I’m going to write this out pretty much the way it happened, but I still don’t know what to do with this memory. (Except to be horrified that I could have done this. And to wonder how bad it got for Bobby and his family.)

*  *  *

The summer I was sixteen, I worked at a day camp for mentally and physically handicapped children and adults. We had the camp at various parks around Tacoma, and I was an assistant counselor, responsible to help with lunch, monitor kids going to and from the bathroom and participate in group--singing camp songs. I also worked with the kids doing crafts, assisting at baseball and swimming, and then made sure I got the kids safely back to their parents on the bus. I got to know several of the kids really well and at the end of the summer, I put together a flyer offering to babysit and sent it home with several of the students.

Bobby was one of those kids. He had thick black, curly hair and sparkling brown eyes. His favorite song was "The Wheels on the Bus." His favorite color was red. He wore a baseball cap every day. He could hardly color within the lines and he ran in a rolling lope like an adolescent puppy. When we went swimming, he was afraid to put his face under the water. He also developed a crush on one of the other assistant counselors, Carrie. He walked around with picture she colored and gave to him, saying "Carrie’s my gurl. Carrie’s my gurl."

Bobby’s parents called me and asked me to stay with him one evening. His family was terrific! As soon as I came into the house, Bobby came running to me, calling "Dido! Dido!" I was thrilled that he remembered me. My real name's Diane.

I learned that Bobby loved Nascar. I also learned that he was very small for his age. His mother told me he just had his fifteenth birthday! All along, I’d thought he was only about eleven. Mentally, he was quite a bit younger than that. But I wasn’t an expert on special ed. I was just trying to make a little extra money and I was hoping my summer experience would count for something.

I sat with him in front of The Bionic Man and colored in his Matchbox coloring book. He went in his room and brought out that colored page from summer and chanted, "Carrie’s my gurl."

"I know she is. You miss seeing Carrie?"

He nodded with his lip sticking out.

"Dido, potty."

"You have to go potty?"

He nodded.

"Well go ahead."

He ran off. I heard a door slam.

A few minutes later I heard, "Uh oh! Uh oh! Dido, uh oh!"

"Just a minute, Bobby."

I knocked on the door even though it was ajar, and I pushed it open.

He’d made a mess. He must have gotten into his mother’s mascara. When I came into the room, he pointed to a black smear on his leg. "Uh-oh."

"Bobby, you need to take a bath." I turned on the water. "Honey, take off your clothes."

Bobby took his clothes off and stood with his hands covering his penis. He started to giggle.

"I’m not looking." I assured him.

I did notice he was starting to grow hair on his chest and his pubic area. I found a towel and a washcloth for him in a closet. There were several boats and a plastic car in the tub and he settled in and started splashing his hands against the surface of the water.

"Here’s the soap. You make sure you scrub that stuff off your leg." I walked to the toilet and picked up his clothes and threw them in the hamper. "I’m going to get your pajamas, Bobby. I’ll be right back."

When I came back into the bathroom, he was looking at me with a funny look on his face. I looked into the tub. His penis was fully engorged, and he was poking at it. It was enormous!

"Oh Bobby, don’t do that. Let’s have a boat race." I sat down by the tub and pushed a red plastic speed boat across the water to him.

He put both hands on his dick and grasped it and forced it forward, looking at it with admiration.

It was something to admire.

At age seventeen, I hadn’t seen a lot of dicks. I hadn’t seen much but little boys when they needed diapers changed, or my ten-year-old brother when he rushed from the shower to grab a towel. I’d had experimental sex one time with a boyfriend, Henry, but that was a year ago, before his family moved to Portland, in the blackness of the back seat of his car. There wasn’t time to study his erection before he came.

I couldn’t help looking at Bobby's dick. The head was full and purple. The shaft was pale, a little redder at the base and along the bottom. It bowed from his lap almost to his belly button. It was beautiful!

I’d started dating my boyfriend when he was fifteen and his dick was way smaller than Bobby’s. I held the plastic speed boat and bumped Bobby in the knee. "Hey!" I said, "Let’s have a race."

Bobby giggled and got a blue speed boat from the soap dish. "Zoom! Zo-o-o-oom!" he shouted and started pushing the boat. I forced myself to not look at him below his shoulders and pretty soon we were both smiling and pushing little boats around the tub. His erection subsided.

Whew!

I handed him the soap and a washcloth. "Let’s get you to bed."

He scrubbed his feet and his bottom. I held his towel open while he finished, and then wrapped him in the towel. He dried off.

"Sippers!" he said.

I went into his room to find his slippers.

A half hour later, I was sitting next to the bed reading his favorite story. Then it was time to turn out the light.

"Kiss-Kiss? Dido. Kiss-Kiss?"

I leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "G’night, Honey."

He gave me a kiss back, and it was on the lips.

I turned off the reading lamp, made sure his night light was glowing and closed the bedroom door.

Then I stood with my back against the door and let out a sigh of relief. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath.

I got out my homework and started checking my geometry solutions against the answers listed in the back section of the textbook.

About twenty minutes later, I allowed myself to lay on the couch and think about what had happened. For some reason, it had never occurred to me that Bobby would have such a man-sized cock stuck on a body with a five-year-old mind. And it was a monster of a cock. Especially to me, with my whopping repertoire of one conquest.

I closed my eyes and I couldn’t get the image of that throbbing purple head out of my mind. I could imagine the warmth of the water enveloping his body, and see how he thrust it about like a fire hose. I could hear the babyish cry of his "Zoom! Zo-o-om!" echoing in my thought.

God. What a waste.

 

It was a couple weeks before Bobby’s family called me again to babysit. In that time, my silly thoughts flew to that image over and over. It haunted my dreams. I dreamed of Bobby at summer, needing help to hold the bat so that he could hit the softball, only when I tried to help him follow through on his swing, we were both holding that glorious cock of his. Then he was holding up his Matchbox coloring book page that I had signed and personalized with a happy face, singing, "Dido’s my gurl! Dido’s my gurl!"

The dreams were strangely erotic and I woke up more than once with a tingle between my legs.

Bobby was in the car when his parents came to get me. "Dido!" he called. "Dido’s my gurl!" he told his father, very excited.

I blushed, and climbed into the car. "I’m your girl now, huh?"

He nodded, a grin from ear to ear.

There were car races on the television when we got to his house and he settled in to watch, shouting with glee when certain cars were in the lead. I listened to his mother’s quick instructions for making dinner and then they left. I sat down to watch the race with Bobby and he grabbed my hand.

How sweet! Oh but how awkward. My head was spinning. I was having these crazy erotic thoughts about little Bobby and his big man-dick. Even though I knew better, did he know better? He was clinging to my hand, announcing that I was his "gurl" and I just sat there next to him and took it in. Since Henry, I hadn’t had anyone announce to the world that I was his "gurl" and even with Henry, it was pretty much a hush, hush, you-don’t-need-to-tell-anyone-that-I-like-you sort of arrangement. I was just a dull seventeen year old with raging hormones, trying to remind myself that even though Bobby was plenty old enough to have a girlfriend, he wasn’t "old" enough to have a girlfriend.

And I kept thinking about that monster in his pants.

I asked him to help me in the kitchen. He showed me where to find the pan and we boiled water and made hotdogs. There was jello salad in the fridge, and a bag of chips on the counter. I ate some carrots, but Bobby wrinkled up his nose and wouldn’t touch them.

It was different between us. Bobby had decided I was his "gurl" and he kept trying to put me in a position where it felt a little too intimate. He wanted to put his arm around me on the couch. I really wasn’t comfortable with that, and I kept changing seats, but he kept scooting next to me. "Dido’s my gurl." He was so happy! I didn’t want to burst his bubble.

And quite honestly, after a year of having no one pay me any mind, it was a little flattering. Even if it was only Bobby.

Then it was time to go to bed. I told him to get a book, and he picked the same one, about the baseball player named Fred, so I read to him while I sat in the chair beside his bed.

About halfway through the book, he started giggling. "Uh-oh!"

"What?"

His eyes were so bright and happy. He pointed.

I looked down.

Uh-oh. There was that monster dick again. Straining against his pajamas. I could see the outline of that beautiful head, just about to burst. He was twitching it with muscles from within, making it flick against his leg.

"Bobby." I couldn’t take my eyes away. "You shouldn’t be doing that. You need to stop."

I forced myself to look at the book and turn the page.

"Dido, look."

I glanced up. He’d pulled his cock out of the top of his pajama pants and it was full and draping in a sweet arc against his belly.

I started reading again. But Bobby wasn’t listening.

I needed to stop pretending. It was Bobby. Bobby didn’t pretend something was going on that wasn’t. In this case, Bobby wasn’t trying to pretend that he didn’t have a log of an erection laying on his leg when he did.

Then I don’t know what came over me. I ached to have Bobby be an ordinary fifteen-year-old with a dick that was throbbing and beckoning for ME. Me, a plain Jane sort of a girl who babysat handicapped children on Saturday nights instead of going on dates. I yearned to have a mature mouth kiss me and muscular arms that draped around me when I sat on the couch. I was so lonely!

I missed Henry and I didn’t understand why I didn’t seem to appeal to anyone else. I had regular-looking brown that fell softly across my shoulders when I took it down and C-cup breasts ready to bust out beneath my buttoned blouse. I had a soft mouth and I didn’t think my breath smelled bad. And I knew that given the right circumstances, my pussy would get sodden and I could learn to fuck like a wild thing.

But this wasn’t the right time. I looked at the HotWheel sheets on his bed. This wasn’t the right place. This definitely was not the right boy.

But he was took my hand. "Kiss-Kiss?" His lips were puckered, rather comically. I smiled and looked away. This was so absurd. It was absolutely ludicrous that I had hormones raging through my loins.

And he did too.

He might be mentally very young, but his cock was bulging and his crotch was sprouting black bristles of pubic hair. It was confusing. And if it was confusing to me to have these feelings coarsing through my veins, how did it feel to him?

Then I did the unforgivable.

"Take your pajamas off." I said quietly. He looked at me kind of funny, but lifted his hips while I slid plaid pajama bottoms down over his butt. His dick brushed my hand when I took hold of the elastic waist band. I was hyper aware of exactly where his dick was and how it was barely brushing against me. I wanted to play with that thing!

I took it in my mouth. "O--oh," he sighed. I opened my eyes and looked at his face. He was fascinated. His eyes were wide open and his mouth was hanging open. "Wow," he said.

This was crazy. What was I doing?

He didn’t talk enough to tell anyone what I was doing. Was I raping him? Probably. I looked at his face. Did he care?

Hell no. He didn’t care. He was smiling and laughing. "Dido!"

I licked his dick, swirling my tongue across the sensitive tip.

He moaned.

I put my hand on the base and directed it into my mouth. I’d never really given anyone a blow job but I had a good idea what was involved. I started stroking my hand up and down the shaft.

I wanted to ride him, but I didn’t take birth control. I didn’t carry a rubber. And to be brutally blunt, I didn’t trust his sperm to be normal and I didn’t want to bring a handicapped child into the world. So a blow job was going to have to do.

"Uhn. Uhn. Uhn." he groaned, matching the pace I was using to bring his dick in and out of my mouth. He put his hands down on my head and followed the motion. "Uhn, uhn, uhn."

Then I stopped for a moment to collect some more spit in my mouth.

"Dido. More." he said. "More." and he motioned towards his throbbing organ.

"Hang on a sec," I said, positioning myself on the bed between his legs. He held his legs rigid on either side of me.

He was totally stiff. His legs. His dick. The veins sticking out as he jutted his neck to watch me.

Was I freaking him out?

"Dido, more." he said, putting his hands into my hair and guiding my lips back to his dick. I took it into my mouth and started building some friction as I rocked my head up and down.

His cock filled my face. I held my mouth as wide open as I could so I wouldn’t rake his sensitive skin against my teeth. It hit me in the back of my mouth. I held the base with my hand so I had some control. I didn’t really know what I was doing, but I opened my eyes to assure myself that he had his closed and his head was back on the pillow. I must be doing it right.

Inside my mouth, his full dick twitched and Bobby arched his back. He thrust his hips forward.

My mouth filled with his cum. It tasted like hand lotion. Well, it didn’t taste exactly like hand lotion, but that was my first impression. Definitely a new taste. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t dislike it either. I wiped my mouth.

Bobby writhed on the bed. "Wow!" he said, beaming.

Oh my God. He loved it! He was in total bliss.

I smiled. I loved that I had done that for him. What was his chance at finding a nice girl to blow him again? I was slightly out of breath. I was thrilled for him, and pretty pleased at myself for making him so happy.

"Okay, now. You ready to go to sleep?"

He nodded. "Kiss-kiss?"

I smacked him on the lips. I wanted to kiss him deeper, more intimate, but I had his cum in my mouth and I didn’t want to taste yucky. I wanted to kiss him deeper, but that would have been for me, and he wouldn’t know what to do with that any more than he knew what to do with his blessed hard cock.

I turned out the light and left the room. My heart was pounding. I couldn’t believe what I’d done. It was weird. It was almost like I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t doing that as myself. I was doing that as some sort of surrogate lover, like someone who was handing out her sex to those more needy. Like someone who wanted peace and love throughout the world.

I smiled at my silliness.

Then I realized the tremendous buzzing that was still between my legs. Surges of blood flowing to my genitals. Even though the blow job was amazing, and I’d loved the feeling of having my face all full of his thick cock, having his smell all in my nose, it hadn’t done much for me. I stepped into the bathroom in the hallway. I pulled my pants down to pee, then afterwards, I marveled at the glisten of extra mucus on the toilet paper. I wanted to masturbate, but that would have to wait till later. His parents would be home before long. I washed my hands and rinsed his taste out of my mouth.

Later, when I was in my own bed, I kicked off my panties and worked my pussy with a small bottle of nail polish. I inserted the bottle inside my vagina and rubbed it in and out, trying to match the pace I’d used sucking his cock. I was so turned on! I pinched my nipples into puckers and traced my fingertips gently up and down on the ridges and valleys of my cunt. It felt so good! I closed my eyes and imagined how Bobby must have felt when he buckled his hips and spurted his cum in my mouth. I thought about that throbbing cock and the way it filled my senses inside of my mouth. The smell. The taste. The feel. It took awhile before I got enough of my hand and the little bottle and I had to be so quiet--my sister was sleeping in the next bed.

The next day it hit me what I had actually done. Did I rape him? Oh God. I took total advantage of that poor boy! He couldn’t help that he got a big boner, but it was me who showed him what he could do with it. I knew better than that. And what had I done? I cranked up those latent sexual hormones. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t just go out and ask another girl to put her mouth on his dick.

It was his mother whose job it was to tuck him into those HotWheel sheets at night. What if he grabbed her face and tried to force it down on his rigid cock? Oh dear.

What had I done?

I was so ashamed. Suddenly I felt petrified. I was terrified that his family was going to figure out what I'd done.  No, he couldn't really explain it with words, but he could with motions.  He may not be able to speak my name, but he could remember me from Summer Camp and he understood that if he kissed my lips, that might make me "his gurl."

But what could I do?

Then I remembered his "Wow!" and the absolute look of satisfaction at the end. He was in awe. Right or wrong, I couldn’t take it back. Right or wrong, he’d loved it. Right or wrong, he was exploring his own sexuality, whatever that was going to mean for him in his life.  And I had shown him a damn good time.

Three days later I came home from school and my mother was waiting for me, sitting with a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

"Bobby’s mother called."

My heart was racing. I tried to appear calm. "What’d she want?"

"She was asking questions about you. What kinds of classes you’re taking at school--if you have a boyfriend, that sort of thing."

"Oh."

I studied my mother’s face, trying to read between the lines. Something happened at Bobby’s house. Was Bobby’s mom turning me in for being a child molester?

My mother placed her cup on a square white napkin.

"Is everything okay with Bobby?" I asked.

"Yes, she said Bobby’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with Bobby."  Her voice had a lilt at the end of the sentence.  There had to be more to the conversation. My mother looked out the window. I could only imagine what Bobby’s mother said.

I was so nervous I could hardly breathe. "Does she want me to call her back? Does she need to talk to me?"

"Yeah. I think she wanted to know if you could babysit Friday." Mom looked at me with a strange little smile. 

If there was more going on, I wasn't going to find out from her.  I went upstairs, called Bobby's mother, and agreed to babysit.  They would pick me up at five.