Chapter 5
The rest of that day passed in a succession of hazy highlights for Barbi. A bouquet of flowers arrived from Tom. He had sent it from the airport and it combined fifteen dollars worth of sentiment with a certain degree of regret. He told her he loved her and that the keys to the car were on the night table in the bedroom.
Several times she tried to read and once she attempted a letter to her father. She couldn't read and didn't know why. She couldn't write a letter to her father and she did know why.
She smiled wryly to herself at the very thought of it. What would her father say if he knew that she was making extensive plans to get a boy of fourteen to fuck her? He could probably send a psychiatrist to her side on the double. That's how conventional he was.
The only decent part of the day was a conversation she had in the late afternoon with Mary, the housekeeper. She was flipping through the pages of a fashion magazine when Mary came in to dust. Barbi watched her idly for a few minutes.
Then she asked, "Where do you go in the evening, Mary?"
Mary paused and stroked her chin with the broom handle.
"Movies. A dance, sometimes. Then again I might just go for a walk. It all depends."
In the more informal conversations between them, it was tacitly agreed that the formalities be dropped. They would be on a first name basis.
"No boy friend?" Barbi smiled.
"Around here?" Mary replied, scornfully. "I haven't seen anything real decent since I've been here. Not that I mind," she added hastily.
"No, they're not quite like city guys, I would say. Still, I should have thought there'd have been someone. But that's your business."
"I've had enough of boys. What I want is nourishment, not punishment!" Mary grinned.
"I think you're very right. Everything in its time. On the whole you do like it here, Mary."
"I love it! It's so quiet and, well, dignified. After what I've been used to, that is."
Barbi almost flushed. She wondered how dignified Mary would think her if she knew what she planned. Oh, how careful she would have to be!
"I've never known anything like this. I mean, being with people like you and Mr. Wallace."
It was almost as if the girl knew, and was twisting the dagger, but how could she?
Barbi thought that she would be more comfortable if she changed the subject.
"Anyway," she said, "you go out tonight and enjoy yourself. There's a good movie on at the Bijou."
The Bijou was the local theatre for teenagers. Mary seemed to be thinking of something else.
"Yes," she said, "men are poison. It's a funny thing and sometimes it even worries me, but I'm mostly attracted to boys younger than myself, and when I say younger than myself, I mean younger!"
Barbi's heart almost stood still.
"What do you mean?" she faltered.
"Well, I seem to like teenagers. Part of my trouble before I met Mr. Wallace was over a kid of fourteen. Isn't it awful!"
Barbi closed her eyes with relief. What hell intrigue was! Every word, every gesture, every nuance of meaning could be interpreted by the guilty conscience into meaning discovery, or, at the least, suspicion.
Another thought struck her. What was it that Mary was saying? She, too, was attracted to young boys? Could this be a coincidence? She eyed Mary carefully. like a lot of people doing a thing outside the scope of their experience and beyond the stretch of their moral convictions. Barbi had considered her actions, her designs on Gerry, as being a rather unique manifestation of a somewhat shady and undesirable moral characteristic. She thought herself to be a weirdo, but now, hearing what Mary had to say about her preferences, was this still true?
She said, "You're not telling me that you prefer boys to men?"
"I'm afraid so. Is that so awful? I know it sounds terrible; it sometimes worries me."
Barbi paused before replying. She realized she must take into consideration the difference in their own ages and their social status. She was some six or seven years older than Gerry, and she was married. And, anyway, was it so unnatural for a woman to like the young and the vital, the pure and the innocent?
Men traditionally chased young virgins. Wasn't it possible a completely natural reaction of experience to inexperience? She knew it wasn't but the possibility was enough to quiet her conscience, but she was interested in a light taste in another. She just couldn't help it.
"You mean, of course, that you, well, just went around with this boy?" she asked, carefully.
"I wish I did. No, I lived with him," Mary replied. "I guess you know what I mean. We were real lovers. Sex and all that. He got right in my hair in more ways than one! There was a time when I didn't think I could live without him. He'd only just finished school. He was a clever kid. I ruined him. That's the truth, I ruined him!"
Barbi chose her words carefully. She was thrilled beyond measure by what Mary had told her, but she didn't want to raise any suspicions by too close questioning. Still, her similar interests could make an easier situation for Barbi herself.
"Well, I suppose it's just human nature," she said. "But it's an episode that's passed and no doubt won't be repeated."
"I hope!" Mary grinned.
"You don't mean that you're still attracted to young boys?" Barbi asked.
"Not much! Yes, I'm afraid I do. Perhaps it's just what this little devil did to me, but I still am. When I see a younger fellow in the street I have to look the other way. Honest, that's the only thing I think could ever get me into trouble again. Real trouble, that is. But a maid needs sex, too, you know."
"I don't quite see what you mean," Barbi said. "It's wrong, I know, but it can hardly get you into trouble. Apart from the obvious trouble, I mean."
Mary stared. "No? What if the police were to find out? They didn't find out about me and the other guy, but if they had, don't you know it's against the law to seduce a kid? Seduction of minors, they call it, makes fun into something dirty."
"No, I didn't know," Barbi replied. Another complication! I suppose a minor, in law, is someone under sixteen, she thought.
"Age of consent in a girl," Mary continued, "but I don't know what they call it in a boy. Mind you, my boy didn't need seduction. He was hot for his age. Once he knew he'd got me hot for him, he was after me like an old wolf of forty!"
She looked at Barbi and her face fell.
"I haven't upset you with what I've said, have I?" she asked.
Yes, you have, Barbi thought to herself but she just shook her head.
"No, you haven't shocked me. I'm surprised at what you tell me. But I think I can see what you had to contend with in the way of temptation."
"You don't think I'm sick?" Mary said. "I sometimes do, myself."
"No, I don't think it was sick of you. I supposed most people would call it immoral, but, oh, I don't know whether you were right or wrong."
She said this so vehemently that Mary looked at her in surprise.
"Well, I know it's wrong even to think about such things. But I am shocking you, I can tell. I'd better get on with my work!"
And so she did get on with her work, watched by a reflective Barbi in whom the only emotion aroused by the confession was one of anxiety as to what might happen to Gerry if Mary saw him first!
The rest of the day passed quietly. At just after six Mary and a friend left for their evening out. The girl mentioned that she would be back very late as she intended visiting her sister in the next town. Mary would have to come back alone. Barbi had carefully found out from Mary that she was u-likely to return before eleven. That would leave two and a half hours for her to be alone with Gerry.
For the last time she considered the consequences of her action if she were discovered and for the last time she dismissed him. From then on she entered the affair with abandon and complete resolve to follow the dictates of her desires, dangerous as they were. She just had to fuck the boy!
Eight o'clock saw her fresh from her bath sitting in front of the dressing table in her bedroom. She was quite naked beneath her chiffon robe and as it fell open as she leaned forward to brush her eyebrows her creamy tits, as round as grapefruit, jutted out without suspicion of sag and trembled excitingly, at he slightest movement. Her nipples deep cherry, reared from the silken surfaces of the impeccable tits like buds on a rooftop kissing the first warm air of spring.
She finished her subtle attentions to her face, carefully applying the eye shadow to give her an older look. Then she walked over to her closet and gazed into it thoughtfully.
Something lush and extravagant? Something enticing and tantalizing? No! It'd have to be something simple. Something sweet and clean-looking. Something that enticed without overt sophistication and allure without being obviously seductive.
That referred, of course, to the dress! Her underwear was quite another story. If he got to see them, there wasn't any further point in pretending innocence.
She looked at her ripe young breasts and ran a hand over them proudly. Something to show them off was an essential. Black should do it.
She took a black bikini bra and put it over her arm. Then she selected a pair of black see-through panties, gossamer webs of frilly nothingness with plenty of open work lace that would show to advantage her silken thighs and the brilliant scar of her pubic hair. Would he drool when he saw it?
Now, stockings. What about them? Something sheer, evening stockings, certainly. But what color? She had a pair of black stockings she'd bought for a formal dance and had only worn once.
Remembering the effect that they'd had on Tom, when they'd returned from the party-he'd almost raped her on the rug in front of the fireplace with them still on she was tempted to wear them for this occasion.
But were black mesh stockings quite the thing to turn on a boy of fourteen? And, above all, did they go with the motif of simplicity she wanted? Regretfully, she doubted it. Dammit all!
She chose a pair of flesh-covered nylons, transparent to the gaze and weightless to the touch and indescribable to the caress. At least he would feel something nice.
Now, the problem of keeping the stockings up. On the face of it a single problem and in normal circumstances easily solved. Normal circumstances! Pantyhose would have solved the problem, but a black garter belt was much more exciting to the eye.
There, she'd said to herself, and it horrified her. These were abnormal circumstances! She shrugged the thought away. Her mind went back to when she had seduced her father's friend in the garden. He had been a devotee of garter belts. He had kissed her belly where the thin red strap of the garter belt she had been wearing had scarred her white flesh. His hard-on throbbed because of it.
But Gerry, would he like garter belts? She thought of it for a moment and decided that he probably would. He didn't sound as if he was completely without experience and perhaps some of the young girls he'd enjoyed had still been in the black elastic garter stage!
The thought of his possible .experience with young girls made her frown for a moment, but she realized the silliness of the emotion and smiled as she reached out for a thin black, frilly garter belt with two straps for each stocking. The black of the straps always looked good against the pristine whiteness of her plump thighs. Brazen and sexy.
She went back to her dressing table and put them under it. She smiled as she looked at them. A handful of seductive lace but to a man, well, they could change the course of a man's life and had so done, many a time!
Would it make a boy into a man?
She peeled her dressing gown off luxuriously, enjoying the sensation of the silk hissing over her full, rearing ass. She tossed it aside and stood naked before the mirror frankly admiring the blazing beauty of her sensuous body.
Her eyes ran approvingly down from her fine slim neck, over the heaving crests of her gourd-like tits, crimson-tipped and trembling with each slight movement of her body to her waist as if swept into its neat twenty-five inches to whip voluptuously out to her full, sensual hips. She turned slightly so that she could see the reflection of her pouting ass, hard and high as the cheeks flung up in full, palpitating hemispheres of creamy glory from her plump, scintillating thighs.
She turned again full on to the mirror, her eyes narrowed and a pulse deep in her belly throbbed as she gazed at the dark glory of her full pubic hair where it swept down from its severely horizontal line halfway to her navel into the V that ended where it dipped between her hot thighs to clothe the lips of her warm secret place with its crisp silkiness.
She ran her hand over the springy hair. It yielded to her touch like spring grass and she slid her middle finger down the center of the V and ran the tip of it between the lips, parting them and pressing the tiny dome of her clit until an erotic flush warmed her to wait for fuller pleasures to come. The boy, doing it like that would give her many more thrills.
She picked up her bra and held it before her by its-straps. Leaning forward slightly she allowed her lovely tits to sink into the gossamer cups.
Firmly captured, they thrust out hard and high as she delicately fastened the bra behind her straight back. In her underwear, she looked like a whore, which was just the effect she wanted.
She placed her hands beneath her tits and smiled as she gazed at their fullness. Briefly her thumbs caressed her nipples. They stiffened.
She picked up her panties. She looked at them for a moment and then nestled her cheek against them, thrilling to their silkiness.
Positioning delicately on the ball of one foot she slid one alabaster leg into the panties. She swallowed hard at the hissing of the silk as it slid over her flesh. Then she put the other leg through and wriggled them sensually over her flaring hips and settled them carefully about her lovely bottom, pulling the impudent silk at her crotch away from its saucy nesting place within the pouting lips of her throbbing cunt. She would have loved to masturbate just then!
She smoothed the panties where they clung, sheer and lovely, to her rounded belly and patted springy hair where it slightly bulged the silk at her crotch. If only she had the time!
"You do," she murmured, not quite certain whether she referred to her cunt or her panties.
She sat down on the stool before the dressing table. Then she took the stockings from the table and thrust her slim white arms into one of them. She carefully rolled it and then stretched out one slender leg. If the boy could see her now, how hard his cock would be!
As she slowly rolled the stockings up her leg a slight movement of her panties showed a few errant, glossy black curls against the bright whiteness of her thigh, peeking out from the elastic.
She smoothed the stocking up her shapely calf and snuggled it to her luscious thigh, stroking the sheer nylon with both hands to the top. She put on the other stocking and then stood and deftly wriggled into the black garter belt and, after a moment's hesitation, slipped the straps inside her panties. This, she decided, would help the hasty removal of her panties if the occasion warranted.
With leisurely movements she hooked the garter to the stocking tops and stood to survey the result. Then she put her hands between her thighs and stroked herself sensually to her crotch. Her eyes sparkled as she thought of the result all this would have on her young lover-to-be. It made her wet down there just to think of it.
Satisfied with her bare look, she moved back to the closet and took out the dress that she had selected.
It was a high fashion model that she had purchased in New York the spring before. It was in pale blue chiffon with a wide, fully flared skirt and a very low neckline. She also selected another of white, heavy satin with an elaborate neckline, but changed her mind.
She threw her dress over a chair and slipped into her new slip, her tits dancing deliciously in the confines of the black bra as she wiggled it up her shapely body.
Barbi adjusted the garter belt over her hips with care and then slipped the dress over her head, and with difficulty, zipped it up at the back. Lovely, but sexy, too.
The designers aren't capable of designing a dress that can't use a man in putting it on, she thought. But maybe that was why they did it. A touch to a back, and one thing could lead to another, like bed.
She smoothed and patted the dress and adjusted her tits in the bra to get maximum out in glorious abandon. A woman with big tits should flaunt it, she felt.
When this was settled to her satisfaction, she arranged the dress so that an inch or so of thigh showed beneath the dress. This, she had found, was definitely a sexy signal, if he didn't pick the other up.
She took the better part of ten minutes doing her hair and braided it across the top with a white ribbon, to look as youthful as possible. She felt this gave a touch of simplicity to the ensemble she wore. The next thing was to choose shoes. She decided upon a pair of high-heeled shoes in fabric with tiny buckles that drew attention, as if a device were needed, to her lovely legs. Some men, after all, had a thing for shoes.
She ground the heels into the soft carpet as she turned gracefully, swirling the dress high so that her gleaming white thighs, pinched deliciously by the tightness of the stocking tops, flashed and scintillated in the bright light from her dressing table.
From her jewel box she took a thick rope of pearls. She smiled as she wound them around her long slender neck. Wasn't this really all too much for such a young boy?
They had been a wedding present from Tom. He would die if he knew they were part of a seduction of a young boy!
Yes, pearls were the thing, though. They were almost innocent. Although she made no claim to understand what attracted a man any more than any other woman she had noticed how they set off the deep, shadowy chasm between her tits when she leaned forward and the soft gray of the pearls flashed dully against the creaminess of the tit flesh. How delicious it would be when he sucked them!
In deference to an emotion she couldn't define, she took off her wedding ring and in its place put a ring with a small, somewhat yellow, solitaire diamond. A tiny gold wristlet watch set off the delicate slenderness of her wrist. She surveyed herself again in the mirror, bending forward to pat a stray gray hair into place. Again she wished she had time to masturbate!
Her eyes moved to the neckline of her dress to where her tits, bulged by her position, thrust in creamy folds from the tightness of the black bra. She stroked the necklace of pearls and held it between the cleft between her tits. They felt warm and voluptuous, she wondered whether she subconsciously associated them with the hot wad fresh from a pulsing penis. To have a boy come between her tits! What a hot idea!
She smiled at the thought and looked at her watch. It was just eight-thirty. She put off the light and walked to the door. She could hardly wait. As she went slowly downstairs, her heart fluttering with expectation, it reminded her of the first time a man had fucked her.
On the last stair before the hall she paused as a flood of realization swept over her. Not only was she about to do something perverted, but she felt like she was going to come at any second and the boy wasn't there yet.
She looked down at her outfit and her cheeks crimsoned with shame. She was actually acting like a cheap whore in an X-rated movie all set to seduce an innocent young boy with a taste already started with a batch of silly schoolgirls.
It was the excitement of the matter that brought the flush to her lovely cheek and almost sent her running back upstairs to tear off the sexy underwear and put on a housedress and come downstairs again to offer Gerry a glass of milk and really show him decent hospitality.
At the crucial moment the doorbell rang. Another second and she would have frigged herself where she stood. The blood immediately left her head and she felt her stomach turn over. It was now for real. This, if she wanted it that way, was it! Her deep, starving sexuality smothered her conscience and she walked happily across the hall to the front door.
There was nobody there. She stepped out onto the porch and looked around. There was definitely nobody there. Deep depression hit her immediately.
Puzzled, she stepped back and as she did so a bell rang again. She listened and then realized it was the rear doorbell that had rung. The kitchen door must be open, that was how she had heard it. What hell! Who the hell could it be at the back door at this time of night? The last thing she wanted was anyone but a hot prick inside her.
She walked swiftly over to the kitchen door and almost ran through the kitchen and wrenched open the back door. Her mouth opened for an angry remark that was never to be.
There, looking somewhat nervous and pale of face, stood Gerry. He looked positively good enough to eat.
She looked at him in mingled exasperation and relief. Her cunt was wet all over again.
"Oh, so it's you. Come in. Why did you use this back door?"
"Your neighbors ... "
"Never mind the neighbors. Come in."
A thought ran through her head. Why would he be worrying about the neighbors if he didn't have something dirty in mind himself?
He stepped inside the door and she closed it, locking it after him, which gave her a feeling of the true seductress. Barbi was aching to grab him right then.
Barbi walked through into the living room. He followed her, his eyes burning through her clothes.
She moved over to the fire and stood with her back to it and made a show of feeling cold. Hoping he would take the hint.
"It's rather chilly tonight," she said nervously.
"It is quite chilly outside."
He was dressed for something tonight. He wore a blue plaid jacket with a turtleneck sweater and navy pants. Luckily, quite tight.
He looked older and more competent. Her nervousness began to subside. The whole thing was beginning to assume more possible proportions, that of a real affair. A common extramarital, boring adventure. She was glad that he wore somewhat more adult clothes although she loved the look of his clean, wiry legs in his khaki shorts, so tight and high that they suggested the proximity of his fierce young sex, his virile young cock. She felt it was better for her peace of mind that he looked less the absolute juvenile.
"Well, you were right on time," she said. "Sit down and get warm. Close to me, please."
She indicated an armchair beside the fire. He smiled gratefully and sat down and stretched his hands out towards the fire that blazed in the hearth.
He looked nervous and so engrossed was she with the carnality of the whole affair that she, for a moment, overlooked the obvious cause of her nervousness and sought another. It came as a revelation when she realized the root cause of his tension.
He had turned away from her and shoved his hand in his pants to stroke and hopefully soothe his poor, aching erection. Then he blushed.
It was obviously because he was very conscious that she had caught him playing with himself. It showed just how far gone she was not to have realized that this excitement and tension would exist in her. She realized it even before he came to her door. But her own erotic fantasies of his doing precisely the same thing had made it become a realization of her dream, almost a justification of it!
She walked sensuously over to the sofa that stood on the other side of the fireplace and sat down on it. She curled her beautiful legs beneath her, with just a slight flash of her thighs and folded her hands demurely in her lap. She was very conscious that her breasts were high above the neckline of the dress and her neckline felt heavy and warm and sensual as it rested on the hard flesh.
"Have your friends arrived?" she asked.
"All of them. They're settling in now."
"Suitably segregated?" she smiled, mischievously.
More of Gerry's tenseness slipped away from him.
"Oh, yes!" he smiled.
"Tell me, do you really have no trouble convincing your parents that there is nothing wrong in you all camping together like this?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Not a lot of trouble. Sometimes a girl's father doesn't think much of it. It's usually the mothers that complain about the boys!"
"I should think so, too!" Barbi said, instantly realizing how really hypocritical this essay into attempting to screw with a juvenile was making her.
"I hope I didn't give you an impression that we were really a lot of young immigrants," he said. "I mean, We are sharp, but that's about all there is to it."
"I can see that you, personally, are a boy who knows how to behave."
Then she stared differently at his hard-on.
His face turned scarlet and he buried it in his hands. She could have bitten her tongue out for having been so careless. She got up from the sofa and went swiftly over to him and bent to put her arm around his shoulders. His body seemed to ache with desire for her.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'd forgotten, well, that boys get excited so easily."
He looked up to her face but only to immediately avert his eyes, to the delicious, creamy, deeply shadowed chasm between her hot tits! As soon as he did, his cock got even harder and started to ache in his pants. He would have given anything to be able to whip it out.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"What for?"
"For what I was doing. For what I was doing when I went back to the tent. Oh, Mrs. Wallace, I am so sorry. I was jerking off while dreaming about you.
Barbi felt a flood of disgust with herself. She shook him gently by the shoulder.
"Don't feel like that," she consoled him.
"You're a boy, and, well, boys are sometimes like that. In fact, most often like that. Girls are the same, too, you know."
As soon as she had said this she was sorry, although why she should be was beyond her.
Was turning him on what she really wanted?
He stared at her.
"You don't mind?"
"Why should I mind?" she asked.
A subtle, madly provocative thought occurred to her. She hesitated the briefest moment before posing it in a question. She hesitated and was lost! The temptation was too great.
"Why were you doing it?" she asked.
He turned his head and was silent. He didn't want to say.
Cruelly she shook his shoulder to stir him to reply. She needed to know just how hot he was for her.
"Why?" she asked; softly.
"Oh, please."
"I want to know," she insisted, every nerve of her body rippling with excitement.
"I can't tell you," he groaned.
"Why not? Is it something you're ashamed of?" her hands were squeezing his shoulder, lovingly.
"Yes! Yes! It is something I'm ashamed of."
"Do you mean you're ashamed of what you were actually doing?" she asked.
"No! Well, I'm ashamed of that, too."
"Too?"
She bent her head close to his. The delicate perfume she was using was heady to his senses.
"You mean you are ashamed of the reason you were jerking off?"
He nodded wordlessly.
"What was the reason that you did it?" she insisted softly.
"Oh, please, don't talk about it."
There was a long silence while she gathered her courage for the leading question.
"Was it because of anything I did?" she asked at last.
Her heart thumped as she awaited her reply.
"No!" he cried violently.
She felt a severe stab of disappointment which swiftly changed to impatience. He obviously had considered her display of her body in the street and didn't consider that she had been deliberately trying to entice him so he would ask her to fuck her.
She tried again. "I was in no way connected with what you were doing when I came back to the tent?"
"No, well, you see, no!" he broke of confusedly. "I beat my meat all the time."
"I can't help feeling," she said, cunningly, "that I was in some way connected with it this time."
"Oh, you weren't, you weren't!" Gerry cried. "It's just that I'm a little bastard. I love having a hard-on and I love to play with it. I can't help myself."
Her heart went out to him.
"You mustn't say that," she whispered, putting her arm fully around his shoulders.
Her lips were very loose to his hair. It smelled of scented soap. She resisted the temptation to kiss his fair hair, to put her hand in his lap.
She tried not to be vulgar but the excitement of the situation and her frantic and unnatural desire for him drove her beyond the limits of her ability to reason. She just had to have his cock!
"Gerry, I want you to answer a question honestly. Will you do that?"
"I'll try," he replied, looking up at her.
The look he gave her made her turn away momentarily. It was a look of sheer adoration. She knew of a certainty then that if she went any further she had irrevocably burned her bridges behind her. Her hesitation was brief. All the signals were go!
"Were you masturbating yourself because of anything I did?" she asked him slowly, savoring each word and reveling in the intimacy and sensuality of the word masturbating.
"No!" he moaned.
"Are you sure? It wasn't because I was careless when I saw you in the street and showed much more of my thighs than I should have?"
He closed his eyes but shook his head grimly.
"It was because of that, wasn't it?" she persisted.
"Mrs. Wallace!" he groaned. "Please don't!"
She was making him crazy to beat his meat right in front of her and he was ashamed of the urge.
Her voice was a silky purr, all caution was now abandoned.
You beat your meat because you saw my thighs almost up to my panties, didn't you?"
He lowered his head.
"I don't know why I did it," he whispered. "But when you left I felt terrible. I just had to do it."
"Do you think it was so terribly wrong?" she asked.
He stared at her. "Of course it was wrong," he replied.
She shrugged and his eyes flickered over her tits as they jutted tantalizingly at the movement.
"You're not the first man to feel like that about a woman's legs. That's nature, Gerry. If it can happen that the woman and the man can, well, become friends, then that is what usually happens. If there is some reason why they can't become friends. . "she shrugged again, "in that case I can't see that it's terribly wrong for the man to relieve himself."
"Then you aren't disgusted with me?" he asked, in astonishment.
She smiled, her lovely face glowing with contentment. He was all hers.
"No, I'm in no way upset with you."
She bent close to him, her sweet breath hot on his flushed face. Her mouth watered for him.
"In fact, I think you've rather flattered me!"
She moved over casually to the sofa and sat down, hiking her skirt to show off her sexy legs.
"Yes, I think that's true. I'm flattered. After all, isn't it natural that a woman should be flattered to know that by just showing her silly old legs ... " she flicked her skirt high so that he had a momentary vision of her thighs again all the way to her panties, "like this she can drive a man to wanting to play with himself?"
"But I'm not a man!" he wailed.
"Don't think I'm being sarcastic," she smiled, "but what you had in your hand when
I looked just before looked very manly indeed!"
"You mean you don't think that what I was doing was wrong, that it was dirty!"
She winced and closed her eyes at his use of this word so adolescent in that context. How could she explain that his jerking off actually turned her on? She found herself wishing she could do it for him.
"No, I don't think it was wrong," she said. "I don't want it to make you feel guilty. Men are funny creatures, boys are, too. Men and boys have got to have satisfaction in these things. They need sexual stimulation as much as they need food. Women do, too."
She hoped he would notice and even perhaps remark on her emphasis. Barbi wished that she had the nerve to show him with her own two hands.
"You don't mean that a girl ... " His voice trailed away into silence.
"That a girl might play with herself if she was excited by a boy and couldn't do anything about it? Well, I can tell you the answer to that. It's nice, yes, I know, Gerry, because I've done it."