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With special thanks to ROBERTODAVO, Bumknee52, Josie_03, and Mary_K_Kinkster who offered me good advice about pacing and character development on my first few stories!

*****

OK, I'll admit it. In my late 30's, I've become a dirty old man.

Maybe it's man-o-pause or a midlife crisis, but I can't stop admiring much younger women lately. It's been a thing for a couple of years, and although I am discreet about it (I think!), it's a constant struggle.

In my normal workday in the IT department, there isn't much to look at. We're all guys from 22 to 52, and there aren't many young women anywhere in the company. Every now and then, someone gets an intern, or a daughter stops by, but what can you do besides glance quickly at work? Very unsatisfying.

On the street, however, is a different story. As the weather warms up, girls all around New Haven and the surrounding towns emerge from their winter jackets like butterflies and stretch their lithe young bodies in the sun. My sunglasses are a permanent fixture-I learned that in Creep 101, I believe-and I choose my lunch spots and my errands based on the traffic patterns of the local colleges. A good day lets me fill my senses with beautiful college-aged girls.

In the next town over where I live, the encounters are often more personal. Even though I don't have kids in the school system, I tend to see the same store clerks and cashiers in the places I frequent. Many of them are in high school or college, and they are usually quick with a smile and a joke once they get to know me. What? Me? I suppose that's worth mentioning. I'm 38 now, never married, six feet tall, and I keep myself at around 185 by working out, biking, and doing all my own housework and landscaping. My brown hair is mostly intact, and I have grey eyes. I'm sure they see a good-enough-looking, pleasant older guy and don't think twice about me.

One of my favorites started working at the gourmet market last year. I guessed from her wardrobe and her uncertain manner that she was a high school student with her first job. She was very pale, she had blue-grey eyes, and her straight blonde hair was pulled back tightly into a ponytail. She had a sweet smile, and she spoke softly to customers and co-workers. It took several visits to the store to catch a glimpse of her name tag-it read SARAH in handwritten block lettering.

Once she started working the cash registers up front, I tried to time my shopping to when she was there and end up in her line. Since I usually shop for just one or two day's worth of food, I had plenty of opportunity to see her. She was a treat-quiet and courteous, with a lovely fair complexion and a healthy glow about her. I enjoyed her brief company on those occasions, and the only hitch was that she couldn't ring up my period six-pack purchases because she was only 17. Other than that, she grew friendlier as her confidence increased, and she always had a smile ready for me.

Last week, the weather changed radically. We jumped from spring to summer in a day, and it was too nice to say at work. I left at noon, explaining that I had to take my car in to get the brakes checked. Instead, I headed for home. When I stopped by the market for beer and something to grill later, I was in for a treat! Sarah had gone from wearing jeans and a store sweatshirt to sporting a tight pair of khaki shorts and a form-fitting polo shirt with the store logo on it. All of a sudden, I realized that her charms went far beyond a cute smile and a friendly manner. From far down the aisle, I admired the sweet curve of her ass, and the stretch of her shirt suggested a pair of luscious full breasts hiding within.

I know, I know-I'm a dirty old man. One thing saved me that day, so cut me some slack! As I finished my shopping, I waited patiently until her line was shortest, then joined it. When it was my turn, she asked me how I was by name and told me how happy she was that it was finally warm out. All this with a ravishing smile that lit up her face. What a combination! Anyway, she scanned my groceries, and I reached slowly for my wallet, knowing that there was no rush because she would have to call the manager over to ring in my beer for her. To my surprise, she flicked it across the reader and dropped it into my shopping bag.

My eyebrows must have shot up in puzzlement. Sarah grinned even wider and said, "I don't have to call the manager anymore-I just turned 18 yesterday!"

"That's great-happy birthday!" I responded. "Eighteen is a big year."

I quickly fished out my wallet, fumbled out the debit card, and slotted everything into place. "Did you do anything fun to celebrate?" I asked innocently, thinking that she was 18 now, so I could imagine anything I wanted about her.

"Just family stuff-we went out to that new restaurant on the beach, then had ice cream. The real party is this weekend when my boyfriend comes back from college!"

Boyfriend. Of course someone this beautiful and friendly had escort ataşehir a boyfriend. I was surprised at the flicker of jealousy I felt-how could a callous young college kid appreciate the wonderful girl in front of me? As I tapped in my pin code, I managed some kind of response: "That'll be fun!" or some such.

She smiled in return. "I'm sure it will be!" she said excitedly. "Email the receipt?"

"Absolutely," I said with my best friendly older guy grin as I grabbed the bags and tucked my debit card into my shirt pocket. Then I paused awkwardly before leaving her with a rushed farewell: "See you next time...have a great weekend."

"You too," Sarah said, smiling and turning to the next customer.

As I walked to my car, I pondered the strength of my reaction. I was clearly feeling possessive of her, but why? Was it that I had seen her go from shy girl to confident young woman, and tried to help that process along with some stupid banter? Was it the sudden revelation of her amazing little body? Obviously, her turning 18 made it much easier to think about her in an intimate way, but I was as mixed up about her friendliness and warmth as I was thinking about her breasts and her ass. That train of thought led me down a dark road quickly...I found myself wondering if her whole body was as peaches-and-cream delicious as her face and arms were. I wondered if her pubic hair matched the color of her ponytail, or if it was darker. I wondered if she responded eagerly when her boyfriend...

Yeah, that was it. I was conflicted because I was jealous of her boyfriend. He got to kiss those smiling lips, feel that silky hair against him, and explore that ripe young frame. I felt an unwelcome and completely unreasonable stirring of anger as I thought about some fumbling frat boy tried to unclasp her bra. I imagined a look of passion on her face, quickly turning to a frown of concern and disappointment when his uncoordinated attempts at foreplay were replaced by a rolled-on condom and a quick, unsatisfying roll in the hay. She deserved better...

This completely unprofitable line of thinking stayed with me all the way home. I stowed the groceries, and then decided to take advantage of the phenomenal weather and mow the lawn. Swapping my work clothes for a pair of gym shorts, an old T-shirt, and sneakers, I slotted the battery into the mower and headed to the front yard. The sun felt great on my shoulders as I worked, and I quickly finished that section of lawn. As I emptied the clippings into the compost pile, I decided it was hot enough to lose the shirt, so I draped it across the deck railing and switched the mower back on. The backyard was three times the size of the front, so I worked quickly-I always challenged myself to finish both without stopping to change batteries.

I was five minutes from being done when I thought I heard my name being called. I let the mower die and listened carefully. I looked around, but couldn't see anyone. Leaving the equipment in position, I walked toward the front of the house, stopping to grab my shirt. I quickly used it to wipe the sweat off my face, wanting to look presentable in case I had a visitor. It was pretty well soaked, and as I stood there debating whether to put it back on or not, a very unexpected thing happened-Sarah walked around the corner of the house!

I'm sure my face was a picture of surprise, because she grinned merrily at my confusion. I stood there in disbelief for a long moment as she came along the side of the house toward me and stopped just a few feet away. With a taunting gesture, she raised her right hand, which was holding my wallet.

"Forget something, Steve?" she asked me in a teasing voice.

"Oh, my God-thank you, Sarah! I can't believe I did that."

"You seemed a little out of it at the store-maybe you're working too hard!"

"Must be that," I admitted. She was still holding my wallet, and to my amazement, her eyes left mine and traveled to my chest, down my abs, and over my shorts before quickly coming back to my eyes.

"Looks like you're working pretty hard here," she added with a smile I hadn't seen before.

"Well, yeah..." I added idiotically.

Her eyes left my face once again, slid across my torso from shoulder to shoulder, and then came to rest on my sweat-soaked T-shirt. "You should take a break," she told me authoritatively "Gotta stay hydrated, ya know?"

"Sounds like a good idea," I replied, trying to regain some traction in this conversation.

"Come on. You can give me a birthday beer!" With that, she brushed past me, still holding my wallet, and climbed up the three steps to the deck. She gestured toward the back of the house and asked, "This way?"

All I could do was nod. I heard the sliders open, and by the time I got there, my wallet was on the kitchen island, and Sarah was in the fridge, taking out two beers from the six-pack I had just bought. "Opener?" she asked. I pointed wordlessly kadıköy escort to the wide drawer in front of her, and she turned her back on me, set the beers down, and proceeded to open them deftly.

"Sarah..." I began. "I really appreciate you bringing the wallet back, but you don't have to..."

She turned to look at me over her shoulder, eyebrows raised.

"We shouldn't...I mean I can't give you a beer, for Christ's sake! You're only 18!"

"It's my birthday. We're in your house, and you're over 21, so it's OK."

"It's not OK! If your parents knew you were here, they'd be calling the cops right now!"

Sarah took a sip of one beer and pushed the other toward me across the kitchen island. "You're right," she said. "They would probably flip their chain, so let's not tell them!" Again, that smile.

"Sarah," I started again more seriously. "You have to go...you shouldn't be here in my house drinking beer and..."

"And what?" she asked with a challenging grin.

"And nothing," I responded firmly. "You were great to bring my wallet back, but you didn't have to. I would have come back to the store to get it! All you had to do was call me."

"Your phone number's not in here," she answered sensibly, "but your address is!" With that, she hooked a kitchen stool toward herself and sat down, resting her elbows on the dark granite.

I blinked at her answer. Standing there by the island, I tried to collect my thoughts. Why was this girl 20 years younger than me rattling me so much? Was it the conflicting emotions from before? Was it just shock that she was here? Was I actually nervous? As these thoughts flickered across my mind, I thoughtlessly took a sip of the cold beer, then realized with a start that I was standing in my kitchen shirtless, drinking beer with an 18-year old blonde in the middle of the afternoon-what the fuck??

"Sarah...really. I think you better go," I said firmly.

"I'm OK," she said easily. "Why don't you go take a shower or something and I'll finish my beer."

"Sarah...that's not a good idea."

"I like the way you say my name-you sound so serious!" she said laughingly. Then her tone changed to one that was almost scolding: "You're not my dad, you're not my boyfriend-you're just a guy who gave me a beer for bringing his wallet back. Lighten up!"

I gave up and chuckled. "Fine! Thanks for bringing my wallet back. That's excellent customer service. I'll be sure to tell your manager when I see her in the store."

Now it was her turn to laugh. "That would be great! I'm sure she'd make me employee of the month or something, right?" Another smile, and another sip of her beer. The bottle clinked on the countertop when she set it back down. "Actually, she's so dried up and old that she would probably put me on bakery duty for life and I'd be stuck in the back and you'd never see me again!"

"That would be a shame," I told her, playing right along now. "But she's not that old-we're probably the same age!"

"I didn't say YOU were old," Sarah fired back. "I said SHE was dried up and old. You're not old, and you're definitely dried up!" Once again, I watched her eyes travel over my body speculatively. Very lightly, I saw her bite her lower lip.

For a moment, when she saw me watching her, her confidence seemed to waver. That's more like it, I thought to myself. I shouldn't be letting this kid run the conversation!

Her next words, however, stood that idea on its head. "So why do you like seeing me there so much?" she asked mockingly. "Is it my sparkling personality? Do you like the way I ring you up?"

Innocent words, but a world of double entendre there. I groped for a comeback, but she was faster. "I know-you're happy I'm finally 18 so I can sell you beer all by myself, right? Is that it? You like that I'm 18 now?"

Those words hung in the air like dynamite, and we both digested their implications.

This time, though, it was my eyes that gave me away. She's 18. She's legal. She's hot. I've never seen her body before. I can look at her and not be a total pervert, right? Reflexively, my eyes followed my thoughts and flickered from her smiling face to her firm breasts, across the pale smooth skin of her arms, and back to her blue-grey eyes. When our gazes met, I saw that she knew what I was thinking.

"That's right, Steve," she said softly, standing up from the kitchen stool. "I'm 18 now. I'm an adult. And you just noticed my body for the first time today. What was it? Was it my shirt?" she said, smoothing it at the waist so it pulled tight across her chest. My eyes were riveted there.

She took a step or two around the island so I could see all of her, then turned her back. Lifting the hem of her shirt up to her waist, she stood on tiptoes, which flexed her legs and ass appealingly. "Was it my shorts, Steve? Did you like seeing my ass like this?"

"Everything..." I said softly. "I liked seeing all of you..."

"You maltepe escort bayan haven't seen all of me, Steve. You've seen my ass in shorts, and you've seen my boobs in this shirt, and you've seen my face all winter. Do you want to see all of me?"

I was speechless, but I nodded, stunned by this turn in the conversation.

She approached me and reached out to touch my shoulders, then traced her hands down my chest, my stomach, and finally around my waist to land firmly on my ass. Her body came against mine, and she looked up into my eyes and gave me a quick peck on the lips.

"I want to see all of you, too. Let's go get you cleaned up!"

That's how I found myself being led down my own hallway to the master bathroom. Part of me was thrilled-naturally-and part of me was puzzled at how this had come so far so fast. Either way, I found myself turning on the shower while Sarah stripped her polo shirt off and reached behind herself to unclasp her bra. When she leaned forward to let it fall off her arms, her breasts came into view. They were magnificent! Pale, firm, and much larger than her shirt had allowed me to imagine. I wanted to touch them, to feel their heft and pinch the delightful pink nipples that crowned them, but something held me back. She smiled at my appreciative gaze, though, and pushed her upper arms in to push them together, then gave them a little shake.

"You'll get your chance in a minute!" she said with a smile, pausing to kick off her sneakers.

When she nonchalantly pushed her shorts and panties down her legs, my heart started racing. Just as I imagined, her neatly trimmed pubic hair was a shade darker than her pony tail, and her ass was a symphony of full, sweet curves. Smooth, sexy belly. Lean muscles highlighting her beautiful back, her shoulders, and her legs. Her creamy skin glowing with health. She stood up proudly, and my eyes drank her in. I felt intoxicated, suddenly overwhelmed by the thrill of this sudden turn of events. How had this happened?

It was still happening, though. Clearly comfortable in her own skin, Sarah let me admire for another few moments, grinning at my discomfiture. Then she looked me up and down and said, "You're wearing entirely too many clothes to be standing there gawking, Steve!"

With a quick movement, she pushed the waistband of my shorts and underwear down my hips a little bit. "Take those off-it's my turn to gawk!"

Trying to match her confidence, I shoved my remaining clothes down to my ankles and stepped out of them. I kicked off my grass-stained sneakers, then straightened up. Sarah let her eyes travel over my body from head to toe, then wordlessly nudged my shoulder to turn me around. As I complied, her hand ran from my shoulder, down my back, and over my ass to my upper thigh. My cock, already thickening from the excitement of her naked body so close to me, swelled even more when her hands went to my shoulders again. This time, I could feel her standing close behind me, her breasts grazing my back. Her hands ran over my biceps, then inward to explore my pecs, trailed down the center of my abdomen, and parted to end up the top of each thigh. I was eager for her to touch me more intimately, but she didn't.

"Very nice, Steve," she said softly from behind me. "But you still need to get clean before things go any further!"

The word "further" brought a grin to my face. Sarah didn't notice, though, because she was behind me, pushing me gently into the shower. Fortunately, there was plenty of room because she stepped in behind me and closed the glass door. "Rinse off," she directed.

I ducked my head and washed the sweat out of my hair, off my face, and then opened my eyes. Sarah had grabbed the soap and was lathering up a washcloth. Eager to see what she would do with them, I rinsed under my arms, let the water hit my chest for a second or two, and turned to face her. She stood in front of me smiling as the water cascaded onto my back.

Sarah was close enough that my cock nudged her hip when she began washing me. Using the washcloth, she made circles across from shoulder to shoulder, then started up and down my chest and stomach. I'm not picky enough to shave my chest or anything, but I do keep myself "man-scaped" and neat. Sarah seems fascinated by the interaction of soap and chest hair. A little smile played across her lips as she brushed it first one way, then the other.

As the soapy water ran down my chest, it created a slippery layer between our bellies. My cock was now fully erect, and stood trapped between us. Sarah followed the trail of hair down the center of my stomach, and then moved back to stroke the underside as it faced her. That made my erection flex, and she gave a girlish giggle in response. Hanging the washcloth up, she soaped her hands and started lavishing attention on my groan in earnest. Her hands twisted and swirled from crown to base and back again, sweeping low to include my balls, and then gripping tightly once everything was slippery enough. The motion was hypnotic. Lost in a haze of pleasure, I braced my arm on the shower wall and watched her beautiful face as she worked. Her breasts moved in rhythm with her arms, and she seemed intent on getting me really clean.