tagFirst TimeDitz the Babysitter

Ditz the Babysitter

byHarveyMarcus©

WARNING:

The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further!

This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.


* * * * * * * * * *

A Harvey Marcus Retrospective: Ditz the Babysitter

In a sudden delusion caused by two simultaneous synapses crossing each other, I thought, "Gee, wouldn't it be keen to tell the story of how I, Harvey Marcus, got started with all of this screwing around. I mean, it didn't just happen out of nothing. Everything has a cause, a spark, an ignition. So, here's my first Official Retrospective. Appropriately, it is my Origin Episode, how I involuntarily got sucked into a campaign of accidental sex with all of the world's eighteen-year and older females.

Now, it IS a babysitter story, but don't click away to some tale of curious next-door female neighbors or vulnerable nieces. This is a babysitter story like no other you've ever read. Read on, and learn how I, Harvey Marcus, got initiated.

* * * * * * * * * *

I had two friends I'll call Smith and Jones. Their last names are too distinctive to use in this story. They married before me and had kids, one each. Smith had a girl they named Jaqi. The distinctive spelling was intentional, not while he and his wife were under the influence of drugs, which he sometimes sampled. Jones had a son, John. Harriett and I had Annie a couple of years later and learned one of the rules of parenting: the child comes first. We found it impossible to get away, together. Oh sure, I could go and leave Harriett at home, or she could go out for an evening of cards with her girlfriends, but together? Impossible.

Now, in order for any of this to make sense, you have to understand my condition at that time. My sex life, to be specific. It was lucky that we conceived Annie on our earliest sex after getting married because, after that, and since Annie was born, Harriett has refused me in bed. She says taking my penis inside, a classic definition of sex, is too painful. Now, I'm not huge like those firehose porn stars. Maybe a bit bigger than average, but women stretch to fit, right? Anyway, my right hand, and sometimes my left, is my best friends. I gradually accumulated a small stash of x-rated videotapes and a small stack of foreign adult magazines. Oh yes, and one year's worth of Playboy, which I gifted to myself. Since the first issue came with a gift card from an anonymous buddy, Harriett couldn't put up as big a fuss. So, while Harriett played cards, after Annie went to bed, I played with myself. Not very satisfying, to be sure, but better than cheating on Harriett, something I vowed never to do. Looking at women, however, was just looking. And I looked a lot.

On one of our guys-only outings, Smith and Jones convinced me to go golfing, a sport I think is ridiculous. I mean, if you want the ball in the cup, just walk over and drop it in. That's what they do in basketball and football and soccer. There are no sticks in soccer. Imagine trying to thwack a basketball into the hoop with a paddle. Speaking of sports, Smith and Jones and I used to play pranks on our college's sports teams, since jocks were easy targets. Our favorite was stealing jerseys from the players' lockers. We planned on giving them back during the big Senior Day event, until our prank backfired. One of the football linemen, unable to find his regular jersey for a game, swiped one from a pile of practice outfits. Of course, it had a different number. The team manager was unaware and didn't register the change with the refs at the start of the game. Despite the fact that we had the higher score, their coach noticed the inconsistency, and so our team forfeited. Spoiled a great season. I wonder what happened to all those jerseys we stole?

Sorry for letting my mind wander. Happens too often these days. Back to the sex.

So, one day, at the bowling alley where Smith and Jones and I meet once a week to roll a stupid ball down a narrow path to knock over ten pins - don't get me started - I pour my heart out about how Harriett and I never get any time alone. Hell, we can't even go see a movie or have dinner out. The neighborhood carryout places know us by our caller ID.

Like clockwork, without placing an order, the bar maid approached us with a tray of drinks. Her uniform was consistent on every visit: a ruffled blouse to camouflage her breast size, a short skirt that sticks out like an umbrella, nylons with seams, and spiked heels. As if it were choreographed, Smith dropped his $20 bill and she bent over to pick it up. Smith and Jones both tilted their heads to get a good look up her skirt. How juvenile! I just rolled my eyes and looked the other way. Smith and Jones each tipped her a buck. Big spenders!

After she left, Smith told me he knew a terrific babysitter named Daphne who came cheap. "She's older than the teens who usually are the only ones available and she's more mature and responsible."

"Yeah, mature, says Jones."

Evidently, Jones knew something of her as well.

Smithy continued, "She got along great with Jaqi." And, Smith told me she is exclusive, meaning she only sits for one family at a time. "Gives them her full attention. Evidently she doesn't do it for the money. One of her grandfathers passed away and she inherited a wad." Smith says she does it for the pleasure.

Jones starts giggling, holding his hand over his mouth. I didn't get the joke.

"So you used her and were satisfied?" I asked.

Smith nodded vigorously.

"Yeah," Jones chimed in, "I used her after Smith."

Then they were both laughing, tears running from their eyes. I still didn't see the humor.

"I'll call you with her number," said Smith. Choking on his beer, he added, "You'll love her!"

"Love is right," replied Jones.

With a guffaw, they resume laughing. I knew them too well. This had to be a set-up. Either Daphne was a complete failure and it was my turn to have disaster strike, or they were plotting something else. Damned if I was going to be the butt of one of their jokes!

So I left the job of interviewing Daphne to Harriett, figuring she'd be a better filter on a scam. If it blew up in her face, Smith and Jones wouldn't have the laugh on me. Turned out, Harriett reported that Daphne seemed competent, with excellent references, not only from Smith and Jones, but other families as well. "Odd," Harriett said, "all the letters we written by the fathers."

So we hired Daphne, who insisted on being called Ditz. Now, to me, this was a slur on her mental prowess. But she insisted. She was very cute, hair curved around her face, strong jaw, and nice build. Like I said, I look at women, and Daphne was a woman worth looking at.

Daphne loved Annie, and it was mutual. Annie perked up at the sight of her once-every-two-weeks companion. Then we increased the frequency to once a week. After all, we were Daphne's only customers. Then, a couple of times a week. She came so cheap, Ditz could be Annie's company even if Harriett or I were home. Ditz was like the older sister Annie would never have.

Ditz was around on some of the evenings that Harriett went out. I was losing opportunities for self-satisfaction, but gaining opportunities at Daphne-watching.

I almost didn't notice, but then again, I was constantly on the lookout. At women, I mean, including Daphne. The exposure incidents started small. Daphne letting her skirt slide a bit too high on her thighs, or bending over with a low cut top to show deep cleavage.

On one of our bowling outings, Smith wanted a status report. "How is Ditz working out?"

"Fine. Annie loves her, like you said." I dropped my voice. "Tell me, did you ever notice how Ditz doesn't pay attention to, well, keeping herself covered?"

Smith and Jones looked at each other, eyes wide. "What do you mean?"

I explained the brief flashes and ever-brief clothing.

"Your mind is in the gutter, Marcus," said Smith.

"You've always had a fertile imagination," added Jones.

"That never happened with me." Smith elbowed Jones. "Did Ditz expose herself to you?"

Jones shook his head.

Their expressions were like cartoon characters, exaggerated eyes and mouths. Then they clinked beer bottles and burst into laughter.

"Come on, you're up," said Smith.

"Or you will be." Jones doubled over, laughing so hard he seemed to be in pain.

Good thing I was designated driver. These guys were drunk and we were only in the third frame of the first game. Every time Daphne's name was mentioned, the pair would stifle a laugh, and then give up, practically rolling on the floor. Nothing makes Smith and Jones laugh harder than a dirty joke. And they'd tell the most outrageous ones, even when we'd get together with our wives. That's why the three of us were now getting together stag. Could their exaggerated jocularity mean that Ditz had made herself available for sex with them? I'd read the most popular erotic stories on the topic. Child falls asleep while being sat. Wife is away/asleep/still at a party/etc., and the babysitter seduces the husband in a coy way. But Ditz? She was just teasing, or maybe she didn't know what she was doing, showing a bit too much leg or chest. Nah. Smith and Jones were teasing me. Those things only happen in stories.

The incidents of exposure accelerated. On a subsequent visit, Ditz wore a halter-top that tied in the back. Evidently no bra, just the piece of material tied at her neck and around back. In her traditional rough housing with Annie, the back tie came undone. I was afraid to say anything, or be so bold as to touch her and retie it. Hell, the truth is I was waiting for a tit shot, a glance at Ditz's chest. And it came, as she leaned over the table. The material fluttered straight down, and I got a clear profile of her breast. Nice teardrop shape, a little bigger than I'd expected from previous glances. I looked away before anyone in the room noticed I'd spied.

The next incident was as she was leaving our house. She'd worn a nice blouse and very short skirt that evening. I'd been sneaking glances as she walked and sat, but with no results. Just before departing, she put a foot up on a chair in our hallway to tie her shoe. I was about to complain about shoes on furniture when I spied her exposed panties, tight and translucent across her buttocks and pussy. I bolted for the bathroom for relief.

On her next visit, Ditz hadn't closed the bathroom door. I walked in on her, panties at her ankles, on the toilet. She wiggled her knees open and closed as she apologized. She was always so innocent and I was always guilty after such incidents.

I finally relented and began calling her Ditz, although I choked each time I said her name. A few weeks she started working for us, Annie was invited to a costume birthday party. Ditz helped Annie select a costume - ballerina - and even assisted Harriett in putting one together. Seems that Ditz had a creative talent and imagination. On the day of the event, Ditz showed up, wearing an identical costume. We hadn't scheduled her to work, but she said she wanted to accompany Annie to the party, just for fun. We didn't have to pay. Unfortunately, Harriett had offered to be carpool driver to a bunch of kids, I was going along to take some pictures. There was no room in the car for another person.

"Oh, I can sit on Mr. Marcus's lap," Ditz said.

What was I going to say? Bad idea? Harriett agreed without asking for my opinion. So there I was, in the back seat, with Ditz on top of me. Her pink ballerina skirt stuck straight out, so her legs were exposed all the way up. So were her dancing panties in matching pink. It was impossible not to get a little excited at the feel of her ass on my thighs. The panties were satiny, so her butt slid all over my lap. I tried to keep her forward, until Annie reclined her front seat. That forced Ditz to slide back. Damn, Ditz's pink-pantied ass was in direct contact with my groin. And, I had the beginnings of an erection that got harder the more she wiggled her ass.

"You okay back there?" Harriett asked. Ditz's head blocked my view of the rearview mirror.

"It reminds me of sitting on my daddy's lap, when I was a little girl," said Ditz.

I wonder if her daddy sported a hard on during those occasions.

When we arrived at our destination, Ditz grabbed my leg to keep her balance as she got out. The spot she picked was my upper thigh, just below my erection. And she grabbed hard, and almost didn't let go until she was completely out of the car. She offered me a hand when it was my turn, but I used a strap hanging above the door. I pushed any lascivious thoughts from my mind. Horny as I was, no way was I going to be intimate with Annie's sitter.

On the ride home after the party, I suggested quietly to Annie that she might sit in Ditz's lap. Of course, Annie took the bait, and I escaped a duplicate of my close encounter. The last thing I wanted was to get involved sexually with Annie's sitter and best friend.

One Friday, after a dinner out at one of our usual haunts where Harriett and I sat and ate in silence, Ditz was waiting in the front hallway with a duffel bag.

"Going somewhere?" I asked.

"Didn't I mention? I have to meet my folks up at our cabin. It really isn't that far. Just across the Wisconsin border."

Ditz had a dreamy expression. The last thing I wanted was a long drive, especially alone with Ditz. The comfort of my own bed beckoned, but Harriett was insistent. "You wouldn't have Ditz stay home alone, would you?"

The idea of the two of us alone together at her house? Dangerous. Maybe it was best to take her to her folks. I grabbed Ditz's bag and dragged myself out to the car. She slid into the passenger seat, her skirt tight around her hips and thighs.

"Just take 41 north to Wisconsin exit L," she said. With a yawn and a stretch, she curled up on the seat facing the door.

In fetal position, her rear faced me, and her short denim skirt did nothing to cover her thighs. Oops, a wiggle and it's over her hips. Pink panties. The light was too dim to make out any details, but my imagination ran wild. Keeping my eyes on the road was almost impossible. She shimmied in the seat and lifted one leg. Damn, now one of her legs stretched past the gearshift, putting her heel in my crotch and spreading her thighs a bit. Her foot rubbed back and forth. Did she know she was giving me a foot job? I was stiff with no recourse.

After too many lettered roads, the sign said Rural L. An adult porn store advertising videotapes and magazines stood at the exit. I wondered if they'd still be open after I dropped Ditz off.

I shook Ditz's hip. She swiveled, her leg still on my groin. Her legs had no choice but to spread open, pushing her skirt around her waist. She stretched her arms above her head, thrusting her chest forward. God, had Ditz's tits grown since the last time I sneaked a peek?

"Take a right, then a left at the stop sign," she directed.

We were in the wilderness, as far as I was concerned. How would I ever find my way out of this maze, in complete darkness? Ditz directed me to take a turn off what must have been the main road through the community, but to me was a poorly paved side street. The path to her folks' cabin was unpaved and pitch black except for my headlights.

"See, there it is. Isn't it cozy?" she asked.

The building was a modified A-frame, wide at the bottom with an extended loft space above. I didn't see any parked cars. "Where are your folks?"

"They must have gotten held up. My father is so unreliable. Not at all like you, Mr. Marcus. I can count on you. Pull up a little further." Ditz leaned over her chair to get her backpack on the second row. Her pantied ass was completely exposed inches from my face. Why would a lovely young lady expose herself to an older guy like me? I bet she could have any guy at school.

Ditz sat down and pulled a long-stalked flashlight from her bag. It was too phallic to ignore. "Pull up the driveway." My tires chattered on the gravel. I heard a muffled popping.

After putting the car in PARK, I swung my door open and walked around the car, leaving the headlights on. I had two flats, both front tires.

"What the hell?"

Ditz had joined me. I grabbed her flashlight. A path of nails stretched from one edge of the driveway to the other.

"Careless construction workers," hissed Ditz. "Walk me to the door."

I handed her the flashlight before I turned off my headlights and the engine. My coupe was going nowhere. "Is there a garage nearby?"

"I'm sure it's closed by now. The owner is Dad's buddy. We can call him - tomorrow morning."

Tomorrow? I'm stranded out here with this overtly sexual young woman? Worse than being at her house, by dozens of miles. "Do you have a cellular phone?"

Ditz's hair waved as she shook her head. "Nope, my folks say it's too expensive." She opened the front door without using a key. "Come on in. There's no electricity yet but there's gas so we have hot running water. We'll be comfy."

I had no intention of getting comfortable with her. The rooms were framed but no plasterboard or walls had been installed. The place seemed strange with the intended divisions yet without the obstructions. From the front door I could see everything. The kitchenette had cabinets with gaps for appliances. The bathroom had a standing glass shower. A makeshift ladder extended to the second floor - a permanent staircase hadn't been built, or maybe the ladder would remain.

"Like it?" Ditz pirouetted with her arms out. "Of course, it'll be better when it's done. The perfect hide-a-way."

"Very nice. It's late." My scan found a full-size bed on the main floor. "Anyplace upstairs for me to sleep?"

"We could share the bed." She sauntered over and patted the mattress.

"No thanks."

Ditz pouted. "There's an inflatable in the loft."

"Could I borrow the light?"

Ditz blinded me by shining the flashlight in my eyes. The next moment, she stood next to me. "Here."

I climbed the ladder, which shook with each rung. Sure enough, there was an inflatable twin mattress wadded up. I illuminated the entire loft are, but there was no pump to be found. "Isn't there a pump?"

Ditz's voice came from the darkness below. "I think it's at home. My bicycle had a flat."

I decided that being winded from blowing up the mattress by mouth was better than risking sharing a bed with Ditz. I climbed down and began to blow lungs full of air into the shapeless mass that would eventually be my bed. I'd be winded but safe.

"Well, I'm going to take a shower." Ditz was invisible in the darkness. I was glad not to be witnessing her striptease. "Want to join me?"

"No thanks." It was bad enough knowing that she'd be naked just feet from where I sat, huffing and puffing.

"Ow. I stubbed my toe on a wall frame."

"Rub it and it'll feel better."

"I'll remember that."

I heard the water running and took a breather. How many exhales would this take, anyway?

"Damn!"

"What now?" I asked.

"I dropped the soap. Shine the light this way."

Shit. I didn't want to see Ditz naked. Actually, I did, but I shouldn't. It wouldn't be right. I aimed the flashlight along the floor, slowly moving it in the direction of the shower stall. There was no way to illuminate the shower floor without bathing Ditz in the same glow. Her back was to me. Nice legs, shapely round ass, her hair a wet snaggle. "There it is." Ditz bent at the waist. I was too far to see any details, but I knew her pussy was there, on display. I kept the light steady as she straightened. Her back was to me as I watched her soap up her arms, caress her ass, her elbows flare as she washed her chest. I was breathing heavy, the mattress the beneficiary. How could she be so comfortable, exposing herself? Where was her sense of propriety?

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