Youth Turn
Copyright © 1996; 2018 by Peter Weiss
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
“Sorry,” Melina said. But she knew she was right. Her skirt sat high on her thighs and she spread her legs. “I didn’t need a lift,” she said. “But I don’t feel like going to school. I mean I’m gonna go—you know at that school they call your home if you’re absent, and I don’t want to get grounded. So I have to go. But I don’t want to.”
They exchanged names, then Melina reached under the skirt, shifted in the seat and tugged at her panties. “These panties are killing me,” she said. She smelled her hand. “Wanna smell?” She pushed her fingers under his nose.
“Good, right?” she asked. She shifted again, facing him, drawing the leg closest to him up so her knee rested on the seat and he could see up her legs. “Taste it,” she ordered.
Like an automaton, he sucked.
“Nice, huh?” she said, withdrawing her hand.
They came to a red light. Indeed, he saw the white panties between her legs and he felt himself bulging. A pearl of pre-cum dripped into his underwear.
A sly smile crossed her face. “You do want some pussy,” she said, reaching to his crotch and feeling his erection. “Yeah,” she said. “I think you do.”
He picked her up at three o’clock a block away from the school, where he had dropped her off. She slid into the seat, this time sitting very close to him. Her lips were dark and she was made-up, eye makeup and all. She assured him her parents worked and wouldn’t miss her as long as she was home by six. Three hours was enough, right? That sly smile was still on her face, only now it seemed like a look of acknowledgment, and though he couldn’t say how exactly, it wasn’t the look of a sixteen year old, or however old she was—he was afraid to ask. It was a look of power though he wanted to call it enchantment. When she reached over and put her hand in his lap, his penis shot up in his pants and his heart thumped so that he thought he was having a heart attack.
“How old are you?” he managed.
“How old do you want me to be?” Melina asked.
“How old you are.”
“Whatever you want,” she said.
She massaged him, gathering the pants so she could put her hand around him. The harder he got, the more powerfully enchanting that look grew. The thought of Debra and the kids blew over him like a desert storm and eclipsed the scorching in his loins. Guilt followed.
“This is wrong.”
“Shh,” Melina said. She reached over and kissed his lips, thrusting her tongue in his mouth. Then she sucked up his tongue and squeezed him once so that he almost came in his pants.
“Okay,” she said. “We don’t have to. I’ll get out.” She started toward the door but knew he would hold her, and he did, a gentle grab at her hand.
“You want me to stay?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
