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

ass can wear. Even the
outline of her driver’s license pressed through the fabric they
were so thin and tight. “I’d better take them off,” she said as
easily as she would ask for more juice.
    “Good idea,” I said, figuring she was fucking
with me.
    Nope. She jumped to the floor, kicked off her
shoes, stepped out of the shorts, and I watched as they fell to the
floor of my kitchen. I slowly looked up her insanely long legs as
she painfully removed her socks. She was wearing the briefest white
lace thong and my face had a huge grin. My cock began to push hard
against my shorts. I knew this was where I should send her home and
probably call the paramedics for myself.
    “You don’t mind do you?” she asked. I looked
into her eyes, looking for any evidence of a tease, anything that
would tell me that she was pulling my chain. She simply looked like
she was doing what needed to be done and was comfortable standing
in front of me in a bikini top and thong.
    The white thong and the white bikini top were
now a very sexy combination. Her eyes met mine, her shoulders were
back, and at that moment she was a strong woman again. Her breasts
were not much bigger than an "A" cup. But what she had she proudly
pushed out, her shoulders thrown back with confidence.
    “Okay, back onto the counter,” I said. She
looked down at my crotch and could not have missed the erection
pressing out. She didn’t say anything as she slowly pulled herself
onto the counter and my eyes followed every move.
    “Okay now, I’m going to clean this up. This
will hurt,” I said.
    “Can we wait?” she asked, a plea in her
voice.
    “The longer we wait the more it dries, which
means it hurts even worse when we try to clean it up. We also have
to kill off the germs…” I said until I realized she was laughing
quietly.
    “You have a hard-on for a wounded girl, Mr.
Brandon,” she said while looking me straight in the eyes.
    “I do,” I said. She was not used to guys
being direct with her and smiled, then settled into the
counter.
    “But you’d have a hard-on no matter which 19
year old ass was sitting on your kitchen counter, is that it?”
    “Darla, let’s patch you up before we try and
define exactly what turns me on, okay?”
    “We could be here a while I’m sure,” she said
with a sly smile.
    “No, my wants are pretty basic,” I said,
because they are.
    I opened up a second towel, watching closely
as she lifted her ass up enough for me to slide it under her but
not high enough not to touch her.
    “This is going to hurt,” I told her.
    “Go for it,” she said acting brave.
    When she was situated I poured some sterile
saline solution over her wounds to wash out the smalls pieces of
grit and rock lodged there. She let out a scream and punched my arm
so I stopped pouring.
    “Why did you stop?” she asked.
    “Because you screamed and punched me,” I
said.
    “I’m not a pussy, I just have a pussy, get
the difference?”
    This was a whole other girl from the one at
the market. When she was at the market she would never use the word
pussy. The stereotype of the good girl/bad girl dream I’d had so
often. I poured more saline onto the wound and this time she tried
to tough it out. I could see tears welling up in her eyes but she
didn’t make a sound.
    Next I picked up some tweezers and started
removing chunks of pavement embedded in her flesh. Then I had to
cut away some of the skin that had been scraped aside. She stopped
me, hopped off the counter and hopped over to the wet bar again.
She added some vodka to her glass then hopped back and climbed back
onto the counter where she took a very long drink.
    “Ready,” she said as she set the glass
down.
    I kept picking bits and pieces of gravel out
of her wounds. She clenched her teeth and tried to pretend she was
tough, but after a bit she screamed again. As she screamed she
arched her back, threw her chest out, and tensed up her entire
body. As I washed away the blood and grime