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“Open your eyes, Miss Field,” I whisper. Her eyes open, the haze of arousal over their dark centers has me lost for a second as I look at the beautiful doe-eyed girl beneath me. She slowly blinks, breaking my lust-filled trance and I ask, “How many men have kissed, sucked, licked, or fucked your sweet pussy, Miss Field?” The haze lifts from her eyes as a pool of tears takes its place, her lips start to quiver and her arms come up, pushing against my chest, trying to push me away. I won't let her up, I'm not going to let her go without an answer. Grabbing her wrists in my hands, I sit up, straddling her between my knees as I push her arms down beside her head, pinning her to the couch. “No, answer me,” I demand.
She shakes her head from side to side, “None.... none of it,” she whispers, her voice strangled with tears. Sighing, I nod. Letting go of her wrists, I get off the couch and then scoop her up. Sitting back down, I place her on my lap between my legs with her back to my chest, hugging her tightly against me. I lean down, putting my face into the crook of her neck and ask, “How?... How is that possible? You are beautiful.”
“I don't know.” A single tear escapes her eye, landing on my right arm. Leaning back up, I put my face in her hair, inhaling her vanilla and nutmeg scent.
“How old are you?” I ask as I softly stroke her hair where I just kissed her. “Nineteen,” she mutters.Nineteen? I knew she didn't look old enough to buy that beer.
“Didn't you have a boyfriend in high school?” I ask, still stroking her hair. “No,” she mutters, embarrassed.
“You’re nineteen, so you just graduated high school a year ago, right?”
“No, four years ago,” she replies, sniffling.
“Okay, I'm confused. How is that possible?” I ask, removing my hand from her hair. Leaning over to look at her, I continue, “You would have been fifteen.”
She goes on to explain how she was moved ahead, how she was so much younger than all the boys around her in high school so they treated her like a kid sister, not someone they would want to date. “Fuck, that explains a lot.” I shake my head.
“What do you mean?” she questions, turning her head to the side trying to look at me.
“Well, the virgin thing for one. And, while you were buried in books with people who saw and treated you like a child, sheltering you from things normal teenagers do, your real peers, the people you should have been around, were out partying, having fun, and having sex. I think maybe you’re getting all the stuff you missed out on out of your system. Although, you are taking the wild crazy stage to a whole new level. Doing crazy-ass shit like selling weed, handling guns you know nothing about, taking risks no one should be taking.”
“So, you think I'm a kid too?” she sighs.
“No, I don't. I think your cute and sexy as hell, but I think you do stupid shit ’cause there is no one around to stop you. You were so smart growing up, no one ever thought or maybe cared to teach you boundaries. You were and still are a very spoiled brat,” I explain.
“I just do what I want,” she snaps stubbornly.
“Like buying beer or giving someone money to buy you beer when you’re not twenty-one?” I point to the beer bottles on the table.
“Oh, I didn't buy or have anyone buy that, I stole it,” she replies in a serious voice.
“What?” I shout, sitting up, leaning over to look her in the face.
She bursts out laughing then continues, “I'm kidding, I didn't steal it. I just pass the guys at the liquor store a couple of joints and they don't card me.” She’s still laughing.
“Ah, you have learned to manipulate the world to your needs and wants,” I scold, but I’m impressed. “You are a very scary girl...what is your real name?” I ask.
“C,” she replies.
“Yeah. Billy told me that, but what does C stand for?”
“I hate my name, so it's just C.” Her brows raise.
“Well, I'm not calling you a letter of the alphabet,” I argue.
“Suit yourself...I guess you can stick with calling me Miss Field.” She shrugs.
“No, that's too long to scream out when I'm fucking you,” I say, tapping my finger on my lips. She freezes in my arms. Chuckling, I whisper in her ear, “See, I have a sense of humor too.” She visibly tenses and I continue, “Hmmm, you do make the sexiest sound when your turned on...you purr...like a kitten.” Leaning down to her ear, I whisper, “That is what I will call you...Kitten.
“Isn't that a name for a stripper?” she questions.
“No,” I answer, smiling. “Bambi or Cinnamon, those are stripper names.” Pressing my lips against the back of her head, I softly say, “You are a kitten. Innocent, sweet, soft, and very mischievous.”
“Well, I guess it's better than Miss Field,” she mutters. Getting up she leans over, bending to the floor.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She points at the floor and says, “Getting my tank top?
