Billy Babb's Bargain

"So, this is for real?"

His skeptical and struggling voice is low, gravelly?his vocal cords, inflamed. His nervous chuckle meant to highlight male confidence; instead, conveys agitation.

As intended, his initial sure-footedness dropped with his jeans, which, piled loosely about his ankles, makes him appear what he is?alone, foolish.

I neglect to answer his question. Instead, gazing up into his dull eyes, I grin and playfully wave a flag of feminine defiance, a Ziploc sandwich bag.

My little prop is for real. And, in answer to his question, yes, I am serious. That aside, Billy Babb is only a pacifier, an unremarkable stand-in for the far more appetizing Jackson Sylvane.

Fixation of my obsessions, and doubtlessly up to no good, Jackson, is back home in Atlantic City, where, summering without me, he spends his time hustling boardwalk dupes.

I, on the other hand, am here, stashed away in the backwoods of Maine, the victim of over-the-top parental control.

At this very moment, the clock is ticking. With no other choices, I seem destined to work with Billy, the handsomish country bumpkin I plan to convert to my personal Sir Galahad, not forever?just for a few weeks.

Billy is not stupid. Evidence of it is clear: unlike last year's selectee, he thought twice before loosening his belt buckle. Moreover, he knows a good offer when he hears one, meaning he's smart. I like smart boys.

My ploy is not new; it is a reprise of last year when it tested out well on the slightly more handsome but equally bumpkinish Evan Greaves.

Like Evan, Billy exhibits the same nervous laugh, look of disbelief, and effort to appear comfortable, all with flaccid cock and weighty balls on parade, even as his rather cute backside faces the living room picture window, in this, my parents' summer cottage.

As the reader has already surmised, I had started out with a certain type of boy in mind. Both fit the bill. I liked tall; each stood tall. I leaned toward lean; each leaned lean. I fancied cocks up close; each offered to show me. Each stood, I knelt. Each frowned, I smiled. Each trembled; I conveyed serenity.

I rely on the uniqueness of the plan, that my proposal is not something backwoods boys trip and fall over on an average day. The blueprint is perfect and, smugly, I think any girl?well, any calculating girl?would swap places with me in a flash!

I look carefully at Billy's limp dick. Like the rest of him, it is long and lean. I cannot help but wonder if, when standing straight, it will exhibit the necessary stamina, something yet to be proven. Also, there is the question of volume. How much sperm will it shoot? Will its load impress me? I need to find out!

It is afternoon, warm for Maine. Only yesterday, Billy offered to come by in the morning.

"You will not," I demanded. "No, no, no!"

I did not say why, but for you, the reader, I will say. Breezes off the ocean are cold in the morning and chill works at cross purposes with my appetite for unique visuals.

A girl wants to see certain things. Testicles, heavy and hanging loosely in their sack, intrigue me. The morning discourages the spectacle as crisp air prods scrotums to lapse into safe-mode, making them tighten as balls seek refuge up nearer a boy's body. That, I do not like!

"No, Billy Babb," I commanded. "It's cold in the morning. Come by in the afternoon when it's warm. Sneak into the woods behind our cottage. After my parents çankırı escort bayan drive off, I will unlock the back door."

In anticipation, I lay awake half the night, obsessed that in a few hours, testicles, loose, ripe?like peaches splitting with heavy syrup and dangling vulnerably between masculine legs, will be mine. That is what I want!

We were seniors when the subject first came up. Standing by Andrea's locker, we listened as she matter-of-factly lectured us about balls. "They float! They move," she assured us.

We brightened and glanced about, only half-hoping no boys were listening, and it crossed our minds that only Andrea had ever experienced balls?real ones?up close. I had only seen videos.

Playacting skepticism, I asked, "What do you mean, they float?" Blinking excitedly, the stuck-up girl scolded us like children. We were not children!

Authoritatively, Andrea jeered. "They lift and fall as the temperature goes up and down! A girl can watch them. But she needs to get real close. When she does, she can smell a boy's sperm!"

"What does it smell like," Berengaria Navarre asked.

"It...it doesn't smell like anything else," Andrea pontificated. "Sperm only smells like sperm."

The incident was thought-provoking. Then, like now, I felt an inexplicable enchantment with the male body, and like piglets imagining slop, the three of us giggled.

Andrea was not joking. Roosevelt High's resident ultra-slut, she knew things, and Berengaria and I hesitated to question her ill-gotten expertise.

Andrea had done both Andy and Jake, though, mind you, not at the same time?she would never; none of us would?not back then. Back then, she had standards. Back then, when she blew two boys on the same day, she would only do one at a time.

I wonder about her now, about this summer and what she is doing in far off Peru. She sent that curious email. "I met this guy," she wrote. "He's cute, but he's run away for a hot weekend with some Irish hussy." I hate Andrea, but I wrote back anyway.

Billy's hungry eyes roam my kneeling form, his attentions, refocusing my drifting mind to the here and now. Uninvited, he reaches to caress my hair, but I push him away. "No touching, Billy Babb," I snap. "Not till we make a bargain."

He smirks as if he does not care?but he cares. He cares about toeing the line for a girl. He knows to get what he wants; he needs to do what I want.

With my 'no touching' rule in place, his browsing eyes do the rest. When his attention reaches my knees, I tug my skirt up and open my legs for him. I keep tugging until he sees everything.

"Wow. No panties," he observes. "Wow...you...you don't shave. I thought all girls shaved."

With an ill grin, I counter, "You thought wrong, Billy Babb. And, for your information, I'm a woman, not a girl." He smiles like he is OK with that. Well, it is OK! A girl waits forever to be a woman, to have hair down there. I am not shaving for any man.

He studies my breasts. "Nice boobs," he mumbles.

Eyeing him, I raise my pullover and push my titties together. It takes some effort, but I manage to coerce some cleavage, prompting his cock to jump! His cock! It bounces! I so love it!

"Well, well, Billy Babb," I mock. "Your cock just woke up. I was starting to wonder."

His face is a study in resolve, and he strokes himself for me?three times.

All boys take chances, and Billy is çankırı escort no different. "Maybe you can suck it a little," he suggests.

"A little?" I snap, raising my voice to emphasize the point. "Why would I suck it a little?"

Without answering, he inched the tip closer to my face and tempted as I am, I pull back, and without taking my eyes from his, I turn my head to one side.

"No sucking," I insist. "I only suck boys who do nice things for me! And I only do it when they do a lot of nice things!" He frowns, and I think he probably wants to slap me, but he doesn't dare. He knows if he does, I will hashtag him, that he will lose his job at the farm supply store.

I glance at my watch and declaim, "You're wasting time, Billy Babb. My parents only went to the 'Stop