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Jasmine the Schoolgirl (part two)

 
Post #1


The story so far....
A lonely divorcee meets a schoolgirl.

At four o'clock though, I was ready and waiting for her. This time she came out of the school gates with just one other girl. But this time, the two of them parted company, the other girl going in the opposite direction. As she approached my house, I went out into the street, and stood there, leaning against my front door. She was grinning as she came up to me.
'Sorry 'bout yesterday....all my mates with me, see? Would have been a lot of talk and smirking going on if I'd spoken to you. They're a dirty minded lot, my mates!' I nodded.
'No problem. I guessed it was something like that.' I lied.
'We were all going swimming,' she continued, 'we go every Monday after school.' My mind flashed up an image of this young Indian beauty in a wet, clingy, skimpy bikini. I tried to ignore the stiffening sensation in my trousers.
'Used to swim a lot myself, before I moved here. Belonged to a SCUBA diving club.
I should go again....keep fit.' An idea had begun to form in my mind. A cunning plan no less. Dare I suggest it? Why not?
'Where is the local pool then?'
'About half a mile from here, straight along the High Street towards the station.'
'Nice place is it?'
'Yeah! Its only been open about a year. The old place was a real grotty dump. The new one's really nice.'
'Ummmm....you like to show me round it? Saturday morning maybe?' My heart was thumping. She looked at me, the smiling relaxed expression gone. She was chewing her bottom lip. For a second or two I thought I'd blown it. A different expression now inhabited that lovely young face. I wasn't quite sure how to interpret it. Then she said,
'OK. If you want. No sawn off jeans allowed though, got to have proper swimming stuff. Meet me in the cafeteria at eight thirty Saturday morning.' She turned to go, but hesitated.
'If anyone found out, I couldn't go. It would be too....you know....they
wouldn't understand.' I interrupted her.
'Its OK. I know what you mean, I won't say anything to anyone. I'll be in the cafeteria at eight thirty.' She grinned again and hurried off up the street. I felt so weak that I think I would have fallen over if I hadn't been leaning against the door post.

She'd agreed! She was willing to spend time with me, alone, just the two of
us! I was going to see (quite literally) a whole lot more of my beautiful little Indian maiden.

Each morning I watched her from my window as she went to school. I don't know if she saw me, but if she did she showed no sign of it. On Friday I rumaged through the swimming trunks at H&M and found a pair that were about right. Not skimpy Speedo things, but not great bags either. Got to try and maintain a reasonable image, don't you think? Something about 'ageing gracefully' sums it up. Continuing that line of thought, I made for the barbers shop on the corner, and had him tidy me up. I might be the wrong side of thirty, and she is probably the wrong side of sixteen, but there's no need to let things go, right?

It was whilst I was sitting in the barbers chair that the nerves started to get going. Up until now I hadn't worried about the situation. But as the barber began demolishing the local football manager's reputation, I started thinking about angry fathers, accompanied by angry uncles. About overly formal policemen asking if 'Sir' was aware of the young lady's age at the time of the alleged incident. "Local Paedophile Caught!" headlining the Echo. Of burly prison inmates with 'love' and 'hate' tattooed on their knuckles and young daughters on the outside.

My hand was trembling as I paid the football critic for my haircut. As I wandered home clutching my H&M plastic carrier bag, I tried to justify
everything. After all, I wasn't planning to rape her, or, come to that; I hadn't even really planned trying to have sex with her. OK, OK! I'll be honest, I'd thought of hardly anything else, especially as I laid in my bed at night getting rid of the stiffness, if you know what I mean. I knew that deep down what I really wanted was to have her. To hold her and possess the innocence of her. To watch her face as I led her step by step through her initiation into the world of the adults and sexuality. Then the conscience fired up. To rob her of her innocence? To debauch her, to take advantage of her naivety for my own selfish pleasure? Why can't I be like other men? Just get her knickers down, do the business and give her a kiss goodbye.

Other guys seem to manage that without going through a great internal debate, don't they? There again, I suppose most men don't get involved with teenage schoolgirls.

I had difficulty getting to sleep Friday night. I dreamed of being chased round the pool by angry brown parents screaming 'Pervert!' at me. The shrill piercing racket, however, turned out to be the alarm clock, not a demented mother lusting after my lifeblood. I dragged myself out of bed and downstairs into the kitchen. As I sat there sipping my breakfast mug of tea, I decided that today would not be the day that her innocence came under threat, that I would be just an acquaintance, not her seducer.
An older friend. A life mentor.

I stopped in mid thought. I didn't know her name. Have to sort that out pretty quickly. Have you ever found yourself in that situation? Its awful isn't it? So embarrassing. I wonder how many men have lit up that post coital cigarette and said,
'How was it for you.....er.....' Having spent the whole of the previous evening buying her drinks, dancing with her, smooching with her, and then having taken her home, stripped her naked and inseminated her, he has only just realised he hadn't asked her name?

Or how many women have moved across the bed to avoid the wet patch, and wondered how the hell she was going to find out what his name is? Bet its more than just one or two! Not that I had any plans to have sex with her, of course. Oh No. I'm going to be the perfect Gentleman. The upright (no pun intended) citizen!

But I guess we all know its hard to be righteous when you're horny.

I was just beginning to doubt that she would turn up when she appeared, breezing into the foyer through the revolving doors.
'Hi! Sorry I'm late!'
'No problem. You look fabulous, by the way.' I think she may have blushed. A bit difficult to tell with girls that colour, isn't it? A white sweater with a huge roll neck hid her upper body, long black hair cascading down her back. A pair of jeans so tight that there should be a law against them accentuated the curve of her hips and highlighted her perfect bottom. Huge gold hoops hung from her pierced ear lobes. On her shoulder, what looked suspiciously
like a genuine Gucci bag, completed the effect of making her look one of those Bollywood film stars. All sophisticated and exotic, and, incidentally looking about twenty something.

I was treated to that big heart melting smile again, followed by an indignant
explanation of why she was late.
'Dad was making a fuss this morning 'bout me going out. I told him I was going to a friend's house then off to watch a volley ball match. He's so old fashioned! Thinks I should go everywhere with one of my brothers.'
'Brothers?' I queried, my mouth suddenly going dry. Another vision of a horde of young adult males chasing me around the country, hell bent on killing the swine who had dishonoured their family.
'Yes. Two of them. They're real pigs. Make my life hell they do sometimes.'
'Really? How old are they?' Again with the dry mouthed casual tone.
'The eldest one's seventeen, the other's fifteen.'
'So they're both older than you, then? She eyed me suspiciously.
'How'd you know how old I am?' I smiled. She's sharp this one! 'I never told you.'
'You never told me your name either.' I said, pleased to be able to get the subject aired so easily! 'I just guessed. You're certainly not eighteen, so you must be younger than the eldest one, and I was guessing that you're not sixteen either. That makes you the baby of the family. ‘Want a coke or a coffee or something?' Her expression eased and she said quietly,
'I'm fourteen, my name is Jasmine, and a coke, please.' she paused momentarily before hitting me square on with the broadside.
'What about you then?' You always forget that there's two sides to a story, don't you? Of course I knew that she would want to know my name, as I wanted to know hers, but the subject of my birthday had not really occurred to me as a possible topic of conversation, and I really didn't want her to know I was nearly twenty years older than she was.
'Andy. Short for Andrew, but only my mother calls me Andrew, and then only when she's angry with me!' Her fabulous eyes were still holding mine. A knot formed in my stomach as I realised I was not going to get away with just telling her my name.
'How old are you then?' She asked. That's the trouble with kids nowadays, isn't it? No sense of propriety. It's just bad manners to ask such questions right out like that! But Jasmine, as I quickly learned, was painfully straight to the point. She wanted to know? She asked. With no regard to the consequences or other people's feelings.
'Umm, over twenty one?' I ventured. She laughed. A sound akin to that of songbirds in springtime. Beautiful, happy, filled with the love of life. My internal organs turned to water, and if there had been any doubt in my mind before, I knew that from that moment on, I was lost.

'No, really, how old are you?' We were walking down the tiled corridor following the signposted trail to the changing rooms when she recommenced the interrogation. Pushy, this one.
'Is it important?' I asked her, still trying to avoid the inevitable.
'Why won't you tell me?' She reposted, impatiently. The corridor was deserted apart from us. I stopped and turned to face her.
'Look at it like this. Here we are, you and me. Together. Either I should be fifteen, or you should be twenty something, but as it is, you're fourteen, and I'm thirty three. Why do you think I'm trying to avoid the age issue?'

She looked shocked at my outburst and somewhat embarrassed. She began to study her shoes. Throwing caution to the winds, I continued.
'I'm out with a beautiful girl that's young enough to be my daughter, and I'm loving every second of it. Most people would want me locked up, and your parents would want me dead; and you want to know why I don't want to talk about my age?' She glanced up at me.
'I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd be upset.' Her voice was timid and for a moment I thought she might cry. Panic began to rise. Had to straighten this out, quick!
'Jasmine, I'm not upset. I love being with you. I've thought about nothing else all week. But you must see it from my point of view!'

....to be continued....
13 Ekim 2022, at 15:57
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