tagIncest/TabooJessica is So Shy

Jessica is So Shy

byaddieQ©

Please note, the following story has graphic sexual content. If you are younger than 18, please do not read any further.

Everybody is over 18 years old.


*

I think she is the shyest person I've ever met.

Her name is Jessica, and she worked in the health food store in my little town.

We met on her very first day working at the store, she was arranging the fruit on one of the display cases. When I saw her, I was immediately smitten, she was just so adorable.

I feel a little funny saying this, because I'm probably old enough to be her father. I just moved to this town, and I took a job as an art teacher at the local college. I try not to think about girls who are so much younger than me, but there was something poignant about Jessica.

She has this amazing red hair that she keeps pulled back in a modest ponytail, and her skin was so pale and covered in freckles. She's not really tall, but at the same time she seems sort of gangly, like she hasn't figured out how to be comfortable in her body yet. And she was wearing a really cute pair of little librarian glasses.

There was something about her that was really skittish, and it was obvious the first time I saw her. She acted so timid that I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of concern.

I'm old enough that it felt funny that I had such an emotional reaction to seeing her. The feeling was different than simply an older guy seeing a cute young girl, but I wasn't sure what it was.

I found out from someone else at the store that she had just graduated from high school, and the manager felt sorry for her, so she hired her part time. She was rarely behind the cash register, I think that would have been hard for her, she just seemed too nervous interacting with people. Instead, she was always stocking things in the isles and the fridge, and as silly as this sounds, she would do a wonderful job, she would arrange the items so beautifully. She had a slow artist way about her.

I remember the first time I saw her, I just stood there and stared. I mean, obviously she is a very pretty girl, but for some reason I was absolutely thunderstruck by how vulnerable she seemed, there was something so mysterious, something hidden by the self-conscious way she held herself.

I remember that she was wearing a pair of baggy overalls, and an oversized sweatshirt. It was funny to see a beautiful young girl dressed in a way that was so frumpy. There was no way to know what she really looked like, I actually couldn't even tell if she was skinny of not.

Suddenly, a big box of oranges tipped over and spilled all over the floor. She kind of gasped out loud, and I watched as she nervously tried to keep them from rolling all over the place. Without thinking I went up and began to pick up the oranges.

She looked at me and whispered a timid voice, "Oh, it's okay Sir, please, I'm fine..."

I was shocked at how skittish she sounded, but I smiled and said that I was happy to help. I also added she didn't need to call me Sir. I introduced myself and smiled. She acted so awkward and nervous, but I could tell that she appreciated my simple gesture. After everything was picked up, she thanked me in that timid little voice of hers.

After that, I always made it a point to say hello, and to try to talk with her, even if she never said much. I was always trying to act as calm as I could with her in the hopes that she wouldn't feel in any way awkward. But that was hard because she always seemed so nervous.

Little by little she began to smile, at least a little bit, when I came into the store. Seeing her smile was somehow so sweet for me to see.

She asked me what I did in town, and I explained I worked as an art teacher at the local college. She perked up a little and said, "Really?" It looked like she wanted to say something, but she was just too timid to ask me anything more. I told her it could be a really rewarding job.

On another day I saw her fumbling with her purse, I was walking over to say hello, and as I approached she dropped it on the floor and everything spilled out. There were a lot of papers and a red book with a clap. Without thinking I got down and began to pick up the papers.

Jessica grabbed the red book and hurriedly put it back in her purse. As I picked up the paper, I was immediately aware that there were small little drawings on each page, tiny images done in pen.

Jessica sort of whimpered, "Oh no, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry..."

I calmly asked, "Jessica, these are really good, did you draw these?"

She seemed so embarrassed, and she tried to put them all back in the folder as quickly as she could. I wouldn't let her get away without answering, and I asked her again. It took a while to answer, but she said she liked to draw, and it helped her feel more peaceful.

I asked if I could look at her drawings, and I even offered to help her if she has any questions. She thanked me, but said that she really shouldn't. I tried to be as kind as I could, but I could tell she was uncomfortable. She said she needed to get back to work, and she thanked me again, and walked away and into the back room.

As I stood there watching her walk away, I saw a lone piece of paper under one of the shelves. I reached down and picked it up. It was a simple drawing of one frail little flower inside a glass of water. Oh God, it was so perfectly lovely. I wanted to give it back to her, but instead, I carefully put it inside my jacket and left the store.

The next day I stopped by the store so I could say hello to Jessica, but she wasn't there and I assumed it was one of her days off. I asked the girl behind the counter when she would be in next, and I was told she would be in later in the afternoon.

I asked the girl behind the counter how things were going for Jessica at the store.

She knew what I was hinting at and said, "Are you asking because she acts so shy?"

I replied, "I guess I am, she seems really sweet, but I'm a little bit worried about her."

She quietly confided, "All of us here at the store feel the same way, we all want to help her because she just SO skittish, but none of us are sure what to do. All we can do is be nice to her."

"That's nice to hear."

The girl looked at me and said, "Wait, are you the art teacher that talks to her?"

This took me by surprise, and I said, "Well - yes, I guess so."

Then the girl behind the counter smiled in a mischievous way and said, "Oh, so you're the one."

"What do you mean?"

She giggled and said, "Just so you know, Jessica REALLY likes you."

It sounded like some gossip from the girls at the store, but at the same time it warmed my heart.

I came back to the store that afternoon and found Jessica.

I saw her working in the isle and she briefly smiled, then she looked past me, and her expression became tense. I turned around and saw a very stern looking woman entering the store.

Jessica whispered a panicky, "Oh no."

I asked, "Who is it."

"It's my mother."

And then I stepped back, and I watched as this mean woman berated Jessica in front of me and other people in the store. It was awful.

I tried to understand what she was happening. Part of me wanted to step in and tell her mother to leave poor Jessica alone, but I couldn't.

At one point her mother said, "You are 18 years old now, and if your father was still alive to see you - he would be ashamed!"

I watched Jessica visibly flinch.

The whole thing lasted less than a minute, and then her mother turned around and walked out of the store. Jessica looked as sad and fearful as I'd ever seen. It broke my heart. I watched as she scurried into the back room. I didn't know what I should do, I wanted to follow her and give her a big hug, but instead I left and felt like a coward.

I was so shaken by seeing Jessica so upset, and I needed to know if she was all right. Later that day, I went back to the store right before closing. It was Friday evening, and the place was quiet and empty. I didn't know where she was, but I found her in the small back room, sitting alone. She was looking thru that little red booklet that she always carried.

I asked, "I was worried about you and I just wanted to ask if everything was all right?"

She nodded nervously.

I walked up to her and sat in the chair next to her. She sat across from me and she seemed so awkward. Just to say something, I asked what was in the little book.

She held it open for me to see.

The book contained a series of photographs all in clear sleeves. The first one she showed me was of a tiny little redheaded girl being held by a tall thin young man. This may seem funny, but first I thought the photo was of me, and I had to really look at it to realize that it was actually someone else.

I asked, "Who is this?"

She quietly told me it was her when she was a little girl and her father.

I remembered her mother saying that her father was dead, and it seemed so sweet that she was looking at his image. At the same time I was shocked at his resemblance to me.

I said, "This is a really beautiful picture."

She softly told me that she was really young when he died, and she really didn't remember too much about him, except for these pictures.

I tried to sound kind and said, "I think it's really wonderful that you have these pictures, and it's nice that you look at them like this."

She went through and showed me some more, and again, I was amazed at how much I looked like him. It seems like the young man in the photos was close to the same age as me, so he must have been really young when he became a father.

She turned the page and showed me a picture of her smiling in front of a birthday cake. And without thinking I read aloud what was written on the cake, I said: "Little Baby Jessie."

And when I said that she sort of jumped in her chair.

I immediately said, "What is it?"

She said, "It's okay, it's just - it's just - that's what my daddy used to call me. He was the only person who ever said that to me, and it just felt - funny - to hear you say it."

"Oh Jessica, I'm sorry."

"It's okay - it just - it just - surprised me."

She showed me the remaining pictures in the book, and all of them were of her father and herself. And in each one she looked so amazingly adorable with her bright red hair and freckles. But most haunting was the fact that she looked so happy, and it broke my heart because I had never seen her like that, instead she always seemed so shy and anxious.

She said she should get back to work, and I thanked her for showing me the photos, I told her it meant a lot to me.

I told her, "Jessica, if you ever needed to talk, about anything, I would be happy to listen."

I think my comment surprised her and she stammered, "Oh no, I couldn't impose."

"Please Jessica, I mean it, if you want to talk about drawing, or art, or anything at all - you can always talk to me."

She just looked at me with a sad lost expression.

I explained where my little house was and how to get there, out at the edge of town.

She smiled and said, "I know where you live, I ride my bike out past your house sometimes."

"Good, just know you are always welcome to knock on my door."

And she whispered a really heartfelt thank you, and said she needed to get back to work.

When I left the store, I stood in the parking lot for a moment to collect my thoughts; it was really touching when she showed me the photos in that red book. Seeing the images of her dead father, and the fact that he looked SO much like me really seemed strange. The one difference was that I had let my sideburns grow long, and the photos showed her father with sideburns trimmed short.

And I felt bad that it seemed to upset her when I said "Little Jessie Baby." Curiously, that seems like a really perfect name for her.

For some reason seeing Jessica that afternoon was an emotional thing for me, but it felt so wonderful that I told her she was welcome to come by my house, but I didn't expect to see her on my doorstep the very next morning.

* * *

I woke up early the following morning at my little house, and it was gray and cold outside, and the house felt gloomy. I usually sleep in on Saturdays, but not this morning. It had been raining on and off all night, and there was a chill in the air. I built a fire in my wood burning stove, and filled it with wood knowing it would be warming up the house soon. I sat on the couch next to the stove and waited for it to get hot enough to make me feel better.

For some reason I was feeling anxious so I got up and took a shower. The hot water splashing against my chest and running over me seemed to make me feel better. When I got out I shaved while the bathroom was still warm and steamy. And I did something that seemed odd, I trimmed my sideburns short. I realized I did that to match the photos that Little Jessie - I mean - Jessica had shown me the day before.

It was still pretty early in the morning when I heard the knocking. When I opened the door I was surprised to see Jessica standing there. It was the first time she had ever been to my house, and I was immediately worried that something was wrong.

She was out of breath, and she looked scared.

I said, "Jessica, is everything alright?"

She nervously replied, "Oh, I'm sorry, I just..."

"Jessica, please come on in, it looks like it might rain."

I ushered her in, and she apologized for coming over, and I told her not to be silly, that I was happy to see her. I asked if she wanted anything, and she said no. But I made her a big mug of tea. She was acting even more anxious than she usually does, so I was worried that something must have happened.

We sat at my kitchen table, and drank tea together for a little while. She wouldn't look at me, she just stared down at the table.

I tried to make small talk, but she was so quiet and distant.

I asked her if she rode her bike here, and she just nervously nodded yes. I asked her if she got wet, because it had been raining off and on all morning, and she shook her head no.

She was dressed like she always was, in a baggy pair of overalls and a big hooded sweatshirt. This was typical of her, wearing clothes that seemed oversized and unbecoming; it was almost like she was trying to hide. And, because her clothes were too big for her, it made her look like a tiny little girl.

Tying to make small talk, I said, "Look outside, it's raining again. You were lucky you didn't get all wet on your bike ride."

She was silent. My house echoed with the gloomy sound of the rain pounding on the roof.

I said, "It was nice to see those pictures of you as a little girl. Thank you for showing them to me."

I waited for a reply, but she was quiet.

"I thought the pictures were really wonderful, and you were so beautiful as a little girl."

She didn't say anything. We sat in silence, and I refilled her mug with more tea. She just looked at me with those big eyes of hers as she sipped from that oversized cup. I was so concerned something bad had happened.

Finally I said, "Jessica, I need to ask, why did you come over today? Is everything all right?"

She seemed like she was about to say something, and then she meekly shook her head no.

I told her that I really cared, and I would listen if she wanted to talk.

She quietly replied, "Just now - just before I came over..."

And she trailed off into silence.

I asked, "Did something happen?"

She replied, "Yes."

"Was it something to do with your mother?"

She visibly flinched when I said that, and she mumbled, "Oh God, I'm sorry, I should go."

With that, she was up and walking toward the door. I was shocked at how scared she was acting as she scurried out into the rain.

I followed her outside, and I ran up to her as she franticly got onto her bicycle.

I said, "Jessica, please stay, don't leave now. It's raining, and you'll get soaked."

She said, "But you don't understand."

I put my hand on her shoulder and said, "Please, come back in the house."

As soon as I touched her, she looked at me with such a haunted and submissive expression; something about my hand on her arm seemed to calm her down. I coaxed her off the bike and back up to my front door.

She was so lost, it was like she was sleepwalking as I lead her up the driveway in the pouring rain. When I finally got her back into the house, we were both wet. I had been wearing a sweater, and I was pretty wet, but I was more worried about Jessica. I got a big towel from the bathroom and put it over her shoulders, but it really didn't do much good, because her clothes were so wet. She was obviously really upset, so I walked her over to the couch and I had her sit down.

I positioned her right next to the wood-burning stove. It was the warmest place in the house.

I sat in a chair directly across from her, so I could face her and give her my complete attention. It was my little desk chair with the rolling wheels, and it was low and it felt like I could slide right up close to the couch.

She looked so tiny, all swallowed up in her oversized wet clothes and that big towel. And, as silly as it sounds, she looked even smaller because my couch is actually really big, much longer than any normal couch.

The room seemed so dark because of the rain outside, and there was a far off sound of thunder.

I asked, "Are you cold?"

"I'm fine."

I told her I was worried, and I got up and put a few more logs in the stove. And I explained that the room would be a lot warmer soon, so she shouldn't worry about being cold. I pulled off my wet sweater, so at that point I was just wearing a mostly dry t-shirt and my blue jeans. And then I sat back down and faced her.

I spoke as clearly as I could, "Jessica, I can tell something is wrong. I want to help. Please let me, okay?"

She whispered, "Okay."

I asked, "What happened this morning that made you so upset?"

She didn't reply, she just sat there so still, and she looked frail and upset.

I asked again, "Please, it might feel better to talk about whatever is bothering you."

"I don't know - it's - it's scary..."

I said, "Please Jessica, I want to help, really - I do."

She looked at me with here beautiful sad eyes, and then she looked away, down at the edge of the couch.

She said, "I really - want - to tell you - But, it's so - I don't know - so confusing."

I said, "Jessica, please - you can tell me."

It was obvious that something really emotional had happened, and I could tell she desperately needed to talk about it.

She took a deep breath and stammered, "This morning - earlier - at my house - I was - I was all alone in my room - and - and - and..."

I heard a sort of rising panic in her voice, "It's okay, I'm here for you."

She went on in a nervous stutter, "It was - I felt - Oh God - I felt SO ashamed - my Mom - she just walked in - and - I was - I was - I was on my bed - and - and..."

"Oh Jessica, it's okay."

"And - and - when my Mom - when she came in my room - she didn't knock or anything - she just opened my door - and - and - she just walked in - and - I was - I was on my bed - I was naked - and - and - and..."

She was almost whimpering and I said, "Please Jessica, it's okay - please."

The intensity of the moment was overwhelming. It was scary to see someone so sensitive getting more and more agitated. The rain on the windows and the sound of thunder made the mood seem even more dramatic.

In a sort of frightened panic she stuttered, "I was - I was - trying to make myself - I feel so bad - I was trying to make myself..."

She paused, she seemed really scared, and she spoke in a frightened babble.

"I was alone - and - I was naked - on my bed - and I was - I was - trying to make myself - I was - I was..."

I interrupted and said, "Jessica, please, everything is all right."

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