Date: Tue, 10 Aug 2004 19:50:13 -0700 (PDT)
From: ybother1122@yahoo.com
Subject: Good Girl - 1

DEAR NIFTY READERS,

This is a story about the sexual awakening of a young woman. If you
either; A) aren't into that, B) aren't old enough to be reading it, or
C) can't read, you should really stop here. If you liked (or hated) this
story, drop us a line at ybother1122@yahoo.com. Don't take anything you
read here too seriously, I certainly didn't.


Heather fidgeted on the sofa, and wondered what Mrs. Lindeman could want.
There was no need for her to babysit, with Danny away at camp for a whole
week. She nervously twisted a strand of dark hair, tied it in a silky
knot, let it fall on her shoulder, then untangled it.

"Would you like a soda?" Denise Lindeman called from the kitchen. Without
waiting for an answer - she never waited for answers from anyone - the
woman brought one glass of Diet Coke and one glass of Voignier into the
living room, and sat next to the girl.

"I know it's early," she said, nodding at the chilled wine. "But it was a
long drive to camp, and traffic was a nightmare for a Tuesday morning."

Heather's icy blue eyes darted around, and she tried not to look directly
at Mrs. Lindeman.

"Don't mind the mess," Denise said, knowing full well that a few folded
drop-cloths and a can of paint in the corner of the room was hardly a
"mess" in her otherwise tidy home. "While Danny's away, I'm taking the
week off to paint. I've felt like I need to do it myself, rather than
hire a painter."

The girl twisted her hair again.

"There's no comfortable way to say this, so I'm just going to come out
with it," Denise said. She reached into the pocket of her denim coverall
shorts and pulled out the tiny white vibrator and laid it on the coffee
table.

"What were you doing with that?" she asked the girl.

Heather felt her face flush red, and tiny beads of perspiration formed on
her upper lip.

"I....I don't know. I was looking for aspirin. I know I shouldn't go into
your bathroom, but I was looking for aspirin."

"Well, did you find any in there?"

Heather shook her head, and the girl's blank stare puzzled Denise. She
DID play with it, didn't she? After all, the vibe worked Saturday
morning, but that evening, after Steven had taken home the babysitter, it
was dead. Denise found upon examination the batteries were backward. No
one else - no friends, not the housekeeper, none of Danny's playmates -
had been in the house over the weekend.

"Heather, dear. You do know what this is, don't you?"

The girl shook her head again, and looked at the white plastic tube with
its three gold nubs on the end.

"It fell off the vanity. I didn't touch it or anything. It fell apart. I
must have put it back together wrong. I ... I hope I didn't break
anything." Her face grew hot, and she could feel her tears well in her
wide eyes. She wondered why it was so important, and why Mrs. Lindeman,
who is never uncomfortable with confronting anyone, called her here to
ask about the thing. And now Mrs. Lindeman would probably never call her
to babysit again.

She liked the Lindemans even if she was a little scared of the mistress
of the house. They paid better than any of the other parents, and their
house was by far the biggest. Mrs. Lindeman always made sure to have
Heather's favorite snacks on hand, and gave her plenty of notice, and
wasn't all that fussy about Danny's bed time. But mostly she liked them
because they seemed so exciting.

It was obvious they were into each other, Heather thought. When they
would come home from their dates at restaurants in the city, and parties
at the homes of similarly well-off friends, they were always laughing and
kissing and holding hands.

Sometimes the Lindemans would go to overnight parties, or would have too
much to drink, and would ask Heather to spend the night rather than drive
her home. She would sleep in the guest room they simply called "Heather's
room." She could hear them talking and laughing in their bedroom.
Sometimes she forced herself to stay awake so she could hear them. She
would listen to Mrs. Lindeman moan. "Oh yes, Steven. Oh yes yes yes I'm
so close mmmmmmm don't stop don't stop...."

She imagined before drifting off to sleep, that she lived there all the
time. She wondered if she were older, would they ask her to come be their
live-in nanny? She was going to start her senior year of high school in
just a few weeks, and after graduation, she would need a job and a place
to live, after all. Sometimes she even imagined they wanted to adopt her,
and she would go to schools in their neighborhood, and live in their
house, and talk late at night with Mrs. Lindeman, about things that only
mothers and daughters share, and she would be a perfect girl.

Even though they were always polite, and Heather liked them, there was
something about Mrs. Lindeman that made the girl want to cry. She was so
confident, so sure of herself - everything Heather was not. She wondered
if Mrs. Lindeman was ever plain. Had she grown up in a small house with a
second-hand sofa? Had she ever felt out of place, or spent a weekend with
nothing better to do than to babysit? Had she ever gone without? Heather
doubted it, and she feared and loved her employer for it.

"Oh God, honey. You can't be serious," Denise said, picking up the vibe,
and putting it into her pocket, suddenly aware she may have made a
terrible mistake. Again, the blank stare. A wide grin formed on Denise's
tanned face, and she let out a laugh. Heather was not sure she'd ever
heard Mrs. Lindeman laugh like that, as if it came from deep inside her,
the way she'd laugh even if no one was watching.

"I'm sorry to have called you over here." Denise rested a reassuring hand
on the girl's knee. "You didn't do anything wrong." She leaned back on
the sofa, and expelled a relieved breath. She sipped her wine.

"Well, Mrs. Lindeman?"

"Yes, Heather?"

"What is it?"

It had been years since she'd been dumbfounded, but Denise Lindeman had
no idea what to say. Since the truth occasionally served her purposes,
she calmly said, "It's my vibrator, Heather. Well, it's one of them
anyway."

Heather's eyes widened, causing Denise to laugh again.

"You've seen one before, haven't you?"

Heather shook her head. No, she hadn't.

"It doesn't look like I thought it would," Heather admitted. "I thought
it would look more like....well....never mind."

"Some do. Some don't. I can't believe you've never seen a vibrator. I
thought for sure you must have used this one," Denise said.

The girl just stared at her employer. Part of her wanted to ask to look
at it again, now that she knew what it was. She thought it would be
bigger. Or would look more like the pictures she'd seen of naked men. She
wasn't sure what made her so brave, but she blurted it out anyway.

"Well how does it work? And shouldn't it be bigger?"

She knew she should not be having this talk with the girl. She was sure
the girl was a virgin. Good God, she thought. Isn't her 17th birthday
coming up in about a week? She couldn't possibly be that inexperienced,
could she?

On the other hand, no girl who's free every Saturday night could have a
boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, for that matter. But Denise, who always liked
being the expert, couldn't help but educate the girl, and she offered to
show Heather her private toybox. She was surprised when she nodded and
said, "Yes, please." So Mrs. Lindeman took Heather's hand, and led her up
the stairs to the master bedroom.

Holding Mrs. Lindeman's hand reminded Heather of a time when she was
little, maybe 11, and her mother reached for her hand as they headed into
Wal-Mart to shop for her first bra. She could feel the heat rise from the
asphalt, and her white sandals stuck once in a glob of tar which patched
a crack in the lot. After they shopped, they stopped for a Coke and fries
in the store cafeteria, and talked like school girls, and for the first
and last time, Heather felt like her mother understood her.

"Have a seat," Denise said, pointing to the bed, and not to the chaise in
the corner by the armoire. Heather hopped up onto the mattress and
bounced twice, and crossed her long slender legs in front of her. Mrs.
Lindeman pulled the hat box from inside the armoire, and placed it on the
bed between them. She pulled off the top and the girl looked inside.

Denise felt uncomfortable, but just for a moment. It wasn't necessarily
the girl's age that made her squirm. She'd been far more intimate with
girls barely older than Heather. It was Heather's innocence and total
lack of experience that made Denise doubt herself, but only for a moment.

She dumped the hatbox's contents onto the mattress, and Heather's eyes
registered both shock and curiosity. She picked up a large, veiny
flesh-colored dildo and turned it upside down, inspecting it.

"Are they all this big?"

"Well no, they come in all sizes," Denise said.

"No I mean are THEY all this big?"

"You mean cocks?" The girl nodded, still staring at the titanic dildo.
"Oh God, Heather, I wish they were, but no. I've never seen one that
big," Denise said, laughing.

Heather didn't get the joke.

"You've never seen one before? I mean a naked man?" Denise asked, and the
words sounded hysterical to her as soon as she said them. The girl shook
her head. No, she had not.

"Well, they're actually usually about this size," and she picked up a
smaller, light blue vibrator. Heather took it in her hand and examined
it, looking relieved, but still impressed. She rolled the toy between
both hands and turned the black knob at the bottom, causing it to buzz
and vibrate. She dropped it on the duvet.

"Why does it do that?"

"Well because it feels good when you touch yourself with it. You know
how, when you touch yourself with your fingers, the faster you do it, the
better it feels?" Heather shook her head. Another blank stare. Denise was
momentarily speechless once again, but curiosity got the best of her.

"You don't touch yourself?" The girl blushed and shook her head. No, she
did not.

"My mother says it's wrong. It's dirty," she said, and began to twist her
hair.

That was the saddest thing Denise would hear all day, and she took the
girl's hand. "No, it's not wrong. It's wonderful."

She picked up the buzzing blue vibe and touched Heather's hand with it.
"See? Nothing wrong. It doesn't hurt." The girl looked at her employer's
face, and saw a kindness which had either been absent or unnoticed before
that moment. Denise brushed a curly lock of blond hair from her own
forehead, and Heather noticed for the first time just how green the
woman's eyes were.

The girl had always thought of Mrs. Lindeman as being much younger than
her own mother, but when she looked at her face, tanned with fine lines
around the eyes, she realized they could be the same age, which her
mother always said was "somewhere between 18 and 40," and always added it
was not polite to discuss a woman's age.

"It's not wrong," Mrs. Lindeman said again, and stroked the girl's pale
pink cheek. "It's not dirty."

Without saying a word or asking permission, she moved the vibe to
Heather's bare thigh, just below the frayed edges of her cut-off denim
shorts. The girl didn't flinch or move away, so Denise pressed the
vibrator in the cleft between her legs, and the girl jolted, but didn't
move away. She just stared at Mrs. Lindeman's eyes, hoping she would find
approval. She couldn't tell if it was there or not because the woman's
gaze moved downward, toward the girl's white tank top, and the modest,
now heaving breasts which moved the fabric steadily and rhythmically up
and down.

"Let me show you it's OK," Denise said, and Heather nodded. Denise
smiled, giving her the approval she was trying to find, and kissed the
girls cheek. Her forehead. Her nose. Her lips. "Take off your shorts for
me?"

Heather only hesitated for a minute, but obediently stood, unbuttoned her
shorts and let them fall to the floor. Mrs. Lindeman motioned her back to
the bed, and the girl sat on the edge until Denise grabbed her shoulder
and pushed her back onto the neatly arranged pillows.

Purposefully, Denise sat between Heather's raised knees, and placed her
hand on the girl's damp panties. Through the pale pink cotton fabric, she
could feel Heather was warm and damp. She moved the vibe over her
panties, and Heather let out a small gasp, half desire and half protest.

Not until the girl raised her hips up from the bed did Denise slide the
vibe inside her panties. Suddenly self-conscious of the pleasure, Heather
quickly pushed her knees together, but Denise gently pushed them apart,
and tugged at her panties, pulling them down past her skinny thighs and
knees, then tossing them off into the corner of the bedroom.

Heather almost felt like she would cry, and would have, except for the
smile on Mrs. Lindeman's face. "It's OK, baby. It's just fine. I'll show
you." Heather exhaled and waited for Mrs. Lindeman to touch her again.

Denise looked down for a moment at the girl's full, but soft, dark brown
pubic hair. "So soft. So fresh," she thought, and stroked her softly,
like she would a kitten. She tentatively stroked the girl's in-betweens
with the vibrator, and with each pass, could see her swell and grew
slicker.

Heather's flat abdomen was now heaving harder, faster, and her face was
now glistening with a fine sheen of sweat.

Denise circled the girl's swollen clit with the vibrator, teasing her
until she forced out a moan.

"That feels good?" she asked, and Heather nodded, without saying a word.
"Tell me."

"Yes," she whispered. "It feels good."

"Tell me not to stop."

Heather recalled the way she heard Mrs. Lindeman talk to her husband late
one night after they returned from a night out.

"Don't stop. Please don't stop. It feels so good."

"That's my girl," she said, and pushed the vibrator directly onto her
clit. The girl gasped and began to grind against her new mentor's fingers
and the vibe. She felt like she had to pee, and stopped, but Mrs.
Lindeman told her it was OK, so she pushed harder.

She softly whimpered and began to shake. "Oh no," she said. "No, no, no."
But Mrs. Lindeman held the vibrator still and pressed it harder against
her until the girl pulled hard away from her, too sensitive to be touched
any more.

"Such a good girl," Mrs. Lindeman whispered, lying down beside her, and
stroking her shiny hair. "Such a good girl." Heather fought her tears and
lost.



Steven was running late again, so he picked up dinner.

Over candlelight and spinach greens, Denise told him, "Heather was here
today. She and I had a talk."

"How did that go?"

"Well I had to teach her something. She is a quick study." Steven stopped
chewing. And put down his fork. He raised his eyebrows, questioning
Denise.

"Steven, she's still pure and intact."

He rose from his chair, and walked toward his wife. "Lie down"

There, in the middle of the dining room, Denise lay flat on her back on
the floor while Steven pushed her gauze skirt up over her waist. Just
before his face landed between her thighs, he said, "Tell me more."



Contact me at ybother1122@yahoo.com

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