By letting her learn

“Sorry…” Was the first cohesive word you got out of Shelly, after fetching a box of tissues from the kitchen and waiting for the blubbering to at least slow to a near stop. The red-headed creature was sat next to you on the garden bench and practically glowing with the flush of her crying.

“It’s just all gone wrong! It was supposed to be him not you, but now he doesn’t want to and we’re getting closer to graduation and there’s exams and we’re all stressed out and running out of time and now it might never happen and I’m not, you know?”

It took you several seconds to realise there was a question at the end of that breathless stream of consciousness and it was directed at you.

“Not what?”

“A kid!” She exclaimed, with some of that pomp and pride returning at last. “I’m 18, an adult! About to head out into the world and go to college, or start work, and fall in love and get married and make babies… All that stuff!”

The young woman practically shook with the anticipation of all she described: Both the excitement… but also the fear. You began to realise what this was all really about, for these fledgling beings just teetering on the edge of all they had the potential to be. More unwanted memories from your own flounders through that period came rushing in, only seven years behind and still not forgotten.

“A bunch of us made a deal with Tomi because he’s, y’know… safe. Gentle. Kind. Pretty. He said we could… try things out. Before Prom. Before we all go off into the world. But now he keeps running away when we suggest times or, or places that we could-”

You couldn’t help but shuffle closer and wrap an arm around the poor thing. She looked so ruffled and desolate. The whole situation sounded suitably teenage and ill-thought out… but then, wasn’t everything, when that was the age you were? She’d had a plan and things were going according to it. What else could the universe take from her?!

You felt a hand creeping up your inner leg, from the top of your thigh-high socks. Lifting up the frilly hem of your skirt as it did so. That was the other aspect of being that age, you remembered: even in the depths of tears… the horniness never went away.

Some ‘responsible adult’ inner voice of yours told you you should reach down and stop her… But there was also that other voice saying she wasn’t wrong: You were a slutty, femboy sex-pest only really a few years older and wiser than she was. If anybody was supposed to be a bad influence on this next generation exploring their own boundaries, it was you. You sort-of owed Tomi and he’d _sort-of _promised Shelly. Was that enough to allow her access? Would it hold up in court? Or at least in the court of angry parents?

Her creeping fingers found the bulge you worked so hard to hide. Trapped as it was in a net mesh of too-tight nylon. You liked to feel the breeze trickle through under your skirt, when you were only going so far as the garden. Now you felt nails tickling each gap in obvious excitement. She let out a little gasp when she felt a twitch of reaction to her teasing, clearly inexperienced enough to be even thrilled by just that. Once again, you questioned whether you should allow this to continue… but completely failed to do anything to stop it.