A 14-year-old boy’s beautiful former babysitter make a return visit after two years and surprises him by being sexually assertive. He has no objections at all!
Part One
My name is Joey Gallant. When I was a kid in the 1970s, my younger sister and I had a favorite babysitter named Daphne Fowler. We liked her because she was cheerful, friendly, and always fun to be around. Unlike some babysitters who just sit there without interacting with the children they are minding, Daphne thoroughly enjoyed playing games with us for our amusement. It didn’t matter if it was a card game or a board game, Daphne always eagerly joined in. I had a special reason for liking Daphne: She was undeniably a beautiful teenage girl! I guess I was worldly beyond my years.
Daphne lived almost directly across the street from our house, so it did not take her long at all to get to and from her babysitting gigs with us. My parents always seemed to be busy on most Saturday nights, so Daphne’s presence became a regular feature starting when I was about seven years old, which would have made my sister, Amelia, a five-year-old. Daphne was a 13-year-old and the oldest of three sisters. The second oldest was Danielle, who was the same age as I was and was often in my class at school. The youngest Fowler girl was Debbie, who was a year younger than my sister.
All three Fowler girls were certainly blessed with good looks, but Daphne must have gotten in line twice when God was handing out beauty. Even as a seven-year-old I was well aware of that. She was slim, had shoulder-length blonde hair that she often wore in a ponytail, and a cute face that had a few freckles on it. She was quite busty too and seemed to dress in a way that highlighted her best assets. (Marion, a female cousin of mine was in Daphne’s class; Marion was not anywhere close to being built like her.) Once, when my father saw Daphne approaching our house, he commented to Mom, “My goodness, Daphne certainly comes at you in sections!” Mom was not amused by Dad’s quip. Daphne would have been about 14 years old at the time while Dad would have been 35.
Daphne was an affectionate sitter, too. She freely gave hugs to Amelia and me for no particular reason. I certainly didn’t complain. If we were watching something on TV, Daphne often sat on the couch between us with one arm around me and one arm around Amelia. How can you not become fond of a lovely girl like that?
I always liked it whenever my sister got tired and went to bed before I did—which was a common occurrence. That way I had Daphne all to myself for maybe an hour or so. We’d still play games or watch TV, but I was a smitten little boy who reveled in her undivided attention. More than once, I fell asleep on the couch with my head resting on her shoulder. It was very romantic stuff for an adoring nine-year-old. One Saturday when I was becoming quite sleepy, I mustered the courage to ask Daphne if I could kiss her goodnight before I went to bed. She said, “Sure, Joey! But to make it fair, you have to let me kiss you too! Do we have a deal?” We only exchanged tepid kisses on the cheek, but I thought I had hit the jackpot. I think I floated up the staircase to my bedroom in a state of euphoria. I convinced myself I was going to marry Daphne Fowler someday and together we’d have about a dozen children.
By the time I was 11, I knew my days of requiring a babysitter were coming to an end soon. My mother had mentioned that when I turned 12 years old, I could stay home by myself and look after Amelia, too. Mom suggested, quite wrongly indeed, that, “You must be getting tired of Daphne Fowler coming here to watch you on Saturday nights. Am I right?”
I swiftly and absolutely said, “No!” My father, who was within earshot of the conversation, broke into deep laughter. He eventually shouted from an adjacent room, “Joey’s no fool, honey.”
Mom took umbrage and sternly reminded Dad, “Bill, Daphne is 17 and Joey is just 11.”
“That’s what I said, dear: Joey is no fool!” Dad replied and laughed some more.
Part Two
Three years later, when I was 14, Daphne, now 20, made a surprise return to my house after a two-year absence. Our household had an electric typewriter. Daphne’s home did not. She telephoned to ask if she could use it that night to type up a report that she needed for one of her college courses. Of course, my mother said yes to her request. That night Amelia was at a friend’s home across town for a birthday party/sleepover while my parents had theater tickets for a local amateur production of My Fair Lady. This meant I was alone when Daphne arrived just before 7 p.m. to do her typing.
“This is a familiar setting!” Daphne greeted me as I opened the door for her. “Long time no see, Joey!”
She was just as beautiful as ever–perhaps even more so now that she was in her twenties. I showed Daphne the room where the typewriter was located. I told her we had plenty of blank typing paper if she needed it, but she had brought her own supply. I watched TV in another room while she worked. She was a quick typist; it only took her about 30 minutes to complete her task. To my great delight, Daphne was in no hurry to leave. “This is sort of like old times, joey. Why don’t I stay for a while, and we can have fun together like we used to do every Saturday night?”
I quickly agreed to that idea.
“Since Amelia is at a birthday party, I guess it’s just the two of us tonight, Joey. What do you want to do for fun?”
I suggested playing the card game Crazy Eights, an old favorite pastime of ours. Daphne happily agreed. (In all the years that Daphne babysat my sister and me, i don’t recall Daphne ever vetoing a game suggestion that either one of us made.) We played three hands. As I was about to deal the fourth, Daphne stopped me from grabbing the deck.
“How old are you now, Joey?” she asked me in her sweet voice.
“You should know I’m 14, Daphne,” I replied. “It’s been a little bit more than two years since I turned 12 and you stopped babysitting me.”
“Of course! That’s right! You know, Joey, that was a sad day for me when i stopped coming here on Saturday nights,” she said, and then gently poked me on the nose with her right index finger.
“You were sad?” I quickly interjected. “What about me? You know I love you.” As soon as I said that sentence, I started to blush. I had never told Daphne that, although it was probably obvious to her for years when I was a thoroughly smitten preteen.
“Well, Joey, aren’t you just adorable!” she quickly responded. Daphne got up from her chair, walked purposefully to my side of the card table, and warmly embraced me. I noticed right away that this wasn’t close to the typical goodnight hugs I had occasionally received from her since the age of seven. This one was decidedly different. It was long and passionate. (I, of course, loved it.) She released the hug but then put her hands on my shoulders and kissed both of my cheeks. This was getting better by the second!
Then, in one of the milestone moments of my life, beautiful 20-year-old Daphne Fowler, who was undoubtedly the secret desire of many boys young and old in my city, looked at me eye-to-eye with a strange expression on her face, and romantically kissed me, Joey Gallant, age 14, squarely on the lips! I was stunned beyond words—but enormously pleased by Daphne’s wholly unexpected action.
When Daphne broke up our kiss—I certainly wasn’t going to do it—she giggled slightly and asked me if I had liked it. I struggled for an appropriate response, but then I thought of one that was both funny and accurate. “Daphne,” I said as calmly as possible, “I would be thrilled if Danielle kissed me that way. But you…wow! Just wow!”
“Oh, I guarantee I can kiss way better than my sister, Joey. I’ll show you. Let’s do it again.” She puckered up and leaned forward towards me. This time I was better prepared. I embraced Daphne as she embraced me…and our second romantic kiss surpassed the first one in both length and passion.
I did not know where this was leading, but Daphne certainly did. She suggested, “Let’s stop the card game and move to the couch so we can do this right. Are you okay with that, Joey?”
Dad had been right all those years before: I was no fool. Of course, I agreed.
We moved to the couch where we embarked on romantic kiss number three. This one must have lasted anywhere between 90 seconds and two minutes. When we separated our lips, I took the initiative. I began kissing her cheeks and her neck and running my fingers through her lovely blonde hair.
“You are getting into the spirit of this, Joey!’ Daphne joyfully said. “Good for you!”
Good for me, indeed! It was about to get significantly better.
After a few more sensual kisses that made my heartrate rise considerably, I stopped and asked the big question: “Daphne, why me? I’m 14. Why aren’t you kissing some college guy your own age?”
Daphne took both my hands into hers gently and tried to explain the unexplainable. “Joey, when I was 10, I really liked the 11- and 12-year-old boys at my school. When I was 11 and 12, I still felt that way about boys that age. When I was 13 and 14, I was still more attracted to preteens than to boys my own age. That has never stopped being the case. I’m 20 and you are 14. That’s completely fine by me, although I wish you were still 11 or 12. Honestly, I’d rather make love to you than to any college guy. There’s really no accounting for it, Joey. That’s just the way I’m wired.”
I was about to make some comment which I don’t recall, when Daphne put her index finger on my lips to stop me from saying anything.
She continued, “Joey, I babysat you and Amelia for more than four years. I also babysat other kids, too. I still do. Timmy DeCarlo, who lives across town, is someone I babysit occasionally. He’s about to turn 12. I was at his house about three weeks ago. It was the same situation as we have here tonight. We were all alone—and we had sexual intercourse…and I loved it!”
I was stunned by that tidbit of news, but I kept my wits about me. I said, “I bet he loved it too. What normal boy wouldn’t enjoy having sex with you, Daphne? You are totally gorgeous!”
Daphne kissed me on the cheek for the compliment I gave her. “You’re such a sweet boy, Joey,” she said softly. Then she looked at me sitting close by in my pajamas, which I had put on just before Daphne arrived. “I see my kisses have you aroused,” she duly noted.
Indeed, I had a firm erection courtesy of Daphne’s passionate smooches and her sexy tale about lucky Timmy DeCarlo. I tried to cover it up, which was plainly impossible. Daphne stopped me, anyway.
“It’s the most natural thing in the world, Joey,” she informed me, even though I already was aware of it. “So is sex between two people who want to share something special. We have lots of time before your parents arrive back home from the play. Do you want to fuck me, Joey? I really want to fuck you. As soon as I was informed your sister would be away tonight, I’ve been fantasizing about it.”
I said in rapid-fire succession, “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”
My eagerness caused Daphne to break into laughter. “Well, as long as you’re sure, Joey!” she said with a smile. Then she unbuttoned the tennis shirt she was wearing and lifted it off her torso. A lacy, white brassiere was exposed. It was supporting two lovely, succulent breasts that were bigger than my mother’s. I was fixated on them—and Daphne knew it.
Daphne smiled and took my two hands and placed them on her cups. It was heavenly! “I’ve seen you stare at my boobs before, Joey. I’m glad you like them. Here, have a better look at them!” Daphne undid the clasp and tossed her bra to the floor. Her treasures slightly jiggled before my eyes. I felt my penis get even harder.
“Play with them, Joey—while I caress your dick. Stand up for a moment so I can yank your pajama bottoms down to your ankles.” That’s what she did. I assisted her by pulling them off the rest of the way. I then sat back down on the couch with my pecker pointing toward the ceiling.
It was indeed a great arrangement: Daphne fondling my scrotum while I fondled her ample breasts.
“Suck on them, Joey. I like it when boys suck my big tits,” she informed me. I obliged with alacrity. At that moment, sucking and licking Daphne’s goodies was the high point in my life. I couldn’t wait to tell a few of my classmates at school who were long jealous that Danielle Fowler’s sexy big sister had been my frequent babysitter.
We kissed a few times while we continued to stimulate each other. Daphne said, “I just have to ride that dick of yours, Joey. I can’t resist it.”
Daphne was wearing faded blue jeans. They came off in about five seconds, as did her white panties. She had an unshaved pussy, but I didn’t care one way or the other. I swiftly removed my pajama top, so I was totally nude, too. Daphne gently pushed me backwards, so I was lying on the couch. She straddled me and guided my dick into her opening.
Thirty seconds earlier I thought that sucking on Daphne’s inviting tits was great. Having her happily bounce on my erect penis, however, was a whole new world of pleasure for me. How I lasted two minutes, I’ll never know. Having reached puberty at age 12, I had masturbated perhaps 200 times to an ejaculation since then. (My preferred fantasies to jerk off to involved Maureen McCormick from The Brady Bunch and sexy thoughts of Daphne Fowler. I never thought I’d be so lucky to actually have Daphne as a willing partner. The real Daphne, instead of my pillow, was infinitely better.) Those solo experiences taught me about my body; I knew when I was about to launch a load of semen.
“Daphne, get off me or I’ll come inside you!” I warned her. She did so with less than five seconds to spare. I figured it was my best cum shot ever. Some of my goo flew straight in the air and came down on my thighs, but most of it hit Daphne around her stomach. A few drips were actually in her navel, which seemed oddly erotic to me.
“Oh, yeah!” I shouted. I was thrilled on many levels. In descending order, they were as follows: (a) I managed to control a cum shot when being ridden by my sexy, 20-year-old dream girl; (b) I had fucked my dream girl; (c) I had fucked a girl; (d) I had ejaculated while fucking a girl.
Daphne grabbed a handful of tissues from a nearby box and cleaned my jism blast from both our bodies. With a keen eye, she even spotted the few stray strands that landed on the couch and on the shag carpet. Daphne congratulated me on being a capable lover. “That was damn good for a 14-year-old, Joey,” she told me. She seemed sincere. I willingly believed she was being truthful with me.
We then embraced for the next hour without bothering to get dressed. Daphne permitted me to suck on her breasts some more. At one point she pressed my head against her copious jugs in a motherly fashion. It was sexy and comforting at the same time. An hour later, I was in bed—asleep and alone—when my parents arrived home from their theater outing. Daphne was long gone by then. In retrospect, I wish I had given her a proper sendoff.
A month later, the news came like a thunderbolt to my parents, and to Amelia and me: Daphne Fowler was two months’ pregnant! It was also a police matter as the male who was suspected to be the father was a minor. It was Timmy DeCarlo. It was definitely rare and obviously scandalous for a female babysitter in 1979 to be impregnated by one of her youthful charges.
Whether Timmy told his parents about his romp with Daphne or they found out by some other means, I do not know. When my parents got around to asking if Daphne had ever “molested” me, I happily lied through my teeth. I openly laughed at the whole idea of such a thing happening.
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