My wife and I had arranged for a night out and that meant we required a babysitter to care for the little monsters. Not knowing when we'd be home Jenni decided to have the sitter stay overnight. She contacted Melissa, our regular sitter, and she was quite happy to stay over. Why not? Extra money for her as she's paid by the hour, sleeping or working. I should get paid to sleep.
Melissa rolled up at the requested time and I let her in. I couldn't help but think as I admitted her that there was no way known that she'd be dressed like that if she expected to meet anyone other than us. I think the style is called gunge, the sort of clothing no self-respecting adult would wear. Teenagers, of course, are another breed, which makes gunge acceptable -- in their minds.
So Jenni and I left Melissa to the tender mercies of our children and went out to dinner. After dinner we went to a show and subsequently dropped into a bar for a couple of drinks before heading home. While having our drinks we debated the pros and cons of the show, with Jenni getting quite enthusiastic about some of the cons. She was possibly a little too enthusiastic as she lost track of her drinks and had that fatal third glass.
For some reason Jenni can handle two drinks with no problems, but that third drink acts like a large dose of Seconal. It's not an immediate effect, but a short time later she drops into a rather sedated state. I hadn't counted her drinks either and was taken by surprise when she suddenly slumped against me in the taxi on the way home, out cold.
I carried her into the house and tucked her into bed, first removing her dress and shoes. She was dead to the world and would be out for a good eight hours. I decided I could do with some coffee before I went to bed and headed to the kitchen to make some. Unlike with some people, coffee doesn't keep me awake.
Walking down the hall I noticed that the door to the room that Melissa was using was ajar and the light was on. I was prepared to swear that neither of those things had been true when I passed the room earlier. If you're walking down a dark hall and you pass a lighted room, what is your natural reaction? You look in.
Now the door wasn't wide open, just a little, showing me a slice of the room. That slice showed part of the bed with Melissa sitting on it. She was angled away from me but I could see her quite plainly, including what she was, or in this case wasn't, wearing. She wore some sort of top similar to a singlet and I was betting that this was all she had on. The reason I was willing to place the bet was because I could see the curve of her leg from her knee to her waist, her top being currently caught up on her arm. I could tell for a fact that she'd shed her bra when she went to bed because she was leaning forward and the armhole gaped open, showing the lovely curve of her breast.
I reached for the door, meaning to close it rather loudly, just to give her a shock, when something else registered with me, which gave me furiously to think.
Melissa wasn't just sitting quietly. The reason that her top was caught up on her arm was because her hand was down between her legs. From the way her arm was moving she was obviously rubbing herself. Melissa was fifteen the first time she sat for us and little Greg had been one. Greg was now five and that added four years to Melissa's fifteen, making her nineteen, or very late eighteen at a minimum. Instead of closing the door with a bang I closed it quietly -- behind me.
"Dear me, it seems that you're being a naughty girl, Melissa," I reprimanded quietly.
She turned her head so sharply to look at me I was almost afraid that she'd break her neck. She also looked profoundly shocked, but it seemed to me that the look was a trifle overdone.
She babbled for a second or two, not saying anything coherent, and I held up a hand to shut her up.
