Sunday, 27 July 2014

Sunday, July 27, 2014 -

Little Ruthie

by Chloe Carpenter
Published: Jun 23, 2014
Words: 23,795
Category: ageplay, romance
Orientation: M/F
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It was just another Monday morning as Tom set out from home to drive the seven miles to the office, but instead of continuing on the busy main road that was his usual route, he took a left turn to post his sister's birthday card. He frowned slightly as he scanned the side roads. This part of town was unfamiliar, but he was certain there was a postbox somewhere close by. Turning into a quiet tree-lined road, he spied the red postbox and drove towards it.

He grinned as he deposited the card in the box. He had enclosed his usual cheque as a birthday gift, and wondered what mad fripperies Gwen would spend it on. Last year she had bought an exercise bike that was too big to fit into her house, so she had put it in the shed where it now resided gathering dust. The year before she had used his cheque to invest in an outrageously expensive mobile phone that had proved to be so complex to use she shoved it on a drawer and went back to using her old one. And the year before that he'd got her the African parrot she wanted, which promptly bit her finger and was returned to the shop...

So deep in thought was he that he failed to see the little girl crouching down behind a nearby hedge. It was as he turned to go back to his car that he first became aware of her. She looked up at him through big brown eyes filled with tears and her face was red and blotchy with crying.

"Hello," he said, immediately concerned.

The girl's lower lip trembled. "H-hello." She rubbed her eyes, wiping away a fresh burst of tears.

"Are you hurt?" He stepped towards her and hunkered down in front of her.

"No," she sniffed.

"Are you sure? What's wrong?" He looked at her closely and revised his opinion. She wasn't a little girl after all but an older one, maybe in her teens.

"I-I'm just upset about s-something."

"Here. Take this and have a good blow." Tom produced a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over. "That's something my mother used to say to me. It sounds rather silly, doesn't it?" he said gently, reassured when the flicker of a smile played around the corners of her mouth.

"Uh huh," she responded, and then dutifully blew her nose.

"I'm Tom. Want to tell me what you're upset about? Maybe I can help."

"I wish you could help," she said wistfully. "But you can't. I-"

"Ruth!" called an irate voice. "Where are you? Get inside."

"Oh! It's Brad. I have to go." She jumped up with a look of pure panic in her eyes, pausing to smile tremulously. "Thank you, Tom," she said, then fled, sprinting along the pavement and up a garden path that led to the front door of one of a neat pair of semi-detached town houses.