Checking the Connolly House

Carl and his wife will be out of town on Saturday, so he asks coworker Charlie to check on his 14-year-old daughter and 10-year-old son. A sex party discovered!

Part One

My name is Charlie McNab. In 1975 I was a 31-year-old bachelor in a Canadian city of about 60,000 residents. I was happily employed as a statistician for a major drug store chain in Canada. My task was to keep track of sales figures of all 138 stores located around the country, monitor trends, and keep track of where things were going well and where they weren’t. Therefore, if aspirin sales at a certain store were well below what was expected, I was to figure out why. It sounds boring to most people, but I enjoyed crunching numbers, so the job was actually a great fit for me.

I shared an office with a co-worker named Carl Connolly who was about a decade older than I was. Carl’s job was logistics. He made sure all the stores across the country were fully stocked with dozens of different items at all times. We often consulted. Whenever he requested sales data and my take on it, I told him which items were flying off the shelves, which ones were collecting dust, and my hunches why that was the case. Carl and I got along splendidly considering we had very little in common. I loved sports and all the stats that accompanied them. Carl did not. He was far more likely to read a nonfiction book or become absorbed in the plot of a movie on TV than watch a ballgame. He was married and had two children: Joan, age 14; and Brian, age 10.

One Thursday during lunch—the two of us almost always brought our own to work and ate together at our desks—Carl asked me if I had any plans for that coming Saturday night. I said I had none.

“Good!” he replied. “Charlie, I have a little, secret task I’d like you to do for me. It won’t take long and I’ll make it worth your while.”

He opened up his wallet. Instead of pulling out cash, he produced a pair of much-sought-after tickets to a boxing card that would be held in three weeks. The main event was the professional debut of a local welterweight who had recently won a medal at the world amateur championships. Canada’s national sports media thought this fighter, a hard-punching 20-year-old, had the potential to be a force in the pro ranks, so there was great anticipation about him. He was being hyped beyond any local athlete I could remember. Predictably, his professional debut at the local hockey arena quickly sold out. Somehow Carl, who knew next to nothing about sports—especially boxing—had acquired a pair of $100 ringside seats. I was startled!

“Would you be interested in having these? I understand they’re hot commodities,” he asked me.

“Of course!” I responded. “How did you, of all people, end up with two tickets for a pro boxing event?”

Carl liked to have fun with me, so he said, “Charlie, I’ll give you two possible scenarios, A or B. You have to guess which one is true. Scenario A has me standing in line for several hours at the arena’s box office with a bunch of fanatical fight fans in order to be among the first people to buy these tickets. Scenario B has my wife winning these tickets as a prize in a charity raffle. Use your great sense of logic to deduce which scenario is more plausible.”

I chuckled and said, “Uh, that’s a tough one, Carl, but I’ll go out on a limb and say Scenario B. That’s just a wild guess, of course.”

“You are quite a clever fellow, Charlie. That was the correct choice. How did you know?” Carl asked with plenty of sarcasm.

“I’m a highly educated individual!” I said jokingly. “I find it hard to believe that your wife, who knows even less about sports than you do, would have bought a raffle ticket for such a prize.”

“She was hoping to win the grand prize—a Mediterranean cruise,” Carl explained. “The boxing tickets were a secondary prize. Of course, neither my wife nor I have any interest in going to this fight. Debbie especially hates boxing. She can’t figure out the appeal of what she calls ‘two grown men hitting each other.’”

I couldn’t agree with Debbie’s assessment of one of my favorite sports, but I didn’t want to debate boxing’s merits with Carl. Therefore, I simply nodded for no reason and said, “You mentioned something about a little task you want me to do. I gather if I do it, I get the pair of boxing tickets. Am I right, Carl?”

“Yes, that’s the deal I am offering, my friend,” he said between bites on an egg salad sandwich. “Here’s what I’d like you to do for me: This weekend Debbie and I have tickets for two plays at a drama festival out of town. There’s one play on Saturday night and one on Sunday afternoon we will be seeing with friends. After the play ends on Saturday night, we’ll be their houseguests. That means that our two kids will be left at our house alone.”

“You want me to be a babysitter?” I inquired.

“No,” Carl quickly stated. “Joan turned 14 recently. She’s the babysitter now, but she’s never had an overnight assignment to look after her brother.”

I hadn’t seen Joan or any other member of Carl’s family for at least a couple of years, so I had trouble picturing her as a 14-year-old. I was puzzled by what my mission was.

“So why do you need me?” I asked.

“I have a sneaking suspicion that Joan is up to something,” Carl told me. “As soon as Debbie and I got the theater tickets, we let Joan know that she’d be needed as a babysitter for Brian for as long as we would be away. That was about two months ago. Since then, she must have asked me or Debbie a dozen times which Saturday night we would be away—as if she were planning something. She seems overly enthusiastic about staying at home with her 10-year-old brother.”

I still hadn’t gotten an answer yet, so I asked again, “How do I fit in?”

Carl finally got to the point. He said, “All I want you to do is visit my home at about 8 p.m. just to see how things are going. Nobody else should be there except for my two kids. I want you to ensure the house isn’t being used for a wild party. That happened to an old high school buddy of mine a year ago. He and his wife similarly went away for a weekend and 20 teenagers turned up for a rowdy party. It was bad. They did a lot of damage. If Joan and Brian are alone in the house and everything is fine, you’ll be back in your car in about two minutes.”

That seemed like an easy way to earn a pair of coveted tickets to a boxing event I really wanted to see, so I agreed. Carl handed me a spare house key that would open his front door, if necessary. He wrote his address on a piece of paper. That was absolutely necessary as I had never been to his home before, even though he lived just a five-minute drive from my house. He also gave me the boxing tickets in advance. I thanked him heartily.

At work on Friday, Carl reminded me about my assignment for the following night. He did not need to do so; I was excellent at memorizing any sort of commitment. He also said that he hadn’t told his wife about my special visit. “My wife would think it would reflect badly on Joan—as if I didn’t trust her.”

“But you don’t trust her, right?” I asked. “That’s why you are having me check your house at 8 o’clock.”

Carl smiled and cheekily said, “Charlie, there’s an old Russian adage that applies here: ‘Trust…but verify!’”

“That’s amusing; I’ll have to remember that one!” I told him.

“By the way,” he mentioned as he was heading home that Friday, “I would have given you those two tickets for nothing even if you couldn’t do this favor for me. They are useless to me and Debbie, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy the boxing in a few weeks’ time. Just don’t bore me with any details when you come to work the next day. I couldn’t care less who fought whom and who won and how.”

Part Two

On Saturday night I tried to time my visit to the Connolly house around my other errands. I didn’t have to be there precisely at 8 p.m. That was just an approximation. I did a bit of shopping for groceries and other miscellaneous items, filled my car’s gas tank, and returned some books to the public library via its after-hours drop slot. I made sure I didn’t buy anything that needed to be put in the refrigerator or freezer immediately—just in case I had to stay longer than the couple of minutes that Carl had predicted my visit would take. That turned out to be a wise decision!

With all my errands complete, I drove onto Birch Lane and looked for house #74. I easily found it. I parked on the street directly in front of it. I noticed a few lights were on, but I didn’t see any obvious signs of a wild party being held there. That was good! I figured I’d just ring the doorbell, reintroduce myself to Joan whom I last remembered as an 11-year-old, say hello to her and perhaps her brother, and then quickly depart. It didn’t work out that way.

When I rang the doorbell at 8:03, I could hear a lot of activity inside the Connolly house—too much for a sister taking care of her one little brother. Nobody seemed too interested in answering the door, so I rang the bell again. I was about to ring it for the third time, when the door opened just enough so I could see the face of a teenage girl. I had not seen Joan for about three years, but I was fairly certain the girl at the door was not Carl’s daughter.

I tried to be diplomatic. “Hi,” I said. “I work with Carl Connolly. He asked me to drop by tonight at about this time to see how Joan and Brian were doing. You’re not Joan, are you?”

“No,” said the girl rather timidly. “I’m Veronica, her friend from school.”

I instinctively knew that something was going on in the house that shouldn’t be—and it was likely more serious than Veronica visiting Joan while the latter babysat Brian. “This presents a problem,” I told Veronica. “Joan’s Dad specifically told me to make sure only Joan and her brother were in the house tonight—and absolutely no one else. Who else is here? Be honest with me, please.”

Veronica told me to come inside. Then she yelled up a flight of stairs, “Joan, you need to come downstairs right away and talk to someone. Your dad sent him to check on you and Brian.”

Joan came down the stairs looking slightly disheveled. Amazingly, she remembered me. “I know you,” she said. “You’re the stats guy who works at the same office as my dad.”

I congratulated Joan on her excellent memory, but then I informed her, “We have a problem here, Joan. According to what your father told me at work yesterday, you and your brother are only supposed to be in this house tonight—and no one else. Firs of all, where’s Brian?”

Joan was very cooperative with me. She said, “He’s downstairs watching TV by himself. I made a deal with him to stay there for as long as my friends were here tonight. If he stays down there, doesn’t bother me, and doesn’t say anything to our parents about visitors being here, I promised him I’d give him $5.”

In 1975, $5 was a vast fortune for a 10-year-old at a time when a Snickers bar could be bought for just 15 cents. This made me very suspicious that something out of the ordinary was going on here to cause a sister to bribe her little brother with a fiver.

“Are there boys here, Joan?” I asked.

Joan hesitated for a moment before admitting that was indeed the case.

I took a deep breath and announced, “I hate to be a party-pooper, Joan, but I think I need to see everyone who’s here. Perhaps we can sort things out without you getting into too much trouble, okay?”

Joan sensed the wisdom in continuing her cooperation with me. She summoned three other teens from upstairs—two boys and a girl. The boys looked to be older than the girls. They guiltily descended the staircase and presented themselves to me. I told Joan to “do the honors.” She wasn’t familiar with that old-fashioned statement, so I said, “Tell me who everyone is and why they’re here.”

Joan said, “I assume you’ve met Veronica already. The other girl is Clarisse. We three girls are all in the same class at school. The boy beside Clarisse is her boyfriend. His name is Clark. He brought along a friend. His name is Nick.”

“How old are you two boys?” I asked.

They said they were both 16 years old. That seemed accurate to me. That also seemed normal because when I was a lad of 16, several 14-year-old girls targeted me and my friends because it was a status symbol for eighth-grade girls to have high school boyfriends. The older the boys were, the more prestigious it was for the girls. My friends and I found it quite flattering. Best of all, the assertive girls were easy lays!

None of the five teens was openly willing to explain the nature of the visit that I had interrupted. Joan was on the verge of tears, so Veronica acted as the group’s spokesman. “Clarisse and Clark came here to have sex. Joan allowed them to do that if Clark would bring along a friend to have sex with her. That is why Nick is here. There was some misunderstanding, though, because Joan thought Clark was bringing two friends tonight—one for me, too—so all six of us could have sex. I guess you could say we were planning to have something like an orgy because we knew Joan’s parents were out of town.”

That was something of a revelation to me. I expected them to admit to necking and perhaps some heavy petting, but outright sexual intercourse was something of a surprise.

Without being prompted, Veronica continued her sordid explanation. “The boys have only been here for about 10 minutes. The four of them had just gotten undressed in two of the bedrooms when the doorbell rang. I was just about to join them for a five-person sex game. Clark was going to explain how it worked. Since I was the only one still fully dressed, Joan sent me downstairs to answer the doorbell while they put their clothes back on.”

The story just had to be true. It was too wild a tale to be made up on short notice. I was somewhat sympathetic to this group of sexually curious teens who were eager to have a bit of taboo carnal fun. I said to them, “I was a horny teenager once—and very sexually curious, too. I can’t really fault you for trying to take advantage of having an empty house—not including Brian down in the basement, of course—to have a bit of naughty fun together.”

My liberal view of things seemed to lift the weight of the world off all five teens. Joan stopped crying and the other four looked less forlorn about what I had caught them doing before they really did anything. Joan gave me a thank-you hug, assuming that I’d not say anything about my discovery to Carl. I wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily. I hadn’t agreed to such a simple solution.

“The four of us visitors will just go home quietly now,” Veronica suggested, “if that will make you happy and not get us into trouble.”

I raised my right hand to indicate that wasn’t what I had in mind. I had noticed that Veronica was the best-looking and the best-developed of the three 14-year-old girls in the room. She had cute dimples, perfect teeth, and attractive auburn hair down to an inch or so beneath her shoulders. She also had a lovely set of perky breasts whose hard nipples simply could not be ignored. I figured Lady Luck had dealt me a fortuitous hand tonight, so I decided to exploit it.

To the teens’ great surprise, I announced, “You four don’t have to go at all. You can stay here and have sex just as you had planned…under one important condition, though. That condition is that I take the place of the other friend of Clark’s—the fellow whom Veronica was expecting to be her sex partner for tonight. Joan, you and Nick can go to your bedroom and screw like rabbits. The same goes for Clark and Clarisse in your parents’ bedroom. If this arrangement of mine is agreeable to Veronica, is there another vacant room we can use for fucking?”

The four teens were silent for a moment. I think they were amazed and dumbfounded by my sexy suggestion at first, but they suddenly liked the idea once they gave it sufficient thought. Joan, Nick, Clark and Clarisse looked hopefully at Veronica for her acceptance of this plan. After a moment or two of considering her options, she shrugged her shoulders and said to everyone, “I had planned to have sex with a stranger tonight. Therefore, it really doesn’t seem to matter too much who the guy is. So yeah, to make everyone happy and not ruin anyone’s plans, I’ll have sex with…I don’t think you’ve told us your name.”

She was right. I hadn’t yet divulged my name to the four strangers I was meeting. “Oh, yes. How silly of me to forget that. I’m Charlie McNab,” I said. “I’m 31 years old. I’m mentioning my age because I know you’re all curious about that stat.”

“There’s a small guest room down the hall to the left that you two can use,” Joan promptly informed me and Veronica. Then she scampered back up the staircase with Nick in close pursuit. Clark and Clarisse, hand-in-hand, were not very far behind them.

I was suddenly extremely glad I hadn’t bought any ice cream or other frozen foods at the grocery store.

Part Four

I gently took Veronica by the hand and led her into the small guest room. The bed was intended for one person, so it was quite narrow. It suited our purposes, just fine, though. Before we screwed, I sought to engage Veronica in conversation. I intended to give her the impression that I was a perfectly normal adult male, more than twice her age, who wanted merely to screw a pretty 14-year-old girl whom I had known for about ten minutes.

I learned from my soon-to-be bedmate that Veronica’s last name was Gibson, she and Joan had been friends and classmates since the fourth grade, and she had never been on a date before, much less had sex with a boy. She had come to the party with the sole goal of losing her virginity before she entered high school. I couldn’t help but wonder why none of the girls in my eighth-grade class in 1958 was this eager to have sex one Saturday night just for the heck of it. I guess the 1970s were a lot different than the 1950s when it came to sexual mores.

I gave her the important details pertaining to my life. I was 31 and unmarried. I worked as a statistician, and I’d certainly had my fair share of sexual conquests beginning with flat-chested Alice Stephenson back in the sixth grade.

“What year would that have been?” Veronica asked me. I quickly did the arithmetic and announced, “It would have been April or May of 1956. I had gone to her house after school on a rainy afternoon. Alice wanted to show me her record collection. I wanted to show her something I had. It wasn’t a record collection, though.”
Veronica got the hint and giggled. “Wow!” she told me. “I wasn’t around until 1961. That means you were fucking girls five years before I was born!”

She was right—and that tidbit of information oddly turned me on.

“Let’s consider my vast sexual experience to be a learning opportunity for you, Veronica,” I said. “I do have to point out the last time I had sex with a 14-year-old I was 16, just like the males who are upstairs.”

“What was her name?” Veronica asked me. I was getting the idea that Veronica was more interested in my sexual history than I was.

“That would have been Brenda Quigley,” I noted. “She was in exactly the same position as your friend Clarisse. She was an eighth-grade student who had a high school-age boyfriend—me! As I recall, she was fun to screw. Enough idle chatter, Veronica! Let’ see if you’re fun to screw, too!”

We both sat on the narrow bed. I embraced Veronica. I could tell she had no idea what I was going to do—and I liked keeping her in suspense. I began kissing her neck and then moving upward to her left cheek. I whispered in her ear. “Just relax, Veronica. Follow your instincts. Do what comes naturally and we will have an enjoyable time. I also promise not to come inside you. I can control my ejaculations. However, I don’t know if the same can be said for the two 16-year-olds having fun in the upstairs bedrooms.”

“Okay, I trust you, Charlie,” she said. I rewarded her confidence in me with a passionate kiss. I enjoyed Veronica’s lips. They were soft, sensuous…and they belonged to a tremendously cute 14-year-old I was about to bed.

“Get undressed, Veronica, honey,” I instructed her. She did so at a slow pace. I don’t know whether that was deliberate or not, but it was quite arousing to me. In contrast, I was down to just my briefs in well under a minute.
“Let me remove your bra, Veronica,” was my next instruction. It was a lacy piece of underwear, light blue in hue. It did a good job in lifting her assets to make them look bigger than they actually were. It did a lousy job in concealing Veronica’s nipples, though, as they poked at the cups, yearning to be set free.

Not much had changed in teenage girls’ undergarments in the 15 years since I’d undressed Brenda Quigley in 1960, so I knew exactly how to open the clasp on Veronica’s brassiere. Her boobs had large areolas. I preferred smaller ones, but I wasn’t about to quibble. I was about to nibble, however. I immediate began sucking on the one closest to my face. My hand gently caressed the other one.

I had an overwhelming desire to glimpse Veronica’s vagina, so I told her to stand up and remove her panties as sexily as she could. For a sexual novice, she did this quite well. She turned 180 degrees so the first thing I saw after she let her frilly underwear fall to the carpet was her naked backside. Then, also quite slowly, she turned around to display full frontal nudity. Her pretty pussy had only a light amount of fine hair on it. It was a gorgeous sight—and I said so.

“You have me completely aroused, girl!” I declared. I proved it by dropping my briefs. My erect dick was pointing skyward. I believed I was at least average when it came to the size of my most manly asset, but I felt my dick grow to uncharted heights just by gazing upon beautiful Veronica. I moved toward her, kissed her passionately, and lifted her so I could set her body on the bed exactly where I wanted it to be.

For the next 15 minutes, I ravished this girl—but in as gentlemanly a fashion as I could manage. I smothered her entire body with licks, sucks, and kisses—focusing mostly on important areas, of course. I invited Veronica to please me in a similar manner. She happily played with my balls and stroked my shaft, but did not take the next obvious step—performing fellatio on my rigid penis. It didn’t bother me as I knew Veronica was inexperienced in all aspects of lovemaking. She did compliment me, though, saying my dick was “huge”. That was total hyperbole, but I accepted the accolade and said, “I just hope I can please you with it—and I’m about to start right now.”

Given the small size of the bed we had, I decided to fuck Veronica doggy-style—at least to begin with. I gave her a brief description of what that entailed and instructed her to get on her hands and knees and slightly elevate her butt near the edge of the bed. I eagerly positioned myself behind her and warned her I was about to take her virginity in a matter of seconds.

“Good!” she declared. “That’s the reason I came here tonight.”

I slowly inserted my dick into Veronica’s warm and wonderfully tight pussy. I knew I wasn’t going to last very long probing this enticing orifice with my throbbing dick. I pushed it in as far as I could. Veronica was good about it. She sexily whimpered a bit, but she surprisingly took every inch of my manhood like a pro.

I praised her. “Your pussy is fabulous, Veronica. It’s so damn tight. I’m glad I was the first to test it out.”

I just began getting into a smooth fucking rhythm buy putting my hands on her waist for greater thrusting power and efficiency when I felt the familiar tingling sensation in my balls that always preceded an orgasm. “Cum shot imminent, Veronica,” I informed her. “Time for me to pull out!” I did, but not with too much time to spare. I ejaculated on her bum and her lower back. My only comment was a heartfelt, “Oh, wow!” Veronica had an orgasm too, a few seconds after mine. What a shame we couldn’t have enjoyed a simultaneous orgasm—but my pulling out of her inviting pussy was of paramount importance. I had no intention of fathering a baby with 14-year-old Veronica. But if she wanted me to do the job in about four years…

Veronica and I cuddled tightly for about 15 minutes as there wasn’t much room on the bed for us to spread out. It was fun as I played with her tits while she stroked my dick, referring to it as my “magic wand.” I then said I’d better leave—and the other visitors ought to head home too because it was approaching 9 p.m. They didn’t say so directly, but I gathered that Clark and Nick were also both successful in their horizontal adventures with their 14-year-old bed buddies. We all cleaned up as best we could. I told Joan it was her job to hide all evidence of the sex party—including laundering the bedding. She had already started that task when I departed. I promised to say nothing about what I and her four teenage guests had done that Saturday night.

On Monday morning at the office, I reported to Carl that I had arrived at his house at precisely 8:03 p.m. on Saturday. I was greeted by Brenda who gave me the grand tour after which I departed.

Carl asked, “So you’re telling me my suspicions about what Joan might be up to were totally unjustified. Is that right, Charlie?”

I lied and said she and Brian were merrily watching TV together. In reality, I never did see Brian. He kept his promise to Joan and remained downstairs all the time I was there.

“Well, you’ve earned those boxing tickets, Charlie. Thanks for stopping by on Saturday night,” he said.

I told him it was my pleasure. That was definitely the truth.

Carl continued, “I know zilch about professional boxing, Charlie, but on fight night, I hope you see a knockout up close.”

I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from replying, “I already have. She’s your daughter’s sexy classmate and her name is Veronica.”