had been marking time for over a week, delaying the decision I knew I had to make. The rest of the firm knew it as well. The atmosphere in the office was not good as they tiptoed about like nieces and nephews round the bed of a sick and irascible uncle.
I was sitting in my office one afternoon doing the usual, pushing papers around the desk and procrastinating, when the phone rang.
"George Gilbert, here," said a bluff voice when I answered. "Sorry to hear about Quentin. Terrible tragedy. Good chap, that."
I knew the name. George Gilbert was a major industrialist with a finger in many pies. I had never met him, personally, as he moved in much more rarefied circles than me but I knew his reputation and knew he meant money.
"Thank you, Mr Gilbert. He will be greatly missed. Can I be of assistance?"
"Well, er, I was thinking of putting a property on the market and wondered if you'd be interested."
Interested? Of course I was interested.
"I think we might well be, Mr Gilbert. Can you give me some idea of what sort of property?"
"Oh, it's just a small house out in the country."
"Then I think I can say we are definitely interested. When would it be convenient to view it?"
"Tomorrow about 11 okay with you?"
I glanced at my diary. "That would be fine. I'll be there at 11."
He gave me the address and, after again expressing regrets about Quentin, rang off.
"It's difficult enough having to cope with Quentin's death," I complained to Mary when I asked her to reschedule tomorrow morning's appointments, "without having well-meaning strangers rub your nose in it."
She sighed. "I know what you mean, Don. It seems so unfair."
I knew exactly what she meant and patted her on the shoulder as I went to find someone to research George Gilbert's property.
I found my way to the house with some difficulty and was already inclined to decline to handle it - after all if I couldn't find it, how would the clients. That opinion died the moment I saw the house. If this was a small one, I dreaded to think want George Gilbert considered a large one. It was idyllic. Set back down a small lane in an acre of gardens, it was a picture postcard. Even I could sell this one. In fact I wouldn't mind buying it myself.
George Gilbert was as impressive as the house. A tall, powerful man about 40; broad-shouldered and without a trace of excess weight, despite his obvious air of good living. His handshake was firm to the point of painful.
"Glad you could make it, Mr Evers. Find your way all right."
I decided to be honest. "I confess to a degree of difficulty, Mr Gilbert, but nothing insurmountable."
He grinned and I somehow knew I had said the right thing. We toured the house and I made all the right noises, peered in all the right corners and asked all the right questions, having been thoroughly briefed by Sammy, our top salesman. Sammy had finished his briefing with the impassioned plea, "Please don't blow it, Don. This is could be a big one." Sad how little faith my staff had in my sales ability - an opinion I admit I shared.
"I must say it's a very impressive property, Mr Gilbert," I said as we finished the tour. "What sort of sum were you hoping to get for it?"
He grinned at me challengingly. "How much can you sell it for?"
I was initially taken aback but I let my instinct have its head and named a figure. It was his turn to be taken aback.
"You aren't serious, are you?"
I nodded. "Oh, yes. If it's properly advertised in the right market I don't see why we shouldn't get that."
"You do that, Mr Evers, and you won't regret it." He looked doubtful.
I took a deep breath and looked at him levelly. "Mr Gilbert, I run a successful company, yes?"
He nodded. "You do. Otherwise I wouldn't be talking to you."
"And you, no doubt, believe it was Quentin that made it so?"
He nodded again. "Fine salesman, Quentin."
"Indeed he was, Mr Gilbert. His death is a great loss to the company and to me personally. You see, Quentin and I were true partners. When we started I knew nothing about the property market - still don't know much, to be honest - but I discovered that I have a talent. I can tell which properties will sell well and which won't. I don't know how or why, I just 'know' it. Part of the reason we've been so successful is that we've managed to avoid all the losers - all those properties that look fine but nobody wants to buy. As I've gained more experience, I've found I can sometimes even put a value on a property. Not always, but quite regularly. Now, I stake my reputation that I can sell your house for the figure I quoted."
During my outburst his face had changed from doubt to disbelief to amusement. Now he laughed aloud and clapped me on the shoulder.
"Don, I don't know if your telling the truth or not but I know sincerity when I hear it. I also know you'll bust a gut trying to sell this house for me. And that's good enough for me. Hell, I'll let you off within ten percent of that sum."
I looked at him slightly sheepishly, embarrassed at my outburst. "Mr Gilbert…"
"George," he said.
"George, then. I probably shouldn't have said what I did. I've let you into the secret of our success and would be a bit concerned if it was noised about."
He laughed again. "You're secret's safe with me, Don, especially if you can do what you promised."
"I can." I smiled ruefully. "In a way I'm cutting off my nose to spite my face for I confess I'm almost tempted to put in an offer myself. But I certainly can't afford my prices," I sighed.
We shared the laughter and fixed a date three days hence for me to return to discuss further details.
"Glad to have met you, Don," he said with genuine warmth as we parted. The feeling was mutual. For some reason I took to George Gilbert.
I took Sammy with me next time. I'd made a good start but only he had the necessary background and expertise to sort out the details. We had a portfolio, camera and marketing plan with us. It was my turn to warn Sammy not to blow it.
George had his daughter with him. She lounged in elegant boredom, one slim leg dangling over the arm of a large over-stuffed armchair, inspecting her nails or glancing out of the window with a sleepy, sensual expression, her generous mouth half open in a semi-pout. I found I couldn't take my eyes off her.
When Sammy had gone off to take photos and do measurements, George drew me aside.
"Julia's quite a girl, isn't she?"
I blushed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare."
He chuckled. "It's okay. She takes after her mother, you know."
"Then her mother must be exceptional. You're a lucky man, George."
"Divorced," he sighed. "I'm afraid her mother's temper didn't match her looks."
I glanced to where Julia was now standing slouching moodily by the window. Her black jeans fit her like a glove, outlining the cheeks of her small, taut bottom.
"Guess how old she is," George said suddenly.
"I looked at Julia openly. "Eighteen? Nineteen?" I ventured.
"Nope. Sixteen."
"Sixteen? I'd never have guessed."
George turned to Julia and told her to make us some coffee. Without demur, she ambled off to the kitchen. I admired the way her hips swayed and the small, high, perky breasts outlined by her jumper.
"You don't get about much, do you?" George said suddenly.
"How do you mean?"
"Well Quentin, God rest him, always liked to be seen around. You know, restaurants, nightclubs,"
I chuckled. "Indeed. And I had to cope with his mornings after."
"But I haven't heard of you doing the rounds."
"Quentin was always on at me to join him but, to be honest, that sort of life doesn't appeal to me."
"But you do go out? You don't sit in like a hermit every night?"
I brindled because that was close enough to the truth to hurt. He placed a restraining hand on my arm. I thought about the business and answered, "No, but I prefer to be more discreet about it, that's all."
He smiled. "Tell me, Don, what sort of girls do you go for."
I noticed he said 'girls' not 'women'. "Well, female ones of course," I attempted to joke.
He looked at me seriously. "Girls like Julia?"
I looked at him askance. What was the man driving at? Sixteen? I thought about the girls I had dated recently and, with some shock, realised that they had all been several years younger than I and, well, young looking. "Well, I suppose they have all been younger than me. But not sixteen. She is very attractive, though." I added as an afterthought.
"Good man. Impeccable taste." He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. "Here's the coffee."
We looked went through my proposed marketing strategy while we drank the coffee, George going out of his way to involve Julia. She seemed only politely interested.
"How much do you reckon we'll get for this pile?" she asked. Her voice was slightly nasal. "Bloody hell," she exclaimed when George told her. She looked at me directly. "You can get that much?"
I looked into her smoky, sultry eyes and simply said, "Yes."
She sat back and watched me consideringly as George and I finished our discussion.
On our way out to the car, George handed me a video cassette. "Let me know what you think," he said.
The trip back was filled with Sammy's excited chatter about the house.
"When you came back and told me the price, I thought you'd gone bonkers, Don. But now I've seen the place, I see why."
"That's good, Sammy, because it's all yours," I smiled.
He looked astonished. "What?"
"Your opinion of me as a salesman is well founded, so I want you to do the selling. Oh, I'll handle George Gilbert but you sell the house. Think you can handle it?"
He sat up straighter in his seat. "Sure thing, Don."
"Oh, and one more thing, Sammy - don't blow it."
I grinned at him. He grinned back and we broke into helpless laughter.
It wasn't until much later in the evening that I remembered the video. I examined it carefully. It seemed to be an ordinary video cassette. It wasn't very long and there was nothing to indicate what it was or where I was made. With a shrug I slotted it into the video player.
Without any preamble, we were in a bedroom - a girl's bedroom by the look of it. I could see a bed with a full-length mirror on the wall beside it and part of a dressing table littered with make-up, jewellery and other girl paraphernalia. A girl entered and stood in front of the mirror. She looked very young, thirteen or fourteen possibly, with the gawky hips of a young teen and skinny arms.
She began to strip slowly, turning this way and that admiring herself in the mirror. Her breasts were small but well formed with large, conical areolae. When she was down to her panties she began to run her hands over her body, smoothing her fingers over her skinny thighs and up over her slightly rounded belly. She smiled at herself in the mirror then pouted at her image. Her hands came up to cup her breasts and she began to toy with her nipples. One hand crept down and slipped inside her panties. She parted her legs slightly and I could see the bulge her hand made as she played with her slit.
She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Then, stripping off her panties she jumped on the bed and reclined with her legs parted wide. Her mons was covered with a fine down, the same dirty blonde colour as her hair. She began to play with herself again and the camera began to slowly zoom in between her spread legs so I could see clearly her finger slipping in and out between her puffy lower lips. Her hips began to twitch and the camera began to pan slowly upwards, lingering on where her thumb and forefinger were tweaking a hard pink nipple, until it reached her face. Her head was thrown back, her mouth slightly parted with the tip of a pink tongue just visible between her teeth. Her eyes were closed. She was obviously enjoying the sensations her fingers were causing.
The camera panned back to show that she was working her hips up and down as she thrust two fingers in and out of her cunt around which a sheen of moisture was visible.
Abruptly, she stopped and rolled over to grope down beside the bed and returned with a large, pink vibrator which she sucked deep into her mouth to moisten it before turning it on and slipping it easily into her cunt. It's buzzing sounded loudly.
She worked it in and out of her cunt, slowly at first but with increasing vigour until she was ramming it in and out, pushing it in as deeply as it would go. Her feet were planted firmly on the bed and she was bucking her hips up off the bed to meet her own downward thrusts. Above the intrusive buzzing of the vibrator, her panting breathing could clearly be heard. Then, abruptly she lifted her hips right off the bed and held the vibrator in her as deeply as she could, her fingertips only just holding onto the base. She wiggled it around frantically, and moaned, long and loud and then collapsed back onto the bed.
The camera slowly zoomed in again to where the vibrator remained abandoned in her cunt, cunt juice oozing round it and trickling slowly between the cheeks of her bottom.
I have never been a fan of pornography so when the movie started my initial reaction was a mixture of boredom and disgust. But, somehow, this was different. Almost without being aware of it, I had undone my trousers, taken my rapidly-stiffening cock out and was masturbating in time to the girl's actions. When she reached her climax, I cried out and spurted cum all over the TV and video recorder. Spent, I collapsed back in my seat, panting, my heart hammering, astonished at the violence of my reactions.
When some semblance of sanity returned, I cleaned up my mess and removed the video. Reaction set in. I had just masturbated myself to an amazingly powerful cum while watching some 13-year-old girl masturbate with a vibrator. My God, what kind of monster was I? What was wrong with me? What kind of monster was George? Hastily I put the video away and tried to forget about it. It was obviously a momentary aberration. But I found that I couldn't get it out of my mind. The image of that small girl, the look of fierce ecstasy on her face as she came, haunted me all day and, that night, I guiltily played the video again and wanked until my cock was sore. And afterwards - the guilt and the self-recriminations.
I slept badly and was late for work.
"Don, Mr Gilbert called," Mary greeted me. I blanched. "Are you okay, Don?"
"Yes. Sorry. I didn't sleep well last night." She looked at me sympathetically and brought me a cup of strong coffee.
There was no point in delaying so I called George Gilbert. The sound of his hearty voice just made things worse and I found I could barely be civil. I wanted to scream, 'You're nothing but a dirty, sick, pervert,' at him but a small part of my mind reminded me that, in that case, I was just as sick as he.
He wanted me to come down to the house again to go over some details. I had to face him at some point and sooner seemed better than later. I would give him his video back and tell him I wanted nothing more to do with him once the sale had gone through. And with that resolve I set out.
He was alone - in other words Julia was not with him. I found that I was more than a little disappointed. Face to face my resolve crumbled and I wordlessly handed him back his video.
"Did you enjoy it?" he asked.
My face must have been a picture for he looked at me sympathetically and nodded briefly.
"Try this one," he said, handing me another.
I tried to resist, I really did. But somehow my hand stretched out and took the proffered object and I mumbled my thanks. He patted me on the shoulder.
All the way back I cursed myself for a fool. I was being sucked into something that, at the same time, fascinated me, disgusted me and frightened me. I didn't know if I really wanted to go any further but, deep inside me, a little voice seemed to say, 'It's true. Admit it'. I didn't return to the office but went straight home and, with trembling hands, shoved the tape into the video player.
As with the previous tape, there was no introduction. The scene opened onto an anonymous living room with large settee and shag pile rug in front of an open hearth. The camera panned round to show normal living-room furniture; a TV, bookcase, occasional tables, and so on.
A door opened and two people entered - a man of about 40 and a young girl, much shorter than he. The girl had long dark hair and looked remarkably like Julia Gilbert. I did a double-take and peered closely at the screen. No, it wasn't Julia but it could have been her cousin. The couple looked well at ease with their arms around each other, she smiling up at him.
He put on a CD and sat on the couch while she began to dance. She twirled and shook and wiggled - a cross between a disco dance and a bump-and-grind. She bent and wriggled her pert little bottom at him, she cupped her breasts while thrusting out her pelvis and rotating her hips. Her dress, short and tight, seemed to mould itself to her body and her rather prominent pubic mound was clearly outlined. It was obvious she was trying to turn the man on - and succeeding for he began to stroke an obvious erection inside his trousers. The music stopped and the girl dropped to her knees between his parted knees, unzipped his fly and pulled out an impressive cock which she began to lick and suck with obvious enthusiasm. The man threw his head back and groaned as her small hands dug into his fly to cup his balls while her head bobbed up and down on his cock.
After a while, he pushed her away and made her stand up on the settee, straddling him. He pushed her dress up over her hips, pulled her to him and began to lick her bare twat. The girl smiled sensually down at him and ruffled his hair as his tongue worked its way into her crack. The resemblance to Julia was uncanny.
Her lover worked his tongue assiduously, probing and delving. The girl's head fell back, her long, dark hair falling freely down her back. Her eyes closed and mouth half parted in pleasure, she arched her back and began to work her hips against his insistent mouth. She made small gasps and cries as he probed her sensitive places. Her cries grew more insistent and she worked her hips more rapidly. He placed his hands on the small of her back to for support. She gave a long soft wail and went rigid - she had cum. After a long moment, he raised his head, his face sticky with her juice and smiled up at her. She smiled lovingly back then, clasping his head between her flat palms, she bent and kissed him full on the mouth, seemingly unconcerned that she was tasting her own cum juice.
He took hold of his impressive erection and waggled it. She glanced down and laughed. She stepped off the couch and he slid forward until his bottom was half off the seat. With her hands resting on his shoulders, she slowly lowered her body and impaled herself on his weapon, biting her lip in pleasure and concentration as the large tool slowly penetrated her cunt.
She sank down until she was perched on his thighs, his cock fully embedded in her cunt. Then she began to raise and lower herself on it, feeling its hot length slide in and out. He held her waist and helped her bump up and down. The camera zoomed in to show her cunt lips stretched wide. As she stood up, they seemed to drag up his cock, as if reluctant to feel it go, then she would sink back down until only his balls were visible. After a time of slow movement he arched his back off the settee and began to thrust into her, speeding up the tempo all the while. Her breathing was loud and ragged and her head rolled from side to side. His breathing was irregular, too, and he gave a small grunt each time he hit the deepest point of his stroke.
Their movements became faster and faster.
"Oh, baby," he groaned. "I'm going o cum."
"Yes," she panted. "Cum for me. Cum in me."
He gripped her hips tightly and jabbed fiercely into her for several minutes. Then he gave a great groan and held himself up off the couch. I could see his balls contract and he buttocks clench as he pumped his seed into her. He fell back on the settee, pulling her down into t tight embrace, his cock still embedded in her cunt. The camera lingered as his cum oozed out of her well-fucked cunt and dribbled slowly down his balls. Then the camera zoomed out and the scene faded.
I had managed to time my climax with his, and, better prepared this time, did not cover the TV with cum. My mind was churning as I cleaned up and made my dinner. The girl, though not as young as the one in the previous video was clearly under eighteen - probably under sixteen - but she was obviously no stranger to sex and, equally obviously, enjoyed it. I wondered if Julia was sexually experienced. Somehow I doubted it, despite her looks. George, if his proclivities ran to young girls, probably made sure his daughter was kept well in hand. My dreams that night were full of long, dark hair and slim hips and pouting, teenage mouths.
Over the next few days two things dominated my waking hours. Firstly I was obsessed with Julia. I looked at every girl with long, dark hair or wearing tight jeans half hoping it would be her. I knew they weren't of course but they invoked images of Julia sitting with one slender leg draped over the chair arm or standing by the window.
I also began to notice young girls. Up till now teenagers had just been, well, big children - loud, strangely dressed but nothing of my concern. Now I began to notice them; their pert breasts, their slim hips, their jaunty walk, the way they dressed - their whole attitude seemed designed to tempt, to tease, to show off their developing bodies. Oh, I didn't want to rush out and rape them or anything, it was just that I began to be aware of them as members of the female sex. I did a bit of research and found out that this was normal teenage behaviour; that dressing and behaving like they did did not constitute an open invitation to any prowling male. In a way I think I already knew that.
So why was I so obsessed with them? Why was the thought of having sex with a teenage girl so exciting? Why was I so obsessed with Julia Gilbert? Inadequacy? No, I'd had several long-term relationships and none of them had ended because of poor sex. Power? Possibly, although the idea of having power over a woman found only a faint echo in my ego. My researches showed that deflowering virgins was a very potent male symbol during certain periods of history. This I found a bit odd as it had never really appealed to me.