Matthew Rollins was thirty-eight years old. He was divorced, somehow he and his former wife's union hadn't fulfilled either he or his ex Sarah, and they had drifted apart. There were no children, and no hard feelings. They were still friends, and though they didn't often see each other, they chatted every couple of days by phone.

Matt (as he preferred to be called) had had an injury in an auto collision while driving to work a couple of years back. The car that had hit his car had been a company car, and the driver had run a red light. Matt's lawyer was salivating all over his legal pads on his way to taking the case to court, suing the company that owned the car for maximum punitive damages, and he had not let Matt work outside his house since the day of the accident. And in addition Matt was having to undergo physical rehabilitation therapy two mornings a week. Matt spent most of his afternoons sitting in his front porch swing. He liked the fresh air, and the occasional breeze. Physically he felt pretty good. His injuries had been relatively minor, and had mostly healed. But his case wasn't scheduled to come up for another couple of months, so Matt had to continue to pretend to be debilitated and stay inactive to help justify the high damages they were suing for.

Matt had one friend in the neighborhood, thirteen year old Rosie O'Flannery, a skinny, red-headed, freckle faced little girl who lived down the street. Since both of her parents worked and didn't get home until after six, most days after school Rosie would come by and visit and chat with Matt. Matt was fascinated with Rosie. Although she was covered with freckles, the face they were trying to obscure was really quite beautiful. She had green eyes that sparkled, a quick smile, and an extremely curious, inquiring mind.

At first they chatted about things that really didn't matter much. The weather. School. Her parents. His ex-wife. She was fascinated with adults, and what they did and did not do. And she was always probing Matt on what it had been like to have been married, and about why they had drifted apart.

Matt admired her probing mind. He didn't remember himself ever being this probing and aware when he was her age. In fact, he remembered that age as being full of escape, through sleep, beer, and an occasional recreational drug. Listening to Rosie, and trying to answer her questions to the best of his ability, he often wondered what he might have turned into had he been as curious as she when he was her age.

They would sit at opposite ends of the large front porch swing. Matt was on the outside, where he could check out the neighborhood. Rosie would sit on the side closest to the house. At first she would turn her head to face him while she was pursuing some train of thought. But after awhile she got so she would turn her entire body to face him, placing her feet flat on the seat, her legs bent as she stretched out, leaning back against the armrest.

Every day Rosie came over still wearing her school uniform, a white blouse and a green checkered skirt. When she was sitting facing him he could usually see her panties. At first Matt would blush and turn away slightly embarrassed. But since Rosie was either completely oblivious or couldn't care less if her undies were exposed to his view, after a time Matt found he could look at her without embarrassment.

"Why do people get married?" she asked one day out of the blue. Matt had been gazing at a couple of nine year old girls who were sauntering down the sidewalk, arms around one another's waist. He turned to look at Rosie with a questioning look.

"What do you mean, why do people get married? You know why. Because they're in love. To have babies." He turned back to his nine-year olds.

"To have sex whenever they like?" she added.

"Well, that too," Matt said.

"What's that like, Matt? To have sex I mean," she said.

He turned to face her. Her feet were flat on the seat of the swing, about a foot and a half apart. Her knees were bent, and he had a clear view of her panties. "I don't know if I should answer that. That's something you really should discuss with your parents." His eyes were on her face as he spoke, but as soon as he finished they dropped down to her undies once again. As he looked carefully he was sure he saw the shadow of her labial lips imprinted on them. He gazed for a full minute, then suddenly embarrassed he turned away. His nine-year olds were crossing the street going to the next block.

"Aw, please. My folks never tell me a thing. And I'm dying to know. I get all these funny feelings in my body. Itches to see things, and find out things. I can't hardly sleep at night, I'm so curious."

"Well," Matt said, turning to face her again, "I don't think I should go into things. But I guess I could answer your specific questions."

"Okay, what does it feel like to have sex?"

Matt coursed his eyebrows as he pondered the question. "Well, that's hard to say. Every time is different."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if you really love the person or get off on them, then it's like gangbusters. Every sensory nerve in your body explodes. But lots of times its routine. You find yourself pumping away, and thinking about other things."

"Is that true?"

"Well, I can't speak for anyone but me. But it was true for me. That's why me and my ex split. It just wasn't happening for either one of us, making out had become a chore."

"God, that's so weird. Everything points to a girl getting married, afterwhich life becomes just a bowl of cherries. You're saying it don't happen that way." "No, little one. What I'm saying is it didn't happen that way for me. Everybody is different, no two exactly alike. Maybe other people have better luck, but looking at the divorce rate these days, I rather doubt it."

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Don't know. Don't wear a watch. You can go inside and see. There's a clock on the wall in the living room." She got up and went inside. She came out a few minutes later.

"Well, it's 5:30. Getting late. I better go. I've got some homework to do. Okay if I come back tomorrow?"

"Sure, if I'm here, which I most likely will be."

She was off. Matt sat out there for a bit longer, but then went inside and started fixing his dinner.

The next day Rosie came over before she went home to dump her books. Rosie stacked her books by the stairs, then took a seat on the swing. Matt was sitting in his usual place, Rosie at the other end.

"I was thinking a lot about what you said yesterday. I decided that it sounds weird not because it is weird, but only because it seems weird next to everything everybody else says, which I think is not real but it's what everybody pretends is real."

"Whoa. Come again?"

She turned to face him and put her knees up again. "I mean, I think you were talking straight to me yesterday, and most everybody else is talking about how they think things ought to be, not how things really are." Matt looked at her, smiled, and turned his head to look out at the sidewalk. An eight year old girl was leading her four year old sister. Their mother was following a few steps behind.

"So do you have a girlfriend now?" Rosie said.

He followed the trio until they crossed the street, then answered. "No, not at the moment."

"Why not?"

"Boy you sure ask a lot of questions. I could say it's none or your business." "I guess you could, or you could tell me some cock and bull story you make up. But, I don't expect you will. You'll either say nothing, or you'll tell me the truth." Matt turned around and faced her on the swing. "I guess you're hoping for the truth."

"Uh huh. You don't seem to be very good in the bullshit department."

"Uh Oh, naughty word. Shield your ears world. Anyway, I'll repeat what I said yesterday. I don't mind answering your questions, but I don't want to volunteer information."

"So, answer my question. Why don't you have a girlfriend at the moment?"

"Well, it's a long story. But with most girls you have to play games. You have butter them up, and most are in it for more than just the playing around. Most want some kind of long term commitment before they'll take a roll in the hay."

"Roll in the hay?"

"Just an expression. In farming days couples would often make out in haystacks. They were soft and comfortable, and they were usually everywhere around the farm."

"You're telling me that women use their... bodies to get what they want."

"Sure. It goes back as far as the human race. But right now I just don't feel like playing the game."

"What do you do for sex? Pay for it?"

"You kidding, they charge hundreds of dollars these days. I don't have that kind of money. No, I use my trusty right hand."

"Your right hand? Oh, you mean, you play with yourself." She blushed as she realized what he had meant.

"Sure. Most men do. Even when they're happily married. 'Cause your right hand and your imagination can bring you to a very different kind of high."

"Do girls... ah, play with themselves?"

"I can't speak for very many, but all the girls I have known do. For some of them it's the only way they can get themselves off, as their husbands or boyfriends come real quick, and then roll over and go to sleep on them."

She giggled at this, then asked if she could check the time. He told her sure, she was welcome to go into his house anytime, so she got up and checked the clock in the living room. As it was nearing 5:30 she gathered up her books and took her leave. Matt looked down and noticed he had a hardon, undoubtedly brought on by all the talk about playing with yourself and from his many Rosie panty sightings. He got up and went into his bedroom and took care of the problem. Then he fixed his dinner.

On the next afternoon Rosie again came with her schoolbooks. Again she stacked them at the top of the stairs, and took her usual seat on the swing. Matt was oggling two eleven year old girls who were holding hands while walking down his sidewalk.

"How are you today, Matt?" she said, turning to face him, as she planted her feet on the swing. He looked over to her and smiled.

"Hi," he said, "you're looking very pretty today."

"What happened to that straight talking guy I used to come over here to talk to?"

"I guess he's in one of his mellow moods today," Matt said with a sly grin. "So what's new with you?"

"Nothing much. Seems like all I do these days is think about sex, and wonder what it would be like to do it."

"Well, it's not all it's cracked up to be unless you really care for the person. Or are really turned on by him."

"How can I tell if I'm turned on."

"Simple. You can tell by how wet your panties get when you're with the person." Matt had been talking to her but looking at a robin making a nest in a tree on the other side of the porch. But when he finished he turned to look at her.

"You mean like this?" She opened her legs as wide as she could on the swing, and a streak of late afternoon sun lit up her panties. As Matt watched in fascination, a circle of wetness emanated from her love hole, and slowly spread. The moisture tended to make her panties transparent, and Matt could clearly see her labial lips peeping out. His partially engorged member instantly flared up into a full erection, causing a very noticeable bulge in his trousers. Time seemed to stand still as he gazed between her legs at her rapidly expanding leak spot. Finally he found his voice.

"Looks like you have a bit of a leak problem," Matt said with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

She looked him in the eye with a slight smile, then looked down at the projection tenting in his trousers.

"Looks like you've got a bit of a problem yourself," she said, indicating his trousers. Matt looked down. Sure enough, precum, which must have been pouring out at the sight of Rosie's labial lips, had soaked through his pants, leaving a noticeable round spot where the head of his prick met his pants.

"Hmmm. How strange," he said. "I wonder what we should do about it?"

"I don't know. What do you suggest?"

"Well, we could do absolutely nothing, and you and I sit around for the rest of the afternoon in soaked panties and pants."

"Or?"

"We could go inside and take them off, and I could stick them in the washing machine, and after 30 minutes put them in the dryer. That ought to get them toasty done by the time you have to leave for home."

"That sounds like a plan. But what are we going to do while we're waiting for them to get washed and dried?"

"Anything you like. We could sit around inside playing checkers, or card games..."

"Or maybe you could explain to me why when you see my panties your thing gets huge, and when I see your thing get huge I start leaking, and when you see me start leaking you start leaking right back. Somehow, I think that is basic information that everyone needs to have, but no school seems to teach it, and no parents explain it. At least my parents never explained it. And I'm not at all sure I'd believe my parents if they did try and tell me."

"You know, most girls your age probably don't have a clue, but here you are, and you've almost got it figured out. You've got a good eye, and an inquiring mind for one so young."

"Anyway, why don't we go inside and put 'em in the washer," she said.

And so they did. Rosie went over to the washing machine and reached down and slipped her panties off, and tossed them in. She turned to Matt. "Your turn," she said with an evil grin.

Matt smiled back at her and unhooked his belt, and slid it off his trousers. Then he unhooked them, pulled the zipper down, and dropped them to the ground. Matt doesn't wear underwear. His little soldier didn't exactly stand, he was maybe a third engorged. Rosie's green eyes opened wide and almost lit up as they surveyed Matt's bared lower torso. Mike tossed his trousers in the washer, poured in some soap, and set the timer. When he finished he turned back to Rosie.

"You've got hair growing over it," she said in a voice that was strangely flat and devoid of emotion.

"All grownups have hair, unless they choose to shave it off."

"I never saw a grownup before. Only some neighborhood kids. Why isn't it big and pointing up like before?"

"Because there's nothing to inspire it. He can't see you. You've still got your skirt on."

"He can't see period. He's got no eyes."