Times in my Life: Part Two

Times in my Life: Part Two

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Introduction: What happened after supper

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ALL CHARACTERS DEPICTED IN SEXUAL ACTS ARE OF LEGAL AGE. THIS STORY IS A FANTASY LOOSELY BASED ON TRUE EVENTS. ALL NAMES AND PLACES ARE FICTIONAL, AND ANY RELATION TO ANY PERSON, PLACE, OR THING IS COMPLETELY COINCIDENTAL. THIS STORY IS COPYRIGHT 2014 BY THE AUTHOR AND UNAUTHORIZED COPYING OR OTHER FORMS OF REPRODUCTION ARE STRICTLY FORBIDDEN WITHOUT THE EXPRESS WRITTEN CONSENT OF THE AUTHOR.

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My second post of erotic fiction. Actually, this is my second post of any kind of fiction on an open site.

To say that I am absolutely flabbergasted with the kind words left in the comment section of my first effort would be an understatement of the highest magnitude. I am worried though that I may not be able to live up to the expectations expressed in those comments. I will however do my best not to disappoint.

I have written these fictions because I enjoy reading similar stories, and want to contribute to the cause. I hope to be able to write stories that are interesting and believable. I spent a lot of time writing the drafts, editing them, crafting them with great care for the enjoyment of you the reader. As I got to the end of the final draft, this ‘little’ story had crossed the 10 thousand work mark and ran to 25 pages in the word processor I use.

To answer the question of one commenter, these events are set in the 70’s. There were no cell phones and colour TV sets were still a rare sight.

As always, constructive criticisms are welcome. If you enjoy what I’m writing, please take a moment to give it a ‘positive’ rating as well as any comments you wish to leave.

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Preamble:

In Part One we met Nick, the new guy in town, as he made his way through his first day of high-school. This story is about what happened to him that evening…

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Part Two

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Chapter Four: Meeting the babysitter

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Mom, dad, my sister and I sat down for supper. Mom had made meatloaf and home-made scalloped potatoes ‘au gratin’; there was also a small bowl of salad on top each of our plates. Mom was a great believer in starting a meal off with a salad. There were an assortment of salad dressings sitting on the middle of the table. We all had our favourites, but it was nice to change it up once in a while. There was also a bag of croutons, a shaker of bacon bits and a small bowl of grated cheese. If you’re going to have a salad, you might as well make once you’re going to enjoy eating. A large bowl of corn niblets with a serving spoon an a plate with celery and carrot sticks finished off the bounty of food on the table.

We finished off the salads and my sister took the bowls over to the kitchen sink and rinsed them off before setting them in the bottom of the sink.

My mom’s meatloaf was one of my favourite main dishes, and her home-made scalloped potatoes were absolutely my favourite way of eating potatoes. Our plates were soon full of food and we happily ate our meal, enjoying the great taste of the food and telling mom how much we appreciated her effort.

My dad asked, “So how was your first day of high-school Nick?”

“Okay I guess… I spent most of my time learning where all the classrooms were and trying to remember the names of the teachers and other students I met.”

My sister piped up, “You can hardly remember where our house is let alone a big school with a lot of rooms!” She was ignored by the rest of us.

“What were the teachers like?” asked mom.

“Like teachers!” I said with a bit of sarcasm in my voice.

“Seriously though, how were they?” she asked again.

“Most of them are older and there are a couple of younger ones. They’re all men except for the English teacher. My history teacher, Mr. Kertz is also my homeroom teacher.”

“What’s homeroom?”, asked my sister who was still in public school, and didn’t have homeroom.

“Homeroom is where you go at the beginning of the school day so they can take attendance and also if there are any announcements, they will be heard on the classroom’s P.A. speaker. As soon as the announcements are finished then you have 5 minutes to get to your first class of the day.”

“How many classes do you have in one day?”, she asked. Being in public school she had the same classes every day.

“Usually 7 classes per day unless you have a spare period; in that case, you have 6 classes that day. Classes are 40 minutes long and you have 5 minutes to get to the next class.

And… there are 4 days in a high school week. On the fifth day, we start over on ‘day 1’; each room has the day number written on the top right-hand corner of the black board. They also tell you the day number during morning announcements.

And just to confuse things even more, lunch period and fourth class switch with each other every other day.”

“Wow… that’s a lot of stuff to remember”, said my sister.

Mom and dad both looked at me and related to me that things were much simpler when they went to high school. Same courses everyday, lunch was always the same time everyday. And of course, they had to ‘walk 5 miles to school and it was uphill both ways’.

We ate in relative silence for a while before dad said, “I hear you have a telephone message and it was left by a female.”

“Wha…”, I looked at my mom, who was smiling like the cat who had eaten the canary. “Why didn’t you tell me it was girl who left the message?!”

“It must have slipped my mind… I’m sorry.”

I could tell just by looking at her that she was in no way, shape or form sorry. In point of fact, she was still smiling, though not as broadly, and she had turned her head towards the kitchen window in an attempt to hide her face. She always did have a bit of the devil in her.

“Why would a girl leave a phone message for you?”, my dad queried.

“I have no idea”, I said hotly.

“Nick has a girlfriend! Nick has a girlfriend”, my sister teased in a sing-song voice.

“I do not! I don’t even know any other girls in this town!”

“Could it be someone from school?”, asked mom after she had given my sister the ‘stop that right now’ look.

“I don’t know… I really don’t know”, I asserted.

“Guess you’ll find out after you call her eh?” dad quipped.

We finished eating and mom and I did the dishes. We traded off with dad and my sister for dish-washing duty on alternating days. Finally we were done; the time was 6:58 pm, nearly time to call the mystery girl.

I waited until it was five minutes past the hour before calling the number; I didn’t want to seen as too keen. The call was answered on the first ring.

“Hello Nick” a pleasant voice answered. I had given up on how everyone seemed to know who I was, but I had no idea who they were.

“Hi”, I replied without any questioning inflection in my voice. I may not have know who was calling, but I didn’t want to appear to be a complete dummy.

“I saw you in English class today and you seemed to be… hmm… struggling with the material.”

Well… she had that right. English was my worst course; made even worse by the teacher who looked as though she could easily pass for a Playboy model. I had been sneaking glances at her all through the class and not really paying much attention to what she was writing on the board or what was in my textbook.

As I was formulating a response she said, “I am very good with English and I thought maybe I could help you out with it.”

“Erm… how?” I really wasn’t sure what she meant by helping me out.

“Well, I’m babysitting tonight and thought that maybe we could get together and go over today’s classroom material. I’m sure I can help you with the parts you’re having trouble with.” Her voice was friendly and inviting.

And so for the second time in a day I was being asked to participate in an activity I had no experience with. I really did need help with English though, and the thought of an English wizard helping me did have a strong appeal.

“Just let me ask my parents if I can.”

“Okay”

As I turned around I nearly collided with my mom… “Oh… sorry; I was just going to check if the clothes are dry.”

A white lie from her… although she did have the laundry basket under her arm, the light in the laundry room was not on. She obviously wanted to hear what was going on over the telephone.

“Can I go and study with… uhm… I didn’t get her name yet, but she says she is really good with English; and I can really, really use the help.” I asked mom.

To my great surprise she said, “All right, but make sure you are home by 11 pm.”

I was certain there would be questions, like, “Where is she? Are her parents home? Has she got permission to ask you over?” and all the other things parents want to know before letting you out of the house in the evening.

“Okay mom, thanks!” I effused. That certainly went a lot easier than expected.

I took my hand off the mouthpiece of the phone and said, “Okay, I can come over, but I have to be home by 11 pm. Where are you?”

“I’m in the apartment above the grocery store. The doorway is between the grocery store and the drug store. When you get there ring the bell 3 times then come up the stairs. There are two doorways at the top of the stairs; knock quietly on the one on the left.”

I quickly closed my eyes and tried to picture where she was talking about. Although it was a really small town, I had only seen short glimpses of the downtown area.

“Is that on the left side of the Cenotaph?” I asked.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Okay then, I’ll be there as soon as I find my books and walk over there.”

Mom smiled as I hung up the phone; she was still lingering near me, the empty laundry basket still under one arm.

“So where will you be?” she asked.

“The apartment over the grocery store.”

“She is babysitting there?” It was more of a statement of fact than a question.

“Yes she is.”

“Okay. Don’t forget, home by 11 pm” she admonished as she turned away from me and headed in the direction of the living room.

“Yes mom.” I assured as she started walking away from me.

I went to my room, got my English notebook and textbook, and put them in my school bag as I mentally plotted out the route from my place to the grocery store downtown.

All the way down to the other end of my street, a left turn on the second left, not the first… that was a dead-end. Keep walking straight after the left turn until I got to the street the arena was on. A right turn and past the arena (and my bus stop), over the bridge (a small bridge to be sure, but a bridge nonetheless) then cross over to the left hand side of the street just after the Cenotaph. The grocery store and the adjoining drug store would be right on the other side of the street.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and left the house, starting the walk down the street. In total it took me about 20 minutes to arrive at the doorway between the stores.

I rang the bell the instructed number of times, opened the door and stepped into a small entryway. The stairs were old and wooden with a high step to them. There was an old but clean carpet tacked to the floor and on up the stairs. The carpet helped muffle any creaking and added a bit of colour to the stairwell. I arrived at the small landing above the top step and saw the two doorways, one on the left and one on the right. They were very plain, and the blue paint on them was faded, giving them an aged look.

I turned to the door on the left and was just about to knock quietly when the door suddenly opened a few inches.

“Nick?” a soft, pleasant voice enquired.

“Yes.” I replied in a whisper.

The door opened just far enough to admit me and she pulled me through the doorway. She quickly latched and locked the door with a dead-bolt and a very old brass key lock. The door didn’t look nearly as old on the inside as it did from the outside.

“Come with me”, she instructed as she gently pulled on my left arm. We were soon in the kitchen of the apartment. It was open on one side to a small round table and two chairs. The other side was open to a small living room, a TV set turned on with the volume down as far as it would go. Down a short hall off the living room were 3 doors; the two opposite ones were closed while the one at the end opened into the bathroom. The kitchen counter faced the street and there was a window there offering a good view of the downtown area.

I took in all this information with a quick glance around before looking at the girl who had led me to where I was now. The light in the kitchen was bright and quite illuminating…

She was very tall looking; not tall actually, but looking that way because of the clothes she was wearing. Her light red hair was coiffed around her head, nicely framing her almost pale face. The coils of it ended on and around her shoulders, curling up nicely where it fell on her shoulders of the blouse she had on.

The button-down blouse was bright white with intricate embroidery starting on the shoulders of each side before running down close to the edges of the buttons. It was not overly done and added a classy look to the short-sleeved blouse. The buttons were quite small with a pearly shine to them; there were quite a few of them giving the blouse a very rich Victorian era appearance .

A dark indigo coloured skirt encircled her waist, flaring out a tiny bit at her waist, then flowing down in a taper until it was a few inches above her knees. That was the part that made her look taller than she was… she was wearing black leather laced shoes and white lace stockings that ended only 6” from the floor. The large area of bare skin from the tops of her socks to the hem of her skirt was what lent itself to the illusion of her being taller than she actually was.

The colour of the skirt was also unusual…