Chapter Four:
With a resigned expression on her face, Astrid looked down the street, at a right angle from the way I would have been heading. "I'm going that way." I glanced up, to where the rain was still making a steady thrum against my umbrella. It was still pouring. "It's okay," she said. "I'll just wait under there." She was pointing at a corner convenience store, where she could either go inside, or she could wait under the awning to keep from getting wet. "Someone will be around eventually." We seemed to be the only pedestrians in view, and the way she was going seemed like a small closed-off network of residential streets... in short, a direction that didn't look like it would be walked by someone who didn't already live there, and, in the middle of a weekday, in the pouring rain, I didn't think the chances were great.
I didn't want to leave her there. The cool wind had another blast ready for us, and I could feel her tense up against it. And anyone else, well, they might stare at her underage nipples in an inappropriate way, like I had been avoiding. Mostly. Not to mention the worrying possibility that someone else might do something more than inappropriately stare. A dark van could pull up, offer her a ride. "No," I said, speaking almost before I settled on the decision.
"No?"
"I'm not going to leave you. It can't be that much farther, right?"
She tilted her head up at me, like she thought I might be trying to trick her, "Really? You sure you don't mind?"
"Come on, we non-jerky readers have to stick together." She gave me that bright open smile again, so I added, "Besides, we were just getting to the most interesting part of your own story. People were starting to die!"
She giggled, and then, as we walked in a new direction, she continued on with the hypothetical situation, talking about how, aside from Jimmy, who was apparently a guy who was considered part of the popular crowd but was still pretty nice to everybody, she'd probably stay with a circle of people, a mix of boys and girls, who she said were smart and she believed they would stay near the beach and fish and Astrid would start fires with her glasses to cook the fish, while the other group tried to hunt in the woods.
"But, you know, a lot of people, even of my friends, probably wouldn't be able to get their stuff together for a long time," she said after a while, like it was just occurring to her and she might have to rethink what was going on. "Like, I'm pretty sure most of them would be lost without their parents or a teacher around."
"I'm sure everyone would miss their parents," I said. "Wouldn't you?"
"I guess," she said, but didn't sound too convinced. "But I'm..." she trailed off, like she wasn't sure how to describe the difference.
"You're a little more self-sufficient," I filled in for her.
"Yeah," she said. "I mean, I might miss my mom, but wouldn't let it stop me, not when there's stuff that needs to be done."
"So yeah, you'd definitely be the hero of the story."
She smiled again, but it was a little weak, like she didn't really believe she could be the hero of a story, and it was one of those moments where you can almost feel your heart going out to someone. "It's not like I'm the only one who'd do okay." She began listing off names, people she thought would adapt faster. Jimmy was on the list, and I wondered if she had a crush on him. I silently wished her luck... that he'd like her back and not be a total tool, like a lot of guys are at her age. Even I was, and my mom made a concerted effort to teach me how to respect women... something I was totally failing at every time I stared at this little girl's chest, a fact that was not lost on me.
Astrid continued on, thinking aloud about whether it would be better to try and build a raft or just wait and hope somebody shows up, and then suddenly stopped. "Oh, I like this song," she said. We were still sharing my ear-buds, and it was Lorde's song "Royals." I obviously liked it too, or it wouldn't have made it on my playlist, but I was starting to get a little tired of it. I might have taken it out of rotation the next time I updated it, if I thought about it at all, at least for my playlist of songs I listen to on the road. Lorde does have a strange quality that even some of her more up-tempo songs are easy for me to fall asleep listening to.
Astrid, I guess, hadn't gotten tired of it, for, unlike the other songs, she actually sang along once we hit the chorus, and even stopped us walking to do it, like she didn't know how to do both at the same time.
That aside, I don't think she'd be considered a great singer. I think the key or pitch was off (I never really understood the difference, but I knew something wasn't quite matching the song), but... despite that, I found I actually liked her voice. Maybe it was how she seemed to enjoy it... that alone made me smile, listening to her try, either not aware or not caring about any shortcomings. But then it was a rainy day and I was the only one close enough to listen, and I certainly wasn't going to criticize her. It was like she was giving me an unfiltered look through her soul to go along with the unintentional peek through her shirt, and I didn't want her to feel bad about either of them.
Only when she was done did she seem to look up at me and gave a nervous smile. "Sorry," she said.
"Nothing to apologize for."
We had a brief discussion about Lorde, the songs she did for the Hunger Games movies soundtrack, which we both agreed we didn't like as much as some of her other work. "Have you read those books though?" she asked.
"I have. They're pretty good. They're like an American Battle Royale."
"Yeah, I've heard about that one, but I haven't read it, yet. Do you really think Hunger Games is a ripoff?" she asked.
"No, they're completely different stories. I mean, it's not like that basic idea is staggeringly original, so I believe her when she says she never heard of Battle Royale when she started writing. And I like both." With Battle Royale, I liked the movie more than the book, it was much easier to keep everybody straight, but the movie probably wasn't age appropriate, so I didn't mention that.
"I might try it sometime, if the library can get it for me." I didn't answer right away, reflecting on whether the book was age-appropriate, but only for a moment. It always seemed to me that short of outright pornography, age-appropriateness doesn't really matter with books. Everything people usually complain about, sex and violence, they were just words, and limited by a person's own ability to imagine... when I was young I read horror books, and I never got nightmares or anything because I pictured the most violent scenes almost like cartoons. If they didn't know how sex worked, it was unlikely sex in a book was going to enlighten them much. And if something dealt with things that were too advanced for a kid, they probably wouldn't be traumatized, they'd just lose interest.
The big problem in recommending books to kids is less about whether there's something they can't handle reading about, and more about whether their parents freak out about it and give you hell for it. Since I didn't think I'd ever see Hitch again, much less meet her parents, I said, finally, "You should."
I was about to suggest another game, to get her to guess what she'd do in if she was put in the Hunger Games, but we stopped. Ever since I decided to walk her home, she'd been leading me in the right direction down various side streets, but it was done subtly, with just tiny tugs on the arm, and I'd gotten so used to it I wasn't really paying much attention. But we were on a small closed off lane, and there was a row of houses. "This is me," she said.
There was a moment of hesitation, and I thought maybe she was worried about me following her home, and I was about to suggest I turn around and she make a run for it so I wouldn't know exactly which house was hers, but instead, she said, "Come on," and pulled me towards a small single-story house, shielded by hedges. I guess the risk of getting her books wet, in the walk between the sidewalk and the door in the still-pouring rain, trumped any fear of me as a stranger.
Instead of going up to the front door, we walked to the side. I held the umbrella a little more loosely as the edge of the roof also provided a bit of a cover. "Anyway," I said. "It was nice meeting you."
"You can come in for a bit?" she offered... or maybe, in retrospect, it was more a plea than an offer, but at the time, interpreting it as a polite offer was the only thing that made sense.
"Nah, there's no need, I've got the umbrella, remember?"
She worked her hands into her soaked pocket and pulled out a single key, which she worked into the lock. "But you got wet too." Sure, parts of my clothes were wet when I angled the umbrella to cover her at my own expense, or when a bit or wind or a passing car got some on me, but it wasn't that bad. "You can come in and dry off."
"It's not necessary," I said, then pointed out, "Your parents probably wouldn't like you inviting a stranger inside anyway."
She rolled her eyes a little. "My mom's not going to be home until, like, six at least."
"That wasn't really my point..."
"But I owe you," she said. "You were so nice." She unlocked the door, and turned to face me, one hand holding her book, the other behind her back on the knob, gently pushing it open. But I was only peripherally aware of that. "Come in and I'll make you a cup of hot coffee."
If she hadn't turned back towards me, I would have refused. I might have liked a coffee, but that part of my brain that realizes something is a bad idea would have taken charge, I'd have said "No thank you," wished her a pleasant day, and went off back to my ordinary day, patting myself on the back for performing a good deed for a kid.
But she was facing me, and her shirt was still wet and clinging to her body, the slightly darker ovals of her nipples still visible. When she was at my side, I might have snuck glances, but I could put it out of my mind between them... her facing me directly, it was where I looked, automatically. And that "better judgment" part of my brain was overridden by another part that thought, "never sacrifice time that you might see a girl's nipples" a part which didn't admit that in words, but rather convinced me that there was nothing wrong with going in if I had innocent intentions.
And despite my pervy glances, I did, mostly. Sure, looking was pretty bad, and I felt incredible guilt and shame over it, but at the same time, I never even had the slightest inkling that I would touch her, or ask her to touch me. It didn't even cross my mind. A part of me did realize how easy it would be to get this young girl alone and do something, but it wasn't a desire as much as a worry, that she was unknowingly putting herself in danger, even if, with me, she might be perfectly safe. Maybe, I hoped, I could explain that to her. But that wasn't why I said, "Okay, coffee sounds good, actually." It came down to me wanting to see her wet t-shirted chest while the sight was available. I might never see it again. It was like a rare planetary alignment.
**
The Umbrella Hitch - English erotic story
Re: The Umbrella Hitch - English erotic story
Chapter Five:
The genuine look of delight that animated Astrid's face made me feel good about my decision, and kept my eyes from lingering too long on the parts I shouldn't be looking at. And, once we were about to enter, she turned her back to me again, so it was easy to shove that out of my mind again and just be the friendly good Samaritan accepting an offer of coffee. I pulled my umbrella closed and followed behind her, out of the rain at last.
The door opened on a small landing, tiled floor, a rubber mat and coat hooks along the right wall, with an open door a few steps away, and to the left, a staircase that lead down to another door, which was closed and had a foreboding lock on it. "You don't have other people you invited for coffee locked down in the basement, do you?" I joked, peering down. The lights weren't on, so it looked spookier than it should have.
"Huh?" she turned back to me, then while I glanced back at the front of her shirt, she turned her head down the stairs. "Oh. No, the basement's not ours. The landlord split it. We get the upstairs, whoever else gets downstairs, and we share this entrance and the laundry room. But no one lives there now so we just leave this door open." She slipped her feet out of her shoes, took a step that squeaked out a wet sloshing noise on the tile. She frowned, lifted her leg, and began pulling the soaked sock off first one foot, than the other. She threw them carelessly down the stairs. "You can put your umbrella up there," she said, pointing to the hook. "Or anything else you want to take off." Her own eyes ran up and down my body, noting the side of my hoodie, my pants, which had visible dark spots where the water got me.
"No, I'm okay." I did hang up the umbrella, though, over the rubber mat so it could drip without much problem, and then looked down at my own feet to slip my shoes off, and in the process noticed her slightly glistening tiny feet, toes spreading out as though that would aid the natural evaporation. She didn't like the feeling of wearing soaked clothing... who did? I wondered if she would remove the shirt too... hoped, to be honest, but aside from another fresh glance at her chest, I made no sign of that... although I was starting to worry I was being too obvious, that she was on to me. I thought I saw her looking at me in a funny way, and immediately averted my eyes, focusing on finding a good place to leave my backpack. I chose the ground beside the mat our shoes were on.
"Come on," she said, and led me through her small, darkened house towards the kitchen. It was dark because none of the lights were on, of course, and with the heavy clouds outside, there wasn't a lot of natural light coming in either. As for small, well, it was like a large apartment. There was a small living area, centered around a TV, and an attached kitchen with a single small round table, then a short hallway that led to three rooms. If I had to guess, one was a bathroom, and the other two were bed rooms. There was a second entrance in the living room, out to the front of the house. Everything except the kitchen and the entry landings seemed to be carpeted, so I was sure Astrid's feet were dry by now.
Astrid put her book on a table by the couch, walked into the kitchen, hit the lights, which made the place seem a little less dead. The home was... to be generous, you could call it lived in. Other people might just call it a mess. There were clothes draped over the couch, and the sink was full of unwashed dishes, and more were on the table in front of the TV. It wasn't some horrible pigsty, there weren't bugs crawling on everything, and it didn't smell funky, it was just clearly not a house that was expecting visitors right then. But it was the middle of the week, and if my guess was correct, the house of a single mom, so I could understand it. Lord knows when I was her age my mom had trouble keeping the place clean on weekdays too, at least until she whipped me into shape.
The coffeemaker sat on the kitchen counter, just a simple home brew system, and Astrid worked it like she did it every day, changing the filter, tearing open the package, putting in the water, and within about thirty seconds, the pot was on and starting to brew. The pot, at least, was already clean, which said something about either how important coffee was in that family, or how rarely it was made. Considering her skills, I asked, "Drink a lot of coffee I guess?"
"Not really." She wrinkled her nose a bit, like the thought was unappealing. It was a cute expression, but then, it was a cute nose, too, small but with a slightly protuding round tip, which, where it met with the bridge of the nose, formed what seemed like an indentation perfect for resting glasses on without them slipping. "I mean, sometimes. But I make it for my mom in the morning."
"That's nice of you."
She shrugged, like it was no big deal, and then circled around, retrieved her book from the table and walked down the hall where the bedrooms would have to lay. "It'll just take a few minutes. Come on. I'll show you my books." While she moved to get the book I got to see her wet t-shirt from the front again, but at least I was certain she said books. With a k.
The doors in this hall were closed, but it was easy to tell which one was hers. Stickers spelling out her name ran in a diagonal line at about my chest height. There were also marks where other stickers once were, but apparently were scraped off. Rather than ask about them, I said, deadpan, "I wonder whose room's behind here?"
"Yeah, I wonder," she played along. "I mean, it's only got my name on it."
"You can't go by that. Maybe it's a wannabe. I mean, it is a pretty kickass name."
She made a face, an adorable pout, as she leaned back against the door. "I hate it, actually."
Weird. The last time I said that, she didn't have a problem with it. Did she trust me more now, or was she just fishing for another compliment. "Really? I really like it. It's distinctive."
"Yeah, well, you haven't had to go your whole life hearing stupid jokes like Ass-turd. There's not even a good way to shorten it."
Okay, that was genuine resentment. I gave it a moment's thought, and she was right. Either they call you Ass, or they call you Trid. Neither were particularly appealing. "Yeah, I guess. But those are idiots." Still, as was my way, I wanted to try to help. I could relate. I was deliberately named after the father of communism and least funny Marx brother and that hasn't exactly been easy either, and there was a time I tried unsuccessfully to get people to call me K. The only thing I could come up with to help Astrid was, "You could always go another way... the name Astrid comes from the word for star... maybe people could call you 'Star!'" I put an jazzy emphasis on the word.
It earned me a half smile. "Cute. But actually the name doesn't have anything to do with stars."
That surprised me. "Really?" It seemed to make sense... astrology, astronaut, asteroid, asterisks... all star-related. "You sure?" I immediately felt foolish as well as guilty for assuming I automatically knew better. "Sorry," I said before she could answer. Of course she would be. She probably googled it years ago. "So what does it mean?"
"'Divinely beautiful,'" she told me, but she wouldn't meet my eye. "I mean, it's just a name, I know it's not true." She uncrossed her arms and waved up and down her whole body as though her ugliness was obvious.
Unfortunately, her crossed arms had been hiding the nipples, and now that they weren't, her t-shirt was still wet enough for them to show through. I stared. A few seconds later I said, "You look fine." Fearing that I'd said the word too long and sounded lewd, I said, "I mean, you look great. I mean, there's nothing wrong with you." Fuck, now I was babbling. And still glancing down at her boobs.
Worse, this time I was sure she'd caught me, because she looked down at herself too, and I thought I heard a gulp of air, like a surprise at what was showing through the wet shirt. I looked back up to her face, and she was smiling, but it looked like a tight smile, the kind you wear when you're not sure what to say. And I could swear her face was turning softly red. And she wouldn't look me in the eye, instead her eyes seemed to be aiming towards the floor between us.
"I, uh... need to get out of these wet clothes," she said after a moment, turning back to the door, and letting me only see her back. "You wait out here, okay?"
"Of course," I said, again too quickly. "I'm not going to follow you in while you're changing..." I winced, feeling stupid for saying something like that after she must think I had been looking at her. She didn't seem to react though, merely calmly opened the door.
"Don't go anywhere," she said, which seemed odd. If I made her uncomfortable, then me leaving while she changed would be a good thing for both of us. Maybe, I hoped, she hadn't noticed me staring after all... she was only twelve. Maybe she just realized her shirt was transparent but didn't think I noticed.
Finally, the door closed, with her on the other side, and I started to regain my wits. It didn't really matter whether she caught me or not, or what she thought about it. I needed to get out of this situation as quickly and safely as possible. I wasn't going to do anything, but the risk was too high that I might give her the wrong idea and get in trouble.
Yet... if I just disappeared, when she specifically asked me not to, what message would that send? Maybe she'd decide I really was a perv who chickened out, and tell her Mom. Or maybe she'd just get hurt. And, there was one more thing pressing on my mind, and other parts of my anatomy.
I really, really had to take a piss.
Rainy days always seemed to do it for me. I mean, I might normally pee when I get home, but somehow, when it was a rainy day, or a particularly cold day, the feeling got more urgent more quickly. I called through the door, "Hey, uh, Astrid, do you mind if I use your bathroom?"
The door opened, and she peeked around it. I could tell her shirt was off, completely. But she was hiding her chest behind the door, and only her head and one shoulder was visible. "Go ahead. It's right down there." One bare arm snaked around the door and pointed to the closed door at the end of the hall.
Inside I could tell that it was clearly an almost stereotypical woman's bathroom, the sink and edge of the tub full of various feminine products that I didn't bother to inspect, and with fuzzy covers on the toilet seat. I lifted it and unzipped my pants, but didn't pee. It's not that I didn't have to, but I had an unwelcome erection... not enough that my foreskin was fully retracted, but enough to make things difficult. I probably could have forced a piss, but it might have sprayed in weird directions and that's not an impression I wanted to leave.
Besides, me and my penis, we needed to have a talk, first.
**
The genuine look of delight that animated Astrid's face made me feel good about my decision, and kept my eyes from lingering too long on the parts I shouldn't be looking at. And, once we were about to enter, she turned her back to me again, so it was easy to shove that out of my mind again and just be the friendly good Samaritan accepting an offer of coffee. I pulled my umbrella closed and followed behind her, out of the rain at last.
The door opened on a small landing, tiled floor, a rubber mat and coat hooks along the right wall, with an open door a few steps away, and to the left, a staircase that lead down to another door, which was closed and had a foreboding lock on it. "You don't have other people you invited for coffee locked down in the basement, do you?" I joked, peering down. The lights weren't on, so it looked spookier than it should have.
"Huh?" she turned back to me, then while I glanced back at the front of her shirt, she turned her head down the stairs. "Oh. No, the basement's not ours. The landlord split it. We get the upstairs, whoever else gets downstairs, and we share this entrance and the laundry room. But no one lives there now so we just leave this door open." She slipped her feet out of her shoes, took a step that squeaked out a wet sloshing noise on the tile. She frowned, lifted her leg, and began pulling the soaked sock off first one foot, than the other. She threw them carelessly down the stairs. "You can put your umbrella up there," she said, pointing to the hook. "Or anything else you want to take off." Her own eyes ran up and down my body, noting the side of my hoodie, my pants, which had visible dark spots where the water got me.
"No, I'm okay." I did hang up the umbrella, though, over the rubber mat so it could drip without much problem, and then looked down at my own feet to slip my shoes off, and in the process noticed her slightly glistening tiny feet, toes spreading out as though that would aid the natural evaporation. She didn't like the feeling of wearing soaked clothing... who did? I wondered if she would remove the shirt too... hoped, to be honest, but aside from another fresh glance at her chest, I made no sign of that... although I was starting to worry I was being too obvious, that she was on to me. I thought I saw her looking at me in a funny way, and immediately averted my eyes, focusing on finding a good place to leave my backpack. I chose the ground beside the mat our shoes were on.
"Come on," she said, and led me through her small, darkened house towards the kitchen. It was dark because none of the lights were on, of course, and with the heavy clouds outside, there wasn't a lot of natural light coming in either. As for small, well, it was like a large apartment. There was a small living area, centered around a TV, and an attached kitchen with a single small round table, then a short hallway that led to three rooms. If I had to guess, one was a bathroom, and the other two were bed rooms. There was a second entrance in the living room, out to the front of the house. Everything except the kitchen and the entry landings seemed to be carpeted, so I was sure Astrid's feet were dry by now.
Astrid put her book on a table by the couch, walked into the kitchen, hit the lights, which made the place seem a little less dead. The home was... to be generous, you could call it lived in. Other people might just call it a mess. There were clothes draped over the couch, and the sink was full of unwashed dishes, and more were on the table in front of the TV. It wasn't some horrible pigsty, there weren't bugs crawling on everything, and it didn't smell funky, it was just clearly not a house that was expecting visitors right then. But it was the middle of the week, and if my guess was correct, the house of a single mom, so I could understand it. Lord knows when I was her age my mom had trouble keeping the place clean on weekdays too, at least until she whipped me into shape.
The coffeemaker sat on the kitchen counter, just a simple home brew system, and Astrid worked it like she did it every day, changing the filter, tearing open the package, putting in the water, and within about thirty seconds, the pot was on and starting to brew. The pot, at least, was already clean, which said something about either how important coffee was in that family, or how rarely it was made. Considering her skills, I asked, "Drink a lot of coffee I guess?"
"Not really." She wrinkled her nose a bit, like the thought was unappealing. It was a cute expression, but then, it was a cute nose, too, small but with a slightly protuding round tip, which, where it met with the bridge of the nose, formed what seemed like an indentation perfect for resting glasses on without them slipping. "I mean, sometimes. But I make it for my mom in the morning."
"That's nice of you."
She shrugged, like it was no big deal, and then circled around, retrieved her book from the table and walked down the hall where the bedrooms would have to lay. "It'll just take a few minutes. Come on. I'll show you my books." While she moved to get the book I got to see her wet t-shirt from the front again, but at least I was certain she said books. With a k.
The doors in this hall were closed, but it was easy to tell which one was hers. Stickers spelling out her name ran in a diagonal line at about my chest height. There were also marks where other stickers once were, but apparently were scraped off. Rather than ask about them, I said, deadpan, "I wonder whose room's behind here?"
"Yeah, I wonder," she played along. "I mean, it's only got my name on it."
"You can't go by that. Maybe it's a wannabe. I mean, it is a pretty kickass name."
She made a face, an adorable pout, as she leaned back against the door. "I hate it, actually."
Weird. The last time I said that, she didn't have a problem with it. Did she trust me more now, or was she just fishing for another compliment. "Really? I really like it. It's distinctive."
"Yeah, well, you haven't had to go your whole life hearing stupid jokes like Ass-turd. There's not even a good way to shorten it."
Okay, that was genuine resentment. I gave it a moment's thought, and she was right. Either they call you Ass, or they call you Trid. Neither were particularly appealing. "Yeah, I guess. But those are idiots." Still, as was my way, I wanted to try to help. I could relate. I was deliberately named after the father of communism and least funny Marx brother and that hasn't exactly been easy either, and there was a time I tried unsuccessfully to get people to call me K. The only thing I could come up with to help Astrid was, "You could always go another way... the name Astrid comes from the word for star... maybe people could call you 'Star!'" I put an jazzy emphasis on the word.
It earned me a half smile. "Cute. But actually the name doesn't have anything to do with stars."
That surprised me. "Really?" It seemed to make sense... astrology, astronaut, asteroid, asterisks... all star-related. "You sure?" I immediately felt foolish as well as guilty for assuming I automatically knew better. "Sorry," I said before she could answer. Of course she would be. She probably googled it years ago. "So what does it mean?"
"'Divinely beautiful,'" she told me, but she wouldn't meet my eye. "I mean, it's just a name, I know it's not true." She uncrossed her arms and waved up and down her whole body as though her ugliness was obvious.
Unfortunately, her crossed arms had been hiding the nipples, and now that they weren't, her t-shirt was still wet enough for them to show through. I stared. A few seconds later I said, "You look fine." Fearing that I'd said the word too long and sounded lewd, I said, "I mean, you look great. I mean, there's nothing wrong with you." Fuck, now I was babbling. And still glancing down at her boobs.
Worse, this time I was sure she'd caught me, because she looked down at herself too, and I thought I heard a gulp of air, like a surprise at what was showing through the wet shirt. I looked back up to her face, and she was smiling, but it looked like a tight smile, the kind you wear when you're not sure what to say. And I could swear her face was turning softly red. And she wouldn't look me in the eye, instead her eyes seemed to be aiming towards the floor between us.
"I, uh... need to get out of these wet clothes," she said after a moment, turning back to the door, and letting me only see her back. "You wait out here, okay?"
"Of course," I said, again too quickly. "I'm not going to follow you in while you're changing..." I winced, feeling stupid for saying something like that after she must think I had been looking at her. She didn't seem to react though, merely calmly opened the door.
"Don't go anywhere," she said, which seemed odd. If I made her uncomfortable, then me leaving while she changed would be a good thing for both of us. Maybe, I hoped, she hadn't noticed me staring after all... she was only twelve. Maybe she just realized her shirt was transparent but didn't think I noticed.
Finally, the door closed, with her on the other side, and I started to regain my wits. It didn't really matter whether she caught me or not, or what she thought about it. I needed to get out of this situation as quickly and safely as possible. I wasn't going to do anything, but the risk was too high that I might give her the wrong idea and get in trouble.
Yet... if I just disappeared, when she specifically asked me not to, what message would that send? Maybe she'd decide I really was a perv who chickened out, and tell her Mom. Or maybe she'd just get hurt. And, there was one more thing pressing on my mind, and other parts of my anatomy.
I really, really had to take a piss.
Rainy days always seemed to do it for me. I mean, I might normally pee when I get home, but somehow, when it was a rainy day, or a particularly cold day, the feeling got more urgent more quickly. I called through the door, "Hey, uh, Astrid, do you mind if I use your bathroom?"
The door opened, and she peeked around it. I could tell her shirt was off, completely. But she was hiding her chest behind the door, and only her head and one shoulder was visible. "Go ahead. It's right down there." One bare arm snaked around the door and pointed to the closed door at the end of the hall.
Inside I could tell that it was clearly an almost stereotypical woman's bathroom, the sink and edge of the tub full of various feminine products that I didn't bother to inspect, and with fuzzy covers on the toilet seat. I lifted it and unzipped my pants, but didn't pee. It's not that I didn't have to, but I had an unwelcome erection... not enough that my foreskin was fully retracted, but enough to make things difficult. I probably could have forced a piss, but it might have sprayed in weird directions and that's not an impression I wanted to leave.
Besides, me and my penis, we needed to have a talk, first.
**
Re: The Umbrella Hitch - English erotic story
Chapter Six:
I didn't literally speak to my dick, but in some ways, standing there in Astrid's bathroom, it felt like I was having a conversation with this part of my body that went rogue and had led me astray. I wanted to say to it, "What the fuck are you doing, she's only twelve, she's just a kid!"
It might as well have said, "Hey, hot is hot. Hey, you know she's probably naked right this second?"
"Fuck off, this is not appropriate."
"I know, but isn't it awesome?!"
"Go down now."
"Did I hear go down? See, we're totally on the same wavelength here! While she's naked, let's get back in there and ask that adorable girl to go down on us."
"I'm not going to sexually assault a child!"
"I'm not saying we do that, but maybe she'll be into it!"
"She's too young to consent, anything we do is sexual assault! Besides, she wouldn't be into it! She's a sweet little girl!"
"I'm sure I'm great with kids. You have no faith in me. Let me in, and I'll be so nice that maybe she'll give me a sweet little kiss!"
I turned away from the toilet, where clearly nothing was happening, and instead turned on the sink, splashed some water on my face. "No, this is not the kind of guy we are. Get it together, or I'll cut you off."
"Fine, but you're making it up to me later, and I'm going to make sure you're picturing her."
Okay, obviously I'm wildly exaggerating, I'm not psychotic or anything, but it was a real struggle to go soft, not a problem I'd had since I was a horny adolescent, probably Astrid's own age. But eventually, with the help of the water on my face and a mental image of big burly men who would be making me pay in prison for acting inappropriately with a child, I took some deep breaths, and was able to pee.
I washed my hands, splashed a bit more water on my face, and left, no longer with a hard-on. At least next time I saw her, she'd be wearing something less eye-catching, and it would be easier to act normal.
Or, so I was hoping, anyway.
We opened the door to the hallway and emerged at the same time. Her changed outfit aside, she looked like practically a different girl, now. The wet cat look was gone, most especially around her hair. Although not completely dry, it seemed like she must have quickly rubbed her head with a towel... it was no longer slick against her head, and had a little bit of body, like she'd run a brush through it to tease, although that might have been its natural curls starting to re-emerge, or it simply frizzing out as it dried.
The other big change was that she was now wearing her glasses. They had black oval frames that to me seemed to comfortably straddle the line between nerd and hipster. They also seemed to make her look older... probably because her eyes didn't look as big and innocent, but there's also the fact that, glasses tend to subconsciously make you think the person wearing them is smarter which, on a kid, sometimes means older.
She was still clearly a kid, though, which is why her new outfit made me uneasy all over again. She wore a long, light purple t-shirt with what was I think once some kind of a stylized cat on it, but the print had faded so much that it was now almost a subliminal suggestion. And that's it, as far as I could tell, right then. It came down to her mid thigh, and I could see her legs beneath it were bare, which invited me to wonder about what she wore. It might have been shorter types of shorts (trunks would have peeked underneath), or underwear, or... she might really be wearing nothing but the t-shirt. It was a complete mystery.
My eyes wanted to solve that mystery. Where once they were drawn to the sight of nipples, now I knew they would keep drifting down to her legs, hoping that I'd get a flash of what the shirt covered. "So you want to see my room, now?"
"Um, well that's not really necessary..."
"Yeah, but I hardly have anyone over... I wanna show you my books." She disappeared into her room and I found myself following. Maybe she'd crawl on her bed to get something and I'd get a peek of shorts and my curiosity would be satisfied.
Her room wasn't what I expected a twelve-year-old girl's room to look like. There wasn't pink everywhere, or frilly pillowcases or a four-poster bed, or a big mirror. The walls were a sunny yellow, although towards, and on, the white ceiling somebody had painted dark blue or black stars, which seemed a little backwards to me. Her bedspread was a similar, though softer, shade of yellow as the walls, and the other predominant color was white. White carpeting, white shelves, and a white desk, although there were pieces here and there that were mismatched, varying shades of brown. The bed, which also had a light brown frame, was a simple twin bed, pushed up against one wall. One stuffed dragon seemed to be her only animal companion. She had no mirror, but a desk with a computer on it, one of those big tower PCs, probably several years old. There was also a TV, hanging on the wall facing the bed, and a few posters here and there, and one calendar which seemed to be themed around cute cats.
The room looked more or less clean, but cluttered. There were statues on the shelves, awards of varying types (apparently she was the school champion speller, but I couldn't tell what grade without getting close). She had a bookbag on one chair, and a bunch of notebooks and penholders that were scattered about many different shelves.
And, of course, there were books, but not as many as you might think. Only two rows of a shelving unit seemed dedicated to books, and there were a handful of others strewn about... practically any place you might possibly put a book, there was at least one or two. There were books on the nightstand, the dresser, next to and on top of her computer, the windowsil, and, of course, on their own shelves, although the many of the shelves weren't dedicated towards, but rather were full of a variety of odds and ends like the trophies, and merely had a book or two thrown there because it was extra space. "So have you read any of these?" she asked.
I started wandering about, looking over the selections, which at least kept my attention off Astrid's bare legs, while she went to her computer, and woke it out of sleep mode. I went to the shelves first. "Well, I read the Harry Potter series," I said, spotting it immediately.
She didn't sound too impressed. "Yeah, I liked them a lot when I was nine," she said. "My aunt bought the whole series for me."
"So, which House would you be?"
"I don't know," she said. "Why?"
"I don't know," I repeated. "It's like a personality test. I bet you're Ravenclaw."
"Nah, if anything, I'd probably be Hufflepuff. The lame ones."
"Hey, Hufflepuff are not lame. I'd probably be Hufflepuff." I was lying, really, I never felt strongly tied to any of them, although if I had to choose, Ravenclaw was probably mine. But I didn't want her to feel bad about herself.
She didn't seem to buy it. "You?"
"Well, I never really saw myself as Gryffindor material, and pretty much all the Slytherin we see are evil... Ravenclaw's kind of me too, but there's a lot to be said for Hufflepuff. They don't turn people away, and they don't turn their backs on them. Loyalty and inclusive, those are great traits, in my book."
Her head tilted, light in her eyes. "In your book?"
I smiled sheepishly. "No pun intended. So yeah, have some Hufflepuff pride." She turned in her chair, smiling, but I only looked at that for a second before my eyes dropped to her legs... she shirt was still hiding whatever, if anything, was underneath, but with an inviting dark shadow. I focused on the books. Hufflepuff wouldn't be having these sporadic inappropriate thoughts. I could benefit from being a little more like Hufflepuff.
I turned back to the bookshelf as music started playing. She must have started up a playlist right before she turned around. I listened just long enough to identify the song, but since I'd heard it so many times I soon completely forgot about it and continued looking through her personal library. At least until she spoke, while I was looking at a book called Cinder that had some kind of robot foot in high heels in it. "Do you like this song?" Astrid asked.
The song was "The Story of Us" by Taylor Swift. "Well, I like Taylor Swift," I admitted. "This song's a little on the sad side though." Which isn't to say that I didn't like it, sometimes I was really in the mood for downer songs.
"I guess. I like to think of it as hopeful, though. Like even if the odds are stacked against them, if they'd only just try, it might not have to be a tragedy, they might make it work. Get a happy ending."
"Yeah, maybe." It didn't seem like that would be happening, though, and wasn't it, like a lot of Swift songs, written about an ex? So, obviously no happy ending. "Are happy endings important?"
"Well, in love, yeah," she said, like it was obvious. "In books, it doesn't have to be."
I put the book back, and left the shelf behind, looking over the books that were strewn about. I thought I'd figured out her system. The ones on the shelf were the ones given as gifts, put in a place of honor but not necessarily read too often. The others must be what she was reading now, or the library books she hasn't yet returned.
What pleasantly surprised me, though, was the variety. The Lord of the Flies wasn't the only old book she had. Sure, there were modern popular classics like the Hunger Games and Divergent, a few lesser known ones I remembered liking like the Uglies series, and a bunch of other ones I'd never even heard of, but there were some plenty of older classics too. Narnia, and A Wrinkle in Time, The Giver, Alice in Wonderland. Sure, they were mostly books targeted towards kids, but I was still impressed. "You've got some good choices here."
"Yeah?" She sounded excitedly pleased at the validation. "You know them?"
"Not all of them, no, but some of them. You've got some good taste, from what I can see." I moved to check out a slim book on the corner of her dresser. But my eye was soon drawn to the small hamper on the floor beside the dresser itself. It was nearly empty, but it contained the clothes she had changed out of. And, when you're changing and putting clothes in the hamper, what's the last thing you put in? For me it'd be socks, but she'd already removed those, and that left, on top, what would be my second-last thing... underwear.
To cover myself, I picked up the book, to pretend to look at it, but really I was staring down at her panties, slightly rumpled but looked so soft, white, girlish and tiny, but somehow alluring. The front was face up, the crotch piece, that recently was soaking wet and covering... no. Think like a Hufflepuff.
**
I didn't literally speak to my dick, but in some ways, standing there in Astrid's bathroom, it felt like I was having a conversation with this part of my body that went rogue and had led me astray. I wanted to say to it, "What the fuck are you doing, she's only twelve, she's just a kid!"
It might as well have said, "Hey, hot is hot. Hey, you know she's probably naked right this second?"
"Fuck off, this is not appropriate."
"I know, but isn't it awesome?!"
"Go down now."
"Did I hear go down? See, we're totally on the same wavelength here! While she's naked, let's get back in there and ask that adorable girl to go down on us."
"I'm not going to sexually assault a child!"
"I'm not saying we do that, but maybe she'll be into it!"
"She's too young to consent, anything we do is sexual assault! Besides, she wouldn't be into it! She's a sweet little girl!"
"I'm sure I'm great with kids. You have no faith in me. Let me in, and I'll be so nice that maybe she'll give me a sweet little kiss!"
I turned away from the toilet, where clearly nothing was happening, and instead turned on the sink, splashed some water on my face. "No, this is not the kind of guy we are. Get it together, or I'll cut you off."
"Fine, but you're making it up to me later, and I'm going to make sure you're picturing her."
Okay, obviously I'm wildly exaggerating, I'm not psychotic or anything, but it was a real struggle to go soft, not a problem I'd had since I was a horny adolescent, probably Astrid's own age. But eventually, with the help of the water on my face and a mental image of big burly men who would be making me pay in prison for acting inappropriately with a child, I took some deep breaths, and was able to pee.
I washed my hands, splashed a bit more water on my face, and left, no longer with a hard-on. At least next time I saw her, she'd be wearing something less eye-catching, and it would be easier to act normal.
Or, so I was hoping, anyway.
We opened the door to the hallway and emerged at the same time. Her changed outfit aside, she looked like practically a different girl, now. The wet cat look was gone, most especially around her hair. Although not completely dry, it seemed like she must have quickly rubbed her head with a towel... it was no longer slick against her head, and had a little bit of body, like she'd run a brush through it to tease, although that might have been its natural curls starting to re-emerge, or it simply frizzing out as it dried.
The other big change was that she was now wearing her glasses. They had black oval frames that to me seemed to comfortably straddle the line between nerd and hipster. They also seemed to make her look older... probably because her eyes didn't look as big and innocent, but there's also the fact that, glasses tend to subconsciously make you think the person wearing them is smarter which, on a kid, sometimes means older.
She was still clearly a kid, though, which is why her new outfit made me uneasy all over again. She wore a long, light purple t-shirt with what was I think once some kind of a stylized cat on it, but the print had faded so much that it was now almost a subliminal suggestion. And that's it, as far as I could tell, right then. It came down to her mid thigh, and I could see her legs beneath it were bare, which invited me to wonder about what she wore. It might have been shorter types of shorts (trunks would have peeked underneath), or underwear, or... she might really be wearing nothing but the t-shirt. It was a complete mystery.
My eyes wanted to solve that mystery. Where once they were drawn to the sight of nipples, now I knew they would keep drifting down to her legs, hoping that I'd get a flash of what the shirt covered. "So you want to see my room, now?"
"Um, well that's not really necessary..."
"Yeah, but I hardly have anyone over... I wanna show you my books." She disappeared into her room and I found myself following. Maybe she'd crawl on her bed to get something and I'd get a peek of shorts and my curiosity would be satisfied.
Her room wasn't what I expected a twelve-year-old girl's room to look like. There wasn't pink everywhere, or frilly pillowcases or a four-poster bed, or a big mirror. The walls were a sunny yellow, although towards, and on, the white ceiling somebody had painted dark blue or black stars, which seemed a little backwards to me. Her bedspread was a similar, though softer, shade of yellow as the walls, and the other predominant color was white. White carpeting, white shelves, and a white desk, although there were pieces here and there that were mismatched, varying shades of brown. The bed, which also had a light brown frame, was a simple twin bed, pushed up against one wall. One stuffed dragon seemed to be her only animal companion. She had no mirror, but a desk with a computer on it, one of those big tower PCs, probably several years old. There was also a TV, hanging on the wall facing the bed, and a few posters here and there, and one calendar which seemed to be themed around cute cats.
The room looked more or less clean, but cluttered. There were statues on the shelves, awards of varying types (apparently she was the school champion speller, but I couldn't tell what grade without getting close). She had a bookbag on one chair, and a bunch of notebooks and penholders that were scattered about many different shelves.
And, of course, there were books, but not as many as you might think. Only two rows of a shelving unit seemed dedicated to books, and there were a handful of others strewn about... practically any place you might possibly put a book, there was at least one or two. There were books on the nightstand, the dresser, next to and on top of her computer, the windowsil, and, of course, on their own shelves, although the many of the shelves weren't dedicated towards, but rather were full of a variety of odds and ends like the trophies, and merely had a book or two thrown there because it was extra space. "So have you read any of these?" she asked.
I started wandering about, looking over the selections, which at least kept my attention off Astrid's bare legs, while she went to her computer, and woke it out of sleep mode. I went to the shelves first. "Well, I read the Harry Potter series," I said, spotting it immediately.
She didn't sound too impressed. "Yeah, I liked them a lot when I was nine," she said. "My aunt bought the whole series for me."
"So, which House would you be?"
"I don't know," she said. "Why?"
"I don't know," I repeated. "It's like a personality test. I bet you're Ravenclaw."
"Nah, if anything, I'd probably be Hufflepuff. The lame ones."
"Hey, Hufflepuff are not lame. I'd probably be Hufflepuff." I was lying, really, I never felt strongly tied to any of them, although if I had to choose, Ravenclaw was probably mine. But I didn't want her to feel bad about herself.
She didn't seem to buy it. "You?"
"Well, I never really saw myself as Gryffindor material, and pretty much all the Slytherin we see are evil... Ravenclaw's kind of me too, but there's a lot to be said for Hufflepuff. They don't turn people away, and they don't turn their backs on them. Loyalty and inclusive, those are great traits, in my book."
Her head tilted, light in her eyes. "In your book?"
I smiled sheepishly. "No pun intended. So yeah, have some Hufflepuff pride." She turned in her chair, smiling, but I only looked at that for a second before my eyes dropped to her legs... she shirt was still hiding whatever, if anything, was underneath, but with an inviting dark shadow. I focused on the books. Hufflepuff wouldn't be having these sporadic inappropriate thoughts. I could benefit from being a little more like Hufflepuff.
I turned back to the bookshelf as music started playing. She must have started up a playlist right before she turned around. I listened just long enough to identify the song, but since I'd heard it so many times I soon completely forgot about it and continued looking through her personal library. At least until she spoke, while I was looking at a book called Cinder that had some kind of robot foot in high heels in it. "Do you like this song?" Astrid asked.
The song was "The Story of Us" by Taylor Swift. "Well, I like Taylor Swift," I admitted. "This song's a little on the sad side though." Which isn't to say that I didn't like it, sometimes I was really in the mood for downer songs.
"I guess. I like to think of it as hopeful, though. Like even if the odds are stacked against them, if they'd only just try, it might not have to be a tragedy, they might make it work. Get a happy ending."
"Yeah, maybe." It didn't seem like that would be happening, though, and wasn't it, like a lot of Swift songs, written about an ex? So, obviously no happy ending. "Are happy endings important?"
"Well, in love, yeah," she said, like it was obvious. "In books, it doesn't have to be."
I put the book back, and left the shelf behind, looking over the books that were strewn about. I thought I'd figured out her system. The ones on the shelf were the ones given as gifts, put in a place of honor but not necessarily read too often. The others must be what she was reading now, or the library books she hasn't yet returned.
What pleasantly surprised me, though, was the variety. The Lord of the Flies wasn't the only old book she had. Sure, there were modern popular classics like the Hunger Games and Divergent, a few lesser known ones I remembered liking like the Uglies series, and a bunch of other ones I'd never even heard of, but there were some plenty of older classics too. Narnia, and A Wrinkle in Time, The Giver, Alice in Wonderland. Sure, they were mostly books targeted towards kids, but I was still impressed. "You've got some good choices here."
"Yeah?" She sounded excitedly pleased at the validation. "You know them?"
"Not all of them, no, but some of them. You've got some good taste, from what I can see." I moved to check out a slim book on the corner of her dresser. But my eye was soon drawn to the small hamper on the floor beside the dresser itself. It was nearly empty, but it contained the clothes she had changed out of. And, when you're changing and putting clothes in the hamper, what's the last thing you put in? For me it'd be socks, but she'd already removed those, and that left, on top, what would be my second-last thing... underwear.
To cover myself, I picked up the book, to pretend to look at it, but really I was staring down at her panties, slightly rumpled but looked so soft, white, girlish and tiny, but somehow alluring. The front was face up, the crotch piece, that recently was soaking wet and covering... no. Think like a Hufflepuff.
**