Ypung Sex Stories

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Ypung Sex Stories
About a year after my beautiful aunt moved to Canada (see Auntie made a man of me) and I was now fo***een, my mother engaged a new cleaner who came in three or four mornings a week. I didn’t usually see her because of school, but during holidays I was often in the house alone

Portrait of an old lady deeply affected by the death of her grandson.
A music teacher takes a singing class soon after receiving a terrible letter.
Virtually unprompted, Ellen - the lady's maid - reveals her history, habits and beliefs to a tired visitor.

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In her blue dress, with her cheeks lightly flushed, her blue, blue eyes, and her gold curls pinned up as though for the first time - pinned up to be out of the way for her flight - Mrs. Raddick's daughter might have just dropped from this radiant heaven. Mrs. Raddick's timid, faintly astonished, but deeply admiring glance looked as if she believed it, too; but the daughter didn't appear any too pleased - why should she? - to have alighted on the steps of the Casino. Indeed, she was bored - bored as though Heaven had been full of casinos with snuffy old saints for croupiers and crowns to play with.
    "You don't mind taking Hennie?" said Mrs. Raddick. "Sure you don't? There's the car, and you'll have tea and we'll be back here on this step - right here - in an hour. You see, I want her to go in. She's not been before, and it's worth seeing. I feel it wouldn't be fair to her."
    "Oh, shut up, mother," said she wearily. "Come along. Don't talk so much. And your bag's open; you'll be losing all your money again."
    "I'm sorry, darling," said Mrs. Raddick.
    "Oh, do come in! I want to make money," said the impatient voice. "It's all jolly well for you - but I'm broke!"
    "Here - take fifty francs, darling, take a hundred!" I saw Mrs. Raddick pressing notes into her hand as they passed through the swing doors.
    Hennie and I stood on the steps a minute, watching the people. He had a very broad, delighted smile.
    "I say," he cried, "there's an English bulldog. Are they allowed to take dogs in there?"
    "He's a ripping chap, isn't he? I wish I had one. They're such fun. They frighten people so, and they're never fierce with their - the people they belong to." Suddenly he squeezed my arm. "I say, do look at that old woman. Who is she? Why does she look like that? Is she a gambler?"
    The ancient, withered creature, wearing a green satin dress, a black velvet cloak and a white hat with purple feathers, jerked slowly, slowly up the steps as though she were being drawn up on wires. She stared in front of her, she was laughing and nodding and cackling to herself; her claws clutched round what looked like a dirty boot-bag.
    But just at that moment there was Mrs. Raddick again with - her - and another lady hovering in the background. Mrs. Raddick rushed at me. She was brightly flushed, gay, a different creature. She was like a woman who is saying "good-bye" to her friends on the station platform, with not a minute to spare before the train starts.
    "Oh, you're here, still. Isn't that lucky! You've not gone. Isn't that fine! I've had the most dreadful time with - her," and she waved to her daughter, who stood absolutely still, disdainful, looking down, twiddling her foot on the step, miles away. "They won't let her in. I swore she was twenty-one. But they won't believe me. I showed the man my purse; I didn't dare to do more. But it was no use. He simply scoffed ... And now I've just met Mrs. MacEwen from New York, and she just won thirteen thousand in the Salle Privee - and she wants me to go back with her while the luck lasts. Of course I can't leave - her. But if you'd--"
    At that "she" looked up; she simply withered her mother. "Why can't you leave me?" she said furiously. "What utter rot! How dare you make a scene like this? This is the last time I'll come out with you. You really are too awful for words." She looked her mother up and down. "Calm yourself," she said superbly.
    Mrs. Raddick was desperate, just desperate. She was "wild" to go back with Mrs. MacEwen, but at the same time ...
    I seized my courage. "Would you - do you care to come to tea with - us?"
    "Yes, yes, she'll be delighted. That's just what I wanted, isn't it, darling? Mrs. MacEwen ... I'll be back here in an hour ... or less ... I'll--"
    Mrs. R. dashed up the steps. I saw her bag was open again.
    So we three were left. But really it wasn't my fault. Hennie looked crushed to the earth, too. When the car was there she wrapped her dark coat round her - to escape contamination. Even her little feet looked as though they scorned to carry her down the steps to us.
    "I am so awfully sorry," I murmured as the car started.
    "Oh, I don't mind," said she. "I don't want to look twenty-one. Who would - if they were seventeen! It's" - and she gave a faint shudder - "the stupidity I loathe, and being stared at by old fat men. Beasts!"
    Hennie gave her a quick look and then peered out of the window.
    We drew up before an immense palace of pink-and-white marble with orange-trees outside the doors in gold-and-black tubs.
    "Would you care to go in?" I suggested.
    She hesitated, glanced, bit her lip, and resigned herself. "Oh well, there seems nowhere else," said she. "Get out, Hennie."
    I went first - to find the table, of course - she followed. But the worst of it was having her little brother, who was only twelve, with us. That was the last, final straw - having that child, trailing at her heels.
    There was one table. It had pink carnations and pink plates with little blue tea-napkins for sails.
    She put her hand wearily on the back of a white wicker chair.
    "We may as well. Why not?" said she.
    Hennie squeezed past her and wriggled on to a stool at the end. He felt awfully out of it. She didn't even take her gloves off. She lowered her eyes and drummed on the table. When a faint violin sounded she winced and bit her lip again. Silence.
    The waitress appeared. I hardly dared to ask her. "Tea - coffee? China tea - or iced tea with lemon?"
    Really she didn't mind. It was all the same to her. She didn't really want anything. Hennie whispered, "Chocolate!"
    But just as the waitress turned away she cried out carelessly, "Oh, you may as well bring me a chocolate, too."
    While we waited she took out a little, gold powder-box with a mirror in the lid, shook the poor little puff as though she loathed it, and dabbed her lovely nose.
    "Hennie," she said, "take those flowers away." She pointed with her puff to the carnations, and I heard her murmur, "I can't bear flowers on a table." They had evidently been giving her intense pain, for she positively closed her eyes as I moved them away.
    The waitress came back with the chocolate and the tea. She put the big, frothing cups before them and pushed across my clear glass. Hennie buried his nose, emerged, with, for one dreadful moment, a little trembling blob of cream on the tip. But he hastily wiped it off like a little gentleman. I wondered if I should dare draw her attention to her cup. She didn't notice it - didn't see it - until suddenly, quite by chance, she took a sip. I watched anxiously; she faintly shuddered.
    "Dreadfully sweet!" said she.
    A tiny boy with a head like a raisin and a chocolate body came round with a tray of pastries - row upon row of little freaks, little inspirations, little melting dreams. He offered them to her. "Oh, I'm not at all hungry. Take them away."
    He offered them to Hennie. Hennie gave me a swift look - it must have been satisfactory - for he took a chocolate cream, a coffee eclair, a meringue stuffed with chestnut and a tiny horn filled with fresh strawberries. She could hardly bear to watch him. But just as the boy swerved away she held up her plate.
    "Oh well, give me one," said she.
    The silver tongs dropped one, two, three - and a cherry tartlet. "I don't know why you're giving me all these," she said, and nearly smiled. "I shan't eat them; I couldn't!"
    I felt much more comfortable. I sipped my tea, leaned back, and even asked if I might smoke. At that she paused, the fork in her hand, opened her eyes, and really did smile. "Of course," said she. "I always expect people to."
    But at that moment a tragedy happened to Hennie. He speared his pastry horn too hard, and it flew in two, and one half spilled on the table. Ghastly affair! He turned crimson. Even his ears flared, and one ashamed hand crept across the table to take what was left of the body away.
    "You utter little beast!" said she.
    Good heavens! I had to fly to the rescue. I cried hastily, "Will you be abroad long?"
    But she had already forgotten Hennie. I was forgotten, too. She was trying to remember something ... She was miles away.
    "I - don't - know," she said slowly, from that far place.
    "I suppose you prefer it to London. It's more - more--"
    When I didn't go on she came back and looked at me, very puzzled. "More--?"
    "Enfin - gayer," I cried, waving my cigarette.
    But that took a whole cake to consider. Even then, "Oh well, that depends!" was all she could safely say.
    Hennie had finished. He was still very warm.
    I seized the butterfly list off the table. "I say - what about an ice, Hennie? What about tangerine and ginger? No, something cooler. What about a fresh pineapple cream?"
    Hennie strongly approved. The waitress had her eye on us. The order was taken when she looked up from her crumbs.
    "Did you say tangerine and ginger? I like ginger. You can bring me one." And then quickly, "I wish that orchestra wouldn't play things from the year One. We were dancing to that all last Christmas. It's too sickening!"
    But it was a charming air. Now that I noticed it, it warmed me.
    "I think this is rather a nice place, don't you, Hennie?" I said.
    Hennie said: "Ripping!" He meant to say it very low, but it came out very high in a kind of squeak.
    Nice? This place? Nice? For the first time she stared about her, trying to see what there was ... She blinked; her lovely eyes wondered. A very good-looking elderly man stared back at her through a monocle on a black ribbon. But him she simply couldn't see. There was a hole in the air where he was. She looked through and through him.
    Finally the little flat spoons lay still on the glass plates. Hennie looked rather exhausted, but she pulled on her white gloves again. She had some trouble with her diamond wrist-watch; it got in her way. She tugged at it - tried to break the stupid little thing - it wouldn't break. Finally, she had to drag her glove over. I saw, after that, she couldn't stand this place a moment longer, and, indeed, she jumped up and turned away while I went through the vulgar act of paying for the tea.
    And then we were outside again. It had grown dusky. The sky was sprinkled with small stars; the big lamps glowed. While we waited for the car to come up she stood on the step, just as before, twiddling her foot, looking down.
    Hennie bounded forward to open the door and she got in and sank back with - oh - such a sigh!
    "Tell him," she gasped, "to drive as fast as he can."
    Hennie grinned at his friend the chauffeur. "Allie veet!" said he. Then he composed himself and sat on the small seat facing us.
    The gold powder-box came out again. Again the poor little puff was shaken; again there was that swift, deadly-secret glance between her and the mirror.
    We tore through the black-and-gold town like a pair of scissors tearing through brocade. Hennie had great difficulty not to look as though he were hanging on to something.
    And when we reached the Casino, of course Mrs. Raddick wasn't there. There wasn't a sign of her on the steps - not a sign.
    "Will you stay in the car while I go and look?"
    But no - she wouldn't do that. Good heavens, no! Hennie could stay. She couldn't bear sitting in a car. She'd wait on the steps.
    "But I scarcely like to leave you," I murmured. "I'd very much rather not leave you here."
    At that she threw back her coat; she turned and faced me; her lips parted. "Good heavens - why! I - I don't mind it a bit. I - I like waiting." And suddenly her cheeks crimsoned, her eyes grew dark - for a moment I thought she was going to cry. "L - let me, please," she stammered, in a warm, eager voice. "I like it. I love waiting! Really - really I do! I'm always waiting - in all kinds of places ... "
    Her dark coat fell open, and her white throat - all her soft young body in the blue dress - was like a flower that is just emerging from its dark bud.
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Once there were three little girls, Kathy, Lilly and Susan. They were all new to my school in the seventh grade and had come from different schools. But in eighth grade, when they were together, they turned themselves into a gang that was mean to other kids with increasing frequency and ferocity. Teachers knew it was happening, but the girls were clever and slippery. We could rarely catch them in a teachable moment or a punishable act. The most we could do was talk to them. As you can imagine, that didn’t change anything.
One afternoon, at the bus stop across the street from school they approached Johnny, a sixth grader who wasn’t so good with other people. He walked with his head down looking at his feet with his shoulders pulled over him like a turtle shell. Sitting there on the bench he must have been slouched like a turtle with its arms and legs in.
By all accounts, including one from a teacher who watched the episode from the other side of the avenue, the girls approached the bench, told Johnny to get up because they wanted to sit on the bench. Johnny did. They mocked him for a while and then, as the humiliations built to a crescendo, one of the girls threw her half-finished smoothie. It hit him in the chest and spilled banana-strawberry slush all down his front.
The next morning, I talked with the students, one at a time, in my office. Even though each of the girls had her own version, each minimizing her role in the affair, none of them took responsibility for the incident. I told them this was serious and that I still had to consider what I would do about it and sent them back to class. Then, I talked with Johnny whose story corroborated the teacher’s report, though in his humiliation he was not enthusiastic to talk about it.
I called Johnny’s home and got his mother on the phone. “I am glad you called me,” she said. “Johnny told me all about it. The stuff was all over him. I was going to call you.”
I told her that I would check in with Johnny and make sure he knows that I will keep him safe here.
I talked to the girls’ mothers and told each of them that I was going to suspend her daughter. That meant they needed to come to school and pick them up as soon as they could.
I told them I would let their daughters return to school when I knew that things would be different. I explained that when their daughters were ready to convince me that things are going to be different, they should call me to set up an appointment.
Kathy’s mom was horrified, and after asking a few questions to get the facts straight she said: “Thank you. I will call you after I talk with her.”
Lilly’s mother was at work and asked if she could pick Lilly up at the end of the day. I said that that was fine, and that she would wait in my office until she arrived. She was angry, but I couldn’t tell if she was angry with me or her daughter.
Susan’s mother came to her daughter’s defense, and decided that I was overreacting, that this was much too small an offense to merit suspension.
When I told the girls that they would be suspended, they were quiet. None of them tried to defend themselves. The only difference was the look on their faces. Kathy’s turned pale. Lilly looked afraid, but Susan had a confident little smile on her face.
That smile! I had seen that look before on a squirrel. One spring a pair of Mourning Doves built a nest outside the window of my office. I was able to watch their progress: the building of the nest, the starting of a family, and the incubation of the eggs. One day, just as I thought I would soon be witnessing the birth of doves, I saw a squirrel approaching along the ledge outside the window. Immediately I started shouting and banging on the window, trying to be as scary as I could. The squirrel just stared at me, as if to say: “You can’t touch me.” Then he proceeded on to the nest and methodically ate the eggs, as I watched, powerless. Susan was giving me the same look.
Kathy and her parents were at my office at 7:30am the next morning. Kathy sat directly across the table from me and spoke first, looking me straight in the eye. “Mr. Ackerly, I know what I did wrong. Even though I didn’t throw the smoothie myself, I was there and I didn’t say anything. I laughed at what was happening, and I know we made Johnny feel bad. I know I was part of what made him feel bad. I feel bad about it, and I want to come back.”
“Do you think that what you did was harassment?”
Pause. “Well, yes, sort of. I participated in harassment.”
“Yes, you did. Can you think of anything you can do to fix it?” Thoughtful look on her face; pause;
“I can’t really fix it. I can talk to Johnny.”
“I don’t know. I would say I’m sorry, but I know that wouldn’t fix it, and I don’t know what else I could do.”
“Is there anything else you can do?”
Long pause. “I can tell you that I will not harass anyone again.”
She looked down at the tabletop, and then back up into my eyes.
“Kathy, good job. I believe you. I want you to come back.” Then to the parents: “Kathy can come to school today. You have a wonderful daughter here. You should be proud of her.”
“We are,” they said. It was 8:05am.
Lilly’s mom called that morning to say with exasperation and dismay in her voice: “Lilly is not ready to come back, yet.” (I knew she probably had to stay home from work. She was a single working mother.)
Susan’s mom, however, called me mid-morning to tell me how inappropriate my handling of the situation was and to insist that her daughter hadn’t hurt anyone. The next morning, she called again, and aske
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