Good Vibrations Magazine

Since, I got my job in Cleveland as a buyer for a department store, I haven’t been back home for six months. I haven’t wanted to face the inevitable questions about my love life. Was I dating anyone yet? I was planning on saying I had been too busy at work, but the real reason was that I hadn’t met anyone, and I was developing an unnatural relationship with my hot water bottle. Still, my mom applied enough guilt about a barbeque for my father’s birthday to motivate me into arriving home late last night.

This morning, she made me biscuits with honey for breakfast and left them in my room. Still exhausted from the drive, I picked at them for a few minutes, licking the honey off my fingers, before I hid back under the blankets, wishing I had brought my warm rubber friend with me.

Hours later, I woke to hear the family picnic going in full swing outdoors. It was only a matter of time before my mom rounded me up to go outside.

Opening up my closet, I realized how many of my old clothes were still there. I thought my mom was going to donate them to charity. I was flipping through some t-shirts when my brother’s friend, Seth, appeared in the doorway.

He was one of those neighborhood kids who were always around the house, except now he was in his early twenties like me. I keenly remembered throwing him in the pool once to retrieve my brother’s GI Joe doll he had been trying to drown. It was easy. I was far taller than he was. I still was. The last I heard about him was that he was working for a roofing company, and he still lived at home.

“Your mom sent me to find you,” he said. “Are you coming?”

“Can’t you see I’m getting dressed?”

He shrugged. I looked back in my closet.

“What should I wear?” I asked, more to myself than him.

I tugged on a t-shirt over my tank top. The shirt definitely seemed smaller. Maybe I had filled out in the last six months. Pulling it off, I tried another one with Hello Kitty on the front.

“That looks good,” he said. “But it would look better without the tank beneath it.”

“Then turn around,” I said.

He turned around. I pulled off both shirts. The air hit my skin. Back over my bare chest, I slipped on the Hello Kitty shirt.

“You can turn back around,” I said.

He faced me, his gaze stopping on the Hello Kitty. He couldn’t like the silly mute kitten that much, I thought, and I noticed my nipples were hard. Wanting to cross my arms over my chest, but not wanting to draw any more attention to them, I acted like nothing was happening and looked at another shirt.

He was now openly staring at my breasts, and I was getting major gooseflesh. Could my nipples get even harder? Apparently, they could.

“That is definitely working for you,” he said.

I looked in the mirror. I tried to see how he saw me. I’d been cooped up in so many business suits lately; I hadn’t seen myself any other way.

Suddenly, he was behind me. He tried to pull me toward him, his fingers grazing my ribs, but I pulled away, feeling oddly titillated.

“Go sit over there,” I said, pointing to a chair.

Knowing I was being as naughty as a twelve-year-old girl, but wanting to know how he would react, I changed from my pajama bottoms into a very low cut pair of shorts in front of him. He looked as if he was positively hyperventilating. What was the big deal? He had seen me in a swimsuit since we were little kids.

Walking over to him, I stood between his legs and looked down at him.

“What is your deal today?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“I don’t know. You’re just looking hot today.”

Lightly, his fingers reached up and touched the top button of my shorts. This should be so creepy, I thought, but I couldn’t move.

Very slowly, he brought his face level to my chest, looking up into my eyes. Suddenly, he bit my nipple through my t-shirt. I gasped. The sensation was over whelming.

How could this little brat be doing this to me? It felt so good. Then he was squeezing both my breasts, cupping and kneading them. The room was spinning.

Peeling off my t-shirt, I straddled his lap, pressing my bare breasts into his face. He was going to town on them. His hands roamed down to my ass. I stuck my tongue in his mouth.

Getting off him, I peeled off my shorts and underwear, handed him the jar of honey and slowly climbed on the bed on all fours. It had to be the raciest thing I’d ever done, but my heart was pounding in my ears and I wanted to be fucked so badly. I heard the jar open behind me. The honey dripped onto the small of my back. His tongue smoothed it along my skin, spreading it across the tiny hairs, ticking my spine, before he took it into his mouth. He started biting my ass, my body twitching with every edge of his teeth.

Climbing up on the bed behind me, I felt him positioning my hips and unzipping his jeans. I was so wet he slipped straight inside me. Neither of us was moved for a moment, but then he began fucking me with a shocking abandon.

I was holding on for dear life, my stuffed animals contorted in my hands. The picnic seemed so very far away indeed. A cry rose up in my throat as I came. I was letting the boy who I shoved in the pool fuck me like a dog on my childhood bed, and I liked it.

Tara Alton’s secret desires are to live in London, eat Cadbury Flakes in times of crises, buy tons of books on Charing Cross Road, and own a nice flat with a green grocer and newsstand around the corner. In real life, she lives in the Midwest and writes erotica, because that is what is in her head, and it needs to come out. Check out her website at www.taraalton.com and her blog Flirty Kitty at www.flirtykitty.blogspot.com.