She was a teenager, or maybe twenty. Tall and busty in a cute top and a baggy pair of shorts. I didn't want Matthew to see her."28.70," She said and I...handed her the money. I moved to close the door in her face.'Change?" No," I hurried."Oh, thanks! Have a good night!" She chirped and spun off down the hall. I breathed a sigh of relief as I carried the pizzas over to the table. I moved the candles to one side of the music box. The smell of cinnamon was so tempting. I was dipping my second stick. "Um, well, she is pretty. But I am younger than you think. I mean I have not done.." Carl cut me off "Well now, Today is your lucky day! I think we can help each other out, you can get your first taste and I can finally watch my wife with someone else. What do you say? No funny business. Wilma, lets go, you are going to help this young man out." I looked over at my parents and they were totally wasted also so I figured it would not hurt to see where this might go but I was pretty sure it would. I set it aside and wrote a more satisfying story of domestic lovedeceived and yet fulfilled ("Trust Me"), a kind I prefer. MeanwhileI showed this story to one of the best mean streets writers I know(Parker), and even he thought it a little gross. So like Virgil withthe Aeneid I kept it by me ten years. It didn't get less offensive. I've only now found it buried in an electronic pile of old draftsof stories in process or in need of repair. It's neither. It's done.It has black comic. She looked up and saw me standing there but didn’t miss a beat she just smiled a little half smile and closed her eyes again. Her finger slipped in between her puffy lips and slowly disappeared. She moaned softly and lifted her heel up to her chair. I couldn’t help but reach down and touch myself. Jessica watched and smiled as I rubbed the bulge in my pants. Then she reached up and squeezed her breast with her free hand. Her finger slid in and out as she leaned her head back. Her breathing.