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Jack opened the front door.

“Hey, Mr. Grant!”

“Oh no! Beth…”

It was his babysitter, the one he forgot to call when his plans changed. The car in the driveway backed out of the driveway and into the street. It was Beth’s mom, who had just dropped her off for a babysitting engagement with Mr. Grant’s two children.


Mr. Grant waved towards the departing car. Beth turned and waved, too. Mr. Grant stepped past Beth, but the car was already down the street. When Mr. Grant turned to tell Beth she was no longer needed, she had already gone inside.

“Hey! Pizza!” Beth said, grabbing a slice.

“Beth,” Mr. Grant called, shutting the front door, stopping for a moment as an alarm went off in his head: Warning! Alone with an 18-year-old girl! Warning! “Beth…”

Mr. Grant found her sitting on the barstool eating pizza.

“My favorite! Olives!”

“Beth, you have to go.”

“Where are the kids?” Beth said, ignoring or not hearing what Mr. Grant had said.

Usually, the kids were jumping up and down to see their favorite babysitter.

“Where are they?”

“With their mom,” Mr. Grant said, “which is why you have to go.”

Beth took another bite of pizza, chewed, as if she were processing the information and needed something to eat first.


“Look, I’m really sorry, but their mom called this afternoon and wanted them to come stay with her for New Year’s Eve,” Mr. Grant said. “You don’t have to call your mom. I’ll take you home.”

Beth’s face fell. It looked so sad it almost made Mr. Grant cry.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“My mom’s not home tonight. That’s why I was so happy to babysit. I didn’t want to be alone, not on New Year’s Eve.”

“You can’t stay here…”

Beth looked like she was going to start crying, then lit up and smiled.

“We can celebrate New Year’s here!” she said.

Her whole body exploded with the happiness that beamed from her face. Mr. Grant opened his mouth, slowly shook his head.


He shook his head.

“Beth, I have other plans.”

“Please?” she said, coming over to him, holding both his hands.

She stared into his eyes, pleading with him with a look that sent a shiver up his back. His head slowed, and when she started to get down on her knees, his head stopped.

“Don’t…” he said, pulling her back up. “You can stay.”

It had slipped out, just like that, and the alarms went off: Warning! Warning! Warning! But Beth jumped at him, wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Oh, thank you!” she said.

And the alarms were drowned out by the pounding heartbeat in his ears in reaction to her body leaning into his. Their eyes locked, their faces were very close, and for an awkward moment they remained still. He felt her breath on his lips, felt them begin to tingle. Beth tilted her head. Mr. Grant pulled her arms away from him.

“No need for a kiss,” he said, realizing that perhaps she hadn’t meant to kiss him at all, only sure that it was he who had wanted to kiss her. “But you can’t stay for long,” he added, stepped back, which helped quiet the alarms.

Beth opened her mouth to object, but stepped back, didn’t say anything. Her spirit was dampened but not drenched.

Mr. Grant watched as her face showed every emotion she was feeling, such a collection of emotions in such a short time! Mr. Grant smiled, hoped to help her feel better. He walked over to the fridge.

“We can celebrate early!” he said, pulling out a bottle of champagne.

The shock on Beth’s face froze Mr. Grant’s into a grimace.

“Sorry,” he said, reaching in and pulling out a soda bottle. “I meant…” But he wasn’t sure what he had meant.

They finished their pizza in relative silence.

“How’s school?”


“How’s your mom?”

Rolling eyes.


Beth looked down to the ground. Her face was turning red.

“Sorry,” Mr. Grant said. “Want to play cards?”

Beth looked up, glad of the change of topic.

“I can read palms,” she said. “Here…”

She set herself on the stool, holding out her hands for his.

Mr. Grant held out his hands for her to take. He tried not to react, but suddenly he was watching her take his hands in slow motion: her palms touching the back of his fingers, her fingers closing on his hands, turning them over, palms up, her searching one then the other, her looking up into his face. Mr. Grant suddenly felt very clumsy, as if he didn’t know what to say or do. Beth smiled. He swallowed. She bent her head down, chose one of the palms, held it carefully with one hand while the other pointed a finger at the winkled lines, then her finger was tracing the lines. Mr. Grant felt her fingernail scrape over every ridge as he fell into a trance, hypnotized by her sensation on his skin.

“You will live a very long life,” Beth said, looking up. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he said, lying. Did she know he was lying? She looked at him carefully, smiled, went back to stroking his palms.

“You canlı bahis will meet a young woman…”

Beth stopped, didn’t look up, waited. When Mr. Grant didn’t say or do anything, she went on.

“…who thinks you are very handsome.”

Mr. Grant looked down at Beth. Even though she was looking down, hiding her face, he saw that she was blushing. It was like an arrow to his heart. He swallowed, again. When Beth didn’t say anything more, Mr. Grant asked her a question.

“Will I meet her soon?”

“Yes, very.”

“Before next year?”

There was a long silence. Mr. Grant felt his heart pounding as it melted. He closed his palm around Beth’s small hands. He gave the slightest squeeze. Beth looked up, her face blazing red. She was breathing faster. So was he.

Mr. Grant had known Beth for years. He had seen first hand what a wonderful mother she would be some day. He was still hurting from his divorce, but somehow, Beth was safety, and now, this very moment, she slipped inside his heart.

He saw for the first time how beautiful her face was. Had she always had such crystal green eyes? And the small nose, covered with freckles, that used to be little-girlish were suddenly cute, fun, and sexy.

Mr. Grant felt himself leaning towards Beth. He blinked, pulled himself back, reminding himself that he was so much older than she was.

“I can read your fortune, too,” he said, standing straight to put more distance between their lips.

He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb and he felt a rush when she did the same to him.

Hoping to distract her, keeping her from looking up into his face as his cheeks burned with his own blush, he turned her hand over, held it in his, enjoyed teasing her the same way she had teased him with his fingernail scraping slowly along the creases.

“You will meet a tall, dark stranger.”

He waited, but she did not say or do anything.

“He is much older than you.”

He cringed at how obvious he was being. Suddenly certain he was making a fool of himself, he whispered, “Am I embarrassing you?”

Beth looked up. There were tears welling in her eyes. Tears suddenly filled his eyes, too. For what seemed a long time, two ancient souls reached out to be with one another, through their cumbersome body’s eyes.

Then the feeling was gone, as fast as it had come, a wisp of smoke disappearing in the breeze.

Her hand felt like a little girl’s in his. He even imagined it was sticky, like his daughter’s was so much of the time. He let go of her hand and she let it fall to her side.

Another awkward moment.

“You want to watch a movie?” Mr. Grant suggested.

Beth smiled, nodded.

“And after the movie, I need to drive you home.”

Beth frowned, nodded.

“You pick,” Mr. Grant said, sitting on the couch, putting his feet up on the table.

Beth set herself to pawing through the many DVD’s.

“The romantic comedies are on the bottom right,” he said, knowing she would pick one.

He watched her slight body move quickly, without hesitation, on to all fours, her butt wagging in a fluid way that made him wonder.

“Are you taking dance lessons?” he asked.

Beth turned her head, looking over her shoulder, with a quizzical look.

“You just look so graceful,” he said, waving his hand back and forth to the rhythm of her movement, stopping when he suddenly felt foolish.

Beth smiled with a blush, turned her head back to search for a movie, giggled.

Mr. Grant smiled with pride. He liked when he made her giggle. She was hunched down now, staring at a particular DVD, while her behind swayed every-so-gently from side to side.

“This one,” Beth said, jumping up, snapping it out of its case, pushing it into the DVD player.

It was one of Mr. Grant’s favorites. Did she know? He wondered.

Beth sat herself at the other end of the couch and started the movie. To see her so close and yet so far away tore at Mr. Grant’s heart. The alarms were ringing loudly! “Enough,” he said, waving his hand as if to shoo away flies.

Beth turned, muted the movie.

“What?” she asked.

“Love is eternal,” Mr. Grant whispered, hoping to convince his brain what his heart already knew.

Beth watched him. He could tell she was anxious.

“Come here,” he said, not asking, immediately sorry that he had used his adult-commanding-child voice.

He was afraid she would think he was treating her like a child, but Beth obeyed without hesitation. She seemed relieved as he patted the couch and she sat down beside him. Following her own instincts, she leaned closer. His arm came around her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and pulled her into a safe cuddle.

“Mmm…” she hummed, settling her cheek into his chest.

The movie was imminently predictable. Two goofy people do all sorts of embarrassing things, thinking the other doesn’t really care. The best part was always the first kiss, often a result of some fumbling about. When the couple finally did kiss, Mr. Grant bahis siteleri put his hand over Beth’s, gave a squeeze.

Beth squirmed closer, uncomfortably antsy in a way that Mr. Grant understood perhaps better than she. He lifted her chin, turned her head up towards his. Her body melted against his as he leaned down and put his lips to hers.

Flat and unresponsive, he worried that he had overstepped her interest, but then her knee bent and her leg curled up over his thigh. He held her tighter, put a hand over her behind, pressed down as she rocked her crotch against his leg. Beth shuddered and twitched. He pulled back. Had what he thought just happened really happened? She was staring at him, uncertain, as his own smile melted, convinced he had just made a terrible mistake.

“Let’s make some popcorn,” he said, moving her aside and standing.

Mr. Grant didn’t wait for her, but went into the kitchen, began making lots of noise as cupboards were opened and closed, bowls put out, the popcorn machine set up.

Beth came in. Mr. Grant glanced sideways at her. She looked angry.

“I can do that,” she said, suddenly making as much noise as he had made, pouring the popcorn into the dry-popper, plugging it in.

She watched, with a scowl, as the kernels danced in the hot blowing air.

“Beth…” Mr. Grant began, but Beth moved to the fridge, got out the butter, cut a piece for the cup-measure that she put with a smack into the microwave. She went back to scowling at the popcorn.

“Beth… we have to talk.”

Beth turned, faced Mr. Grant with arms crossed, eyes flashing daggers.

“It’s my fault,” he began.

Beth snorted. The first kernel popped. She turned away from him and stared down to watch the single fluff of white dance among all the other unpopped.


He came up behind her, stood there, not touching, but close enough that they both felt the other’s body heat. Another kernel popped. Beth turned, suddenly facing him, very close.

“I’m the adult. It’s my fault,” Mr. Grant said.

“And I’m not? I had nothing to do with it?” Beth quipped back.

Mr. Grant took a deep breath, sighed.

Rising voices of an argument drifted into the kitchen from the movie.

Another kernel popped, then another. Each one softened Beth’s face, eased the anger and frustration from her body language. As more kernels popped, Beth’s face began to ooze a confidence and determination, until deafened with the sound of exploding popcorn, she put her hands on Mr. Grant’s shoulders, stood on tip-toe, and kissed him. It was a peck, but a determined peck, which was quickly followed by a second attempt, this time with her hands wrapping her fingers around the back of his head, an overly-dramatic movie kind of kiss, quickly blossoming into all-too-real electric sex-charged fingers scraping up into his hair.

Beth pulled away, shaking, held his head in her hands as she searched his eyes. The tears were rolling down both her cheeks. Mr. Grant leaned forward and kissed each streak, then placed his lips to hers, lightly brushed, and when she did not discourage, pressed into her.

Beth’s lips were swollen this time, and sank softly into his. They kissed for a long time, arms wrapping, learning what the other liked, how each liked to be touched, rubbed, squeezed. Mr. Grant opened his mouth, tested with his tongue.

“No…” Beth said, turning her head, pushing away.

The fan on the popper was still blowing, the smell of a couple burned kernels dancing in the hot wind. Beth turned her back to Mr. Grant, unplugged the popper, slipped past him with the bowl now full of fresh, pure white. He watched as she poured on the melted butter, salt, then tossed the kernels to mix them. She walked to the kitchen door, turned, held out her hand. Mr. Grant smiled, took her hand in his, and let her lead him to the couch. She sat down, put the popcorn down on one side, then patted the spot on her other side. Mr. Grant gave a broad smile, sat down, and had no sooner sank into the cushions when Beth leaned over and kissed him.

They kissed for several minutes, much improved, to the point where both were squirming this time. Beth suddenly opened her mouth, rolled a leg up into Mr. Grant’s lap, when she knocked the bowl of popcorn off the couch.

“Oh…” she cried, but her attempt to catch the bowl only sent it flying harder, popcorn spraying across the floor. “Oh no!”

“Forget it,” Mr. Grant said. “It’s not important.”

“Oh no,” she cried again, jumping to the floor, taking up the bowl, collecting all the spilled bits.

“Never mind,” Mr. Grant said.

But Beth did mind, and with every kernel she picked up she repeated, “Oh no!”

Mr. Grant stopped talking – she wasn’t listening anyway – and watched the perfect motion of her body as she moved away from him, her behind softly inviting with each kernel she picked up and dropped into the bowl.

Both their heads turned to the screen as their ears perked with the sound of a moan. Mr. Grant blanched as he realized that this movie bahis şirketleri had a rather explicit, though under-the-covers, sex scene. The man was taking her from behind, something funny in the film because they were both hidden from view, only their outlines under the sheets.

Beth stared at the screen. Mr. Grant didn’t know what she knew about such things, but could see her bright red face.

Mr. Grant was surprised when Beth, his young, innocent angel, turned to look at him over her shoulder, her freckles blazing with her blush, her eyes dark emeralds, and her lips curved in a shy grin. When she saw he was staring, she glanced down, embarrassed. She licked her lips, swallowed, raised her head again to look at him.

Mr. Grant blinked. Was she wiggling her butt at him?

“What are you staring…” she said, her voice

cracking as she swallowed the last word.

“Wiggle again,” Mr. Grant said, his own voice catching as he heard the words come out.

She grinned, turned, lifted her head to watch the movie, and wagged her butt.

Activated by some genetic switch, Mr. Grant was up out of the couch and behind her. He stared at her she turned her head to face him. He started to imitate what was happening on the screen, putting his hands to her hips and pressing himself into her. There was fear on Beth’s face, and excitement. She looked away, but didn’t move, as he repeated his movements a couple more times. She didn’t respond, just remained frozen. He bent over, reached a hand underneath, cupped her breast.

“No!” she said, suddenly collapsing and rolling to escape his groping.

He let her roll, staying on top of her, until she was under him on her back. There was a crazy, wild look in her eyes.

“You prefer Missionary?” he said, trying to get a knee between her legs.


The fear in her voice had him regretting his coarse behavior. He stopped, looked down at her, opened his mouth to utter an apology. But he hesitated, and in that split second, she smiled sheepishly, looked up at him, pleading with her eyes, but uncertain what to do. He smiled back, his eyes revealing his impish decision. His fingers went to her sides and he tickled her. She jerked and giggled, protested and teased, but he did not stop until her exhaustion left her unable to say anything, without the energy or desire to close her legs as he placed one, then both knees between her thighs.

Mr. Grant fell forward, his hands pinning each arm. He watched her face, searched her eyes, as he slowly lowered his waist, settled atop her crotch, lowered further to press harder. As he felt the pressure bring him some relief, he hoped she could feel his swollen member sinking against her open legs.

Staring into her eyes, he rolled his hips forward. His mouth opened and his eyes rolled shut with the thrill he was getting.

“No,” she whispered.

But neither of them was convinced.

There was more moaning on the screen as the movie neared its climax. Mr. Grant rocked again, slowly, then as if to catch up to the movie, faster and harder.

Beth mumbled a “no” that continued on to became a long “oh” as he wiggled his hips, widened her thighs with his own, and rubbed deeper between her open legs.

Mr. Grant was enjoying his dry fuck, but he felt Beth enjoying hers even more. He decided he could wait, focused on pleasing her, pressed and squeezed, wiggled against her. She began to twitch and jerk. The contortions in her face made it clear she was struggling, resisting.

“Let yourself go,” he whispered.

Her face relaxed a bit.

“Let your body take over.”

She relaxed a bit more.

“Let go!”

Her wrinkled brow melted away and her mouth cracked open. Hips began to jump into him. He redoubled his pressure, pushing between her legs, keeping them spread wide.

Beth gasped, coughed, then convulsed with an orgasm. Mr. Grant stepped one knee outside her, placed his hand down between her legs, and pressed hard into her jeans, just below her mons, where he knew her clit was waiting.

Beth cramped. He felt the sudden warm moisture soaking her jeans. He smiled, knowing it was probably her first gusher, and she might not even know what one was.

Keeping the pressure there, he let her move against his fingers, let her control how much and when. Finally, she slowed, and her body relaxed. She was breathing hard.

She opened her eyes, stared into his. He bent down and kissed her. Her tongue was soft and loose this time, and she had no concerns as he probed her mouth with his.

“NO!” Beth tried to say, gurgling a gasp as she turned her head away.

But Mr. Grant’s hand was already down her pants, inside her panties, a finger prodding at the hot, wet, slippery skin that was the hood pulled tight over her clitoris.

“Oh my god!” she gasped.

He lifted his other leg out from between hers and let her legs clamp shut, hoping to keep him out, but it was too late.

He wasn’t sure if she passed out, or just fell asleep after that next orgasm. He suspected, from the intensity of her wild jerking that she had passed out.

Groggy and still floating, Beth awoke to Mr. Grant lying atop her. He smiled at her, then rocked his hips. Her eyes flew open as she felt bare skin against bare skin.

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