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Message-ID: <34652asstr$1010787005@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Too MuchTime" <toomuchtime@lovemail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Sammy's Hot Summer (m F)
Date: Fri, 11 Jan 2002 17:10:05 -0500
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<1st attachment, "sammy01.txt" begin>

The following is probably a work of FICTION.
It was sent back in time in a quantum bottle.
So who really knows for sure? ...

Feel free to reprint or take credit for it
(as if I could stop you), but please don't make
any changes, or I won't write the next chapter!

SAMMY'S HOT SUMMER
Chapter 1: The New Neighbor

by TooMuchTime (TooMuchTime@lovemail.com)

Copyright(c) 2002, TooMuchTime.  All rights reserved.

	When I first saw that big yellow moving van backing into the
driveway, I was angry, I'll admit it.  Up till three months
before, and from the day I was born, my best friend Kevin had
lived next door to us.  Then his father got some great new
promotion at work.  Next thing I knew they were moving to
Florida, right in the middle of the school year.  When you're 13,
and you lose your best friend, it's kind of like losing an arm or
a leg.  Especially when summer vacation rolls around, and your
best friend was the one who had the pool.  So the last thing I
wanted to see on that sunny Sunday in June was somebody new
moving into Kevin's house.  It just felt wrong somehow.

	"Sammy, get away from that window."  This was my mom, in the
kitchen making lunch.  "Somebody might see you."

	"So what," I said.  "It's not against the law to look out a
window."

	She didn't have an argument for this.  "Do you see anybody yet?"
 Apparently, she was just as curious as I was.

	"No, only the moving men.  No, wait --"  As the moving men began
to unload the truck, an expensive dark blue car pulled up to the
curb -- a BMW or some such thing, but certainly not the usual
four-door sedan or fancy SUV that passed for a "nice car" in our
middle class suburban neighborhood.  "There's somebody else."

	The car door opened, and as the driver walked around and into
the front yard, my jaw nearly dropped.  Wow, I thought, if Kevin
had to move, what a replacement!  I couldn't see much from 50
feet away, but I could see enough.  She was tall, about 5'10" and
slim, with a wild head of firey red hair that shot off in large
curls in every direction and fell halfway down her back.  The
skin on her arms was somewhat pale, and the sun practically
gleamed off it.  Her legs, which just kept on going and going,
were wrapped in a tight pair of jeans that swelled healthily at
the hips, and were capped off by what looked to be a pair of red
heels.  But it was the top part of her body that truly got my
attention -- that would get the attention of any guy, much less a
teenager still going through puberty.  She wore a form-fitting
sleeveless white tanktop ... and what a form to fit.  I didn't
know a whole lot about bra sizes at the time, but her tits looked
to be somewhere between the size of grapefruits and canteloupes
-- certainly bigger than anything I'd seen to date, at least on
such a slim body.  As she walked, her long legs ate up the
distance to the house quickly, and her tits seemed to jiggle
playfully with each step.

	"Well," my mom said behind me, jarring me out of some lurid
thoughts.  "I wonder where the rest of the family is."  There was
a somewhat hostile tone to my mother's voice that I wouldn't
understand till years later.  Clearly, for the very same reasons
that I was drooling over this woman, my mother was threatened by
her.  After all, what right did such an Amazon goddess have
moving into a neighborhood filled with average looking
housewives?  Not that I didn't think some of the mothers on my
block were cute.  Some were.  And some even had okay bodies.  But
certainly none of them held a candle to this lady.  And my mom
knew it.  "Get away from the window now, Sammy.  Lunch is almost
ready."

	Reluctantly, I did as I was told.  For the rest of the
afternoon, though, I kept peeking out the window, hoping for
another glance, but as far as I could tell, the woman kept
inside.  Probably telling the moving men where to put things. 
And for the rest of the afternoon, my mother kept looking for
another car to arrive with the rest of the family ... but none
showed.  When my father arrived home again that evening after a
day of golf, Mom asked him if he knew anything about the new
neighbor.  He said he'd heard rumors from the Andersons down the
street that it was a single divorced woman from New York City --
an artist or photographer or something -- with a daughter.  He
wasn't sure about the age of either the mother or the daughter. 
"Why?" he asked.  "Did you see them?"

	"Just the mother," I said.  "Unless she was the daughter.  She
didn't look that old.  But she was driving."

	"I see," my father said.  "Well, I'm sure we'll know more before
long."

	From the kitchen sink, my mother made kind of a grunting noise.

	"What was that, Honey?" my dad asked.

	"Nothing.  She just seemed kind of ... flamboyant.  But I guess
that figures, if she's from New York City and divorced.  Not sure
why she'd want to move to a little neighborhood like this,
though."  It was no secret to me or to anybody else that my
mother had a kind of love-hate relationship going with her own
home turf.  In this instance, I wasn't sure if she was being
protective of it -- wanting the busty redhead to leave -- or if
she was voicing some kind of genuine concern that anybody who
wasn't boring could never possibly fit in here.

	Meanwhile, my dad, who was a psychologist, just nodded his head.
 "Well, I'm sure she has her reasons."  With him, all opinions
were valid, and nobody was ever wrong as long as they were
speaking their mind.  It got kind of annoying after a while,
truth to tell.  Sometimes, I just wanted him to tell me when I
was being stupid.  I could see him visibly thinking for a few
seconds, then he turned to me.  "Hey Sammy, I have a great idea.
While your mother and I are at work tomorrow, if you're not doing
anything else, maybe you could go knock on the door and say hi to
our new neighbor."

	I just about choked on the cupcake I was eating.  "Me?  Whyme?"

	"Well, whoever they are, you're going to be living next door to
them at least until you graduate high school.  You should
probably know who they are, shouldn't you?  Besides, maybe you
could make a summer job out of it.  Didn't Kevin's parents used
to pay you two to clean that pool every week?"

	"Yeah, but ... I don't know ..."  My voice trailed off.

	"Sammy, I've told you before not to mumble.  And I thought we
had a discussion about not being too shy to meet new people. 
Didn't we?"  Boy, did we.  That was an hour of my life I would
never get back again.  It seemed that to my father, the worst sin
on earth was being shy.  And unfortunately for me, I was one of
the shyest people I knew -- a condition probably not helped much
by the fact that I was the shortest kid in my class, and that I
actually enjoyed school.  Yet another reason why losing Kevin
from my life was kind of hard on me that year.

	"I know," I said.

	"All right then, it's settled.  Your mother and I will be
expecting a full progress report when we get home tomorrow." 
Jeez, I thought.  Even during summer vacation, I had homework to
do.  "And remember.  Just say hi.  Maybe ask a few questions if
it seems appropriate.  But don't get in the way.  I'm sure they
have plenty to do getting themselves moved in, so you don't want
to take all day about it."

	"I know."

	"Okay then."

	I finished my cupcake, then went up to my room, mumbling the
whole way.


	*	*	*


	The next day, after my parents left for work, I dragged my feet
most of the morning.  As much as there was a part of me that was
intrigued at the prospect of seeing that woman up close, most of
me was already feeling embarassed in advance at the idea of
knocking on a stranger's door just to say hello.  I mean, did
people really DO that except on old fifties TV shows?  Sometimes,
I really thought my father was a big flake.  I puttered around,
played some games on my computer, watched half of a movie, and
actually started cleaning my room at one point -- something I
never do -- until finally, around 11 in the morning, I just
decided to bite the bullet and get it over with.

	I examined myself in the mirror.  I was wearing a pair of baggy
all-purpose swim trunks and a Phillies t-shirt.  Good enough, I
thought.  I wasn't really old enough yet to care much how I
looked., and after all, these people weren't royalty or anything.
 I threw on a pair of sneakers, took a deep breath, and left the
house.  The day was a hot one for Pennsylvania -- at least 85,
and a little humid.  Days like this, I didn't usually leave the
air conditioned house unless I had to.  In the old days, I'd be
swimming with Kevin ... but those days were gone.  I crossed both
our front yard and the neighbor's front yard in less than thirty
seconds, and immediately welcomed the shade of the porch.

	At first, I just stood there staring at the door.  My heart was
racing.  This was stupid.  Why did I have to do this?  I quickly
glanced over my shoulder, to see if anybody was outside of their
house, watching me look like such an idiot just standing there. 
Nobody.  Finally, after another a deep breath, I thumbed the
doorbell.  I could hear it faintly through the door, a familiar
sound.  Ding-dong.  And I waited.

	But nobody answered.  I glanced over my shoulder again, this
time at the curbside, where the fancy blue car was definitely
parked.  Somebody should be home.  I hit the doorbell again, this
time holding it down longer.  Diiinnng-dong.

	But still no answer.  Maybe they were still sleeping?  Dammit,
now what should I do?  If I kept ringing, and they were home
sleeping, and I woke them up, they would be pissed off at me. 
But if I walked away, and I still woke them up, and they saw me
walking away, they'd think I was playing a prank, and still get
pissed.  I was really hating this.

	Suddenly, just about at the point when my brain was going to
explode, the door opened.  It was the red-haired woman I'd seen
the day before, dressed in small blue robe, her hair soaking wet,
with a cellphone pressed against her ear, clearly in the middle
of a heated conversation with somebody.  From up close, I could
see her face now, and guessed that she was in her mid-thirties. 
She gave me a quick apologetic smile, flashing bright green eyes
at me, and mouthed the word "sorry", then waved me into the
house.  I made a gesture away from the door, as if to say, "It's
okay, I can come back later."  But she frowned, shook her head,
and waved me in again, stepping away from the door a bit so that
I could get past her.  Reluctantly, afraid to seem rude, I did
what she wanted me to and stepped inside.

	The woman closed the door behind me, then while still talking on
the phone -- something about getting a satellite dish installed
-- she directed me into the living room.  It was a jungle of
boxes and misplaced furniture.  She sized things up quickly, then
pushed some boxes aside and made room for me to sit on the couch.
 She gave me another apologetic smile as I sat down, then went
right on yelling at whoever it was on the other end that wasn't
doing their job.  From what I could gather, hearing only one side
of the conversation, the dish people had called to tell her that
they were backlogged, and wouldn't be able to install her dish
for another week.

	But to be honest, I was so distracted just watching her that I
wasn't paying all that much attention to what she said.  After
finding me a seat, she'd begun pacing back and forth in front of
the sliding glass doors of the living room whiel she spoke.  As I
mentioned before, she was dressed in a small blue robe, kind of
shiny, like satin or silk ... and when I say small, I mean small.
 It only went about halfway down her thighs, and for as long as
her legs were, that left a LOT of leg showing.  It curved
lovingly over the swell of her large breasts, and I could clearly
see the outline of her nipples showing through the thin material.
 She was barefoot, and judging from that and the wet hair, I
guessed she had just been coming out of the shower when she
answered the phone.

	As she paced, her feet stomped a bit on the carpeted floor, and
she kept running one or the other of her hands back through her
hair, shaking at it, as if to get it dry.  Each time she did,
that and the pacing made her large tits jiggle -- up and down,
side to side -- and I thought I would die from the sight.  What's
more, from all the moving around, her robe -- which didn't seem
to be cinched all that tightly to begin with -- gradually started
to slip open.  At first, I thought it was just my eyes playing
tricks, but no, it was definitely happening.  When she'd first
answered the door, there had been only the smallest "V" of skin
showing below her neck.  But as I watched, that "V" grew larger
and larger, and the sash at her waist dipped lower and lower.  I
could see the freckles on her pale skin, just above her chest
bone.  Before long, depending on how she was moving at the
moment, the two overlapping layers of the robe were barely
overlapping at all, and the gap grew, until at one point, as she
lowered her arm, for the barest instant I could see the entire
side of her swelling left breast.

	It was right around this point that I suddenly noticed I had a
raging hard-on.  Shit.  While her back was turned, I made a quick
adjustment.  Thankfully, my erections at that time -- as always
-- have tended to point straight up rather than straight out,
which although as an adult has made certain sexual positions
tricky for me, has at least always made erections relatively easy
to hide when clothed.  Just to make sure I wouldn't be found out,
though, I bent forward, with my knees on my elbows, as if I were
a baseball player sitting in the dugout, waiting for my turn at
bat.  And just in time too.  When I lifted my head, I saw that
she was looking directly at me.  Piercing me with those green
eyes.

	"Just one more minute," she said.  "They have me on hold now. 
I'm really sorry to keep you waiting."  Her voice was almost as
tremendous as the rest of her.  Slightly deep, very seductive,
with a subtle southern twang.  I started to say it was okay, but
her attention switched to the person on the other line again. 
"Yes.  Tomorrow at one?  That's fine.  I'll be expecting them. 
Thank you."  And with a final beep, the call was over.

	She stood motionless for a moment, inhaled deeply, her breasts
jutting out and pushing against the robe more than ever, then let
it all out in one big burst.  "God!" she said.  "I hate dealing
with people like that."  She placed the cellphone on top of a
tall pile of boxes, then turned to me again and smiled.  "I am
reeeally sorry, darlin'.  I no sooner got out of the shower than
the phone rang, then the doorbell ... it serves me right for
sleeping in when there's so much to do."  As she crossed the room
and stood in front of me, offering her hand to shake, it was as
if I was watching her in slow motion.  Apparently, the deep
breath she had taken at the end of the phone call did more than
vent her frustrations.  The sash of her robe was now officially
holding almost nothing together from the waist up.  A huge valley
of cleavage stared out at me from between the folds of the blue
material, and although a voice inside my head told me not to
look, I couldn't resist.  I let my eyes take in the sight for a
second, then two, then lifted them up to her face where they
should be.

	But it was too late.  She'd caught the glance, and looked down
at herself.

	"Oh ... yikes," she said, and lowered her hand before I could
shake it, then pulled the robe closed and tightened the sash.  My
face turned an instant boiling shade of red, and I thought for
sure that I was in deep trouble.  "This damn thing," she said. 
"It's not one I normally wear.  The material's all slippery and
the sash never holds.  It was all I could find at the top of a
box when the doorbell rang."  Again, she raised her hand in my
direction, smiling.  I noticed that her long, well-manicured
nails were painted a bright red.

	Wow.  That was it?  She was blaming it all on the robe?  Well, I
certainly wasn't going to argue with her.  "It's okay," I said,
standing, hoping my bulge didn't show, and shook her hand.  Her
grip was firm, and her nails brushed gently against my palm as
she pulled it away.  "Nice to meet you," I told her, my voice a
bit weak.

	She laughed.  "Likewise," she said.  "But I'm not really sure
we've met yet."

	I was confused at first, no doubt because most of the blood that
used to be in my brain was now in my groin.  "Oh," I said. 
"Right.  My name is Sam.  Sammy.  I live next door."

	"Ohhh.  The welcome wagon.  Well, Sammy, my name is Bethany. 
Nice to meet you.  Why don't you have a seat again, and let me go
upstairs and put something less comfortable on."

	"That's okay," I said.  "I can just go.  You're busy."

	"No, no.  Sit.  You're my first guest, and here I've been a
lousy host so far."  She started toward the stairs.  "I'll just
be five minutes.  There's a few sodas in the fridge.  Help
yourself if you're thirsty."

	"Okay."  Of course, I knew where the kitchen was, having been in
the house a million times before.  And as I grabbed a soda from
the refrigerator, I could hear her heavy footsteps above me, and
could easily picture the rooms she was walking in and out of. 
Bathroom.  Hallway.  Bedroom.  Hallway again.  Bathroom again. 
At some point, I knew she must have taken the robe off, if she
was changing into something else.  Which meant she was naked.

	My hard-on had flagged a bit in the past few minutes, but at
this thought, it leapt up again.  Standing in the kitchen, where
I knew I'd hear her coming long before she got there, I put my
soda down, reached into my shorts, and slowly touched myself.  It
felt good, but I wished there were a bottle of hand lotion
nearby.  If there was, I knew I probably could have cum in thirty
seconds or less, and been almost soft by the time she got
downstairs.  As it was, all I think I succeeded in doing was
teasing myself even more.

	Twenty minutes later, sitting on the couch again, I realized
that I could have easily run over to my house, jerked off in my
room, and still been back in time.  Many years later, I would
learn from dealing with various girlfriends that "five minutes"
to a woman getting changed is half an hour to the rest of the
world.  During ten minutes of that time, I heard the hair dryer,
and judging from the length of her hair, thought I might be
sitting there all day.  Not long afterwards, though, her
footsteps grew much louder, as if she'd put shoes on, and I could
hear her on the stairs.

	Then she appeared. The extra time spent, I decided, had been
well worth it.

	She emerged around the corner into the living room like a force
of nature.  Her hair, while not completely dry, had much more
body to it now, much closer to what it had looked like the day
before.  She'd also found time to put on a bit of dark eye liner,
as well as some bright red lipstick that perfectly matched the
color of her nails.  Her top ... well, it was almost unfair to
even call it that -- it was a pink stretchy tube top that started
just below her armpits and stopped a few inches above her belly
button.  Basically, it was the minimum amount of material
required to cover her enormous breasts.  And she'd clearly been
doing her situps or crunches or something, because what a tight
little belly!  I could have looked at that pink top all day, but
didn't want to press my luck, so my eyes continued downward to a
pair of relatively modest jeans shorts, which hugged her wide
(but not too wide) hips nicely, and extended almost to her knees,
where the cuffs had been rolled.  These shorts looked very
casual, like something worn for gardening, but the three-inch
pink heels she wore -- which I only saw after trailing my eyes
down her long, long, shapely legs -- looked a different kind of
casual altogether.  Certainly NOT gardening footwear.  Maybe
"sipping margueritas on a yacht" footwear.  They must have pushed
her height to over six feet, over a foot taller than me.  But I
wasn't complaining.

	"Ta-daaa!" she said, smiling and stretching her arms in a wide
flourish.  "Is this better?"  Obviously, she was the theatrical
type.  Eager to play along, I did the first thing that came to
mind.  I started clapping.  She laughed, then took a bow, and
started blowing kisses.  "Thank you.  Thank you.  You're much too
kind.  Really."

	Still giggling, she crossed the room, and seemed to be trying to
figure out where to sit.  There was a chair, but it currently had
some stereo components stacked on it.  In the end, the only real
workable solution was to push some more boxes aside and sit next
to me on the couch, although the fit was a bit tight.  When she
sat down, her leg was pushed right against mine, and all I could
think was that she was now dangerously close to realizing that I
had a boner.  "Um," I said, thinking fast.  "I could put some of
those boxes on the floor if you want.  Make more space."

	"Oh, don't bother," she said.  "We're getting to know each
other, right?"  With this, she patted my knee, and must have seen
the instant blush it brought to my face.  "Oh, I'm sorry," she
said.  "You have to excuse me.  I'm kind of a touchy feely
person.  It's just the way I was raised.  My parents were very
affectionate."  This close now, I could smell her very strong and
very sweet perfume.

	"It's okay," I said, wishing I could lean forward on my knees
again to hide my lap, but knowing it wouldn't make any sense if
she was sitting next to me."

	"You looked uncomfortable."  Her expression was one of concern.

	"No, it's just ... my dad says I can be too shy sometimes.  He's
a psychologist."

	"Ohhh, I see.  Well.  You just let me know if I'm invading your
'personal space'."  She smiled, to show that it was meant to be
funny.  Having a father who was a shrink, I got the joke.

	"It's okay," I said.  "Really."

	"Good."  She patted my knee again, letting it linger a few
seconds this time before pulling it away.  "So tell me, Sammy. 
What would you normally be doing if you weren't here playing
welcome wagon?"  Immediately, the words "jerking off" jumped into
my head, but I didn't speak them.  It was true, though.  So far
this summer, my primary pasttime when my parents were off at work
had been masturbating.  I'd recently figured out the password
that my father had put in place to keep me away from porn on the
Web, and I'd been having a grand old time seeking out photos of
women with big tits, and jerking off over and over, sometimes
three or four times a day.  I assumed I would eventually get
bored of it, but so far, not yet.  Certainly, though, I couldn't
tell my neighbor Bethany that.

	"I, um ... stuff.  Play on my computer.  Read books."

	"Do you know a lot about computers?" she asked.

	"I guess so.  I hooked up ours at home."

	"Really?  You're just the person I need then.  Do you think you
could help me with mine?"

	"Sure," I said.

	"I managed to get almost everything set up right, I think, but I
can't get the printer to print.  And I can't seem to get my
internet connection working right either.  Normally, my daughter
would take care of it, but she's staying with her grandmother in
Montana for a few more weeks."

	"Wow, you have a daughter?" I asked.  "You don't look old
enough."

	"Well aren't you sweet!"  This time her hand landed on my
forearm, and squeezed it tightly, her nails digging ever so
slightly into my skin.  "Trust me, though, I'm plenty old enough.
 She just turned 18, and she starts college near here in the
fall.  You should get to meet her next month."

	"Cool," I said.  "So do you want to go do the computer thing
now?"  I was anxious to keep her from discovering how hard I was,
and flailed for any excuse.

	"Right now?  Sure.  That would be great."  She stood quickly,
and I watched her tits bounce, then settle, just inches from my
face.  "It's right upstairs here.  Follow me."  I followed,
enjoying immensely the view of the back of her legs, which were
pulled tight by the heels, and the way her hips swayed from side
to side as she walked.  There was something almost deliberate
about it, as if somebody had given her special lessons on how
best to walk to drive men crazy.  And this view only improved
while climbing the stairs behind her.  "Please excuse the mess,"
she said.  The robe she'd been wearing earlier was sitting in a
ball at the top of the stairs, where she'd dropped it.  Likewise,
as we passed the master bedroom, I could see on the floor the
tanktop and jeans and red heels she'd been wearing yesterday, and
atop them, a very skimpy pair of red panties and a white bra. 
The bed had not been made yet.

	We continued on, past the bathroom, to what used to be Kevin's
room, which was now mostly empty except for a filing cabinet and
the desk, which had the computer on it, already set up and
already turned on.  "See," she said.  "I'm not a complete ditz. 
I at least managed to get Windows running."

	I laughed nervously.  "That's farther than my mom could have
gotten."  After saying this, it occurred to me that I had
emphasized the word "my".  Now that Bethany had told me she had
an 18 year old daughter, I guess I realized that she was easily
old enough to be mother too, which suddenly made the fact that I
had an erection very strange indeed.  But I didn't linger on it.
I sat down at the computer and starting poking around.  There
wasn't a second chair in the room, so Bethany had to lean over me
to point out the things she'd tried unsuccessfully to do so far.
She had one hand on my shoulder to brace herself, then reached
around with the other, which put the side of her breast right
against my ear.  Needlees to say, this made it a little difficult
to concentrate!  But I muddled through.  The printer problem
turned out to be an easy one -- just a matter of reinstalling the
drivers.  And after some fiddling, I realized that the problem
with the internet connection was that there was no dial tone. 
After that, I knew what was wrong.  I reached around behind the
computer, and had it fixed in seconds.  Soon after, we were on
the Web.

	"Wow, that was fast," she said.  "What was it?"

	"There are two ports on the modem card.  One goes in and the
other goes out.  In case you need to have your phone running
through the loop.  I made the same mistake on our computer, and
it took me an hour to figure it out."

	"Well, bravo.  I guess your loss of an hour was my gain, eh?"

	"Heh.  Something like that."

	She rapidly patted both my shoulders, then kissed me on the
cheek.  "I'm so excited!  I haven't been able to check my e-mail
or surf the Web for a week now.  I was starting to go through
withdrawal."

	"You're on the Web a lot?" I asked.  Funny, I never thought
beautiful women would have any use for the internet.

	"Are you kidding?  I'm not only on the Web, I'm actually ON the
Web."  She giggled.

	"What do you mean?"

	"Here, go to my bookmarks."  She put her hand over mine on the
mouse, and directed it up to her bookmarks.  I wasn't sure if she
meant for me to move my hand or not, but I was enjoying the
sensation, so I kept it there.  As the cursor ran over her
bookmarks, I saw a long list of links that had the name Bethany
in them -- two of which actually had the longer name of
"BustyBethany", another of which had the phrase "Bethany's Bikini
Show", and one more that was titled simply "Bethany - 34DDD" --
but I was only able to read a few before she'd found the one she
was looking for and opened the site.  It looked to be a modeling
directory of some kind.  I'd run across a lot of these during my
time online, when searching for hot pictures.  And there she was,
posing in a long green strapless gown, hamming it up for the
camera.  The profile had only her first name, and listed her as
living in New York City.

	"That's you?" I asked.  "You're a model?"

	"Well, not a supermodel or anything.  Mostly just stuff that
shows up on the Web."  She clicked on a thumbnail, and another
photo of her popped up, this time looking like a country farm
girl, a red and white shirt tied below her bustline to expose her
midriff, her hair done up in pigtails, and a piece of hay
sticking out of her smiling teeth.  "I used to model a little
when I was younger.  But I stopped when I had my daughter.  I'm
making kind of a comeback now."  The last photo on the page was
her in a white one-piece bathing suit, splashing and laughing in
the waves at some beach.

	"Cool," I said, and suddenly felt bold.  "It looked like there
were other sites too?"

	"Well, yeah," she said.  "I'm on a few now.  I feel like I'm
boring you, though."

	"No," I said, perhaps too forcefully.  "Really.  I think it's
cool."

	There was a long pause before she spoke again.  Apparently she
was making a decsion.  "Well.  Since you'll probably just go home
and look for yourself anyway now, I guess it couldn't hurt." 
Instead of returning to the bookmark list this time, she starting
typing in a URL.  "The fact is, I have my own site."

	"Really?  Is it a pay site?" I asked.

	She laughed, and paused before hitting the Enter key.  "You know
what a pay site is?"

	I blushed.  "Yes."

	"And how old are you?"

	"Thirteen."  There was no sense lying, since I looked even
younger.

	"I'm guessing your parents don't know that you know these
things?"

	I shook my head, suddenly feeling self-conscious, my momentary
boldness seeping out of me.

	"Well, I tell you what, Sammy.  Since you were nice enough to
fix my computer for me."  She leaned in suddenly, whispering, her
hot breath blowing into my ear, "We'll just keep that our little
secret."  Then she pulled back again, squeezed my shoulder,
giggled, and finally hit the Enter key.  What popped up on the
screen next was a dark black background, the words BUSTY BETHANY
in bright red at the top of the page, and below that, an image of
Bethany from the waist up, topless, smiling devilishly, her hands
cupping her ample breasts and discreetly covering the nipples. 
Below that was the usual adult warning, with an option to Leave
Now or Enter Now.  I was still drooling over the photo when she
clicked the Enter Now link and moved us to the main greeting
page.  Her hand, which had been on top of mine all this time,
pulled away and came to rest on my shoulder.  "Go ahead and surf
it yourself," she said.  "I've seen it already."

	There were a variety of small photos on that page, each of which
could be clicked for a larger version, as well as links to a
Biography, to a Bulletin Board, and to an Erotic Stories section.
 I clicked on a few of the thumbnails, trying to pick ones that
were more "fashion" oriented, although what I really wanted to do
was devour all of the bikini and lingerie photos.  It was hard to
tell what was what from the thumbnails, though, so my fourth
choice -- which I thought would be her in a short dress -- turned
out to be her in a baby-doll nightie that was so sheer, you could
clearly see the outline of her wide dark nipples through it.  I
gave it just as much viewing time as I had the first three, no
more or less, then moved on to another one.  All the while, she
stood behind me, her hands resting on my shoulders, the smell of
her perfume driving me insane.  And each time I returned to the
greeting page, I kept looking at the bright red MEMBERS icon in
the upper right corner.  Finally, I decided to ask.  "So what's
in the pay section?"

	She laughed, somewhat nervously, squeezing my shoulders, again
digging her nails in.  "Oh, I think you know."

	"Not really," I said, although I suspected.  "I've never been in
one."  Which was true.

	"I guess not, if you don't have a credit card."

	I played a gambit.  I turned around and looked her in the eyes,
trying to put on my most innocent face, which wasn't hard to do,
because I just had one of those faces that always looked innocent
anyway.  "Can I see?"

	My gambit paid off.  Her own expression grew suddenly soft. 
"Oh, you."  She reached up and tousled my hair, which normally
would have annoyed me to no end ... but somehow coming from her,
I didn't mind it so much.  "Mooning up at me with those sweet
little boy eyes.  You're terrible."  I kept looking into her
eyes.  "Okay, okay, stop.  You have no idea how unfair you're
fighting.  Turn around."  I did, and she reached both arms around
me to type in a username and password -- too quickly to see what
they were -- her soft tits pressing warmly against the back of my
neck.  "I really shouldn't be doing this."  And then there it
was.  Heaven on a seventeen inch monitor.  The same photo that
had been on the homepage, only this time, she was puckering her
red lips at the camera, and her hands were cupping her tits from
beneath, pushing them together, her large nipples clearly
exposed.  Surrounding this image were links to a variety of photo
galleries.  "Ta-daaa," she said again behind me, mimicking
herself from earlier.

	"Wow," I said, not realizing until it was out of my mouth how
stupid it must have sounded.

	She giggled.  "Well, that's about as good a reaction as a woman
can ask for."

	I blushed.  "Sorry.  I shouldn't have said that."

	"Ohhh, don't be sorry, Sweetie."  She reached around, and gave
me a quick affectionate hug from behind, pecking me on the cheek
again.  "I meant it.  If boys your age are still saying wow, I
must be doing something right."

	"You are," I said.  "Definitely.  At least I think so."  I
continued to stare at the opening image.

	"Well, to be honest, I kind of already guessed that I had you
impressed."

	"What?  How?" I asked.

	"I'll give you a hint," she said, and leaned in to whisper in my
ear again.  "It's not as well-hidden as you seem to think it is."
 At this, I glanced down quickly into my lap, and saw that at
some point, probably when I reached around to fix the phone line,
my dick had shifted in my shorts, and there was a noticeable
bulge there now.  Easy to miss if somebody wasn't looking
directly at it, but from her vantage point over my shoulder for
the past half-hour, Bethany had the best view possible, and
apparently hadn't failed to notice.  I immediately reached down
and readjusted myself.

	"Jeez, I'm sorry."

	"Again with the sorries.  Don't be.  It's okay."

	"But ..."

	"But what?  It's kind of the point of the website, isn't it?  I
mean, I figured out thousands of dollars ago that men weren't
joining my site to see artistic photography.  You know?"

	I laughed, in spite of myself.  "Yeah, I guess you're right."

	"Trust me, Sammy.  I'm know I'm right.  It's all about these." 
Her hands left my shoulders, and I turned just in time to see her
cupping her tits through the tube top, in an imitation of the
photo on the computer screen.  "And let me tell you, I thank God
every day for them."  She smiled.

	Since she wasn't behind me any more, I was able to turn the
chair around to face her.  "Are they ..."

	"Go ahead," she said, daring me.  "Ask the question."

	"Are they real?"

	"Et tu, Sammy?  You have no idea how often I get asked that. 
The answer is yes ... and no."

	I didn't hide my confusion.  "Huh?"

	She laughed openly.  "Well, the content is all mine, but last
year I had a nip and tuck.  Not much.  Just enough to counteract
the worst of the damage of child-bearing and gravity."

	I nodded.  "Oh, okay."

	"Did you want to see?" she asked.

	I didn't get what she meant at first.  "What?  Another site?"

	"No.  These."  She squeezed her tits.  "In 3-D, I mean."

	For a few seconds, I forgot to breathe.  "You mean ..."

	"I mean in the flesh, yes."  She smiled, clearly enjoying my
reaction.  "It's your choice."

	"I ... um ... sure."  Who would possibly say no that?  Not me.

	She reached up, crossed her arms, and took hold of the bottom
edge of the top, then stopped.  "I don't know," she said.  "Maybe
I should let you surf the website instead --"

	"No!" I said, again too urgently.  "I mean, no.  Please."

	"You sure?"

	"Very," I said.  "I've never ..."

	"You've never what?"

	"Seen ..."  I gestured at her chest.  "... you know, inperson."

	"Really?  Good lord, you mean I'm breaking new ground here?" 
From the tone of her voice, I could tell she was teasing me a
bit, toying with me.  And I was loving it.  I nodded.  "Well, I
hope I can live up to your expectations then."  And with no
further ado, her hands began moving again, peeling the pink
tubetop quickly up over her breasts, over her shoulders, over her
head, and off.  The whole movement pulled her tits up at first,
and they bounced and shimmied as they fell back down again to
their normal position, and gradually came to rest.  Her nipples
were dark pink, several inches wide, and the erect tips were
about the size of marbles.  I wasn't sure how much damage gravity
had done to them before, but they looked fine to me now --
hanging down just enough to let you know they were real, but not
so much that she looked like somebody's saggy old granny.  As if
to prove their buoyancy, after she dropped the top to the floor,
Bethany reached up and took a breast in each hand, digging her
bright red nails into them, and bounced them up and down -- first
as a pair, and then alternating them -- left one up, right one
down, left one down, right one up.  The sight was truly
mesmerizing to me, and I easily believed that I could sit and
watch it all day.

	She must have been paying attention to my slackjaw reaction,
because she started to laugh.  "Wow, talk about your captive
audience.  I think I know what to get YOU for Christmas!"

	I just nodded, smiling.  "Yes, please."

	More laughing.  "Am I ... I'm not torturing you or anything, am
I?"

	I shrugged.  "A little.  It's okay, though.  It's the good
kind."

	"Oh, I see.  Well, if you need to ... whatever.  You can."

	My eyes quickly went from her amazing tits to her eyes. 
"Really?"

	"It's your choice.  I know you're shy, so it's up to you.  I'm
just giving you the option if you need it."

	Boy, did I need it.  More than I ever had in my life!  "Well, I
guess.  If you don't mind."

	"I don't mind," she said.  "I figure you've been ... in that
state ... for about a half-hour now."

	"Longer," I said.

	"Oh?  Since when?"

	"Well, almost since ... when you first got the door."

	A smile beamed on her face.  "Wow, you must have really liked
that robe."  Then her face turned sympathetic.  "Oh, you poor
boy.  You mean you've been that way for over an hour?"  I nodded.
 "Well then, I'm afraid I have to insist.  Talk about being a bad
host."  She smiled, a bit naughtily, her hands still on her tits.
 "Either you take it out right now, and relieve some of that
pressure, or I may have to resort to drastic measures."

	"Here?" I said.  "I thought ... I thought you meant I could go
into the bathroom or something."

	"Well."  She looked disappointed.  "If you want, that's okay
too."

	"No, I mean ... I can.  Here.  If you want."

	Her face lit up.  "Good.  I was hoping you would."

	"Really?"  Part of me wanted to ask about the "drastic
measures", but most of me was just eager to do what she was
asking, and quickly, before she changed her mind.  "Okay, I'll do
it."  And with that, I took a deep breath and, lifting my ass up
off the chair, slid my shorts and underwear down in one big
motion, letting them fall to my ankles.  The first thing I did
after that was glance up at her face, to see if she was looking
at my cock.  She was, and so I looked down at it myself, to see
how it was representing.  Same as always.  Here's the part where
I could embellish history, and say that even though I was a short
kid, I had an abnormally large johnson ... but the truth is, I
didn't.  I guess it wasn't tiny or anything, but certainly not
huge.  Maybe even slightly smaller than average.  I never
bothered to measure back then, but I'll take a guess and say 4
inches.  And still hairless except for a minor bit of fuzz.

	"Oh my," Bethany said, smiling.  "Somebody's happy."  If she was
at all disappointed, it didn't show.

	"Is it okay?" I asked.

	"Oh, it's very okay, Sweetie.  And don't ever let anybody tell
you otherwise."

	I blushed brightly, and couldn't help but grin.

	"So, I did all that, eh?" she asked.  "What a naughty mommy I
must be!"

	With this, my heart skipped a beat, and my cock twitched.  "You
are," I said, playing along.

	"I am what?"  As she asked the question, she started to pinch
and knead her breasts.

	"Naughty," I said.

	"A naughty what?"

	"Mommy."  Without realizing it, I reached down and started to
touch myself.  Meanwhile, the word seemed to have an electric
effect on her.  Her green eyes practically glowed.

	"MY naughty mommy," I said, pushing it.  I was nothing if not a
fast learner.

	Bethany's eyes glazed over a bit, as if something was happening
beneath the surface, and she began to fondle her tits almost
frantically, lost in the activity, still keeping an eye on my
erection.  "Yes," was all she had to say.

	"Bethany?"  This jarred her back to reality a bit.

	"Yes, Sammy?"

	"I ... ummm ... need lotion or something."

	She smiled.  "I have just the thing.  Don't move."

	As if I was going anywhere!  In the minute or so that she was
gone, I was tempted to turn around and surf her website, but
resisted the urge.  When she returned, it was with a long white
tube of KY-Jelly.  "This should do the trick."  Without warning,
she knelt down in front of me, between my legs, her head at my
chest level, and her chest at my groin level.  "I want a good
view," she said, as if to explain, and handed me the tube.

	As she gazed up at me longingly with her large green eyes, I
squeezed a long glob of the clear jelly into my hand, then closed
the cap, and gave the tube back to her.  Oh my God, I thought. 
Is this really happening?  Is this gorgeous redhead with huge
tits really so excited to see me jerk off?  As Bethany watched
intently, I lowered my hand onto my throbbing cock.  The jelly
was cold at first, but warmed quickly, and felt amazing.  I
stroked my young shaft down, then up, then down, slowly at first,
as smiling Bethany put on a show for me of teasing and fondling
her tits.

	"Does that feel good?" she asked, her voice quiet andnurturing.

	"Y-yes," I said, knowing I should take it slow, but starting
uncontrollably to stroke myself faster.  As if encouraged by my
faster pace to be more creative, she lifted one breast up high,
bent her head down, and began licking and sucking on one of her
own nipples, moaning as she did.

	This was pretty much what did it.  I couldn't possibly hold out
any longer after that.

	She must have been able to tell I was on the edge.  "It's okay,
Sammy.  You can cum."

	I responded by pumping my slippery cock ever faster.

	"That's it, Baby.  Show Mommy how you cum for her."

	"Ohhhhhhhhh."  And with that, I exploded.  I threw my head back,
breathing heavily, as gobs of cum began to spurt out of my cock,
hot and wet, such a thorough release, emptying everything, over
and over again.  Like nothing I'd ever experienced before.  My
legs went numb.  As I passed the most intense part of it, I
thought to look up, and what I saw then I think made me spurt
twice as much.  Bethany had leaned back, unsnapped her shorts,
and had slipped one hand down inside them, where she bucked her
hips up and down against it.  The other hand remained on one of
her tits, tugging and pinching her nipple, and her eyes were
still fixated on my cock.  As the waves of my orgasm gradually
subsided, and the well ran dry, hers just began.  Her moaning
grew louder, she tossed her head back, and with a final
high-pitched squeak, she raised her ass up off the floor, then
froze for several seconds, before letting out a long slowbreath.

	"Wow," I said, my throat dry, my cock still twitching in mylap.

	"My oh my," Bethany said, grinning, rising to her feet, looking
as shaky as I felt.  She reached her arms straight up into the
air, criss-crossing the wrists, and stretched her entire body in
an almost feline manner, swaying her hips from side to side. 
Then she leaned forward -- her tits hanging deliciously in front
of me -- and after brushing her lips against my cheek, whispered
hotly into my ear.  "Now that," she said, "is what I call a
welcome wagon."


	*	*	*


	Needless to say, when my parents got home that night, I did give
them a progress report, but hardly a full one.  Per Bethany's
request, I told them she was a web designer and occasional
photographer.  Which was partially true anyway.  I asked her for
the login information for the member side of her website, but she
refused to give it to me.  She said if she did that, then I might
not want to come over and see the real thing again.  Fat chance
of that!  Still, I liked the idea that I had a standing
invitation, and I certainly intended to take advantage of it as
often as I could.  I masturbated twice more that day, recalling
what had happened in what used to be Kevin's room.  And when I
fell asleep that night, I decided that maybe it wouldn't be such
a bad summer after all.

(TO BE CONTINUED)

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