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ROBBIE & MRS STONE
© 2013 Kirstie Taylor
The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrievable system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Cover Image © Piotr Marcinski/123rf.com
This story is not attributed to the cover models. The cover is an illustration for viewing only and there is no association with the models and the story.
All characters and terms including ‘boy’ ‘lad’ and ‘girl’ refer to people age 18 and over.
Robbie was watching his mate Owen’s sister Ronda play netball. She played for the local netball team. He only went to keep his mate company. He wasn’t a big netball fan or anything. This was doing nothing for his street cred. He actually felt a bit awkward standing there on the touchline. He felt a bit pervy to be frank. Well he would. He felt like he was ogling all those fit girls in their short little skirts with their navy blue knickers showing. They were all two or three years older than him (the girls, not the knickers), most of them in the early twenties, and they really were fit as fuck. Robbie really didn’t know where to look. Just like any other hot-blooded 18-year-old would feel he felt proper awkward having to watch a team of well fit girls running about in their sexy kits.
He actually said it to his mate.
“Mate, I feel like I’m perving.”
“What do you mean? Feel like? You are.”
“No I’m not.”
“Your tongue’s almost hanging out. Do you want me to get you a bib?”
“I’m only here because you asked me to come.”
“Yeah well I didn’t ask you to drool over my sister, did I?”
“You haven’t taken your eyes off her.”
“I don’t know where to look. Why do they all have to wear their skirts so short?”
“Dunno. So they can get some air to their pussies I suppose.”
“Their skirts flap about when they run. I can see their knickers.”
“Concentrate on the game.”
“I’m trying to. Has anybody scored a goal yet?”
Owen cheered his sister on.
Robbie just stood there, the flapping skirts and the flashing knickers almost making him blush.
“Come on,” Owen said. “Give my sister some support.”
“Oh right. Come on, Ronda! Kick it!”
“They don’t kick the ball in netball.”
“I know. I’m only joking.”
Also on the touchline with Robbie was Mrs Stone, Owen and Ronda’s mom. She’d been talking to a friend when Robbie was going on about feeling like a pervert so luckily she didn’t hear him.