The Treehouse – Chapter 7

When we beached the canoe along the shoreline behind the house, we took a couple of minutes to put our shorts and tank tops back on before heading to the house. I wanted to stop every few feet and kiss Bryan again. Maybe it was only kissing, but I wanted his lips against mine and my tongue in his mouth. But I controlled myself. After all, we had stayed out longer than intended.

After showing Bryan the joys of French kissing, we smeared more Coppertone on each other’s bodies before going back into the water. I had just smeared his chest with the sweet-smelling lotion, I had plenty of excess on my hands, so I worked my hand lower until I reached what I figured was close to three inches of boy-meat. He gasped and gripped the blanket when I wrapped my lotion drenched fingers around his pole. This was even better than a few days earlier when I jacked him for the first time. The lotion cut the friction down to next to nothing and my fist slid up and down his boner, eliciting wordless moans of pleasure from him. He didn’t last any longer. Within a minute, he thrashed as his little cock spasmed and kicked in my hand. And I enjoyed it just as much as the first time.

The memory was fantastic. I could hardly wait to do it to him again. But I set the thought aside when we reached the back door. I shivered as a blast of chilled air hit me in my face. Even though we were both dressed enough to keep my mom, when sober, off my back, I wanted to check on her.

The TV was playing; David Brinkley was on the news, talking about what I didn’t care. Mom lay stretched out on the couch. At some point earlier in the day, she must have gotten up and gone out. She was dressed in a modest white blouse and blue jeans. Unopened bottles of Jim Beam and Jack Daniels were on the coffee table, answering the question of where she’d gone. A cheap bottle of tequila was half empty, explaining her current state of inebriation.

I left her there. Bryan had emptied the water bottle and bottles of Coke from the Igloo and was washing it out in the sink when I came back into the kitchen. “Mom’s dead to the world. Somehow or another, she drove to the liquor store and restocked her supplies.”

When I opened the fridge, I found a couple of six packs of beer, as well as some groceries. I was grateful that she had picked up some food, but had she not, we would have managed. More than once since Dad died, I had been forced to raid Mom’s purse and ride my bike to the grocery store so we would have something to eat in the house.

I scrounged around and found some spaghetti pasta and sauce. I was an old hat at fixing spaghetti. Back when my dad was still alive, when Mom had to work and couldn’t fix dinner, spaghetti was our go-to meal.

I found a pot and as I filled it with water, I said, “Bry, there’s a sauce pan under the oven. Can you get it out?”

The rest of fixing dinner went like that. When I needed help, Bryan was there. While we watched the pasta boil in salted water, I slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. How in just a week had he become an anchor in my life? Something in the back of my mind told me that Mom’s alcoholism was going to cause her problems. And I hoped and prayed I would have Bryan to help me get through whatever shit might eventually come my way.

He rested his head on my shoulder as I stirred the pasta. With Wendy, I had thought I’d known love. After all, she and I had lots of fun over at her place. And I had loved it when she had played with my pussy even more than when I had played with hers. But when she moved away, I hadn’t felt like there was a hole in my heart where she had once been. And even though Bryan was two years younger than Wendy, I felt closer to him in just a week than what I had after several years of friendship with her. I wasn’t ready to call it love, not yet. But I was very glad for him being there with me.

When the spaghetti was ready, we ate at the dining room table, a couple of plates between us, piled high with pasta, sharing a liter bottle of Dr. Pepper. I was happy to share the time with him, but after a day in the sun, we weren’t very talkative. Our energy needed recharging.

Bryan washed the dishes while I made a plate of leftovers for Mom and put it in the fridge, along with enough for another full meal the next day, if we wanted. While he wiped down the table, I checked on my mom again. Some stupid science fiction show was playing on the TV and Mom was exactly where I had left her. While me and Bryan had been eating, she slipped from passed-out drunk to sleeping off her bender. The larger part of me wanted to leave her there. But she was my mom and even though I felt abandoned by her, I didn’t have it in me to treat her the same way.

I knelt beside her, “Mom.”

The snoring stopped and a moment later her blood-shot eyes peered back at me, “Oh, good morning, Pumpkin.”

I forced the smile to stay on my face. Every time I heard the work pumpkin, I wanted to scream. “It’s actually evening. There’s some spaghetti in the fridge for you, and leftovers enough for tomorrow.”

As her eyes focused on me, I could see her mind was still addled from alcohol. “Spaghetti?”

I bobbed my head, “Yeah.”

She wiped her mouth as though realizing how much the booze made it taste like shit. She reached for an empty tumbler and poured it full from the tequila bottle. She had enough hand-to-eye coordination to do that and enough of a memory to say, “Can you get me that spaghetti?”

I turned to go back to the kitchen. Bryan stood in the doorway between the living and the dining room. I worried he might say something stupid, after all, he was a boy and boys are known for saying and doing stupid things. But I wasn’t prepared for the pain in his eyes.

When I hurried past him to grab Mom’s plate, he followed me. I put a finger into the middle of the pasta. It wasn’t hot enough to burn, but it didn’t need to be warmed over either.

Bryan waited by the bar, “I’m sorry, Erin. I didn’t realize how bad things are.”

I wanted to cry. Mom had been my burden since Dad’s passing. I had carried it alone. Even when Wendy and I had done stuff together, I’d always gone over to her place. I had wanted no one else to see my mom, not in this condition. I stopped in front of him with the plate in my hands, “Please, Bryan, don’t tell anyone. I know my mom is fucked up, but I can handle it by myself.”

He pursed his lips and furrowed his eyebrow before he finally said, “Okay. My mom drinks and smokes a lot too. I guess I understand some.”

When I set the plate down on the coffee table, the tumbler was half-empty already. Mom’s eyes had that glazed-over look, and I knew she wouldn’t last long before returning to her oblivion.

Back in the kitchen again, I smiled apologetically at Bryan, “I guess we both have pretty fucked up lives. Sorry you saw that. You still up for a sleepover?”

Bryan’s eyes shifted from the door back to me, “Hell yeah. I wish we could just live in your treehouse all the time. It would be so much easier.”

I felt better hearing him say that. “Me too. Well, except boys are kind of stinky and you’d start to really smell after a few days.”

That smile I was growing to love appeared on his face, “Maybe. But I’d be in good company. Right?”

A giggle slipped from me, “Yeah. Before we go back out, you’re welcome to use the bathroom or take a shower.”

When we slipped through the living room over toward the hallway that led to my bedroom, mom never turned to look at us. But the tumbler was empty, and she had barely touched the food.

I showed him my bedroom. The bed was a mess. With Mom not staying on my case, I didn’t see any purpose in making my room look neat. Until now. As Bryan took in my room, for the first time in a long time, I wished I had taken the time to straighten it. That’s when it sank in that what this boy thought of me mattered.

I took hold of his hand and pulled him toward the door to the bathroom. This part of the house held my bedroom, a guest bedroom and a bathroom shared between them. Both bedrooms had doors leading directly to the bathroom, so I could go to the bathroom without going into the hallway.

The bathroom was cleaner than my bedroom, although it wasn’t very big. There was a Formica countertop and sink on the wall next to the guest bedroom. On the wall beside my bedroom was the bathtub. The tub could be used as a shower too, which is what I usually did. On the other end of the bathroom was a toilet. I had cleaned it that morning. “It’s not much, but when I’m not in the treehouse, these are my digs.”

Bryan pulled the curtain back and looked at the tub and shower. “Smells and looks nicer than the one Mom and I share at Granny’s.”

My stomach fluttered as I thought about being alone again with him, “You can take a shower before we go back over to the treehouse.”

He looked at me through the mirror over the counter, “Are you going to?”

I lifted my arms and put my nose against my smooth pit. There was a hint of body odor. “Do you think I need to?”

The flush in Bryan’s cheeks was enough for me to guess he was thinking about being naked with me. He murmured, “Maybe.”

If my mom wasn’t such a lush, I would never risk having him shower in the house. Instead, I flashed him a smile, “We could shower together. If you want.”

The way his cheeks grew even redder was endearing. He shrugged, “You think it would be okay?”

I turned to him and took hold of the hem of his tank top and pulled it over his head. Between the liberal coating of Coppertone and all the sun, Bryan’s tan was coming along nicely. “Yeah. She’ll be passed out drunk by the time we finish.”

I pulled my shirt off and tossed it on top of his before I unbuttoned my cut-offs. I stepped out of them and kicked them to the side while Bryan stood there looking at me. His eyes shifted between my chest and my panties. I wondered if it was simply because I was older than him that made him so passive, or if there was more going on inside his head. He was a boy; it was hard to say.

I locked the door to my bedroom and checked the locks on the doors to the hall and guest bedroom before turning back to him. Mom might be shit-faced drunk, but there wasn’t any reason to be stupid about it, either. He reached for his zipper, but I said, “Wait.”

He watched me as I hooked my fingers in my panties and slid them down my legs as sexily as I could before dropping them atop our shirts. The look of adoration in Bryan’s eyes as he stared at my puffy lips gave me the confidence to stand toe-to-toe and steal a kiss before I knelt before him and took hold of his zipper. Looking up at him, I could see the stunned look of wonderment on his face as I unsnapped the button and unzipped him. After working the shorts down to his ankles, the obscene lump in his briefs told me at least one part of him loved my every move.

Then I grabbed the elastic band of his briefs and pulled down on them, inch by inch. A few inches and his little cock kept the band from sliding down until I pulled the elastic away and freed him. Once his briefs were below his knees, gravity did the rest of the work. And there he was, naked and beautiful. And kneeling, my face was so close, I could have leaned in and taken him in my mouth like a lollypop. I wasn’t sure how he would have responded. Hell, I wasn’t sure how I would like it. I stood and pulled the shower curtain back and we climbed in and ran the water.

After allowing the water to warm, I flipped the toggle on the faucet and hot water gushed down on us. I took the bar of Dove soap and handed it to Bryan, “Can you wash my back?”

My spine tingled as the boy’s uncertain hands, lathered with flowery smelling soap, worked their way from my spine, along the small of my back, all the way down to my butt. I spun around, offering him my chest, “Thanks. Do you mind getting my front?”

Bryan’s eyes grew wide, “You sure?”

I nodded, took his soapy hands and brought them to my chest. I’m sure it would have looked sexier if I had bigger boobs, but it was just the two of us and given how much time Bryan spent staring at my chest, I figured he would enjoy it as much as me.

I sucked in a sharp breath of pleasure when he kneaded my buds, rubbing soap around them. Perhaps because of the intimacy we shared, my tits were more sensitive than normal. I longed for the tingling feeling after he moved his hands lower, washing my stomach and abs. A couple of inches below my belly button, his hands tremored and paused.

Sure, I had touched him on his dick several times. But Bryan had yet to reciprocate. Maybe it was my fault. Wendy, being a girl, knew how to touch me down there, the same way I knew how to make her cum. Bryan was a boy. That first day we met, I was powerfully curious about what he kept hidden in his underwear. And he was a boy; he couldn’t possibly satisfy the ache between my legs like Wendy had. Could he?

The tremor in his hand didn’t give me confidence. But it was only fair that I open myself to him. I took his hand and guided it down across my smooth mons. At first, I was content to let him explore. His fingers slid across my soapy skin, reverently caressing my pubic mound. Maybe I was impatient to show him how to please me, maybe he was scared to go further, but after what seemed like an hour, but was probably closer to a minute, I took his hand in mine, slid it across my hairless mound until it slid between my lips, into my slit. I pushed until I felt his finger hit my tiny hood. I pushed a bit more until the tip of his finger brushed over my clit. That touch sent a spark through me as I hissed in pleasure.

I moaned, “That’s it, Bry. Right there.”

Sure, my figures were wrapped around his index finger, guiding him over my clit. But it was Bryan’s finger, and it was so much more powerful than my own touch. After a few minutes of me guiding his finger around and over my clit, I pulled my hand back and let the boy continue. His finger played with that little button of mine, tickling the tip, and then rubbing all around it. I moaned again as I felt him tease something near to a cum from me.

He didn’t stop, but he leaned forward, “Does it feel good?”

I didn’t want him to ever stop. He may not have had Wendy’s familiarity with my parts, but my body craved his touch, even more than I’d ever wanted Wendy’s. Even though he was too timid to find my vagina, my body hummed from the tingles radiating from my clit. A rush of pleasure washed over me and I bit my lower lip too late to stop a muffled moan as I nodded.

He redoubled the way his finger worked my clit and more pleasure shot through me, spreading from between my legs and like a wave washing over me, my whole body shuddered as I came. As my legs shook, Bryan stilled his finger, although leaving it in place, “You okay, Erin?”

I squeezed my eyes shut as the pleasurable tingles made me feel powerful thoughts about the boy touching me. I nodded, “Y-, yeah. You just made me cum, Bry. Fuck, dude, that was incredible.”

And I meant every word. Wendy had given me deeper orgasms, but none more satisfying. Bryan was just learning. Give him more time and he would surpass Wendy’s expertise.

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