No Enemy but Time (New 7/15)

[neverdoubted]

Contents
Chapter 1 (below)
Chapter 2

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Author's Note: Copyright 2024 NeverDoubted. Please do not repost this story on other sites without permission (neverdoubted@protonmail.com). By accessing this story, the reader hereby certifies that he/she is of an appropriate age to access adult material and that such material is permitted in the locality or country where the reader resides. The following is a creative work of fiction, and the characters or incidents described do not resemble any persons or events in the real world.

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing!
~ND
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Special Note: While this is part of the Can't Catch a Break series, each book in the series is a self-contained story that is meant to be read by itself. A full synopsis of this series is available in my library.

Can't Catch a Break - No Enemy but Time

Chapter 1

Instead of writing like she was supposed to be doing, Michelle looked up from the empty notebook and let her eyes wander. The other kids, even the ones who usually struggled to buckle down and concentrate, were all bent over their desks, writing intently. She liked poetry, and normally, would have no difficulty with such a simple writing assignment. But today, her unease was especially strong. Distractingly so. Why did Claire have to ask that stupid question?

They had been huddling among a group of girls - friendly acquaintances who regularly hung out together on the playground - when Claire had suddenly, and inexplicably shifted the discussion to the topic of boys.

"What about you, Michelle," she had asked, singling her out for some reason, "which boy do you like?"

Michelle was completely unprepared to field questions on such a foreign subject.

"Which boy do I like?!" she had thought in alarm, even while she stared blankly at her friend. Without answering, she looked around helplessly at the other girls. They were all staring back at her with equally wide eyes, anxiously waiting to hear her reply - as if her next words would set an extremely important precedent within the social strata of ten and eleven-year-olds. Michelle shrugged her shoulders and looked bashfully at the ground, trying to make herself smaller. Eventually, Claire sniffed and begrudgingly moved on.

But even now, hours later and back in class, the troubling encounter kept replaying in her mind. She thought the consensus on boys had been long settled. They were loud, crude, and generally to be ignored or avoided at all times. There was no pressing need to like them at all! Had something changed?

Shaking her head and trying to return to the task at hand, she buckled down and wrote a few lines. But the signals firing in her brain chafed within their neuron tunnels and made focusing difficult.

"And why did she only ask me?" she grumbled silently.

The way Claire had gone about asking, springing it on her and only her, had been unfair and embarrassing. Having just moved back at the end of summer did kind of make her one of the newer girls in the group. But the others had never acted meanly toward her or made her feel ostracized because of it. The more she thought about it, being unable to give any sort of answer whatsoever bothered Michelle more than being singled out.

The girls formed neat, monolithic columns with their desks through the heart of Mrs. Oster's fifth-grade classroom. The boys, who were less organized, were scattered in smaller clusters - mostly around the back and sides. She had to shift in her chair and turn her head to locate Hunter in his regular spot. He was looking down at his paper like all the other students, working on his poem. Sensing eyeballs on him, he looked up, met her gaze, flashed a warm smile, and waved. She returned his greeting in kind.

Michelle liked Hunter as well as she could like any boy. That was the most honest answer she could have given. But something told her there was more to the kind of "like" that Claire was referring to. This was all too much for her to process right now.

Turning back to her poem, she erased the uninspired prose. Then, propping her elbows on her desk, she cradled her head in her hands - holding back all her hair except for a few, unruly black tendrils which hung down to graze the notebook - and stared at the blank page. Butterflies flittered around in her stomach and her brow furrowed under the weight of the conflict. But then, when a thought came to her, she perked up.

"I should have turned the question back on her," she realized, way too late to matter. "I don't know, Claire, who do you like?"

But knowing Claire, always so confident and composed, she likely already held a good, satisfying answer in reserve for just such an occasion. She lived just down the street from Jeremy Taben, and the two of them were often seen walking home from school together - much like Michelle and Hunter always did. Claire probably would have simply answered, "I like Jeremy," and magnified the awkwardness of Michelle's hesitancy.

...or worse, what if Claire had answered, "I like Hunter Tarverly" before Michelle could stake her claim?!

Until that point, she processed her world in the same way she assumed everyone else did - using the five, regular senses. But now, for the first time in her young life, she wondered if it might be possible for things...people, to be connected in more ways than what you could see, hear, taste, touch, or smell. The very concept made her head spin.

Dizzy, and with her cheeks growing warm, Michelle pushed those heavy, new thoughts to the back of her mind, which suddenly felt crowded and cluttered. She had to tell herself that there were no claims being staked. It had just been a silly, throwaway question. She didn't have to "like" anybody if she didn't want to, and she needed to just stop obsessing over it. Easier said than done.

Lifting her head slightly, she turned to her left and located her friend-recently-turned-rival. Claire was crafting her poem in her usual, neat handwriting. Her blonde hair bobbed gently as she bopped to some silent song in her head. By all signs, she was completely oblivious to the turmoil she had unintentionally touched off within her fellow classmate.

Michelle rested her cheek on her left palm and slumped into her chair to mope. In her mind, the differences between herself and the other girls had never been more pronounced. And at the center of it all was the unique living arrangement she had with Hunter and his family while her dad was living overseas. Sure, she and Claire both walked home alongside a boy after school. But Claire didn't proceed to follow him inside and live there!

That's why Claire was free to think new thoughts about someone like Jeremy Taben that were off limits to Michelle. The situation was just more...complicated.

"...How many times has Jeremey seen Claire without clothes on," she wondered, icily, suspecting the answer was zero. Then, taking a silent census of the girls around her, she guessed how many had ever been naked around any of the boys in their class. Probably none, not even once. None, except her.

Michelle made up her mind to bring her concerns to Hunter's grandmother that very evening. As ancient and set in her ways as she was, Mrs. Tarverly would surely listen and be a sympathetic advocate on her behalf. After all, Michelle had been placed under the old woman's care almost constantly over the nearly eleven years of her life. Evelyn and Pastor John loved Michelle just as much as they loved their own grandson.

With a plan of action in place, the troubled girl started to feel a little more at ease. But the butterflies did not fully go away. And by the end of the lesson, she had not finished a single stanza of her poem. A good student, she usually got all her assignments done in class, and rarely had homework. But she was confident that she could find time over the coming weekend for this small assignment.

When the bell rang, she loaded her backpack and said all the right farewells to her classmates. But as she met up with Hunter outside the school for the walk home, her feet felt heavier than usual.

The way he jabbered the whole way home, she could tell he was glad to be free from school for a couple days. Every time he said something and looked up at her with a twinkle in his eye, she couldn't help but share in his infectious excitement. But while she did chime in occasionally, where appropriate, she added little to the conversation. Her thoughts were still getting hijacked.

If someone had asked her yesterday who her best friend in the whole world was, she would have said "Hunter", without hesitating, even though he was a boy, and she was, obviously, a girl. But that was before Claire's question. Why did she have to phrase it that weird way? "Which boy do you like?" As if they were passing out lollipops on the corner and Michelle had to claim one to be hers before someone else took it.

Though she had tried to mask it, Hunter must have picked up on her internal conflict. When they reached the back door to the parsonage, he held the door for her before stepping into the small anteroom that acted as both a mudroom and a laundry.

"Hey, wanna go hang out in the treehouse?" he offered, kicking off his school shoes and nudging them in the direction of the floorboard, "we can play house, if you want."

"Uh, maybe in a little while," Michelle answered, smiling sweetly at his offer, "I have to do something else, first."

Hunter did not follow up, but simply nodded. Sometimes girls just need their space. He left then, no doubt heading for his bedroom to change into play clothes.

Michelle unbuckled and slipped out of her shiny, black school shoes. Straightening Hunter's against the wall, she placed hers neatly beside them. As she worked the long, black socks over her knobby knees and down to her ankles - her legs seemed to be longer every time she checked them - she thought about his considerate offer to play house with her...and smiled.

Over the years, that treehouse had served as the cornerstone for countless games and adventures. One day, it could be a Spanish galleon, fending off pirates on the high seas. The next, it was a space station, orbiting a newly discovered, alien planet below. That treehouse had been a castle, an outpost, a submarine, and a saloon.

Michelle loved to play along with whatever fantasy Hunter dreamed up for them. But she especially enjoyed it when he let her pick the game. And more often than not, she would choose to play the same thing: "house".

Something magical had happened the first time she suggested it. And as they both worked diligently to transform that little cube of wood and nails into a proper home, something resonated within them both.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out why. She didn't have a mother, neither of them did - well, not one they had ever known. Michelle's had died giving birth, and Hunter's parents had that terrible car accident when he was just a baby. She still had a loving father who cared about her. But his calling kept him on the mission fields most of the time.

Hunter's grandparents stepped in and did the best they could as surrogates. But grandparents and parents are not the same thing. Like her father, Pastor Tarverly also had a divine calling. That meant he had an entire congregation to consider and lead - his flock. He was also so old that it often felt like he was from a completely different age of history as everyone else. He might have been around when the bible was being written.

Opening the washing machine lid and tossing in her knee-socks, Michelle flicked open the latch on her skirt and tugged at the zipper. Once it was loose enough, she dropped the cute, tartan wrap to the ground, baring her legs along the way, and stepped out of it. Shrugging the dark blue vest off her shoulders, she scooped up her skirt and tossed both items into the wash to join her socks.

She tugged the matching tie still cinched around her neck loose before moving on to the buttons of her white blouse. Knowing how to undress her without being told, her fingers moved down her front automatically. That freed her mind to start working out what she was going to say to Mrs. Tarverly.

Evelyn was just as old as her husband and looked even older. She had already raised, and tragically, lost a son. And while she did her best to model a household built on love and respect, like the spidery lines and creases on her sagging face, the weariness of her age was creeping up on her. With every day that passed, her interest seemed to shift more and more from household chores and Sunday potlucks to pearly gates and streets of gold.

Because she already had a pretty good idea what her response would be, Michelle dreaded bringing up the subject in the first place. Evelyn always deferred to her husband on matters of finance. And even if she could be convinced to raise the issue, Pastor John would not be easily swayed. He was not the type to spend money unless it was absolutely necessary. But surely, they could not deny a growing girl's earnest request for more clothes, could they? Maybe, if she straightened up around house before Evelyn got home, it would put her in a more agreeable mood?

Tugging her arms through the sleeves of the blouse, she stripped it the rest of the way off and tossed it into the machine before reaching for her panties. She made quick work of the small, white fabric, peeling it down her legs in one, smooth motion.

She was about to turn eleven. That's almost a teenager! Didn't that count for something? Or did they even notice? She gulped at that thought. Both of them were practically blind as bats and barely noticed anything anymore! How were they supposed to notice a little girl turning into a slightly bigger girl? She barely noticed it, and she was paying much closer attention.

Dropping her panties - the final piece of her school uniform - into the wash, she looked down at her immature body. Her slight build may have made it difficult for others to guess her age when she was younger. And while she had always trailed Hunter in weight, she didn’t feel she was alarmingly skinny. Also, he was five months older than her.

With his extra bulk, he was slightly stronger of the two. But when the occasion called for it, she made a hard target and could usually hold her own in wrestling matches - often wriggling her smaller, more flexible frame free from his grasp just when he thought he had her pinned. That's all that really mattered.

Something about her lighter carriage and an exceptional, hidden springiness in her gangly legs meant she had always been able to leap higher than him. She also ran like a deer and could usually fend him off in shorter foot races - though he would catch her at a distance. That her long, spindly legs had gotten even longer during her most recent growth spurt would surely add to her advantage in that type of contest. She grinned thinking she should challenge him to a race this very evening. Loser has to help grandma can the vegetables tomorrow?

Carefully measuring out the proper amount of detergent, she dialed the aged washing machine to "gentle cycle" and started it running. She wouldn't need her uniform again until Monday, but there was no point in putting it off. Before leaving the laundry room, the naked girl tarried in the threshold. Standing tall with her back flat against the door frame, she placed her hand on top of her head. When she stepped away to look at the impromptu measurement, she smiled.

Having already turned eleven, Hunter's most recent mark was on the frame. Michelle had yet to leave her matching mark, but judging from her hand, she was going to turn eleven at least an inch taller than him!

With elation, she eyeballed the distance to the door frame overhead about to leap up and give it a high five. But before she could, she discovered something astonishing! Instead of jumping, she strained up on her tiptoes and stretched out her right hand...and touched the frame!

She couldn't believe it. She had actually grown tall enough to touch the door frame without jumping! Even better, there's no way Hunter would be able to reach it yet. He was still too short. Immediately, she started thinking about the best way to show off her body's latest feat to him.

Squealing with joy and clapping her hands, she did a little, naked, happy dance before looking down her front in amazement. What other tricks and secrets did this growing body have in store for her as she got older? She couldn't wait to find out! She was really starting to like this growing up business! But then...her smile faded, for reasons that weren't quite clear to her.

Turning back to the task at hand, she walked through the living room and entered the kitchen, intending to get out the cleaning supplies. But seeing the empty countertop gave her a better idea.

"I should bake some cookies for her, instead," she thought, "nothing puts a person in a better mood than the smell of fresh-baked cookies."

[TeenFan]

I don't recall how old I was, but I was definitely older than Michelle, when I found out I liked walking around my house with no clothes on.
As a kid with both parents and two brothers, I looked forward to the rare times I was home alone. I could go from room to room and not
worry about having anything on.
I don't remember doing any cooking in the kitchen while naked home alone.

Very interested in what happens next.

[neverdoubted]

Setting the oven to pre-heat, she opened a drawer to seek out her favorite apron. Baking can be a messy business, and she didn't want to have to take a bath only to go outside to play with Hunter later and get dirty again.

Sitting in the top of the drawer was a potholder she had knitted herself. Knitting was one of Evelyn's favorite hobbies. She had been trying to get Michelle into it for years. But so far, the young, uninterested girl had been unable to make anything but small squares of loosely interconnected yarn - only suitable for keeping pots from scorching their linoleum countertops.

Holding it aloft, she briefly pondered if it was possible to knit an entire outfit out of yarn. If so, it would remove the financial burden of her clothing request. But seeing how easy it was to see right through its many holes got her to reconsider. What good would it be having extra outfits if everyone could still see through them?

Putting the potholder away and getting out the frilly apron she had been looking for, she oriented it upright and looped the upper string over her head. Most of Evelyn's aprons were plain, utilitarian affairs. But this one, a parishioner's gift, had a bright bouquet of flowers printed on the front and pretty embellishments around the border. Splaying it in front of her for a better look, Michelle thought it would make a lovely dress.

Curious, she pulled both sides tightly around her slender body to see if she could get it to cover more than just her front. Higher up, she got the edges to just barely meet in back. But when the same thing didn't seem to be happening all the way down, she twisted her torso and craned her neck to see what was the matter. What she saw made her fret. Two bright white butt cheeks stuck stubbornly out behind her through the gap in the fabric and refused to let it close.

While she had noticed the steady stretching of her limbs and torso lately, she hadn't really been paying much attention to her bottom. Located in such a remote spot on her body, it was easy to overlook. After all, it had always been nothing more than some skinny, flat expanse - offering a meager cushion when she wanted to take a load off, but otherwise forgettable.

The discovery warranted she keep a closer eye on the situation. But in the short term, she had to accept that this unexpected new roundness was impossible to overcome no matter how much she tugged on the too small garment.

Admitting defeat, she let the apron hang loose and grabbed the lower strings instead. Wrapping them around her waist, she tied them into a crooked bow in the small of her back before turning her attention back to the large drawer.

The oldest aprons, tattered and faded and stained with battle scars from one to many close calls in the kitchen, eventually got ripped into strips and repurposed into cleaning cloths. And because Evelyn had collected many aprons over the years, the drawer was full of these makeshift rags. Michelle only needed one, though she wasn't planning to clean with it. She eventually found the perfect accessory to complete her outfit. It was a threadbare strip of leftover cloth from an apron long gone.

As she was wrapping the red rectangle over her head, she was reminded of a happy memory from a couple years earlier. Whenever they played pirates, Hunter would borrow these cloths and hang them from the treehouse. They made excellent fluttering flags to signal their intentions to other passing ships or warn off any potential rivals.

But one day, after learning about the Spanish conquistadors in school, he had come up with the idea to play bringing Christianity to the uncivilized tribes of the new world. The daughter of a missionary herself, Michelle was enchanted by the proposal and eagerly agreed to play along.

Using a picture in their schoolbook as a guide, they both came up with costumes. Hunter, the conquistador, wore his boy scout uniform, but added a wide, red, cloth belt around his waist and gold cords at his shoulders - stolen from the living room drapes. In one hand he carried a bible, and in the other, a halberd, fashioned from the handle of an old rake and a kitchen knife.

Michelle played the role of the lost heathen who needed to learn about Jesus. Braiding her straight, raven-black hair into twin braids with a thin band of twisted leather wrapped around her head, she bore a passing resemblance to a Native American. Being barefoot and naked except for strips of brown cloth - the closest thing she could find to animal skins - tied around her upper arms and a skimpy loincloth, added greatly to her credibility. Though the resemblance was tested as soon as you saw her distinctly blue eyes and pale complexion which obviously came from European ancestors.

Still, when Pastor John came home that evening and saw the childish play they had come up with to accompany their costumes, he was very impressed. Any story that involved spreading the gospel to the four corners of the Earth was just fine with him!

The following Sunday, when they were hosting a traveling preacher in the parsonage - something they frequently did - Pastor John asked the children to re-enact their little play for the nice man. He even got out the church's old video camera and recorded it. Evelyn also agreed to be part of the audience and even snapped pictures for the scrapbook – though she was not at all happy when she saw her good knife at the end of the pole.

The visiting preacher, a rotund man with beady eyes behind too big glasses, seemed to quite enjoy the presentation. He went on and on what a cute little Indian girl Michelle had made despite her fair complexion. Afterward, he sat her on his lap and asked about every piece of her costume. While she explained how she came up with it, he rubbed the fabric of her loincloth between his fingers over and over as if there was some profound mystery to be unlocked within that boring, old square of cotton if he just stuck with it long enough.

She wouldn't have minded the man so much if his clothes didn't smell like old vegetables. But, having been raised to respect her elders, though she fidgeted in his lap, she did patiently answer all his questions.

Now tying the fabric she had picked out, a formerly red rectangle since faded to a pretty, pink shade, under her chin she carefully tucked any remaining strands of hair inside. This homemade bonnet would keep her hair, which she had been trying to grow out lately, from falling into the batter every time she looked down.

Pulling out the necessary bowls and utensils, she thought about how much fun it would be to go back and watch the recording of their silly performance. The idea of revisiting that carefree time in her life made her smile. If she asked him, Pastor John could probably locate the old video tape among the many bookshelves and storage chests in his study.

But then, a shadow fell over the formerly happy memory; like clouds suddenly forming on a bright day and dimming the sun. The role she had been asked to play hadn't exactly been that of a civilized, young lady. Far from it! Michelle could vaguely remember how she had portrayed the wild native - before her conversion to Christianity.

She remembered rolling around in the grass like an animal, beating on a toy drum with makeshift drumsticks, and literally growling at the conquistador the first time she encountered him. In her memory, the audience had howled with laughter at her over-the-top performance. But now that she was a little older, something about it didn't seem so humorous. Then there was her costume - if you could call it that. Suddenly, the thought of watching a video of her younger self, running around in practically nothing and pretending to be some wild, naked savage didn't sound so fun anymore.

Shaking the memory from her head, she crossed the kitchen to stand before the fridge. Before opening it, she made a mental list of all the wet ingredients she would need and which shelf to reach for. She only knew one way to make cookies, the way Evelyn had taught her - from scratch. But dressed as she was, in just a skimpy apron with nothing else covering her sensitive flesh beneath, she preferred to minimize the time spent in front of the frigid appliance.

Opening the door, she shivered as cold tendrils seeped around the edges of her apron and found her skinny, unprotected body. It was always a race against time to get everything out and escape. This time, the cold won. By the time she slammed the door closed, her arms and legs were covered in goosebumps.

Carrying the load back to the biggest counter which she had designated as her workspace, she set everything out and got to work on her double batch. Prying open the bags of chocolate, she succumbed to the temptation, and popped one of the chips into her mouth. The semi-sweet morsel melted on her warm, pink tongue, spreading goodness throughout the small cavity of her mouth and putting her in a better mood.

Naturally gifted, and fiercely independent even as a little girl, she had always been quick to pick up new skills...when she wanted to. Sewing and knitting had been too boring to keep her attention. And household chores were the bane of a restless ten-year-old. But baking was one activity she truly enjoyed. Therefore, she excelled at it. And while she wasn't up to doing a full, Sunday dinner by herself yet, cookies were well within the comfort zone of the little chef.

Hunter eventually came out of his room. He had changed out of his school uniform and was wearing regular play clothes - shorts and a tee shirt. Following the sound of bustling into the kitchen, he saw his friend peering intently at the lines on a measuring cup.

That she was dressed in a frilly apron and nothing else was not the part of the scene that surprised him. Going back as far as he could remember, Michelle had always cooked in such an outfit, first as his grandma's miniature helper, then as a fine, young cook in her own right. But why had she decided to randomly bake cookies instead of playing something with him?

Approaching, he made his presence known. Michelle turned her head and greeted him but did not stop to chat. She had a serious job to do. Dumping in three quarters of a cup of white liquid, she picked up the glass mixing bowl along with a wooden spoon and began to stir.

Hugging the bowl, which was nearly as big as she was, against her belly, she tried to push the spoon through the dense, white mound. She grunted once, and her little, barely formed bicep strained from the effort, but eventually, she got the mixture to yield to her spoon.

Sensing his gaze upon her, she put on a show, exerting the whole-body effort required to fully combine all the ingredients by hand. While her feet remained planted, the rest of her body counter-rotated against circular motion of her arm. She felt the frills of the apron swishing back and forth and tickling her ribs and bare sides. But having worn nothing but this apron countless times, she had grown accustomed to the sensation.

As the thickening slurry slowly transformed into a proper dough, she beamed proudly at her accomplishment. To see if Hunter was impressed, she glanced over at him to judge his reaction. While he was still looking at her, it didn't seem like his glassy eyes were trained on the contents of the bowl. Strangely, if she wasn't mistaken...he was staring at...her bottom.

But that didn't make any sense. Since her vigorous effort had caused some rogue strands of hair to escape her bonnet and partially obscure her vision, she convinced herself she was just seeing things.

By the time she sat the bowl down and turned toward him, he was looking at her face, but his mouth was still sagging slightly open. Something she had done had clearly impressed him, and she still couldn't say for sure if it was her dough stirring skills or...something else.

She tried to brush the hair back into place with her fingers, but only managed to put a streak of dough on her face. Breaking out of his trance, Hunter reached for a clean towel. "Here, let me," he said, happy to come to her rescue. Then he gently wiped the smudge off her cheek before addressing the stray strand. Michelle held still and let him carefully loop the lock over her ear and tuck it back in place - revealing her cute, freshly wiped face once again.

But the touching moment was ruined when, without explanation, the question popped back into her head.

Which boy do you like?

Feeling the butterflies come fluttering back to her stomach, she turned away from him with a blush. Unable to move or say anything, she just stared down at the bowl of dough and waited for the moment of anxiety to pass. Luckily, Hunter broke the awkward silence.

"You're really good at that," he offered, before quickly feeling the need to clarify, "making cookies, I mean.

"I could never bake cookies as well as you," he admitted, adding, "but I am an excellent taste tester, if you need one."

Giggling at his joke and acknowledging his compliment, the girl felt the tension break and the moment, thankfully, pass. She grabbed a smaller spoon and began to scoop out lumps of yummy, homemade dough onto one of the cookie sheets she had previously laid out. Leaving her to her work, Hunter headed outside.

It took nearly another hour of laying out dough, shuttling baking sheets in and out of the oven, filling up cooling racks, and washing all the bowls and utensils afterward. But when she was finished, she had two heaping platters full of delicious treats, and the whole house was filled with the unbeatable scent of freshly baked cookies.

Eager to share the fruits of her labor, she carefully wrapped two of the still soft rounds into a napkin then headed toward the backyard. When she reached the back door, she remembered she was still wearing her apron and stopped to take it off. Hanging it on one of the coat hooks, she then rushed through the door and set out across the sprawling, fifteen-acre, church-owned property that Hunter and Michelle treated as their own, personal playground.

Guessing where he might be, she headed in the direction of the treehouse, and was proven correct. When Hunter heard a voice calling out below him, he looked down to find his playmate, completely naked, as usual, standing at the base of the tree. She was holding a small package in her hands and beaming up at him proudly.

Tossing the rope ladder over the side of the structure, he said, "ready to play?"

Nodding excitedly, she began to climb.

[imouto007]

This is very interesting, really excited for the next part. I really wish to see more situations with her in such settings as OON

[neverdoubted]

This is very interesting, really excited for the next part. I really wish to see more situations with her in such settings as OON

Thank you. Sadly, due to the subdued reception it has received, I have decided to discontinue this story on this board. I will post it to my library for those who would like to read the rest.

~ND

[chodge159]

I would love to see more

[Cerulean]

I would love to read more too!

[SDS]

This is very interesting, really excited for the next part. I really wish to see more situations with her in such settings as OON

Thank you. Sadly, due to the subdued reception it has received, I have decided to discontinue this story on this board. I will post it to my library for those who would like to read the rest.

~ND

Sometimes you've got to let stories mature a few chapters before you get more responses. This was just starting to get good, but felt it was mostly build up so far.

Anyway hope you post more and also more chapters of the forgetful girl story as that was very fun.

With love SDS

Xx

[Freesub]

This is very interesting, really excited for the next part. I really wish to see more situations with her in such settings as OON

Thank you. Sadly, due to the subdued reception it has received, I have decided to discontinue this story on this board. I will post it to my library for those who would like to read the rest.

~ND

I agree with SDS. There was nothing much of value I could say about the story, other than it looks really promising.

The ignorance of her nudity being noticed by Hunter makes the story really cute

[imouto007]

This is very interesting, really excited for the next part. I really wish to see more situations with her in such settings as OON

Thank you. Sadly, due to the subdued reception it has received, I have decided to discontinue this story on this board. I will post it to my library for those who would like to read the rest.

~ND

I have checked your library and read 2 of your other series, and the way that u deal with casual nudity is really interesting. Would love to see u continue it here but could only find a cover and synopsis for No Enemy but Time.