The day I caught Cameron jerking off to a picture of me on his cell phone was the last time I babysat for him. I didn’t give his parents the real reason, but he had clearly become too old to have a sitter – or at least me as his sitter.
I never forgot what I’d seen, though. Years later, I was home on break from college, and my parents and Cameron’s had become friends through church volunteering over the last year. Their family came over for dinner the day after I got home. There were the usual jokes about babysitting, but Cam was quite grown now. And I couldn’t stop sneaking looks at him – and catching him doing the same to me. It could have been very awkward. Maybe it should have been, but weirdly, it was kind of the opposite. We’d both changed a lot, and a handful of years difference in age seemed to mean a lot less in a lot of ways now.
It took another day before I could contrive a reason to go to their house – I can’t even remember what it was, but it didn’t really matter. All the parents were at work. I was on vacation, and he was off school at 2:15.
He invited me in and we made some small talk in the front hall. The tension was almost a third person in the room. It was delicious.
Finally I asked him,
“Do you still have that picture?”
I could tell by the way he blushed he knew exactly what I was talking about.
“Yeah.”
“Do you still… you know… do that with it?”
“No! I mean not… “
“Cameron Johnson.” I used my best babysitter-says-go-to-bed voice. It still worked, and I could see his cheeks blushing, and his pants bulging.
“…Yes… sometimes.”
My heart was hammering, more nervous than I should have been, but I wasn’t turning back. My hand went to the zip on my skirt. I peeled it down, and stepped out of it when it puddled at my feet. I brushed passed him and headed slowly up the stairs in my black string panties, sneakers, and sweater.
At the top, I turned and looked down at him much more commandingly than I felt. His jaw was practically on the floor, his pants solidly tented.
“Cameron Johnson, go to your room.” I commanded in sitter-voice and sauntered down the hall to a room I remembered well.
I had time to take off my shoes and socks, and discard my sweater under which I’d win nothing before I heard accelerating steps on the stairs. I was climbing onto his bed when he burst through the doorway and practically dove at me.
“Stop!” I cut him off, and he almost fell over himself at the edge of the bed. I reached for his pants, pulling with one hand, unbuttoning, unzipping with the other. I pulled him until he was kneeling on the bed in front of me, and I had drawn his pants and boxers down far enough to pull out…
“Ohhh, I’ve wanted to see this again for a very long time. To feel it.”
Cam could only gasp and gurgle as I grasped his shaft with one hand, and the other felt his muscled thighs, then cupped his heavy-feeling balls.
“You know, I’ve thought of you, too, Cam, since that day. What you did, looking at my picture? I’ve done thinking of you, wondering how you’ve grown.”
I stroked him slowly, and his shaft grew harder, and hotter, and thicker in my hand.
“I’ve wondered what you wanted to do with me, to me. I’ve imagined”
Still stroking him, I started pulling my panties down.
“Now,” I looked up at him, tall and panting, “you’re going to show me.”
With one more slow pull, I rocked back onto my butt, letting go of him and lying back on his twin bed, pulling my panties the rest of the way off and slowly opening my legs to him.
He lunged, and no amount of sitter-voice would stop him now. Which was exactly right.
Categories: Cassie Andra, Erotic Fiction, The Wrong Alphabet
The Erotic Writer 