The Good Girl

She moaned, he groaned, and I let out a squeal when I pinched my nipples.

I watched the two of them have sex in the water. First on the step with him facing her. Then he sat down and she sat on his lap. They made bigger waves in the water when she bounced on top of him, her breasts swaying to-and-fro. Sometimes, he caught a nipple between his lips. When he turned her around so she was facing away but still sitting on his lap, the camera focused in on where Ken gripped Barbie's breasts or where his penis slid in and out of her.

Eventually, they grew tired of that position, too, and he had her kneel on the step where she leaned across the edge of the pool while he entered her from behind. I don't know where they got their stamina from. I was exhausted just from watching them.

It was fascinating, and yet I knew I shouldn't be seeing this. Porn was wrong. Watching it was wrong. But my curiosity was piqued, and the taboo nature kept drawing my attention back to the screen.

By the time Ken had lain Barbie down on the side of the pool, I was aching inside for some unknown reason. He was standing on the steps, entering her faster and faster, her legs propped up against his chest and his hands gripping her ankles. They were both panting and groaning. She had one breast in her hand, and her other hand was between her legs.

When he finally pulled out, he stroked his penis a few times before a stream of white fluid shot out of him and landed across her breasts. He helped her sit up, and she put his member back in her mouth for another minute. Then they both grabbed towels off a table, held them to just their chests, and walked into the house.

To the view of their naked backsides, the cheesy music returned while a short list of credits scrolled up on the screen. The timer on the clock showed thirty-nine minutes.

I sat back, staring at the black screen. Similar music played again after a minute, and I quickly stopped the player. My heart couldn't handle another movie.

I felt numb. In shock. A little sick to my stomach. And something else I couldn't quite place.

Every part of my body felt like it was stuck in mud while I shut off the equipment and went down to the forbidden basement to return the DVD. I made sure the back door was locked this time and trudged back to my own house.

The rest of the evening was spent writing a report that was due on Monday. I set my iPod in the dock, turned up the volume, and lost myself in transforming the pages of research notes I'd made the past week. It was a great distraction, and I felt better afterwards knowing I could relax tomorrow.

After a quick dinner—by myself—I flopped onto my bed and stared at the ceiling while dusk settled in. The sounds of nature through the open window filled the room. My mind easily wandered to dangerous places without the distraction of school responsibilities.

Why in the hell had Dave remodeled his basement in that way? Why had he not wanted me to go down there? And what was behind the locked door?

I suddenly hated him. This was all his fault. If he had been here, I wouldn't have been tempted to sneak into his house. I wouldn't have snooped around and found the DVDs. I felt tormented by the things I'd seen. Heard.

The more I tried not to think about it, the more the movie replayed in my head. The cheesy music. The images of Ken and Barbie. On the lawn chair. In the water. On the edge of the pool. Every. Naked. Inch. And boy, were there a lot of inches.

I gasped and froze, my eyes wide open now. My left breast was in my left hand, my right hand between my legs, pressing on my shorts. The crickets were louder outside. Slowly, I exhaled and relaxed. But that didn't help.

I closed my eyes again and imagined the couple from the movie once more. I felt my tongue run along my lips, my back arching when I remembered how Ken had revealed himself. How Barbie had reclined there naked while he lowered himself to his knees and spread her thighs apart.

Suddenly, I felt too constrained. My clothes had to go. First my shirt then my shorts found a spot on the floor. My bra and panties were not far behind. When I was as naked as Barbie had been, I stretched out on my bed.

I imagined Ken at the foot, naked and stroking his member. I ran my hands over my breasts, my breath coming in sharp, broken gasps. Every bit of skin I touched seemed electrified, sending jolts of pleasure down between my legs. The closer my fingers got to the juncture of my thighs, the stronger the feeling felt.

When at last I touched the softness covering my mons, I let out a loud coo and shivered. My fingers moved on their own...up and down through my wet folds, pressing and rubbing in circles. My coos turned to moans. God, it felt so good. Why had I never done this before?

In my head, Ken was holding my thighs apart with his large hands. The light, warm breeze against my highly sensitive skin under the light curls was his breath. I bit my lip, waiting for his tongue to dart out and touch me. Taste me. But it never came. I sighed in frustration that it was just a daydream.

I whimpered and rubbed harder with my fingers. Still, it was not enough. There was an ache inside. I tried moving my left hand down to insert a finger or two inside myself. It helped, but my hands grew tired. And I missed having my breast held and played with.

Gentle waves built up until I was panting and arching my back, trying to reach everything at once and fall over the edge I'd brought myself to.

Eventually, it did happen, but it wasn't earth-shattering. I wasn't screaming and writhing like Barbie had. But it had brought some relief.

I was sweaty, and I thought about getting up to take another shower. But my bed was so comfortable. Which made the decision to stay put easy.

While I drifted off to sleep, I wondered if Dave would be home tomorrow. Or if I'd be able to sneak in and watch the next movie on the DVD.

And I told myself I was still a good girl. Wasn't I?

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CHAPTER 3

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It was hot and muggy Sunday morning when I woke. I was on my stomach. Naked. The sheet and comforter were bundled in a pile at my feet. I stretched and rolled onto my back. Despite the humidity, I had slept amazingly well.

A smile stretched across my face when I realized my arm was lying across my waist, my hand lingering over my nether region. With my free hand, I caressed my breast and let out a soft sigh. That felt good. So good, I did it again. And again. And again.

Soon, I was moaning, just as I had done the night before. Release came a little easier this time. When I was done, I rolled onto my side and pulled the sheet up to cover myself, suddenly embarrassed that my parents might walk in.

But the more I thought about it, I realized I had nothing to be embarrassed about. Why shouldn't I be comfortable in my own skin? Touching it? Getting pleasure from it at times? I could still be a good girl even though I played with myself. It wasn't like I was letting a boy touch me.

I climbed out of bed a while later and donned a T-shirt before peeking out the window at Dave's house. There was no sign of activity. No car in the driveway. The coast appeared to be clear.

My parents were in the sun room when I came downstairs. I could hear my mother talking about some woman's lack of taste with the jewelry she'd worn to the dinner last night. There was a rustle of the newspaper from my father before he added his own comment about some man's poor choice of tie with his suit. I grabbed a banana and slipped out the back door, shaking my head.

I half-wondered if the woman and man they were talking about had been together. And if so, were they the parents of the boy my parents had wanted to pair me up with? Which, for some reason, made me think of Barbie and Ken wearing just the tacky jewelry and tie while having sex. And that sent shivers up and down my spine.

It was much cooler in Dave's basement, but unfortunately, there was no video equipment down there. I settled with the photo studio again and the same DVD. There didn't seem to be a menu for the disc. And the skip button didn't work either, so I had to fast-forward through the first movie with Barbie and Ken. I was tempted to rewatch it, but I was more anxious to see what else was on the disc.

The second movie started with a man walking up to a house, a pizza box in his hand. I started laughing the instant the door opened. It was Barbie, but this time she was wearing a bright-red halter top, white shorts that barely covered her butt, and her blonde hair was frizzy like a blown-up halo around her head. I concluded that her name really was Julie, and she must be in all of the movies on this DVD.

For the next twenty minutes, I sat back and slowly ate my banana while I watched Julie and the pizza man get it on. But it was just like the previous movie where she sucked on his member, they had sex, and then he ejaculated on her body before she put his penis back in her mouth.

Different storyline. Almost the same positions except on a couch instead of in and around a pool. Same end result. It looked as cheesy as the background music sounded.

I wondered how much of it was acting and how much was how people really reacted while having sex. It was evident that there wasn't a lot of thought put into writing the scripts. Who would waste their time watching these people without the sex scenes? And even some of them were mundane. More than half of the time was a girl sucking a guy's penis. Was it that enjoyable?

There was a third video on the DVD. It seemed to be arranged more like a movie with an actual plot. Julie played a girl who was sleeping with her roommate Jessa's boyfriend, Dirk. I was tempted to skip the dialogue, but I was so relaxed in the chair that I stared transfixed at the actors on screen.

The scenes went back and forth from Dirk and Julie sneaking around to have sex to Jessa having sex with her boyfriend in various parts of the house while Julie secretly listened in or watched. And then, surprise! Jessa walked in on Julie sucking Dirk's penis. I figured Julie was going to be out on the streets, but then there was an unexpected twist: Jessa was secretly into Julie!

When the three of them started kissing and touching each other, I wasn't sure how I felt about the girl-on-girl action. That had always been taboo from my understanding. But then again, so was making and watching porno movies.

I went home afterwards and masturbated under the covers. I laid around watching normal TV the rest of the day and went to bed early only to dream about the man and two female roommates having sex...while wearing the tacky tie and jewelry my parents had droned on about.

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After school on Monday, Dave still had not returned. I snuck into his house again, pulled a different DVD from the bin, and spent the evening watching more dumb porno movies from the seventies. This time, the lady's name was Bambi. It was a good thing I hadn't found the DVD as a kid. Disney my ass. I masturbated when I went to bed again, and I dreamt that night of the latest movie I'd seen...except that the characters were having sex in various places of my school for some reason.

The rest of the week continued the same way. Some nights, I'd wake up panting and aching, needing to masturbate again before I could fall back asleep. I even began to daydream in class. I was almost done with school. I couldn't let a couple of erotic movies ruin my chance to graduate. But if this continued, it might just end up that way. I just had to struggle through a few more weeks.

I couldn't go over to Dave's on Friday night. My parents decided to host a little party, and they insisted I attend. I was miserable, and I couldn't ignore the yearning deep within that there was more to this life than trying to impress people you really didn't like. What was the point? They had the money already. They seemed to have a lot of friends. Hell, they had me! Why couldn't they just be happy?

On the plus side, they didn't try to marry me off to anyone's son that night. I put on a smile despite my dour mood, shook hands, and made idle chit-chat with the daughters of some political people from another town that I'd probably never see again.

I crawled into bed that night exhausted but determined to escape this lifestyle as soon as I possibly could. I did not want to become my parents. I wanted to be like Mallory and Dave. Relaxed yet sophisticated. Admired by my future children. Present in their lives. Oh, well...two out of three lately wasn't bad.

Saturday was hot and cloudy. There were strong thunderstorms in the forecast, which ruined my parents' decision to take their boat out onto the lake. They hemmed and hawed around the house about what they should do, which only worsened my mood because I was reclined in the great room in front of the TV. Around lunch time when it still hadn't rained, they decided to take a drive upstate, finally leaving me alone.

My only homework was to answer questions on a book we were finishing in English class. But I was constantly distracted by the thought of those movies. I ate my lunch standing at the kitchen sink, staring out at Dave's house.

Twice, I started out my back door but turned around. I shouldn't be doing this. Any of it. I was a good girl. I didn't sneak into people's houses. Or watch pornographic movies. Or masturbate.

But the more I thought about what I had done this past week alone, the more I admitted I was no longer 'Miss Goody Two-Shoes.' And I found myself at Dave's back door as had become my routine. When I opened the door to the basement, I gasped. The light was on.

I gathered my courage, came up with a quick lie like The Grinch for why I was there, and called out. I counted a full two minutes on my watch before calling out again. When there was still no reply, I let out my breath. I must have forgotten to turn off the light Thursday night. This habit was not boding well for me.

I descended to the finished basement as though I had every right to be there and made a bee-line into the storage room. I had gone through three of the DVDs this week. There were two more dated in the 1970s. But I'd had enough of the cheesy music and fake acting. I grabbed two different DVDs and did the eeny-meeny-miny-mo rhyme until I eliminated the one in my left hand.

Back upstairs, I popped the disc into the player and sat back. This one had been recorded in the 1980s, if I could go by the date on the label. The music and the style of hair and clothes the actors wore were a little better than the previous movies, but the acting was just as phony. When they stripped, I noticed no one wore underwear. And the woman was bare between her legs. I wondered if that was normal for more modern porn.

I only watched the first show, which lasted just under thirty minutes, before I was yawning despite my racing heartbeat from watching the man's tongue lick the woman without any barrier now. It had been a long week at school, especially with a couple of nights of fitful sleeping. I returned the DVD to its hiding place, made sure I shut off the light, and locked the back door before heading home.

A couple hours of napping revived me. While stretched out on my bed, I wondered what it would be like to touch myself without any pubic hair. I took a shower and did a quick shave, moaning when I ran my fingers over the smooth skin. Oh, hell, yes! That felt amazing!

Back in Dave's studio, I fiddled with the DVD from this morning until I got to the part where the guy was licking the woman's labia and clitoris. I watched how his fingers stroked her skin, holding her lips apart so the camera could focus on the moisture gathering between them...the man's tongue as it lapped it up like a thirsty animal.

The more I watched, the more restless I became. I fidgeted in the chair. Licked my lips. Rubbed myself through my shorts. I wanted to do more than just see what was happening to two other people. I wanted to BE one of those people.

For once, I just wanted to lay back and let a guy fondle me...go down on me...fuck me with his cock—all terms I'd heard in the movies. My sexual vocabulary had expanded tenfold in the past week, and not necessarily in a good way. What was happening to me?

My normal routine was to watch a movie and go home to masturbate. But I pondered, why wait? I was all alone. And the soft, worn leather chair was warm beneath me. So comfortable.

I shimmied out of my shorts and panties, settled back into the chair, and propped one leg up on the desk. I rewound the movie a bit until I got to the part where the guy on screen started touching the girl. I mimicked his motions and put my hands on my body in the same places, the same way.

Oh, yes! This was much better than trying to remember the images in my head. I bit my lip to silence my moans. Not that anyone could hear me, but it was my M.O. to remain as silent as possible at home, lest my parents hear. Which was close to impossible anyway, but it was always best to play it safe.

The guy in the movie was kneeling down between the girl's spread legs now, his fingers working their way over her shaved mons, rubbing in circles. I did as he did, my eyes flicking up to the girl's face to see her contorted mouth, her closed eyes. Dragging my gaze back down, I saw the girl cupping her breasts, her back arching. When the guy turned his hand palm up, made a fist, and slid just one long finger slowly inside her, my hand followed the same motions to the best of my ability.

I echoed her gasp. I was able to insert two fingers when the guy did it to the girl. But I whimpered when he licked her down there. God, I wondered how that would feel.

The chair squeaked when my leg straightened as I tried to get a better angle to touch myself. The motion pushed me away from the desk and turned the chair slightly. I let out a strangled squeal, scrambling to try to sit up.

Dave stood in the doorway, his hands fisted at his sides.

My foot slipped off the desk, kicking the DVD case to the floor in the process. My leg ended up dangling unladylike over the arm of the chair which rolled further away from the desk and closer to the last person I wanted to see right now.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I definitely couldn't speak. But I knew I wanted to die.

He was a dark shadow against the light from the hall behind him. I could hear the rumble of thunder now that the door was fully open. I must not have latched it. Like that would have made any difference.

His hands relaxed, flexed, then fisted again. I could not see his expression, but I was sure that I wouldn't like it if I had. How much had he seen? How much could he see now?

Where were my shorts? Shit! Where were my panties? I considered at least pulling my T-shirt back into place to cover my revealed breast that poked through where I'd raised the hem of my shirt and lowered my bra, but I was too afraid to move.

I realized that the movie played on behind me. The sounds of the couple having sex filled the room. The slap of skin against skin. His loud grunts in response to her tiring litany of gasps and moans. There was no way to explain myself out of this.

I blinked, and I swear that although Dave was still standing in the doorway, he seemed closer. No, I wasn't imagining it. He was slowly walking towards me. Yet, still I sat with my legs spread awkwardly— vulgarly—baring my sex to him.

He said not a word when he stopped inches from the chair. I had to tilt my head back to look up at him. Colors danced across his face from the reflection of the TV screen. He reached across the desk. The sounds of the movie stopped, but the colors remained.

I struggled to inhale when he reached for my left hand where it clutched the arm of the chair like a life-preserver keeping me afloat. His grip was stronger, prying my fingers from the padded leather. He tugged. When I did not move, he tugged harder until I finally lowered my leg and stood. Thankfully, my shirt fell down with gravity, the hem now skimming the middle of my ass. Not exactly covering me, but a hell of a lot more than it had before.