"Yeah, I got the picture, but I haven't got a place for her to sleep except the couch," I replied. A twit-headed teeny-bopper wasn't exactly in my weekend plans either, so I hoped he would take the hint
"Christ, baby, that's no sweat. You should see where kids nowadays bunk-up. Crash-pads, on the ground at Big Sur, any place at all, hey, you are a real friend."
I hadn't remembered saying yes, but I was hooked. "Don't mention it, besides, I'll expect a return favor one day."
"Name it and you got it. Now listen, Angela won't be a bit of trouble and what's more, she can really cook. I'll go get her," he exclaimed and rushed out to deliver his daughter to me.
He must have had her ready before he left because in less than two minutes he was back with Angela. I wasn't prepared for such a doll. For some reason I'd envisioned a freckle-faced scrawny little broad with buck teeth. I'd forgotten that three-fourths of the centerfolds in Playboy and Penthouse were teenage females. Angela was a sex-pot from top to bottom.
"Hi, Mr. Manley," she greeted me as her dark brown eyes boldly scanned my frame, pausing for a split second on the bulge of my crotch. No! I was wrong. Had to be; she was only sixteen, for Chrissake; barely into puberty. "I promise to be very inconspicuous and quiet."
"I am delighted Angela, the joint could do with a little female touch," I answered awkwardly.
"Just make yourself at home. I'm afraid you'll have to sleep on the couch, though, I don't actually have a bedroom."
"Hey, Jack," Curt exclaimed, "don't worry. Angie's like a little kitten. She can curl up anywhere, right honey?"
She had preceded Curt and me into the oneroom sex lab I called my apartment and was surveying it in awe. I wondered what was going on in her mind as she gazed at the sex-pad, and my eyes feasted on her succulent young body.
Her raven-black hair hung down to her full, firm buttocks in a lustrous mantle. The one-piece jersey jumpsuit she wore was molded to the lush curves of her luscious body like paint The cleft formed by her full, lush buttocks was a cock-swelling sight as it moved with the rolling rhythm of each full, round butt cheek. As she turned to face us, my eyes traveled over the fullness of her bobbing tits, the smooth swell of her tummy and finally rested on the pronounced notch formed by her young cunt lips. They were firm, full and perfectly shaped, and couched between soft rounded thighs that made my mouth water.
She observed my careful inspection quite nonchalantly.
"Oh yes, Mr. Manley, I can curl up anywhere; just anywhere." I thought I detected a special, emphasis on 'anywhere'. Jesus! What was wrong with me? She was built like a sex-pot but she still was only a little girl, and I, certainly was old enough to be her father.
Curt left in a flurry of thanks, glad to be off the hook at last, and I commenced finishing preparations for dinner. Angela asked to help, but I told her to relax because I was nearly finished anyway.
"Hope you like spaghetti, Angela," I ventured.
"Love any kind of food, Mr. Manley, I'll eat anything," she replied. Again, I detected a slight emphasis on the word 'anything,' or at least I thought so. I deliberately forced such thoughts from my dirty, prurient mind Christ! What could a sixteen-year-old know about eating, in the context that flashed into my brain! Hamburgers, hot dogs and candy! That was what eating meant to kids.
I served the meal on the rug in front of the fireplace. Angela sat cross-legged opposite me, like an Indian, and maneuvered the long strands of spaghetti into her luscious, full-lipped young mouth with gusto. "Mmmm… delicious," she exclaimed between bites. "I was starving."
As I ate I couldn't help exploring her crotch again since it was staring me right in the face and her legs were wide open in the cross-legged position. Even in such a spread open position her vulva was clearly out-lined under her blue velvet jumpsuit. I'd never seen such full, firm cunt lips. Normally, the woman's labia lose that full, firm ripeness soon after they reach puberty. I'd always wondered why it had to happen, because there is nothing more erotic to the look and touch as a pair of full, firm cunt lips; particularly if they're covered with a thick growth of crisp black pubic hair as I was sure Angela's were.
Despite my vow not to entertain this kind of thought about a sixteen-year-old girl, my cock was swollen to full erection and throbbing with lust. Without even checking I knew it was bulging and clearly visible beneath my slacks. Doubleknits aren't designed to conceal.
"Mr. Manley…" Angela started.
"Call me Jack, honey. I don't dig the formal bit," I interjected.
"Nice! Well, Jack, I've been looking at your place and I really dig it. Kind of a bachelor's paradise, isn't it? Wow! That's the craziest water bed I've ever seen, and the mirrors are… well, golly, real swingin', if you know what I mean. I'll bet…" she stopped.
"What? What did you want to say?" I asked.
"I'll bet you got a lot of real sexy girlfriends who really make these mirrors jump!" she blurted.
A little off guard, I just grinned and shrugged. "Have a breadstick." How do you respond to that kind of statement from a kid who's sixteen but lives in a body so funky you could eat it without washing. She took the breadstick. They were made specially by the small Italian bakery on Sunset Blvd. and were much larger in diameter than most. In fact I remembered joshing Lou Fortuno, the owner, about it.
"They look phallic, Lou; almost sensual. I suppose you gotta get your jollies in any business, but cock-size breadsticks… whew!"
Lou had gone along. "That's my way to keep the female trade happy, Jack. When the ole man he'sa too tired… well, a good thick breadstick can come in very handy, eh!"
As Angela went to work on hers, I suddenly realized he probably wasn't kidding, completely. She licked the rounded end with her soft, pink tongue and then enveloped the thick shaft of bread slowly into her mouth. Her soft, full lips were stretched tautly around the breadstick like it was a huge cock. Then, lifting her eyes and staring straight into mine, she commenced sucking it in and out of her luscious mouth in slow, tantalizing strokes. My cock literally trembled with lust as my mind conjured up the same luscious mouth doing the same thing to it. It took me a full ten seconds to finally realize that Angela was deliberately performing with the breadstick to turn me on. It dawned on me that sixteen in 1973 was not the same as sixteen twenty years ago. "Girls were fucking like whores at fourteen nowadays, and sucking cock to boot!
"Mmmm… these are delicious, Jack. So full and firm, too," she murmured huskily. Her eyes were doing a job on me as she sucked, scanning my bulging crotch like laser beams of restrained lust. She was trying to seduce me, by God! Christ! If only she was eighteen! Sixteen is still San Quentin quail in California, despite the changing sexual mores. And her father would cut my balls off, besides. No! No way! I could get enough action without fucking a teeny-bopper, so I ignored her as best, and as gracefully, as possible during the rest of the meal. Then I excused myself and drove down to the strip to get cigarettes.
It helped. By the time I returned my hard-on was gone and I was looking forward to a good night's sleep.
Angela was in the bathroom when I returned, but I noted that she had done the dishes and cleaned up the dinner mess while I'd been gone.
Good! She'd gotten my message. I mixed myself a highball and relaxed with the paper.
I finished the paper, then mixed myself a second belt. Then I realized how long Angela had been in the bathroom. Curious, I walked over to ask if she was O.K. Lots of people have bad accidents in the bathroom. The door was ajar about two inches and I was about to call out when my eyes beheld the scene through the crack of the door.