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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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Removing Nicky's Glasses
by Dreamgiver (hughmacg23@hotmail.com)

***

Jennifer was a 19-year-old university student home for 
the summer. She would never dare to seduce a 12-year-
old boy. Would she? (F/b, ped, 1st, mast, oral, rom)

***

I thought I would just be babysitting Nicky Jones that 
night – eating some pizza with him, watching a movie, 
making sure he got safely to bed. Oh, he got to bed all 
right. He got to bed with me. It happened a week ago, 
and I can't shake the image of his boyish face grinning 
from ear to ear as I straddled his slender body, his 
cock pushing up surprisingly far inside me as we 
fucked. Neither can I forget his unbroken voice calling 
out in joy again and again as he came. 

This wasn't what was supposed to happen. Let me 
explain. I'd been home for two weeks after my second 
year away at university, working part-time in a dull 
job involving hamburgers, when the phone rang on a 
Friday morning and my mother said it was for me. I 
figured it must be my boyfriend Tim, who was spending 
most of the summer working on his family's farm. 

"Is that Jennifer?" said a vaguely familiar voice. 
"It's Doreen Jones. You know, Nicky and Susan's 
mother."            

"Oh, right," I said slowly. I hadn't done any 
babysitting since I was fourteen. The Jones family 
lived on the far side of town, and I hadn't seen any of 
them in the last five years.

"I know this seems like a strange thing to ask," the 
voice carried on, "but we're really hoping that you'll 
be able to come and babysit Nicky overnight. We're 
moving to Ottawa on Monday, and my husband and I have 
to drive out of town this afternoon – he's getting a 
volunteer award in Edmonton before we leave the 
province."

"You can't take Nicky with you?" I said.

She sounded a little embarrassed. "Well, no, they're 
putting us up in a fancy hotel, and my husband ..."

Her voice trailed off. I thought I got the picture.  

"Maybe he could stay with a friend," I said.

She lowered her voice. I wondered suddenly if Nicky was 
listening to his mother talk. "That's what his younger 
sister will be doing. But Nicky doesn't, um, really 
have any friends. Any good friends, I mean. To tell you 
the truth, he's had a pretty awful time at school. 
That's part of the reason we’re moving."

I tried to remember Nicky. The last time I saw him, he 
was a smart kid with cute blond hair, but even at seven 
he wore dorky glasses and read a lot of books. He 
struck me as the sort of boy who always gets on better 
with adults than with other kids.

"We'd pay you, of course," Mrs. Jones added. "We'd pay 
you well. Because this means a lot to Nicky."

Why? He hadn't seen me in five years. I was puzzled, 
but after the mention of good money I was also willing. 
I thought of a price, added twenty dollars, and to my 
astonishment Mrs. Jones said she'd pay me more than 
that. The gratitude in her voice was palpable.

She named an address. "Can you be round here by four?" 
she asked.

***

A few hours later I changed into a white tank top, 
jeans and a light sweater, and added a few touches of 
makeup. For some reason I didn't put on a bra. When I 
got to the house, Mr. Jones – a bald, worried-looking 
man with a permanent slouch – was already chafing to 
leave. "It's a three-hour drive," he told his wife, 
then turned and repeated it to me. Susan had already 
gone over to her best friend's house. Nicky was keeping 
to himself upstairs. Mrs. Jones shepherded me into the 
family room away from her husband, and talked to me in 
a soft, urgent voice. 

"My husband had a job offer in Ottawa," she said, "and 
we jumped at it for Nicky's sake. It's been terrible 
the past couple of years, but the school refuses to do 
anything about it. They even have the gall to say that 
if Nicky's smart enough to have skipped a couple of 
grades, he should be smart enough to deal with 
bullies." She sighed and shook her head. "And there's 
the question of gym class. He's not very – grown, let's 
say. He came home one afternoon last month with bruises 
all over his body." 

"That's terrible," I said. I hadn't ever been attacked 
when I was in high school, but I knew kids of both 
sexes who suffered badly. It sounded like Nicky had 
endured more than most. "But I'm still surprised he 
wants me to babysit. I mean, most boys–" 

"I know, I know," his mother interrupted. "Just a 
second!" she shouted to her husband. She lowered her 
voice again. "He always remembered how kind you were to 
him. And I think he looks back on early childhood as 
the best time he's ever had. Poor boy."

A minute later I watched their car speed away from the 
driveway, and turned around to see Nicky watching me 
from the stairs. He still had cute blond hair, parted 
down the middle, and worn a bit longer than most boys 
do; unfortunately he also wore large glasses with thick 
lenses. They did not quite disguise a black eye. He was 
wearing a long-sleeved green shirt and grey dress pants 
that seemed more appropriate to church than home. His 
complexion showed no trace of acne, and his lips were 
bright red.

"Hey, Nicky," I said with a smile. "Remember me?"

"Jennifer," he said softly in a high-pitched voice. 
"Wow!" 

"Wow what?"

He blushed and shook his head, and I suddenly wondered 
if he'd have been dreaming about me for years. I was no 
taller than when he last saw me, but my black hair was 
longer and my breasts had filled out a bit. I couldn't 
help noticing a small bulge in the front of his pants. 
Whoever said that children aren't sexual beings?

I hauled my bag up to the guest bedroom. The house was 
warm, so I left my sweater on the bed. Nicky's room was 
just across the hall. Glancing in, I expected to see 
posters of rappers and rock stars on his wall, plus 
maybe a pin-up or two. But instead there were National 
Geographic maps, photographs of world leaders, and a 
single Harry Potter poster. "This boy really is a 
nerd," I thought.

At that moment I would have laughed out loud if anyone 
had suggested I was about to pluck his cherry. I mean, 
he's a scrawny kid with just the barest trace of fuzz 
on his upper lip. I'm 19 years old, and when I'm at 
university I have regular sex with an agriculture 
student who shaves twice a day and lifts weights in his 
spare time. Admittedly Tim is not the brightest spark 
on campus, but I love his generosity, his muscles and 
his thick, seven-inch cock.

Nicky didn't say too much at first. He practised the 
piano for a while, glancing my way from time to time. 
Then we played a couple of games of chess, and he beat 
me hollow. I'm an English major; I'm not into math. 
Mrs. Jones had left some money for me to order a pizza, 
and finally, after he'd eaten a slice, he began to open 
up. The mozzarella made him think of string theory, 
though I had to admit after a couple of minutes I 
didn't know what he was talking about. But as though 
some kind of dam had been broken, he switched from 
abstract ideas to his terrified life at school.

"They wait for me in the locker room," he said. "Four 
or five of the guys. They laugh at me. They flick my 
ears and poke me in the back and punch me in the face. 
And that's not all."

"It's enough," I said. "It's way too much."

"No, but they also take rulers and measure people's, 
you know..." 

"Equipment?" I said.

"Yeah. And then they slap me with the rulers. Even, you 
know, down there. And then next class, they tell the 
girls about the measurements." His ears had gone red, I 
noticed. Behind his glasses his eyes looked moist. He 
fiddled with the frame where it touched the top of his 
nose.

"You're two years younger than the rest of them?"

"Yeah, I skipped a couple of grades."

"So it's not surprising," I said. "You'll catch up. In 
Ottawa you'll make a fresh start." He didn't say 
anything, as though he'd heard all this a thousand 
times before. On impulse, I decided to say something he 
probably hadn't heard. "I bet by the time you're 
fourteen, you'll have a gorgeous cock."

His eyes widened and he put a hand over his mouth, as 
though he couldn't believe what he'd heard. I carried 
on regardless. "When I was twelve my breasts had hardly 
grown at all. Some of the girls must have laughed at 
me. But a year later – " I wasn't sure how to end the 
sentence. My breasts aren't that big, but Tim once told 
me he could fondle them all day. "A year later they'd 
grown OK," I said lamely. I felt my nipples poking hard 
against the thin fabric of my tank top.

"I bet," Nicky said. There was an awkward silence. 
"Could we watch a movie now?"

"Sure," I said. It was probably a good idea to talk 
about something different.

"Like a real date!" he said. I grinned and nodded. He 
looked so innocent, I didn't tell him that on a real 
date, my hand might be deep inside a guy's pants. 

He decided to watch 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of 
Fire', even though he'd seen it three times already. I 
have to admit my attention wandered a bit. In one of 
the less exciting scenes I went back to the kitchen and 
microwaved some popcorn. I put it in a large blue bowl 
and we ate it sitting side by side on the sofa. He was 
so engrossed in the movie that once, when he reached 
for the popcorn, he put his hand on my thigh instead. I 
let it stay there until he noticed. Then he withdrew it 
as though it had been touching flames.

"They've grown up a lot," I said when the final credits 
were rolling. "The actors, I mean. The girl who plays 
Hermione is beautiful."

"Yeah," Nicky said, "but she's not really hot.'' He had 
a big smile on his face.

"Not like me?" I teased.

The smile disappeared. "Not like you," he said, 
touching his glasses. "Not like you."

Maybe I should have seized that moment. It's a 
wonderful feeling to be adored, to be truly loved, and 
I knew then that Nicky loved me. Maybe I should have 
taken his hands right then and given him the first 
passionate kiss of his life. But I chickened out. "He's 
only twelve," I said to myself, "and he looks even 
younger. Don’t be a fool."

So Nicky went up to his room alone, and read for a 
while, and I heard him take a shower. I stayed 
downstairs, cleared up the supper dishes and played 
with myself a little. I tried to think about Tim while 
I did so, but my thoughts kept straying. 

It was time to say goodnight. I went up to Nicky's room 
and knocked on the door. "May I come in?" I said.

"Of course!" He sounded so eager. But I nearly laughed 
at the sight of him sitting up in bed, wearing check 
pyjamas of a style only suitable for grandfathers. 
Where did his parents get their bad taste in clothes? 
Luckily I restrained myself – he'd endured too much 
scornful laughter over the past few years. I went over 
and sat on the edge of his bed. My hair fell across my 
bare shoulders and down to my breasts. 

"Hey," I said. "I bet this is the first time a girl has 
ever sat on your bed."

"No," he said, "Susan has." He was such a logical boy. 
And at the same time, so desperately needy.

"Oh right," I said. Then I went quiet. We were both a 
little embarrassed. I think he realized we were 
trembling on the edge of something forbidden, something 
taboo. Something he wanted more than anything else in 
the world, but which also frightened him. "Listen," I 
finally said, "is there anything you'd like to ask me? 
About, I dunno, anything at all."

He nodded. I'd given him an opening, a great big 
opening. But his question just about floored me: "Do 
you think I'll ever be normal?"

"Normal?" I said. "What's so great about normal? You're 
unusually smart, you're unusually cute-looking, you 
wear unusual pyjamas – why would you want to be 
normal?"

"So I don't get laughed at anymore. The guys in school 
say I'm a freak. I want to be normal!" 

"Of course you'll be normal," I said. And smiled at 
him. And reached out and stroked his cheek. It felt as 
smooth as a girl's. He gave a little shudder of 
surprise. "You're normal already," I added. "You have 
normal desires, right?"

He plucked up his courage and said, "Do you fuck your 
boyfriend?"

Strange to hear that four-letter word in his soprano 
voice. But it was an honest question, and it deserved 
an honest answer. "Yes, I do," I said. "It's a 
wonderful feeling."

"What's it like?"

"I don't know what it's like for a guy," I said. "For 
me, when Tim is inside me, it's like I'm being torn 
apart and put together all at the same time. It's like 
I'm swimming in fire. Hard to explain, I guess." 

"He's the luckiest guy in the world," Nicky said.

"He makes me feel good," I replied. "So I guess I'm 
lucky too."

I noticed he was blushing. And then, as though it were 
a formal speech he'd rehearsed a thousand times, he 
looked away and said: "Jennifer, I'll be moving to 
Ottawa next week. This is my only chance to find out 
what a kiss is like. Would you – would you show me?"

I didn't answer in words. Instead I moved a bit closer 
to the top of the bed, leaned forward and put my parted 
lips on his. After a few moments I moved my head 
backward just long enough to say, "Open your mouth." 

Which he did. And a bit later, I stretched my tongue 
out to find his. It took him a little while to learn a 
few of the simple things that tongues can do together. 
Everything was so new and surprising to him, I suddenly 
realized Nicky had had absolutely no idea what a kiss 
would feel like. He was not just a virgin; he was 
almost a pre-virgin. The moisture in my pussy was 
beginning to soak my panties.

Our mouths drew apart. 

"Take your glasses off," I said quietly. 

"But then I won't be able to see you," he said in a 
shaky voice.

Silly boy. I gently removed his glasses and put them on 
his bedside table. Without them, as I'd suspected, he 
looked absolutely gorgeous, even with a black eye. He 
was a pre-man, and I couldn't believe how wet he was 
making me. 

I was sitting right beside him now, and our mouths 
found each other again. His tongue began to play with 
mine. But then, to my amazement, I felt one of his 
hands push against my chest, pressing, groping, 
grabbing. 

I pulled back sharply. "Nicky," I said, standing up, 
"you've got no right to grab like that. You didn't ask 
if it was OK, you just groped. You can't do that with a 
girl." He was saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" but I left 
his bedroom anyway. Part of me was slightly relieved – 
I didn't know how far I might have gone. Or rather, I 
did know.

I watched a little TV, then phoned Tim. But he didn't 
sound especially keen to talk. I realized I was 
interrupting a playoff hockey game. "Just wanted to let 
you know I miss you," I said. "Yeah, sure, I miss you 
too," he said. I could tell his mind was on the game. 
The crowd cheered in the distance. Fuck men, I thought. 
Why is a stupid game more important than a lover?

A minute later I was in the kitchen, drinking a glass 
of juice. I turned the lights off, then went upstairs 
to the guest bedroom. I didn't intend to go back into 
Nicky's room. But as I stood there in the hall, I heard 
a low sound coming from behind the door I had closed. 
It was the sound of helpless crying.

My heart melted. This time I didn't bother to knock, I 
just walked straight in. His bedside light was still on 
but his head was buried under the bedclothes. 

"Nicky," I said. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Please 
forgive me. You just took me by surprise, that's all."

His body shook, as though racked by sobs. "I ruined 
everything," he said, not turning around to face me. 
"This was the best night of my whole life, and I ruined 
it."

"No you didn't," I said. "No way. Look at me."

His blond hair shook on the pillow. He still wouldn't 
turn around. The stubbornness of this boy, and the 
pain! I threw my tank-top onto the floor and climbed 
onto his bed. When he felt the weight, he half-turned. 
At which point I moved my breasts gently onto his face. 
Only then did I realize he'd put his glasses back on. I 
heard a muffled, incredulous gasp. "Nicky," I said. 
"You only had to ask." Then before he could reply, I 
pulled my body up, pushed my face down and kissed him. 
Hard. Hard and long. The only reason I stopped was to 
lick the tears from off his cheeks. They were as salty 
as my boyfriend's semen, and more delicate.

I wanted to show the boy everything. I didn't want to 
keep any secrets back. He loved me. Did I dare to admit 
I loved him back? When we stopped kissing I wriggled 
out of my jeans. Now all I was wearing was a pair of 
white panties with a small red rose on the side. A pair 
of panties stained by my desire. I watched him drink me 
in with his eyes as though I were the most delicious 
liquid in the world. I didn't ask if he liked what he 
saw. I didn't need to.

There he lay, still wearing those ridiculous pyjamas. I 
started to unbutton them. The skin on his chest was 
silky and beautiful, so beautiful. He squirmed out of 
his pyjama top. But when I reached for the pants, his 
hand stopped me.

"No," he said. "No."

"Why?" I said. "It's OK to be naked. Bodies are 
fantastic. Your body is fantastic."

He shook his head, and I remembered his shame in the 
locker room. "Nicky," I said. "Trust me. Please."

"You won't laugh?" he said. I shook my head. And then, 
carefully, deliberately, almost proudly, he pulled down 
his own pyjama pants and exposed his tender, hard, 
strangely elegant cock. It wasn't as small as I'd 
feared – perhaps four inches long. But who was 
measuring? Not me. I was feasting. Freed from 
constriction, his cock bounced up against his lower 
belly. Now he was wearing nothing except his glasses.

"You're gorgeous," I told him. "Forget about being 
fourteen. You're gorgeous now."

There was a soft, sparse fluff of downy hair around the 
base of his cock. It reminded me that if I was seeing 
him naked, he deserved to see me the same way.

"You can take my panties off," I said. "If you want 
to."

He did. I heard a soft groan and thought of asking him 
why, but this wasn't the time for words. Not with his 
cock dancing in the air. For the second time in an 
hour, I reached out and removed his glasses. I stroked 
his belly, I ran my hands down his hairless thighs, and 
I felt him do the same for me. I could have lingered 
there, stroking, squeezing, touching, but I knew his 
need was intense. Had he ever experienced an orgasm? 
"Nicky," I said, "make any noise you like, do anything 
you like, don't worry about anything, it's all good!" 
He started to reply but then I took his cock in his 
mouth. All of it. The sweetest meat I ever tasted in my 
life.

Within a few seconds he came, of course. I knew he 
would. His pale thighs bucked, his cock poured out its 
pleasure, and I heard a strange wild cry that seemed to 
come from far across the room. Was it him? Was it me? 
Who cares?

I swallowed his cum – there wasn't much of it, but it 
tasted delicious – and, for a fleeting second, thought 
"What in the world am I doing?" Then he was sitting up 
and embracing me, his cheeks still moist, his cock 
still erect, his hands still not knowing quite where to 
go. I moved them to my breasts, moved his mouth to one 
of my nipples, moved my hands to his blond head. He 
suckled me like a young tiger. Somehow, I can't 
remember exactly how, I was sitting on top of him. He 
looked up at me in awe, there's no other word. I was a 
goddess. I had never felt more powerful in my life.

Except that I needed him inside me. Never, never have I 
needed a cock so badly as that night. So he had even 
more power than me. And he knew it. He raised himself 
from the bed and whispered in my ear, "You're the 
sexiest babysitter in the world." I nibbled on his 
earlobe before I whispered back, "And you're the 
sexiest boy." He giggled and whispered, "Would you like 
me to fuck you?" I whispered to him, "Yes, please." 

"Louder," he said in his normal boyish voice. "Yes, 
please," I said. "Louder!" I was growing desperate – if 
he didn't fuck me soon, I'd have to take my pussy into 
my own hands. So I shouted, "Nicky, for God's sake fuck 
me NOW!" 

"OK," he said. And then I guided him inside my hungry 
lower lips, and he knew where to go, he knew what to 
do. I don't know how he knew, but he did. I noticed the 
smile that stretched across his face. But within a 
minute I was lost to him, I was lost to the world, I 
was lost to everything except the insane glory of my 
coming. I know I was shouting again. But so was he. I 
heard his high voice, I seemed to feel it inside me as 
his cock spasmed again. The world was a spinning 
bedroom with Harry Potter peering down at us. My orgasm 
went on and on. At some point we both began to laugh.

Whatever else life may be for, I thought, it's for 
this. This laughter. This beauty. This incredible 
physical glee. 

***

I spent most of the night in his bed. It was 
uncomfortably narrow. We made love twice more – three 
times if you count my intricate tonguing manoeuvres 
when I gave him head. In the early morning, when he was 
sleeping like a baby, I got up and went back to the 
guest bedroom. Better let the parents realize their 
carefully made-up bed had indeed been used. They were 
home before noon and paid me well. I packed my bag, ran 
upstairs and found Nicky on the verge of tears again. 
"Don't," I said. "Please don't. You're not a child 
anymore. And Nicky – you won't tell anyone, will you?" 
He gave me a lingering kiss. His tongue knew just what 
to do. We knew we might never see each other again. 

Two days later they were flying to Ontario and I was 
serving hamburgers. I've called Tim a couple of times 
this week but he always sounds distant, as though I'm 
the last thing on his mind. I think I need to find a 
new lover, someone who knows about more than just wheat 
and hockey.

I know I should look out for someone my own age. When 
I'm back at university I will. I swear, I probably 
will. 

Yesterday morning I happened to get up early, just in 
time to meet the paperboy arriving at our door. He's a 
tall kid, maybe twelve years old, thirteen at most, 
with curly dark hair and a sweet smile. It grew even 
sweeter when he noticed I was wearing nothing more than 
a long T-shirt. His long bare legs looked great in 
shorts. I wonder what they look like without any 
shorts. I think I may have to find out.

END

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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a 
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 44