Self Starter

My father used to say to me "You're just too inquisitive for your own damned good Heather." Sitting here now, I have to say he was absolutely right. Never one to act with caution, if ever I wanted to know something, I would just go right out there and find out for myself. Whatever ....where-ever!

I wouldn't say dad and mom were overly strict parentally, but I was brought up to be mindful of the need to observe healthy thoughts and actions. "Having respect for yourself Heather," my dad would remind me "is the cornerstone to having respect for others."

How I miss him. Snatched cruelly from our lives when I was just 18 years old, in an auto-wreck caused by a drunk-driver, I don't think I ever came to terms with it.

I am twenty-one now and holed-up here in this shabby little room on Cleveland Drive, so far removed from any lifestyle my parents might once have wished for me, that my only joy now is to be found at the business-end of a shared needle.

Perhaps sympathy was all I ever wanted? Maybe just a shoulder to cry on. Who knows? At eighteen though, I discovered that my developing body was of particular interest to the male population of Thyssen County, Iowa. When I say 'the male population,' you can take that to mean anyone between eighteen and those with a walker - not that I ever tested my theoretical limits you understand.

I can tell you exactly how this all came about - if you're interested?

It was only a few weeks after the funeral. I had just turned eighteen and couldn't face school that day in my final year. I had just gone to Rafferty's Park where I had been sitting alone on a swing for maybe an hour. Between bouts of tears I just felt so alone. An only child, mom had been considerably older than my father and although shattered herself I suppose, she didn't have enough emotional space for me as well. We fought over nothing most nights.

My thoughts were interrupted by this guy - he must have been in his fifties I suppose, asking me what was wrong and could he help? I wasn't so far out of it that I didn't recognise stranger-danger, so I more or less told him to take a hike. Instead of taking offense though, he just looked at me in a kindly way and said he was sorry for interrupting and to forgive him. Something about him looked and sounded "safe" and as he walked away, I felt such a little bitch speaking to him like that and called him back.

"No apologies necessary missy," he said to me. "You are quite right to be wary...there's some total fruitcakes in the County." I managed a half-smile.

We must have sat in that park for almost an hour. I told him what had happened and why I wasn't at school. He listened just like the father I now needed so badly and after I had finished - brought down by a further emotional relapse...he cuddled me and held me to him.

Whilst he then talked for a bit, I discovered that misery and loneliness was not the solitary domain of an eighteen-year old girl having a bad month or two. His wife had died of leukemia recently and as a result of her inability to have children, he now found himself alone and without a great deal of purpose in life. "That" he assured me, was a greater challenge at his age, than was the case of a teenager with their whole life in front of them. Exactly the sort of thing my own father would have said!

Anyway, to get to the point. The man, whose name was Martin so he told me, lived just across the way and he asked me if I would like to maybe drop by one afternoon on my way home from school, for a chat or a soda perhaps. He gave me the address and his telephone number.

Well over the next week, I called in pretty much every afternoon. He'd fetch a soft drink for me and either a biscuit or some other munchie and we would just sit in his kitchen talking about things - all sorts of things. TV shows to News items, poetry to ice-skating. I found out that he used to be a High School teacher himself in Boston of all places.

I never stayed more than three-quarters of an hour though, as mom would have started asking all manner of questions and we would have ended up having another huge fight. Martin was never anything but a perfect gentleman when I was there and looking back now it's hardly surprising that I began to see in him some sort of surrogate father.

It was the week after he had offered to help me with my 3-Unit math homework that things began to unravel, although at the time I had never been happier.
Perhaps my own hormones were to blame? Certainly Martin never made the slightest improper or inappropriate comment.

I remember sitting at the kitchen table there, listening to him explaining something about algorithms and suddenly thinking "for a guy in his fifties he doesn't seem that old at all." Maybe that's when age suddenly didn't come into it and I found myself wondering "Hmmm, what would it be like?"

Obviously, all girls eighteen to sixty want to be desired. In my case though it was more than that - I needed to be loved.....I wanted to love! I most assuredly was dying to know what sex felt like and as I admitted earlier, once committed to some course of action. I could always be relied upon to see it through, no matter the consequence.

I can't remember whether I started to tease him at all or if he just sensed some sort of "compliance" from my viewpoint. I do recall though the day he put his hand on my thigh while I was working out some math problem. It was only for a second, but it excited me and I so wanted him to prolong the contact. He glanced up at me for a moment and I knew questions were being asked.....and answered.

I realised of course the next afternoon that I was going to let him touch me.

"Have respect for yourself Heather," dad had said. Was I flying in the face of his wisdom then by choosing the shortest school skirt I owned that morning? cheeky little pink bra and panties that we weren't supposed to wear at school.

I even sat differently while Martin was talking to me...my legs just fractionally too far apart, my expression flirty. I saw his occasional glance up my skirt and his embarrassment at being caught-out. It was making me hotter and even more adventurous. While he was out of the room getting me another Sprite, I undid the top two buttons of my school blouse.

Half an hour later though, I was beginning to think "God, some guys just can't take a hint" as he appeared more interested in explaining the workings of Euclid than my (admittedly limited) cleavage. It was only when his hand once more descended to my thigh that I sensed an interest over and above fatherly compassion.

I wriggled forward on my chair - only a fraction, but enough that his hand was momentarily inclined towards my inner thigh - where I knew it was both softer and warmer. Just for a second he looked at me, and I smiled at him - the sexiest little glance I had in my armory.

Whether he picked-up on my needs or was simply responding to his own I can't be sure, but he allowed his hand to inch upwards until he reached my panties. Math was the last thing on either of our minds right then I would imagine.

He suddenly withdrew his hand and in a fit of self-reproach, apologised for his forward and improper behavior.

"I'm so sorry Heather," he mumbled. "I don't know what I was thinking. You're just a young girl and I had no right to abuse your trust. You must think me a disgusting old man, please forgive me."

I had no idea what to say, so I just took his hand and pulled my chair in closer.

"The only excuse I have my most beautiful girl," he looked completely heartbroken, "is that I'm very lonely and I miss female companionship so much.. Having you come here most days has been my greatest joy and - I know how pathetic this will sound - I think I am falling in love with you Heather."

I was just speechless and on the verge of tears myself. He was continuing.

"crazy as that sounds - I know I am almost forty years older than you - its true...I'm so sorry for embarrassing you!"

I didn't have to answer, I just knew what to do. With his hand in mine still and without breaking eye contact, I just slipped it back beneath my skirt, making sure contact with my panties was re-established. I spread my legs just those few crucial degrees more.

Now he wasn't talking!

The feel of a male hand up between my legs where none but my own had ever ventured, was causing pleasurable sensations, the like of which I could barely countenance. As he rubbed me there, I know I was making so many soft moans that I must have sounded like I had been brought up in a convent. That all changed when his hand slipped inside the leg of my panties and we both discovered what fun opportunities then beckoned.

I don't even remember going upstairs with him - just laying on his bed later while he took my uniform off. I recall him telling me how pretty I was, staring at me, clad only in my skimpy little bra and panties now. Slipping my small breasts free of the clingy material, he began kissing them and then gently sucking the nipples. I couldn't believe how erect they were becoming as he gradually drove me crazy.

I wanted more than anything to be naked for him and had no hesitation in allowing him to strip me completely. For the longest time, he was just sitting between my legs staring at my pussy, brushing his fingers through my pubic curls and then just gently separating both labia the length of my (now) very wet slit. In the gentlest of voices he asked me if I wouldn't mind playing with my nipples while he watched.

At the point he removed his own trousers and I saw his erection for the first time - the only one I had ever seen of course, I was suddenly filled as much with trepidation as expectancy. Would it really hurt? Is this what I truly wanted?

I didn't need to go to the video ref!

He was still kissing me passionately, my arms around his neck, my eyes tight closed, when the grim reaper showed up between my legs. Aroused, wet and most definitely willing as I was, my hymen apparently was anything but ready to hand in its resignation without a fight.

Analogies such as a "hot knife through butter" or "David versus Goliath" might seem appropriate here but in fact it almost killed me. Three times Martin pulled back saying "I can't Heather, it's just hurting you too much." Three times I clung to him begging him to "push in harder."

Eventually he placed a soft pillow beneath my hips, spread me even more and simply kissed me to distraction. It worked, and despite the searing pain initially, once he was in me and doing things I just could never have imagined being done to my young body, something was let loose that subsequently I have never been able to control.

Maybe on account of the fact he was having sex with basically a schoolgirl and that this perhaps excited him, but it seemed to me, even with my total inexperience in such matters, that it was over pretty quickly as I felt him spurting his semen deep inside me. I definitely needed more.