Jessica's Hero

A nine-year-old girl swears that someday she will marry the 12-year-old boy who saved her life. Will it actually happen when they enter adulthood?

[Author's note: This is another tale that will not appeal to readers who want a tidal wave of sex in their stories. There is a sexual scene near the end, but there's a long buildup before it. If you like this type of story, however, please read on!]

Part One

I can still recall the exact date: It was Friday, July 3, 1976. I, Hank Coleman, was 12 years old. School had ended a week earlier, and I was looking for something to do to occupy the ample amount of spare time I now had on my hands.

My mother had read in the local newspaper that the newly expanded public library in our midsize city was offering numerous free drop-in programs all summer for kids aged anywhere from five to 14 years. I figured they were worth a look and I had nothing better to do that day. Even if the activities didn’t appeal to me, I could always browse the stacks to see if any books caught my eye. That previous school year, I had gotten into the pleasant habit of reading biographies and autobiographies. They fascinated me. I had exhausted my school library’s collection, so I was eager to see what the public library had. After lunch, I rode the bus downtown.

The library’s drop-in programs, I discovered, were largely geared toward arts and crafts—which did not interest me in the slightest—but there was a small screening room that showed a loop of educational films produced by National Geographic. Those appealed to me. I arrived in time to watch an excellent 20-minute flick about walruses. After that, I perused the books and checked out Mack Sennett’s autobiography, as the history of the silent screen had recently become an interest of mine. I left the building and headed toward the bus stop located perhaps 20 feet from the library’s main entrance. I was unaware that my life was going to change within the space of a minute.

The accident unfolded right in front of me: I saw a little girl, perhaps eight or nine years old, get on her bicycle, ride across the library’s parking lot and attempt to turn right onto Maple Street, close to the bus stop where I was headed. She was unaware that a substantial amount of sandy grit had built up where the parking lot ended and the street began. The tires on the girl’s bike lost their grip on the street. She went tumbling forward and was thrown a few feet from her two-wheeler. She began crying loudly, of course. Fortunately, her injuries were confined to a few bloody scrapes on her bare arms and legs.

Unfortunately, a car—which was traveling much too fast for that quiet street—was bearing down on the bike and its former rider. I acted instinctively, rushing to where the little girl was sprawled. I scooped her up in my arms at the very moment the car crushed her bike. Had I not retreated to the curb within a split second, the car also would have run over the two of us, too. The driver slammed on her brakes. It was too late to save the bike; it was a write-off. Fortunately, the girl was spared further injuries. I escaped unharmed, too, but I was rattled by the close call. Be that as it may, I now had my arms full, holding and trying to comfort a hysterical little girl.

I suppose my natural protective nature kicked in. “It’s okay sweetheart. You’re safe now!” I repeated softly into her ear several times. She embraced me while sobbing. Her hug got increasingly stronger as the seconds went by. I wasn’t sure if she was crying because she was scared, injured, or upset that her bicycle had been wrecked. It was probably a combination of all three.

The sidewalks were fairly busy that afternoon, providing about 10 witnesses who saw what had happened. A library employee heard the commotion, saw the mangled bicycle on the street, feared the worst, and hurried to where I was standing with my sobbing companion. “Is she your sister?” I was asked. I said no and explained I just happened to be close enough to pull the little girl out of oncoming danger. Three witnesses confirmed my story. Oddly, a round of applause broke out among the gathering crowd. I was a bit embarrassed by it.

“Bring her inside!” I was instructed. The girl was still sobbing and desperately clinging to me. Someone pulled what was left of her bicycle off the street. Another person grabbed the book I had borrowed and gave it to me once I was back inside. I must have dropped it when I ran onto the street, but I did not recall doing so. The library employee called the police. Paramedics were also summoned to examine the girl for serious injuries.

This girl had no intention of loosening her grip on me—even when I sat down on a nearby chair. “Honey, ” I told her, “you’ve had a scary experience today. I don’t mind if you hug me for a week, but I’d like to know your name.”

Between sobs, she told me her name was Jessica Monroe and she was nine years old. I told her my name was Hank Coleman and I was 12. Her crying went on unabated except for the half dozen times she told me, “Hank, you saved my life! I love you!”

“That’s sweet of you to say, Jessica, ” I told her. “Honestly, I just reacted to the situation.” I gently kissed her cheek to try to quell her tears. That worked very well. Jessica responded by overwhelming me with kisses instead of tears. That was a definite improvement. I was unaware that a photographer from the local daily newspaper had, by chance, been in the library. He knew he had stumbled upon a feel-good local news story. He snapped a timely photo of Jessica sitting on my lap kissing my cheek as a trickle of blood flowed down her right leg. The image ran in color on the front page of Saturday’s newspaper. I later learned it had been picked up by one of the wire services because an aunt of mine who lived 200 miles away saw the photo in her local newspaper, too. Although it did not win, it was also nominated for a national photo-journalism award at the end of 1976.

The paramedics soon arrived and patched up Jessica’s scrapes. They gave her a quick examination and deemed her otherwise uninjured. The police came to take statements from me and other witnesses. I was told I could leave, but I wanted to stay with Jessica until her parents arrived to take her home. Why? Jessica insisted! “I want my mom and dad to meet my hero!” she explained.

When Mr. and Mrs. Monroe did arrive, they both started crying out of relief—and Jessica did too. She paused long enough to take my hand and introduce me as “Hank Coleman, the wonderful 12-year-old boy who saved my life today.” The Monroes both embraced me and said they would be forever grateful for what I had done. Then Mrs. Monroe asked me if I had been hurt, too. I thought it was an odd query until I realized that my clothing and my arms and legs were covered in blood from embracing the bleeding little girl for so long. I had not even noticed. I insisted I was okay.

Jessica’s parents offered me a cash reward, which I quickly declined. I told them to put it toward a new bicycle for Jessica. Then they asked if they could do anything for me. I replied, “Yes, you can give me a ride home, please, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to ride the bus looking like this. The driver might not let me on. He might think I’m an ax murderer.”

The Monroes only lived about four blocks from the public library in the opposite direction from my house, so they had to go out of their way to take me home. They happily did so. The bandaged Jessica and I sat in the back seat together. She hugged me all the way there. Her mother asked me if her beloved daughter was being a nuisance. “Not at all, ” I said. “This has been an emotional day for Jessica. Her mind must have a zillion things running through it. Besides that, I think she’s adorable.”

When we got to my house, I thanked the Monroes for the ride home. Jessica cutely asked me if she could kiss me again. I laughed and said, “Only if it’s a really good kiss!” We both got out of the car. I lifted Jessica into my arms and gave her a terrific farewell buss on the lips. “Let’s do it again!” Jessica demanded. “Okay...if you insist, ” I said in a monotone voice that jokingly indicated it was a loathsome task. Actually, I enjoyed being the recipient of this grateful girl’s affection. The adults in the car’s front seat just laughed.

My mother, who was looking out our living-room window, tried to make sense of what she was seeing. She hurried out to the curb, glimpsed my blood-stained clothing, the numerous bandages on the unfamiliar little girl I was kissing, and demanded an immediate explanation.

“He’s my hero!” Jessica gleefully exclaimed. “I love him!”

The Monroes promptly got out of their car. The four of us combined to inform my mother about the near tragedy that had occurred outside the public library. Somewhat stunned, my mother invited the Monroes inside for drinks and biscuits. They accepted. Jessica was offered a chair, but she preferred sitting on my lap instead. When the Monroes were preparing to head home an hour later, Mrs. Monroe said to her daughter. “Jessica, you need to thank Hank’s mom for the drink and treats.” Jessica did so very politely and added this tidbit of news. “Mrs. Coleman, I’m going to be your daughter-in-law someday because I’m going to marry Hank.” Then she gave me one final kiss on the cheek and walked out the door.

“Well, I guess that settles that!” my mother quipped. I and the three adults all laughed.

Part Two

When my picture appeared in the local newspaper, I was razzed good-naturedly by my friends for being a “cradle robber” and other nonsense. For a time, one buddy began referring to me as “Peter Brady” based on a famous episode of The Brady Bunch in which Peter saved a little girl from a falling shelf in a toy store. As a fan of the show, I had to admit it was a sound allusion.

Within a few days I got two surprising pieces of mail. One was a $20 gift certificate from the Monroes for a local bookstore. (I learned that Mrs. Monroe had phoned my mother the day following the accident to find out what kind of gift they could give me. My mother said I was an avid reader.) The second was a $25 check from Jessica’s maternal grandparents. (Jessica had told them I was something akin to a superhero. They insisted on replacing the bloody clothes that had to be thrown out.) There was also a very touching note saying how grateful they were for my saving their “precious treasure” and that they “would not have been able to bear another tragedy.” Apparently, decades earlier, they had lost a seven-year-old child—who would have been Jessica’s uncle—in a car crash. Wow.

Four months later I received an invitation to Jessica’s tenth birthday party. I was the only non-family member there who was not a preteen girl. I brought her plenty of school supplies and some personalized stationery as my gift to her. I also gave her a birthday card that said, “To my future wife.” She loved it! There was also an amusing incident in which Jessica got into a boisterous disagreement with her friend Judy. Jessica perceived that Judy was getting a little bit too physically friendly with me. Indeed, Judy was a bit of a groper, so I found the girls’ rivalry to be quite flattering to my male ego.

The surprise of the party was when the same news photographer who had snapped our picture at the library on July 3 walked through the door with his equipment. He had been invited by Jessica’s parents. He took a similar photo of Jessica kissing me. Jessica needed very little persuading to sit on my lap. It ran alongside the same photograph from four months earlier under the caption “Happier Reunion”. This time it ran on page five.

For the next decade, Jessica and I exchanged both birthday and Christmas cards. We seldom saw each other, though. On those few occasions when one of us happened to spot the other in public somewhere, Jessica would promptly revert to her nine-year-old self once we recognized each other. She would eagerly embrace me and smother me with kisses. That happened once at a shopping mall’s food court when she was 14 and I was 17. Jessica was maturing into a very beautiful young lady, so I really enjoyed that unexpected and passionate encounter.

One Saturday afternoon in 1985 when I was 21, I was walking out of the public library after finishing some research for a university assignment. I saw another person approaching the door from the other direction, so I stopped to hold it open for her. It was Jessica, now 18 years old—and she was quite lovely. We both recognized each other almost at the same time. This time I put her in a bear hug, lifted her off her feet, and carried her to a public bench a few feet away. Our usual kissing spree commenced shortly thereafter.

“Hello, old friend!” I said when we separated.

Jessica replied, “We’re more than friends, Hank. You’re my fiancé, remember?”

“Of course!” I noted. “I intend to hold you to what you said to my mother back in 1976. I wouldn’t want to make a liar out of you.”

“Seriously?” Jessica asked me.

“Not really, ” I admitted. “However, I’m 21 now so you must be 18, right?”

Jessica nodded and said, “I’ll be 19 in a month—but you know my birthday is November 20. I look forward to receiving your card every year—and you keep referring to me as your future wife.”

“Well, ” I said with a pause, “I might as well ask you this: Do you have a steady someone in your life at the moment?

“Nope, no one, ” she said, knowing full well where this conversation was heading.

“I have no significant other either, Jessica. Maybe we were fated to meet here today, just like I was fated to save your life a few yards from here back in 1976. I think we should do something about it. If you have nothing better to do, let’s go somewhere for lunch where we can talk and really get to know each other.”

“I just came here to pick up a book I had reserved, ” Jessica told me. “After that, I’m all yours.”

I laughed and said, “I don’t know how literally you meant that, Jessica, but looking at you now as a beautiful, nearly-19-year-old, the thought of us doing something more significant than kissing did cross my mind. You’re not nine anymore.”

“That’s the difference between you and me, ” Jessica replied with a sexy grin. “I would have happily let you screw me for hours and hours when I was nine. Hey, I was hoping to do that when I invited you to my tenth birthday party. However, it was tough to do with 20 people there. I hadn’t really thought that through very well.”

We were now holding both hands while sitting on the bench. I told Jessica, “I remember that birthday party. You almost got into a fight with a girl named Judy.”

“Yeah! That was Judy Backman. She was trying to move in on my true love—you! She started to get a little too friendly with her hands with you. She was totally out of line!”

We agreed to leave our respective cars in the library parking lot and walk about four blocks to a small, intimate coffee and pastry shop. We passed the area where the bus stop had been on July 3, 1976; it was now located a block further north.

I pointed to various spots. “This is where your bicycle was destroyed—and this is the spot where I grabbed you and carried you to safety. Too bad you lost your bike that day.”

“I guess you didn’t know I ended up with a better bike, ” Jessica said. “The woman who drove over it bought me an upgraded model in exchange for the police not citing her for careless driving and speeding. One of the police officers suggested that idea.” That was news to me.

Jessica and I sipped coffee, nibbled on fresh pastries, and talked for four hours until the shop closed. We held hands the entire time. There was no doubt that we were going to be a twosome from that point onward. When we got back to our cars, I had to remind Jessica what my address was in case we got separated on the way there. She hadn’t been there since the day of the accident—although she wrote the address on my birthday and Christmas cards every year.

Part Three

When we got to my empty house—my parents were out of town, visiting friends all weekend—Jessica and I quickly embraced and passionately kissed.

“I guess I’m not a cradle-robber anymore, ” I noted.

Jessica gave me a puzzled look. I explained, “When our picture appeared in the newspaper in 1976, my friends used to tease me because I was 12 and you were nine. They thought you were way too young for me.”

Jessica’s face lit up. She remembered something. “I have to make a phone call to a friend!”

“Right now?” I asked incredulously. I did not want anything to spoil the romantic mood.

“Yes, absolutely right now, ” Jessica insisted. “Please bear with me, Hank.” Jessica used the telephone in the kitchen. “Hi, I’m calling from Hank Coleman’s kitchen, ” she said into the receiver. “I told you this day would come. We’re about to go to his bedroom and fuck like two wild animals. I told you in 1976 I’d bag him before you would. I’ll tell you all about it when we meet for lunch on Wednesday. Bye!”

“Was the recipient of that call someone named Judy?” I asked.

Jessica smiled. “Yes, indeed. It was Judy Backman—the groping girl you remember from my tenth birthday party. She’s been my best friend since I was six. We’re still best friends, so I wanted to needle her a little bit.

Part Three

Without further chitchat, we both moved our discussion to my bedroom. We did not discuss much once we got there. My bed was unmade, but Jessica did not care. I took the liberty of unbuttoning and removing her faded blue blouse. I unclasped her cute white brassiere that was built to accentuate her assets. It dropped to the floor. “Hmm, I think you’ve done this before, ” Jessica commented.

“I’ve bedded about half a dozen different girls in my 21 years purely for fun, ” I honestly told her. “And it was fun! But the difference is I want to passionately make love to you—my future wife. Sound alright to you?”

“Uh-huh!” she cooed. “You’re a pretty good sweet-talker, Hank.”

I said nothing in response. Instead, I lifted Jessica onto the bed where I happily fondled her average-sized breasts. Her nipples got stiff rapidly, and were quite excellent to play with. I licked and sucked on them thoroughly as I could feel the erection in my jeans get progressively stiffer.

“I’ve got to remove my pants or I’ll come in them!” I told my bedmate.

“That would be a total waste, my hero, ” she told me. “Put your semen to good use, Hank. Both of us need to remove the rest of our clothing this instant!”

Within 30 seconds, Jessica was nude, lying with her legs spread wide. She had a beautiful, shaved teenage pussy. “Let me pleasure that in every way!” I stated.

“Who’s stopping you?” Jessica replied.

I was blessed with a long tongue for such situations. Previous girlfriends always enjoyed when I used it on their lower regions. If I couldn’t draw an orgasm from them with my mouth alone, I felt I had failed them. Ten minutes of strategic licking, sucking and penetrating my tongue into Jessica’s snatch brought her to a climax. Her pleasure put me on the edge. Less than a minute later, after I had thrust my manhood into her pussy, I ejaculated strongly. I groaned as three separate spurts of jism entered Jessica’s love tunnel. It felt wonderful and fitting.

“That was long overdue, ” Jessica said. “Your penis belongs in me, Hank. I’ve known it, on some level, since 1976.”

“You must have been a wild girl in elementary school!” was that only way I could think of responding to that statement. “You were about to enter the fourth grade the day fate brought us together.”

“Whatever!” Jessica said, bored with my untimely calculations. She declared, “Let’s make up for lost time.” She rolled me onto my back.

Jessica gave me a terrific blowjob—she had obviously done that before to some lucky sex partner. My penis regained its stiffness quite quickly. Jessica positioned herself atop me and slid my rod back into her warm channel. Then she gave me a vigorous fucking while I amused myself with her terrific nipples.

“Cum shot number two forthcoming!” I announced.

“You don’t need to tell me, ” she said sweetly. “Just let it go.” I did. Having sex with Jessica Monroe was a delightful pastime that could quickly turn into a lifelong habit.

About five minutes after Jessica had dismounted me, we were cuddling together, telling each other how we were meant to be, when we got the surprise of our lives. My parents were home more than a day early from their trip!

“Hi, Hank!” my mom shouted. Phyllis Janson wasn’t feeling well, so we decided to shorten our visit and just come home. Whose car is that in the driveway?”

I just shrugged and Jessica and replied to my mother. “That’s Jessica Monroe’s car, Mom. Remember her? She’s the girl I saved in 1976! I have her in my bed right now. We’ve been fucking for about an hour. She’s excellent at it. You haven’t seen her for a long time. Come into my bedroom and say hello to her!”

My mother said with a chuckle, “Stop joking, Hank...” and then she saw I wasn’t joking. She was literally at a loss for words. Jessica had pulled the bedspread over us so only our heads were showing.

Jessica said, “Long time no see, Mrs. Coleman.” She began to blush, too.

About 20 seconds later, my father, who was unpacking suitcases from the car, walked into the house also wondering whose car was in the driveway.

My mother composed herself enough to say, “Patrick, come into Hank’s room and see for yourself!”

Dad was almost as surprised by our amorous adventures as Mom was. Mom introduced Jessica to Dad because they had never met.

Since there was no getting around what we were doing, I said bluntly, “As you can see, we’ve been caught in an awkward moment here. Jessica, my future wife, and I were happily making love to pass the time on this lovely Saturday afternoon. We were rather enjoying ourselves. Had we known you’d be home a day early, we’d probably still be doing this, but we’d have gotten a room at one of those seedy motels along the highway.”

Dad was searching for words—and struggling mightily. He finally said, “I assume your mother told you we came home because Phyllis is ill. We came home early so we three could go out to dinner together somewhere. Let’s all four of us go! Jessica, do you have a favorite restaurant?”

I broke out laughing. “That had to be the most awkward dinner invitation ever, Dad. I loved it.”

Both my parents started laughing too. God bless them. “This is a serious offer, Jessica, ” my mother stated. “The four of us might as well enjoy a nice meal while we’re chatting about you two.”

“Thank you. I accept your gracious offer, ” Jessica managed to say.

“Good, ” Mom firmly said. “Now get yourselves tidied up. You can use the shower if you wish, Jessica.”

“Can I shower with her?” I asked hopefully.

“Don’t press your luck, son!” Dad chimed in.

Part Four

The four of us went to a family diner that was having an all-you-can-eat pasta night where we had a feast. It was odd. It seemed like Jessica had been my girlfriend for a decade, not just a sex partner whom I had bedded for the first time that afternoon. We talked about how we ended up in the sack together after a chance encounter at the library, but not too loudly. Jessica claimed she was “mostly but not entirely the instigator, ” of our tryst, so I should not be blamed for anything.

Both my parents laughed at that remark. “I’m sure you really had to twist Hank’s arm to have sex with you, Jessica, ” Dad declared. “I would have said yes in about two seconds.”

My mother and I both gave Dad a dirty look. He did not back down. “What are you two looking at me like that for?” Dad pointed at my adorable bedmate and stated with authority, “Look at her, she’s gorgeous.”

Jessica was more open-minded than her future mother-in-law and future husband. She smiled widely, promptly rose from the table, and affectionately kissed my father on the cheek. “That was a great compliment, Mr. Coleman, ” she said. “I’m going to like having you as my father-in-law. You seem like a fun fellow.”

As Dad embraced Jessica, something occurred to me. “Jessica, you will certainly have quite a lot to tell Judy on Wednesday!”

Jessica and I lived up to her 1976 prediction—the one her parents, my mother and I all laughed at in my living room. We were married on July 3, 1989, exactly 13 years to the day I saved her life near the library bus stop. The choice of date was deliberate, but it fell on a Monday, so we skipped a large wedding and just had a service performed at city hall. Judy Backman was present as Jessica’s maid of honor. The photographer from the local newspaper was there too to record our kiss after we had completed our vows. It ran on the front page directly beside his picture from 1976. This time the headline read, “Happiest reunion.”