This is my first submission EVER! I would greatly appreciate any and all comments, positive or negative. All characters are fictional and over 18. This is a work of fiction. If you have any favorite characters you want to have more involved with the story, PLEASE let me know. Always willing to listen to my audience. And a huge "thank you" to LizHaze for her work on editing and her encouragement. Thanks and enjoy! -Shaide
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I watched as he pushed the lawnmower back and forth across the yard. I was always waiting for him to take his shirt off, but he never has. As hot as it was, I had no idea why. But then again, Jason's family was the only one in the neighborhood that didn't hire someone to do the yard work. He looked like he was in shape. He let go of the gas and I heard the mower choke itself into silence as he walked over to the patio and started drinking from a bottle of water. He sat down on the patio to take a break. I sighed and figured I might as well take one too. Sometimes I wish that I my window didn't look over their yard. Sometimes.
I didn't know why I wasted my time watching him. He was such a loser. I turned away from the window and walked over to the closet to pick out my outfit for tonight. I was headed out with a couple of girlfriends to the movies and then we had a couple of parties to choose from. Unlike the loser, who was going to spend the weekend in his house, I had things to do.
I stood in front of the mirror in my bra and panties. I looked good. Not to be arrogant or anything, but the truth is the truth. I had my mother's curves, but my father's green eyes, and red hair. I filled out a C cup quite nicely and had nice toned legs that led up to a sweet ass. Not really an ass, more of a bubble butt. But I liked my little bubble butt. It was firm and grippable and suited my figure nicely.
I looked good, and I felt good. At 20 years old, this was my junior year in college and I was going to finish it as head cheerleader, a position I was elected to as a sophomore. I was on a full scholarship from O.R.B. and I worked hard to keep it. Not that I had to; they only required that I have a 2.0 GPA, but I still needed a job after college. My squad had won the national cheer contest last month, mostly thanks to Haley's choreography, but you know what they say, credit rises and shit falls. I heard the lawnmower crank up, as if to reinforce it.
So here I was, 3.8 GPA, summer in a few months, holding the two finalist outfits up to my body in the mirror. Sexy catholic school girl with a plaid skirt and button up shirt, or sexy prep with a polo shirt and jean skirt? Duh. Sexy school girl all day. Prep would have to wait.
The skirt was short enough to hint, long enough to cover. I only used two of the buttons on the shirt, just enough to keep it closed, but I would be showing plenty of cleavage and tummy. After all, I don't do all that dieting for nothing. I was starting my make up when I heard the lawnmower cut off. I walked over to my window to see him pushing it into the shed. He exited, closing and locking the doors. He walked into his house.
Loser.
"God damn neighbors," I heard my father mumbling as he walked down the hall. "Why the hell can't Vincent get someone to mow the damn lawn at a reasonable fucking time like civilized people?" Vincent was the loser's uncle. He was a welder. How in the hell he was able to afford a house in our neighborhood had always been an interesting question. The thing no one ever mentioned though, at least not in my father's hearing, was that Vincent was my uncle as well.
Years ago, my father had an affair while my mother was pregnant with me. Jason was the result. Daddy, even after the paternity test proved it, denies that Jason is his son. Seeing that my father was able to afford the best lawyers in the state, he didn't have to pay a single cent in child support for him. Jason is my younger half-brother by about two months. His mother died when he was nine, and Uncle Vincent adopted him. Daddy threw a fit. They haven't had a civil conversation since. After adopting, Uncle Vincent bought the house right next to ours, and he and Jason moved in instead of moving Jason into his place, just to keep the fires going, just so my family was forced to face my father's mistake every day.
I pulled on a pair of red pumps that I knew would be killing me by the time I got home, but you have to suffer to look this good. I grabbed a pair of red sneakers just in case, though. I threw on some perfume, gave myself the once over two or three times, and I was ready to go.
I walked down stairs to my father's office and poked my head in, not needing him to see my entire outfit.
"Daddy, I'm going out."
He looked up from his computer and paperwork. "Okay sweetness, have a good time." He was immediately back into his work. I've seen pictures of my father when he was younger. He's kept himself up fairly well. The muscles aren't there anymore, but he isn't fat or anything. A strong, solid face with a green-eyed glare that has made more than one of my prospective boyfriends flinch. That glare was worth a couple million dollars. Sorry, Daddy is one of the top criminal lawyers in the country. With just a touch of gray in his red hair, and my mother to keep him dressed sharply, I've had more than one girlfriend ask me how my parents' marriage was doing.
I walked through the living room where my mom was sitting on the couch watching television. My mom is a stunning woman. At 42 years old, she could be on the cheer squad right next to me without anyone batting an eye. She stayed active, working out every day, playing tennis, swimming. She's even been known to rock climb as long as she has a manicure appointment the next day.
"Going out?" she asked.
"Yep. See a movie, hit a party. The night is young and so am I." I walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then turned for the door.
"Alright, have a good time. By the way, love the shoes." I blew her one more kiss for the compliment, and for the use of her shoes. My mother and I have a great relationship. She has sat patiently through my many boyfriend breakups, princess dress-ups, and fights with girlfriends. As a woman, I would be lucky if I turned out anything like her. She may be a stay-at-home wife, but she is no less powerful a woman for it.
As I walked outside I saw Jason wiping his motorcycle down. He had a Hyabusa, but I only knew that because my ex-boyfriend was a huge fan of it. I've had more than a few fantasies about it. We would be riding, him driving, me holding onto his waist. My hand would slowly make its way down to his jeans, unbuttoning, unzipping, sliding down until I could grasp his manhood. I would grab it lightly at first, unsure of myself. Then his hand would come over mine and squeeze, making me grip him a little tighter, letting me know I was welcome to do just what I wanted. Then he would move his hand back to the handlebars, leaving himself open to me, trusting me. I would pull him out, fondling him, slowly beginning to stroke him, all while we speed down some empty highway. I would feel him throb and harden as we drove, as I drove him. My other hand would slide under his shirt, feeling his abs and chest. They would be smooth, solid, manly. I would feel his breathing quicken as I stroked his hard cock. And it would be a
cock
. Not a penis, or dick, or any of those other cutesy terms. I would know just by feeling it that
this
was
cock
. Hard and solid and meant for
real
fucking.
The wind would blow in my hair, the pavement would speed by underneath us. He would be moaning, but I wouldn't be able to hear him over the motorcycle. I would only feel him, feel his pleasure building with every stroke and touch. I knew his sensitive spots. (I'm not a virgin after all, I know how to work a cock.) I would lightly run the tips of my fingernails under his helmet, following the veins underneath, before gripping it again. Stroking it hard and slow. He would grip the bars harder and harder as his pleasure mounted. He would pull off the road into some woody, grassy area and stop. I would hop off the back, nervous that I had gone too far, but as soon as he got off the bike his lips would be on mine, his tongue searching my mouth, his hand roaming, searching, discovering every part of my back and ass he could find, firmly gripping my soft flesh.
I would stand there, letting it all happen. Letting him do with me as he pleased. He would turn me in his arms, never losing contact. I would feel the need and heat in him as he pressed his cock against my ass; his hands, now under my shirt, grabbing my tits, playing with my nipples; his mouth slowly kissing and licking my neck and ear; his hard cock, out in the open air, waiting, demanding.
His hand would find its way down my stomach to my pants. He'd unbutton them and slide them down to my knees. I wouldn't be wearing anything underneath. I'd just be standing there, exposed in his arms as he played with my body, one hand massaging my breast, his mouth gently nibbling on my ear, his warm breath on my skin, his hand gliding down to my pussy. His fingers would play with my lips, sliding through my wetness. One of his fingers would find its way into me as his thumb played with my clit. I would be panting and moaning softly, wiggling my ass against his still hard dick. He would slide it between my legs, his fingers now focusing on my clit, as his dick slid between my slick folds.
But that's just a fantasy. A sick fantasy about my father's bastard.
I snapped out of it just as he looked over at me, green eyes meeting green eyes. We didn't say anything. We never did. We just looked and turned away.
He was a mistake. One that was constantly thrown in my family's face. He was a wild night and a broken condom. I was the child my father wanted. The one he loved and raised. How the hell were we suppose to talk? What would we even have to talk about?
I started up my cherry corvette and headed out. When I got the gate, I saw BJ's Escalade pulling in. BJ was the star linebacker, captain of the football team, and Jason's best friend. We didn't have much to talk about either. I spent the first month of last fall waiting for him to ask me out. I mean, captain of the football team and head cheerleader. We were destined to date, marry, and have fat little babies. Unfortunately, his choice of associates was less than desirable, so we never happened. Terri was probably in the car with him. Terri was the school drug dealer. He was also screwing most of the softball team.
So, the loser wasn't going to sit in his house and mope about his loser life all weekend. I wondered where they were going. I shook my head, and turned up my music. I had better things to do than worry about what that loser was going to do.
-----
"Besty!" Haley ran up to me and gave me a hug. She was not my best friend, but I did like her. She had blonde hair, big breasts, a small waist, and a mouth made for sucking. Although she still had to wait until I graduated, I had pretty much pegged her to be the next head cheerleader, a big honor for a freshman. After all, she did choreograph the show for nationals. She was blonde, bouncing, and would have been a competitor for me if we had been in the same class. At 18, she was teen porn personified.
"Hey girl," Sharron said as she walked up and hugged me. She wasn't a cheerleader, but she was my best friend. She was also the star of the drama school. She got the female lead in every play, and without doing the directors. At 5'3" she was short and stacked. Smooth ebony skin, sexy lips, and an ass that even I envied. We had known each other since second grade, so there was no one closer to me or that I trusted more than Sharron.
We had about an hour before the movie, so we walked around, doing a little window shopping, and pretty much making sure our presence was felt as we gossiped. After all, three sexy college girl goddesses deserved to be noticed, especially when two of the three represented the college hierarchy.
"I heard Mark asked Kara George out," Haley said as she shuffled through a couple of blouses. She held one up to her chest, but immediately put it back. The girl did have good fashion sense.
"Good for him, sucks for her though," I said. Mark Mexer was my ex-boyfriend. We broke up two weeks ago after I found out he was lying about me, pretty much calling me a slut, even though the most I ever gave him was a hand job. Like I said, I wasn't a virgin or anything, I just didn't give it out unless it was earned, and Mark was definitely not worth it. Plus, he had a small dick. Three inches. Hard.
