Burning Temptation
It started harmlessly enough. I was standing in my sister's kitchen one Sunday, talking to one of my niece's friends. We'd been having a casual conversation over the top of the center island. She was leaning over it, drinking a lemonade.
"What are you staring at?" she asked. She was wearing a light summer dress with a low-cut top and spaghetti straps on the shoulders. For a busty girl, it wasn't the best of ideas for her. I mean, don't get me wrong. I enjoyed the view.
"Nothing," I said. "I'm just sitting here. Your dress looks very nice."
"Thanks," she said. "But you just keep kind of staring at my boobs."
"I'm not staring," I said. "I mean... I am looking. You have them hanging out. So..."
"They're not hanging out," she said, pleading innocence, looking down at her chest and slightly adjusting her dress.
"They are, kind of. And I'm actually curious. Is that the way you dress all the time?" I asked.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, suddenly concerned she looked bad or something.
"Well I'm actually kind of concerned," I said. "I mean with all the young boys in the neighborhood..."
"There's nothing wrong with the way I'm dressed," she said defensively.
I moved to the other side of the island and grabbed the top of her dress, near the shoulder straps. "Maybe if you like... pull this up a little more," I said, pulling the material upwards to try to hide her breasts a bit more. They merely bounced deliciously within their confines. "You might be giving the wrong impression to all the boys. You should cover them up. I mean they're nice and big and everything, but..."
"But I like wearing dresses like this," she said, not bothering to stop me from touching her.
I walked behind her, grabbed the material again, and attempted to pull the front of her dress up higher. "Oh you do? Why do you like showing your boobs?"
"Um... because I'm a girl," she said.
"Are you a slut?" I asked.
"No."
"Well that is how sluts dress."
"No they don't."
"Mmhmm, they dress just like that. I mean your bra is showing right here," I said, pulling at her bra strap on her shoulder. "It's like you're saying 'touch me! touch me!'". I reached around her and grabbed her breasts in my hands over her dress and squeezed them. I could feel her hard nipples through the material and concentrated a few pinches there, along with fingertip circles. "You want me to touch you, obviously. At least you want someone to touch them."
She never even tried to stop me, to pull my hands away or to complain. My hands continued to tease her breasts as we continued our conversation.
"No I don't," she said softly, trying to sound tough.
"Don't be like that," I said. "You wouldn't wear stuff like this if you didn't want guys to touch you."
"This is weird," she said. She was breathing heavier, starting to get excited.
"Why is it weird?" I pinched both of nipples at the same time, rolling them between my thumb and forefinger and could see the pleasure radiating from her face.
"'Cause... oh God... I don't really know you," she said.
"So?" I said. "I'm the one touching you, just like you wanted. What else is there to know?"
"I don't know," she said weakly. "Do you do this with others?"
I smiled, then kissed her neck. "Not that I would tell you," I said. "I don't think that you mind, though. You just walk around all day with your breasts just hanging out." She moaned softly as I kissed her neck and ear.
"That feels good," she moaned softly.
"Yeah, I figured you liked it," I said, turning her and kissing her on the mouth. Her lips were soft, warm and inviting. And she tasted like strawberry lip gloss. My hands continued to touch her breasts as I kissed her neck and then moved down to kiss and lick her chest, the top of her breasts, and the lovely valley between them. I pulled one shoulder strap down, then the other, baring her breasts to my hungry mouth, and teased her nipples to full hardness. She gently held the back of my head with one hand, encouraging me to continue, moaning softly.
*****
"And you didn't feel like any of that was inappropriate?" Dr. Schmidt asked. "Your sister's house... your niece's eighteen-year-old friend? People there, just in the next room?"
The psychologist's office was comfortable looking, but I felt very out of place. I'd been here every week for the past two years and I still hadn't gotten used to it. I was laying back on the couch, comfortably, as we wrapped up our session for today.
"I dunno," I said. "I guess I just... went with the flow."
Doctor Schmidt handed me a book full of blank pages. The hard-bound cover was nicely decorated, but plain. It could have been use by any one for any purpose at all. But for me, it was to be my journal... to document my feelings.
"I would ask you to use that event for the main focus of your journaling over the next week," he said. "So... any feelings or thoughts you have over what happened, please write them down."
"Ok... I guess I can do that," I said. I was never good at talking about my feelings or writing them down. All I was good at was acting on them. And that's what always got me into trouble. That's why I was seeing the doctor in the first place. I was told I had low impulse control.
"I want you to think and write about... why was it appropriate to have sex in my sister's house and why was it appropriate to have sex with a very young woman? It's important that you understand these two questions. It's important that you understand why this was inappropriate more than just that it was. So I'm going to leave this with you, on that note. And if there aren't any questions, we'll wrap it up. Ok?"
"Um, no questions," I said, sitting up. "So... we're all done? I can go?"
"Yes, you can go. Thank you very much. Good session today, Vince."
I'm glad he thought so. I had no idea what a good session was really. I didn't know how I was supposed to feel or how he was supposed to help me, really. I mean, I guessed that he was supposed to help me control my feelings, control my impulses. But I wasn't sure it was even working.
I walked out of the office and drove home. As I turned into my driveway, a young woman in a cheerleading outfit waved to me from next door, giving me shivers. "No! You can't!" I said aloud to myself. "You know what the doctor said. You have to control your urges."
I hurried into the house as soon as I left the car, watching her jogging towards me.
"Hi! Hi, how are you?" she yelled, thirty yards away. "Hi neighbor? Can I ask you a question."
I ignored her and hastily fished my keys out and quickly unlocked the door.
"Hey! Wait! I need to ask you something," she said.
