Jailbait

byArcher2050©

It all began on a dry but chilly afternoon. The restaurant was open, but dead. I don't own the place, but I run it most of the time, usually from the morning until evening. It had just opened a few weeks earlier. The place occupying the space before us was a bar that had lost its liquor license and went under. The new owner, my boss, still hadn't secured a liquor license, but we opened up anyway as a neighborhood grill in the meantime. We had the typical bar food variety; though I must say ours tasted a lot better than most bar food.

Having once been a tavern, there was a bar dominating the interior of the place, though we hadn't yet stocked the shelves behind it with anything. I was standing there, looking at those empty shelves and wondering what to do with them so we didn't look like we were already out of business, when the first customers of the day came in and stood at the bar.

It was a woman with, I guessed, her daughter. I greeted them, they greeted me back. The woman looked immediately to the menu on the wall behind me. She told me how she heard about us from a neighbor, was told the food was good, and wanted to get something to go. I told her thanks for giving us a chance and tried to be the best host I could be. The girl didn't say anything. Just stood there politely, reading the same menu on the wall. I don't know what made me even look over at her, but when I did, her eyes moved to mine. I didn't think anything of it, but she shied quickly and subtly away as if she'd been caught at something, and I thought I even detected the faintest trace of a smile.

I should mention here that I'm 27, and I thought the mom was probably closer to me in age than this girl was. So I didn't dwell on the look. I didn't really get any meaning out of it. I figured she was just shy.

I told them about the daily specials and handed them menus that offered more than what the wall menu showed.

As I talked, I looked back and forth between them. The woman's eyes were buried in the menu, as were the daughter's...most of the time. The girl was actually looking up at me whenever I was talking to the mom. I could see this out of the corner of my eye. And whenever I looked back, the girl would lower her eyes again. Not quickly or obviously, but as naturally as she could make it seem.

She was obviously checking me out, driven by an innocent schoolyard crush mentality. It didn't bother me. Actually made me feel good. But I wasn't going overboard with fantasies or anything. I just thought it was cute.

And she was cute. Not over five feet, the girl was such a tiny thing with such youthful features that she could have claimed to be as young as an 8th grader or as old as a high school senior and you could have believed her either way. Her big blue eyes and very curly black hair helped that young image.

The girl and her mom discussed some of the menu items together, and for the first time I heard the girl speak. The voice matched her appearance and yet it didn't; she sounded young, but she also sounded confident, and therefore more mature. But I know how teenagers take measures to seem that way.

I had to admit to myself that I was curious about this girl by now, and I didn't even know what about. I think I just wanted to catch her eyes again to further study whatever it was she was thinking when she looked at me. Because it wasn't just a passing glance. Her eyes lingered. They were communicating. But I had no idea what.

They ordered food, and I went back into the kitchen to literally wake up the cook. When I came back, the customers were now sitting at the bar rather than standing, and the mom was talking to the daughter about their plans for the day. The mom paid, then I went back to cleaning up and organizing across from them, trying to get the girl out of my thoughts.

It didn't take long before I'd succeeded. I was wiping down beer mugs while unpacking them, getting ready for the beer that I was told would be flowing by the end of the month. Three glasses in, I glanced up for no real reason, and I saw the girl was now leaning over, elbows on the bar, head in her hands. She was watching my hands as they wiped the mug. Bored, but not exactly looking bored. I kept looking at her eyes, but she didn't notice.

What I noticed, however, was the nice show of cleavage I was getting. When she'd been standing up straight, the girl's breasts hadn't looked very big. Or maybe I just hadn't really taken the time to notice them. But now, with her bending over, I could see down the neck of her shirt and eyed the dark, curvy space between her young boobs. I guessed they were large Bs, though from this angle they looked bigger.

I gave myself time for barely a glance before looking away, not wanting to be caught leering at some minor's chest. And by her own mom, at that. I looked at the girl again--not her chest--and noticed that she was sitting high. As short as she was when standing, I decided she must have been sitting on her legs on the bar stool, and that was why she was tall enough to lean over the bar like that.

Expecting her to straighten herself up out of restlessness at any second, I dared one more quick look into the smooth, fleshy cave. Then I looked around, training my eyes on other things. Anything.

But the girl didn't move. She would look around, checking out different things like the dessert menu, the stuff behind the bar, the cell phone her mom was fiddling with beside her. But the girl stayed bent over like that.

I stole another glance. And then another. It was just too good to pass up. Sure, she was too young, but she was also obviously a woman, even if not legally. And she wasn't protecting herself, or at least wasn't aware of what she was doing.

I did wonder, during this time, if she was doing this on purpose or not. I could've gone either way. She had to have an idea of the view I was getting by holding that position. Yet everything about the girl, from her somewhat skittish body language to her conservative clothes (I hadn't seen even a trace of cleavage peeking over her neckline when she'd been standing up straight) said she was shy.

I looked again. This time longer. I could make out the freckles on her upper chest.

She moved and I looked away, sad the moment was over, but fortunate it had ended before I'd been caught. Only she didn't straighten back up. Instead, she leaned literally on the bar. Her elbows were still on the bar, but she sunk down so her hands were on her temples, allowing her breasts to rest on the top of the bar. They squashed and flattened, squeezing toward each other until they almost touched. The freckles were more prominent now, leading all the way down and dotting the smooth hemispheres of her exposed flesh. I looked up after too long. She was looking right at me. She broke into a grin, but it wasn't a 'Ha, I caught you grin'. More like a 'Shhh. I'm being naughty' grin.

18 or not, at that moment I was captivated. I'm not saying I was going to try and slip her my number or anything. But I was very interested in what she was going to do next. The thing of it was, suddenly I wasn't sneaking peeks at her chest anymore, though she stayed in that position so I could have. No, now I kept checking to see that smile again. And those eyes! So shy at first. But with that smile there was something else altogether. Still innocent, still bashful, but also speaking to me. Sharing a moment.

The food came out. The girl and the mom got up from the bar. The girl grabbed the bag of food, turned, gave me another look, another flash of those blue eyes and that so subtle yet so killer smile, then turned away to the door her mom was holding open for her. I thanked them goodbye, watching the girl as inconspicuously as I could. She reached the door, looked at me again. Smiled. The door closed.

Silence again. The bar was empty again. I noticed for the first time that my heart was a beat or two faster than normal. I shook my head, gave myself a pathetic laugh, and decided not to mention this to anyone. After all, it was probably nothing. Just an innocent girl with an innocent crush, probably flirting and flaunting for the first time.

The next time I saw her, she came with friends. Three other girls. The others were so loud, their personalities so overpowering, that I didn't even recognize the fourth one as the girl from before until she stepped up to give her order.

The girls got their food, kept up the chatter amongst themselves, and ate. Through their conversation, I learned the shy girl was Melissa. But so what, I told myself.

I did various things to keep busy, ignoring them as best I could. But then I caught shy Melissa looking at me, which was to say I caught myself looking at her. She hadn't even been on my mind, and yet I'd looked right at her. And this time her eyes were talking again. Not saying anything to indicate anything. Just...signaling that she was aware of me, and she was happy I was aware of her. Another shared moment.

This led to me paying her more attention, taking more glimpses of her as I worked. No cleavage this time, but, even though it was winter, it was unusually warm, and the Nevada heat was prominent enough to have gotten her into a skirt. I admired her legs for as long as I dared. I don't know why. I'd seen better legs. I'd seen women's legs. Real women. But I couldn't stop looking.

And as we made careful eye contact two more times before they all got up to leave, I couldn't stop wondering what this girl's interest in me was. She had to know that anything other than looking was impossible, so why look at all? Or maybe it was my fault. I was the older one, after all. I should have known better than to give her anything with which to feed her interest.

When the girls left, Melissa was the last out the door. She held it open as she passed through the doorway and clandestinely looked over her shoulder and right at me. And smiled. This time the smile and the eyes lingered long enough for her to give me a slow, exaggerated blink, a batting of the eyelashes that stopped my breath short and weakened my knees just so slightly.

I took a deep breath after she left, wondering and wondering.

The next day, Melissa came in by herself. Low cut neck in her shirt this time, I noticed right away. Her cleavage was very obvious, as were her nipples thanks to the tightness of the shirt. They weren't hard, but they were there. Soft bumps in the stretched fabric. I didn't get to look long. Melissa had her eyes on me right away.

She asked if I had any take out menus. Her mom had asked for one during that first visit, and I had told them we were getting them in a couple days. I had actually just gotten them this morning, but hadn't unpacked them. I told Melissa this and she took a seat at the bar to wait. She didn't sit on her knees this time. Didn't need to. She rested her breasts on the edge of the bar, letting them rise and squeeze together again, this time the individual boobs touching, no, mashing against each other. Her cleavage was a tight, deep crevasse. I only got a quick look before I went looking for the menus.

Retrieving them should have taken 30 seconds, but it took me twice that long because my head wasn't in it. I kept thinking about Melissa and her chest. Cute little Melissa, who had probably skipped class that one day with her friends to make it here for lunch. Cute, jailbait Melissa with the beautiful, shy blue eyes.

I pulled a menu from the package, turned to give it to her, and my eyes went right to her cleavage again. She was, of course, expecting me to look her in the eye when I handed her the menu, so she saw exactly where my attention really was. We made eye contact again, me very embarrassed, wanting to apologize, but her telling me not to without saying a word. Just smiling. Then gently biting her lower lip.

She lifted herself forward, further emphasizing her chest for a quick second as she got off the barstool. It felt like a challenge to look at her there again, and despite not wanting to be obvious about it, hoping I could make her believe I wasn't thinking of her like that, I accepted the challenge and looked. She smiled the whole time, even as she turned, menu in hand, and walked to the door. She opened it, looked my way, flashed another smile, and then was gone.

God, this was frustrating. I didn't want to do anything about this. But I couldn't tell her to stop. And I didn't want to, anyway. I wished I knew what she wanted. But at the same time I hoped I never found out.

By the next morning I had forgotten all about her. Yeah right. Thoughts of Melissa, short fantasies and possibilities, had kept me up until one. It was early, still dark out, the rest of the world still asleep. I had to be to the bar early to let in the beer delivery. Yep, beer. We finally had the license (though I hadn't seen it yet). We were hoping to have the taps ready and the standard neon Bud Light sign hanging in the window by early next week.

I reached the bar, unlocked the door, opened it, and hit my head on the top of the frame when I jumped at the sound of someone saying "Hi" from right behind me on the sidewalk.

It was Melissa. She laughed, a beautiful sound, and apologized as she giggled. I rubbed the top of my head, still wondering what the hell she was doing here so early.

"I'm your papergirl," she said as if reading my thoughts. She handed me the morning paper.

My papergirl? Jesus. She was probably younger than I first thought. Sixteen? Maybe fourteen. Could a fourteen year old pass as a high school student? With years of tending bar and checking I.D.s, I knew some sixteen years could easily pass for 21. God, she could have been twelve for all I knew.

I looked at the two bags hanging from her shoulders. They were empty. She saw me looking.

"You're the last on my route. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I thought you heard my footsteps..."

And I would have, I thought to myself, if my mind hadn't been so consumed with thoughts of...her.

I thanked her for the paper, told her she didn't have to worry about scaring me. She said she was so sorry about my head, though she laughed as she said it, a friendly, no, a sexy laugh. Sexy? If so, she wasn't trying to make it that way. Maybe that was why it was sexy. Maybe I needed to get laid...by someone in my own age group, of course.

I was going inside and she was just starting to move on by when I looked to her eyes one more time. Only she wasn't looking at me. I followed her gaze. She was looking down the street at the lit-up interior of a donut shop.

"How 'bout I get you a coffee?" she asked. She sounded comfortable talking to me. Not overbearing. Just comfortable. As if having no one else around and no possibilities of someone interrupting us made it okay for her to talk to me.

"No, thanks. I always brew a pot," I said, indicating inside. I meant it as a way to avoid going with her. But I felt bad after the words were out. She had offered me coffee, and here we were, just feet away from my own, and I wasn't offering any to her. Why did I feel obligated? I didn't know why. But I did.

"You want a cup?" I finally said, and I realized she'd been waiting. "We're not open yet, so it's free." This was crazy and stupid.

"Sure. Thanks."

She sat at the bar. I prepared the coffee, doing so in the dark, as was my routine whenever I got in this early. The only light in the place came from the streetlights outside shining through the window. As I kept busy, not making conversation, I caught lots of movement from Melissa's direction. I casually glanced; saw her taking off her jacket. Revealing a skimpy, black top. Fitness apparel. I hadn't noticed until now, with the dim light glinting off her skin, that she was sweating. With her jacket off, I saw her bare shoulders for the first time. And her cleavage was back. What I'd thought were small breasts were actually pretty good size, average at least, but such great cleavage. Her shirt hugged her tight. More nipple poking at the material. This time they were hard.

She finally broke the silence, started talking. Though I wasn't new to Vegas, I was new to this side of it. I revealed to her what I didn't know, and she filled me in. Conversing like adults. We drank coffee in the dark. I sat beside her at the bar.

We did this every morning for a week, and as time went on I was getting more and more comfortable being around her. Melissa was the sweetest, and always a little shy, though she managed to keep up decent conversation. I found myself looking forward to those early mornings, scheduling tasks for work to ensure I'd be there when she finished her route.

More importantly, I was finally believing she couldn't be this mature in conversation and be fourteen. Maybe she was seventeen, though that seemed to be pushing it. She never indicated her age, and I was too scared to find out.

The thing was, I was so engaged, I didn't really care how dangerous all this was. I was enjoying her company, and it was clear to me that there was something sexual about it. Though not immediately obvious. And the way she talked when she got more comfortable, teasing me and often leading the conversation as I merely followed soon had me thinking that it was me with the crush, not her. I felt like I was the younger one, and I sought her approval while she already knew she had mine.

There was a distinct possibility our meetings was more about her feeling good to be worshipped my me, and it wasn't sexual at all for her. This seemed possible especially now that she knew me, and I had been careful not to make a single pass. But she had to know I liked her more than someone my age should have liked someone young like her, which only gave her more control and confidence. At times, I swear, I felt like her little lab dog, though not in a bad way. I hadn't felt like this about someone since my first crush flirted with the possibility of being my first girlfriend way back in fifth grade.

One day I just couldn't take it anymore. I had to know. I asked her how old she was.

"Oh, I'm 17," she said, but with the way she laughed, I didn't believe her. Problem was I still couldn't tell if she was older than that or younger.

On another day things got more involved still. She was running late, and after dropping my paper on the bar, she asked if I could drive her to school. It was one of those mornings that I had come in just to see her, so I was free to do it, but my desire to stay out of jail and out of the crosshairs of some angry father's rifle told me to say no.

But I couldn't deny her. I was putty in her hands. We got in my pick-up, and then she told me she had to go home first, to change and get her books. Now this was really dangerous territory, since her parents could've been home and would want to know why the bartender from down the block was driving their daughter to school.

"Don't worry. My parents aren't home," she said. That made me feel a little better, but there was something else. She knew I was concerned about her parent's seeing me, which meant she knew our relationship was wrong. But now, in the pick-up, I felt obligated to do my promised favor. I drove her three blocks to her house.

It was dark. She asked me to come inside. I did only because I wanted to be out of sight in case of a peering neighbor was suspicious about the strange truck parked in the drive. We hurried inside.

As Melissa got her things, I stood by the door in the dark, feeling like a burglar who knew he'd tripped the alarm but was risking staying anyway. I wanted to leave, but even though Melissa was late and rushing around, she seemed to be taking forever. I heard her go into the bathroom, heard water running, then she came out after what felt like ten minutes later with her hair drenched and a towel around her shoulders. She'd changed, too, and I wondered if she had actually taken a full shower while I waited.

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byArcher2050© 10 comments/ 138502 views/ 29 favorites

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