What is it about a teenaged girl?
No, not the ones who go around in vast painted sweeping herds. The hive mind where not a single one of them has an individual thought. The Clone Army, who all look the same, dress the same, talk the same, and listen to the same music. No, not those teenage girls.
And not The Bad Girls either. The ones that travel in smaller packs, hunting the weak, humiliating the insecure, and generally making people feel worthless.
No, I’m talking about ‘THAT’ teenage girl.
We’ve all seen her. Well, anybody with an appreciation for women and girls has seen her. She’s the one that’s never alone but only lets a select few be drawn into her orbit, and even then, she’s kind of removed.
You might see her sitting on a bench, quietly observing the world or waiting for a train. Or maybe even standing in the queue at Burger King wearing that uniquely teenaged ‘whatever’ expression as she scrolls through her phone.
The look that says I may not be as pretty as you, but I probably am. I don’t need the herd. I’m not so callous as to run with the Meanies. And yeah, I might be young, but I’m definitely too old for your shit!
Or that little upturned smirk with a lifted eyebrow. The expression that just shouts – who are you, and who the fuck said you could turn your gaze upon me, mortal?
Jesus H. Christ, that look drives me insane, not with anger or frustration, but with utter desire. Honestly, the more disinterested a girl looks, the more fascinating she actually is to me.
She may be an icy young blonde who could freeze you with a single glance. Maybe she’s a smouldering brunette with a ‘caution, may be hot’ kind of vibe. Or even a vivacious, fiery redhead, who just makes you think of autumn leaves and hot chocolate and makes you want to go outside and play in the wild.
Shit! Where was I? Oh yeah, that girl. Well, I met her just about six months ago. My name’s Lynne, I’m thirty years old now, and this, dear reader, is my story of ‘That Girl’.
If you live in any town in England, you’ll have seen us; hell, you might even have seen me. I’m one of the gazillion or so women who drives a little white van for minimum wage, delivering car parts to every fucking garage multiple times a day, anywhere within a twelve-mile radius of our home base.
All year round, snow or sleet, rain or shine. In the winter, you’ll see us bundled up in jeans, heavy fleeces, slouchy beanies, and ugly work boots. In spring and autumn, it’s a sweatshirt and jeans.
But in the summer, we get way more interesting. The cute li’l shorts come out to play. We ditch work boots for sneakers, fleeces for polos that are a size too small and make ‘the girls’ pop, and woolly beanies get swapped for logo-emblazoned ball caps and cool shades.
We aren’t exactly cheerleaders, but we know you like to look just the same.
If you’re really lucky on a quiet business day, usually a Thursday around 10.30am, you’ll see four or five of us together. All from different firms, but all kind of the same. Leaning on the counter of Jazzy’s Tea Wagon. Cute li’l bums will be swaying, and we’ll be sharing the local garage gossip, swilling coffee, and having our one ‘treat’, a bacon and egg sandwich, of the week.
I actually like the job. I get left alone, and I can listen to whatever I like. Usually it’s Planet Rock on the radio. Definitely not the beeps and squeaks of modern pop music that sounds like R2-D2 having a stroke. Or even worse, Ed bloody Sheeran.
Anyway, enough of my waffle. I was forced to get a transfer back to the company branch in my hometown in North Kent, about a year ago, after a bad, and I mean baaaad, break-up.
No way was I moving back in with Mum and Dad, so I’m bunking with my old mate from school, a delightfully pretentious old queen called Ralph. Although he insists you pronounce it Raif. Darling, it’s Raif. I love him to bits, though. My share of the rent is cheap, we have great internet, and he gladly pays for all the streaming platforms. Oh, and he’s a cracking hairdresser to boot.
I can remember so clearly the day and the time I saw her for the first time. That Girl. It was around 3.15pm on a dull as ditchwater Tuesday afternoon in March. She was waiting for the bus, scrolling through her phone and looking bored. Yep, she was wearing ‘that’ look, and wow, did she make me ping! Luckily, I was in slow-moving traffic, or I would have been collared for kerb crawling just to look at her.
She was just the most beautiful little creature I’d ever seen. Petite, maybe just five feet tall. Straight, glossy, brunette hair, cut into a stylish bob, with a fringe just down under her eyebrows. She even cut a dash in her school uniform. Not the clichéd plaid skirt and knee socks, though. You know the one – every pervert’s dream outfit. Hers was a charcoal grey skirt and blazer, pristine white shirt and black tights (my own personal kryptonite), showing off her shapely young pins.
If it wasn’t for the clunky, sensible shoes and Saint Agnes’s School tie, I’d have taken her for a classy young office girl.
I was smitten, big time. And by a girl so much younger than me. I put her at sixteen, maybe seventeen tops, definitely in the senior years. I couldn’t help it; I just stared at her. It was like I’d just had some kind of biblical epiphany. Sure, I’ve looked at girls younger than me before, but I’d never had one affect me quite the way she did. It was visceral, straight to the heart, and mind-altering even.
As my little van slowly rolled by, I couldn’t help but give her a sideways glance out of the side window, and totally unplanned, I felt myself smile…just as she looked up. Fuck, she saw me gawping at her. But she actually smiled back. Talk about making my day. I gave her a little wave just as I went by, before losing her from view as the knot of traffic unravelled.
After that, it was like I couldn’t avoid seeing her. Either end of the school day, waiting for or hopping off the bus. Or crossing the street to the convenience store before school. Sometimes I’d see her around midday buying lunch if she’d skipped off campus. This gorgeous girl was everywhere, and my silly crush on the mystery teenager grew every time I laid eyes on her.
One morning, I took a chance. I parked my van as she walked into the shop with a friend. I had to buy a new vape anyway and figured I could finally get a discreet closer look at her. God, she was stunning close up. Tasteful little bit of smoky eye makeup, and her hair had deep red lights in it. She had a lovely bit of swell and curve to her young figure and those amazing legs that so many young girls seem to have. A beautiful side effect that’s a result of walking everywhere. (Not like those of us that drive everywhere and spend forty quid a month in the gym to keep everything tight.).
I was just about to pay the guy behind the counter when I heard a young female voice behind me.
“Excuse me, err, Pinky van lady, I’m sorry to bother you, but I just loooove your hair.”
(My blonde hair at this point was cut into a cute Sarah Harding – God rest her beautiful soul – pixie cut with pink flashes running through it.)
I turned around and, fuck me sideways, it was her, the girl of my dreams, and she was actually talking to me. To me, of all people. All of a sudden, I was that awkward, tongue-tied kid again. Bashful, embarrassed, scared, and utterly at a loss. Like a rabbit in the headlights.
“Err, th…thanks. I err …really like yours too. You’re gor…no…sorry…it’s gorgeous. I…fuck, shit…I’d better dash, work, stuff…bye.” I ran out and plonked myself back in the driver’s seat, berating myself.
What in the ever-loving fuck was that, Lynne? Your best Forrest Gump impression?! Haa, I’m Lynne Gump. People call me Lynne Gump. I like your hair. Grrr, idiot. I just hoped her name wasn’t Jenny.
‘Twas not my finest hour for sure, but every time I saw her after that, she’d make my day just that little bit better with a smile and a wave. Even Ralph had commented that I looked like a lovestruck kid, but I didn’t tell him who I was crushing on. I just soldiered on, admiring from afar, like some tragic Shakespearian heroine.
I have to work every other Saturday morning, and just my luck, Easter weekend was on my rota this year. It was quiet to the point of being boring, and I was sitting in my van with a coffee, flicking through my phone, when my branch manager, Duncan, came out to see me.
“Lynne, Gorgeous.” Here we go, I mused. “I know you’re due off in thirty, but could you do an urgent out to Frank’s on Five Mile Lane? Pwetty Pwease, tell you what: give me an extra half hour today, and I’ll let you go at 3.30 on Friday.”
“Sold,” I told him, “Load me up then, Dunc, and I’ll get going.”
It was an unseasonably nice day, so a drive in the country sounded quite nice, to be honest.
“I’ll drop the van keys in the drop box when I get back. Don’t worry about waiting for me.”
Frank’s doesn’t usually open on Saturday, so I figured it must have been important, and he’s a nice guy. Even if he does always try to get a look at my tits down my top. But this day it wasn’t Frank. There was a cute little purple Ford Fiesta in the service bay with the bonnet up and an even cuter little backside in blue overalls, knotted at the waist, leaning over the engine, swaying to the radio. Planet Rock, even better.
I gave my hair a fluff and climbed out with my clipboard.
“Hi, I’ve got a delivery for Frank,” I called out, “Is he around?”
She turned around, stripping her latex gloves, mid-chorus of Panama by Van Halen. The stars aligned, the heavenly choir burst into song, and my Easter weekend all of a sudden was perfect.
“No, that’s for me.”
It was her. My teenage crush, right there working on that little Ford.
“Ohhh, hey, it’s Pinky, the cute van lady.” She walked over to help me. “I’m Jill; it’s so nice to finally meet you properly after all that waving.”
“Let’s try this again, shall we?” I said with a grin, “I’m Lynne, and it’s lovely to meet you too, Jill. So is this yours?” I pointed to the car.
“Yeah, Frank’s my uncle. And he said, If I can get it roadworthy and through an MOT by the time I hit seventeen, it’s mine. At least then I won’t have to buy a car this time next year. But I can at least learn to drive it and look after it in the meantime.”
So, I guessed right; she was sixteen.
“I can barely put petrol in mine; that’s really impressive. I’m useless with cars.”
I couldn’t stop looking at her; she was just so beautiful, even with that grease smear on her cheek and wearing grubby overalls.
“Fancy a coffee? I’ve just put the kettle on.”
“I really should get going; I don’t want to get in your way, and you seem busy.” Every fibre of me so wanted to stay.
“No, please stay. I’m kind of car’d out for today, and Frank won’t be back to pick me up for a couple of hours yet. Please stay and keep me company; it’ll be nice to actually talk to you. We’ve smiled and waved at each other enough for that, surely?”
To be honest, my heart somersaulted for joy. I had nowhere else to be. Ralph was at the salon, and the chance to spend a couple of hours with Jill was just too good to pass up.
We sat at the table in Frank’s grimy little tearoom, and Jill put two mugs down. She eyed my wrists.
“I love your tattoos; they’re so pretty.”
I have a double daisy chain bracelet tattooed on each wrist.
“Oh, thanks. I’ve got more. There’s a twist of rosemary and lavender on the back of my neck, too, for protection. I like all that witchy stuff.” I turned to show her, lifting my hair clear.
“That’s gorgeous. Witchy stuff is actually how I got into cars. My aunt and I binge-watched Supernatural. She’s got the hots for Dean. But for me, it was that ’67 Chevy Impala. I’ve been a car nut ever since.”
“Oh, I fucking love that show,” I replied, “They should never have killed off Bella in season three.” (Lauren Cohan, aka Maggie in The Walking Dead, for the uninitiated among you.) “I’ve got that tattoo as well, Sam and Dean’s anti-possession pentagram.”
She grinned, “Oohh, give us a look; I bet that looks dead sexy.”
I didn’t actually flash her my boobs, but close enough, as I leant over and pulled the neck of my polo away, revealing the little black tattoo just below my left collarbone.
Being sensible, I sat back before it went too far.
We sat and talked for a couple of hours. It turned out that she’d had trouble back at home in London. She’d lived with her single mum, who’d had a collection of iffy boyfriends. I’m sure you know the type, and she’d moved here to live with her aunt and uncle a couple of years ago.
She likes rock music too, which is a bonus. And she turned sixteen two months ago. Be still, my beating heart.
I couldn’t believe that I and this gorgeous girl who made my heart ache and my soul sing were actually becoming friends. I thought she’d be aloof or a bit… bitchy maybe, certainly not interested in me. But I have to say she was honestly one of the loveliest, friendliest girls I’ve ever met.
Frank rolled into the yard around 3.00pm. “Hiya, Frank, hope you don’t mind, but I was just keeping this lovely young lady safe till you got back. I’ll get out of your way now.”
“No problem, Lynne, my darlin’,” he chuckled, and he definitely tried to look at my tits. “I’ll be ordering on Monday, sweetheart, so I’ll see you then.”
Jill followed me to the van. “Lynne, can I add you on Snap or Instagram, or… maybe have your phone number? I really enjoyed hanging out with you today.”
I gave her all three. “You take care, ok? I’ll be seeing you around, no doubt.”
She gave me a beamer of a smile as I climbed into my van. She looked so cute as she shyly tucked her hair behind her ear.
“See you, Jill.”
She waved me off as I drove away, and I waved back out of the window. Wow, what a perfect afternoon.
I was dropping the van back at the yard and starting up my own car when my phone pinged:
Thanks for keeping me company. Pinky xxx
I don’t think I’d ever smiled so much. Anytime, Sweetie, anytime xxx was my response.
And so it continued, every day. Most days, twice a day. We’d smile and wave at each other. We followed each other’s socials, liked each other’s posts, and settled into a comfortable, very sweet, if age-inappropriate, friendship.
I was trawling through the tubs of cheap ‘five pairs for five quid’ pretty undies in my local department store, the following Saturday (it’s a great place to girl watch), when I heard a familiar voice.
“Whooooa, Pinky. Where have you been hiding those legs, sexy lady?”
I turned round, and yes, it was Jill, smiling for me as always. Made me glad I’d actually worn a skirt for once, too. She was with a friend and made introductions.
“Lynne, this is Charlotte; Charlotte, this is Lynne.”
“Lovely to meet you. So this is Lynne? THE Lynne? The Lynne she won’t shut up about, like, ever?”
I was floored. No, no way could this be a mutual crush.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Charlotte,” I stammered, eager to beat my retreat. “You two have a great day. I’ll see you soon, Jill.”
That little exchange stayed with me, nagging away in my little brain. What should I do? What does she want me to do? Am I overthinking shit as usual? I’d get a little closer to an answer the following Monday.
I was driving home from work around 5.15, and I saw her walking home. April in England, being what it is, it was pissing down with rain, and my dream girl was soaked and sad-looking. I broke the cardinal rule and pulled up to the kerb. I rolled down the window and called out to her.
“Jill, why are you out in this godawful weather, Sweets? Do you need a ride home?”
Bless her, my heart melted; she looks so pleased to see me and grateful for the lift.
“Thanks, Pinky, you’re a gem for this,” she said, folding her gorgeous legs into the van. “I had an after-school thing and missed the sodding bus; I thought I was going to have to walk home.”
Giving her a lift in a company van was a massive no-no, but I had to rescue my bedraggled damsel. We nattered about nothing in particular all the way home, and it turned out she only lives a few streets from me with her Aunty Pam and Frank. I pulled up to the kerbside to drop her off.
“Go on, Gorgeous, get inside and get warmed up; you’re drenched through.”
She gave my knee an affectionate squeeze and leant over to give me a kiss on the cheek.
“I’m not drenched yet, Pinky, but keep this up and who knows?” She blushed an adorable shade of pink and rushed to her front door, waving before she disappeared inside.
Fuck me! Is this real? Is she actually flirting with me?
*****
And so it continued. We developed this little habit of ‘accidentally on purpose’ letting each other know where we’d be and when, and we started continually bumping into each other. Usually on a Saturday or Sunday. With or without other company, we’d always end up alone together somehow. Breakfast at the local greasy spoon. Shopping for clothes. Surprise lunch meetings. You name the place; we found each other there.
We were almost dating. What scared me was the age gap. I’ve been the younger partner. My last girlfriend was almost twenty years my senior, which as an adult seemed like nothing. Yet, sixteen to almost thirty? I’ve looked at younger girls; who hasn’t? But I’d never actually had a lover so much younger than me. Those almost fourteen years seemed like a huge chasm.
Dare I try to cross it?
We took those first tentative steps over the ravine in June. I’d ‘accidentally’ told her I’d be at the movies at 2.00pm on a Saturday, to see some crappy rom-com. As if by magic, there she was. She looked cute as ever in tight jeans and an equally tight tee shirt that really drew your eye to her perky little boobs. We shared a friendly hug before I bought our tickets and popcorn.
“Looks like you girls have the place to yourselves; that theatre’s empty.” The usherette gave us a knowing, somewhat disapproving look as she inspected our tickets. “Theatre 11, enjoy the…movie.”
I could feel her judgemental stare drilling into my back as we walked down the hallway.
She was right; it was completely empty. But we still somehow found ourselves tucked in a corner on the back row. We chatted about our respective weeks as the ads and trailers played. I can’t tell you how young Jill made me feel. She was like the holy grail dipped in the fountain of youth. I had her all to myself, and I wanted to drink deeply.
As the house lights dimmed, I felt her reach for me and instinctively took her hand in mine in the darkness. She laced her fingers with mine and laid her head on my shoulder. and linked her other arm through.
That would have been enough to keep me smiling for a year, but about halfway into the film, while the leading man was professing his undying love for his heroine, I felt Jill move. Her hand slipped from mine. She flipped up the armrest and turned toward me. She nestled closer and sighed. I was aching for her.
She then brushed my hair over my ear, and I felt her breath on my skin. Warm on my neck and earlobe.
“Pinky”, she murmured, “you do know I really fancy you, right?”
Those whispered words were like a lottery win and a sledgehammer. Only better. They were the words I’d been dying to hear.
“To think you were so awkward that day we first spoke in the shop; it was so sweet. If I’m being honest, I’ve fancied you ever since.”
“I fancy you too, like crazy; you’re all I can think about. But what about friends your own age? Your family? Surely people will disapprove of us, Jill, and I don’t want to see you get hurt in the process. Believe me, babe, I’m… I’m nuts about you. I really am, but I’m so much older than you.”
“I’m a big girl, Lynne; I’ll be fine, trust me.” She stroked my face, “I’ve wanted to do this ever since that day you rolled into the garage. I want you to kiss me.”
She gently turned my chin to face her, and then, in that dark, empty movie theatre, she kissed me for the first time.
The world ceased to turn. I wanted to hold this moment forever.
I moaned softly, our popcorn bucket falling to the floor and spilling the contents. I embraced her. Her lips gently nuzzled mine with those wonderful, first, nibbly ‘get to know you’ kisses.
As our lips got better acquainted, we each applied more pressure. I traced her cupid’s bow with my tongue, and Jill readily parted her lips, our tongues effortlessly entwining.
She slid over onto my seat and into my lap, my hand running up and down her thigh in her sexy, tight jeans. Fuck, I wanted to touch her further up. Her hair smelt of citrus and herbs, and she tasted of sweet popcorn and Dr Pepper. If it hadn’t been for my own heartbeat, I’d have sworn I’d died and gone to heaven. Her low, girlish moans were just the icing on the cake.
We spent the rest of the movie just making out, like teens do. Tongues wrestled, hands wandered, and bodies seemingly fused together. We had the theatre to ourselves, the low light, the crappy movie and not a single disturbance. It was perfect. I can honestly say, if you combined my top ten best of all time kisses up to this point, they wouldn’t come close to kissing Jill that afternoon.
I dropped her home afterwards, elated, the happiest I’d felt in years. I stopped a few doors down, out of sight of Frank, with a promise to call her later that evening.
You hear about having that one perfect summer; well, this was certainly shaping up to be mine. June to July, July into August. We kept our trysts, which by now were by no means accidental. I even introduced her to Ralph. The two got along instantly. They bickered playfully like old friends, always giggling together. And he just loved styling her hair.
It was late August; I was delivering to Frank’s one morning, and he ominously pulled me aside, asking to have a quiet word. My blood ran cold.
“Lynne, darlin’, now, how do I put this?” He took a breath. “You and Jill, I know you two chat online and stuff, and I know,” he paused. “I know that you’ve been seeing each other. I should tell you to stop, being as you’re so much older. But I know she’ll only go behind my back if I do that. I know that’s what girls do. Just look, Lynne, I know she’s only sixteen, but she’s got a grown-up head on her shoulders. We’re trusting her to be sensible, and, well, we’re kind of trusting you too. If you get my drift.
“Frank, I…” He raises his hand to stop me.
“Lynne, what are you? Twenty-eight, twenty-nine? Just…don’t hurt her; she’s been through enough. But if you want to ask her out, I’m, well, me, and Pam, we’re cool with it. I like you, Sweetheart, and we know she’s got a crush on you. You’re all she talks about; you make her happy. Just be good to our little girl, eh? Oh, and just don’t go drawing attention to yourselves…the age gap and whatnot.”
I could’ve cried, and I tightly hugged him. “Oh, Frank, are you telling me I can ask her out, properly? Thank you, thank you. I promise, I promise I’ll be good to her.” I stopped and kissed his cheek. “Wait. Does she know we’re having this chat?”
“No sweets, but she knows we’re ok with it if you two are a thing. We spoke to her about it all. Just look after her, love, please.”
The August Bank Holiday was rapidly approaching, so I decided that as soon as I saw Jill, I was going to ask her on a date. A little day out I knew she’d love. I got my chance on the Wednesday morning. She was just coming out of the shop as I parked outside. She left her friend for a moment and walked over to my little van, smiling at me. I glanced over her shoulder; her friend didn’t look the least bit bothered that Jill was chatting to me.
“Hiya, Pinky, how are you today? You look even happier to see me than usual.”
I guessed ‘Pinky’ was now somehow going to stick, whatever my hair colour.
“Hey, cutie, well, I’m very happy, because I’ve got something to ask you. What are you doing…on Sunday? It’s the annual classic car show down at Saint Mary’s On Sea, and I wondered if you might like to go…with me?”
Her face lit up. “Pinky, are you actually…asking me out? Like…on a date? You do remember I’m only sixteen, right? She was smirking, teasing me. “Yes, yes, I’d love to, Lynne… Wait… did Frank speak to you?”
I wasn’t about to begin things with a lie. “Yeah, he did, but only to tell me to be good to you and that it was okay to ask you out. Shall I pick you up around 10.30? It’s about an hour’s drive.”
“He and Aunt Pam gave me a similar talk; I’ll be ready and waiting.” She leant into the van and kissed my cheek, then whispered, “God! I wish I could kiss you properly.”
Talk about going to work smiling.
oxoxoxoxox
Sunday at last, and as I pulled up outside Jill’s, she came bounding out of the front door. Her glossy hair glinting in the August Sunday sun. She looked so young, so fresh, so beautiful. She only wore a tiny bit of makeup and lip gloss, her youth shining through. She was wearing the cutest, tightest little shorts, one of Frank’s old vintage tour shirts, battered Nikes, and a flannel shirt casually slung over her shoulder. She looked naturally and effortlessly lovely.
She jumped into the passenger seat and kissed my cheek, “Hiya, Pinky babe, can I choose the playlist?”
“You know the Winchester Rule,” I chuckled, “Driver picks the music…”
“…Shotgun shuts her cakehole.” She replied with a grin.
How could I refuse? So I passed her my phone. As she started scrolling through Spotify, she kicked off her sneakers, raising her sexy, smooth legs and sliding her feet up onto the dashboard. It was all I could do to keep my eyes on the road and my hands on the wheel.
We chatted, we sang, we laughed, and the miles slipped by, and before I knew it, I was parking the car in the farthest corner of the only available car park.
“You know, Pinky, nobody’s ever looked at me like you were all the way here.”
“And how was I looking at you, Sweets?” I knew I was rumbled, so I just tried to style it out.
“Like you’re a lioness who wants to eat me up, and I liked it. You make me feel tingly and excited.”
She wasn’t wrong. I was aching to feel her in my arms and her lips on mine, and I didn’t have to wait too long. She pulled her shoes on and came round to my side of the car, which luckily was fairly obscured from view. She opened my door and leant in, sliding her little hand into my hair. She brought our faces together and softly, oh my god, so softly, pressed her velvety soft lips to mine.
My head swam; she smelt like oranges and tasted of watermelon. “Ohhh, Jill, Jill,”I whispered as she broke the kiss.
She giggled, “C’mon, let’s go and see some cars, shall we? You can eat me up later.”
I’d worried about how people might view us, walking hand in hand under the sun, but nobody paid us a second glance. Maybe it’s different for two girls. I began to relax and let myself enjoy the day, basking in her company.
Honestly, to see this pretty girl so happy made my day. Lamborghinis in lurid colours. Old Ferraris in classic red, vintage Fords, and Aston Martins – they all graced the streets of the quaint little seaside town. We snapped photos by the dozen, posing alongside these lovely old cars.
It was the mirror-black, late sixties Chevrolet Impala that made her squeal in delight. I bribed the owner to let my ‘niece’ have her picture taken behind the wheel. (It cost me a pic of my legs, sitting on the hood, if you were curious.) I think we both wondered what the back seat would feel like, too.
We were just finishing two enormous hot dogs when the British summer resumed usual service. An ominous dark cloud rolled in from the sea, and we felt the first spots of rain.
“Wanna make a run for it back to the car, gorgeous?”
“Yeah, I think so.” She replied. She dumped her wrapper in a nearby bin and took my hand.
It was a half mile or so back to the car, and by the time we got there, it was a deluge. I held my denim jacket above us, but to no avail. The classy little burnt orange tea dress I’d chosen so carefully was clinging wetly to me, and my little white plimsolls were soaked. Jill was soaked to the skin but evidently enjoying the rain nonetheless.
She pushed me against the car, grinning. She slipped her arms around my neck and pressed her teen body tightly to me. It was a romantic, movie-worthy kiss in the pouring rain, but the rocking of her hips and her smooth, wet leg stroking mine promised so much more to come.
We jumped in, the windows quickly fogging up. This time it was my turn. I pulled the wet girl to me, whispering, “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” Before pressing my lips to hers in a deep, wet kiss, she responded in kind, thrusting her tongue into my mouth.
She whimpered and boldly took our relationship to the next level. She boldly slid a hand into my wet dress to fondle and squeeze my naked breast, my nipple stiffening to her cold hand as she massaged it with her palm. I ran my hand up her inner thigh, cupping her mound, exerting some gentle pressure on her covered pussy. To this point, we’d been good girls, only touching over the clothes, but I sensed we were both ready for more. She bucked her hips, pushing urgently into my hand.
She pulled away, biting her lip. “I think we’d better go to your place. Pinky, I want you; fuck knows I want you. I’m ready, and that dress, as pretty as it is, really needs to come off. I’m tired of seeing you with your clothes on.”
This time, as I drove us home, I didn’t hold back from touching her silky smooth legs when she lifted her wet feet onto the dash. I slid my left hand down the back of Jill’s right thigh, cupping her delectable little bum, my fingers teasing underneath, making her squirm in the passenger seat.
Fuck, I’d never been so aroused as she pushed the hem of my wet dress up, stroking my thigh dangerously close to my white knickers. She licked her lips, a mischievous look of promise glinting in her deep hazel eyes, and pressed her fingertips against my slit, stroking me in slow circles.
The rain had stopped when we arrived home, still damp, still excited. Luckily, Ralph was in London with friends, so we had the place to ourselves; it was only 4.30, and I didn’t have to have Jill back home until 11.00.
We discarded our shoes in the hall, and I led her up to my bedroom. I felt her fingers slide deliciously up the back of my thigh as we climbed the stairs. We stopped and kissed at the top, Jill taking control and pushing me against the wall. This was it, the moment I’d fantasised about a million times. Jill and I alone at last, and hot as hell for each other.
“Can I use the loo quickly, please, Pinky?” She asked.
“Sure, you can use the en-suite in my room.” I showed her in and sat on the end of my bed to catch my breath.
If I’d known this was going to happen, I’d have tidied up and changed the sheets. There were clothes strewn everywhere from my earlier struggle to choose an outfit. Dirty knickers on the floor. I threw everything back in the wardrobe and laundry basket and hastily straightened the duvet out.
Thank god I was more fastidious about my body.
When she emerged, she took my breath away. She’d stripped to her undies, a pretty matching cotton set in a denimy blue, adorned with red flowers. No underwire needed for her perfect pert young boobs. Her hips flared enticingly, the little knickers sitting neatly on them. Her thighs were so deliciously curvy. She was a vision. From her damp hair to her pretty painted toes.
She stood in the doorway, one foot on top of the other, head slightly bowed, looking almost unsure, until I held my arms out to her.
I was wet; I could feel it, and I wanted her to see the state she’d got me in.
My thighs parted, clearly showing my damp white knickers clinging to my pussy. She stood between my parted legs, looking down at me. She held me to her breasts, running her fingers through my hair, before I lifted my face. She dipped her head, claiming my mouth in a heated kiss, her tongue seeking mine, as I ran my hands up and down her legs. I squeezed her bottom as she wiggled into my grip.
“Oohhh fuck, Pinky… oohhh god, I want you, pleeeeease.”
I kissed her breasts, pushing her bra cups up to expose her gorgeous tits, topped with candy floss-coloured nipples. I took one between my lips, running my tongue around it, feeling it stiffen as she unzipped the back of my dress. She slid it off of my shoulders before pulling me tightly to her. I lifted my feet, hooking my legs around her calves.
“Pinky, please take it off; I want to see all of you.”
She pulled the damp dress down my body and off over my feet as I scooted up the bed. She crawled up, playfully straddling my torso as she slipped her bra off, tossing it aside. I held her hips, marvelling at her silky smooth skin, the sexy swell of her belly, and the way her thighs gripped me. She leant forward, grabbing the headboard rail, her breathing ragged as I kissed her belly. Hearing her sharp intake of breath, watching her tummy suck in reflexively when my tongue dipped into her navel.
“Fuuuck me, Pinky, yesss,” she hissed as my thumbs ran downward, stroking her pussy in slow circles over her pretty knickers.
I pulled the front down, exposing her. Her pubic hair was trimmed into a very neat triangle above her tight teen slit. The rest was shaved baby smooth. And she was wet, very wet. Her pussy glistened, and I could smell her arousal.
I began to have my doubts that this was her first time; inexperienced maybe, but not a complete novice.
I rolled her over onto her back and kissed her lips again. Our tongues instantly wrapping together, my hands wandering all over her exquisite young body. She tugged urgently at the waistband of my knickers, dragging them down, rolling them over my hips, as my fingers dipped into her to stroke and caress her sex.
My other hand reciprocated, easing her own knickers down. With one hand gently holding her tummy down, I pulled her undies off, kicking my own the rest of the way off, my middle finger teasing at her slick, honey-coated slit.
“Pinkyyyy, don’t tease.” She pleaded, her voice shaking.
I kissed her again and slid down between her beautiful thighs, taking a moment to admire her pussy. It was an artistic study in pink. Her inner labia pouting invitingly. Her body quivering in anticipation. I dipped my head, kissing her mound, before taking a long bottom-to-top swipe with my flattened tongue. I was rewarded with a gasp, her hips pushing against me.
She bent her left leg under my raised hips. Her toes slipped between my thighs to touch and tease at my aching cunt. Wow, this is new, I thought to myself. I spread my knees to give her better access. Definitely not a novice. I responded. My mouth covering her, my top lip massaging her clit as I French kissed her beautiful pussy. I wantonly rode the top of her foot, her big toe occasionally slipping between my lust-puffed lips.
Fuck, she was wet. So so fucking wet. Her right leg draped over my back, holding me exquisitely in place as she fucked my mouth. Her hips urgently pushed upward, her back arching, forcing herself to my loving mouth.
Her toes busily diddled my at soaking, silk smooth cooch. Fuck, it felt amazing. So new and different and just a little bit kinky.
We moaned, we writhed. We soaked my duvet. We were just two girls, joyfully, unashamedly, fucking.
Almost six months of wanting. Several months of making out and then going home to nothing but my own fingers and a lewd, vivid imagination. All of it leading to this moment.
I thrashed at her clit with my tongue, driving two fingers into her teen cunt, hooking them back to tease at her G-spot.
I sank down on her foot and slipped my hand under her bum, pulling her tight to my mouth as she obligingly arched up. I felt the first telltale ripple in her thigh, her rapid breathing. The quiver in her beautiful, sexy tummy – she was close. I wanted to keep her on the brink, but I desperately wanted to make her come.
“P…Pin…Pinkyyyyyy,” she grabbed a fistful of my hair as her young body crested the wave. Her orgasm crashing over her, she was shaking violently. Her back levitated from the rumpled sheets as she desperately pushed her pussy to my more than willing mouth. Her juices copiously glazing my face.
“Jill, baby, that’s it. That’s it, Love; come for me, fuck, Gorgeous Girl, come for me.”
Amazingly and totally unexpectedly, she triggered me at the same time. I was already coming nicely to the boil, but what happened next was right out of the blue. Her foot twisted, and her big toe slid right into me, the other toes stroking my lust-swollen lips. The shock of this wonderful invasion lit the blue touch paper as I trembled and spasmed. I pushed down hard, my body wracked in rapturous convulsions as my pussy clenched, throbbed and dribbled down her silky soft foot.
“Gnnnnhhhhnn fuckk fuuck fuuckkkkkk,” I was babbling incoherently. She kept tugging my hair as we climaxed as one, and it was the most beautiful pain you can imagine.
I leant back, lifting her cum-glazed foot to my lips, savouring my own musky flavour.
“Ohh Jill, baby, are you ok?” She was panting for air but coaxed me upward, and we collapsed into a warm, naked embrace, our bodies intertwining like puzzle pieces.
“Oh my god, Pinky, so much better than I even imagined, so much better.” I kissed her, sharing her taste on my lips, as I caressed her beautiful face.
“Jesus, Jill, you are so beautiful.”
I let her rest peacefully in my arms, cherishing the feeling of just being with her.
Before you ask, Dear Reader,. Yes, we did it again and again long into the evening, but us girls have to leave something to your imagination. Don’t we?
xoxoxoxoxi
10.30pm, on the button. I left Jill at her front door safe and sound and thirty minutes early. We’d said our romantic goodbyes earlier so as not to be seen and made a plan to meet for lunch the next day, Bank Holiday Monday.
I watched her, bathed in red from my taillights, as I rolled off Frank’s driveway. I gave her a little wave out of my side window, rolled it up, and pulled out slowly. I couldn’t take my eyes off her in the rearview.
I woke up in a hospital bed the following lunchtime.
I’d neither heard nor seen the black BMW that hit my front end. Some young lout out for a Sunday night joyride and going way too fast.
Jill had called 999 and rode with me in the ambulance, lying that she was my niece. Apparently she’d barely left my side since. Frank dealt with the police at his place.
Thankfully, nothing was broken or seriously damaged. But I did take a pretty bad clunk to the head from hitting my window, which had knocked me out. And I got minor powder burns from two airbags deploying. The hospital wanted to keep me in for 24 hours just in case.
Jill had called Ralph, who hightailed it back from London. He, in turn, had called my parents, who arrived at my bedside later that afternoon, having cut short their weekend in Cornwall.
It was only then that Jill got up to leave. She squeezed my hand.
“See you soon, Pinky.” She kissed my cheek. “We still have a lunch date, and don’t you dare stand me up,” she’d whispered. “I’d better go; Frank’s downstairs waiting.”
“Bye, Gorgeous Girl, I’ll be there, I promise.”
Our fingers touched briefly, and I watched her leave. My mother stared after her, a kind of shocked expression on her face.
“Lynette?” Eeugggh, my full name – “Who was ‘that girl’?
xoxoxoxoxo
That was ten days ago. Work was great; they gave me two weeks off with full pay to recover. So I’m lying here on the couch, on this pleasant September afternoon. Not quite how I’d envisaged spending my thirtieth birthday, but hey, I’m alive, right?
Schools are back now, so Jill is visiting after. It’s 5.30 now, and I can hear her and Ralph bickering playfully in the kitchen as they dish out our takeaway. Whatever it is, it smells great. Pretty sure it’s a massive Indian, my favourite.
I also discovered Lush Stories the other day too. I may be bruised and battered, but a girl still has those needs. Looooving your stories, everyone. They’ve really kept me going, if you know what I mean.
So, in the spirit of sharing, I thought maybe a few of you might like to read my story. Well, mine and Jill’s. It gave me something to do to pass the time and brought back some lovely memories, too. I just hope you enjoyed it.
The really good news is that she’s not just ‘That Girl’ anymore. Sure, it’s unconventional, and we’ve got to be careful, but make no mistake, she’s ‘My Girl’ now, and she tells me every chance she gets.
Ohhh, before I leave you, my new friends, let’s see if ‘Pinky’ sticks as my nickname, shall we? Ralph dyed my hair electric blue earlier today to cheer me up, and my Jillybean hasn’t seen it yet.
I’ll let you know what she says. Byeeee for now, and keep it Lushxxx.
