This is part 4 of Mind the Gap, a seasonal story of attraction between a young man and an older girl.  Read Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 first ~ or jump straight in here for the concluding 2 parts.


It had been a whirlwind getting to know each other while staying at my parents’ home rather than on my own turf. I felt I was in an alternate universe.  Perhaps that’s why I hadn’t let the difference in age between me and Hamish march in with hobnail boots and trample the fragile green buds of our new romance.  

Real life,however, was about to penetrate the dream. Hamish’s ill advised plan to hold a New Year’s Eve party at his parent’s expensively furnished house would speed the inevitable.  I tried suggesting it was unwise, but he was ebullient with the opportunity of hosting a late night of drinking and socialising for his friends.  

He made one concession to the fact that his home was in the square of a busy town on THE night when every young person, regardless of whether or not they knew him, would be looking for a party to crash. Just one – he’d answer the door with a baseball bat in his hands.  Hamish wasn’t even totally steady on his feet yet (after the leg and rib injury sustained before Christmas) but I couldn’t talk any further sense into him.

We spent all morning taking down and hiding his parents’ valuable/fragile bric-a-brac and re-hanging the decorations they’d had up for their Christmas Eve party.  We shopped for nibbles and soft drinks, arranging plastic cups and most of the leftover booze from their previous event in the kitchen.  Hamish was optimistic that his friends would bring the spirits and beer they intended to drink – so much to learn, he was only 19 after all!

I went upstairs to get ready.  Having met a few of Hamish’s friends over the past few days I knew they weren’t a dressy crowd, so black suede jeans and long leather boots would fit the bill.  My mother gave me a sexy black blouse for Christmas: lace without a collar, its placket and shoulder epaulettes were made of faux leather.  I decided to wear it over a black satin bustier. It was indeed a treat for the eyes, giving hints of cleavage, my winter-pale skin glowed through the floral lacy design.

When I entered the kitchen, the conversation hushed.  Hamish’s gaze swept my outfit appreciatively, but I got the impression I’d been the topic of conversation.  

His friends had aspirations to make music – two of them worked in a studio mixing tracks while others were in a band.  The girls sitting on their laps gave me hostile glares.  Time spent on their hair and make-up had achieved a ‘just-got-out-of-bed insouciance. My work was cut out to win these girls over, or I could ignore them, wrapping myself around Hamish to behave like a teenager myself.  Sometimes this parallel life was quite liberating!

Hamish put on music and minimal lights so the reception rooms were lit only by fairy lights, the glow from the re-trimmed tree.  At first it was a pleasant, civilised party as we socialised with his friends, playing cards and drinking games.  Then came the first knock at the door. Like meerkats we swivelled our heads to look at the clock, it wasn’t pub closing time yet. Hamish went to the door and swung it open.  He looked down on the hopefuls standing on the steps below him.

“Alright Hamish!?  Heard you were having a party.”
“Brought some booze.” Several of them held up bottles or cans.  Hamish stood back to let them in. There was one at the back he didn’t know.

“Who are you?”  He halted the guy with his batting arm like a barrier.

“Pete.”

The group spokesman turned back.  “He’s a friend of ours, from the Vine.”

“Well you’re responsible for him.”   Hamish pulled a grim expression, looking from his friend to the newcomer. “If you’re sick or start a fight, you’re out.”

“Sure.”  They both nodded.  Hamish herded them towards the kitchen to deposit drink contributions.

This formula was repeated several times as the night wore towards midnight.  I suspected Hamish knew less than half the people now lounging around his parents’ house drinking and smooching, crushing crisps into the rugs while becoming increasingly drunk.  

It was delightful to kiss and fondle, safely nestled within Hamish’s leggy frame, but the frequent interruptions to answer the door were getting frustrating.

“How many more are you expecting Hamish?”

“I dunno really, I can’t remember who I invited.  Things got a bit blurry when I was out on Christmas Eve.”

“Is that what you did?  Invite people you saw down the pub?”

“Yeah, sure.”  He pulled me in for a deep, exploratory kiss, nibbling on my lower lip and turning my insides to hot molten lava.  “I love this blouse, but it’s driving me crazy.  Look what you’re doing to me.”  He grabbed my hand and rubbed the front of his jeans where the rocket in his pocket was more than half-awake.

“You should stop answering the door now,” I said throatily.  “Anyone who comes now has chosen the pub over your party. They’re likely to be drunk and cause trouble.”

Hamish got like an excitable spaniel when he’d had a few drinks, full of enthusiasm and love for the world.  He didn’t want to turn newcomers away. He was enjoying his role as host of the best party in town, but thankfully his friend Rick reiterated my advice.

“She’s right man.  Everyone we know is here.  It’s asking for trouble letting more people in.  Lock it down, keep the booze and the birds to ourselves.”  So saying he winked, giving his girlfriend’s bum a resounding slap, which made her squeal with delight before he kissed her.

“We’ve hardly had any time to ourselves.” I locked eyes with Hamish. I brought his warm hand up to cup the spill of my breast through the lacy blouse.  This sealed the deal and Hamish went to turn the front door key and switch the porch and hall lights off.  I trailed behind him, so when he turned we stood, once again under that fateful sprig of mistletoe.

I tilted my neck up to observe his handsome face in the ambient light from the Christmas tree.

“Are you superstitious?” I asked softly, sneaking my fingers in between the buttons of his shirt.

“About some things.”  His lips curled with a sexy smile which melted its way through my knickers.  “I presume you mean the mistletoe?”

“Mmm-hmm.  I wanted to kiss you under it at your parents’ party.”

“Me too.” He reached down to grip a buttock in each hand, scooping and lifting me up till my lips met his.  For my part I wrapped arms and legs round him like a monkey to kiss him with renewed passion, as his erection throbbed against the junction of my thighs.

Slowly Hamish lowered me to the stairs, and despite their awkward pressure at my back, the delightful rubbing of his erection made me groan into his mouth.


Created for Kayla Lord’s #MasturbationMonday meme.  The inspirational image was shared by Marie RebelleClick the link to see who else is participating in this meme.

The final piece of this tale will be posted on #WickedWednesday.



Comments (4)

  1. Reply

    Lovely! Your writing is extremely good and very affecting :). There is a lot of skill here as well as a highly erotic imagination. It does feel as I'm reading that I'm really entering into your experience and perspective and I think that excites me more than anything. Thank you x

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