Tracey Ch. 01

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Author’s Note: This version of Tracey has been modified since first publication on 11/03/2004 for continuity purposes and to correct minor grammatical errors. -W.S.

When I was a senior in high school, my parents decided to rent out a room in our house. Dad taught at a local college and professors often took in upper grad students who were looking for a quiet, off-campus living situation. On a college professor’s salary, a little extra money was always appreciated.

The room in question was my brother Dan’s old room in the basement, next to mine. We had a ranch style house built into the side of a hill, and the basement had windows facing the back yard. Dan and I had pretty much held reign over the floor, and our parents seldom came down there.

When my parents told me of their plans to rent Dan’s room, I was a little upset at first. I had planned on transferring some of my stuff to the spacious room to set up a little hang-out area all my own. No such luck.

One day when I got home from school my mother called me into the livingroom.

“Steve, honey, would you come in here for a moment?”

Mom was sitting on the couch, and across from her sat a pretty young woman.

“Steve, this is Tracey. She’ll be moving into Dan’s old room this weekend.”

“Hi, Tracey,” I said, shaking her hand.

“Hey! I hope you don’t mind me moving into your territory…” she smiled. Any reservations I had about it melted right then.

“No, that’s ok,” I said.

“Will you make sure it’s cleaned out before this weekend, sweetheart?” Mom said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Nice meeting you, Tracey.”

“Nice meeting you Steve. See you this weekend!”


I should explain the layout of our basement. The two bedrooms occupied by Dan and I had formerly been one large room next to a little den area where we had a TV and a couch. A wall had been erected to create two rooms. The original door to the room now opened into a small, V-shaped entryway with doors leading to each of our rooms. The doorways were too narrow to hang real doors, so curtains had been hung for privacy.

Tracey moved in that weekend, but I didn’t see much of her for the first couple weeks. She put in long hours at the library after class, and worked at a bookstore in town 3 nights a week. She was often not home till 10:00.

One Saturday night I was in my room surfing the web and listening to music when I heard her come in.

“Hey Steve,” I heard a voice say. I turned around and Tracey was standing in the entrance to my room. “Oh, I love this album!” she smiled, taking a step into my room.

“Yeah, it’s pretty good. I love old Stones.” I said. This was a good sign–at least maybe we wouldn’t mind each other’s taste in music.

“Hang on, I’m just going to take a shower and change, then I’ll come in to chat…if that’s ok?”

“Yeah, of course!” I said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

Twenty minutes later she returned, wearing a tee-shirt and boxers. She came in and sat on my bed.

“So, your Mom said you’re a senior this year. Are you excited to finish high school?” she said.

I turned around from my computer and looked down at her sitting on my bed. For the first time I was struck by how beautiful she was: tall and thin with long toned legs and medium-sized breasts which I could just make out through her loose-fitting tee-shirt. Her long, dirty-blonde hair was still wet from her shower, and when it fell into her blue eyes she tilted her head and swiped it delicately aside with her fingers, tucking it behind her ear.

“Yeah, I’m starting to look forward to college,” I said.

“I remember that feeling,” she said. “Now that I’m a senior in college, I can’t wait to get out into the real world.”

“Yeah,” I said absentmindedly, reflecting that she was 4 years older than me. When you’re 18, 4 years feels significant. I suddenly felt a little intimidated in the presence of a 22 year-old woman.

“So, do anything exciting today?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I had cross-country running practice this morning at 7:00,” I said.

“Wow! You must be beat!” she said.

“Not really. I’m actually kind of wired for some reason. Surfing the web usually helps me relax though, hopefully I’ll be sleepy soon.”

“So, you’re a runner too, huh? I ran cross-country in high school. I still run a lot, but I don’t get a chance to race much. I miss it. I get out at least 3 times a week though–we could go together sometime! I’m supposed to do a 5K with my boyfriend next weekend, but he always runs ahead of me–he’s really fast.”

I felt a twinge of regret at the mention of her boyfriend.

“Really?” I said. “That’s no fun.”

“I know!” she said laughing, acting indignant.

“Is it the reservoir run?” I asked.


“I ran that last year.”

“Really? How’d you do?”

“Umm, pretty good…” I said, not wanting to boast.

“Oh my God, you’re like, really fast, aren’t you!” she said.

“Well, I mean, Anadolu Yakası Escort there were only a couple hundred runners…”

“Come on, don’t be modest!” she said.

“Ok, I won.”

“Holy shit! You won! Like, overall, or for your age?” She seemed really impressed. I just looked at the floor, flushing with a combination of pride and embarrassment.

“You won overall, didn’t you! Holy shit, you’re even faster than Jim!”

She started laughing and rolled back on my bed. She proceeded to tell me how cocky her boyfriend was and how competitive he became even with her.

Pretty soon we were talking and laughing together like old friends. It was 1:00 when we finally said good night.


The next weekend I was awakened around midnight on Saturday when Tracey returned home. I heard her whispering outside my door through the closed curtain.

“Shh! Steve is sleeping. We’ll have to be really quiet,” she said.

I heard them enter her room, then the sound of the curtain in her doorway sliding closed.

For some reason I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I have to admit, I’d developed a crush on Tracey. Any guy would’ve–she was so pretty and friendly. She’d seldom mentioned her boyfriend since that first night and I’d almost forgotten about him.

I was listening closely to the next room, but it had become pretty quiet. The silence was punctuated with occasional muffled outbursts laughter.

“Stop, he might hear us!” I heard Tracey say in a hushed voice. Then more silence.

I was about to drift off to sleep when I heard more sounds from Tracey’s room, this time quite different.

“Ooh!” I heard her cry softly. This was followed by sharp gasps and heavy breathing.

“Holy shit,” I thought, “I wonder if they’re having sex!”

I was fully awake now. I hardly had to strain to hear–the flimsy curtains provided no sound-proofing whatsoever.

“Yessss,” I heard Tracey gasp. It was the hottest thing I’d ever heard in my life. My penis immediately filled with blood. Without thinking I stripped off my boxers (I normally slept naked, but with Tracey around I thought it best to wear something in case I had to walk to the bathroom at night) and started masturbating.

I was gazing at the curtain that hung in my doorway. The bottom of the curtains to both of our rooms only reached to about 5 inches above the floor. In the darkness I could make out the faint light of a candle flickering in Tracey’s room. It occurred to me how easy it would be to spy on them, but the thought of invading her privacy made me feel ashamed at even considering it.

The sounds continued and gradually grew louder.

“Yessss…uhhh…oooooh, that feels soo good…mmm,” she went on. The words became less intelligible until she was letting out short squeaks, clearly struggling to contain herself. Finally, a crescendo of increasingly high pleas.

“Yes! Yes! Yes, ooooohhh,” she cried. I was nearing climax myself, and just as her fevered cries reached a peak my balls erupted. Spasms of intense pleasure washed over me as a torrent of cum erupted from my cock in powerful spurts.

I crumpled on my bed and fell asleep almost immediately.


“Hey Steve,” I heard a familiar and welcome voice at my door the next night.

“Hey Tracey, what’s up?” I said turning from my computer and inviting her to sit on my bed.

“Not much,” she said as she sat down. She leaned over to my cd collection and pulled out an old REM disc, putting in my stereo. I smiled inwardly at the comfort level we’d established–that she could enter my room and put music on without even asking.

I must confess I also felt a little weird after what I’d heard the previous night–almost guilty.

“I hope I didn’t wake you up when I got home last night,” she said casually. “Jim came over and we hung out for a while…”

“Oh, umm, no, I didn’t hear a thing,” I lied, “I went to sleep pretty early last night.

She looked directly at me as I answered, which was a little unnerving.

“It’s not like there’s much soundproofing on our doors!” she said.

“Yeah…it’s ok though; you don’t bother me at all.”

There was a brief silence.

“And just let me know if you ever want me to turn my stereo down or something,” I continued.

“Oh, I will–believe me mister! I might need to have a word with your parents about all the rock and roll music blaring from your room!” she teased. We both started laughing.

Our improved comfort levels extended to attire. The weather was still warm in the early months of fall and I generally strode about bare-chested, wearing only my boxers. Likewise, Tracey favored a skimpy pair of boxers and a small tee-shirt for our visits together; otherwise, she shunned the boxers for panties. I know this because she often kept her curtain open at night before turning in (as did I), and it was not uncommon for me glance into her room on my way back from the bathroom and find her sprawled out on her bed reading, Kadıköy Escort her long lithe legs sprawled out behind her, her taught ass jutting into the air.

Needless to say this created a huge amount of sexual tension for a teenaged boy. All I ever thought about was sex, and having a gorgeous young college student prancing around in her undies with her amazingly toned legs and tight little butt was blissfully agonizing. Sometimes I needed to “turn in” early just for an excuse to close my curtain and masturbate.

To make matters worse, Tracey had begun to inquire about my own love life. I had never had a serious girlfriend, I told her. Indeed, I had only made out with a girl once. I had a crush on a girl named Jessica Peters (Tracey made me describe her in detail), but I was too shy to pursue it. When I confessed this to Tracey she seemed dumbstruck.

“Really?” she said with a look of genuine puzzlement.

And that was all she said. No awkward compliments or hackneyed words of advice, no prompting or consoling. She was honestly surprised to discover that I thought any girl would not be interested in me; her silence was perhaps the most persuasive argument I had ever encountered to make me think otherwise.

I can say now that I was in fact quite good-looking. Starting around tenth grade I began to blossom from the skinny, squeaky-voiced runt (whose low self-esteem still clung to me) into an attractive young man with a lithe runner’s build. At 6′ 1″ I had a toned upper body and abs and a slightly hairy chest, though I didn’t have much body hair other than that.

One night I was in my room, wearing only boxers as usual, doing push-ups on my floor. I didn’t have time to lift weights that weekend so I thought I would do some calisthenics before turning in.

“Hey, stud,” Tracey said, entering my room and plopping down on the bed.

I hadn’t heard her come in. She’d been home a while, apparently, and was already dressed for bed wearing a tight-fitting pink tee-shirt and boxers. Her hair was still a wet from the shower.

“Oh, hey Tracey. I didn’t know you were here,” I said getting up. I sat at my desk chair and wiped the sweat off my forehead.

“Wow, look at you,” she said. “You’re getting pretty buff there, Steve.” I couldn’t tell if she was just teasing me.

“Not really,” I said, blushing and looking down at the floor.

“No, you are. I mean, I knew you were in shape, but, I mean, you’re, like, quite the young man…” her voice trailed off.

“I mean, Jim is in pretty good shape, but he’d kill for your body!”

She wasn’t teasing, that was clear. In fact, I’d never heard her talk like that. She seemed to catch herself, though, and changed the topic. We talked about music for a while, and then called it a night. She went into her room and I heard the sound of her curtain closing.

I decided I needed a shower before getting into bed. I stripped off my boxers and stood in front of the mirror for a minute to re-evaluate my body–the body Tracey had just spoken so fondly of. The thought of her finding me attractive gave men an instant erection, which I stroked feverishly in the shower. I paused to look down at my erection and couldn’t help but wonder how I compared to Jim in that department. My penis stood at just over 7 inches fully erect. I never measured its girth, but when I wrapped my hand around it, my fingers just barely met.

I stopped masturbating and waited a minute or two before getting out of the shower–I didn’t want to be sporting a woody when I walked back to my room. I rinsed off and got out, toweled dry, and put on a clean pair of boxers.

I was about halfway down the dark hall leading back to our rooms when I noticed that Tracey’s curtain was slightly open. The dim light of her bedside reading lamp cast a warm glow through the narrow opening.

Surely she would’ve made sure to close the curtain all the way if she was concerned about privacy, but the thought of taking a quick peek in as I passed by made me feel slightly voyeuristic. My cock was still hanging heavily in my boxers, and as I approached her door the sensation of its pendulous weight filled me with an animalistic lust.

I stopped just short of the point where I could look in and stood silently for a brief moment. Hearing nothing, I edged slightly to the right, and then I saw her. My heart began racing, but I was frozen in my tracks. She was standing in front of her dresser mirror brushing her hair, with her back to the door. Wearing only her panties and tee-shirt, my eyes fixed on her gorgeous ass and long legs.

She was only brushing her hair, I rationalized, an innocent enough act for me to observe without her knowledge. But my rapidly stiffening penis belied any innocence on my part. I was starting to think I should continue into my room when she put her brush down on her dresser, then took a step back and studied her reflection in the mirror.

She seemed to be sizing up her body, as I often did myself in front Ataşehir Escort of the bathroom mirror. She turned slightly from side to side and examined her profile, running her hands over her chest and down her sides to her ass. But soon she began to focus on her breasts, tenderly caresssing them and pinching her nipples through her teeshirt. I felt my cock straining against my boxers as she slowly ran her hands down over her stomach and grabbed the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head in one swift motion.

She tossed it on her bed and continued her increasingly mastubatory exploration of her body. There was no rationalizing my flagrant voyeurism at this point. When Tracey finally slid one hand into the crotch of her panties I mustered every ounce of willpower and retreated to my room.

I was flushed with panic. I quickly closed my curtain, turned off the light, and sat on my bed listening carefully for sounds from Tracey’s room. Had she heard me? I didn’t notice any abrupt movements that might indicate I’d been caught, and didn’t hear her close her curtain.

My panic subsided, but my mind was still reeling. It’s hard for me to describe just what I felt as I lay there in bed. I already had a crush on Tracy–the crush of an 18 year-old boy smitten with a completely inaccessible 21 year-old woman. Anything beyond friendship remained strictly within the comfortable realm of fantasy. But witnessing her in a quiet moment of sensuality seemed to open a window into her soul, the curtain having been slid aside.


I saw Tracey briefly the next morning. It was Monday and we were both on our way to class. She acted completely normal with me, making small talk as we grabbed a quick snack in the kitchen before heading out, and any concerns I might have had about having been caught the previous night were immediately put to rest.

I didn’t see much of her until Friday night. I had a race the next morning so I was making a quiet night of it, vegging out in the basement den watching a stupid movie. I was a little surprised to hear Tracey come down the stairs around 9:00.

“Hey Steve!” she said as she entered the den and sat down next to me on the sofa. “What are you doing home on a Friday night? No hot dates?” she teased.

“Nah, we have a meet tomorrow morning. Figured I should just have a mellow night. What’s your excuse? Where’s lover boy?”

She laughed. I’d become a little more bold with her over the months, and she loved it when I dished it right back to her.

“Ha!” she said dismissively. “I didn’t feel like dealing with his shit tonight…”

“Really? He must be heartbroken. What did you tell him?”

“I told him I had a headache,” she joked. “No, seriously, I told him I had a bunch of homework, which is true. But I ain’t doin’ it tonight!”

We both started laughing.

We turned our attention to the movie briefly, but after a few minutes of the boring plot we started to fidget.

“This is really stupid,” I said.

“Yeah. Let’s go listen to music instead. I just got the new White Stripes CD.”

“Cool! Let’s check it out,” I said.

“Can we listen in my room? I’ll fold my laundry while we listen.”

When we got to her door she made a show of pretending to pull a key out of her pocket and unlock an invisible door latch on her curtain, making sound effects of the door latch opening as she pushed the curtain aside. We both started laughing.

“What’s with these curtains, anyway? Haven’t you guys heard of doors?” she said.

“Well, I guess the doorway was too narrow for a normal door. Dad figured it didn’t matter since it was just me and Dan.”

“I actually don’t mind at all. But I do forget to close it all the way sometimes. I’m sure you’ve gotten an eyeful once or twice!” she smirked. Her tone wasn’t the least bit accusatory, but I flushed and looked down at the floor.

“Umm, no, not…uh, not re–” I stammered.

“I’m just teasing, Steve! Relax!” she laughed as she dumped her laundry basket out on her bed and began folding her clothes. “It’s no big deal. I probably wouldn’t mind, anyway. I’m not shy. Hey–grab that cd, it’s in my backpack.”

I was grateful for the quick change of topic, but my mind lingered on her last words as I retrieved the disc from her bag and started unwrapping it.

We were silent for a minute or two in our respective tasks. I placed the disc in her player, then quickly reached for the volume knob as the first chords of a heavy blues song blared out of the speakers. We both laughed after I turned it down.

“Don’t want your parents to think we’re partying out down here,” she said.

She put me in charge of picking out music as we chatted into the night about nothing in particular. She lamented having to go out with Jim the following night, and confided in me that the relationship had reached the point where she knew she wasn’t invested in it but didn’t have the energy to have the “talk” with Jim.

I could have stayed up all night talking to her. But around midnight she insisted that I go to sleep, knowing I had to get up early. She followed me to the door, and after I stepped through the curtain she pulled it closed behind me with exaggerated jerks, making sure it was closed all the way. I laughed, knowing she was teasing me.

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