The guy I babysat for

I promised I would never tell anyone about this, but this site is anonymous and it was almost 25 years ago. I remember a lot about this, but some of the details that lead up to it are a little fuzzy.

As a junior high school girl in a rural town, I had a lot of babysitting jobs all over the place as everything was so spread out where I lived, so I had to be driven to almost all of my sitting jobs. When the job was over, the husband or wife of the children I sat with would drive me home. Most of the time there was very little conversation in the car and usually it was centered on how I was doing in school or how my parents were doing. Just idle chit-chat.

That was true for everyone except this one guy, Mr. Z. He was in his early 40s, a bit overweight, not a stud by any measure, but he had a great smile and was extremely nice. His wife, Mrs. Z, and kids were also very nice and well mannered and just a joy to sit for. I often enjoyed a long conversation with both the Mr. and Mrs. Z in their family room when they returned. They were so genuine and really seemed to care about me, almost like I was another of their children.

They called me once every two or three weeks to sit for their four kids and Mr. Z would be the one to drive me home most of the time. After four or five months of sitting for them, Mr. Z was driving me home one evening and I remember asking him what made guys my age such jerks. I remember that I had been out on a couple of dozen or so dates with three guys, and they all had made passes at me. In some respects, I felt more comfortable talking to Mr. and Mrs. Z about this than my own parents. Mr. Z said it had to do with unchecked hormones, but that I should probably ask my parents, since there were a host of things I should find out about from them. I told him that I had already had the birds and the bees talk when my period started.

Mr. Z asked me why I thought guys were such jerks for making passes, since when two people like each other, it is a natural thing. I explained to him how the first guy I dated wanted to rub my breasts when we were kissing after the third date, and even though I kept pushing him away, he kept persisting and that by the fifth or sixth date, I allowed him to remove my shirt and bra and rub and kiss my breasts, but I stopped dating him when he tried to put his hands on my jeans between my legs. I told Mr. Z how much I had said “no” but the feelings I had when he was touching me were so pleasurable and intense, I didn’t fight much.

Mr. Z, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, said that my own hormones were kicking in as well, and that I was at a very confusing age sexually. Even though I had started the conversation about sex, I clearly remember him using the word “sexually” and I blushed because I realized that it was in deed sex that I was talking to this older man about. I also remember feeling a little excited. Mr. Z shifted in the seat of the car a little as we were speaking, I assume to make things a bit more comfortable in his pants.

Mr. Z continued by saying that boys have a very strong drive to have sex at our age and even the nicest guys have trouble controlling their hormones. He said he remembered very well how difficult it was when he was younger. He followed by saying that we should not be having this conversation.

I ignored him, because it felt good to get this off my chest, and went on to describe how the second boy I dated got to the same point with me more quickly since I didn’t resist him taking off my shirt and bra and I even let him rub between my legs because it felt so good on one hand, yet I wanted to slap him in his face and make him stop on the other. Mr. Z again said he was feeling uncomfortable with the conversation. I told him how comfortable I felt talking to him and I wanted to know if he did similar things with his dates in junior high and if he was torn between his hormones and his sense of right and wrong.

Mr. Z protested that he felt the conversation was really not appropriate, but I also noticed that he was really shifting in his seat a lot again. I don’t remember how, but I do remember that I somehow got him to confess to his youthful indiscretions. He told me that he was indeed about my age when he and his girlfriend went all the way and how both of them felt guilty about it but were so hot for each other that they could not stop and how they had continued having sex until they went to separate colleges. He asked me to not say anything to Mrs. Z because he met her in college and had told her that he had never been with a woman. Mr. Z seemed like such an honest guy so I asked why he told her that and he said that he doesn’t know except that perhaps he was ashamed that he had already gone all the way when Mrs. Z had not. He said he had no regrets about his sexual past, though.

I then continued to tell Mr. Z about how the second boy I dated wanted me to rub him because he should have a turn as well. [I remember that I had my first orgasm with that boy after he had pulled my pants down and rubbed me over my underwear while kissing my naked breasts. I didn’t know it at the time, but I know it now, and I think he knew it too and that is what he meant by having a “turn”. During my birds and bees talk, I was never told about my own orgasms, just how boys ejaculate a fluid that makes you pregnant.] The boy pulled down his own pants and took my hand and put it between his legs. I was so freaked out I wanted to scream. I told Mr. Z that I had no idea what was happening and tried to pull away, but he held my wrist so my had had to touch him. Just to get out safely, I followed his instructions and rubbed him through his underwear until he ejaculated. I never saw that boy again.

Mr. Z said that it was wrong for any boy to force any girl to do something she didn’t want to do and that I was right to dump him. I told him how if he thought that was bad, that the reason I left the third boy would really shock him. Mr. Z indicated that he really didn’t need to hear it, but again, it was therapeutic to discuss this with someone, so I continued.

My last boyfriend, I told Mr. Z, had wanted me to give him something called a blow job because I would not let him go all the way with me. He had given me a lot of pleasure, with my underwear on, and I had rubbed him with my hands and body several times until he ejaculated. He liked it better when his penis was uncovered, so I saw and touched my first live penis with this boyfriend. [After my second boyfriend, I talked to my older sister about what had happened and she told me that there was nothing wrong with rubbing a boy or dry humping and that if I didn’t want to get pregnant, these were good ways to keep a boyfriend without going all the way.] He tried over and over to get me to remove my underwear and let him put it in, but I refused, so he started to ask me to give him a blow job. I asked my sister what a blow job was and she explained that it was another way to keep from getting pregnant, but when she described it to me, it grossed me out, especially the ending part when the guy ejaculates. My sister told me how she started by not wanting guys to ejaculate in her mouth so she had them do it on her breast, but some guys couldn’t get it out in time., She said that after getting used to it, she started to just swallow it because it left no mess and wasn’t completely terrible and the guys really like it when she does. I refused to give my boyfriend a blow job so he dumped me.

Mr. Z said that the guy was stupid, and a jerk, because I was such a beautiful girl with a lot on the ball and he was getting his needs met, even though not the way he wanted. I said thank you and feeling liberated from my daemons and also comfortable talking with Mr. Z, I asked him why guys always ask for more. Mr. Z said he honestly didn’t know, but that it must be something in the male genes because it was common to all guys. I asked, “You mean you are the same way?”.

Mr. Z blushed a little, shifted again, and said “Yes.”

I went on, “You mean you asked for things like blow jobs?”

“Yes.”

“Did you get what you asked for?”, I asked.

“Well, eventually, yes I did.”

“From your first girlfriend or Mrs. Z?”

“Both.”, he replied.

“You mean you got blow jobs from both!”

“Yes.”

Feeling enlightened, I asked, “What else?”

“Huh?”

“What else did you ask for and receive?”

Mr. Z started to really move around a lot and pulled the car over. He said that the conversation had to stop. I asked why and he said that it just had to stop. I pressed him to answer, and he finally said something like, “Because, even though I didn’t want it to do so, this conversation has turned me on and my principles are becoming confused in my head.”

“Wow!” I remember sitting in Mr. Z’s car in silence for several moments while I processed everything. I remember that it was then that I decided that I should not be so uptight about sex. I began to imagine what sex would be like, and what the other things were that Mr. Z did not want to talk about. I myself was turned on, and next to me was a nice guy, much older than me, with a great smile who I trusted, so I turned to Mr. Z, knowing that I should not do so, and asked him, “Would you like to be my first, right now?” I knew he was a very happily married man, I knew he believed strongly in the sanctity of marriage. I knew he would never even think about having any sort of relationship outside of his marriage, but right there in that moment, I wanted a man, and a man I could trust, to share my virginity with. I was hot and horny and I knew Mr. Z’s defenses were down. I really should not have done it, but I did.

I could tell that Mr. Z was beside himself on what to say or do next. He was torn between his conscience and his lust. His lust won out and he said, “Let me find a more private place to park the car.” We drove for a few minutes to the state park, where he turned off into a dirt lane with a chain running between two poles. He unbuckled his seat belt and reached over to put his arm around me as I unbuckled as well. I began to shake a little as I realized that I was about to become a woman, even at my young age. He slid over closer to me. (Back then most cars had bench seats in the front.) His first kiss was electrifying and he wasted no time in rubbing my breasts with his left hand. In fact, I turned toward him and with my right hand began to kneed his very stiff penis through his trousers. It was pure lust, nothing more and nothing less. He removed my shirt and bra and immediately pulled off my pants and rubbed my through my underwear. I had an orgasm almost immediately and squeezed him tightly with a hug afterward.

I said, “Ok, you turn!” and proceeded to remove his shirt, undershirt, pants and underwear. His penis looked huge. It was so hard and thick compared to my last boyfriends. I started to rub it with my hand and then decided I’d try to give a blow job to Mr. Z. I bent down to take him in my mouth when he said, “You don’t have to do that.”. I responded that I wanted to try and that I knew he’d not be upset if I couldn’t do it. I also told him to please let me know when he was going to ejaculate. He asked if he should just pull out and I said that I wanted to see what it was like to have it in my mouth, but to please let me know before it happened. Mr. Z helped me learn how to do it without using my teeth and how to us my hands and tongue. Poor Mr. Z., once I was finished receiving instructions and was into a rhythm, it didn’t take him long before he said “I’m cumming!”. Having never heard that term before, I wasn’t sure what he was saying, but of course, a second later I knew as he pulsed into my mouth. The first shot caused me to choke a little as it went all the way to the back of my throat, but I started gulping like I would a drink at McDonalds, because even though it tasted salty and bad to me, I was determined to swallow it like my sister. I was successful, but fell a little ill. I don’t think my system was quite ready for that, but I was proud of myself for doing it.

Mr. Z was breathing really hard with his head thrown back over the seat looking straight up at the ceiling. “Oh god, that was amazing!”, he said. I knew it couldn’t have been that good because it was my first time, but I suspect that all of the talk beforehand left him so horny that he needed a lot of relief.

My stomach settled down quickly as we held each other for a few minutes. I was enjoying everything so much and wanted to experience my first sex quickly, so I then reached down, lifted my butt off the seat, and removed my underwear. Even though I had never exposed this to any boy before, I was not shy or nervous about doing it. I asked, “Can we do it now?”. Mr. Z smiled and let out a little laugh as explained to me that an older guy can’t recover that fast and we’d have to wait a few minutes before we could make love. I was so hot I wanted to do it then, but his penis was droopy and there was no way we could do it.

I wanted more than hugging while we were waiting, so I asked Mr. Z to please rub me again. He started to kiss me again and maneuvered his left hand to my left leg and slowly worked it up. He started to rub a finger into my slit (something I had never experienced before) and started to press a finger into me. It felt very tight. Mr. Z said exactly that. “You feel very tight, even for a virgin. Have you never masturbated with your fingers or anything inside?”

“No, I don’t even use tampons.”

He blushed a little at the mention of that word. “Well, I don’t know if you know this or not, but when we make love, it is probably going to hurt, and hurt a lot and from what I can tell, you’ll probably bleed down here as well.”

“Why? Nobody explained this to me. Why does sex hurt when everything leading up to it is so pleasurable?”

“No, no, sex doesn’t hurt, in fact it is even more pleasurable than all of the other stuff, except for the first time if you haven’t already had your hymen broken.”

“Hymen?”

“Oh boy, I though you had already had this talk.” With that, Mr. Z explained everything about my anatomy and how it was going to change in a few minutes when he entered me for the first time. He used his fingers to show me where everything was and even tried to use his fingers to stretch me so it wouldn’t hurt so much. That started to hurt, so instead of going through a painful experience twice, he told me that he’d just do it with his penis.

I asked him if his first girlfriend or Mrs. Z had experienced much pain. He said that his first girlfriend bled a little, but didn’t experience much pain because when a guy is younger, his penis isn’t as thick. She said that it was like a bee sting. Mrs. Z didn’t experience any discomfort when they first made love because he had fingered her a lot in the months before they finally had sex and that even though she was a virgin, a high school boyfriend had broken her hymen when fingering her a few years before she met Mr. Z.

Mr. Z’s penis was getting hard again. He said that if I put my mouth on it and gave him a little blow job, that it would get hard enough for us to make love. I bent down and bobbed up and down for one or two minutes and then sat up. I sighed a huge sigh, and said “Now what do I do?”

I began to shake again as Mr. Z put one hand behind my shoulders and another under my bottom and laid me down on my back on the front seat of the car. He said, “If you aren’t ready for this, we don’t have to do it.” I said to go on. Well, instead of just mounting me, he tried to get down between my legs with his head. The space was limited so he opened the driver’s side door stepped out, and slid my body to the door. It was awkward, and when he tried to open my legs up again, the steering wheel got in the way. He asked me to turn around and slide over to the other door. I sat up and moved over as he closed the driver door and walked around, naked, to the passenger door. It was kind of funny watching him walk in front of the car totally nude in the moonlight. When he opened the passenger door and opened my legs, he knelt down with knees on the ground and put his head between my legs. I asked him what he was doing.

“It is your turn now. I am going to give you the equivalent of a blow job.” With that, he proceeded to lick me until I had yet another huge orgasm. It put me at ease and while I was still enjoying the feeling of my orgasm, he scooted me into the car until my head reached the driver side door, pushed my knees toward my chest, widened my legs, and pressed his penis into me a little. I winced as I felt myself open up to him. There was an extreme discomfort, but it wasn’t like the pain when his finger was a little further inside me. It was too tight. I felt a burning like my skin was being stretched beyond it natural elasticity. My early teenage vagina was being opened by his thick developed man’s penis. “Are you OK?”, he asked as I kept my face scrunched to try to alleviate some of the pain.

“Not really!”, I grunted.

He pulled out and looked down between my legs. “You are not bleeding, but the edges around your opening are red from the stretching. I am so sorry it is hurting so much. I can see your hymen now and it hasn’t been torn yet, so it is likely to get worse. How about if we stop here, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Ok”, I said and sat up behind the wheel. Again he hugged me and rubbed my back and kissed me again. Now he was shaking. “What’s up? Why are you shaking?”.

“I was just thinking about how much I am enjoying being with you and how much I don’t want to hurt you and how much I am now feeling guilty for cheating on Mrs. Z. We consoled each other for a few more moments. I was feeling ok, and again a little horny.

“Mr. Z., look, we’ve gone this far, what’s done is done, I’d like to try to finish. I know it is going to hurt. I wasn’t really prepared for how much, but I want to do this, and I want you to be the one to do it. You’ve gone this far. Please, finish

He thought for a few seconds and said, “You are right, we can’t take back what we’ve done, and while I know I’ll feel more guilty about finishing, it really isn’t doing anything more than what we’ve already done and I really do care about you and what you want. If I hadn’t already entered you, I would not be doing this, but I have so I will finish what I have started if tht’s what you really want.”

“I do.” The words stuck funny in my head, thinking about his wife and the vows they made many years ago and how I was here, with him, holding the power to make such a straight-up guy break his sacred word to his wife. Now I was feeling guilty, but I was horny and there were no repercussions for me, so I just went with my lustful feelings and ignored my feelings of guilt.

I laid down, pulled my knees up and spread my legs apart. Unfortunately, Mr. Z was flaccid again, so I sat up, leaned over, and blew him again until he was hard. As he expanded in my mouth, I realized that the stretching I felt between my legs was similar to the feeling of his thick penis in my mouth, especially the corners of my mouth, where I felt a slight burning, but not quite as much as the first time I had him in my mouth. After establishing his hardness again, I reassumed the position and he hovered over me again.

This time, he spit on his hand and covered his penis and my opening with the saliva. I could feel the slickness of it as he pressed the head in again. He went slowly and the burning returned, but not quite as bad. He inched it in a little at a time until the head popped in past the ring of my vagina. I felt an instant of relief as this happened, but it was followed immediately by the pain, only more intense, that I had felt when he had put his finger in me earlier. He was in, and the pressure the muscles of my vagina was putting on the back part of the head of his penis was trying to push the head through my hymen. I screamed out loudly. Shriek was more like it, actually. I felt him start to pull out, but I grabbed his back and yelled, “Push it in! Please get it over with! Don’t pull out!” I could see that he was horrified, but not knowing what else to do, he pushed hard and 2/3 of his penis was now lodged in me. The pain was intense. Nothing had ever hurt that much, not even when I broke my ankle at camp a few years before. Mr. Z didn’t move. The pain never really went away, but I was not feeling it as much after a few moments. I don’t know if it was because I was getting used to it or if it was really going away.

“Is it over? Now what?”. I cried. And I was really crying because of the intense pain.

In a sympathetic tone, Mr Z. replied, “Yes, your hymen has been torn now because I am in you way past that point. You should never experience that much pain again when having sex. I am so sorry it had to hurt so much.”

“It is OK”, I sobbed. “I am glad I did it. I want to start to really enjoy sex and you’ve been very patient and a wonderful teacher tonight.” I said as he was still deep inside my body.

“As far as what we do now, it is up to you. Normally, a guy would start to pump in and out until he cums inside you, but you may not want to do that if it hurts too much.” Mr. Z said, resuming the role of the teacher.

“No, I want you to do what is normally done so I can experience it.”

“Ok, but it may still hurt because your are probably pretty raw down there.”, he said as he started to pull out a little. I could feel the rawness of my opening as he did it, then he pushed back in and was even deeper than before. He did this slowly for five or six pumps, each time getting deeper and deeper into me. Each time, there was a sensation of something being stretched open for the first time as he stretched a new part of my vagina open. I could also feel something thicker than the fluid I produced when I was getting excited helping lubricate his motion. When he was as far in as possible, he started to move faster and faster until he stiffened up and shot his cum into me. As he was having his orgasm, he threw his head up, turned beet red, and held his breath for a moment before bellowing out a loud grunt after which he started to breath extremely heavily.

I was still feeling sore, but the pain had deadened by this time. After about a minute, he pulled out of me and I realized that the thick fluid was my blood as I looked down and saw his penis and thighs covered with blood. He said, “Don’t move!” as he opened the glove box and pulled out a stack of assorted napkins from fast food joints. He quickly opened several up, stacked them on top of each other, and slide them under my bottom. “There is a lot of blood and seamen coming out of you. Don’t worry, that’s normal for your first time. I should have put something under you before we started, but I’ll just have to clean the seat up later. How do you feel?”, he asked as he dabbed the blood off his penis with a few napkins.

“I’m OK. It is very sore, but I enjoyed it, especially watching you when you ejaculated.”

“It will never hurt like that again”, Mr. Z. promised. I was sore for a week after that, but it went away.

When I babysat for them two weeks later, I asked Mr. Z to please prove to me that it wouldn’t hurt again since I was a little unsure about it. He reluctantly agreed, and you know what, he was right, there was no pain, but I was sore the next morning, because he is so thick.

Soon after that, I met a sophomore boy from the high school who I started to date and had a wonderful sex life with for two years. In high school, I dated about a dozen guys, all of them nice guys, and all of them appreciated having sex with me. Four of them were virgins, or so they told me. I was much less uptight about sex and open to new things. Once, my girlfriend and I double dated with our boyfriends at a drive-in theater and wound up switching guys in the middle of having sex. We four were all good friends and it was just one of those moments. We were both on top of our own guy, who were sitting in the back seat, we were facing them pumping up and down when we looked at each other and I said “You want to switch?” to which she got off her guy and slid over to us while I popped off my guy and went over to settle on her guy’s penis. All four of us finished quickly, but we repeated it before the double feature ended when we were all able to hold off for a little longer.

Mr. Z and I made love a dozen or so times after that first time, including when I was in college and just after I finished college before I moved to Ohio. We would make plans to get together since I was no longer babysitting for them. He and Mrs. Z are still happily married and I had about the best teacher I could have ever had introduce me to sex. I am now married with three children, and I wonder if my husband has experienced any of our babysitters the same way Mr. Z experienced me.

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