Free Watching the Wilsons (Carrie & The Wilsons) by Becky Young

Thursday evening
    The softest of snores vibrated the couch cushions behind me. Ella had fallen asleep. I stretched across the ottoman and poked Leo with my big toe. “Okay, dude, it’s time for bed.”
    “ After this show,” the ten year old murmured, his gaze never leaving the big screen TV on the wall.
    I rolled my eyes and tugged his sister forward on the couch.
    “ Come on, honey, let’s get you to your room,” I whispered, hefting her up and over my shoulder. She was almost too big for me to carry. Leo would be for sure. Another year or two and they wouldn’t even need a babysitter, they could just fall asleep on the couch and their parents could leave them there, or move them when they got home.
    The Wilsons hadn’t planned on having a babysitter this week. They invited me along more to give my parents a break than anything else. I probably should feel guilty about that, but driving to Florida with my folks or spending a week skiing with Mrs. Wilson and her family? No-brainer. I didn’t understand why she was so nice to me after my mom bitched to her about my brattiness, but that was just her personality. Soft and gentle, through and through. I used to think that I wanted to be just like Ellen Wilson when I grew up. Now that being a grown up was right around the corner, I wasn’t so sure. Being Mrs. Wilson seemed like a lot of hard work with no reward. Unless having an adoring husband counted.
    My lips twitched. I could just imagine how Mr. Wilson rewarded his wife. I had, many times in fact. A few times so far on this trip.
    Ella snuggled under her covers and I headed back to the living room. “Leo...”
    “ Yeah, I know.”
    I ruffled his floppy blond hair as I passed behind the couch he was still slouched on. “Snowboarders need their rest, you know what your dad says.”
    He turned his head, making sure I could see his eye roll, but thirty seconds later he turned off the television and made a big show of yawning. Whatever. He could think he was going to bed on his own terms, as long as he went. This was probably the only night of real babysitting I would do this week, I wasn’t going to mess it up.
    Besides , the sooner the kids went to bed, the sooner I could explore the box of dirty books in the hall closet.
    It was labelled “Old Books from Stacey”. There were some thrillers on top, and quite a few romances with Fabio on the cover, but the majority of the well-worn paperbacks were explicit erotica. I discovered them earlier in the evening, when I was looking for a board game to play with the kids. I’d only had a few minutes to flip through, but one cover had a woman gagged and blindfolded, and another featured a young woman in a plaid skirt.
    My best friend had shown me how to clear the search history on my web browser last summer. She called it my eighteenth birthday present, and showed me a website full of erotic stories that she’d discovered. Best present ever. The smart phone that my parents got me was pretty awesome too, once I confirmed that they wouldn’t be able to see what sites I visited on it either. But a lot of those stories were short. Like, perfect length to wank to kind of short. But I wanted more. I wanted information .
    I lost my virginity four months, five days and two guys ago, and I still didn’t get the big deal about sex. I mean, when I touched myself, holy shit that felt good, and I liked the build up. Making out was awesome, but then something happened when fingers touched hidden places. Lack of experience times two was not a great formula for success.
    Short of actually watching real people have sex, these books seemed like the closest thing I would get to a useful lesson in making sex good. Being able to give big Justin Richleau from the football team some direction? That got my juices pumping. Literally. I pressed my legs together and, hand to God, I heard a squish.
    I ’d give Leo fifteen minutes to drift off, then I was busting out the box.
     
    It didn’t