It was my first time home after starting college, and I was home with my family. I was a bit tired, having crammed 328 hours of studying into the last week of finals, but there I was, ready for Christmas.
After getting home, my mother asked if I would baby-sit for a neighbor. You know, earn some Christmas cash. "Sure, Mom," I said and thought, "I just want to sleep until Christmas morning.
It was down the street, and I really did not know the new occupants of the house. I knew they were friends of the family, or I assumed as much.
I knocked on the door, and a very handsome thirty-something black man answered the door.
I extended a hand, and said, "Hello, Mr. Thomas."
"Derrick. Call me Derrick. Please come in."
I entered the house, and the house was immaculate. It was absolutely beautiful, with no clutter at all. Does Mr. Thomas actually live in the house? I start to wonder.
At that moment, a cute little girl starts bouncing down the stairs. Molly is cute.
We exchange pleasantries, he tells me to help myself to food, and that he will be back later that evening. I was sort of wondering about Mrs. Thomas after he left by himself.
Molly and I play for a while, I get her dinner, she bathes and is in bed by 7:30 pm, a little earlier than I thought.
At 8:00 pm, I know she is asleep, and I go downstairs to read a book I brought on the couch.
I crack open Plato's Republic. I had taken Philosophy during my first semester, sort of a mistake actually. I had bought Cliff's Notes for Republic and promised that if I passed the class, I would read the book.
So I was going to read the book over Christmas break.
I was nudged awake at about 11:30 that evening. I had fallen asleep on the couch. The copy of the book had fallen to the floor.
"Mr. Thomas, sorry, I must have dozed off." Oh, I was tired and disoriented.
Mr. Thomas was gracious, and we went to the kitchen to drink some tea. I needed to get a little less groggy so I could safely walk home.
"So," Mr. Thomas said, "I see you are reading Plato. Let's see if I remember this one. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet. Or something like that. Plato, right?"
"Yes, Mr. Thomas, you are right." I said. I was not sure it was Plato, but I wanted to appear smart.
"What is this Mr. Thomas. My name is Derrick."
"Yes, Derrick." I felt so grown-up. And we talked about my first semester, my thoughts my dreams. I was gabbing away, with soft Christmas music playing in the background. Old music.
"How was the party, Derrick?"
"Well, it was a work party, and they had Christmas carols that we were expected to dance to. Imagine a room full of stuffed shirts dancing to Christmas songs. Not my idea of fun."
"I don't know," I offered, "you can dance to almost any music." I was often disagreeable in school, and I guess it did not wear off when I was out of school.
Derrick looked puzzled.
I'll Be Home for Christmas was playing on the stereo, and I suggested we dance so I could show him. Derrick held me in his arms, and we slow danced. Goodness, it was comfortable.
At the end of the song, I looked up at his deep brown eyes, and he said I was right. You could dance to Christmas carols. I don't know if it was the slow dancing, the beating of his heart, or me feeling more like a woman than a girl, but I kissed him.
He was shocked at first, but he did return the kiss.
After our lips parted, Derrick said, "Leesa, I am flattered, but I must be twice your age. You're only 19 years old."
I was actually 18 at the time, but I did not correct Derrick this time.
"Derrick, we are both adults, and I was just feeling close to you. I like the kiss. Oh, but I forgot, you are married."
Derrick told me how he was divorced, and that Mollie was staying with him over the holidays. I felt a bit rejected, rejected because it appeared as Derrick was wanting to be safe. What the hell could I try? I just wanted to be close to Derrick.
I pulled my sweater over my head, and as my hair was falling back into place, me there in my white bra with a little flower embroidered between the cups, sort of a young-looking bra, darn it, I said, "I am not asking for a commitment or for sex, I just want to neck with a handsome man."
Derrick looked at me, looked at the stairs, and looked back at me. I don't think he knew what to do at that moment.
He was about to say something and I stopped him with another kiss, reaching up to kiss his wonderful mouth. And I stopped whatever he was going to say, and I may have stopped what he was thinking as well.
We kissed and kissed and kissed. When our mouths broke, oh how I wanted to kiss him again. But he was worried about Mollie finding us in each others arms. He asked if we could kiss in his bedroom, so he could lock the door, just in case. I agreed.
We sat on the bed and kissed for quite a long time. Oh, how I loved it. And then, me still in my bra, felt his strong hands start to pass over my breasts, slowly – cautiously – at first, and then more aggressively.
The next several minutes were a blur. I know I had to talk Derrick into doing more. I remember running my tongue over Derrick's perfect penis. His penis was lighter than I would have imagined. And it was the largest penis I had ever seen, not that I had seen that many.
I loved tasting the pre-cum, and quickly licked it off. I did not take him fully in my mouth, but I did tease with my tongue, breath, and lips. I was not a master at the blow job, and I wanted to hide my amateur-ness.
He produced a condom from the bedside table – was Derrick a player and I didn't pick up on it? I didn't want to hazard to guess. He placed the condom on him – to a relieved Leesa. Again, it would have been more awkward for me.
He took me, missionary-style, wondering if he did this because of my perceived innocence, real innocence or what. But he buried himself in my small, tight place and he methodically, slowly, wonderfully fucked me.
Every once in a while, he would pause to place a kiss on my neck, my face, my breasts. And he completely satisfied me down there. Oh, how he came, slowly and fully. Although I did not orgasm, I faked it convincingly.
We returned to reality – and he offered me a drink. I wondered if it were to compensate for his guilt of fucking a college co-ed or what. I declined, knowing I needed to get home soon.
And then it hit me, I was his babysitter. And he had not paid me for the job I performed. Oh, no, and now I did not want money to cross my palm. I would feel like a freaking whore. What to do, what to do.
As I was getting dressed, I think the same thing occurred to him.
"How much do I owe you for babysitting," he finally blurted out.
"Oh, I couldn't accept any money, Derrick. I just couldn't."
He disappeared and reappeared in a moment. He placed a necklace around my neck while saying, "I want you to have this."
It was coral – but I did not know it at the time, and oh, so beautiful. It must have cost much more than anyone gives for babysitting, or for whoring, for that matter.
I kissed Derrick for the gift, and left soon-thereafter. At other Christmas breaks and summer breaks, I would darken his doorstep and we would fuck like young lovers. Three years later, he moved, and I heard he remarried afterwards. But I still will fondly remember Derrick – and every time I hear I'll Be Home for Christmas on the radio, I get weak in the knees.
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