The first time I did it, I was hard-up for some cash and it felt harmless. All I had to do was lie on the bed and touch myself. That was all he wanted to see.

He sat on the chair next to my bed like he usually did during his visits I had come to enjoy. He usually sat there with his ankles crossed and a bemused look on his face and complained about his wife. But he mostly liked to listen to my silly stories about my part-time jobs, my full-time school, and my part-time boyfriends. He always wanted to know about the boyfriends. He asked about the latest one.

And then he asked to see me pleasure myself.

After the shock of it and some nervous laughter and playful chiding, I realized he was serious. Then he offered money. And I had just dished out a bunch of money for rent. After much pondering, I finally said…

“But no touching, right?”

“Absolutely none, darling,” he said, shaking his head with his eyes closed. Then he stared at me, nodding, smiling.

I laughed again for the umpteenth time, sitting on the bed, with my hand holding the bottom of my T-shirt, debating whether to take it off.

“Easy fifty,” he said, teasingly.

Another ditzy laugh escaped me as I bit my lip and shook my head, looking at the single bill he had placed on my dresser. I took in a long breath as I began to pull the shirt off and over my head. I threw the shirt aside and shook my hair free and gave him a look.

He had this giddy look on his wrinkled old face.

I laughed again as I reached behind to unhook my bra. I covered my breasts with one arm as I tossed the bra aside as well.

His hands were on his lap.

I stood up and unbuttoned my jeans. They were my loose ones, so it’d be easy to slip them off.

He stared at my sandals and my anklet until the pants dropped over them. His smile turned into an open-mouthed “Aw” as his eyes slid up my legs to my white panties.

I kicked the pants and the sandals aside and sat back on the bed. He was shaking a little, and I hoped he wouldn’t get a heart attack or something. I scooted up on the bed to lay myself down. I had an arm draped over my head. I spread my feet wide. And I slipped my hand into the panties.

His hand was on his crotch now.

I wiggled out of the panties and slipped them under my ass and over my legs. I pretended I’d throw it at him, but I tossed them to the pile.

I thought about that action movie with that cute actor. I pictured him fucking me. The hero. No, the villain, I decided. The villain holding me ransom. I fight him for a while before giving in and giving him the best sex he could ever imagine.

My eyes were closed, and I was groaning softly at first. I let my hands explore my body, my navel, my thighs, my hair, my tits. I let my groaning get louder. I focused my hand on my pussy, just circling the area, dipping inside. When I dipped that finger in my mouth, I could hear the old man grunt a little.

I put the fingers back on my pussy and began rubbing. Slowly at first. Then faster. I could hear him shuffle in his seat. My fingers could’ve started a fire; they were rubbing at my pussy. My body was grinding into the bed. I grabbed at my breasts with my free hand.

My groaning was loud and pained now, my toes curled, my shoulders hunched. I sat up and winced and held my breath before collapsing onto the bed with a loud exhale.

I looked over at him with sleepy eyes.

He had his hand in his pants and had a look of pure anguish on his face. He was saying, “Oh, oh, oh!” The poor thing! His other hand was in the air in a fist. His eyes kept scanning my body from head to toe to head to toe. He finally sat back and closed his eyes with a loud, “Unh!” He had tears in his eyes.

While I put my clothes back on, he kept muttering, “Thank you,” as he struggled to get up. I laughed again and patted him on the back as I led him to the door.

“No, thank you,” I said to him, playfully.

When I opened the door of my basement apartment, I was face-to-angry face with Mary Ellen Bradley, his seventy-year-old wife, in an apron and gardening gloves, hands on her hips, hat casting a shadow over her eyes.

“Mrs. Bradley,” I said in a chipper voice that did nothing to appease her.

“Where the fuck is that little shit-for-brains, huh? Is he here? Like usual? Don’t you hide him neither, bitch!” She tried to peer into the studio apartment with stepping in. “Buster? Buster, come out, you lying sex freak.”

“Mrs. Bradley,” I kept saying.

“I’m right here, you cunt,” old man Buster said as he came from behind the door.

“I knew it,” Mary Ellen said, shaking her head and her finger at the same time. “Gettin’ your twiddle-diddles licked?”

“We were just talking,” I said.

“That better be all you do, slut, or I tell everyone in the building what you do, slut,” she said as she spun around to go back up the stairs.

“We were talking about you,” I said, which wasn’t a complete lie.

“Oh, really,” she said with a doubtful look.

“Yeah, I wanted advice on how to please you sexually,” Buster said dryly.

“Oh, is that why you got them dick pills? Well, butter my butt and call me biscuit, you lying sack o’ shit. I’m supposed to believe that?”

“I don’t care, Ellen.”

“Fuck you. And fuck this skank.”

“Hey,” I said angrily, but no one was listening to me.

“Aw, let her alone, you windbag,” Buster said.

“Die,” she said to him while she struggled up the stairs. “Just die and stop being a fucking burden to me.”

“I’d be happy to,” he grumbled as he followed her.

“Always gotta talk that little skank downstairs, don’t you?” I could hear her mutter.

Buster told me Mary Ellen always talked bad about me. And yet, she usually asked me to help her with the gardening, which I enjoyed doing. Not today, I guessed.

I went back inside and grabbed the money he had left for me. How do those girls do it? I threw the money back on the counter and got back to my microbiology homework.

~~~~

The second time was a week later. After chatting with him and telling him all the nitty-gritty, bumbling and fumbling details about the day I lost my virginity, he was horny and anxious to see me naked again. But I had to get ready for my afternoon class. Plus, Mary Ellen had finally begun saying hello to me again and asking me for favors like before.

Buster begged and begged and offered double what he did last time. I sighed and thought about the amount of take-out Chinese food that could buy me and I relented.

I told him I was about to take a shower, and he wanted to see that first. He sat on the toilet seat while I lathered myself in soap in the shower and ran the warm water down my body. He had a huge smile on his face, and his hands were in his pants already as he watched.

I made like I was a model doing a sexy photo shoot. I rolled my hips as I moved. I ran my fingers through my stringy wet hair as I felt the water on my face. I lifted a leg so he could watch the water drip from the hairs of my pussy onto the bathtub floor. And I touched myself there and sang a few “ooh’s” and “aah’s” to his delight. I dropped the soap and gave him a full view of my ass as I picked it up.

His tongue was hanging from his face as he sat there wide-eyed, stroking himself inside the pants. And it was quite a bulge coming from his pants. I was surprised.

“Let me see more of your ass,” he said.

I lathered more soap. I let him watch the water and foam drip all over my ass. I smoothed the foam over it. I let it wash off. Then I spanked myself.

He giggled and I laughed, too, before shaking my ass at him in a little dance. I could totally be a stripper, I thought, if I wasn’t so short. How much money would that bring in a night? I spanked myself again, picturing a spotlight on me and a pole in front of me.

I pulled the showerhead off the holder so I could hold it and control it. I put the showerhead directly between my legs. I let the stream shoot onto my pussy with a huge splash that sprayed water everywhere, including on him.

“Whoops!” I said as I quickly put the showerhead back to its position and turned off the water. He laughed and wiped water off his arms. Then he stood up; I could see that huge bulge in his pants hadn’t subsided. He found a blanket and was holding it open for me, gesturing for me to come.

“Um,” I said. I shook my head, no.

He looked disappointed. “Is the show over? I liked the shower, but I wanted to see you masturbate.” He looked down. “I like how your face gets when you orgasm.”

I sighed but figured I had a few more minutes before I needed to head out.

“Scene two is on the bed,” I said. “Go sit down.”

He looked happy again as he carefully threw me the towel and then hurried outside the bathroom like a schoolboy at recess.

I dried myself and wrapped the blanket around me, but I was concerned. That little moment of him waiting with the blanket. He wanted to do what? Dry me? And then what?

I emerged from the bathroom to see him sitting on that chair, hands in his pants, big thing still hidden away in there. I smiled at him as I walked barefoot to the bed. I slowly opened the blanket.

“Oh, honey, darling, baby,” he said longingly as he watched the blanket drop onto the floor.

It was getting late, so I had to make this fast.

I crawled onto the bed but didn’t lie down like before. He said he wanted to see more of my ass. I had my face down on a pillow, my knees on the bed, my ass up in the air. Concerned he might try and touch while I wasn’t looking, I also had to turn my head to make sure I could see him. It was an awkward position. I wondered if this is what porn stars went through.

I slid my arm between my legs and reached for my pussy. He could watch my fingers rubbing my pussy and my anus. I groaned extra loud to get right to it.

I still needed a fantasy to make it work. I pictured a line of guys standing behind me, all of them wanting to get a turn. One of them stands in front of me, slaps my face with a wad of bills before putting his cock in my mouth.

I stopped myself from getting too into it, not wanting to make a mess and have to return to the washroom. Luckily, Buster was way ahead of me, groaning as he orgasmed already.

Except his cock was out.

I gasped.

It was out there. More than six inches. Pasty white but hard. With cum dripping over it and his hand.

I curled up on the bed and just watched him.

He lifted his hand and looked at the globs of cum on it as if he had never orgasmed that much before. He looked at me, breathing hard.

He stood up.

I had a finger in my mouth and was biting it nervously. I shriveled up in the bed as he took a step towards me. I shook my head.

He stared at the cum again.

A loud bang on the door made us jump. I was never so happy to hear Mary Ellen’s angry voice.

“Buster, you fucking, goddamn piece o’ shit, are you down here again?”

He hurried to pull his pants back up with one hand. He looked confused, still staring at the cum in his hands. I jumped off the bed and grabbed the towel and put it on his hand. He started wiping his hand. I hurried to my closet to grab clothes.

Buster was already walking to the door.

“Wait!” I yelled at him hoarsely.

But he wasn’t listening, just marching to the door in a trance.

“Buster, wait,” I pleaded, tearing a T-shirt out of the closet and throwing it on and turning around in time to see Buster open the door and Mary Ellen barge in.

She was again in her gardening clothes and was holding a hoe in her hand.

She looked at me, in my T-shirt that barely reached mid-thigh. She saw the blanket on the chair. She looked at Buster. She looked at Buster’s crotch.

Even I couldn’t believe Buster still had an erection.

“Every time I go gardening, isn’t it?” she said in a quiet voice. “You think I don’t know?”

“I don’t give a flying fuck,” Buster said to her.

“This little skank of yours,” Mary Ellen said, her voice picking up again. “She just dills your pickle, doesn’t she?”

I shook my head to say no, but Buster said, “So what?”

“Buster!” I said. I looked at Mary Ellen. “Don’t listen to him. We just talk.”

“You shut your face, floozy,” she said without looking at me.

“No, really,” I tried to say. “We don’t do anything.”

She looked at me finally. His erection was still bulging. I was half-naked. Who was I kidding?

So, I said to her with a shrug, “Okay, but he just watches me.”

She looked at us for a moment. Buster glared at her. I stared at them, hoping things would be okay.

“Well, somebody slap me silly,” she said, crossing her arms. “I’m supposed to believe that shit?”

“I don’t care what you believe,” he said and pushed past her.

“Mrs. Bradley,” I insisted.

“Skank,” she said, pointing at me. “I’m telling everyone.” She jabbed the finger in my direction two more times. “Skank.”

She turned to leave, calling out to Buster as she hurried up the stairs. “Ain’t done with you neither, you dumb prick!”

I threw myself back on the bed for a moment. I could still hear her voice fading.

“Well, why don’t you marry her, then? Live down here. Let her take care of you like I do. Then you can watch, watch, watch her all fucking day, you goddamn pervert, you…”

Until the voices were too far off to hear.

I promised myself to never indulge him again. I focused on getting dressed for school.

“Never again,” I said out loud to punctuate my decision.

~~~~

And then there was the third time.

The final time, I promised myself again.

To be fair, I had just lost one of my part-time jobs. The one I liked. School was kicking my ass. My parents were getting tired of sending me money. And I broke up with a boyfriend.

I didn’t let him in the room until he promised “no touching.” When I let him in, he was excited. He hurried over to the chair.

I sat across him on the bed.

He looked me up and down although I didn’t feel all that sexy in my gray jogging pants and black tank top and ponytail. I guess the cleavage was enough. He wanted to know my grades from the science class he saw me working on. And then, circling closer to what he wanted, he asked me about my financial situation.

“I lost the job,” I said to him.

“Oh, no, the caretaker one?” he said sympathetically but was grinning slightly.

I nodded.

“I’m sorry. You still have the retail one that pays peanuts.”

I made a face. “Yeah.”

“You need cash, then, don’t you?” he asked with a wider grin.

“Buster…”

“Three hundred.”

“Huh?”

“Three hundred smackers.”

I watched him pull out the money and lay it on the dresser. He sat back down and got comfortable, ankles crossed, hands folded on his lap, knees nervously rocking, cheesy grin on his face.

The rent for this dingy studio was cheap yet still too expensive for this working gal. Those “smackers” would be a good portion of it.

I laughed and sighed again. Then I reached around the back of my head, grabbed the scrunchie holding my hair, and pulled it off. I shook my hair free and ran my fingers through it. I smiled at him. I stood up and grabbed the bottom of my tank top. I pulled it off over my head and then did a sexy pose as my breasts jiggled free of the tight tank top. I turned away from him so he could watch my ass as I rolled my hips lowering my joggers and panties down to my ankles. I looked back at him over a cutely hunched shoulder.

“Ready?” I asked.

He nodded, hands in his pants.

I lay on the bed on my belly, bending my knees and shaking my feet in the air, holding and then hugging the pillow. I pictured myself with a rich sugar daddy who’d take me to galas and charity balls and Hollywood premieres and then back to a downtown penthouse he rented just for me to throw me on the bed and fuck me.

I started reaching for my pussy with this fantasy in my head, sliding my arm under my body until the fingers poked out between my legs. I played with it, spreading my legs out, lifting my butt a little, whimpering to myself, eyes closed.

Then I heard Buster move suddenly.

He stood up, hands still in his pants.

I stopped being playful on the bed and looked at him with a nervous gulp. He walked over to the dresser. I thought he was going to take the money back. Maybe my striptease sucked. Instead, he pulled out yet another hundred-dollar bill and placed it on top of the other three. Then he turned to me.

I sat up, holding the pillow to my breasts.

This was a little high. Way above market value for sex with a regular-looking amateur like me. I know, I did the research while I was job searching online.

He stepped towards me.

I looked away, trying to decide if I should or not. What about poor Mrs. Bradley? What was I doing? Was I taking advantage of Buster? Was he taking advantage of me?

While I contemplated these things, he was sitting on the bed next to me, staring at me with these serious eyes and that playful grin. I jumped when I felt his hand on my lap. I didn’t jump when he ran his fingers through my hair. I took a deep breath when he touched my shoulder. Then he took the pillow from me. I bit my lip as he touched my breasts.

Okay, one rule bent and broken. He certainly paid enough to break it. But what else?

As he leaned in closer, I began to lay myself on the bed. I felt his rough, shriveled hand glide over my breasts, my navel, my thighs, before landing between my legs. I closed my eyes and let him touch and fondle and stroke and pinch and poke and dig in.

I squirmed a little and gave a moan. Not a fake one.

He stood up and dropped his pants and boxers. He crawled onto the bed. I scooted over and let him lie down next to me.

I reached over and, after some finger-wiggling hesitation, held his cock.

“Oh, yes, darling,” he said, leaning back, closing his eyes. “It’s nice and big, ain’t it?”

I was able to laugh at that. Then I stroked it.

“Oh, darling, baby,” he said. “Be a good girl and chow down on that bad boy.”

I shook my head at him, but I did it. I repositioned myself and took it into my mouth.

“Darling, sweetie,” he moaned. “Show grandpappy some love.”

Even with the cock in my mouth, I chuckled. Then I got into a nice groove and was getting lost in the sucking.

He started panting, and I was afraid he was convulsing or somehow suffering. I tried to stop, but he pushed my head back down on his cock. I protested a little, and he stroked my hair gently, apologizing. I got back to sucking. I pulled it out to give my throat a break. Saliva dripped from my mouth to his cock. I licked it up.

When I looked up, he had this look of pure joy on his face. I wondered how long it had been for him.

I sat on top of him. He held his breath and stared at me with a shocked face. I smiled at the old man and flicked my finger on his lips. He tried to bite it. I pulled away and slapped at him playfully. Then I straddled him. His face went back to that look of shock. And I fucked him like a cowgirl.

A wild cowgirl.

I was getting into it, holding on to his chest and rocking him hard. Too hard. The bed was creaking. His voice was cracking.

“Darl—darl—darling, baby, swee—sweetie! Yes!”

I had my eyes closed, facing the wall, just banging away at this old guy, loving how hard he was. I even leaned back, moved my feet up, moved my arms back and grabbed his legs, and continued riding that old horse like we were trying to win a trophy.

“Please, baby, please, I can’t—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can, baby,” I said.

I leaned back forward so he could grab my breasts as I rode him, bounced hard on him, feeling that rock-hard dick deep, so deep, deeper…

…until I looked down to see the anguish in his face. “Oh, my God.”

I jumped off him.

“Buster? Are you okay? Mr. Bradley?” I was ready to call 9-1-1 or get him an aspirin, anything.

I stood there with my hand covering my mouth wondering what I had done. Then he screamed as cum burst out of his cock and splattered over him and my pillow.

He grinned. “Sorry, sweetie.”

I dropped my shoulders and exhaled with a nervous laugh.

“I didn’t want to come inside you and get you pregnant. You got a whole future.”

I laughed at him and went to get him a hand towel before he soiled my blanket. He wanted me to clean him off, which I did. He also wanted me to swallow his cum, which I didn’t. We got dressed and he gave me a hug.

“No interruptions this time,” I observed.

He nodded. “I waited till she was done with her chores and back to sleep this time.”

“Smart.” I nodded, waiting for him to leave. He lingered for a moment before excusing himself.

I had done it, I thought to myself, not believing it. I did it and got paid for it. And I kind of enjoyed it! What the hell did I just become?

~~~~

The very next week, I learned that Buster had died.

I hurried over to Mrs. Bradley’s apartment on my day off. I had missed the wake and the funeral, and I was concerned I might have had a role in his death. I banged on her door, determined to speak to her and give my condolences no matter what she thought of me.

“Oh, it’s you,” Mary Ellen said, glaring at me head to toe. She had her gardening apron and hat on.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Bradley.”

I waited for the insults to start hurling. But all she said was, “It’s all right. My Buster was an idiot. Got his heart pills mixed up with his dick pills. Fuck him.” She sighed and looked away for a moment. “But that sumbitch was sure in a happy mood all week before he died.”

I winced.

“You working today?” she asked. “Catherine?” she added.

I blinked in surprise. “Um, no. No, I, uh, start a new job next week.” I smiled at her.

“Whatever,” she said quickly, starting to push past me on her way out the door. “Grab that.” She gestured towards a bucket of gardening tools and headed down the stairs.

I sighed and grabbed the bucket and closed the door. I helped her for one last time in the garden, and we chatted about Buster and about the new job I got. A nursing job I looked forward to and that paid better. Enough to get me out of that tiny basement studio apartment.

And enough to keep me from that other profession I was considering.