tagNovels and NovellasThe Ex-Babysitter Version 02

The Ex-Babysitter Version 02


[This is largely a rewrite of the earlier story. My wife -- my fiercest critic -- didn't particularly like the way it developed, so I decided to see if I could make it go in a different direction. For those of you who have already read the earlier story, this version is pretty much identical up to the point where Alice takes over the narration, which is about a third of the way in. If anyone has the stamina to read both versions I'd welcome any comments on how they compare.]

They say men think about sex every nine seconds. I don't know if that's true for other men, but when I was eighteen it was certainly true for me. One way or another sex filled my head. At school, at home, on the bus, watching a film, reading the back of a cereal packet, whatever, I either had a hard-on or was trying to get one. Of course, I hadn't had any experience of actual two-person sex by then, so my stimulation wasn't exactly based on memory. More on wishful thinking.

I'd just finished school and was still wondering what to do with myself. My dad was going away for the summer with my stepmum, but I was at the age when the last thing I wanted to do was have a holiday with them. My sister had gone off to the Amazon to help dispossessed Indians or something worthy like that, so I was on my own. That is, until Jenny turned up.

Jenny was an old friend of the family. After my real mum had died, when I and my older sister were little, my dad had used her as a babysitter a lot. I can't think why, but she seemed to like us. I suppose she had that teenage girl's liking for small kids, like younger ones have for ponies. She was only about ten years older than us, but to us she seemed as old as a third parent.

It seems she was trying to finish some book or other and couldn't do it at her own home because there were too many distractions. I knew what she meant. I'd only been to her house once, but once was enough. She was the middle of five kids and the other four were all nutters, mad as hatters. Her mum and dad were 'artists' -- or so they thought of themselves; they never sold a single painting as far as I knew -- and they thought exercising discipline over children was something only Nazis did. God knows how, but Jenny grew up the sane one.

Anyway, there she was on the doorstep with a suitcase in her hand telling me my dad had offered her the use of our house for as long as she needed. No word to me, needless to say. What did his own son matter?

To give her credit, she was embarrassed. She even asked if I minded and said she'd go if I didn't want her there. But what answer can you give to a question like that? 'Yeah, I want the place to myself. Piss off.'

So I had a companion for the rest of the summer. Actually, given that I spent most of my time out and the rest in my room, she wasn't much of one. She was busy on her book in dad's study. Occasionally we bumped into each other in the kitchen or outside the bathroom, but the more occasionally it was the better I liked it. Sharing your home with your ex-babysitter is a weird experience when you're eighteen. I kept half-expecting her to stick her head round my door and tell me to turn my light out.

The summer dragged on. My friends from school drifted off, some to new jobs, some on bizarre gap year activities like teaching Siberian peasants Shakespeare or building wallaby houses in the Australian outback, some just on holiday. Before I knew it I was on my own. I woke up one morning and I had no one to hang out with, nowhere to go.

So I thought of sex.

It was early -- well, 10.30 -- and naturally I had a hard-on. What better way to start the day? I masturbated at least once a day, two or three times if I had the opportunity, and though I say so myself I was getting pretty good at it.

It's funny, but up to that day I hadn't really fantasized that much while trying to make myself come. The physical sensation was enough. The pleasurable feeling of my fingers on my stiff cock was intense enough to blot out nearly all thought, other than just the hazy picture of a vague all-purpose girl who had no clearly defined features but with whom I was doing all sorts of exciting but unspecific acts leading swiftly to cries of pleasure, real on my part, sadly imagined on hers.

This particular morning, though, I never got to the cries of pleasure. Well, not immediately, anyway. With my hand working feverishly beneath my duvet and my eyes closed tight, I sensed rather than heard my bedroom door open.

A split second later my hand was a good yard from my cock. My eyes opened. Even so, I didn't really see Jenny. All I saw was the door closing. Then I heard a muffled 'Sorry' and hurried footsteps on the stairs.

I lay frozen with embarrassment for a good five minutes. Jenny had seen me wanking. Well, not as such. The duvet was over me. But as good as. By rights my cock should have deflated like a pricked balloon. But surprisingly it didn't. It stayed stiff as a poker. Whatever shame I felt, my cock obviously didn't share it. God, I thought with horror, maybe I'm an exhibitionist.

How could I look her in the face now? Say what you like, whatever your relationship with someone, to be seen masturbating by them changes it. Now I'd have to avoid her even more than I did already. I imagined her checking the laundry basket to look for telltale stains on my boxers. This was too much.

But then my hand crept back to my cock, still stiff, still hard and needing to be dealt with. I pulled back the foreskin and started stroking under the crown. Bliss. I closed my eyes. Well, she was hardly going to come back into the room now, was she?

And it was then the strangest thing happened. In my mind's eye I saw Jenny. Jenny peering round my bedroom door, watching me, watching my hand stroke my cock. And she was smiling, encouraging me. The image was like a gun going off. I came instantly, almost without me realising it was going to happen. At eighteen you get orgasms like that. Bang. It's over almost before you know it's coming. Even so, it was still a great start to the day.

Later, when I knew she must have finished breakfast, I crept to the bathroom. I knew she'd be busy in dad's study til lunchtime, but I was still reluctant to make too much noise. She might think I was trying to scrub away the evidence of my misdeeds. Then I dressed, grabbed some cash and was out.

That evening we sat either ends of the sofa, careful to be as far away from each other as possible. I was trying to read a new Grisham, but it was difficult with her watching the 10 o'clock movie, some romantic bollocks about a silly woman not realising she loves the hero, then finally realising she does. My mind wandered.

Needless to say it wasn't long before I had a hard-on. I was lounging right back on the sofa, my legs out straight, the kind of position my mum hated me to sit in when she was alive. Unfortunately it showed my cock was stiffening to anyone who cared to look. Almost in direct line of sight to the TV, the bulge in my jeans looked like a mountain to me. I tried to think of something to make it go away -- politics, football, the film's drippy heroine -- but it stayed resolutely hard.

I shifted my weight, tried to raise the leg nearest to Jenny so it might hide my bulge from her without being too obvious.

'Can't you sit still? I'm watching this.'


It was like being a kid again. I remembered how my sister and I had often sat either side of Jenny on this very sofa while she'd read a bedtime story to us. Maybe once someone has that kind of authority over you, they never lose it.

But my cock seemed to grow with every minute. The bulge in my jeans was sticking up a good two or three inches. It was getting painful. I had to move.

There was a sigh of aggravation from the other end of the sofa. 'Well, are you going to deal with that or aren't you?'

For a moment I had no idea what she was talking about. 'Deal with what?'

She glanced disdainfully at my groin. 'That.'

I felt my neck go red and sat up hurriedly. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

She turned back to the TV. 'Fine. Then stop shifting about and let me watch the film.'

That certainly had the desired effect. Within a minute my tent had subsided as if it had never been there.

With nothing to hide I stood up. 'I'm going to bed.'

''Night then.' But she didn't look away from the TV. I guess the drippy heroine must have been at a really crucial stage of her emotional journey.

'Enjoy the film.'

I was out of there. It was only when I'd finished in the bathroom and undressed I realised I'd left the Grisham downstairs. So much for grand exits. Now I'd have to reappear and leave all over again. I put on my dressing gown.

Though I was in bare feet I didn't intend to be quiet, but I guess I must have been, because when I came through the door to the living room Jenny jumped as if a ghost had appeared. And as soon as she saw it was me -- who else did she expect, for Christ's sake? -- a big pink blush spread right over her face as if she'd just been caught with her hand in the sweet jar. I must say it made a change her being embarrassed, but I didn't crow.

'Forgot my book.'

'Oh, right,' she mumbled. 'Yes, of course. It's over there.' She pointed to my arm of the sofa as if I couldn't see the book for myself.

I grabbed it and went to bed. I didn't give her another thought.

The next morning I was the first up for a change, and for the first time since whenever, didn't wake with a hard-on. After the embarrassment of the previous evening it didn't take a genius to work out why. I lay in bed thinking about it for a while, but the whole thing was too shaming -- an ex-babysitter passing a disparaging remark about a guy's erection -- I'd be surprised if I ever managed another. I got up and walked along to the bathroom.

I don't know what made me stop outside Jenny's room -- or rather, the room my dad shared with my stepmum. I never had before. Maybe it was a small noise, or the fact the door was open a little. Not that it hadn't been before, but it wasn't usually. Even so, it wasn't open enough for me to see directly in, but I could see a mirror that hung on the wall over the chest of drawers and in that I could see the bottom half of the big double bed. Jenny was still in it. I could see the outline of her legs under the thin summer duvet, one straight out, the other bent at the knee so her thighs were wide apart. Higher than her waist I couldn't see, because the angle on the mirror wasn't right. That was fine by me: it meant she couldn't see me.

I don't know why I stood there watching. It was Jenny asleep; there was nothing to see. Then I noticed a little stirring under the duvet, hardly anything. Just where the outline of her legs joined, there was a small hump where there should have been flatness. That's what I'd seen move. And there it was again, a faint but unmistakable stirring, like a little trapped animal. Immediately I felt a stirring of my own -- in my balls. I realised what I was watching. Jenny -- my almost 30-year-old ex-babysitter -- was masturbating.

Straight away, the embarrassment of the previous evening -- not to mention the time when she'd walked in on me wanking -- left me. I smiled evilly to myself. Now I could get my own back. For a moment I thought seriously about pushing the door open and walking in unannounced. That'd wipe the smile off her face. But I rejected it. It'd be difficult to retain the moral high ground with my cock pushing the front of my dressing gown out the way it was beginning to. So I just gave a loud cough and marched on to the bathroom, satisfying myself with the thought of her freezing in horror. Oh no! Had I seen her 'doing it' to herself?

In a good mood I put Massive Attack on the bathroom CD player, turned it up loud and ran a bath. Now we'd see who tried to avoid whom round the house.

I took off my dressing gown and admired my erect cock in the mirror. From surreptitious comparisons with other guys tackle in the showers after football I knew I didn't have the biggest. But I didn't have the smallest either. It was good enough for me, anyway. I gave it a few friendly strokes, but decided to save it for the bath. One of the best places for a pull, in my opinion.

When the bath was hot and full I got in and lay down as flat as I could. Aah, nothing like it once your body gets used to the heat. I soaped my cock and balls thoroughly to get them nice and clean and slippery, then pulled the foreskin down with one hand and played with the crown and the underside of it, trying hard not to come too soon. I thought of Jenny. That might slow me down. She was almost thirty so she didn't even figure as a sex object. Not only that, but she didn't exactly make an effort to look attractive, wandering round the house in shapeless sweat pants way past their sell-by date, a sad baggy Robbie Williams tour t-shirt, a pair of sheepskin slippers and her hair tied back with an elastic band. She didn't even bother to put on make-up.

Despite all this, my cock demanded to be stroked, perversely getting more and more excited at the picture. Not only that, but then I started thinking about her masturbating in dad's bed, stroking herself with her hand. I imagined her finger on her clit, flicking it backwards and forwards, another finger actually inside her, slipping in and out. Aaah, that was a lovely picture. I could feel my cock pulsing beneath my hand. I grabbed it hard at the base to try and stop coming.

Then, of course, the worst thing happened. The door opened and Jenny marched straight in. Jesus, why hadn't I locked it?

I tried to hide my cock beneath the soapy scum on the water. 'Do you mind?'

She stood looking down at me with her hands on her hips. 'So this is what you do all day: play with yourself.'

'I do not,' I protested. 'And what's it got to do with you, anyway?'

'Nothing at all,' she announced. 'Unless you're spying on me in order to fuel your teenage fantasies.'

'You must be kidding,' I retorted, trying to sound as if that'd be the last thing I'd do.

'Creeping downstairs last night and hanging round outside my bedroom this morning. You're so pathetic.'

'Hang on,' I protested. 'What do you mean, creeping downstairs?'

'You know exactly what I mean. Don't pretend you don't.' She made to go, but not before glancing dismissively at my groin. 'And I don't know why you're trying to hide that. You forget I saw it plenty of times when you were little.'

With that she left the room.

Boy, she really knew how to make a guy feel small. In every respect.

But then I smiled to myself. So that's what she'd been doing last night in front of the TV. No wonder she'd gone red. She probably did it as often as I did.

For the next couple of days, despite her having had the last word, it was Jenny who seemed to avoid me, rather than the other way round. It was as if she'd realised I'd found her out. If I came across her in the kitchen she'd mumble something about having to get back to work and be out of there quickly as possible. If we met in the hall or on the landing she'd skirt round me as if I had the plague. And she would never look me in the eye. We hardly exchanged a word. After a while I got to enjoy it and deliberately hung round in the kitchen at mealtimes instead of taking food up to my room. I even took to reading in the living room, lying full length on the sofa, effectively stopping her watch the TV. Well, it was my house.

Eventually, of course, she lost her embarrassment and things got back to some kind of normality. We took to spending most evenings in the living room, sometimes eating off our laps if there was anything remotely watchable on TV. We didn't talk much, but sometimes we'd have a joke about something we were watching, or she'd remember something funny I used to do as a kid and I'd have to tell her to shut up. But there was no more of this babysitter attitude from her. She must have realised I wasn't going to take any more of her crap.

In fact maybe I got a bit too relaxed in her company. It wasn't long before we were sitting on the sofa as usual -- both reading this time, but separated by the usual no-man's land of a few feet -- and I got the inevitable hard-on. There was no reason for it, of course; there hardly ever was. But gradually I felt the familiar stiffening, then the pushing against the crotch of my jeans -- which as every teenage boy knows, only makes things worse -- then the irresistible urge to touch myself. Under cover of shifting my weight, I put a hand in my pocket to move my cock so it was pointing straight up under my zipper, a lot more comfortable than being jammed halfway down my leg. Then I tried to concentrate on my book. Maybe it would go down. If it didn't, I'd have to go to bed early.

It didn't go down. If anything, it took advantage of the extra freedom and grew a bit more. Despite lying flat against my belly it made a pretty obvious bulge. I tried hiding it under my book, but the resting of the book on it was almost enough stimulation to make me come there and then.

Needless to say, Jenny soon realised what was going on. 'Honestly, Tim. Do you think about nothing else?'

'What?' I asked innocently.

'Sex, of course. Can't you just read?'

It was just like the other time: behave or go to your room. I decided to brazen it out. 'It's not my fault, it just happens.'


'And if you must know, it's uncomfortable.'

'Well, deal with it then or something. Anything so's I can get on with my book.'

'What do you mean? How?'

She looked at me with a sarcastic air. 'Well, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that.'

She was actually telling me to go and have a wank. 'OK, I will. Since you insist.' I started to get up.

'Oh, don't go on my account,' she said, turning to her book. 'I won't look. Reading this is a lot more entertaining than watching you play with yourself.'

I wasn't sure I'd heard right. 'You mean you want me to do it right here?'

'I don't want you to do anything. Just do what you have to or don't do it. It makes no difference to me.' Ostentatiously she turned a page.

This was seriously weird. I wasn't sure what I was getting into, but I couldn't back down. I'd had enough of being reminded of our previous relationship. On the other hand, I wasn't about to let her see me jack myself off in full view. So I pretended to carry on reading but let my right hand drift casually onto the bulge in my jeans. God, it was nice to touch it at last. A small moan escaped me before I could stop it.

'Enjoying yourself?' asked Jenny without raising her eyes from her book.

'Yes, thanks.'

I started to stroke my cock through the stretched denim. It wasn't something I'd done much before; I'd usually been in private situations where I could take it out, so why hide it? The crown was particularly great, really sensitive, and it was only a few seconds before I knew I was going to come. Involuntarily my legs stretched out so I could stroke the full length. My book fell to the floor. The thought of Jenny only a couple of feet away was a hell of an erotic stimulation, but truth to tell I didn't really need one I was that close to the edge. I felt that uncontrollable shaking coming, when your cock takes over, and under cover of the denim my come shot out once, twice, three times, hard into the fabric of my underpants, then dribbled down my belly, warm and sticky.

'That didn't take long.' Jenny was still looking at her book, but I suspected she'd been watching. There was a little pink flush creeping up her neck.

'Yeah, well, sometimes there's no holding back.'

'So I see.'

Not in the mood for sparring, I just lay back and enjoyed that post-orgasmic feeling. True, now it was over, I was beginning to feel embarrassed by what I'd done, but she'd asked for it, hadn't she? That'd teach her to issue challenges. As my cock subsided I picked up my book.

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