Babysitter by the Pool — Mrs. Henderson's Secret

The twins were finally asleep. I'd been babysitting for the Hendersons since I was 16, but now I was 18 — officially an adult, though I didn't feel like one. Mr. Henderson was away on business, and Mrs. Henderson had a late dinner with friends. She told me to use the pool while she was gone. "You work hard, Lily. Enjoy yourself."

So I did. I'd brought my swimsuit — a tiny pale pink bikini I'd bought on a whim and never worn in public. The pool house was glass-walled, the water lit from within, turquoise and warm. I swam laps, floated on my back, and felt gloriously alone.

I didn't hear her come home.

"Lily?"

I jolted upright in the shallow end. Mrs. Henderson — Claire — stood at the edge of the pool in a cream silk dress, heels in her hand, her dark hair falling loose around her shoulders. She looked different than usual. Softer. Prettier. She was 38, a former dancer, and she had the kind of body that made me feel acutely aware of my own teenage awkwardness.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't hear you—"

"Don't apologize." She smiled, setting down her heels. "The water looks amazing. Mind if I join?"

I blinked. "Um, of course. Go ahead."

She unzipped her dress right there, and I looked away instinctively — then looked back. Underneath, she wore a black one-piece that hugged every curve. She was stunning. She dove in smoothly and surfaced next to me, pushing wet hair back from her face.

"Much better." She sighed contentedly.

We floated and talked. She asked about my plans for college. I asked about her dance career. She moved closer, treading water, and I noticed the way the pool lights reflected in her eyes.

"You know, Lily," she said softly, "you've really grown up this past year."

My heart stuttered. "I... thanks?"

She laughed, a low musical sound. "Oh sweetheart, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Her hand touched my arm under the water — just briefly, but it sent a shock through me. "I just mean... you're beautiful. You know that, right?"

Nobody had ever called me beautiful like that. Not the way she said it.

"You're blushing," she observed.

I was. My whole body felt hot despite the cool water. She moved closer still, and now we were inches apart, the water lapping at our shoulders. Her hand found mine under the surface.

"Have you ever... with a woman?" she asked quietly.

I shook my head, my mouth dry.

"Would you like to?"

The question hung in the air. I thought about my boyfriend from high school — the clumsy fumbling in his basement, how it never quite felt right. I thought about the way my eyes always lingered too long on girls in locker rooms. And I thought about Claire, who had always been kind to me, who looked at me now like I was something precious.

"Yes," I whispered. "I think I would."

She led me to the shallow end, where we could stand. Her hands cupped my face, and she kissed me — soft, unhurried, her lips tasting faintly of wine. Nothing had ever felt so right. I kissed her back, my hands finding her waist, pulling her closer. Her body pressed against mine, warm and solid.

She pulled back and looked at me. "We can stop anytime. Just say the word."

"Don't stop," I said.

She sat me on the edge of the pool, my legs dangling in the water, and positioned herself between them. Her fingers untied the strings of my bikini top. It fell away, and I sat there bare-chested under the stars, my nipples hard in the night air. She kissed down my neck, across my collarbone, and when her mouth closed over my nipple, I gasped so loud it echoed across the pool.

Her tongue circled and flicked while her hand massaged my other breast. I gripped the edge of the pool, my head falling back. Then her mouth traveled lower — across my stomach, to the waistband of my bikini bottoms.

She peeled them off slowly, and I lifted my hips to help. She guided me to lie back on the cool stone, my legs spread, the most intimate part of me completely exposed. I'd never felt so vulnerable — or so turned on.

"So pretty," she murmured, and then her mouth was on me.

I cried out. Her tongue was nothing like a boy's clumsy fingers — it was precise, knowing, relentless. She licked and sucked and circled my clit until I was mindless, moaning, my hands tangled in her wet hair. When she slid two fingers inside me, I arched off the stone and came harder than I ever had in my life.

She held me through it, kissing my inner thighs, murmuring "good girl" against my skin.

Afterward, she wrapped me in a towel and made us hot chocolate in the kitchen. We sat on the couch, my head on her shoulder, and she stroked my hair.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Like I just found out something really important about myself," I said.

She kissed my forehead. "Good. That's good, Lily."

I babysat for the Hendersons every Friday after that. And sometimes, after the twins were asleep... Mrs. Henderson came home early.