She Said /pedo/Janus

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.

I wake up to a strange noise. At first, I think I'm still dreaming. It sounds like a magical sound, like something out of an animated movie. It takes me a moment to realize it's just the sound of cooing doves.

I sit up in my bed and peer out the window. It's a lot of doves. Like an entire flock that is nesting in the myrtle tree. It would be quieter if I close my window, but I like the fresh June air. I glance at my clock and realize it's time to get up anyway.

I wish I could sleep in because I don't feel rested at all. I've always been a stomach sleeper, but that had to stop. I check my reflection in the mirror behind my closet door, examining the two tender bumps on my chest that are poking through my tank top. I was excited when they first started growing. Not so much now that they're hurting. Turning, I study my profile in the mirror. I lift up my shirt, squint to see if they're any bigger. Nope.

I looked it up on the internet once. They say most girls start growing at age eleven. I spent the past year waiting for them and now they're (barely) here. Just in time too because I turn twelve in a few days. I guess I'm mostly on schedule. The tenderness totally sucks, but they're both hurting the same so I hope that means they'll grow together at the same rate. I don't want to be one of those lopsided girls where one is bigger than the other.

Opening my closet, I peruse my choices for today. The thought of wearing a bra makes me shudder so I choose a baggy shirt and a comfortable pair of jeans to wear to school. The last week of school! My heart lifts just a tiny bit in my chest. I'm so ready for summer vacation. I lay out today's outfit on the bed and head to the kitchen for breakfast.

Where a surprise greets me. I see someone sitting at the kitchen table wearing a white t-shirt and boxers. “Oh, hi Jason,” I say. This is the last thing I expected this morning.

I don't think he was expecting me either because his surprised look turns into a smile. “Good morning, Alice,” he says, standing to give me a hug. His chest brushes mine, causing me to wince as my breasts revolt from the contact. Not only that, but I feel something in his boxers brushing my stomach too.

“My project at work wrapped up ahead of schedule so I decided to come out a few weeks early to surprise your mom,” he says, adding as an afterthought, “and you too.”

Without meaning to, I yawn. I guess I didn't sleep well at all last night. I'm about to say something else when I notice Jason staring at me. Specifically at my chest. Last night I wore my extra tight tank top to bed because it's better than having the sheets irritate my chest all night. I don't care if my mom sees me in this top, but Jason... It doesn't help that my nipples could poke someone's eye out right now.

I self-consciously cross my arms over my chest. “Um, I should go get ready,” I mutter, leaving the kitchen. I'm already in my room when he calls to me.

“Do you want me to make you something for breakfast? Omelette? English muffin?”

“No, thanks, I'll probably just have cereal.” I return to the mirror and study my chest. What does Jason see in it? Pull on a pair of cargo pants and I could practically be a boy from the waist down.

I head to the bathroom where I wash my face and apply moisturizer. As I'm brushing my hair, the unbidden memory of Jason's hug comes rushing back to my mind. How there was something in his underwear that pressed against me. It's not until I look in the mirror that I realize I'm blushing.

I don't know why I'm so embarrassed. The last time I saw Jason was the previous month when he last visited from Maine. My mom had come to remind him that the airport taxi was waiting and Jason strategically placed his carry-on bag over his midsection to hide the obvious bulge. He had come into my room to say a quick goodbye but ended up staying twenty minutes. That was the last time he...

Now my face is really red. Shoving aside the memories, I finish my hair by putting it in a ponytail. I'm just applying toothpaste to my toothbrush when I hear a muffled thump from the kitchen, followed by indistinct mumbling. “Are you okay out there?” I yell.

Whatever. Once I'm done in the bathroom, I return to my room to get dressed. My eyes fall on the frumpy outfit I laid out earlier on my bed. The unicorn on the t-shirt suddenly seems childish. Rummaging through my closet, I upgrade my outfit for the day. Finally dressed, I give myself one last look in the mirror: fitted black shirt and slim denim skirt. Classic, but kind of boring. I add some turquoise socks and check the mirror again. Better. I turn off my bedroom light and head for the kitchen.

“It would take longer if mom let me wear makeup,” I scoff. “She keeps saying I'm not old enough.” As I move through the kitchen trying to find something for breakfast, I feel Jason's eyes tracking my every movement. My heart skips a beat, but I don't know why.

Jason clears his throat. “Your birthday is coming up. Isn't it this week? You're going to be twelve, right?”

“Yes. She said I could start wearing makeup when I turn twelve, but I bet she'll change her mind.” I end up pouring myself some chocolate milk and take a seat at the table.

“I'm not really hungry.” This is true. Instead my stomach is a mass of butterflies. Like I'm about to take the field before a big soccer game.

“I know exactly how you feel.” He's rubbing his eyes with his hands. Jason's hair is so messy that I wonder if he even slept last night. “I hate to sound like such a wimp, but this jet lag is really kicking my ass. Come on, coffee... do your job. ”

Before I know it, I'm on my feet with coffeepot in hand. “Did you want some more?”

“Thank you, Alice.” Jason smiles at me with genuine gratitude. I return his smile and our eyes lock for a moment.

“You're welcome.” I'm stammering because I suddenly feel a tug inside my body. THAT kind of tug. I realize what my mind has been subconsciously telling me. My foot starts tapping nervously on the kitchen floor. I'm trying to think of something to say, but my mind is blank. “It's a nice morning,” I observe.

Jason takes another sip of coffee. “It is nice. I was just thinking how everything feels so much more inviting in California.”

My mind is racing, wondering how to steer the conversation where my body wants it to go. “I meant, nice for us. It's not very often that we, you know, get to be alone together.” I can't believe I'm saying this. Is it too obvious? I scan Jason's face but he seems oblivious.

“Quiet mornings are definitely the best.” He pauses. “Are you sure you don't want something for breakfast? It's no trouble.”

Why does he keep obsessing about getting me breakfast? “No, I don't want anything,” I reassure him.

“Well, I don't want FOOD.” I'm getting grumpy and add too much emphasis to that last word. I'm torn. My body wants something but my mind doesn't think it's a good idea and I can't tell who is going to win.

My brain feels like it's going to short-circuit. When I was younger, I adored the soft-serve ice cream served at fast-food restaurants even though it always upset my stomach. Mom would always try to talk me out of ordering it, warning me how sick I would get a few hours later. That sort of logic never worked on me.

My hands are fidgeting and I'm staring at my turquoise socks as I speak. “You know that... thing we sometimes do?” I am mortified as I try to find a way to verbally address what we do together. “Do you think we could do it right now?”

A nervous smile strickens my lips. “You know...” I giggle, not because something funny is happening but because I am so embarrassed.

“No, silly. I want to...” I can't bring myself to say it, so I gesture helplessly which only serves to make me feel even more stupid. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself and blurt out the words, “I want you to touch me.”

My face is beet red. “I mean down there,” I say softly. I feel so guilty for saying this but I don't know why. Jason doesn't say anything for a few seconds, making me wonder if it's truly wrong for me to ask this of him. What if he gets annoyed and says no?

“Oh sweetie...” he says, taking my hands. Relief flows through me like water through a desert. He pulls me in close until I'm sitting in his lap, his arms wrapped around my waist. Chin stubble scratches my ear. “Did you miss me?” he whispers. He has coffee breath but his breath feels nice against my neck. Before I can answer, his hands wander to my bare legs.

Even though he's just touching my knees, I feel that familiar surge between my legs. But I can feel something else of his pressing against my back and it's making me embarrassed again. Without meaning to, I let out a small giggle.

His hands are now moving under my skirt, squeezing my upper legs. I am breathing fast, as if I just ran the length of a soccer field. “Yes,” I admit. His hand touches my underwear, but lightly, barely making contact. I spread my legs a little wider.

I flash back to the frustrated nights lying in my bed. “Yes,” I admit again.

“Did you get excited when you thought about me?” Jason slips his hands inside my underwear.

“Yes!” Each answer brings forth a surge of simultaneous embarrassment and arousal. Despite being fully dressed, I feel utterly exposed.

“And what did you imagine when you thought about me?” His finger is rubbing my most private part and it feels so good that I'm already about to explode. All it would take is a few more seconds, but Jason abruptly stops touching me down there.

The answer forms instantly in my mind. It's always the same: I don't have any clothes on and Jason is touching me, making me feel nice, when someone unexpectedly walks into the room and catches us in the act. Usually my mom, but sometimes a teacher or even a neighbor. I don't know why, how, or when this fantasy began but it's too embarrassing to reveal.

“I thought about what you're doing right now.” It's a simple answer and, in my opinion, a good one. I wait for Jason to start touching me again but he doesn't. Instead he lifts me off his lap until I'm standing. I'm not sure what's going and only get further confused when he lifts me onto the kitchen table so I sit facing him.

It's kind of awkward because he is staring at me again. I look elsewhere, then look back at him, expecting him to not be staring. But he doesn't stop. This happens several times until I finally ask him, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I can't help it. You're so pretty.” The compliment makes me blush. He continues, “I don't remember you wearing a bra the last time I saw you.”

The thought of Jason seeing my bra with its little cups is mortifying. “Can't we, you know, go back to what we were doing?” Once again, I stumble over how to describe what it is we do.

Reasoning to myself, I decide that the sooner I give him what he wants, the sooner we can return to the touching part. I pull my shirt over my head and carefully set it aside since I'll have to wear it to school.

“Nothing.” There is a surge of heat in my ears as I blush. Mom said she didn't want to spend too much money on bras if I was just going to outgrow them.

“Can I see what's underneath? Please?” I hesitate but then Jason touches my knee. The thought of him giving me that feeling is like a carrot on a stick. I giggle nervously. Even though I am naked in my fantasies, it makes me uncomfortable to be naked in front of Jason in real life. Reluctantly, I take off my bra and set it on top of my shirt on the table.

Jason has that odd smile on his face again and I can't figure out why. It's as if he's laughing at some private joke. I shift uncomfortably on the table and try to act unconcerned as his eyes wander across my body. I don't really feel excited anymore, just embarrassed. I wish my boobs weren't so tiny and weird looking.

He reaches out and, without asking, touches my chest. I wince when his fingers brush against my tender nipples. Even though it's the lightest touch, it's painful enough to make my shoulders tense up. I hope he's done touching them. Maybe he is, because he moves my feet so they're resting atop his legs as he sits.

Then he looks at me. Expectantly. Not sure if I'm doing the right thing, I tentatively spread my legs a little bit. It's strange how hard that act can be if I'm not excited. But it must have been correct, because Jason reaches under my skirt and pulls off my underwear. I see that odd smile on his face again as he tosses my underwear over his shoulder where it unceremoniously lands on the kitchen floor.

His hand disappears, hidden from my view, as it goes under my skirt. Jason starts touching again between my legs. Even though it's what I wanted, it feels weird this time. Weird, like I'm not feeling at all excited by it. If anything, I almost want to stop. I look longingly at my bra and shirt on the table, at my underwear on the floor, wishing I could take them back.

I sit there for a long while, feeling confused. I'm getting tired of sitting up so I lean back until I'm lying down on the table. That feels a little better. Jason is still touching me so I close my eyes. Then, if by magic, it feels good again. I realize I don't like being face-to-face with Jason when he touches me. If I can't see him, or if I have my eyes closed, it feels more like my own fantasy.

It takes a little concentration, but the excited feeling making a slow return. It starts in my lower tummy, just beneath my belly button, before suddenly flooding the area between my legs in a gushing torrent. Jason is touching me in a very deliberate pattern. It feels best when he contacts a certain spot, but then he travels away from it before returning a few seconds later. The constant coming and going leaves me in a warm state of anticipation that feels wonderful.

I also notice a strange pressure that I can't identify because my eyes are closed and I don't dare look at him for fear of losing the good feeling again. It's like he's pushing at me while he rubs. The pressure builds until I feel a strong push, like I'm being filled up. It feels heavenly.

My sense are too overwhelmed to consider what's happening so I just enjoy it. It's feeling nicer and nicer until there is suddenly a VERY strong push that is accompanied by such a powerful burst of pleasure that I gasp out loud. It is so wonderful that my body jerks in surprise and I feel my hand knock something over. I feel very full and I've never felt anything like it before.

“Oh god,” I think to myself. Or did I say it? I don't know. Not only am I about to get that extra good feeling, but it feels like an especially big one. My entire being is poised on the edge.

And, just like that, the fullness goes away as if someone let all the air out of a balloon. Poof. I had been floating among the clouds but am snapped back to the hard ground. I hear the sound of Jason apologizing. It takes me a second to comprehend his words.

“Sorry! I should have been more gentle. Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to!” As he's stammering, I sit up on my elbows.

“No...” He thinks he hurt me? It dawns on me that Jason thinks he did something wrong. Now that I'm facing him again, the old feelings of embarrassment and guilt come back. If he did something wrong, should I not have enjoyed it the way I did? “I mean, yes, it's okay,” Alice answers shakily.

What I really want is to lie down so he can keep doing what he was doing. The feeling of fullness has me perplexed. My mind races until I remember something that once happened at a girls' sleepover. “Did you put something inside me?”

“It was my finger,” he admits. “I thought it was okay, but I guess not. I'm really sorry.”

My friends and I had discussed at length the sheer oddity of sex. Being curious, I once tried putting a marker between my legs but it didn't feel like anything special. Jason's finger, however, was a different story. It seemed much thicker than the skinny marker I had employed. And it definitely felt special.

I'm not sure how to respond to his apologies. “It was okay at first,” I say. Only then do I notice the puddle of chocolate milk on the table. “Sorry I knocked over my glass.”

The spilled milk is far away enough that I can lay back down on the table. Despite the interruption, my heart hasn't stopped pounding. I close my eyes. It's embarrassing but I still feel that tug, deep down in my body. I know what I want, but I hope Jason won't think I'm a weirdo. I spread my legs again and hold my breath.

His hand returns, sending waves of both relief and anticipation. I hear the sound of the chair scraping the floor as he moves in a little closer. I don't care about feeling embarrassed. I don't care about feeling guilty. All I know is that it feels so good.

The excited feeling comes roaring back. I want it so bad that I can almost taste it, never mind that I don't know what it would taste like. I imagine wrapping my arms around that feeling and taking a big bite of it. It would be so satisfying.

Jason is touching that special spot, concentrating on it, pressing hard against it. I've been thinking about this for weeks. I'm getting closer and closer when I feel Jason's hand around my ankle. He's moves my leg until I feel something touching the underside of my foot. It's very firm and very warm.

It's very obvious what it is. I can't believe I'm using my foot to touch it though. It seems wrong. My heart is pounding as I answer, “Yes.”

“It...” My mind stalls. It feels so naughty to say that word. I try again. “It's your...” My lips are trying to form the 'p' sound when the dam breaks. Out of nowhere, the good feeling comes crashing through my body. Wildly, uncontrollably. It feels so good I never want it to end. My foot is still stepping on Jason's thing and it feels hard even against the thicker skin of my sole.

Through the roar in my ears, I hear gasps that I recognize as my own. What a peculiar noise. Could I really make a noise like that? My fists clench until the fingernails are digging into my skin, reminding me that reality lurks behind this pleasure-world. Maybe I shouldn't have done that, though, because the pain makes everything snap into focus: the kitchen ceiling, Jason's hand around my ankle, the sweat on my forehead.

I am drained. The good feeling has abandoned me, leaving me as a shell. It's like there is a vacuum inside where I feel nothing at all. Unfortunately, that only lasts a second before the emptiness is filled with the array of emotions I had been suppressing. Embarrassment. Guilt. Shame.

“Oh gosh, look at the time,' I say lamely. I sit up, mortified that I am topless in front of Jason. I feel very exposed and I don't like it. Grabbing my clothes, I get dressed in record time.

I don't dare look Jason in the face. Instead I dash to my bedroom to get my backpack. I sling the burden onto my shoulders. Jason says something about lunch but I'm already out the door. I'm walking to the corner when I see the bus approach. With perfect timing, it pulls to the curb, the doors open, and I climb aboard.

It feels unusually quiet as I get on the bus. Are people staring at me? Is there something on my face that lets them know what just happened? The thought of anyone knowing my secret makes me feel nauseous. But the bus begins to move and I am whisked away. My anxiety fades slightly as the distance grows.

Pulling out a hairbrush from my backpack, I use my phone as a mirror and make myself look presentable. I remove the elastic band in my hair and gather it into a fresh ponytail. I almost feel better until I realize I completely forgot to put my underwear back on. In my mind, I can still see it lying on the kitchen floor. I pray to God that Jason notices it and puts it away before my mom comes home.

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