"Well, come in, honey. Come on in." Mrs. Reynolds waved me inside, but stood so close that I had to brush against her going through the door. She put her arm around my shoulders and walked me through the foyer and down the hall. She pulled me so close that her breast was sitting on my shoulder. I got the idea that she was a very boob-oriented woman. She seemed to use them as feelers, to touch everything she could: people, furniture, anything handy. I was to learn that she never wore a bra and that the halter she had on that day was one of her more substantial tops. I remember thinking that she must have been very disappointed when her children were weaned and she could no longer breast-feed them. On the way downstairs, I kept thinking about the feel of her breast on my face, how soft and good it felt. It was one of those thoughts that refused to go away, no matter how I tried to push it out of my head.
She took me to the head of the stairs down to the family room and told me to go down and introduce myself to her boys, and that she would check in on me later. She went off to change clothes, something I learned that she does every couple of hours whenever she gets tired of wearing whatever she has on.
I walked down the curved carpeted staircase and came out into a huge room that looked like a combination of furniture showroom and gymnasium. The back wall was all glass with a couple of French doors that opened onto the yard. There were weight benches, and weight machines, a bar with stools and a fridge, a PC, a desk, a home theater system with a huge TV screen hooked to a new videogame console, and shelves of CDs and DVDs. It was a teenage boy's idea of heaven. Obviously, this was where her sons spent most of their time.
At the far end of the room, they sat hunched together on a large sofa, playing a videogame and shouting and elbowing each other. I put my books down on the desk, peeled off my heavy sweater, smoothed out my white blouse and walked over to say hello.
"Hi there!" I said, as cheerfully as I could.
There was a blooping sound from the game and the younger boy said, "Aw shit! You made me lose." From the score on the screen, he had been losing before I got there, so I didn't bother to apologize. They put down their controllers and gave me the once-over. Like most boys, they were pretty blatant about it. Their eyes went down and up and locked onto my chest. They stared so openly that I looked down to see if anything was showing. I was flattered that they would pay so much attention to my boobs when there was another woman walking around with larger ones that she was just dying to have everyone notice. It's different when it's your mother, I guess, but I was still flattered, so I even posed a little for them. Eventually, they looked up at my face.
"Hi, Sam!" Jim said, reaching out a hand, "Mom said you were coming."
I took Jim's hand, which was hot from gripping the game controller. Instead of shaking it, he pulled me down between them on the couch. They did not bother to make room for me; I was just wedged in between them. I felt really small sitting there with them practically on top of me. I kept squirming and pushing on the cushions to try to work myself higher against the sofa, but all I managed to do was get my arms trapped behind me. My blouse was pulled across my chest so tight that one of the buttons was about to come undone. I tried not to call attention to it. I just smiled up at each of them.
"So, little spider; what brings you to our web?" Bud said, in a bad creature-feature-host voice.
"I'm going to be staying here in the afternoons after school." I told them. "Your Mom and mine worked it out so I wouldn't be home alone until she gets off work."
"We're Babysitters?" Jim said disgustedly. "How old are you anyway? I thought you were in our class at school."
"I'm 18." I said proudly.
"Sure you are," Bud said suspiciously, "and you still need a sitter? We haven't had a sitter since I was 10! Heck, lots of girls younger than you ARE sitters."
"Yeah," Jim said, "What's your problem? "
"My Mom just feels better if she knows where I am." I said, rather unconvincingly. I suddenly felt as if I were a little girl again. The whole 'babysitter' thing really got to me. I had hoped the three of us could be friends. Now they were embarrassing me.
"I don't think she's really 18." Jim said. His tone was too dramatic. He was trying to cue his brother into something. I had a feeling that they were about to mess with me.
"I think she's faking it. I think she's really only 13." Jim said. He looked down at the front of my blouse. The top button was almost out of the hole. He reached out and pushed on it and it popped out. My blouse opened a little, showing my bra.
"Yeah," Bud said, catching onto the game. "I bet she's got that bra stuffed with socks and shit." He pushed on another button and tilted it into the buttonhole.
I tried to get my arms free to close my blouse again, but they each grabbed an arm and pushed it behind my back. They pushed down on my arms so hard that they forced my shoulders back and made my boobs rise even higher on my chest. The button that Bud had partially undone popped open. My blouse was open far enough so that they could look right down between my breasts, which were heaving as I tried to wriggle free.