Living next door to Alice/Part 2
Living next door to Alice, part 2
I tried to focus on my work, but I couldn't. I was thinking of Alice. Of my concerns, and of my plans. Was it really wise? Wouldn't she freak out when I just approached her out of the blue? But no matter how often I considered the options, this was the best course of action. If I was right with my concerns, if this girl was alone and helpless and in need of support, then I should offer it. Regardless of the risk.
I checked the time, over and over. My laptop was still open, waiting for me to do something useful, add to my work, but it had been sitting idly for at least an hour already. Alice wouldn't be home yet for at least an hour, but I had to do something, had to get out. So I shut down, grabbed a beer, and settled myself on the porch.
Finally, finally, after what appeared to be ages, I saw her round the corner of the street. I once more marveled at her school uniform. A pleated skirt, with a red and dark gray tartan, short enough to show off almost the entirety of her smooth, slender legs. On top of that was a white blouse that extended to just below the diaphragm, a single button keeping the sides together at the bottom. If she had been old enough to have a bosom, it would have shown an insane amount of cleavage. I am not sure if that term applies here, though. While Alice is very developed for her age, she is still a 10 year old. Her breasts were not big enough to produce the effect I would associate with the word cleavage. It's just flat chest area. But yet. I looked at her uniform and figured that one false move might expose some of her swelling, perhaps even a nipple. How could this be considered a proper school uniform? Why were no parents protesting the dress code of this school?
I looked at her face, tried to study the emotion. I saw nothing unusual. Concentration, deep concentration, as if she was pondering the world and more. I did not see concern, nor happiness. Just deep, concentrated thoughts.
She entered her home, closed the door. I sat, watched, my beer forgotten. Watched to see what would happen. Would Joe come over, was everything okay again? Would she go to Joe, and if so in what mood? Or would she stay in her home, alone?
I waited. Fifteen minutes passed. Another fifteen. And yet another thirty. She had been inside for an hour now. Joe had not come over. She wasn't going to him. She was alone. She would stay alone. I knew that this could mean all sorts of things. She could be just doing homework. Perhaps she was on Skype, chatting with friends. Or perhaps she was curled up in her chair, crying, feeling lonely. Perhaps she was desperate over a hard math exercise, with nobody there to help her. Perhaps she had been in a fight with her best friend and needed an arm around her shoulder. Perhaps she had a first crush on a boy and needed a friendly face to talk to, to sort out her feelings.
I stood up, downed the rest of my beer. Started walking. Out of my own lawn, into the street, to the neighboring house. Was anyone watching? Why was I concerned? I was not doing anything suspicious. Not yet. But then I came at the start of the neighbor lawn. I could keep walking, go to the store, buy something. Nobody would know I first planned something else. But also, nobody would be there for Alice. For sweet, dear, lonely Alice. So I took a left, entered the lawn, walked towards the house. Now, if anyone sees me, they might start talking. Wondering why I would approach a house where only a 10 year old girl is right now. But then I recalled how I myself had been just happy for Alice when I had seen Joe do the same. If anyone sees me, I thought, if anyone sees me at all, wouldn't they, too, be happy to see someone caring for the girl? Hoping that I would do a better job than Joe? Oh I would, I vouched that. I would … if she allowed me to.
I rang the bell. Listened, heard nothing but the sound of silence. I waited more. Silence, still silence. Had she not heard it?
I rang again. Waited, waited more. Finally, after what felt like ages, I heard footsteps approach the door. Heard a door chain, then the door opened, just a crack, and I saw Alice's gorgeous blue eyes peek out underneath the chain.
“Oh, hello! You are Mr. Vile, right? Our neighbor? Are you here for mum and dad? They're not home now, but mum should be back by eight tonight.”
It was the first time I heard her talk from close by, instead of from a distance, through my window. Such a sweet, lovely voice! A nightingale could not have sounded better to my ears.
“Hi Alice! Yes, you are right, I am your neighbor. But I'm not here for your parents. I actually was wondering if I could ask you a few questions? We can just stay here and sit on the porch where everyone can see us if you feel uncomfortable having me in the house when your parents are not there. Or you can of course always say no, but I hope you will at least talk with me.”
“I don't understand, Mr. Vile. Why would you want to talk to me?”
“It may sound weird but I am concerned and I just want to make sure you are all right. I know you are often alone and I thought … well, perhaps you might want to have someone to talk to?”
She closed the door, removed the chain, then opened up again. I noticed that she was still wearing her school uniform, but the blouse was crumpled, the collar folded in. And the zipper of her skirt that I am sure is supposed to be on the side was on the front. She saw my gaze, and apparently drew the right conclusion.
“Sorry for my crumpled clothes. And for making you wait. I had to quickly put something on, I was …,” she paused, interrupted herself, “I was just in the shower when you rang.”
I nodded, decided not to ask why her hair was still dry. Maybe she had been doing some dress up game that she considered childish, didn't want to open the door in those clothes, and now needed a quick excuse. It's none of my business anyway.
“Come in, Mr. Vile.”
Alice turned, showed the way to the living room. I couldn't help to notice that she had a really nice, firm ass. And that it moved very nicely as she walked. This girl would definitely need someone to protect her from all the boys once she hits sixteen, I thought.
“Do you want a drink, Mr. Vile? I can't offer much, only water or lemonade.”
“Some water is fine, Alice, thank you. And please call me PD, It makes me feel old when people mister me, older then I already am.”
She fetched water, then sat down cross-legged on the couch opposite me. As she crossed her legs, I noticed that she had forgotten to put panties on. I forced myself to look at her face, didn't want to embarrass her by pointing out her mistake. And since I knew she'd find out later, I made sure that she saw me look at her face only. Once she found out, she would, I hope, think I never noticed.
“So, Alice, thanks for listening to me. As I said, I have seen how often your parents are home late. When you come home from school, you have nobody to talk to. I remember when I was young how my mother was always there, with a fresh cup of tea or hot cocoa. And if I had anything on my chest, she had time to listen. I know times have changed, I know lots of kids have two working parents now. But often, at least one parent gets home earlier. I am sure your parents love you very much and that they work those long hours to make sure that you have everything you desire. But I'm worried that you might sometimes feel lonely, when you come home from school after a bad day. Or when you are stuck with homework. Or have a crush on a boy. Or whatever.
“I think that every child needs to have someone to talk to. Not everyday, but often enough. And I was wondering … do you think it would be nice to have that? To have someone who will listen to your stories, who will comfort you when you are sad, cheer with you when you are happy, and try to help you with your problems? And, if you do want that, would you like me to be that person for you?”
I had said it. I felt my heart racing as I waited for Alice to process what I said, to respond. This could be misinterpreted in so many ways. If Alice took this wrong, all it took for her was to run outside, call for help, and whatever she'd accuse me of, the world would take for granted.
Then I saw her eyes light up, her lips curl. Smiling, enthusiastically, she said: “So what you say, what you offer … you want to be like a daddy or mommy for me?”
I smiled. Relieved. “Well, not really a daddy or mommy, Alice. You have a daddy and a mommy that love you very much, and I can never take their place. It'll be more like ...” I thought, tried to find a better description.
But Alice beat me to it: “Like a grandfather! One of my friends used to have a grandfather that lived real close, and when her mom and dad were out she'd go there. They would play games, or they would talk. She made it sound so nice. Would you please be my grandfather, PD? Can I call you gramps?”
I laughed at her youthful enthusiasm. I stood up, arms stretched. She understood, no words needed. She got up too, finally relieving me of the constant battle to not look underneath her skirt, stretched her arms. We met. We hugged.
“Alice, dear Alice, I would LOVE to be like a grandfather to you. A surrogate grandfather. But … please don't call me gramps. That makes me feel old. I know I am old in your eyes, but I'm only 54 and calling me gramps makes me feel as if I'm at least 70 already.”
“Okay, PD, I will not call you gramps. Or maybe I will sometimes, to tease you.”
She giggled, then sat back down. Not cross-legged this time, I noticed to my relief.
“So I can tell you anything, ask you anything?” she asked.
“Anything. If something is a secret, it is a secret. If you think something is weird, I will listen and not call you weird. If you did something stupid, I will not tell on you, not punish you, but help you find a solution. And if you don't want to talk, then don't. You can always come to my house. When I am home, the front door is always open so you can just come in, and I will make time for you. When you want me to come here, you can text me and I will come. And when you want to be alone, I will leave you and go to my own home. Promise.”
She sighed, relieved. And then she talked. I didn't ask her questions, I didn't try to guide the conversation. I just let her talk, occasionally nodding or hmm-hmm-ing, only asking questions when she appeared to be stuck.
She talked about school. How she felt nobody noticed her. How she often felt alone, especially since her best friend, her only friend in school, had moved. She talked about stupid teachers at school, about cute boys. About how she loved her ballet and piano classes, how she hated the colors of the school uniform and would have liked other colors better. As she was talking, I noticed that she often paused, pondered, then changed topic. I sensed there were things she was not ready to share with me. I didn't push. I was her surrogate grandfather, her person to talk to. She had the reigns, she decided what to talk about.
And then she stopped talking. We sat, together, in silence. I loved seeing how relaxed she had become after finally being able to get so much off her chest. But she appeared conflicted once more, was clearly considering something.
Then, after a deep breath, “PD, you said I can ask anything, and you will not laugh at me and never tell anyone, right?”
“Yes, dear child. Anything.”
One more deep breath. “I have been talking to Joe … the other neighbor … a few times lately.”
“I know, I have seen you together, Did he do anything that made you feel uncomfortable?”
“No, that's not it. He's a sweetie. But he used some words … about me … and I don't know what they mean. He called me 'precocious' … I know what that means, it means that I behave as if I am already older than ten. But then he also called me 'exhibitionist' and 'hypersexual'. And when I asked him what those words mean, he only said that they are the perfect description of me. I think he couldn't quite find the right words to explain better. Can you explain?”
I took a deep breath. Suddenly, in a single short instant, I felt pressure. I had expected a lot, but not this. These were not topics I had expected to discuss with a child this young. But, I had made a promise and I didn't want to break it. So I held my composure. Thought about the best response, and decided to be honest.
“I don't know if I can explain them completely, they are very adult words for a ten year old. But I will try. If I use any other words you don't know, please say so. And if my explanation upsets you, say so and I will stop.
So, an exhibitionist. That word is used for people who like to be seen by other people. But not just seen … they like to be seen naked. They like to go nude in places where they hope other people will see them, look at them. They do this because they feel more beautiful, even sexy, when someone else looks at them, and they see the admiration in their eyes. Or when someone looks at them and tells them they are beautiful. Does this explanation make sense? And … I need to ask, but are you now mad at Joe for calling you that?”
“Mad? No, not at all! I do actually love all that. I know I cannot go naked in public but I love to wear things that don't really hide everything, and look how people respond. Like … this.”
And then she once more crossed her legs under her, nodded her head in an obvious invitation to look down. So I did. I looked. I looked for a long time. Studied the smoothness of her mons, appreciated the form of her slit, the outline of her outer lips. Fantasized about the treasures that lay hidden between those lips. When I looked up, I saw the questioning look in her eyes. She wanted to hear what I thought. But she was also apprehensive, afraid that I might not understand, not accept.
“Alice, my dear, lovely Alice. Sweet, sweet child. Thank you very much for allowing this old man to see such immense beauty. Your pussy is amazing, I could look at it all day. But just as you already know that you cannot be naked in public, you should also know that showing your sweet young cunny to a grownup man like me is not allowed. I understand how much you love to be looked at, and I will admit that I love to look at you. But please, can you promise that you will never tell anybody about this? Because otherwise, I must ask you to cover up and not expose yourself again.”
“Of course I won't tell anyone, PD! I'm not a stupid child! I know that you would be in a lot of trouble, and I think my dad would literally explode if he ever found out. I'll never tell. But …” her voice changed, shifted from sounding like a confident sixteen year old to that of an insecure eight year old. “Would you like to see the rest too?”
I nodded, mouth suddenly dry. “I would like that very much, dear Alice!”
I didn't even have time to finish that sentence before her skirt and blouse hit the floor. She stood before me, naked, proudly. I looked. Just looked. Mouth agape.
I had always assumed that ten year old girls would be flat. I had already learned that this was wrong the first time I had noticed Alice's development under her clothes. But even so, I was still surprised to see how developed she already was. Now don't get me wrong. She's still a child. She doesn't have huge boobs or something. But she definitely had boobs already, and they looked gorgeous. Her areolas were small, with two tiny nipples.
And … “what, are they pierced!?”
“Yes, I like how even when I am dressed I know that people are looking at me and not seeing what I know. It makes me feel extra sexy.”
I allowed my eyes to wander down, had to admire her perfectly flat belly, her cute innie navel. My gaze passed the cunny I had already studied, further down to her legs. Smooth, muscular, but slender. The effect of regular ballet exercises clearly visible.
I had to return, back to her cunny, to her boobs, and finally to her cute, beautiful, innocent face, awaiting my verdict.
“My dear Alice, you are without a doubt the most stunningly beautiful girl I have ever seen. If I have to die now, I will die a happy man, because I have seen the most extreme beauty the world has to offer. And if I live, I will forever cherish this moment, this memory, and hope you will allow me to look at you more often.”
“Really? Do you mean that? You are not just saying that?”
“Every word,” I declared solemnly, “I mean every single word.”
Her whole face lit up. Her whole body smiled. And she got up, dropped herself on my lap, embraced me, and hugged me as tight as she could.
“Oh, thank you so much PD, I am so happy to hear that. Thank you!”
And then she looked up, pulled my head down, and kissed me. Not on the cheek, but full on the lips. A long, lingering kiss on the lips, Eyes closed, lips closed, and sensual as fuck. I was aware, very aware, how her legs were wrapped around me. How that probably opened her outer labia a bit. How her inner labia were now touching my crotch, only the fabric of my pants separating her pussy from my dick. I felt how she pressed her upper body against mine, how her boobs touched my chest through only a shirt that now suddenly felt very thin. I savored the taste of sweet young lips locked into mine. I was aware that my hands were waving somewhere in the air, unsure as I was what to do with it. I finally, finally gave in. I locked my arms to complete the hug. I felt my hands touch the warm, soft, smooth skin of her back. Allowed my hands to wander, caress her back, follow her spine.
Finally she broke our kiss. Dislodged her upper body from mine. She looked up, saw what must have been a bewildered look on my face.
“Oh, I'm sorry PD! I was just so excited, but I didn't want to make you uncomfortable!”
“No,” I stammered, “you don't … it's not … it's fine, really. It was a bit … unexpected, that's all. Certainly a child can cuddle and hug her grandfather, right? Even if he's a substitute grandfather. It's just that most of the children are not naked when they hug their grandfather. But with you being exhibitionist and all … yeah, it's okay, really!”
Though our upper bodies were no longer in contact, she was still sitting in my lap. Her knees were to the sides of my legs, her crotch was placed squarely on mine. Through the fabric of my pants, she must have felt my erection against her little cunny, but either she didn't realize what it was or she didn't care. She said nothing, made no attempt to move. She just sat there. Looked at me with those cute blue eyes.
“But you still haven't explained that other word, PD. What is hypersexual?”
I once more took a deep breath. “Okay, dear. So I guess Joe was right when he called you an exhibitionist. But I am sure that he was wrong with this word, and I don't know why he would even say this about you. I'll explain, but try to be calm. I think Joe was confused and he'll be able to explain if you ever ask him. So don't be mad at him, okay?”
I paused, she just nodded, patiently.
“So, when someone is hypersexual, it means that they want to do sex things. Now every adult loves to do sex things, and most adults want to do them often. But a hypersexual wants to do them much more often then other people. They think about sex almost all the time. And they want to do sex stuff all the time.
So, I am sorry that Joe said that to you. I don't know why, he must have been mistaken. You are just a girl, you're much too young to be sexual in any way, let alone hypersexual!”
I studied her face. Ready to calm her down, console her, or whatever was appropriate, depending on how exactly she would respond, now that she knew what Joe had called her. I thought I was prepared for any possible response. I was wrong.
She beamed. The happiest, warmest smile I had seen on her so far.
“Oh don't worry, PD! Thanks for explaining. And you know, Joe is right. I do think about sex almost all the time!”
She leaned in, whispered, as if we were planning a conspiracy:
“In fact it's not just thinking, I also do a lot of sex things already, whenever I have the chance.”
She then backed away, startled at her own honesty.
“Please don't think I am weird, or bad, PD. Do you?”
I smiled reassuringly, trying hard not to show my inner conflict. I would need time to process this fully, to really understand and accept her for what she is, how she is. But I made sure not to show any signs of that.
I just smiled my warmest smile, and replied: “Alice, dear child, please don't worry. I told you before, you can tell me anything. I must admit that I have never known that a girl this young can feel that way. But if you do, then you do. I am your surrogate grandfather. I love, I will always love you, whatever you do. I accept you, and love you, just the way you are. And if you need help, I will help you deal with this.”
Another sigh of relief.
“Oh, thanks PD! That's a relief. Oh, and please don't think that I just go around and fuck everyone I see, like a cheap whore. Not at all. In fact, I had my very first fuck just yesterday. Or rather ...” she pondered, then continued, “... my first fuck with a real man.”
I wondered what that meant. Was she talking about using toys? About schoolboys? I decided not to ask, not to pressure her for more information.
We sat in silence for a while. I had no idea what to say in this situation. And she seemed content just to sit in my lap, the truth out there on the table, and me still accepting and respecting her. Then, finally, she spoke up.
“PD, you said earlier that you will help me when you can, right?”
“Yes, dear child. Whatever you want, whatever you need, if I can help you I will. Or at least I will try.”
“Okay. Good.” She then leaned in again. I felt her bare boobs once more touch my chest. She moved her face close to mine, but this time not for a kiss. She moved her mouth right next to my ear, whispered.
“Would you please fuck me? Will you be my second?”
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