Serena had been our babysitter for four or five years now. As you can imagine I’d grown to know her quite well in that time. She’d started as a polite young lady (for a teenager), morphed into a surly brat who still managed to get on well with the kids, and finally crystallised into a refined young lady who was a credit to her parents.
Watching her walk up the drive it registered with me that she really was an adult now, probably around nineteen. It was odd as I’d always considered her to be the fifteen year old kid I’d first met.
It seemed to me that she has a bit of a sensuous sway to her hips as she strolled along, a way of moving that drew a man’s attention, and that was on top of her other characteristics. A blue eyed blonde with what I decided was a truly startling chest development. Surely she hadn’t had boobs like that last time she was here?
She was wearing a black flared a-line skirt and a loose v-neck peasant blouse. (That information was given to me by my wife when I asked what the fuck Serena was wearing? The reason I’d asked was because I thought that skirt was way too short for her and the blouse far too loose. Really, if she bent over anyone in front of her would have an amazing cleavage view while anyone behind was going to a different but just as amazing view. Actually, when Serena saw me waiting for her she smiled and seemed to throw her shoulders back a little. This promptly demonstrated that that blouse was not too loose in one specific area.)
Almost as soon as Serena was in the house little Mike made a bee-line for her, holding out his hands to be picked up. Serena, naturally enough, smiled and bent down to pick him up, proving me both right and wrong about the view from the front. I could see down her top easily enough but cleavage only applies if you’re wearing a bra, and she wasn’t. For a second or two I got a full view of a pair of very nice breasts, and then she had Mike in her arms and was standing up again.
“Are you going to tell me where the others are?” she asked Mike who crowed and pointed. Nodding to me she went trotting of with Mike, totally oblivious to the fact that he was holding on to the v-neck of that blouse, thereby exposing almost all of one breast and most certainly exposing one nipple.
(It was at this point that I’d asked my wife what the fuck Serena was wearing and she’d told me, seeming vastly amused by the incident.)
I was just stooging around, doing nothing while Margaret finished packing her bag. She was flying to stay with her mother for a couple of days as both her parents had the flu and needed someone there while they recovered. Damned if I knew why they didn’t take flu shots. Margaret and I did.
I wandered down to the playroom to see how Serena and the kids were getting on, not that I expected to find any problems. She always got on very well with them. As soon as I reached the playroom Serena demonstrated I’d been right and wrong about the rear view as well. She was bending over and that silly little skirt had ridden up as expected but, and it was a big but, for panties to show in a situation like that you needed a certain amount of panties. What my view actually encompassed was effectively a bare bottom with just a hint of material running down between her buttocks. Discretion seemed to be the order of the day and I beat a fast retreat.
As soon as Margaret was ready we were in the car and heading for the airport. The traffic was reasonable but it still took us forty minutes to get there. Margaret checked in on time and then it was a case of wait for the flight to be ready. Who invented the asinine rule that passengers had to check in an hour before the flight time? Silliest rule I ever heard of. Eventually the passengers started boarding, I kissed Margaret goodbye, and faced the journey home.
Typical of any long trip. The time I’d saved on the way in was lost on the way home. An hour and twenty minutes to do the return trip and there’s our government blathering on about how good the infrastructure was. You don’t see government types driving through crowded suburbs so how the hell would they know how good the infrastructure was or wasn’t?
I am a competent driver but that doesn’t mean I’m a happy driver. I just plain don’t like driving. After what was effectively two hours on the road and a long boring wait in the middle I was feeling a little bit narked and greatly relieved to be home.
I let myself into the house. The kids would have been asleep long ago and I guessed Serena was watching TV. I could hear it playing quietly in the front room. I strolled in and there was Serena curled up on the couch watching Chucky. An unusual film for her to watch, I thought, but to each his or her own. I moved quietly up behind her and as the suspense built I dropped my hand onto her head.
She gave a squeal and finished up on the far side of the room, sitting on the floor and looking around. She finally focused on me.
“You. . . You. . .” she spluttered, getting to her feet and flouncing back to the couch and dropping onto it, hand held against her breast.
“That was so uncalled for. You scared the hell out of me,” she snapped.
“Just letting you know I was home,” I said innocently. “I hadn’t realised you were of such a nervous disposition.”
She pointedly ignored me, turning to continue watching the film. I settled onto the couch beside her.
