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I had been so right. About a lot of things in fact.

One, that introducing Charlie to sex was going to change him forever and create a whole new different kind of challenge to work with.

And two; He spent the next following week masturbating at any moment I wasn't setting him up with things.

Charlie had now certainly reached the teenage phase of his development, embracing the cliché of the giddy teenage boy that couldn't keep his hands out of his pants. Long nights I had spent listening to throaty moans come from the other side of the wall, and then listened to Charlie himself come. After having watched those videos I'd found for him about masturbation, he hadn't been doing much else than reenacting just that.

It was that exact reason I had begun finding it harder and almost impossible to work with him; He was constantly sexually charged and kept getting erections around me (a fact I couldn't forego and/or be awkwardly aware of), and whenever he looked at me, I found it difficult to look him in the eyes. Those magenta moons seemed to darken whenever they met my green orbs, and it disturbed me to the point where I had caught myself clenching my legs together to hide it.

It was so wrong, and I had to keep reminding myself; My only job was to get Charlie accustomed to the real world to see if he could handle it and to teach him all that he needed to know.

– But having sex with him was not part of my job description.

I was supposed to be his mentor and practically his parent. The more I thought about it, the more morbid it became; I had almost raised him and taught him about life like a parent would and should, but now he was thinking about me in ways he shouldn't and I wasn't so sure my own mind was pure.

The look in his eyes... I could see it. He wanted to 'impregnate me', and he wanted it badly, and every time he looked at me, it was like he reminded me of that. Of how excellent a kisser he was, how sweet his touch had been against my skin, how firmly his hands felt around my sensitive breasts...

I couldn't think of it, and yet I was, and it was causing me to have a complex over what was right and wrong – the very thing I had spent late nights teaching him about like I was the expert. Who was laughing now?

Avoiding him wasn't an option, nor did I want to, so I stayed professional and kept up the mature façade, but inside I was bursting like a little school girl every time his broad frame stepped into the room, hugged by a black polo or a loose T-shirt that left little to the imagination. When he wasn't checking me out, I was checking him out, and I was positive I did so more brazenly than he did; one time he had bent over to pick up one of his comic books from the living room floor and I had stared blatantly at his ass. That firm, tight ass I could picture clenching as he thrust into me with no abandon, 'impregnating me' full on.

I was a horrible person.

Saturday morning, a little over a week after we had discussed it all, I was standing in the kitchen and blending some berries and bananas to make a healthy smoothie while the radio was playing. I was humming along and slightly bobbing my hip to the catchy tune while I added the berries and hit pulse with intervals to get all the chunks out.

It was probably the noise and the music that prevented me from hearing him enter, but when I felt that prickle on my back from being watched, I slowly turned around and found Charlie standing there in the doorway. His hair was tousled from just waking up and he was still in his loose sleeping shirt and sweatpants, but that wasn't what had me suddenly widening my eyes in shock. It was that his right hand was cupping the thick morning erection that protruded from behind his slacks and was stroking it slowly while he watched me. I nearly choked on my own breath. "Charlie!"

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