Please note: All characters in this story are fictitious, any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities detailed in this story, some of which are dangerous or illegal.
Please keep in mind the difference between fantasy and reality.

Jeremy - Chapter 11 - Kryptonite
Part 2
pedo Fb
Written by Janus
Copyright 2016

Index to all chapters of the Jeremy series.

My non-Jeremy stories (Mg) can be found here.

It was a difficult night of sleeping. Being in the lower bunk was decidedly claustrophobic. Each time she drifted off to sleep, Pam was rudely awakened by the squeaky frame of the upper bunk that alerted her to Jeremy's every toss and turn. She recalled his earlier complaint about not being able to sleep. “This is probably the first time in his life that he's dealing with sexual frustration,” Pam thought.

She slept lightly, the kind where you're not even sure you were asleep. Morning eventually arrived, announcing its presence with weak sunlight creeping around the edges of the curtains. She must have dozed off because the next time she opened her eyes, bright sunshine, barely contained by the drapery, was pouring into the room. Staring at the pattern of springs and steel wire that supported the upper bunk, she wondered if Jeremy was still asleep. As if answering her, the bed frame squeaked as he shifted up top.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Are you awake?” The squeaking bed springs answered her query. Pam continued, her voice shaking a little. “This is stupid. Not talking to each other.”

It felt surprisingly cathartic to say those words. Pam let her thoughts tumble out, unfiltered. “I'm sorry I yelled at you. In the kitchen. I didn't mean any of it. I was tired. And cranky.” He didn't answer so she didn't stop. “It wasn't a very nice thing to say. I guess sometimes I forget that I'm the older one. The one who is supposed to be the adult.” Pam paused again, searching her feelings. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I just really... love you. Is all.” Her pillowcase was getting wet as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Um, want to come down and snuggle? If you're not mad at me?”

He still didn't answer. Pam's heart throbbed, emptily, as she realized how much she must have hurt him. Wiping her face, she extricated herself from the bunk bed, taking care not to bump her head. When she peered into the top bunk, however, she found it empty except for Athena. The cat seemed surpised to see her. Pam ran her hand among the mussed sheets and pillow. They were cool to the touch.

He must have woken up early, which was very unlike Jeremy. He also somehow got out of bed and stealthily crept away without waking her. Which was doubly unlike Jeremy. Despite the bright morning, the house was quiet as a library. Pam decided to have some coffee since she was unlikely to go back to sleep.

As she approached the kitchen, she could hear the rustle of newspaper and the tinkling of silverware. Jeremy, wearing only his underwear and a sleeveless shirt, was huddled in the breakfast nook, his back to her. Pam cleared her throat nervously. Say what you just said, she told herself.

“Hey, can we talk?” she asked. It was only after she rounded the corner to enter the kitchen that she noticed Apple sitting next to him. The two of them glanced up at her in surprise.

“Oh, good morning, Pam,” Apple greeted. She and Jeremy were cozily crammed into the breakfast nook, crouched over the comics section. “You're up early.”

“I'm usually an early riser,” Pam answered. Jeremy had pointedly returned his attention to the newspaper, not looking at her as she spoke.

“Us too,” Apple agreed. “Me and Jeremy have been the first ones up every day. This is usually our quiet time. Jeremy doesn't like to wait for the comics so we have to share it. And then we do the crossword together.”

“How cute,” Pam said blandly. Her earlier feelings of apology and forgiveness were swiftly usurped by the now-familiar fury from yesterday. Apple was wearing a loose-fitting tank top and bright blue shorts, the same kind Pam recalled wearing to gym class twenty years ago. Did Apple own anything that wasn't vintage? She also couldn't help but notice how their bare arms touched as she and Jeremy sat next to each other.

Pam set a kettle on the stove. “Shouldn't you get dressed, Jeremy?” she said casually.

“Apple is still in her pajamas,” he said, still not looking at her.

“I wouldn't call those pajamas,” Pam thought to herself. Apple's blond hair, pulled into a ponytail, accidentally smacked Jeremy as they pored over the comics page together. When he protested, Apple turned her head to hit him again with her mane of hair. As they laughed, Pam caught Jeremy stealing a glance at Apple's bra-free chest. Gritting her teeth, she turned off the stove even though the water was nowhere near boiling. “You know, it's such a nice morning that I think I'll go for a quick walk,” Pam muttered.

“Enjoy!” Apple said. As she left, Pam overheard her saying to Jeremy, “Want to get started on the crossword? Let's start with five down. 'Revolutionary War figure / American breakfast.' It's fourteen letters. Ends in a D.”

“Easy,” he answered. His fingers pushed aside the rusty curls that covered his brow. “Benedict Arnold.”

“You are so smart! How do you know all this stuff?”

Pam rolled her eyes. Upstairs she pulled on a pair of jeans, skipped brushing her hair, and headed straight out the door. She began aimlessly walking. “It's just a crush,” she told herself. “Nothing to get angry about. He's just a normal eleven year old boy. Naturally curious about girls.” Her feet pounded the pavement despite the calming logic churned out by her brain. Pam wasn't at all threatened by the Playboys in his closet. So why this irrational jealousy of Apple?

It required several blocks of walking before she finally figured it out. It went beyond jealousy. It was envy. Apple was everything Pam wanted to be. She was talented. Kind. Pretty. And, above all, young. In spite of Apple's fear of being “too old” for him, Pam knew deep down that a Jeremy+Apple relationship was far more socially acceptable than Jeremy+Pam. It was utterly unfair.

She sulkily trudged as she examined her conundrum. The warm Florida air and the salty ocean scent should have been paradise, particularly in December, but Pam unhappily wished she would have stayed home. If only she could be like her friend Suzy and have a 'thing' for older men. No one batted an eye at that. Wallowing in self-pity, she continued wandering the seemingly homogeneous residential district of Key West. Each tidy white house was equipped with palm trees, picket fences, two cars and (presumably) happy women in their twenties with completely hetero-normative desires.

Her foul mood so thoroughly roiled her senses that Pam walked into a Starbucks against all better judgment. She generally avoided it on account of all the hidden calories, but this was an emergency. “I'll have a coconut milk macchiato,” she told the barista. “A venti. And a slice of raspberry swirl poundcake.”

The barista nodded, tapping away at her touchscreen. “Will that be all?”

“And two oatmeal cookies, please,” Pam added, knowing full well that this sugar wasn't the best way to start the day. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn't even 8 am yet.

Fuck everything.

The barista topped off her coffee with a thick layer of foamy coconut milk, followed by an artful drizzle of caramel before passing it to Pam. She briefly scanned the room before flopping into a leather armchair. As she sipped the beige colored liquid, there was an instant rush of sugar and caffeine as the coffee hit her empty stomach. The scent of cinnamon and cloves from the oatmeal cookie lured her next, melting in her mouth with a satisfying crumble. She alternated bites of it with the raspberry poundcake that was streaked through with bright shades of magenta. Pam congratulated herself on her delicious choices.

She was munching away when she overheard a commotion. A few tables down, a man and woman were speaking with a couple waiting for their drinks. Pam had assumed it was a friendly conversation but her ears picked up a slight edge in the seated man's voice.

“I just think that sort of behavior isn't appropriate,” he told the couple. The man was older with gray, thinning hair and a paunchy belly. He was dressed from head to toe in khaki earth tones and had a scarf wrapped around his neck despite the Floridian warmth.

Pam saw his seatmate glance around nervously. It wasn't until then that she noticed that the couple he was addressing was two men. They appeared to be college-age. One wore a black leather jacket while the other wore a denim one. “What behavior are you referring to?” one of them asked politely.

“Oh, I think you know what I mean,” the older man replied. “Sauntering in here, kissing and all that. Can't you keep your hands to yourself?”

The gay couple exchanged an uncertain glance. “You're offended because we're holding hands?” the man in the leather jacket asked.

“Absolutely,” the older man answered. “It's not appropriate and a lot of people here are offended.” He looked to his companion for confirmation, but she was too embarrassed to answer.

“Howard, maybe we should go,” she urged.

The man in the denim jacket looked around the Starbucks. “Who's offended?” he asked. “Who are you talking about?” Aside from a woman on the phone in the corner and the two employees, it was empty except for the four of them.

And Pam. She cleared her throat. “I'm not offended,” she volunteered. Everyone turned to look at her. “Just for the record,” she clarified. Addressing the older man, she added, “It sounded like you wanted to speak for everyone, so I just wanted to let you know.”

The older man glared at her. “Why don't you mind your own business?”

“The same could be asked of you,” Pam coolly answered.

The man turned a remarkably angry shade of red. “Why don't you go back to stuffing your face?” he snarled. “Don't forget to go to the gym later and work off all those calories. Or maybe you prefer being a cow.”

Pam's jaw dropped as the Starbucks went silent. The woman on the phone didn't notice, but the two young baristas behind the counter were looking at each other in panic at this turn of events. “Hey, that wasn't cool,” the man in the leather jacket said. “You really shouldn't talk to people like that.”

The older man stood up, gathering his things. “Let's go, Evelyn,” he grumbled. “We don't need to stay here and listen to this.”

Before they could leave, Pam caught the eye of the woman. “Is this your husband?” she asked.


Speaking loudly to make sure the older man would hear, Pam said, “If this is the way he treats strangers in public, I'd hate to see the way he treats you in private.” The man's head whipped around to fix her with a withering gaze. Ignoring him, Pam sympathetically told his wife, “I'm so sorry.”

Huffing and puffing under his breath, the older man stormed out. His mortified wife offered a tepid defense: “He's not usually like this...” She was about to say something else too, but then changed her mind and left.

“Um, your drinks are ready,” the barista informed the gay couple.

“Christ, what an asshole,” the man in the leather jacket commented to Pam. “It's awfully early in the day to be that mad.” His boyfriend handed him his drink. “Or ever, I suppose.”

Pam nodded. She was about to agree when she remembered her own terrible mood. What the older man said was inexcusable on all counts. But what about her own anger and bitterness? In the kitchen, she had definitely come close to telling Apple exactly what she thought of her.

“I'm Matt,” the man in the leather jacket said. “And this is Matt too,” he said, pointing to his boyfriend.

“Matt and Matt,” Pam approved. “That's easy to remember. “I'm Pam.” As they shook hands, she noticed that Matt (in denim) wore a button on his jacket. It originally read “Love Means Never Having to Say You're Sorry” in large block letters, but he had modified it to say “Love Means Always Having to Say Fuck You”.

Pam laughed. “I like your button,” she complimented.

Matt surprised her by unpinning it from his jacket and handing it to her. “It's all yours.”

“Are you sure?” Pam said before graciously accepting it. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Matt said, winking at her. He took other Matt's hand and they strolled out the door together.

The surreal experience lasted less than two minutes. If she hadn't been holding the button, Pam would have wondered if it had actually happened at all. She studied the message again, both the original and the modified version. Both messages seemed to be speaking to her as if sent from a higher power. Love means never having to say you're sorry? That was the stupidest thing she had ever heard.

Love didn't come in Hollywood-approved soundbites. It couldn't be defined by a Hallmark greeting card. It had nothing to do with pink heart-shaped boxes on Valentines' Day. But could it come from a place of rebellion? Did love require not only patience and understanding, but a certain spirit of battle as well? If it was us against them, wasn't that all the more romantic?

All that remained from her Starbucks binge were a few bites of raspberry poundcake and the dregs of the macchiato. She took one last sip before tossing it in the trash and heading out the door herself. Lost in her thoughts, Pam continued walking. She had spent all this time feeling sorry for herself, imagining a love that could exist in an idyllic vacuum. That was the furthest thing from the truth. You had to fight for love. Because otherwise it wouldn't be love.

By the time she passed a French bakery, Pam was feeling physically queasy from all the sweets but spiritually awakened from all the thinking. Digging in her pockets, she found a twenty dollar bill. She suddenly knew exactly what she had to do. Five minutes later, she was retracing her steps back to the house with a box of fresh pastries. Whatever her feelings were, or however unjust the world was, she knew that Jeremy was essentially an innocent bystander in all this. And though it pained her to admit it, Apple too.

As she neared the house, she detected activity on the porch. Someone was in the hammock again. Pam steeled her heart. “Be nice,” she mentally reminded herself. But once she climbed the steps, she only found Apple and Zep cuddling in the hammock.

“Oh, hi,” she said, opening the box. “I bought some treats for everyone.”

Zep's eyes lit up as he peered into the box. “Whoa. Baked goods!” He was wearing a plain t-shirt with the declaration “corporate hashtags still suck” scrawled on it with a Sharpie.

“Thanks Pam!” Apple said. She picked out an apricot danish while Zep chose an almond croissant. “William and my mom just headed out for breakfast though.”

“Their loss, I suppose,” Pam said. “Did Jeremy go with them?”

“No, he's inside somewhere.”

Remembering Matt's button in her pocket, Pam fished it out and handed it to Zep. It seemed like a good fit for his style. “I found this button this morning. Do you want it? I like it, but I can't really wear it around.”

“Love Means Always Having To Say Fuck You,” Zep read. He laughed. “That's right on!”

Apple's reaction was more muted. “You don't really believe that though, do you?

“It's maybe 50% true,” he acknowledged.

“Thanks a lot, Zep.”

Uh oh. Did she just inadvertently introduce a fissure into their relationship? Pam hoped not. “I thought you would like it,” she said. “Maybe don't wear it around Jeremy though?”

“Done and done,” Zep said. “Thanks.”

Leaving the two teenagers with their breakfast treats, Pam went inside to find Jeremy. The living room was empty. The breakfast nook was empty. Placing a chocolate croissant on a plate, she headed upstairs. She finally found him in the mezzanine room, back in bed and drawing on a sketchpad. Athena lay nestled in a ball at his feet, purring.

“Hi,” she said.

He didn't answer right away. The short pause felt like an eternity. Pam's heart pounded in her chest, but she wasn't sure if it was from nervousness or from all that sugar and caffeine. “Hi,” he answered finally. Athena's purring stopped as Pam approached the bed. Jeremy still wouldn't look at her.

“What are you drawing?” she inquired. Instead of responding, he wordlessly held up the page for her to see. It was a Floridian scene with palm trees, the ocean, surfers, and a crocodile. “Ha,” Pam said. “I guess you're going to get your crocs one way or another.”

More silence. “I brought you a chocolate croissant,” Pam ventured.

“I'm not hungry.”

Pam set the plate atop the bookcase, the one that contained the ever-so-creepy nutcrackers. Each one seemed to be staring at her with accusation. “Come on. I'm trying to be nice. Will you at least look at me?” Grudgingly, Jeremy closed his sketchpad and set aside his pencil. His wary eyes reminded her of Athena.

The words she had been rehearsing all night came tumbling out. “I'm sorry for what I said yesterday in the kitchen,” Pam said. “I didn't mean it. I was tired and cranky so I took it out on you. I won't do that again.”

Jeremy picked at his nails. “I'm sorry too. For being such a pest all the time.”

Pam shook her head. “You're not a pest.”

“Well, sometimes you treat me like one.”

“I don't mean to. I just get... frustrated with you sometimes. I'm sorry I'm so impatient.”

Jeremy fiddled with his eraser. “So you're going to start being nice to me now?”

“Promise,” Pam nodded. Unable to help it, she defensively continued, “But, you have to admit, I'm usually very nice to you. Most of the time. Who else do you have to go camping with out in the backyard? Who takes you out for drive-thru? Or dresses up in the Halloween costume just like you want?”

She saw his expression soften, just a little bit. “Or plays Call of Duty with me,” Jeremy added.

Pam touched his hand. “I'm sorry I screwed up on the Coppertone.”

“It's okay,” he said gruffly. He cleared his throat. “I wish we were going home.”

“Me too.”

Jeremy shyly looked at her. “You're not mad at me anymore?”

“Of course not. Are you mad at me?”

“No.” An awkward silence followed. Finally, Jeremy held out his hand. “So we're friends again?” he asked as they shook hands.

“I hope so,” Pam told him. “It's kind of exhausting to be mad at you.”


Pam retrieved the croissant and handed it to him. “Will you eat this for me?” Her heart palpably swelled as he obligingly took a large bite out of the croissant.

“Did you want some?” he offered through a full mouth.

Pam's stomach gurgled in protest at the thought. “Um, no thanks. I already had one. Or two. I got sweaty on my walk so I'm going to take a quick shower, okay?” He picked up his pencil and continued eating. Resisting the urge to warn him about crumbs in the bed, Pam headed for the bathroom. After she was done showering, however, she emerged to find an empty bedroom.

No matter. It was easier to get dressed in the spacious mezzanine rather than the cramped bathroom. The Florida weather had encouraged her to pack warm weather clothes so she picked out a fitted denim skirt and white button down shirt. Pam checked herself in the mirror. The ensemble was rather dressy for vacation but she liked it anyway.

Her hair had inadvertently gotten wet during the shower though. Pam wondered if Apple had a hair dryer she could borrow. She returned downstairs and opened the front door just in time to see Jeremy launching himself off the porch steps on a skateboard. She cringed, but he landed safely in the driveway. Apple and Zep clapped politely from the hammock.

“Oh, hi Pam!” Jeremy beamed. “Did you see me skateboard off the porch? Pretty good, right?”

“I did see,” Pam said patiently. “Please don't skate off the steps anymore. You're going to hurt yourself. Or someone else.”

“Just one more,” Jeremy insisted. “I didn't stick that landing but I know I can do better.”

“Jeremy.” She was careful not to nag, but there was a quiet plea to her voice. To her surprise, it worked.

Still holding his skateboard, he looked at her with a glimmer of understanding. “I'll just skate around the driveway,” Jeremy offered.

“Thank you.” Small victories, Pam thought to herself. “Apple, do you have a hair dryer I could borrow?”

“Sure thing. It should be in the bathroom on the counter. Cute outfit by the way.”

“Thanks!” Pam replied. The upstairs bathroom, used only by Apple and Zep, was something of a mess. Every inch of the sink's porcelain counter was covered with countless containers in all shapes and sizes. There were bottles of moisturizing nighttime cream, rejuvenating facial scrubs and daytime brighteners with SPF. Scattered throughout were a half dozen tubes of lipstick in indistinguishable shades of red. And, hidden among the mess, was a translucent bottle with a blue cap: K-Y lubricant.

Pam picked it up. “I am such an idiot,” she murmured to herself. She and Jeremy had gotten so accustomed to Coppertone that they never stopped to consider the alternatives. Or at least she hadn't. Jeremy probably didn't even knew something like K-Y existed.

Setting it aside, she carefully extricated the hair dryer from Apple's array of toiletries and plugged it in. As she dried her hair, Pam considered the options. Actively fooling around with Jeremy was out of the question, especially since they didn't have a bedroom with an actual door. But if the eleven year old boy needed release so badly, maybe she could persuade him to play Call of Duty by himself...

After she was done drying her hair, Pam pocketed the small bottle of K-Y. Downstairs, she opened the front door to find Jeremy streaking down the driveway on his skateboard with, literally, a trail of flames behind him. A tablecloth wrapped around his shoulders served as a makeshift cape. Apple and Zep cheered as Jeremy skidded to a stop and turned to stare at the knee-height flames on the sidewalk. They only burned a few seconds before flickering out.

“Yes!” he shouted. “Zep, it worked! I can't believe it! Pam! Did you see that? Did you see what I did?”

“Um, I saw the flames,” Pam said. “How did you do that?”

“I squirted some lighter fluid on the driveway,” Jeremy said proudly. “Then I scraped the tail of my skateboard to make some sparks. Instant whoosh! Wasn't that cool?”

His hyperactivity is going to get us both killed, Pam thought to herself. She said aloud, “Very impressive. Can you come inside for a second?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Apple and Zep exchange a look that said, 'uh oh'. Jeremy followed her inside and then up the stairs. “Am I in trouble?” he asked. “If you're mad, it was totally Zep's idea. I was just going with it.”

“No, I'm not mad. I just wanted to show you something.” Once they reached the mezzanine, Pam held her hands behind her back. “I have found the solution to all your troubles,” she told him, presenting the bottle of K-Y with a grand flourish. “Ta-dah!”

Dubiously, Jeremy took the plastic bottle. “What is it?”

“It's K-Y. Rub a bit between your fingers. Feels slippery right? This stuff is ten times better than Coppertone. It's also unscented and washes off easily. What's not to love?”

“Better than Coppertone,” Jeremy repeated. “We're going to play Call of Duty with this stuff?”

“Well, not exactly we. If we had a real bedroom with a real door, then I would say yes in a heartbeat. You know that. But we're up here in this open space where anyone can walk in or overhear us. How about you play it by yourself this time?”

“What if someone walks in on me though?”

“Good point.” Pam considered the problem. “Can you do it in the bathroom?”

“The bathroom? I can't do it in there. Where am I supposed to lie down?” Jeremy, being an only child who always had his own room, was appalled. Pam herself had an older brother which meant the bathroom was the last refuge for privacy when she was growing up. The notion was ghastly these days, but she had no compunction about masturbating on the bathroom rug when she was his age.

“Forget I said it,” Pam said. “How about the bunk bed then? I'll sit on the stairs and keep an eye out while you... you know. Take care of business.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “Can we have a secret signal? How will I know if you see someone coming?”

“I'll cough. Like this...” Pam demonstrated for him.

“That sounds really fake.”

“I'll sneeze then. Ah-choo! How does that sound?”

Jeremy, ever the pragmatist, shook his head. “That sounds even more fake than your cough. How about a coded sentence? Like you could say, 'Has anyone seen my belt? I can't find it anywhere...' and when I hear that, I'll know someone's coming.”

“I thought you wanted something that doesn't sound fake,” Pam countered. “We're getting sidetracked. Just keep your ears open and listen. If you hear me talking to someone, that's the alarm signal. Got it?” He nodded. Pam retreated down the stairs, even though what she really wanted to do was stay and watch. She seated herself on the bottom step to wait.

Though she was deprived of visual stimuli, Pam found her heart racing from all the incidental sounds coming from upstairs. She heard sheets rustling, followed by the snap of the elastic waistband of his shorts. Putting a hand to her ear, she detected the sound of the plastic bottle being uncapped. Dreamily, she closed her eyes and pictured Jeremy on the top bunk, tentatively masturbating with his special waving off motion. He was probably nervous, casting frequent glances at the stairs where she stood sentry.

The hallway was empty so Pam took advantage by rubbing a nipple. First just one, then both as she got further and further lost in her fantasy. Though encumbered by her shirt and bra, they grew hard from her touch until her clothes did little to contain the swollen knobs of flesh. She was having a grand old time when Pam heard Jeremy clear his throat.

“Pam? Are you there?”

That was fast, she thought, standing up. She retraced her steps up the stairs. Still in the bunk bed, Jeremy had a sheet pulled up to his chin.

“It's not working,” he told her.

“What do you mean it's not working? How could it not be working?”

“It feels weird. It's not the same as Coppertone.” He noticed her perky nipples. “What's with you?”

“Um, nothing,” she replied, self-consciously crossing her arms. “It was chilly on the stairs. So you're just giving up? It's Coppertone or nothing?”

“Well, you try it,” he said defensively. He thrust the bottle of K-Y at her. “This stuff isn't the same.”

Taking the K-Y, Pam was overcome by temptation. Maybe it was because of the thin sheet covering him, so translucent that she could see the pale peach of his bare tummy. Perhaps it was the way his hipbones jutted from underneath the draped sheet, not to mention the very obvious cupped hand over his crotch. Or, most likely, the fondling of her nipples on the stairs had turned on her hormones and shut off her brain.

“Stay right there,” she commanded. Hurrying down the stairs to the first floor, Pam peeked out the window that looked onto the porch. She could see Apple and Zep still in the hammock. Both seemed engrossed with their phones. She dashed back upstairs.

“Okay, I'll help you, but I don't want someone to walk in on us,” she said, panting a little from all the stairwork. “Apple and Zep are still on the porch, but they might come in. How could we make sure no one comes up here?”

Jeremy tucked his chin under the sheets, thinking. “How about scattering rusty nails on the stairs?” he suggested.

“How about a solution that doesn't involve the emergency room?”

“Okay, how about...” She saw his eyes wander over to the bookcase. “How about putting all the nutcrackers on the stairs?”

“That's not a bad idea,” Pam pondered. A tidy row of nutcrackers on the stairs wouldn't be an impassable barrier, but it would certainly slow anyone coming up. If she heard one fall over, surely Pam would have enough time to dive into the safety of bathroom. She grabbed an armful of nutcrackers. Carefully, she arranged them shoulder-to-shoulder on the bottom stair. She then repeated the process on the next one. The nutcrackers were tall enough that it would be nearly impossible to step over them without knocking one over. Hopefully that would be enough of an alarm system.

As gracefully as possible, Pam climbed into the bunk bed. Her head almost bumped the ceiling but it was quite cozy up there. She seated herself at the opposite end of the bed from Jeremy. “Let's see what you've got,” she said, removing the bed sheet from him. His t-shirt was pulled up, exposing his stomach, while his shorts and underwear still clumped around his ankles. His hand protectively cupped his bare crotch. “Why didn't you take off all your clothes?” she asked.

“I didn't want to take everything off. In case, you know, we got caught or something.”

“Smart,” Pam approved. She waited, but Jeremy's hand continued covering the goods. “Come on, don't be bashful,” she told him. “Show me how you were touching yourself.”

“I thought you said you were going to help,” he frowned.

“I am helping,” Pam insisted. “I just want to see what you're doing so I can troubleshoot the problem.”

“You've already seen me do this before,” grumbled Jeremy. He could be maddeningly modest at times. His cupped hand became an open hand as he began reluctantly masturbating in his unique fashion, which Pam affectionately coined “waving off” because it appeared as if he were waving to someone as his palm rubbed against the underside of his penis that lay flattened on his body. Jeremy's demonstration lasted only a few seconds. Pam could have watched for hours.

“So it just doesn't feel good, huh?” she asked.


“What if you tried a new technique?” she suggested. “Try forming a fist with your hand. Now, um, poke your penis into it... No, keep your fingers closed. Now move your fist up and down...” Pam felt herself getting wet as she instructed the eleven year old boy. “How does that feel?”

Jeremy shook his head. “I don't like it.”

“Can't you just do it for a little bit? Come on, you're supposed to try new things on vacation.”

He grudgingly began using his fist again. “Do you have to stare at me?” he complained.

“I'm not staring,” she lied. “I'm observing.” Pam couldn't help it. Spellbound at the sight of him masturbating, she hadn't expected it to be such a turn-on to watch him jacking off in the traditional manner. Eagerly, she committed every detail to memory. The stray drip of K-Y that trailed down his small, hairless sack... His glistening erection plunging in and out of his fist... The way his thumb stuck out, as if he were hitchhiking...

“I don't want to do this anymore,” Jeremy announced. “I give up.”

Disappointment crushed both Pam and her hormones when he stopped. “Are you sure? What if...” Pam's mind groped for something, anything to keep him going. “What if I unbutton my shirt?” Throwing a nervous glance at the stairs, she undid a few buttons of her blouse. Jeremy immediately sat up a little straighter at the sight of her bra. Coyly, she fingered the clasp between the cups. “Want me to undo this?”


“I'll unclasp my bra if you do ten strokes with your fist,” she negotiated. It was as if she were a drill sergeant demanding push-ups. Pam waited as Jeremy obediently gave her ten jacking off motions. “Good boy,” she approved, unhooking her bra clasp and letting the cups fall free. Her round breasts and hard nipples revealed themselves to the young boy. Upping the ante, Pam parted her knees just enough to give him a peek up her skirt.

She smiled as Jeremy's eyes wandered from exposed breasts to between her legs and then back again. “Is my underwear in the way? I could take it off... if you give me twenty strokes.” She counted in her head to ensure he wasn't cheating, but it was hardly necessary. As he jacked off, his determined gaze reminded her of a hunting dog stalking its prey.

He had only reached fifteen when Pam slipped her underwear off. The wait had become too interminable. She was dying to touch herself, especially since she could tell how wet she had become. Summoning an ungodly amount of willpower, she took a moment to arrange her legs in a ladylike manner with her knees primly closed. The combination of the cramped twin bed and her above-the-knee skirt afforded him several peeks as she settled herself.

It was only fair for Pam to enjoy the sight of him as well. Jeremy's hand remained clamped around his erection, his fist so much larger that it completely hid his boyhood. Pam wiggled her bum on his bed and rubbed her thighs together. “I'm really getting that itchy feeling,” she confided to him. “I don't know why. I wish there was something I could do about it...” She placed a hand over her skirt, and she teased both Jeremy and herself by gently prodding her crotch.

“Want me to show you where it itches?” Pam asked. “I'll do it if...” She was about to bargain more strokes from him, but Pam trailed off when he began jacking off without even being told. Suppressing a smile, Pam moved her legs apart and slowly lifted the hemline of her skirt. Once again, Jeremy's eyes darted furiously from her exposed chest down to her spread legs and back again. Letting him enjoy the view, Pam's fingers probed between her legs, feeling the soft and downy hair that was matted from her own copious moisture. Her heart pattering in excitement, she pulled her lips aside to let him gaze at the rosy pink glory between her legs.

“This is where it itches,” she said, running a finger across her engorged clit. She only meant to tease him, but it felt so good that she couldn't stop. “Oh, that feels nice.” Her finger moved in steady circles around the pink bud, each revolution pushing her higher and higher. Dropping the coy act, Pam bent her knees so that her feet were flat on the mattress and then spread her legs as wide as possible. Her free hand found its way to her breast. She squeezed it, enjoying the heavy fullness of her own ripe fruit.

Jeremy, no longer needing any encouragement, continued employing the new technique, even experimenting with his grip. The fact that they were both partially clothed lent an air of cautious excitement to the proceedings. His t-shirt continuously rode downward, forcing him to periodically yank it back up. Similarly, Pam's skirt constantly kept falling over her hand and she would impatiently pull it aside, not wanting Jeremy to miss a thing. She had unwittingly crossed a point of no return. If anything, the danger of getting caught now turned her on.

“Doesn't that feel nice? Using your hand like that?” Pam asked him. Jeremy nodded. “I told you it would be better.” He was now masturbating so furiously that his fist was beating like a jackhammer. Aided by generous dollops of K-Y, the room was filled with the soft noise of his skin on skin action. Squick, squick, squick. Jeremy's previous waving off technique had been virtually silent, but this new jacking off sound added an exciting aural dimension.

Pam was so aroused that she could feel a white heat emanating from her skin as her fingers danced across her swollen clit. Encouraging him further, she said, “Now that you know how, you can do it any time you want, okay?” Squick, squick. “I'll stand watch and make sure no one interrupts you while you play Call of Duty.” Squick, squick, squick. She extended a leg, letting her toes caress the inside of his thigh. Getting carried away, Pam continued, “I'll let you do anything you want when we get home. I'll stop wearing underwear. Or a bra even. You can touch me whenever you want. I'll be vacuuming and you'll come by to lift up my skirt. Or you'll come home from school and I'll be waiting in your room. Wearing nothing.”

She heard his tempo quicken in response to her words, reaching a fever pitch. Squick, squick, squick, squick, squick.

Her toes, still pressed against his inner thigh, felt his leg muscles clench once, then twice. His eyelids fluttering, Jeremy's head rolled back onto his pillow as his shoulders seized up. It looked as if he were shivering but Pam knew better. Several days worth of pent-up sexual frustration burst from her young charge. Through it all, his hand persistently jacked away, not letting up for a moment.

“Nuhhh...” he groaned softly as the orgasm enveloped him. The sight of the young boy's obvious pleasure was too much for Pam. Nudging him with her foot, she said, “Jeremy. I'm getting close. Open your eyes... Don't you want to see? You love watching this part. You love watching me co- oh!” Hissing, Pam did her best to be quiet as she surrendered to the passion exploding from her body. Fighting the urge to close her eyes, she instead locked her gaze with Jeremy's spent face. Despite his heavy eyelids, he still watched with clear interest as Pam's fingers frantically worked her burgeoning clit, extracting every last drop of pleasure.

The room went silent once she finished. The two of them seemed to be mirror images of each other as they lay on opposite sides of the twin bed. Jeremy's hand, still sticky with lube, rested on his hip. Similarly, Pam's own fingers were splayed across her damp patch of pubic hair. Both their chests were heaving with breath. Pam smiled wanly as she noted his wilting erection, a testament to his masturbatory prowess. She couldn't help feeling a surge of pride. Proud because she had been the one to teach him how to jack off and proud of Jeremy for successfully getting himself off.

Reluctantly, Pam pulled her shirt closed and slid off the bunk bed. Her skirt flopped back into place the moment her feet hit the ground. She toddled toward Jeremy and kissed his hot cheek.

“That was a really good one,” Jeremy confided. His voice sounded tired.

“It usually is a good one if you wait a long time in between,” Pam told him. Using her fingers, she tousled his hair and whispered, “Naptime.”

Pam retreated to the bathroom to wash her hand. She prepared a warm washcloth for Jeremy, but he was already sound asleep by the time she returned to the bunk bed. Taking care to be gentle she dabbed the wet washcloth at the peachy-pink skin of his penis, cleaning off the sticky K-Y until he felt completely smooth when she ran her finger alongside his boyhood. From time to time, Pam would glance at him as she worked but he was out cold. She moved on to the surrounding area of his crotch before swiping the washcloth against his wrinkled scrotum. It was an easy job since he was so thoroughly hairless.

Pam was pulling up the sheets when she remembered his hand. Taking it in hers, she softly unfolded his fingers before scrubbing his palm clean. Then she pulled his t-shirt down as far as possible and tastefully draped a sheet over the sleeping boy to maintain his modesty. His shorts were still around his knees, but Pam decided she couldn't move those back into place without waking him.

She had just hung up the washcloth in the bathroom when she heard footsteps coming from downstairs. “Jeremy, are you up there?” It was his dad's voice. “Can you tell me why you put all these nutcrackers on the stairs?”

Pam hurried to the steps. Peering down the stairs, she saw William frowning with his hands on his hips as he surveyed the army of nutcrackers deployed before him. “Hi William,” she whispered. “Jeremy's taking a nap. But I'll tell him to put those away once he wakes up.”

“Oh.” William shook his head in annoyance. “Thanks Pam.” She saw his eyes flicker to her chest and suddenly remembered that she hadn't yet buttoned her shirt. She certainly wasn't flashing a nipple or anything, but her neckline was plunging far too low. As discreetly as possible, she pretended to scratch her neck and then tugged her shirt placket closed.

William continued, “Anyway, Marla and I are thinking of heading back to the mainland for a show tonight. Think you'll be okay running the show around here? We'll probably get home really late.”

“Not a problem!” The fact that they were conversing on opposite ends of a staircase across three rows of nutcrackers was odd enough, but Pam was doubly disconcerted since she was going commando as she spoke with Jeremy's dad. Why oh why hadn't she immediately put on her underwear at least? The air under her skirt suddenly felt cold and drafty. She tried to sound as cheery and normal as possible. “I can handle the kids. We'll order pizza or something. Have fun!”

William thanked her again. As he turned to leave, she saw him eyeing the nutcrackers on the stairs. Was there a look of suspicion on his face? She couldn't be certain. Pam crept up to the bunk bed and reached under the sheets, hunting for her forgotten panties. They were hopelessly bunched up under Jeremy's ankle, but she managed to extract them without waking him. After she got dressed, Pam tackled the task of putting away the nutcrackers. It required several trips. By the time the stairway was cleared, the allure of quick nap proved overpowering. She tucked herself into the lower bunk and dozed off to the sound of Jeremy's light snores.

Pam awoke to the sound of his snoring still fluttering about the room, so she assumed it had been a short nap. After checking the time, however, she was alarmed to see that it almost noon. Her short nap had somehow stretched to ninety minutes. Oh well. She felt greatly refreshed. And quite powerful too. Wasn't that the whole point of a power nap?

Terribly thirsty, she made only the slightest attempt to check herself in the mirror before heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. Zep was there, slicing up a watermelon as Apple gave direction. “No, no!” she told him. “You need to cut big slices crosswise first. Then you cut lengthwise. Here, give me the knife.”

“I know how to use a knife, Apple,” he objected.

“You really should have used a cutting board” Apple asked. “My mom is going to flip out if you mess up the wood counter.” Zep sighed and handed her the knife. Looking up, she saw Pam and smiled. “Hi, Pam. We were wondering where you were. Did you and Jeremy head out somewhere?”

“Oh, no,” Pam said, filling up a glass as the sink. “Jeremy took a nap and then I did the same. I guess neither of us slept well because it was a long nap.”

“That's what vacation is all about,” Apple noted. “Want some watermelon?”

Fresh fruit sounded perfect after her Starbucks bender earlier that morning. “Sure,” Pam answered. “I didn't know it was even in season.”

“Everything is always in season now,” Apple commented as she expertly sliced into the watermelon. “See?” she told Zep. “That's how you do it.”

Pam recognized the frustrated annoyance on his face. She had seen Jeremy make a similar expression more times than she could count. “Is that what I sound like when I talk to him?” she wondered to herself.

“We should pack this up and take it to the beach,” Apple mused. “It's such a nice day out.”

“That's a good idea,” Pam agreed. “I'll wake up Jeremy. He'll never go to bed tonight if he sleeps all day.”

Waking up Jeremy was one thing. Getting him out of bed was quite another. But twenty minutes later, the four of them were walking to the beach. Jeremy's hair was mussed, pillow creases marked his face, and Pam had to hold him upright but they had gotten out of the house at least. They bought a pizza along the way, but even that wasn't enough to wake him up. Apple and Zep went wading in the ocean while Pam slathered sunscreen on Jeremy as he grumpily lay on a towel with a shirt over his face. He remained comatose until she revived him with a root beer float purchased from a street vendor. After that, all it required was a few slices of cold pizza before Jeremy was eagerly exploring a rocky outcropping on the far end of the beach.

Pam was content to stay behind in the shade of a palm tree. As she stretched out on the sand, she was happy to finally have the vacation she had originally envisioned before coming to Florida. Her sole regret was packing only a one-piece swimsuit which seemed rather staid and conservative compared to Apple's high-waisted bikini in a red gingham print. Jeremy periodically returned to show Pam some seashells or request money for a snack, but she otherwise passed the afternoon in a restful lull next to the hypnotizing blue ocean. It was almost six o'clock and the sun had already set by the time they packed up to go home.

“What's for dinner?” Jeremy asked. He carried an empty pizza box full of seashells and wore a newly purchased t-shirt that pictured a crocodile chasing a surfer. “I'm starving.”

“My mom left us stuff for a cookout,” Apple offered. “We could have hot dogs.”

Once they got back to the house, Zep busied himself with the grill. Pam tried to help, but the only thing to do was open packages of hot dogs and buns. She settled into the porch love seat with a bag of potato chips and watched as Zep dumped a pile of charcoal briquettes in the grill. Apple hovered by his side. “I think that's way too much charcoal,” she commented.

“Will you just let me work on my own?” he sighed.

Jeremy wandered onto the porch. Apple elbowed his arm. “Want to hang out on the hammock and tell jokes? I've got some new ones.”

“No, thanks,” Jeremy said. Instead he seated himself on the love seat and put his feet in Pam's lap. He helped himself to a big handful of potato chips before pointedly wiggling his bare toes. “Can I have a foot rub?” he requested. Inspecting his feet, Pam found them (relatively) clean. Even so, she only used one hand to rub his foot, reserving the other for eating potato chips.

Apple emerged from the house with a platter of leftover watermelon from the fridge. As she ate a slice, Pam was surprised to see Zep come out with two bottles of wine and three glasses. Noticing Pam's expression, he shrugged and said, “Apple said her mom wouldn't notice if a bottle or two went missing. She has, like, an entire cellar of wine.” He uncorked the bottle and poured her a glass.

“Can I have a taste?” Jeremy asked, sitting up.

“No, you may not,” Pam answered. Wine and watermelon was an unexpectedly winning combination. She wasn't sure how to handle Apple and Zep's underage drinking, but who was she to judge? After only three sips, she was already starting to feel warm and fuzzy inside.

The four of them munched watermelon on the porch as they waited for the grill to heat up. Zep pulled a chair closer to the railing so he could spit the seeds over the side. One by one, they followed his lead. Puckering her lips, Pam curled her tongue and blew a precise puff of breath, jettisoning the seeds in a perfect arc over the porch railing.

“Wow, you're really good at spitting,” Jeremy remarked. He was genuinely impressed.

“Why, thank you,” Pam said, enjoying another sip of wine. Without really thinking, she added, “That's the first time a guy has ever told me that.” As soon as she said it, Pam realized that Apple and Zep were well within earshot. They both chuckled.

“What's so funny?” Jeremy asked.

“Nothing,” Pam said. Perhaps this wine was a bad idea. When Zep came by to refill her glass, Pam stopped him. “Thanks, but I shouldn't have too much.”

“But you've hardly had any,” Zep pointed out.

“I'm not a big drinker,” Pam said. “Plus, I don't handle altered states very well.”

“That's true,” Jeremy interjected. “We never get to go to 3D movies because she gets too motion-sick.”

Zep re-filled her glass anyway. “Well, you should have just a little more. We have to finish the bottle somehow.”

She couldn't beat that logic. It's vacation, Pam justified as she sipped more wine. You're supposed to do things you wouldn't normally do. Nevertheless, she was a bit unsteady on her feet once the hot dogs were ready. They lined up at the grill with their plates as Zep lifted the lid, sending out a billow of smoke.

Using a pair of tongs, he picked up a hot dog. Apple was first in line. “Hold your bun open,” Zep told her.

“Sure, I'll hold it open for you,” she giggled, parting her hot dog bun. “Get it in there real good, Zep.” He swatted her bottom with an oven mitt as she returned to her seat.

Pam held open her bun without being told. “Gosh Zep,” she said as he plopped a hot dog into the waiting bun. “You really are good at slamming that weiner in there.” He blushed but didn't say anything. Apple made strangled noise of mock chagrin and threw a wadded napkin at Pam.

Jeremy held up his bun. “My turn!” he said cheerfully.

Zep handed Jeremy the tongs. “Uh, help yourself, lil bro,” he said.

Pam wasn't sure if it was the freshly grilled aspect or if it was Zep's cooking abilities, but the hot dog was the best she ever had. It was so pleasant to be eating outside on a porch in December. She wondered if William would invite her to the Florida Keys every year. Zep topped off her wine glass one last time before stashing the empty bottles in the neighbor's recycling bin.

Pam was peaceably admiring the nighttime stars when Jeremy nudged her. “What's for dessert?” he asked.

“Whazzat?” she said, slurring her words. “Dessert. I dunno.”

He gave her a funny look. Pam patted his head and took another swig of wine. She was dimly aware that she had probably had enough, but she couldn't waste this perfectly good wine. Zep was right.

Zep. Good ol' Zep. Pam liked his punk-rock sensibilities. She turned to tell him as much, but found him in the midst of a heavy make-out session with Apple on the hammock. His hand was firmly in PG-13 territory as it stroked her thigh, but it was definitely inching toward an R rating. Pam smiled. Young love was such a beautiful thing.

“Um, Pam?” Jeremy whispered to her. “Do you think we should go to bed soon?”

“Oh, all right,” she said. “Just let me finish my wine...” She drained her glass and stood up. Or rather, she attempted to stand up. “Help me up, will you?”

Jeremy took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Pam swayed unsteadily for a few seconds, grabbing his shoulder for support. “Are you all right?” Jeremy asked.

“I'm fine,” Pam insisted. “Just don't let go of my hand, 'kay?” She followed him inside the house. Navigating the stairs to the mezzanine was difficult, but she managed to totter her way up the steps. Once they reached the bedroom, Pam awkwardly kicked off her shoes before crawling into the bottom bunk.

“Whew!” she said. “Maybe you're right about bedtime.” She curled up with a pillow and closed her eyes.

“Aren't you going to change clothes?” Jeremy questioned. “You're not even ready for bed.”

Not even bothering to get up, Pam undressed as she lay in bed. Her discarded clothes were tossed haphazardly onto the floor. Now only wearing her bra and panties, she stretched out on the twin bed. “I am ready for bed,” Pam playfully retorted. The sheets felt amazingly luxurious against her skin. So soft and cozy. “Want to cuddle?” she asked, suddenly inspired.

“Maybe after I finish brushing my teeth,” Jeremy said. “Aren't you going to brush your teeth too?”

Pam dismissively brushed aside the suggestion with a wave of her hand. “Who needs it?”

Jeremy peered at her with concern. “Are you sure you're feeling okay?” Instead of answering, Pam began playing with her hair, layering the brown locks across her face like a mask. Jeremy shrugged and changed into his pajamas.

As she lay in bed, Pam began to giggle. Silly Jeremy, getting ready for bed. She knew he was just being good to impress her. Too bad for him because she could see right through it. Nevertheless, she was rather astounded that he could walk straight when the room was spinning so much. He always had such good balance.

Still chuckling to herself, Pam closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, Jeremy had disappeared and the room was dark. Had he gone downstairs? The top bunk squeaked loudly, signaling his location. Why on earth had he gone up there?

“Psst. Hey Jeremy.”


“What are you doing?”

“Going to sleep?”

“Can you come down here?”


Pam fumbled with the clasp of her bra. “I, um, have something to show you.” Up top, the sheets rustled as he pushed them aside. By the time he slid off the top bunk and landed with a soft thump, she was already kicking off her panties.

“Can you turn the light back on?” she asked. There was a gentle click as he switched the lamp on, flooding the room with light.

“Um...” was all he could say.

“Like what you see?” Pam smiled. She tossed her hair across the pillow, arching her back as she pretended to stretch.

“Yeah, it's... really nice,”Jeremy said. He glanced at the stairs. “What if Apple or Zep come up here? Shouldn't we at least-”

“Shush,” Pam interrupted. Pulling him closer to the bed, she took his hands and placed them on her breasts. “I have a job for you.”

“But Pam, we don't even have the nutcrackers on the stairs.”

“You worry too much,” Pam murmured. “You need to relax and- oh Jeremy. Mmm, that feels nice when you touch me like that. Don't stop.” She shivered from his delicate kneading and pinching. Unable to resist, her fingers searched for her clit.

“You like touching my breasts, don't you Jeremy?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Are you getting hard from touching them?”

His ears turned red. “Yeah,” he admitted.

Pam was now masturbating in earnest. She loved turning on the eleven year old boy. She loved the way he looked at her. She loved how each time he touched her, it seemed completely brand new for him. A rosy pleasure lapped at every inch of her skin. She suddenly wanted to come, badly. Gathering herself, she focused intently and ground her finger against her hard clit. A moan escaped her lips.

“Shh!” Jeremy cautioned. She instead responded with an even louder moan. Alarmed, Jeremy clapped a hand over her mouth.

She haughtily removed his hand from her mouth. “Jeremy! I said don't stop,” she scolded. Pam placed his hands back on her breasts. “Keep your hands on the wheel,” she ordered, giving him a stern look before returning her attention to her clit.

“Pam-” he began.

She cut him off with a gasp as her body began convulsing in a furious orgasm. “Don't stop, Jeremy! Oh god, please don't stop... please, please...” She kept pleading, her words deteriorating into incoherence as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her body. Pam made it last as long as she could until the bliss slowly ebbed away. Laying perfect still, she caught her breath. The dizziness was now so overwhelming that she didn't dare open her eyes.

Jeremy stirred by her side. The mattress shifted as he stood up. Opening one eye, Pam saw him climbing back into the top bunk. “Where do you think you're going, cowboy?” she murmured.

He paused. “I thought you fell asleep.”

“Oh, I'm awake,” she assured him.

“Well, it's pretty late. We should probably go to bed.”

Pam reached out to caress his leg. From where she lay, she could easily touch him without even sitting up. It only took her a moment to locate the little bulge in his pajama bottoms. “You can't go to bed like this, silly.” She pulled down his pajamas, then his underwear. “Let's get rid of these pesky clothes,” she told him.

“I don't know,” he began. Pam silenced him by holding a finger to his lips. Then she helped him out of his pajama top. Indulgently, she ran a finger along his collarbone, enjoying the feel of his warm skin. Taking Jeremy's wrists, she had him lay down next to her in the bottom bunk. The bottle of K-Y from earlier that morning was exactly where they left it on the nightstand. Pam squirted some into her hand, but her poor aim resulted in several stray drops on the sheets. Most of it was in her palm though. For good measure, she added a healthy dollop onto Jeremy's pulsing erection.

Stretching out on her side next to him, Pam began teasing him with soft strokes. It was cute, how he lay obediently on the bed with his arms straight at his sides. From past experience, Pam knew that if she touched a certain spot on the underside of his penis, touched it just right, that Jeremy would shiver uncontrollably. Where was it? Pam slid a finger alongside his K-Y slickened shaft, searching. His foreskin frustratingly concealed his corona, depriving her of a landmark, so Pam had to guess. She gathered her fingertips in a cluster where she thought his sensitive spot might be.

Bingo. Jeremy shuddered on the bed. She smiled as she watched his shoulders clench involuntarily. As she lay next to him, her head propped up on a hand, Pam's breast swayed pendulously near his face. All she had to do was lean forward, just a little bit, for her nipple to graze his chin.

Jeremy's eyes were closed, but now they opened at this new sensation. Biting her lip, Pam gently rocked her torso, stimulating her nipple until it was poking stiffly against his cheek. Carefully, deliberately, she guided her breast until the nipple was poised against his soft lips.

Jeremy tentatively pursed his mouth around her hard nub of flesh. “Good boy,” Pam murmured. “Mmm, that's my good boy. That feels so nice, Jeremy. Kiss it. Now suck it like a good boy. Oh!” He lay on the bed straight as a board, craning his neck slightly to reach her breast. He was shy at first, but his nuzzling mouth soon grew bolder. Pam rewarded him with several strokes on his perfect little penis.

“Do the other one too,” she commanded, lifting her other breast to his face. “Oh Jeremy. Oh god. Don't stop. Do it as hard as you can. Harder!” Pam groaned as he complied. She began jacking him faster, her hand engulfing his erection in a sure motion. “Don't stop!” she said breathlessly. “I won't stop if you don't stop. Oh Jeremy. Jeremy!”

The pressure of his lips around her nipple felt like a vise. He was frantically suckling her now, just as she directed. The preteen boy tensed up for a split second before his legs suddenly went straight. “Is that good, Jeremy?” Pam cooed. “Are you going to be a good boy for me? Show me what a good boy you are. Please?” A heady sense of power filled her as Jeremy began to orgasm. She knew exactly how to touch him, she could make him lose all control. His toes curled in delight while his lips remained obediently locked on her nipple, sending delicious vibrations as he made indistinct sounds of pleasure.

After he was done he lay motionless except for the rise and fall of his ribcage. Jeremy turned his head to yawn, leaving behind a glossy sheen of saliva on her nipple. Sleepily, he sat up. “I should get into my own bed,” he mumbled.

“Oh no, you don't,” Pam said, taking him by the shoulder. She laid him back down on the bed and turned off the light. They were both sticky with K-Y but Pam didn't mind. He didn't protest at all when she spooned him and kissed his ear. “Good night, Jeremy.”

When she woke up, Pam was completely disoriented. She squinted at the bright light of the unfamiliar room. There were palm fronds silently rustling on the other side of the window. An odd scent tickled her nostrils, a strange combination of salty ocean air and... bacon?

Florida. Key West. The memories of the last forty-eight hours came tumbling back. Apple and Zep. Starbucks. Jeremy jacking off. Watermelon. Wine.


Groaning, Pam sat up in bed. The room spun for a brief moment before stabilizing. Stupid alcohol. She felt as if she were waking up in her college dorm room, back in the days when she was still testing her alcoholic limits. Gingerly tossing aside the sheets, Pam blinked as she looked down at herself. Why was she naked? She winced a bit as the sheets brushed against her nipples. They seemed somewhat redder than usual and were terribly sore. Probably from sleeping without a shirt, she thought.

Concentrating, she tried to remember the details of the previous night. Backyard cookout. Wine. She vaguely recalled stumbling up the stairs with Jeremy, but the rest was a drunken blur.

Never again, she vowed. Lurching to her feet, Pam smacked her head on the bunk bed, eliciting a mumbled curse. The top bunk was once again empty, just like yesterday. The bed was still partially made though, as if Jeremy hadn't even slept in it. Pam rubbed the bump on her head, trying to figure it out. It was only 7:30. Jeremy must have woken up early again to have breakfast with Apple. Did he partially make his bed before leaving? That was a first.

Her clothes from yesterday lay in piles on the ground. Pam frowned as she noticed how the clothing formed a trail that led from the stairs to the bed. She must have been so tired that she went straight to bed last night.

Half-heartedly, she brushed her hair and got dressed, knowing that Apple was probably wearing some cute outfit downstairs and commanding Jeremy's complete attention. She would have likely been annoyed had it not been for the jackhammer-like hangover pounding her head. Her mouth felt so parched that Pam hunted for a glass or a mug, basically anything that could hold water, but, finding nothing suitable, she was reduced to slurping tap water from her cupped hands in the tiny bathroom. Feeling a little better, she brushed her teeth before heading downstairs.

The smell of bacon grew stronger as she approached the kitchen. Pam took a deep breath to steel herself, expecting to find Jeremy and Apple nestled together in the breakfast nook again. “Love means never having to say... fuck you,” she reminded herself.

That didn't sound right. She was still trying to remember the correct quote when turned the corner to find Apple reading the comics by herself at the table. Jeremy, wearing oven mitts and wielding a spatula, tended to a mess of cheerfully spattering bacon on the stove. He was still wearing his pajamas, but had thoughtfully tied an apron over it. Try as she might, Pam couldn't figure out why he wore a glass mixing bowl on his head.

“Hi Pam,” Jeremy said. “Um, happy birthday!” She could tell he was trying to distract her from the chaotic scene of the kitchen. A broken egg lay forgotten in one corner of the kitchen floor while a neglected teakettle whistled madly on the stove. The aroma of coffee and burnt toast filled the air.

“Happy birthday, Pam!” Apple chimed in.

Pam blinked several times. “Thanks,” she said. “Uh, how did you know it was my birthday?”

Ignoring her question, Jeremy poured her a glass of orange juice. “Want some juice?” he offered. “It's fresh squeezed. From real Florida oranges! I did it myself.”

It was only then that she noticed the dozen spent orange rinds scattered willy-nilly across the counter. Pam accepted the proffered glass. “Jeremy wanted to make you breakfast for your birthday,” Apple explained. “I offered to help but he wanted to do it by himself.”

“You should sit down,” Jeremy urged. “Breakfast is... oops.” He dropped several slices of bacon on the floor. “Breakfast will be ready in a sec.”

Pam sat down across from Apple. “You really didn't help him?” she asked her. Glancing at the messy kitchen again, Pam shook her head. “Don't answer. Um, what's with the mixing bowl, Jeremy?”

He removed the inverted bowl from his head. “I needed something to protect my face from the bacon grease. It was splattering all over me and it really hurt.”

“Oh. I should have known.”

He began setting the table. First was a small dish of almond butter and a slightly green banana. “I made sure the banana wasn't too yellow,” Jeremy pointed out. He explained to Apple, “Pam doesn't like it when bananas are too ripe. She says they make her throw up.”

“Thank you, Jeremy,” Pam said. “Very thoughtful of you.”

Trotting between the counter and table, he set out an enormous platter of bacon, a mug of coffee and, last but not least, a stack of toast. The last slice on top of the pile was jammed with birthday candles. “I wasn't sure how many candles since I didn't know how old you are,” he said. “So I just put eleven candles on the toast.”

“Close enough,” Pam told him. “Gosh, this is a lot of bacon for one person.”

“Maybe Zep can have some later,” Jeremy said.

“What's that?” Zep asked, shuffling into the kitchen. He yawned and sat down next to Apple.

“It's Pam's birthday today,” she informed him.

“Mmm. Happy birthday.” Zep put his head down on the table.

“Don't mind him,” Apple said. “He had a little too much wine last night.”

“Me too,” Pam admitted. “I remember having hot dogs but that's it. Did we go straight to bed after that, Jeremy?”

“Um, yeah,” he said. “Basically.”

Pam could tell he was omitting something, but she couldn't tell what. Jeremy kept looking at her, then looking away. “How about you guys?” he asked Apple and Zep.

Apple put an arm around Zep, who was still doing a face-plant on the table. “Yeah, we just went to bed too. Basically.”

Pam took a sip of coffee. It was so strong that her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. She chased it with some orange juice. There wasn't enough space for four at the breakfast nook so Jeremy took a seat in her lap. “How did you know it was my birthday, anyway?” she asked.

He was concentrating on lighting the candles in the toast. “Huh? Oh, I saw the date on your driver's license.”

“Ah.” She swirled her glass of orange juice. It was delightfully pulpy, just the way she liked it. “Wait, why were you looking at my driver's license?”

Still lighting candles, he answered absentmindedly. “Um, you know. Sometimes I need to borrow a dollar from your purse.”

“I see...”

“But I don't do it all the time! I mean, first I usually check that teacup on your dresser that's full of change.”

“Really.” Pam drummed her fingers on the table. “Please, continue.”

“I really only borrowed some money, like, once. Maybe twice. And I always share what I get with you. Remember the time I split that bag of peanut M&Ms with you? I bought that with your money.”

“Okay! You can stop talking now,” Pam sighed.

“I'm done lighting the candles,” Jeremy announced. He, Apple, and Zep began singing an off-key rendition of Happy Birthday. Once they finished the song, Pam blew out the candles and everyone clapped.

“So how old are you anyway?” Jeremy asked Pam. He helped himself to a piece of crunchy bacon.

“It's not polite to ask a girl that, you know,” Apple told him.


“Because I'm too old,” Pam answered. Across the table, Apple was trying to coax Zep into drinking some orange juice. He must have been the type who couldn't stand food when hung over. Pam was grateful she didn't have that problem.

“I don't think you're old,” Jeremy volunteered.

Pam couldn't help but feel flattered. “Aw, you're so sweet,” she said. “I'm twenty-six.”

“That's not that old,” he said reasonably.

“No, I guess not.” He began fiddling with a piece of toast. “Don't play with your food,” she told him. His tailbone poked painfully against her leg, but Pam didn't want him to move from her lap. She liked the dusty smell of his hair.

Reaching for a knife, Jeremy began spreading his toast with a thick layer of butter and raspberry jam. “Um, if you were wondering... I didn't get you anything. Sorry.”

Pam laughed. “Was it because you couldn't find any cash in my wallet?”

“No! I even went to a store and looked around,” Jeremy said. His voice muffled by a mouthful of toast. “But I couldn't find anything that you would like.”

Pam twirled a lock of his hair around her finger. “Don't worry about it. I got what I wanted.”

You can't contact me because that part of ASSTR is still broken. Instead, you can go here to comment (anonymously!) if you wish:

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Previous chapter:
Chapter 11 - Kryptonite, Part 1

Next chapter:
Chapter 12 - The Little Drummer Boy

Index to all chapters of the Jeremy series.

My non-Jeremy stories (Mg) can be found here.

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