection. As far as I'm concerned, if a boy is silly enough to offer me presents for no more than a smile and a maybe promise, then that's his problem. I'll happily accept the present and give them the smile and the maybe. Of course, maybe also means maybe not, but boys are a trifle slow to understand this.
Currently I have two boys determinedly wooing me. I like that word, wooing. They're both going out of their way to be nice to me. Maybe the fact that I've hinted that I've reached a stage in my life where I may want to start experimenting sexually has something to do with it.
Mike and Gordon are long time mates but they're both at each other's throats right now, each trying to outdo the other, all for little me. It gives you quite an exhilarating sense of power. I'll go home after a date with one of them laughing in remembrance of the way their trousers tented after I kiss them.
I am careful not to be too alone with them. After all, I wouldn't want to find one of them deciding to take the decision out of my hands. When I choose, it is going to be my choice, and I won't even guarantee that Mike or Gordon will be the one. After all, there are a lot of eligible young men out there.
Young men, being essentially hormone driven, are easy to control. You attach the reins to their cock and they follow you anywhere, there cocks twitching when you smile. A glimpse of boob or an accidental flash of panties and their cocks stand up tall, like a little boy who knows the answer and wants the teacher to pick him.
Older men, I've noticed, aren't nearly so susceptible. Cynical old bastards, some of them. Two men I'd put in the cynical old bastard category are Mike's and Gordon's fathers. I'd met them when I've been around at the boys' places and instead of flirting with me they imply their boys could do better.
Both fathers have at different times hinted that I should pick one or other of the boys and just get fucked so the boys know where they stand. Fat chance. Commit to one or the other and the wooing (and presents) stop and whoever I picked would expect me to be their slave. Not going to happen.
One Saturday afternoon I was home alone. The boys had both gone to the football. They'd both invited me along but I politely declined. I mean, really, the football? Their attention would be on the game when it should be on me, so I opted out, staying home and washing my hair.
I'd just finished drying my hair when there was a knock on the front door. A little surprised, as I wasn't expecting anyone, I sneaked a peek to see if it would be worthwhile answering. To my surprise Mike's father was standing there, together with Gordon's father. I guessed that I'd have to see what they wanted.
I did a quick check of what I was wearing. It was an unseasonably hot day and I had been washing my hair so I was dressed accordingly. I had on a pair of tight skimpy shorts and an armless black t-shirt that was slightly damp. After a moment's thought I got rid of my bra. Let the old geezers see a pair of breasts bouncing about and wonder what they were like. Then I went to let them in.
Now when I call the fathers old geezers I'm not being strictly accurate. Mike and Gordon are both around twenty, and I suspect neither of the older men has yet reached forty. Old geezer is a relative term as that's the way they act when I'm around.
I suppose that instead of just referring to them as Mike's father or Gordon's father I should let you know their names. Malcom and Grey, both fathers having used their first initial to determine their son's names. That always seems a little stupid to me. I mean, a letter arrives addressed to Mr M Smith. Is it meant for the father or the son? I can see unfortunate consequences to opening the wrong letter, but that's their problem, not mine.
I opened the door.
"Malcolm, Grey," I said nodding greetings to them. Damned if I was going to call them Mister.
"Afternoon, Julie," said Malcolm. "We've been wanting to talk to you. May we come in?"
So much for asking. The arrogant sod just walked straight past me, taking permission for granted, Grey right behind him. They walked into the front room and just stood there looking at me. I closed the door and strolled in after them, sitting down on a lounge chair.
"Please, take a seat," I said, waving a hand at the couch.
"Not just yet," said Malcolm. It appeared that he was going to do all the talking. "We wanted to tell you that we're not happy about the way you're treating the boys."
I straightened up slightly, subtly moving my shoulders back to throw my chest out, taking a deep breath and letting it out to give my breasts a chance to do a little bounce. Both men noticed, even though they pretended not to.
"I'm not sure what you mean," I confessed.
"Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean," contradicted Malcolm. "You're leading both of them around by the nose, playing them off against each other, trying to destroy their friendship and milking them for all you can get. Did I miss anything?"
"Well, there is the little matter of holding them up by their cocks and not coming through like she promises," murmured Grey.
"Oh, yes. There is the fact that you're a cock tease. The entire situation is most unsatisfactory."
"I have no idea what you're on about," I protested, while privately think that he'd summed up the relationship pretty well. "Surely you're not suggesting that I should have sex with one of them or, god forbid, both? What sort of girl do you think I am?"
I shouldn't have asked that last question.
"What sort of girl? Ah, a cold-blooded, heartless bitch, who is studying to be a professional gold-digger seems appropriate. As to having you go to bed with one of our boys, as you say, god forbid. We haven't worried about that as we reckoned you wouldn't without a much bigger bribe."
That was laying it on the line pretty much. A tear trickled down one cheek. (A useful trick that.)
"I think you've said enough," I said sadly, all offended dignity. I heaved another big sigh, breasts bouncing happily. "I'd like you to leave now."
I rose to my feet and found myself face to face with Malcolm who had moved forward. Before I could say anything more Grey had moved up behind me. What's worse, he took hold of my t-shirt and lifted it straight up, jerking my arms up and lifting the t-shirt clean off me, my breasts again bouncing happily from the unexpected movement, but this time not with my blessing and in full view of Malcolm who was looking at them and smiling.
"I didn't think you were wearing a bra," he said. "Took it off when you saw we were at the door, hmm?"
"I did no such thing," I flared. "How dare you take off my top?"
