The 19 Year Old Virgin Next Door by Sean Brandon Page A

idea. Let
me call the paramedics, they will help you for free.” We live at
the beach and have world class paramedics on stand-by all the time.
It seemed ridiculous not to call them and have them work on
her.
    “I’m 19,” she said, her voice soft. “I won’t
sue you for giving me medical supplies to patch up my ass, okay?”
Her face was firm and determined as I looked at her and I decided
to let her have her way.
    “Okay, come on in,” I said.
    I put a hand out to pull her to her feet and
she took it. She pulled, gasped, moaned, and started to cry again
when she started to walk. So I picked her up. She was all legs and
arms and was easy to pick up.
    “How did you do this?” I asked, our faces
inches apart.
    “Tommy and I were racing our skateboards down
sixth street and I hit a patch of gravel. Now some of that gravel
is embedded in my leg and Tommy kept on going,” she said. She was
very matter of fact about it.
    I remember several of my own epic skateboard
wipeouts and felt sorry for the girl. I was proud of the scars on
my legs from skateboarding, trail running, skiing, water skiing,
trying to barefoot water ski and more. Scraped legs were a status
symbol in some crowds.
    Once inside I had to carry her up two levels
to the kitchen then looked around for a place to set her down. The
living room, dining room, kitchen and my office are located on the
top floor of my house where you get the best views of the
ocean.
    She’d bleed on the couch or bed, so the only
place to set her on the kitchen counter. As I lifted her up to set
her on the counter it brought her face closer to mine. She leaned
forward and kissed my cheek. “That’s for rescuing a wounded girl. I
really am 19, by the way. Is that what you were worried about?”
    “Well, yeah, and you’re hurt, you should have
a professional look at it,” I said.
    She reached into her back pocket and pulled
out her driver’s license. It said that Darla Green was 19 years
old. Of course the hair in the driver’s license picture was
screaming fire engine red, so I laughed. “I’m 19 and legal. And
you’re too nice a guy to hurt me.”
    She jumped down off the counter and started
hopping on one foot over to the sink. I stopped her and picked her
up again. I grabbed a nearby towel to go under her then set her
back on the counter again. “Look, stay up there and I will clean
you up. You want something to drink?” I asked.
    “Vodka, straight,” she said and wincing as
she did.
    “No,” I said. “What else do you want?”
    “Screwdriver would be nice,” she said.
    I poured us both a glass of orange juice and
went downstairs to the bathroom in my bedroom for supplies. When I
walked back into the kitchen she was standing at the wet bar in the
living room, a bottle of Grey Goose in her hand topping off both of
our drinks.
    “What?” she asked. “I poured it myself, it’s
not like you’re trying to get me liquored up.” She downed her drink
then hobbled back to the counter and set mine down.
    “I knew this was a bad idea,” I said. “Let me
call the paramedics and have them clean you up.”
    “No, we can do it, Mr. Brandon,” she
said.
    “Sean,” I said. “Please call me Sean.”
    “I actually like calling you Mr. Brandon,”
she said with a smile that made me pause. Her face had a certain
look to it that said she was thinking something sexy. What a tease.
I looked at her to see if she was fucking with me but she was
serious.
    “Okay, call me what you want,” I said.
    “Okay, let’s play doctor for real this time,”
she said as she gave me a smug look and let me help her back up
onto the counter.
    “Okay, let me look at your…”
    “Ass.” She said. “My ass, thigh, and calf I
should add.”
    “We’ll start with your ass,” I said. “It
seems to have taken the worst of it.”
    “These were my favorite shorts.” They were
also my favorite shorts at that moment. They were the tiniest
orange shorts that only a 19 year old girl’s