Neighbor Boy And Me

He just came home from wrestling practice. The next door neighbors’ son was the cutest thing I could imagine, with a frame that gave him the proportions of a full grown man, if not yet the height. I had spoken with him a few times, just in passing really. I mean, we’re neighbors AND we go to the same school. He was a sweet 5’7 with hair short enough that it stood up with sweat after he ran his hands through it. He still wore his black and red spandex uniform, the fabric soaked and even more form-fitting than usual. I could see, at least, that he took his cup out after practice, the outline of his Boy toys just a size-able lump protruding in the front. As he continued up the walk, his gym bag slung over his shoulder obscured the firm butt I hoped I’d get a glimpse of. He entered his house and my trance was broken. Both our parents got home real late, and without thinking I made up my mind that today was the day I would pay him a visit he wouldn’t soon forget.

Putting on one of the many football jersey’s from my older brother’s closet (sports really aren’t my thing but they were apparently my crush’s) and tying it in the back with a knot that showed the tiniest bit of my lower back and navel, I made sure my blood red hair was flat ironed and swept over at just the right angle to reveal my pixie nose and thin-set lips. how could he pass this up, even if he was straight? I was practically a 16 year old girl, not the 18 year old man-boy I was in reality. My tight jeans, ending mid-calf, held a tight butt and almost no bulge. Not that I’m small, but I can hide it when I want to look extra femme. I swayed my hips as I crossed the street and up the walk to his house. I danced up the last few steps and rang the door bell. It took a minute or so but, sure enough I saw a curtain move in the bay window to the right. Just as soon as the curtained stilled, the the door opened. There he stood, a few inches shorter than me but with a presence that made me feel I was on my knees looking up. He had obviously been in the process of undressing because, oh lord, the shoulder straps keeping the spandex one-piece up were off and hanging at his waist. For a 15 year old, his chest was delicious, muscular enough to make it square but smooth enough to be cute. The elastic fabric had fallen just low enough to see the top of a thick bush of hair above the large lump just below that. On further inspection, that hair trailed lightly yet densely up, not in a line but in a band six inches across up to his firm chest and around his nipples. I could see the light brown hair under his arms as he leaned against the open door.
“Hey,” he said to me in a friendly greeting. Then, noticing my outfit, his eyes set into a different expression. “Need something?” he asked, friendly again, but with a cocky smirk to one side.
I took a moment to consider a possible way of getting in his house, then settled on the only logical reason I could be there. “Actually, I was wondering if you needed anything,” I said in my cutest voice and bit my lip.
“I- uh…” the smirk faltered as he took in all the implications of my offer.