Part One

My name is Joey Gallant. When I was a kid in the 1970s, my younger sister and I had a favorite babysitter named Daphne Fowler. We liked her because she was cheerful, friendly, and always fun to be around. Unlike some babysitters who just sit there without interacting with the children they are minding, Daphne thoroughly enjoyed playing games with us for our amusement. It didn’t matter if it was a card game or a board game, Daphne always eagerly joined in. I had a special reason for liking Daphne: She was undeniably a beautiful teenage girl! I guess I was worldly beyond my years.

Daphne lived almost directly across the street from our house, so it did not take her long at all to get to and from her babysitting gigs with us. My parents always seemed to be busy on most Saturday nights, so Daphne’s presence became a regular feature starting when I was about seven years old, which would have made my sister, Amelia, a five-year-old. Daphne was a 13-year-old and the oldest of three sisters. The second oldest was Danielle, who was the same age as I was and was often in my class at school. The youngest Fowler girl was Debbie, who was a year younger than my sister.

All three Fowler girls were certainly blessed with good looks, but Daphne must have gotten in line twice when God was handing out beauty. Even as a seven-year-old I was well aware of that. She was slim, had shoulder-length blonde hair that she often wore in a ponytail, and a cute face that had a few freckles on it. She was quite busty too, and seemed to dress in a way that highlighted her best assets. (Marion, a female cousin of mine, was in Daphne’s class; Marion was not anywhere close to being built like her.) Once, when my father saw Daphne approaching our house, he commented to Mom, “My goodness, Daphne certainly comes at you in sections!” Mom was not amused by Dad’s quip. Daphne would have been about 14 years old at the time while Dad would have been 35.

Daphne was an affectionate sitter, too. She freely gave hugs to Amelia and me for no particular reason. I certainly didn’t complain. If we were watching something on TV, Daphne often sat on the couch between us with one arm around me and one arm around Amelia. How can you not become fond of a lovely girl like that?

I always liked it whenever my sister got tired and went to bed before I did—which was a common occurrence. That way I had Daphne all to myself for maybe an hour or so. We’d still play games or watch TV, but I was a smitten little boy who reveled in her undivided attention. More than once, I fell asleep on the couch with my head resting on her shoulder. It was very romantic stuff for an adoring nine-year-old. One Saturday when I was becoming quite sleepy, I mustered the courage to ask Daphne if I could kiss her goodnight before I went to bed. She said, “Sure, Joey! But to make it fair, you have to let me kiss you too! Do we have a deal?” We only exchanged tepid kisses on the cheek, but I thought I had hit the jackpot. I think I floated up the staircase to my bedroom in a state of euphoria. I convinced myself I was going to marry Daphne Fowler someday and together we’d have about a dozen children.

By the time I was 11, I knew my days of requiring a babysitter were coming to an end soon. My mother had mentioned that when I turned 12 years old, I could stay home by myself and look after Amelia, too. Mom suggested, quite wrongly indeed, that, “You must be getting tired of Daphne Fowler coming here to watch you on Saturday nights. Am I right, Joey?”

I swiftly and absolutely said, “No!” My father, who was within earshot of the conversation, broke into deep laughter. He eventually shouted from an adjacent room, “Joey’s no fool, honey.”

Mom took umbrage and sternly reminded Dad, “Bill, Daphne is 17 and Joey is just 11.”

“That’s what I said, dear: Joey is no fool!” Dad replied and laughed some more.

Part Two

Seven years later, Daphne made a rare return to our house. She was 24 now, which made me 18. She knew we had an electric typewriter. She telephoned my mother one day to ask if she could use it to type some letters and a few other things. Of course, my mother okayed her request. As fate would have it, Amelia was at a friend’s home across town for a birthday party/sleepover and my parents had theater tickets for a local amateur production of My Fair Lady. This meant I was alone in the house when Daphne arrived just before 7 p.m. for that Saturday night to do her typing.

Not long after my parents headed out the door to see the play, Daphne arrived at my doorstep and said, “This is a familiar setting! Long time no see, Joey! It seems like old times."

Daphne gave me a brief hug, which I enjoyed, of course. I showed her where the typewriter was and said we had plenty of blank paper if she needed it. She had brought her own supply, however. She got straight to work and I just watched TV in another room. I put on my pajamas as I always did to relax when I knew I'd be in for the night. I thought it was rather fitting as that was my tpical garb whenever Daphne babysat me from the age seven to twelve.

Daphe was a quick typist and had her tasks done in under an hour. She was in no hurry to leave, which pleased me. She commented, "Since Amelia is at a birthday party, I guess it’s just the two of us tonight, Joey. Let's pretend you are 11 years old again. What do you want to do for fun?”

I suggested playing the card game Crazy Eights, which she happily agreed to do. (I don’t recall Daphne ever vetoing a game suggestion made by either me or Amelia.) We played three hands. As I was about to deal the fourth, Daphne stopped me from grabbing the deck.

“How old are you now, Joey?” she asked me in a sweet voice.

“You know I’m 18, Daphne,” I replied. “It's been about six years since you last babysat me.”

“Wow! I guess that's right! Time flies!” she said, and then gently poked me on the nose with her right index finger. “That was a very sad day for me when I learned I wouldn't have any further babysitting assignments with you."

“You were sad?” I quickly interjected. “What about me? You know I love you.” As soon as I said that sentence, I started to blush. I had never told Daphne that, although it was probably obvious to her for all those years when I was a thoroughly smitten preteen.

“Well, Joey, aren’t you just adorable!” she quickly responded. Daphne got up from her chair, walked purposefully to my side of the card table, and warmly embraced me. I noticed right away that this wasn’t close to the typical goodnight hugs I had occasionally received from her since the age of seven. This one was decidedly different. It was long and passionate. (I, of course, loved it.) She released the hug but then put her hands on my shoulders and kissed both of my cheeks. This was getting better by the second!

Then, in one of the milestone moments of my life, beautiful 24-year-old Daphne Fowler, who was undoubtedly the secret desire of many males young and old in my city, looked at me eye-to-eye with a strange expression on her face, and romantically kissed me, Joey Gallant, age 18, squarely on the lips! I was stunned beyond words—but enormously pleased by Daphne’s wholly unexpected action.

When Daphne broke up our kiss—I certainly wasn’t going to do it—she giggled slightly and asked me if I had liked it. I struggled for an appropriate response, but then I thought of one that was both funny and accurate. “Daphne,” I said as calmly as possible, “I would be thrilled if Danielle kissed me that way. But you...wow! Just wow!”

“Oh, I guarantee I can kiss way better than my sister, Joey. I’ll show you. Let’s do it again.” She puckered up and leaned forward towards me. This time I was better prepared. I embraced Daphne as she embraced me...and our second romantic kiss surpassed the first one in both length and passion.

I did not know where this was leading, but Daphne certainly did. She suggested, “Let’s stop the card game and move to the couch so we can do this right. Are you okay with that, Joey?”

Dad had been right all those years ago: I was no fool. Of course, I agreed.

We moved to the couch and we embarked on romantic kiss number three. This one must have lasted anywhere between 90 seconds and two minutes. When we separated our lips, I took the initiative. I began kissing her cheeks and her neck and running my fingers through her lovely blonde hair.

“You are getting into the spirit of this, Joey!" Daphne joyfully said. “Good for you! That's great!”

Good for me, indeed! It was about to get significantly better.

After a few more sensual kisses that made my heartrate rise considerably, I stopped and asked the big question: “Daphne, why me? I’m 18. Why aren’t you kissing some guy closer to you own age?”

She gave me a startling answer. When I was about to make some comment which I don’t recall, Daphne put her index finger on my lips to stop me from saying anything at all.

She continued, “Joey I babysat you and Amelia for more than four years. I liked te job very much. I'm glad I can reconnect with you."

Daphne kissed me on the cheek for the compliment. “You’re such a sweet boy, Joey, ” she said softly. Then she looked at 18-year-old me sitting close by her in my pajamas, which I had put on just before Daphne arrived. “I see my kisses have you aroused,” she duly noted.

Indeed, I had a firm erection courtesy of Daphne’s passionate smooches and her other remarks. I tried to cover it up, which was plainly impossible. Daphne stopped me, anyway.

“It’s the most natural thing in the world, Joey,” she informed me, even though I already was aware of it. “So is sex between two people who want to share something special. We have lots of time before your parents arrive back home from the play. Do you want to fuck me, Joey? I really want to fuck you. As soon as I was informed your sister would be away tonight, I’ve been fantasizing about it.”

I said in rapid-fire succession, “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

My eagerness caused Daphne to break into laughter. “Well, as long as you’re sure, Joey!” she said with a smile. Then she unbuttoned the tennis shirt she was wearing and lifted it off her torso. A lacy, white brassiere was exposed. It was supporting two lovely, succulent breasts that were bigger than my mother’s. I was fixated on them—and Daphne knew it.

Daphne smiled and took my two hands and placed them on her cups. It was heavenly! “I’ve seen you stare at my boobs before, Joey. I’m glad you like them. Here, have a better look at them!” Daphne undid the clasp and tossed her bra to the floor. Her treasures slightly jiggled before my eyes. I felt my penis get harder.

“Play with them, Joey—while I caress your dick. Stand up for a moment so I can yank your pajama bottoms down to your ankles.” That’s what I did and she did. I assisted her by pulling them off the rest of the way. I then sat back down on the couch with my pecker pointing toward the ceiling.

It was indeed a great arrangement: Daphne fondling my scrotum while I fondled her breasts.

“Suck on them, Joey. I like it when boys suck my big tits,” she informed me. I obliged with alacrity. At that moment, sucking and licking Daphne’s goodies was the high point in my life. I couldn’t wait to tell a few of my classmates at school who were long jealous that Danielle Fowler’s sexy big sister had been my frequent babysitter.

We kissed a few times while we continued to stimulate each other. Daphne said, “I just have to ride that dick of yours, Joey. I can’t resist it.”

Daphne was wearing faded blue jeans. They came off in about five seconds, as did her white panties. She had an unshaved pussy, but I didn’t care one way or the other. I swiftly removed my pajama top so I was totally nude, too. Daphne gently pushed me backwards so I was lying on the couch. She straddled me and guided my dick into her opening.

Thirty seconds earlier I thought that sucking on Daphne’s inviting tits was great. Having her happily bounce on my erect penis, however, was a whole new world of pleasure for me. How I lasted two minutes, I’ll never know. Since I had reached puberty at age 12, I had masturbated perhaps 200 times in my life to an ejaculation. (My two favorite fantasies involved Maureen McCormick from The Brady Bunch. The other was based on sexy thoughts of Daphne Fowler. Having sexual contact with the real Daphne, instead of my pillow, was infinitely better.) I knew my body's signals well from six years of jerking off. Therefore, I knew when I was about to launch a load.

“Daphne, get off me or I’ll come inside you!” I warned her. She did so with less than five seconds to spare. It was my best cum shot ever—although I only had a small sample size to consider when there was a real girl present. Some of my goo flew straight in the air and came down on my thighs, but most of it hit Daphne around her stomach. A few drips were actually in her navel, which seemed oddly erotic to me.

“Oh, yeah!” I shouted. I was thrilled on many levels. In descending order, they were as follows: (a) I managed to control a cum shot when being ridden by my dream girl; (b) I had fucked my dream girl; (c) I had ejaculated while fucking a girl; (d) I had fucked a girl.

Daphne grabbed a handful of tissues and cleaned my jism blast from both our bodies. With a keen eye, she even spotted the few stray strands that landed on the couch and on the shag carpet. Daphne congratulated me on being a capable lover. “That was damn good for an 18-year-old, Joey, ” she told me. She seemed sincere, so I willingly believed her.

We then embraced for the next hour without bothering to get dressed. Daphne permitted me to suck on her breasts some more. At one point she pressed my head against her copious jugs in a motherly fashion. It was sexy and comforting at the same time. An hour later, I was in bed—asleep and alone—when my parents arrived home from their theater outing. Daphne was long gone. In retrospect, I wish I had given her a more memorable farewell. I had no inkling it was the last time she would ever be in our house.

A month later, the news came like a thunderbolt to my parents, and to Amelia and me: Daphne Fowler was in severe legal trouble. Beacuse of the surrounding circumstances, not much about it was ever made public by the authorities, but there was ample speculation and plenty of nasty gossip to put a permanent end to Daphne's babysitting career. What a shame.