Fate and a little scheming bring two people together.
Lust and Fantasy
Pretty little Leslie Weaver needed sex, and she needed it badly. As she lay in bed with her hand down the front of her panties, she decided she would have to do something about it soon. Lately her fingers just weren't doing the job.
Whoever said that men were more driven by their hormones than women had obviously never met Leslie. Ever since that first time that she had touched herself, she had needed it more and more. Like this morning, for instance. She had already gotten herself off once, but it had done little to quench her desires. All it did was leave her yearning for more.
Depending upon the definition used, the thirteen-year-old girl could still be considered a virgin. She had accidentally broken her hymen with her own fingers one night in her enthusiasm. Fortunately it was in the bath so the telltale signs washed quietly and discreetly away. It wasn't as big a deal as people made it out to be. A little temporary pain, and then it was all over.
Then there was that time, a couple of weeks ago, when she had fooled around with one of her girlfriends. They were just experimenting, and although it had been fun, again it had just been mostly touching with a little kissing and licking. But she had never felt the joy of a deep penetration by a stiff cock, the satisfying fulfillment that could only come from having a man shoot his seed deep within her. Some of her friends who had gone all the way with their boyfriends had told her about such pleasures, and she needed to experience it for herself.
There was one problem though. She didn't find any of the boys she knew the least bit attractive. Oh sure, there were plenty of handsome boys at her school, but their immaturity and constant self-centered attitude turned her off. If any of them were the type who would make her feel comfortable, they sure hid it well.
No, she needed someone mature and experienced, someone who knew what they were doing, someone who had progressed beyond the awkwardness and self-focus of adolescence. But that meant finding an older man willing to do it with a younger girl like her. Basically, the kind of man her mother warned her about.
She wished she could find the kind of man her mother warned her about. Sometimes when she hung out with her friends at the mall she glanced around to see if any men were looking at her. Sometimes she caught the eyes of a thirty- or forty-year-old guy checking out the group of girls. The thought of them mentally undressing her gave her such a thrill. Unfortunately, a public place like that was the wrong location for them to proposition her. She needed to find a nice, quiet place where she could be alone with one of them.
She could always take a trip into one of the seedier neighborhoods in the city, hoping to run into some filthy pervert who would rape her. But there was too much of a chance that that would lead to violence. She wanted to fuck, not get her throat slit.
More than once she had fantasized about seducing one of her teachers. She had heard stories of male teachers seducing their young female students, but sadly nothing like that ever happened to her. Of course, Leslie had been cursed with mostly older, and sometimes hideously ugly, teachers. The only one young and good-looking enough that she would consider giving herself to him was Mr. Collins, and he was openly gay.
Her alarm rang, snapping her out of her fantasies. She groaned in frustration and disappointment, then climbed out of bed and headed for the shower. Well, at least she could continue her self-stimulation under the water. It would have to do for now.
Once in the bathroom, she stripped off her night clothes, then took a moment to check herself out in the mirror. She really was a cutie, with shoulder-length, light brown hair and innocent hazel eyes with long lashes. She had a slightly upturned nose, just enough to give her a bit of a childlike look. Her lips were nice and pouty, and they produced cute little dimples when she smiled. Everyone said she had a nice smile, and she liked to practice it as often as she could.
Her thirteen-year-old body looked absolutely stunning. She didn't have particularly full boobs, at least not yet, but at the rate things were going she would have a great pair one day. She was already sporting nicely curved hips framing a pretty little pussy with just a touch of peach fuzz on it. Right now it was red and glistening from her earlier attentions.
She felt her best features, though, were her legs. Long and shapely, they had a graceful curve to them and tended to sway her hips a lot when she walked. She liked to wear skirts, the shorter the better, although unfortunately the school had a dress code that prohibited her from displaying as much as she would like. She tended to wear short stockings so at least her lower legs were fully visible.
She turned on the water, then stepped into the shower, immediately returning her hands to the task that had been interrupted so rudely by the alarm clock. Playing with herself in the shower was a lot different from playing with herself in bed. The warm water helped to relax her, but because she was on her feet she couldn't afford to apply all of her energy to her self-stimulation. Still, she had brought herself nearly there before the alarm went off, so it didn't take long for her to achieve her second orgasm of the day. She gritted her teeth to keep the sound from escaping; the last thing she wanted was to alert her mother to what she was doing in the bathroom. The pleasure passed through her and slowly faded, leaving her only partially satisfied.
She needed a man. That was all there was to it.
She finished showering, then dried herself and headed back out to her room where she searched through the closet for a tee-shirt and sufficiently short skirt. Something easy to flip up if she found a moment to herself during the day where she could finger herself to orgasm again. She found a suitable outfit and put it on, then returned once more to the bathroom to fix her face. Afterward, she headed downstairs to breakfast. Her mother wasn't up yet; since she didn't have to be at work until nine, she often slept in later than Leslie. That was fine; Leslie had long since learned to get herself ready for school, and since the bus stopped right in front of her house anyway, she didn't have to deal with a long walk.
Not that she would have minded walking. Maybe some pervert in a car would pull up to the curb and invite her back to his place. Wouldn't that be fun! But unfortunately, her mother would be furious if Leslie skipped a day of school, especially to go get laid by a complete stranger. No, she was going to have to find another way.
She sighed in frustration, wondering just how she was going to get herself a man.
Thirty-year old Roger Gardner needed sex, and he needed it badly. The problem was that he had very specific tastes, the kind of tastes that could get him arrested if he acted on them.
He lay in bed, tossing and turning restlessly. Roger worked as a night security guard at the local mall, so he normally didn't get up until three in the afternoon. Unfortunately, when the dreams hit, he awoke with a raging erection and longing for a bit of teenage pussy.
Most people would call him a pedophile. He disagreed. So what if he liked to look at young girls? So what if he got aroused at the sight of a twelve- or thirteen-year-old? Considering the way the girls dressed these days, who could blame him? It wasn't like he was staring at eight-year-olds, innocent little girls who had no concept of sexuality at all. The girls he liked were old enough to know what sex was, and quite a few of them had probably experienced it first-hand. Why was it socially acceptable for a boy of that age to find such girls sexy, when a man like Roger wasn't allowed to?
Besides, he had never done anything about it. He had his fantasies, and he had his dreams, but he kept them to himself. Hardly a soul knew that he was interested in girls that young, and that's the way it would stay. He knew enough to keep his hands off. He was no child molester by any means. Despite his fantasies, despite his habit of sitting in the mall watching the cute young girls walk by, he would never harm one of them. On the contrary, he would go out of his way to protect them from the real bad men out there, if the chance ever arose.
He often took the role of hero in his dreams, and the one that had been playing out in his mind before he awoke that morning was no exception. This time he was a detective who had rescued the daughter of a prominent politician from a mob hit man. Other times he had been a policeman, or a gunslinger in the old west, or a knight braving untold dangers to rescue the fair young damsel.
The fair young damsel was always very fair, and very young. Sometimes she had blond hair, sometimes brunette. Sometimes she was a shy young thing, sometimes wild and impulsive. But always the dream ended the same way. The girl was so thankful for his bravery that she rewarded him with a kiss from her sweet, delicious red lips. From that kiss she sensed that he wanted more, and she was always willing to provide it. She slipped out of her clothes, baring herself to him. Then she approached him, reaching out to embrace him...
Why did he always have to wake up right before the best part? He would even be satisfied if it ended a little sooner, just after the kiss. At least then he would wake with a happy feeling, because the dream would have had some kind of conclusion. But then his dream girl had to go and tempt him, making it such a horrible experience when he woke. In his aroused state, he always found it difficult to go back to sleep.
He sighed as he stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Sometimes he wished he could get away with having an affair with a girl that young. What was so inherently wrong with it, after all? Just because society or the law frowned upon it didn't mean it had to be a bad experience. He would be gentle. He would treat the girl with the respect and caring that she deserved. It could be wonderful for both him and her. He would make it special.
But no, he would never do it. Not as long as the law was against him, and not as long as mothers taught their daughters to fear men like him. If those girls were afraid of him, they would at the very least feel uncomfortable, and it could be psychologically damaging for them. And that was the last thing he wanted. So he would suffer in silence, and the girls would never know how much he was sacrificing for their sake.
He got up to have a drink of water and use the bathroom, then returned to his bed. That momentary reawakening of his muscles usually did the trick for some reason. As he was returning to his bedroom, he happened to glance out the window. That pretty young girl across the street was waiting for the bus. Leslie Weaver. She wore one of his favorite outfits, a light tee shirt and short skirt that showed off her legs beautifully. Not that she was doing it to impress him, of course. As far as he could tell, she didn't even know he existed.
The jacket she wore was a little light, considering the forecast for rain this afternoon. She was bound to come home soaked to the bone. He closed his eyes for a moment to fantasize about that sight. Little Leslie all wet, with her clothes clinging to her body. He couldn't imagine anything sexier.
When he opened his eyes again, the bus had arrived, blocking his view. He managed to catch one last glimpse of her through the window as she sat down in a seat on the near side, then the bus started up again and carried his fantasy away.
He had long since lost track of the number of times he had peeked out the window, watching her as she entered or left her house. He usually got home from work just before she left for school, and this was far from the first time that he watched her as she stood out front waiting for the bus in the mornings, in her pretty little clothes and her made-up hair. Sometimes he wished the bus would be late, to give him more time to sit there hidden from her view, admiring her from a distance.
In the afternoons, she normally just dashed into her house after the bus dropped her off, so it often wasn't worth the effort to wait by the window. On the other hand, he had found himself making excuses to be outside in the yard when she came home from school, such as mowing the lawn or checking the mail. He had never spoken to her, and that was likely how it would stay forever.
Now that she was gone, he headed back to bed. At least the day had started on a good note. Maybe he would even dream of her, of a world where young teenage girls like Leslie were just as willing to love him as he was to love them, where he could throw off his inhibitions and sweep them off their feet. A world completely unlike the one in which he lived.
Through the whole day at school, Leslie couldn't concentrate. How was she supposed to listen to the lectures when her body was speaking to her much more loudly? It was frustrating to have to sit there in class while she really wanted to do something about the hot and tingly sensation between her legs.
She found a degree of relief at lunch time when she locked herself in one of the stalls in the bathroom and furiously fingered herself to climax. It was getting to be a usual routine for her; she had done the same thing for two weeks without missing a day. It was the only way she could survive the second half of the school day. If she couldn't get some satisfaction during lunch, she would probably end up breaking down and doing it right in front of everybody in class later.
She just knew that if she found a man to take care of her needs, she wouldn't have this problem any more. Once she finally achieved that kind of fulfillment, she would have less need for these unsatisfying orgasms that gave her a temporary respite but left her longing for more.
The afternoon dragged by slowly, and the arousal began to build again. She couldn't wait to get home and spend the rest of the day in the room pleasuring herself over and over again. Her parents were divorced, and she lived with her mother, who worked until 6:00, which should give her plenty of time to squeeze in several orgasms. Maybe that would help to calm her desires so she wouldn't need it so badly tomorrow.
But even that was just a temporary solution. For something more substantial, she needed to find a man.
She sat through her last class, mostly staring out the window watching the rain come down. It had started just after lunch, and showed no sign of letting up. Fortunately, Leslie always rode the bus home after school; she would have hated to walk in this weather. Still, with how densely it poured down she would get soaked just walking from the bus to her front door.
Maybe she would take a nice, hot bath after school. Something to ward off the inevitable chill and help to relax her so that her fingers could more easily accomplish their task. Yes, that would feel nice. A long soak in the bath was just what she needed.
When the last bell rang, she hurried and packed up her things, then dashed out to the bus. She found a seat near the back and sat down, trying to ignore her growing lust and wishing that the bus would just leave already. It seemed like forever before it pulled away from the curb and onto the street.
The random motion and vibrations of the vehicle compounded the frustrating tingling between her legs. It was enough to fuel her desire but not enough to push her over the edge to sweet relief. She needed to get home quickly and into the tub.
The ride took ages, or so it seemed. She almost felt like the bus driver was deliberately driving slower than usual just to annoy her. But when she glanced down at her watch, she was surprised to see that it was actually a minute or two ahead of schedule. Why was it that when she was looking forward to something, time seemed to slow down like that?
Finally the bus pulled up to the curb in front of her house. She hurried up the sidewalk to the front door, not just to get out of the rain but also to finally get some privacy. She fished through her back pack for the key. It wasn't where she usually kept it, so she tried one of the other pouches. She began to grow worried when she couldn't find it there either. That worry turned to alarm when it didn't turn up in any of the other pouches.
Then she remembered, she had left it on the desk in her bedroom before school. She had forgotten to bring it with her.
She felt horrible knowing that she would have to wait until her mother arrived home before she could take care of her needs. Longer, because then it would be dinner time and she would have to sit at the table instead of spending time alone in her room.
During the summer she could just run around into the backyard. She liked to sunbathe out there, and sometimes went nude because the wooden fence was high enough to keep out unwelcome eyes. Usually. Once she had caught a glimpse of one of the neighbor boys peeking through a knothole. Rather than put her clothes back on, she had felt a certain exhibitionistic desire, so she slipped her hand between her legs and gave him a show he would probably never forget.
But with the rain pouring down, that was out of the question. She had to find some place private, and fast.
Leslie had a sudden idea. Mrs. Sargrove, one of her mother's friends, lived next door. No doubt she'd be more than happy to let Leslie come in and wait there until her mother got home. Leslie would ask to use the bathroom, and that would give her the opportunity she needed. Two minutes was all it would take, she was sure.
With the rain starting to seep into her clothes, she left the front step and hurried down the sidewalk and to the house next door. She gave a quick rap on the door and waited.
There was no answer.
She hit the doorbell, listening to see if she could hear it ring inside. It did, but again, no one came to the door. She knocked a third time in desperation, but to no avail.
By now, water was dripping off the ends of her hair, and her clothes were drenched. She was in a near panic as she realized that finding a place to get herself off was the least of her problems. She needed to get inside somewhere, anywhere, before she caught her death of pneumonia.
She glanced at the house across the street, and her heart began to pound in her chest. Suddenly, everything began to fall into place. Mr. Gardner lived there. Leslie was not supposed to associate with the man; apparently her mother thought there was something suspicious about a man who lived alone. Leslie had always thought him to be a little creepy, but now as she stood in the rain staring at the house, she realized that that was mainly because her mother's attitude had rubbed off on her. The man was actually not that bad-looking, kind of handsome really, now that she thought about it. And if he was a little creepy, maybe that was a good thing. Maybe he was a pervert. Just the type of man Leslie was looking for.
She took a deep breath to steel her nerves, then made her way across the street.
Roger Gardner sat in his bathrobe watching television. Ever since his wife had left him three years ago, he rarely felt like doing anything else. In the summer he sometimes took walks in the park, hoping to see some pretty young thing sunning herself. Sometimes he showed up to work early just so that he could spend time sitting in the mall watching the beauties hopping from store to store.
The only other person who knew of his fascination was his ex-wife. He regretted ever telling her, because she wasn't able to handle it. Despite his promise that he would never act on his urges, the revelation had shocked and horrified her. It bothered him that the one woman his own age that he had ever loved had rejected him over it. He didn't think he would ever have a relationship with another woman. It was just too bad he wasn't fifteen years younger. Then he could go out with the girls he liked, and no one would think anything of it.
For the hundredth time, he wished he had not been cursed with such unnatural desires. While other people were married and raising families, Roger Gardner was stuck sneaking peeks at girls at the mall and mentally undressing them. The birth of his brother's third son a month ago had put him in a particularly depressed mood that he hadn't yet gotten over. He wished he could just be like normal people, raising a family and living happily with a woman his own age. But the last woman his own age that had ever appealed to him had left him three years ago.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. He wondered who it could be; he wasn't expecting any packages, and he rarely had guests, especially unexpected ones. Clicking off the television, he got up and headed for the door.
When he opened it, he nearly gasped in surprise. Standing there was Leslie Weaver.