I remember that day. My mother looked worn but excited. She voluntarily cooked up a feast for us that night. Meanwhile my father seemed more composed, as if he knew the announcement before it had left our mouths. I was smiling, holding on tight to a humble but nonetheless pretty woman who I was going to marry and start a family with. This is the standard trajectory in our family and broader society.
I take my eyes off the family photo to put out my cigarette. Light rain taps against my scalp, so I throw my plastic bags over my shoulders. Tattered shoes chafe the raw skin exposed by my torn-up socks as I walk. I glance around for a forgiving place that would host me while the weather mellows. The wind rattled the plastic violently as the rain grew heavier.
I am not the person in that picture anymore.
Reaching a bus stop, I drop the bags and turn to face the road. Annoyingly, there is a leaning rail rather than seats, so I make myself comfortable on the ground and briefly close my eyes, enjoying that the weather made this already desolate neighbourhood even more devoid of movement. I don’t particularly like being perceived by others the way that I am now. Besides, there are some people I would rather not come across at all.
My moment of peace is interrupted by brisk footsteps getting closer. A figure is hurriedly approaching the bus stop to protect itself from the now heavy rain. As it draws near, its features become less ambiguous. It’s a WOMAN, not YOUNGER than EIGHTEEN. She is wearing a purple tracksuit with a pink and yellow butterfly pattern. Her braided dark hair has a few wavy locks sticking out that adorn her reddened cheeks. She hesitates to join me under the shelter, I assume because of my unsightly appearance, but a quick glance around reveals that there’s not much choice. She passes me as if she is holding her breath and leans on the other end of the slanted bar, trying her hardest to avoid eye contact.
I had to get used to this kind of treatment quite early on in my homelessness. Striking up conversation with strangers comes naturally to me. Being sensitive and approachable was part of my job as a paramedic after all. If I attempted this now, people would assume I was begging them for money. Even people that do give me something tend to avoid eye contact and walk away quickly. I don’t blame them. I remember there was a university student who would always get me something as she was buying her own lunch. She did not look like the wealthy type, so I can only assume she had a generous heart; but we never exchanged many words besides “here” and “thank you”. One day, another homeless man approached her and begged her for money as she was giving me a meal. He would not allow her to leave, demanding more and more money, so I kept trying to intervene, but she was so scared that she just took out her wallet and complied. I never saw her again.
A bus emerges through the rain, but the WOMAN pays no attention to it, and it simply drives past. So does the next one, then the one after. I am on my second cigarette, starting to deduce that the WOMAN has no intent of leaving this stop. She simply stands there facing away from me, sighing, fidgeting, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, seemingly staring off into the distance. Sometimes she dares take a curious gander at me, something that I catch her doing more frequently as time goes on. In those brief instances, her face looks sad and contemplative. It looks to me like she wants to ask me something but can’t muster up the courage.
“What’s your name?” I ask her.
She turns her head slowly, as if she was trying to figure out who I could possibly be talking to.
“I don’t have any money.” She says apologetically while averting her gaze. I can’t help but smile.
“I don’t expect a MATURE WOMAN to help me. I was wondering if I could help you. You look upset.”
After some seconds of silence, she asks me with a perplexed expression.
“Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” I ask, acting as if I don’t know what she is referring to.
“Like a crazy homeless person.” Her genuineness makes me laugh.
“Things happen. What am I supposed to look like?”
“I don’t know, but you’re not talking to yourself like you’re crazy and you don’t act weird. Also, I’ve never seen a homeless person in this area before. Usually, they’re not so far off the city centre” She fidgets with the zipper of her tracksuit jacket.
“Well, I used to live in an apartment a few months ago, you know. And I’d shower daily.” I shift my body to face her.
She looks up from her zipper with intrigue. “Really? What happened?”
I gesture with my hands, as if trying to grasp the right words out of thin air.
“I made some bad decisions.”
The WOMAN turns to face me and crosses her arms, nodding towards my lit cigarette.
“Is it because of that? Are you taking strange things?”
I glance at my cigarette and laugh to deflect the attack on my ego. “Well, I guess that’s part of it, but not really the root problem. It used to be much worse. This is my only habit right now.”
After a few seconds of thought, the WOMAN continues her barrage of questions with a conflicted tone. “Are you a criminal?”
The question takes me aback, and I look down, deflated. The noise of the rain curtly fills the silence.
“I never hurt anyone, at least not on purpose. I more so hurt myself and the people who cared about me. I was ready to do anything to not feel so in pain and alone.”
I am prepared to see repulsion, but that expression of sadness returns on the WOMAN’s face, as if I had put the impossible into words. She looks me in the eyes, hers slightly glossier than before.
“I’m Emily. What’s your name?”
My chest feels light, relieved that she was not put off.
“My name is Amin.” I straighten up.
She smiles for the first time with a knowing look on her face.
“I’ve been meaning to say your English is really good.”
“Haha! Is it that obvious?”
“You do have a slight accent, but it’s not that noticeable.”
It is the first time in a long time that I am let alone acknowledged, but also being talked to like I am a real person, by a MATURE WOMAN of all people. She seems more relaxed and sits closer to me the more we converse. There are still questions I have about her.
“So, Emily, why are you out here in the rain all on your own?” Her smile softens, as if she has slightly withdrawn.
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to stay at home alone, so sometimes I just go on long walks to keep my mind off things.” She’s back to fidgeting with her zipper.
“Where is your family? What’s on your mind?”
Emily seems staggered, struggling to let out any sounds for a moment, but then takes a breath and speaks.
“My parents are never home. I get bored, so I go on walks.”
“You don’t have anything to do at home? No TV, or books, or friends to play with? No UNIVERSITY?” I ask.
“Well, they don’t think TV is good, so we don’t have one. I’m homeschooled and I like reading books. It just gets lonely. There aren’t many people around here, so I don’t have friends. I feel better when I go on walks, I don’t know why.” She keeps glancing over at my cigarette, as if halfway through her train of thought she doesn’t care about what she’s saying anymore and wants to get the answer over with. “Can I try?”
I blow out the smoke in my mouth and hand the small stick of tobacco to her.
“Are you sure? It’s not good for you.” But she had already put it in her mouth. ADULTS get into bad habits because of rebelliousness and curiosity. A little smoke won’t harm her or get her addicted.
“You have to know how to smoke it corre-“ My advice gets interrupted by intense hacking. Emily tries handing the cigarette back to me with tears in her eyes, but I refuse it. “No, you have to breathe it in slowly. Try again.”
I hear an “okay” in-between coughs, and once she’s done, she tries again. This time, she doesn’t hack as violently but still isn’t comfortable with smoking it. There is something amusing about watching her do this.
“You’ll get used to it with enough tries. When I asked to try, my father made me finish my first cigarette completely. It did keep me away from smoking for a while. Don’t make this a habit, obviously.” I reach out to take it from her, but she narrowly escapes me. There is a slightly unhinged look on her face.
“I’ve never done something so crazy before! My parents would kill me!” Her excitement is infectious, as if a new world had opened up to her. “But honestly, after getting used to the smoke, I realised you kind of stink. When did you last take a shower?” She asked with characteristic bluntness.
“I haven’t taken a real shower ever since I became homeless. I also don’t get to wash my clothes much. All my belongings are in these plastic bags.” I hold up my black bin bags. Emily takes another drag from the cigarette, then gets up, as if it gave her extra vitality.
“I have an idea! Why don’t you stay at my house for a bit? You can shower and use our washer and dryer. I was also planning to cook some curry today!” She says, highly expectant, while smoke comes out of her mouth.
I am taken aback by her straight-forward suggestion and unsure how to answer. I found myself asking whether I am above taking advantage of a MATURE WOMAN’s gullibility. She has not known me for long enough to gauge whether I am a good person or not, but I am not deceiving her. I have only been honest.
“That sounds amazing, actually. Having a shower and clean clothes would make my whole week. Are you sure your parents would be okay with it though?”
“They don’t really care what I do, as long as I finish my maths exercises and take care of the house. They get home late at night, but you don’t have to meet them. Just don’t make too big of a mess for me to clean up. Come on!”
Wondering why she would be willing to do this, I follow her through the rain, with my bags over my head. Her house is around five minutes away from the bus stop and occupies a large piece of land. From what I can briefly tell from the outside, the property looks old and badly maintained. I assume that it was passed down to her parents, who use it more like an inn rather than a home.
Emily opens the front door, and we take our shoes off as soon as we enter. I feel out of place, like I am intruding. The interior is bare, as if it was a freshly furnished house. No décor, no magazines, no scratches or spots on the furniture, no opened snack packets, no family pictures.
“You should head to the bathroom. I will get you a towel and some change from dad’s closet. When you take your clothes off, leave them in front of the bathroom door so that I can put them in the washing machine for you. It might take a couple of cycles to wash and dry everything in the bags, but we have time.”
I had no idea how laundry worked at her age. My mother would just do it for me, because I was supposed to focus on UNIVERSITY.
I do as I was told and step into the shower. A warmth that I had not felt in ages envelops my body as water streams down, and I realise how exhausted I was. Even this basic human necessity I have ultimately barred myself from experiencing regularly. I used to save people’s lives, now I am relying on a WOMAN’s help.
Despite everything, I probably stayed under the water way longer than I should have. Stepping out of the shower with newfound lightness, my body is free of itch and ache. However, regardless of the thorough cleaning, the water could not get rid of the grime under my fingernails or the blisters on my feet.
Emily had picked out a pair of sweatpants and a simple dark blue T-shirt for me. They are a bit baggy on me but are otherwise comfortable. I join her in the kitchen, where she has started cooking the curry.
“Ah, you shaved. Now I can take a better look at your face.”
She gets closer and inspects it with an exaggerated confidence akin to an artist critiquing a painting. I flex my jawline and slightly squint my eyes in return.
“Hmm, I give it a six out of ten.”
“Just a six?” My serious expression cracks into smiles.
“What? It’s higher than average.” She says while hurrying back to check on the active stove.
“What would a ten be for you then?” I ask half-curious.
Emily watches the stew intently, stirring the pot slowly. Then she puts a lid on it.
“Well, there is this painter I really like. Every painting of his I would call a ten out of ten. I got his art book from the charity shop. I can show you!”
She reduces the heat of the stove and excitedly dashes past me. Through a plain white corridor, I follow her braids into a room full of books and papers stacked on top of each other on various surfaces. One would have thought it was an office if it wasn’t for a simple twin-sized bed in the corner. Emily kneels beside a drawer, from which she lifts a large paperback with an impressive painting of a young brunette on the cover. Then she nods at me to get closer and hands it over. Flipping through the pages, I can understand her rating. The paintings have reoccurring themes. Angels, infants, lambs, young girls and women. Pristine skin, fabric, family.
I suddenly have more things stuffed into my arms, as if all the stacks of paper that I saw when I first entered the room were being transported onto me.
“You can show me everything one at a time, you know?” I suggest while trying not to drop anything.
“Here, this is a poem I wrote yesterday.” She points at it and throws herself on the bed, lying on her stomach. Her eyes watch me closely, sparkling with anticipation. “Go on.” She gestures.
I put the stack down on the desk to focus on the poem in my hand. Times like these make me wish I still had my glasses. I clear my throat dramatically and begin reading out her verse.
Stars slowly dissolve in the night sky
Wherever I walk, the moon seems close by
I greet her in moonlight, but she won’t say hi
Can she speak to me? Why won’t she try?
Her face had disappeared into a pillow. It takes some focus to understand what the muffled sounds mean.
“Maybe this is all I can handle showing you for now.” Is what I could make out. She gets up from the bed and takes the poem away from me.
“This is seriously impressive stuff for someone your age!” I state truthfully while she stuffs everything back into their respective compartments, as if she is trying to escape my thoughts regarding her work.
“Thank you…” She mumbles. Her reddened ears give everything away. I pick up one of the novels from her leftover pile still on the desk and skim through it.
“That one, you can borrow it if you want. I really liked it.” She smiles.
While putting things back inside her closet, Emily rummages through to get to the very back and pulls out a couple colourful, frilly, princess-like dresses. I let out a “wow”.
“I buy these from the charity shop with leftover money my parents give me for groceries.” She puts one in front of her and pats down the wrinkles. “When they get too small, I bring them to the charity shop.”
“Why leftover money? Can’t they buy these for you?” I ask, squinting at the thought of parents not buying new clothes for their growing MATURE daughter.
“They do buy me clothes, but… I don’t know, I just ask for normal clothes.” She puts the colourful dress back.
“Why not ask for things you like?”
“I feel bad asking for stuff like this.” She raises her eyebrows, her eyes wide. “I’m not supposed to like childish things anymore, or waste time with things that aren’t UNIVERSITY.” She leans her back on her bed frame and stares off at the ceiling. “They wouldn’t get it.”
The wind rattles tree branches against the bedroom window.
“I spent years making sure my parents didn’t know who I was. I was always scared to deviate from my siblings. Their judgement was the thing I was most afraid of in life.” After a moment, her expression suddenly breaks.
“In that book you picked up, there are a mother and daughter that talk like they are friends and share hobbies. It makes me cry, reading stuff like that.”
The mood has become borderline hopeless; she is even giving me the impression that she’s getting angry. I know better than to leave things like this.
“Hey, surely the curry is ready by now. Should we go set up the table?”
“I totally forgot about that!” She jolts up and hurries to the kitchen. Luckily, the sauce is only simmering.
I help Emily set up the table, and while looking through the pantry, at the very back of the top shelf, I notice a stash of liquor. It has been ages since I’ve had a taste of some good alcohol. I take some bottles out of their hidden spot. Emily notices and turns her head, transfixed by the coloured liquids in the fancy glass bottles.
“Huh, I see my parents drink sometimes, but I didn’t know they kept it there.” She stares at my face, and I notice that I am grinning without realising. “Are you going to drink it? My parents might notice.” My grin is suppressed.
“Well, I really shouldn’t, but they won’t notice if a tiny bit is gone. If it looks too different, we can always mix in some water or something.” I shouldn’t even be here in the first place. I’m just seeing how far I can push it. Again.
I take a bottle of bourbon and pour myself a decent amount. A whiff, and it’s like I am already drunk off the sharp scent of alcohol mixed in with the sweet and smoky aromas. It smells like good nights with good company.
Emily and I sit down and begin eating. The warm meal is the first I have had in months. The rich flavour almost pushes me to tears. After a few spoonfuls, I attempt to stop these overwhelming feelings with a few gulps of bourbon that scorch my throat, but all they do is make my eyes wetter.
“Emily… thank you. I can’t even properly express how grateful I am. Just why are you doing this for me?” I utter while hiding my face in my hands. I can’t look up and allow her to see my wet eyes. I wipe my face and reach out for another mouthful of liquor, but she answers.
“In that bus stop, you could tell I wasn’t feeling well.” Her voice is restrained. “When I saw you, I thought you were crazy, but then you talked to me… I don’t really know what I’m trying to say… It was just nice that someone talked to me.” I feel something soft and warm touch my hand around the glass of bourbon. “You’re my first ever friend.”
I look up from my hand, my eyes burning. Her face is blurry, so I rub off the tears immediately.
“Sorry, I’m sorry.” I blurt out hastily.
“It’s okay, Amin. Do you like the food? I can get more bread if you want.”
“No, it’s okay. I love it. This is one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever had.”
She looks down at her plate, failing to hide her smile. Emily then stares at the glass of bourbon that we were holding.
“Can I try?” Her doe-like eyes look at me, almost pleadingly.
“You really want to try all the grown-up things today, huh?” I say jokingly. “I bet you can’t even finish this tiny amount. It’ll be too strong for a MATURE WOMAN like you.”
“That little bit? You’re on!” It’s like I ignited a fire inside of her, but the moment she takes the glass close to her face, she wrinkles her nose and groans.
“I told you, you’re too chicken.”
I get up to grab the bottle from the kitchen counter, and when I return, Emily is downing the glass like medicine with her eyes closed. Her face turns tomato red, and her contorted expression makes me burst into laughter.
“How can you drink this? Ugh!” She yells in disgust. I have to take a moment to compose myself.
“It’s like the cigarettes. You get used to it the more you drink.” I pour her another drink, this time much more, and then take the bottle to my mouth to swallow as much from it as I can.
Emily looks at the glass warily but still manages to take a couple of gulps. “I can’t do it! It’s so bad!” She coughs, defeated.
Determined, I walk to the pantry and take out some orange juice and a bottle of vodka. “Okay, this might be easier for you to drink. It’s called a screwdriver.” I mix both liquids into a clean glass. “The OJ should mask the nasty taste. Try it.”
Emily swallows it like medicine again, expecting the worst, but instead she finishes the cocktail easily. “That was still bad, but not as bad as the other one.”
“You know, we can make a game out of this. Truth or dare. If you don’t answer truthfully or complete the dare, you have to drink the horrible juice.”
“You’re already drinking it willingly. That’s unfair!” She giggles. “But fine, it sounds fun. Truth or dare?”
“Hmm…truth.” I say while dipping bread into my plate.
“Boooring! I wanted to see how many push-ups you could do!”
“I would have just drank some more in response.” A loud laugh escapes my chest.
“Okay, so…What is your happiest memory?” She watches me curiously.
“My happiest memory…The first thing that comes to mind is going to a rave and then to a house party with some of my university friends. That day I had so many firsts. I felt like I was truly myself.” I reminisce the details of those memories. It’s a miracle I can even remember most of it with all the drugs and booze involved.
“They must have been great friends then.” Emily smiles at the thought, but in truth, I barely remember their names. I only miss the first high.
“Okay, your turn. Truth or dare?” I take another sip of the bourbon.
“Truth.” She leans her head on her shoulder. Dark strands of hair fall on her pink lips.
“Look at who’s being boring now. Alright, have you ever had a crush on someone?” I put my forearms on the table. Emily’s eyes widen.
“Uhh…I don’t really know. I haven’t even kissed anyone before. Who would even want to date me?” She says while playing with the spoon on her empty plate.
“If you treated any man the way you have treated me today, I’m sure they would fall for you hard, Emily.” I question whether that came across too strongly, but her shy smile was as radiant as ever. “That being said, you didn’t really answer the question. One swig please.”
“What? What should I have answered to that?” She smirks while drinking. “Hey, you were right. It is getting easier to drink. I can’t taste the horribleness anymore. Truth or dare?”
“Truth.” I do not feel like doing push-ups.
“What happened for you to end up on the street?” My heart drops.
“I told you…I made some bad decisions. That’s it.” I look outside of the window while sipping more of the bourbon bottle.
“I know that, but what exactly happened?” She is doing and undoing her long braids repeatedly. I take a deep breath.
“I told you how my parents never knew me…In truth, nobody did. I always tried my best to meet others’ expectations of me. I was afraid of judgement, but one day, having lived as this fake person for so long, I think I went crazy. I followed every single impulse I have ever had. Everyone that was ever close to me simply watched as I was wrecking my life and walked away, because this was not the person that they had known. I guess in that case I was right to conceal this from them for so long. I finally know who I am. I’m a piece of shit, Emily.” My voice cracks at the very end.
Her eyebrows are furrowed, and I sense the slightest smidge of fear in her poise.
“You’re not like that. You’ve been normal and kind to me.” She talks with her head up high.
“No, Emily. You don’t understand. I have done terrible things.” I hide my face in my hand out of shame. She shuffles a bit in her seat.
“Today, I think I went crazy like you. But I don’t regret it, because I got to get to know you. And I know that you’re not terrible.” This poor WOMAN doesn’t understand. I have to show her how terrible I am. I peek between my fingers.
“Emily, truth or dare?”
“Hm? Dare?”
“I dare you to kiss me.”
Emily looks at me speechless, not even daring to blink. After a couple of seconds, she finally talks.
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“It’s okay. I can show you. It’s easy, and it feels good. Come here.” I reach out to her hand and wait as she gets up from her chair before I pull her towards me. Her steps are small and hesitant.
“Sit on my lap.” Her face is somehow even redder than before, and even though I am only holding her hand, I can feel her pulse beating fast. “Are you excited?”
“Yes, I feel strange.” She says while resting her behind on my lap. I put my other hand on her waist to keep her steady. She feels so small and fragile in my embrace and seems as if she is about to burst into tears.
“Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay. You’ve been so brave today. You tried so many grown-up things, and those were fine, right?” Emily nods, tears building up in her eyes. I wipe them off with my thumb. Her skin is deliciously soft and smooth. “You can trust me. We’ve had a good time together.”
“I’m just a bit overwhelmed. I trust you.” In contrast to her solid voice from before, this one was much breathier and shakier.
“Okay, here I go, darling.” Emily closes her eyes tightly in anticipation.
My head moves forward and our lips touch. I can feel her hot, shaky breath on my face. I suck on her softness lightly until she stops shaking and slowly pull away.
“How did that feel?”
“It was…different.” Her eyes are glossy, but her breath is steadier.
“Just like with everything else, it feels better the more you do it. You kiss me this time.”
Emily’s face slowly closes up on mine. Her long eyelashes tickle my cheek while she brushes her lips on mine. I pull her hairbands off from the bottom of her braids and run my fingers through them to undo them.
“Let me show you something. Open your mouth.”
Emily complies and I wet her lips before advancing inside her mouth. She shudders from the unfamiliar sensation.
“Stick your tongue out, sweetheart. Do as I do.” Her tongue moves reluctantly. I gently comb my fingers through her soft hair and caress her scalp. Her hair is now fully down, and it is impressively long.
“Sorry, Amin. There’s something…” Emily shifts on my lap and wipes off the drool with her sleeve. I was pressing up against her.
“That’s my penis. It gets like this when a pretty WOMAN is kissing me.” I say bluntly.
Emily remains quiet but keeps shuffling on my lap. I can’t help but smile.
“What? Does it feel good when you do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” She hides her face behind her hair. Hearing that, my erection throbs against her.
“Emily, let’s go to your bedroom. I’ll carry you.” Without waiting for a response, I stand up, putting her arms around my neck and legs around my hips. I bury my face in the intoxicating smell of her virgin nape while making way to her bed. Her name reverberates in my mind as I grow more and more impatient. Emily, Emily, Emily, Emily. I put her down on the sheets and crawl on top of her.
“It felt good, right? Let me show you everything.” She looks flustered. “Relax. You trust me, right?” I wait for her nod before sliding my hands below her clothes and sucking on her neck.
“Wait, Amin! One second!” I go on to kiss and lick her stud-pierced ear while grinding my erection between her legs. My hand then makes its way down to her crotch and rubs on her clit.
“Do you like that? Does it feel good down there?” I breathe into her ear, but at this point she can only whimper, gasp, and moan. I pull up her top and slide my tongue on her small pale breasts. After a while, I wet my fingers with spit and slip them under her panties.
“Don’t tense up. I will go in slowly, okay?” She jolts and lets out a brief shriek when they stroke her entrance.
“Wait, wait, wait, wait!” She pushes my arm away. “I’ve never put anything in there before.” I kiss her face.
“WOMEN play with themselves like this; it’s no big deal. I just want to make you feel good.” I manage to soothe her by petting her head and kissing her lips lightly while whispering “it’s okay”. I push in one finger and her eyes shut tightly.
“Amin, it’s weird. Take it out.” She begs.
“Give it some time. Just a bit more, sweetheart.” Her hot hole wraps tightly around my curling finger. All the while, I am petting, caressing, kissing her, whispering comforting words in her ear until she releases her tight grip on the bed sheets. That’s when I attempt a second finger.
“Amin!” She yelps.
“Shh, you progressed so much. Bear with me a bit longer.” Emily scowls at the ceiling in silence. My mouth works itself down and ends up sucking on her perfect pink nipples. The taste her taintless soft skin makes me salivate like a dog. She puts her hand on my head, so I slow down. I want to submerge her in pleasure so intense that she will never forget.
My mouth migrates even further down, kissing her soft tummy, ultimately reaching her sparse pubic hair. I begin sucking on the hood of her clit while still fingering her. The moans become even louder, higher pitched, more frequent. It’s easy to know what to do just by listening to her voice. My tongue parts her hood and licks its insides. The stimulation immediately makes Emily’s legs firm up, and my head is squeezed tightly between her soft thighs. The smell of her juices puts me in a daze. At this point, her pussy is soaking wet. I pull down her bottoms off completely. Emily attempts to cover up on instinct.
“I’m taking mine off too. Nothing to be embarrassed about.” I take my sweatpants and underwear off. She stares at my bare crotch with her mouth open as I push my erection against her loosened MATURE pussy. “Emily, I want to make love to you.” Without waiting any longer, I penetrate her.
“A-ah, ah, aaahhh!!!” Her head jerks back. “No…I’ve never…aaaahhh!!” Emily uses her arms to attempt moving away but I push all my weight on top of her to block her escape. After a couple of thrusts, she gives up any protest.
Erotic sounds echo through the empty house. Her soft insides hug my cock tightly. Every exhale reeks of alcohol. I think about her RIPE womb and wonder HOW MANY YEARS AGO she has even begun menstruating.
“Emily…You’re an angel…You’re my angel…” She reacts adorably to every single one of my thrusts, and I can’t help but desire her more and push into her even harder.
“W-wha…ah…ah!” The poor girl could barely form any sentences. “A-am…in…Aah…!!!” Her velvety insides feel so good that despite being lightheaded, my body keeps going on its own. I want to devour every part of her.
“Yes…Emily…Yes…!!!” There is nothing that could pull me out of this tight underage hole. Regardless of whether she is fertile or not, I want to impregnate this WOMAN. I want her to notice her clothes not fitting around her waist. I want her parents to think that she is gaining weight. I want them to realise her pregnancy too late. I want her to be forced to walk around with a large belly bump, carrying my bastard child. There is nothing else in my mind. I’m such a piece of shit that I need to cum inside of Emily. “Mmh…hmm…!!!” I tense up, my cock pulsates, and all my pent-up sperm is released into her virgin pussy.
My body lies on top of her, my waning erection still inside of her vagina. I feel her small supple breasts rising and falling. After some seconds of rest, I lift my body up. I did it again.
Suddenly, both of us are shaken by rattling, creaking, and banging sounds.
“Emily! We’re home!”
I urgently put my borrowed sweatpants back on and scan for an escape. The window closest to me swings open after a quick turn of its handle, but tautness on my T-shirt stops me from climbing out.
“Amin…Please come back. Please come back to me tomorrow.” She mutters breathlessly as tears roll down her scrunched-up face.
“Emily, why is the liquor out? Why are the bottles open? Emily!” The voices grow louder.
I look at Emily’s pleading eyes and hurriedly say “I’ll be back.”.
She releases the T-shirt and I run across the garden towards the main road. I don’t even stop for a second to look back. I just keep running as far away as I can.