Pale skinned, strawberry blond, sixteen year old sitter. 

I was on my second stepmom at this time. She had two sons, one a year older and the other a year younger. Man, we were always fighting and of course they'd ganged up on me; not to mention that their mother favored them, only natural...even more reason that my distain for her was elevated to extreme levels. We were "family" for three years.

I don't recall the sitter's name but, I'd imagine that it was something sweet like Candy, Chris (for some reason this feminine moniker prompts thoughts of fluffy, light pink, cotton candy) or some other iteration that made a virulent member of the male species day dream of soft strawberry ice cream , slowly melting in your mouth on a hot summer day. Yep, it was like that. 

She became my favorite sitter. 

It pleasantly began while she was attending me in my bath. I was solo this night. There was three of us but, we could only draw two baths. We alternated so that we'd have solo nights.

I was soaking in the tub and she enters the bathroom, naked with a red, sheer scarf wrapped around her waist. I could perceive a red, thick, curly mound of dusty reddish, blonde carpet, nestled between her slender hips and I was mesmerized. Fuck, I was eight. I'd see girls and crush on 'em, hold a hand, maybe get a peck on the cheek or lips but, by no means did I ever imagine this. She put my face into her magnificent womaness and I inhaled.

She dried me off and massaged me, placed her mouth upon me. She was much taller, so she had me stand on the commode.

She'd have sex with the three of us, individually. I remember that my folks had a poster of the sexual positions of the zodiac in black silhouette; we attempted them all. The most distinct memory from that episode was that her ass stank. I mean, my nose was all up in it and I was not happy about that.

There were a few sitters to choose from and as you can imagine we always requested her.

This transpired over a year or so. 

We moved into a large house in the burbs with a pool.

So, no more Preachers Daughter.

Hmmm...she'd be fifty eight.


franz antoni