Date: Mon, 3 Mar 2003 23:03:18 -0600
From: Tom Emerson <Thomas@btl.net>
Subject: ONE FISH AT A TIME CHAPT. EIGHTEEN
ONE FISH AT A TIME
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Heraldo and Stuyvesant had cuddled with the young girls
as the graduate student told his story. As he finished, they slowly pulled
the sheet down off the bodies of the ten year old and sixteen year old,
then stood naked by the bed so the females could look at them. The girls
helped each other adjust pillow beneath themselves, then spread their legs
widely, the pixie's left twining with the right leg of her sixteen year old
friend. Heraldo moved between his daughter's knees as Santy positioned
himself over Annette. The females guided the males, then held hands as
they pulled the men to themselves with their free hands. They coupled
slowly and gently, the males repeated rising on their arms so the girls
could see their penises. The teen took the older girl in a minute, and as
he entered her fully, she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist.
Heraldo was slower with his little girl, mounting her with dozens after
dozens of tender but urgent thrusts and frequently lowering himself to kiss
her neck and whisper softly in her ear.
"Are you going to make us feel it together?" the
younger girl asked, hands on her father's powerful shoulders, and legs
clamped tightly as Annette was holding the seventeen year old.
"Would you like that?" her father rasped.
"Yes," the girl said. As the man looked at Annette,
she nodded in agreement, before gazing back up into the eyes of her young
stag.
"Do you think we can?" Santy asked.
"You got very close when we were up in the bathroom,"
Heraldo reminded the youth, "so I may be able to sense it with you."
"I think I can, with you, too," the younger male said.
"Tell us, so Annette and I can hold hands, okay?" the
ten year old asked.
"Yes, love," her father whispered, and the girl renewed
her grip on his shoulder, her legs also tightening around him half
convulsively.
"You can be wild with us, later," Ravella said, adding:
"okay, Annette?"
"It's nice like this," the girl said, "I'm always still
with my brothers after I haven't seen them for a long time."
"But then you get wild with them, right?" the younger
girl asked.
"Especially my dad," Annette said, "all the way to
almost rough."
"Dad, I want that too," Ravella said, "you know, that
word Zollie used with her dad."
"Yes, love," Heraldo said, "Brother and I want that,
too. It will happen pretty soon."
"Not too, though," the girl advised, "because this way
I can feel everything and it's exciting trying to get used to it."
For long minutes the males huddled tightly over their
females, kissing them, licking them and whispering hotly in their pretty
ears. The girls began panting and mewing, alternately squeezing each
other's hands and stroking and petting their young men. Heraldo and Santy
also used their hands on each other, especially on the lower bellies where
they could feel each other's building tension. There was not such thing as
racing to catch up, since no sport was involved, but they found the could
hang back and wait for each other. Their barometers were each other's
breathing, panting, sweating, grunting, and body English as the continued
to tense from the strain of holding almost perfectly still in the hot, wet
young bodies of their females. Five minutes passed to six. Another half
minute passed. "Hold hands," Heraldo commanded with the last of his voice.
For long moments they were frozen and silent, then, precisely together,
both girls began whimpering and their knuckles whitened as the gripped each
other's hand. Silently, the males used the last of their strength to
remained high above the girls, and the young virgin, especially, stared
down between her body and her fathers as well as at the sweating young
couple pressed against her left flank. The males also hung their heads so
they could witness each other and the hot, white slick quickly spreading
over the lower bellies and upper thighs of Ravella and Annette.
The foursome lay recovering for almost half an hour.
"Darling," Heraldo said to his daughter, "why don't you take your brother
down the hall and show him your bedroom."
"Yes, Daddy," the girl responded, reaching for the
teenage graduate student cuddled against her best friend. The boy
responded immediately, and Heraldo and Annette both watched as the teen and
the ten year old crossed naked to the door, then opened it and, hand in
hand, left the master bedroom. "They look totally beautiful together,"
Annette whispered, rolling into the arms of the tall, powerful athlete
beside her, and spreading her legs.
Here we say goodbye to the Italian beauty. I've fought
with the muses over her, bemused by doing so because on the one hand, I
offer the same immortality as other real characters, but, on the other, no
greater symbol of the nice girl and the good girl exists than the
hands-down star of The Mickey Mouse club in its original version.
Sometimes the muses win, so she stays, the one character I'd apologize to,
if the issue ever came up. You know Rudolph, of course, so he needs no
introduction here and I can come right out and tell you that the nosey one
wanted a Shirley Temple story, plus one about Haley Mills. Muses often
lose, so Rudolph with your nose so bright, take yourself on a polar flight;
go fantasize over the elves or something, and if I need you in December,
I'll be sure to ring.
What if he'd said Liz? Nah, but then there's little
Ruthie on "7th Heaven", and her ultimate thirteen year old brother, the
very blond Simon. Ruthie is a solid body nine year old with a cute and
winsome face, and a quick, smart pair of eyes to match her silver tongue.
The family is off tending to contiguous messes caused by Matt and Mary,
televisions poster teens for the euthanasia movement. The mildly handsome,
quasi athletic father is in his office working at the church's ledger.
"Dad," the girl says through a crack in the heavy door of the old house,
"can I talk to you?"
"Sure, doll," Mike (?) Camden said, and the girl
entered, closing the door behind her. "Can I lock it?" she asked. "If you
want," her father replied, "but I think Simon's the only one here."
"I know, Dad," the girl said, crossing the carpet and
sitting in her father's lap
"What's up, Lily, or Tiger, I never know with you."
"I may be `goat' when I tell you what happened," the
slightly husky child responded.
"If you're following your moronic older sister one inch
in the next ten years, you'll be a sacrificial goat. Remember, I'm
licensed by the state to perform rituals at an altar."
"It's not Mary," Ruthie said, unable to keep a giggle
from her voice in spite of her serious demeanor.
"Matt's even cheesier than she is," Mike said, a hint
of warning in her voice.
"Two strikes," the girl said. She was dressed in a
skirt and blouse and had come barefoot into the office
"Take a little heat off the ball, and give me a hint."
"Okay," the girl said, standing, turning, and sitting
back on her father's knees, "it's not the senior morons, and it's not Lucy,
who has more of a good side, which it would be impossible not to do, but
who could go either way, so who does that leave, and make it reasonably
intelligent by not saying the twins or Mom."
"I have some figures in the calculator," Mike said,
looking down at his desk, "but if I just rough it out in my head, it comes
out to you and Simon."
"Dad," the girl said softly, now shy and hanging her
head, "neither one of us was stalking the other, okay, it wasn't planned in
any way. Neither one of us knew a thing about it even a minute before it
started. Lawyers like to talk about intent, and there was no intent. Not
on his part, and not on mine, okay?"
"I hope you left some money in the bank for the rest of
the town," Rev. Camden said, stroking his daughter's brow and trying to
comfort her.
"It was a crime of passion, not greed," the girl said.
"Sweetheart, I didn't mean to tease," the father said.
"I know," the girl sniffled, "and I know you're just
trying to defend yourself from knowing what I'm talking about. Any father
would feel the same about a girl my age. Want to think she's always
playing with dolls, skipping rope, and doing her homework. But it didn't
happen that way, this time, with me. I mean I still like those things, tea
parties and the whole bit, but there's more to me now, in a way, literally,
but more spiritually, which is exactly the wrong word, but the only one I
know, because it's nothing in any hymn book, and the bible avoids it like a
hot potato, but it's still about ten times stronger than any feeling I ever
had about anyone or anything but you, and that includes God."
"I knew I shouldn't have bought you guys that chemistry
set," Mike whispered, realizing he was prevaricating but unable to think of
anything he could do other than try for a lighter tone. She was alive and
obviously healthy, a good starting point.
"It wasn't chemistry, it was an atomic explosion," the
girl said, herself realizing her father probably did know where she was
going with her story and was trying to ease the burden.
"And you've come to ask for ultra-dark glasses," Mike
said, "the kind you can only find in catalogs?"
"My eyes don't need protection," the girl replied, "but
my belly might, in a couple of years, anyway "
"From?"
"The guys with the big heads and eel tails," the girl
whispered shyly, hanging her head. "Simon's guys. His sperms. They can't
do anything to me now, but when I get to be ten or eleven it will be
different."
"What do you think, Dad?" the girl asked.
"That it's worth trying," Mike said, "I made sure
everything was hands-off with Mary; virginity this, chastity that, morality
and decency from morning to night, and she turned out to be a self-involved
criminal. Matt wanted to go on a camping trip with his art teacher when he
was in junior high; I wouldn't let him because the teacher profiled:
bachelor, artistic, had been attached to effeminate boys in the past,
according to the usually-accurate rumor mill. No trip, and he was never
the same after that. So if you and Simon can find something better, you
have my guarded approval."
"Dad," the eight year old said, "it's just about us in
the beginning. There's more."
"There is?" Mike said.
"Quite a bit," the girl said with the hint of a smile.
"Such as?"
"Lucy," the girl whispered.
"She doesn't like Matt and Simon's too young," Mike
said.
"You," Ruthie whispered, staring into his eyes, "her
gentle, generous, handsome, wonderful father."
Subject broached, the minister could not help thinking
of his vivacious second daughter in terms of her high breasts and sculpted
belly and waist. "Lucy," he whispered.
"Yes," the girl said, "after I've taught you that it
feels normal and natural even though incest is like squawk-one."
"I'll try remembering that for Sunday," Mike said, "the
floors need varnishing and that would be a good way to clear the flock for
the painters."
"When Simon pinched that mosquito on my neck," the girl
responded, "it was like lightning came down through the roof. Lots of it.
If you could catch that in some kind of bottle, the painters would have to
tunnel into the basement and work in the middle of the night."
"A common fault of philosophies over the ages," the
minister said, "is that they allowed no deviation. A and B and C equaled
D, always, no ifs, ands, or buts. That's in the academic and abstract,
utopian, and the closer believers came, the more harshly they suffered and
the more pointlessly they suffered, for their ideals were without truth or
merit, so reaching them further removed you from those realms. There has
to be room for the wildness of man, his feral and passionate side,
otherwise we might as well be plastic pins beset upon by plastic bowling
balls. If you and Simon have discovered that over a mosquito, you'll be
getting extra lessons in restraint and self-denial as you grow up, and,
since you're both highly attractive and likeable children, probably
spectacular rewards when the right opportunity comes along."
"That was brilliant," Ruthie said, staring into her
father's gentle eyes, "but academic and evasive. There's only one way you
can learn how natural if feels, a, to be with a child, and, b, to have that
child be your flesh and blood biological, full-time, every day, all day,
natural-born daughter. Add that the daughter is soaking wet from her
thirteen year old brother, and poof, there goes the academic, and if you
can evade it, I can't, and I sure as hell don't want to, nor will Lucy once
she and her kid-sister have had their private, intimate, and graphic girl's
talk. End of my little speech."
"I do love you kind of madly," Mike whispered to his
little girl.
"And there's more," the girl said, "much more so if you
have any more aplomb stored up, you might want to summon it so you can
maintain some kind of cool when I tell you the biggest of the big news, in
fact, probably the biggest news in any family in the state for the last
twenty years. Mount Everest is big, this news is bigger."
"Whether you mean to or not," the reverend said,
"you're beginning to get me curious, because I know you're smart enough to
know I won't marry you and your brother, and otherwise I'm drawing a
blank."
"Okay," the eight year old said, "to the chase. It all
goes, in Simon's mind and mine, something like this. Lucy's a mature
female, as much woman as girl, and, not to put too fine a point on it,
she's definitely old enough to get pregnant,"
`I don't thing the gynecological community is likely to
devote an issue of their journal to news like that," Mike said.
"Daddy," the youngster said, "she's going to get
pregnant with you. Her sexy tummy is going to bulge and swell with her
daughter and her granddaughter, her girl will be my sister and my niece,
that part's complicated, but making it happen isn't. She's got a pretty
face and a body that begs for a man so fluently even girls think she's
awesome. Three girls at her school who had notes from doctors to get out
of gym suddenly got a whole lot better when Lucy started using the locker
room. She's va-va-voom and zoom, zoom, zoom in one package, and she's a
virgin.
"I don't want anything happening under false
pretenses, a-la my eldest brother and sister. I want her to have a baby
here not because it's romantic, everything is to a girl my age, but for a
big, hard, unavoidable, and practical reason. To keep her here at home.
Here with us. Pinned to the family, so she doesn't wift here and waft
there, helter-skelter and topsy-turvy like Biff and Happy Loman, and to
give the twins someone to be big shots to, and because you're getting too
scattered all over the place, you and Mom, both, with culturalism, when
familyism is pretty obviously more important, at least in this household at
this point in time."
"How madly, I can't exactly tell," the man mused.
"I'm wet from the loins, the long, slim, coltish loins,
I might add, of your beautiful son," the girl whispered, "maybe that will
help you find out."
"Oh, baby, we'll try," the man whispered reaching for
Ruthie's collar and bringing her face to him. "Did your brother kiss you,"
he whispered, as he unbuttoned her blouse.
"No," the girl said, "I guess we didn't think of it."
"It's not a thinking man's moment," Mike concurred,
"being with a girl as beautiful as you are, and you're sexier than that,
it's a wonder he could function at all."
"Imagine me with big, high breasts, Daddy," Ruthie
said, "and that's Lucy."
"And you'd have me spoil that figure?" the man said,
separating the fabric of his kitten's blouse and staring at her vividly
swollen nipples. "Tell me how your brother touched you," he coaxed.
"On my tummy first," the girl said, guiding her
father's fingers, "but he was looking where you are." The child's body was
creamy white and soft, neither slim nor even slightly fat, but rather full
and solid, especially her chest where the slight heaviness of her build
made her light pink nipples stand out like the growing breasts of an
adolescent female.
"Did you talk while this was happening?" Mike asked.
"Yes," Ruthie answered, arching to her father's stare
and lacing her finger behind her neck in an overt display of welcome. "He
asked me if anyone had touched me before because he wanted to find out if I
was experienced. I said I saw you and Mom making love once, but I didn't
see your penis, and nothing had happened with me. I asked him the same
question and he told me he had a secret to tell me."
"Tell me from the beginning, love," the father
whispered.
"What are you doing?" Ruthie asked, looking up from her
text book.
"I was trying to kill a mosquito without splattering
blood all over you," Simon said, "sorry."
"It made me feel funny when you touched me," the girl
said, "I don't mean bad."
"Me, too," the young, blond teen said, his voice
suddenly low and husky..
"Do you want to try it again?" the eight year old
asked, "you could just pretend about the bug."
"Okay," the boy said, reaching with his right hand to
the young female's neck, just under her left ear.
"I must have a special spot there, it feels electric,"
the girl said.
"Do you want me to try somewhere else?" the boy asked.
"What if it's you, and not the spot?" the girl wanted
to know.
"I don't know," Simon answered.
"We better find out,:" Ruthie said, "otherwise I'll lie
awake tonight thinking about it."
"I will, too," her brother said, his voice still husky
as an older male's.
Gently he traced his right index finger across the back
of his sister's neck, stopping after a moment. "How about here?" he asked.
"Try going away from my spine," the girl suggested, her
own voice unrecognizable to her. Simon traced back under her left ear to
her throat and paused again.
"That was a waste of time," the girl said, "I knew
right away it was you, not some nervous disorder, but I did want to be
absolutely, positively sure."
"So you'd feel something where... I mean...?"
"Wherever," the girl said in her dusky voice, "On my
toes or my nose," anywhere.
"Don't you think I better try touching you?"
"If we're going to get any sleep," the boy agreed,
removing his hand from his sister. The girl stared at the beautiful young
male, then reached to a spot under his right ear.
"Another waste of time," Simon said, adding: "The best
surprise is no surprise."
"What does it mean?" Ruthie asked, "I'm only eight. I
can't be feeling big-girl things."
"I know about it," her brother responded, "and age
doesn't matter. When the feelings come, they charge in like cavalry, and
you might as well fight them with a deck of cards. But it has to be the
right time and the right place in order to keep the sidewalks clear of
fornicators."
"How did you find out so much?" the pretty child asked.
"It's kind of secret and embarrassing," the boy
replied.
"Was it with a girl?" Ruthie asked.
"That's the secret part," Simon said.
"If you had the feelings you have to tell me about it,"
the girl said, "or we could keep doing it, and that way maybe I could find
out from experience."
"Do you want to do both?" the young teen asked.
"Yes," the girl said, "but you've got to lead. All I
know is from the dolls at school and the boy one that's big, and when I saw
Mom and Dad, I was too embarrassed to watch them until Dad cummed in her,
even though I knew what was happening and that's what he was going to do."
"I got experience for three hours," Simon said, "but it
wasn't with a girl, it was with an older boy. One of Matt's ex-friends,
which means he was really nice. While he was teaching me, he told me about
his little sister, she's only six, that's why I know age doesn't fight the
feelings any more than the two of clubs could fight a hundred mounted
bravos with John Wayne as Bravo One."
"Was he cute?" the girl asked.
"Yes," the boy answered, "but not in the cheesy,
city-boy way Matt tries to be, he was on the swim team and had short hair
and no earrings or tattoos or anything. He had a another sister, a dorky
one who thought Matt was cute, so they arranged a swap and Kerry ended up
spending the evening."
"Did you get naked with him right away, or did he talk
to you first?" Ruthie asked.
"We had both had the same feelings we got when I
touched your neck," the boy answered, "but we were both guys, so it wasn't
so embarrassing to take our clothes off and look at each other. After
that, I sat in his lap, with my back to him, and he started touching me
until I relaxed and lay back against him, then he molested me while I asked
him questions about Rachel, his younger sister.."
"Can we do it that way?" the perky child asked, quickly
unbuttoning her blouse and standing to face the thirteen year old, a head
taller than she.
"Yes," Simon said in his strained voice. He quickly
stripped to his underpants and the two children stood a foot from each
other staring down at their bodies. "Take my panties off," the girl
coaxed, and her brother knelt and as she twirled her fingers gently in his
bond hair, slowly pulled her tiny thong to the ground. He remained
kneeling for a minute, gently tracing the fingers of both hands over
Ruthie's soft, childish belly and the creamy soft skin of her upper thighs.
Slowly, shakily, the long-legged colt stood. His sister knelt in front of
him, her hands on his waist, and pulled his white cotton underpants down
past his knees. His man-sized penis slapped hard against his belly, then
she had him completely naked and he spread his legs, thrusting gently to
the curious girl, now standing close in front of him. She reached him with
her tiny hands, and, looking into his eyes for approval, then bowing her
head to stare, slowly skinned back the foreskin of his big, thick penis.
"I've got to sit," Simon whispered, lowering to his be
and guiding the naked girl to his lap so he could stare at her perfect
young breasts and touch her belly and thighs.
"Tell me what happened to you when you visited Matt's,"
the girl coaxed.
"Do you want a lot of details?" the handsome boy asked,
now tracing his fingers over Ruthie's berry-size light pink nipples and
fondling her fullness that could have been that of a slightly husky male
child.
"Yes," the girl whispered, "I don't think a dozen girl
talks equal one boy talk in a case like this."
"It was pretty clinical," the boy said, "I mean when
they talk about bodily fluids on television, it's usually off of
microscopes and trace evidence, so you get thinking in terms of a drop of
this and a dab of that, so the first thing I have to tell you is that
that's not what really happens."
"I'm assuming," Ruthie said, "and I'll remain a happy
girl while you molest me if I keep assuming there's a second thing you'll
be telling me."
"I was warning you," Simon said, "because it gets very
wet and messy with boys. You have to be definitely in the mood for it,
really want it to happen, then it's hot and sexy, but if you weren't, you
know, because I'm your brother or something, then we should be really
careful and we should get a damp washcloth from the bathroom to clean up
before you get grossed out."
"Did you use a washcloth with Kerry?" the sister asked.
"We didn't need one," the boy replied.
"What did you use if it was so wet and messy?" the
child wanted to know.
"That's another embarrassing part," the boy said,
blushing.
"It's okay to keep anything private you want," the girl
said softly, I'm just curious, I didn't mean to get nosy."
"Do you feel a little wild?" Simon asked, "because if
you do, I think I can tell you, but if you're just curious, it might be
better if I didn't."
"If you want wild, keep it a secret," the girl said.
"Okay," the boy said looking up from her breasts to her
eyes, "but it's about as graphic as it gets. We licked it off each other
with our tongues. We were lying on our backs in bed, Kerry on my left side
with his right leg over my left leg. He taught me what boys do, and we did
it side by side."
"Show me how boys do it," the girl said. Simon took
her hands from his chest, where she'd been emulating his touch of her, and
cautiously placed them on his big, circumcised penis. He showed her how to
grip with her left down low on his six-inch shaft, and how to use the
fingers of her right hand to wet him with seminal fluid and to masturbate
him. Several times he used his own hand to teach her the rhythm,
whispering, "this is what we did while we were on the bed and he was
telling me about Rachel. If boys stay excited for a long time, the, you
know, what they talk about in health science, the sperm really builds up in
them, and he told me all the details about his little sister spending the
weekend at his apartment, it happened a year ago, when he was eighteen,
when they had a family emergency, you know, like everybody fussing over
Mary's latest screw-up, today."
"Tell me from the beginning," Ruthie said, "and don't
leave anything out, because I have something to tell you, too, and you
wouldn't want me to use shortcuts."
"He asked me about you," Simon said, "he's seen us
together at the mall, so that was the first topic of conversation after
Matt left and we were sitting on his bed trying not to stare at each other.
He said he thought you looked really cute and he asked about how close we
are. His voice got croaky, and then I didn't even have to look at him to
be excited, just listening to him did it."
"When did this happen?" Ruthie asked.
"Last Friday," Simon said.
"And now it's a week later?" the girl said.
"This is the first time the house has been empty," the
boy said, "except Dad's working in the office, but he won't take a break
until seven or so."
"So there was no mosquito?" she said, giggling.
"It depends how Zen you want to get about it," the boy
replied, "if I wanted there to be one badly enough, for a good enough
reason, then I earned the right for there to be one, and I thought touching
you like that would be a way to see if you were receptive, or if you just
thought of me as a brother."
"That's clever enough to have a Jesuit provenance," the
eight year old said.
"Where the motive is extreme, behavior can't be far
behind," the boy responded.
"I thought necessity was the mother of invention, not
invitation," Ruthie said.
"As long as it wasn't intervention," Simon noted.
"It wasn't," the particularly bright child said,
"resurrection would be closer. I mean, sure, I'm a happy kid, but I don't
see how seeing you naked, and letting you see me naked, and touching you
like this, and feeling what you're doing with my breasts could fail to make
me, a, happier, and, b, more content, aware, and satisfied that I'm not
missing out on some colossal great mystery because of this code or that
convention "
"So many kids do stuff it almost is conventional," the
thirteen year old observed.
"That won't last," the girl said, "everyone's getting
so fat in a few years no one will want to do anything with anybody."
"Some would say the country is overdue for a change in
moral climate and the standards of decency," the thirteen year old said,
"so god should finally end up a satisfied customer."
"The interfering prick should be boiled in his own
oil," the girl said, endearing herself her big brother if she hadn't
already done so, "one slip from grace, and you pay with the odd billion
years of torment. Princes of the church as princes of mayhem. Crash
through this, upset that, and end up with the likes of Mary as a believer."
"Kerry and I talked about the same stuff," Simon said,
"and when decency and morality came up as subjects, he told me about
Rachel. How she wanted them to pretend they were married for the weekend.
He tried to fend her off as just a little kid, but she stuck to her guns,
and after awhile he realized he'd be hurting her by not partnering her."
"That hits my secret right on the head," Ruthie
whispered, "I was going to wait until you told me everything about them
being together, and all the details of you and Kerry, since we've got until
seven, but I'd rather tell you now."
"What?" the brother asked.
"It has to do with what you were just talking about,"
the girl said, "acts of omission. Not doing something that's needed
because of ignorant laws in dated books."
"Such as?" the boy said, helping her along.
"Such as our one not totally bonkers and gonzo sister,"
Ruthie said, "about trying to keep her from chipping off like paint from a
bridge maintained under the liberal ruling class, and floating down into
the river to go through the propeller of a speed boat, about making her
stick here, where she's safe."
"Shackles and chains are only for a certain type of
magazine," the boy noted.
"I'm not talking about that kind of stuff," the girl
said, "but something more magnetic; something that will so strongly attract
her good side that she'll respond to it instead of all the neurotic
claptrap and flummery she's going to run into with that face and that
awesome body if she keeps bouncing off things."
"I'm with you on the end," the quiet, handsome boy
said, "but what do you propose as the means?"
"Our father. Dad," the girl whispered softly.
"What do you mean?" Simon asked, his voice as hushed as
the girl's.
"A baby," Ruthie said, "from him. Something here, full
and complete, unarguably compelling, for her to attach herself to. If you
were older, I'd want it to be yours, and if I was older, and male, I'd want
it to be mine, but the way things are, and they're better than they should
be, it's up to our nice, handsome dad. And he has to do it, Simon," the
girl said forcefully, "he has to, or she's a gone goose, and he'll be
responsible because he'll be the last person who could have prevented the
inevitable.."
"What do you think Mom would say?" the boy asked.
"What could she?" the girl replied, "she's not going to
break up all of us because of anything. She likes Ned Borman, she can have
a ripping affair with nights of unbridled passion with him, not to get back
at Dad or us, but just to be fully her. That should level the playing
field."
"And there wouldn't be a financial side," the mature
boy said, "because sooner or later Lucy's going to eat us alive with legal
or medical fees. Probably both."
"I never thought of that," the girl said, her eyes
glowing at her brother's full acceptance of what some might have considered
to be a cockamamie scheme.
"Then," Simon went on, flattered by his sister's avid
attention, "when she's twenty-five or twenty-six, she can tell her big
secret to the man she likes the best, and not only offer him her own lurid
past, but a presumably pretty ten-year-old daughter, guaranteed to keep a
presumably older, more stable, and wealthier man within whispering
distance."
"Especially if her beautiful uncle teachers her,' the
girl concurred, "only I hope he's not insensitive enough to make her wait
until she's my age. I would have loved it if you'd touched me when I was
Rachel's age, maybe even younger."
"Kerry had to be really careful with her," Simon said,
"especially because she wanted to wake up their first morning together with
his `seeds' swimming in her belly. He thought she was too small for him to
mount the way a boy takes a mature girl, so he had to do special things,
you know, what I was doing to myself when I was teaching you how to do what
you're doing with me now."
"Masturbate?" the girl whispered.
"Yes," Simon panted, "with just a little of him inside
her, mostly just holding himself against her and using his, you know, penis
to masturbate her while he stroked himself."
"Was it successful for them?" the child wanted to know.
"They finally found a position with her legs against
his chest where it was comfortable for both of them, and she could look
down and watch what he was doing," the brother explained, "then, in a few
minutes, he was a male inside her. She felt what was happening, and saw
his seed pouring out from around his penis, and she grabbed him with her
legs and arms and thrust up with her hips as hard as she could, and the
rest of Kerry's sperm went all the way inside her where she wanted it."
"What happened afterwards?" the female asked, panting
like the male.
"He took her skateboarding so she's have a reason to
limp," Simon explained, "then he bought her a colossal bear, so she'd have
a reason to be smiling all the time."
"How long were you in bed with Kerry before it got
really exciting?" Ruthie asked, only her shining eyes hinting that she
found her brother to be the doll of living dolls.
"It sort of went in stages," Simon explained, "we'd get
almost excited enough, then stop and talk more, then masturbate and look at
each other again. We did that five or six times then he told me about
washing her hair in the bathtub, just before he took her in on his bed, and
he said he wasn't going to stop, but for me to hold back until it happened
to him, because it was better for the teacher to spray before his student
did."
"Could you do that?" the boy asked.
"It was hard," Simon admitted, "because she'd been
pretty obvious about what she wanted, even before she spent the weekend
with him, so, when she asked him to wash her hair while she was in the tub,
he got naked in his room and went into the bathroom with a big boner, and
he's circumcised, so it looked my dramatic than I do. Then he told me
about washing her all over with soapy water, and letting her practice
kissing with him, and her pulling him in the tub with her so they were both
naked and slippery, and what her body felt like when he molested her, and
the way she breathed when she lay back in the tub and put her right leg up
over the side so he could touch her and teach her how female's masturbate,
then drying her off, and then she suddenly took it into her head to see if
she could make him bigger and harder if she sucked on him, because she'd
heard the word at school, and was able to put two and two together, so she
knelt on the footstool she used for the bathroom sink, and he leaned
against the wall, and she started taking him into her mouth, and that's
when I saw his sperm start showering and watched him get all wet from it,
then I thought of what Rachel must have felt like when he touched her
between her legs, and I started cumming all over my belly and chest. We
lay panting together for a minute, then he started licking my sperm off my
belly and chest and face, and he lay back so I could experiment with doing
it to him, then we fell asleep for an hour and woke up just in time to get
dressed because Matt was back."
How many of you caught the subtle tease? Another
layer. You must have had it in mind. Here we go, again. But no, we did
not get the standard minute-by-minute account of Kerry undoing the button's
of his sister's frock, getting her ready for the tub, of the scent of
strawberries in her golden blond hair, nor a complete description liking
her to the Brady's little Cindy. We did not hear her coo, "Oh, babe," when
the male teen entered the bathroom, stood for a minute as he arched and
displayed, then crossed the room and knelt by the bathtub. Barely glossed
over were the feelings in Kerry's right hand as the girl emulated his
display, linking her tiny fingers behind her neck and arching in welcome as
he found her tiny pink nipples and gently massaged her taut chest with
warm, soapy water. We only have the gist of the conversation about the
following morning, where the real dialogue concerned her friend, Wendy
Neils, who was the one who told Rachel about what would be left deep in her
tummy after she'd been with a mature boy. The long time he spent drying
her is unrecorded, as well as their play wrestling on the floor with the
towel and without it. Although it may be assumed by the reader, the
urgency and deliberation of the six year old as she led her brother to his
bedroom are missing from the script. Other lost details include Kerry's
second long, hot cum deep in his sister's avid mouth, and the way he lay
behind her as she slept, masturbating gently after thoroughly wetting
himself on the child's slick thighs, and, because she was sore, her mouth
once again deliberate and purposeful on him as he awoke. That's a lot of
missing material, leading my ego to wonder if I leave out more than other
writers put in.
Why not try to make the essays interesting? I said to
myself recently. If they no longer constitute a respite, wouldn't it be
smart to liven them up, for my own sake, if not the reader, or leave them
out? Well, we've just seen what happens when something gets left out of
the novel, so the second idea is not a good one. For example, Randy
dropped by a couple of hours ago, and, guaranteed, you're not going to want
that one left out. My first new lover since Clarence over two years ago.
Because of Bev's being hospitalized I didn't give him any money on Friday.
So today he came over, by himself, and I explained what had happened. He
came in the bedroom and pulled the chair close, as I sat on the bed. I
gave him twenty dollar, instead of the ten he needs for art supplies, and
asked him if he wanted to go. He smiled and shook his head. I reached for
him and he stood quickly and came to me. I slid my hands up under his
basketball jersey, and he came willingly to be kissed. We made out for ten
minutes, then I ran my right hand up inside his shorts, finding his still
child-size erection. We experimented with touching for a few minutes, and
I took him for another minute in the classic pedophile's stance, standing
behind him and leaning over to fondle him and slide my fingers into the
waist band of his shorts. I asked him again if he wanted to go and he said
he was watching Kira so he had to. We chatted for a moment, made a date
for lunch tomorrow, with Samantha, and he left. He kisses so aggressively,
we may partner orally, something I've never experienced with a juvenile. I
haven't seen him naked yet, but he can come over to use the shower, so
that's a possibility. I'm not particularly mercenary about things, in
general, but until Samantha is ready to spend the night, it's nice to have
something coming my way in response to the vast amount going the other way,
and a twelve year old who's perhaps three pounds overweight would do
wonders at balancing trade, if that's what it is. I've never watched a
male go through puberty, from child to boy. Jose was mature when I met him
at the age of fourteen, and Stephen was the same boyish four inches, though
he had wet cums, when I met him at age eleven as he was when he was
thirteen. This, alone, should help the essays.
Samantha and I are becoming less intimate as time goes
on. One of her neighbors is doing a beautiful job with her hair,
festooning her with pig tails and berets to great effect, but I don't want
her to lie down and muss up such pretty creations, so we retrograde. No
problem as she's dazzling when she's all primped up, and it's more fun to
look than to nap. Bev is actually back, apparently somewhat better. Love
her as I do, she's an abject argument against socialized medicine, paying
no taxes yet frequently going to the hospital for this problem and that,
while making no effort to take care of herself. Philosophically, I believe
in very strictly rationed socialized medicine as a worthwhile adjunct to a
successful society. Clinical intervention with children, especially, can
pay dividends that far outweigh the cost, not even counting the humanistic
side of the equation, but the self-abuse oriented, malingerers and
hypochondriacs have to be weeded out and barred from most of the system.
There's a classic discussion of the issue on "The Golden Girls" when
Dorothy comes down with transient malaise. As the script is written by the
socialist guild, yes, in the last act, a particularly dedicated doctor who
happens to have read the latest issue of a particular journal recognizes
her symptoms as a legitimate disorder. That's about one in a thousand,
with the balance of clinical crusaders driving everyone crazy with phantom
this, hysterical that, and bi-polar everything. Such patients need an hour
or two at Auschwitz in January to gain perspective, insight, and other
facets of a personal creed relevant to World One, Beverly Kelly and Tom
Emerson, included. (Though I'm too disabled by chronic phlebitis to even
look for a job, I've never filed for SSI because I have a modest private
income and don't need it.)
I don't know if you need things sorted out, but I do.
Technically, we're at an essay within and essay within an essay, a short
preamble leading to my interpretation of the Camden family of the
television show, "7th Heaven", in which the present editorial intervention
occurs. Even before this tangent, the novel had become tangled with Raul's
story, told to Francisco and ten-year-old Tina leading to a succession of
others. Since there's no glib or expedient way to write myself out of the
lobster trap, we may as well get back to Simon and Ruthie, who have taken a
break from their homework to discuss family affairs.
"Simon," Ruthie whispered softly to her brother,
looking down at her hand stroking his beautiful, long penis, "I've got
something more to tell you, more than just about Lucy, though it has to do
with Lucy."
"What?" her brother asked, his voice soft and
receptive.
"I don't know quite how to say it," the girl mused,
"but it has to do with getting Dad ready to be with her. I think I can
talk her into it by telling her how natural it feels with you, but him, I'm
not so sure of. Just because I think it's his responsibility to try
doesn't mean he will."
"Darling," Simon said, softly, "I read something once
that might give you an answer, but it's pretty grown-up."
"So is sitting in your lap completely naked," the girl
noted.
"What I read," Simon went on, "is that if a male knows
a female has another male's seed in her, a natural instinct kicks in for
the present male to dominate the past male in a biological sense, not go
hit him with a club, but inseminate the female more completely than he
would if she had not been with another."
"Are you thinking the same thing I am?" the girl asked.
"I think," the thirteen year old whispered very softly,
"if you go to him wet from me, you'll overcome his hang-ups and open Lucy's
bedroom door to him."
"If I go falling in love with you," the girl said, her
eyes bright with tears, "I won't want to be with anyone else for any reason
and Lucy can do what she wants."
"He's done a thousand more things for you than I have,"
the boy said, "and he keeps in shape, and he's cute enough to pass, and
you're eight, so it's unlikely only one male is going to respond to how
nice and beautiful you are, and out of them, there's bound to be a handful
who you want to hold in your arms and feel inside your body."
"Making me love you more is not exactly helping," the
girl said.
"I think you understand," Simon reassured the child,
"you're smarter than Einstein's whip, and, unlike your older sisters,
you're balanced enough to handle some super special privileges and take
them for what they are, without looking for deep ends."
"Ignorance is meant to be bliss," the girl said, using
her left hand to dab her eyes as she continued gently stroking her
brother's rigid penis. Do you think they mean it will be bliss for our
family to ignore part of what we've been brought up to believe?"
"I'd interpret it a little differently, " Simon said,
"that ignorance of reprisals allows people transient pleasures, like if
you're ignorant of a certain tax law, you might have more money, until they
caught up with you. In other words, it's more derisive than didactic."
"I'll bet we both got it wrong," the girl said, now
giggling softly, "and it really doesn't have a rational meaning."
"But you just proved my point," the boy teased,
"because dismissing it makes you happy. Ignorance is bliss."
"I'll certainly be happy to ignore that," the female
observed, then looked back into her brother's eyes. "Put a pillow on the
floor for my bottom," she whispered.
"Yes, darling," the male responded, as Ruthie stood,
holding him gently with both hands. "Someday I want to spend a whole
evening slow dancing with you," she said, leading the teen to the head of
his bed where he pulled back the spread and retrieved one of his pillow's.
Giggling a little, she continued her dance, that was not going to last a
fraction of the evening, and they settled to their knees, his hands on her
breast, hers still masturbating him to the extent his beautiful eyes
remained focused. She lay back, wriggling on the pillow, and spread her
legs widely, rising her hips "Do you want my legs against your chest the
Rachel was when she let Kerry mount her?" the girl asked as the beautiful
teen boy moved in between her legs and stared down into her wide, brave
eyes.
"Yes," Simon whispered, and Ruthie drew up her knees,
holding them at the backs as her brother moved gently on top of her. In a
few moments the athletic girl was comfortable, the backs of her legs firm
against her teenage brother's beautiful, smooth chest. She reached to his
shoulders and looked into his eyes as she felt his first touches as he
began thrusting experimentally between her outstretched legs. Neither
hurried, the male not becoming urgent, the female not giving directions.
Silently, their bodies moved together, and Ruthie could tell her brother
was learning quickly from his mistakes, narrowing in, becoming quickly
practiced in finding better relationships between their two young bodies.
When he found her, she didn't gasp or tense, just looked happily into his
eyes with a sense of inevitability showing in hers.
Simon also tried his best to control the explosive
feelings of finding the yielding, soft center of her wetness, but his body
trembled in spite of his most manly efforts at self control. He hadn't
paid a hundred dollars for her, she was his, any way she wanted, for life.
It wasn't that he looked forward to lying on his deathbed replaying again
and again of his sister yielding to him, he'd just knew he'd hate to lie
there without remembering her carefully restrained wriggling as he assured
himself of his mastery of her, and very slowly and very smoothly he raped
the eight year old as she lay with her legs high against his panting chest,
her hands on his shaking shoulders, peering intently into his burning eyes
with her burning eyes.
"I have another secret to tell you," Ruthie whispered
in a shaky, husky voice as she looked down and saw Simon had taken her
fully.
"It would be good to whisper about something," the boy
said, "so I can stay inside you longer."
"I just thought of this while I was trying not to
concentrate on how you felt coming inside me," the girl said, and we've
done the best we can with spelling in this case, so I wouldn't start
bucking against you, the way I wanted to, and still want to, and make you
lose control."
"What is it?" the boy asked, also anxious for any
diversion to the warm, wet tightness of the eight year old's eager young
body.
"I want to make one last try with Matt," the girl said,
"get him to cut that Michael Landon wanna-be poof of hair, drop a few
pounds, and a list of other things, any one of which is probably
insurmountable. Plus," she added, "I sort of got the idea when you were
pointing out why I should be with Dad."
"What is it?" Simon asked.
"I want to visit him some night, like you did last
Friday, and take him in the bathroom, and lean him against the wall, and do
what Rachel did with Kerry, but all the way, with both of us naked, until
it happens in my mouth. If John's there, I'll want him to come in the
bathroom after Matt, because, even if I'm not much into the novel, I want
to have an experience with an adult black male."
"Ruthie," Simon says, "Kerry had a huge amount of cum,
it splashed all over both of us and all around on the bed and the wall. If
Matt and John have as much do you think you'd want to swallow it down your
throat, or let it drool out from between your lips?"
Neither child had chosen wisely when it came to
diversionary conversation, and their tensing and panting quickly taught
them discretion was the better part of ardor, so they yielded to whispered
endearments and lay rigid and still staring into each other's eyes every
time the male rose on his arms to look into the girl's contented
face. "This feels most natural of all," she whispered, "totally and
completely as a full and generous reward for both of us being pretty nice
kids."
"I'm glad we were no better," Simon whispered, "any
more reward and the ceremony would be over before you could count to
fifty-eight."
"Will it last a long time when it starts happening?"
the girl asked, passionate enough not to fear intruding where angels would
fear to tread.
"It lasted about a minute with Kerry, and mine started
just as he began to flow instead of spray high up in the air, and I guess
that was about a minute, too."
"I wonder if I'll feel as much as Rachel did?" the girl
said.
"I don't think so," the boy replied, "you're more
mature than she was, and I'm less mature than Kerry, so the clinical
argument says No."
"Good," the girl said, "because I want to live through
it, and I'm in another world already, just having you almost still inside
me. If I know you're doing what Dad's going to do to get Lucy pregnant, I
may stay there."
"Think about our sneaking out on the roof," Simon
suggested, "and listening just outside her window. Maybe even peeking in.
Try to live for that."
"Don't move and I'll survive," the eight year old
advised.
"I'll try to hold completely still," Simon whispered,
lying gently on the child's bare chest with his arms under her shoulders.
"I want to see like Rachel did," the girl whispered
kindly.
"If I'm still alive, you will," the male said,
"besides, I want to see, too, because I think you're beautiful all over."
"I'll try to talk Dad into taking a candle into Lucy's
room," Ruthie said, "and if we get lucky maybe we'll be able to see what
happens between them, and it's been ten days or so from her last period, so
we could even be witnesses to her getting inseminated."
"Ruthie?" Simon asked, shaking and panting more
vigorously, but still almost motionless inside his sister's vagina.
"What?" she said, sweating and heaving beneath his
tall, coltish body, her legs and arms now tentatively experimenting with
holding his male body to her female body, without wriggling enough to end
his hot, hard presence deep inside her."
"If you were in the shower, and Lucy came in behind
you, would you let her wash your hair?"
"Yes," the girl said, "I think she's so beautiful. I'd
turn around so I could see her breasts, and touch her, and if she led me
into the bedroom, I'd hold her hand and go with her."
"Have you ever felt that about another girl?" the boy
asked.
"No," she said, "how about you. Would you let another
boy watch you do what you did while you were lying beside Kerry?"
"Same here," Simon answered, "he was just right. I
mean, I'd never say never, but just that you're the only person in the
world I want to make love with, though, if I was five year older, Lucy
would be on my list."
"You aren't a total freak just because you're
thirteen," the girl noted, "so who knows, maybe someday you'll feel her big
breasts high up on your beautiful young male chest. Maybe you could even
be the one to father her daughter."
"Like this," the boy whispered very softly.
"Oh," the girl whispered, then froze for a long moment,
her arm's and legs turning to iron clamping against the slim male. "How
Rachel survived an adult, I'll never know," she managed to whisper, her
body seizing and quaking from the hard, hot pulses repeating deep up inside
her every few seconds.
"Don't cum," the boy whispered, "that way you can still
be partly a virgin with Dad."
"If you can stay still just for a few seconds, it will
pass," the girl whispered. With a grunt the boy planted his arms and rose
high above his sister. She released his with her legs and spread them
widely on the floor, gazing slackly at her waist and the pool of semen
slicking her lower belly and thighs. The masculinity of the sight sent
shudder after hard shudder through her immature body, but the girl gripped
her brother's shoulders with half a death grip, and she shook off the
overpowering orgasm stalking her like ten tigers. "Oh, babe," she sighed
when she felt his pulsing still, and he settled back against her bare
chest.
"Put a skirt and blouse on, but no panties, and go to
Dad right away," the boy said, freeing the child from under his body and
helping her to her feet. She stared into his eyes, her hand on the
doorknob. "Someday," she promised, "and probably today, I'm going to kiss
you." He smiled at her, and watched mesmerized, as she walked naked down
the hall and turned into her own room.
"I don't want to cum with you, either, Dad," the girl
whispered. Mike had stripped as Ruthie told her story, displayed to the
child, his full, thick, circumcised penis jutting at a high angle from the
light matting of crinkly black hair covering his chest and trailing down to
the fiercer matting surrounding his jutting penis and full, adult balls.
As the girl talked, he'd sat back in his chair and his daughter had climbed
onto his lap, facing him so she could stare into his sharp, gray eyes as
she wriggled between his hands and he lowered her fully onto himself,
hugging her bare chest gently to him as he felt her accept him until their
hot, sweating bodies had fully mated with each other.
"I want Lucy to have that, first, especially if you'll
let Simon and I peek in through the curtain of her bedroom."
"Yes, darling," the man whispered, nuzzling her hair
and running his fingers over the baby-soft skin of the child's bare back,
"you and Simon can lie with us, if you want. If we're completely open with
each other, since this is the new way, I guess they call it Free Spirit,
then my theory is all of us will be less likely to take any interest in
other partners, your mother and Ned Borman, included, which, with ten
percent luck, should get us through the next few year as well as any other
alternative I can think of, and, maybe, with eleven percent luck, better."
"I just want John to cum in my mouth, once," the girl
responded, "other than that it's homework, normal stuff, you, my luscious
and possibly nice sister, and my dead-wicked, keen, cool, cute, awesome,
and even sometimes bright brother."
"I'm glad your Christmas list has been completed so
early in the year," Mike said.
"You're going to lose out too," the girl said happily,
"because I'm going to be saving my money for diapers for Lucy, rattles,
bottles, and relics of romanticism too casually ignored when it comes to
turning out a houseful of rug rats."
"To say you've brought romance to this family, young
lady," quoth her father, "is a little like saying the "Enola Gay" brought
atoms to Japan."
The eight year old laughed, then tensed. "Oh, dad,"
she whispered, "you're as beautiful as my brother, but even stronger."
Gently they pushed away from each other, looking down between their
sweating bodies. "Much stronger," she mused, watching the heavy flow of
clotting, snow-white semen slicking them thickly and wetly.
Sighing, the father and daughter collapsed against each
other. In a few minutes they found the strength to help each other into
the downstairs bathroom to wipe the heavy smearing from each other's loins,
to dress, and to head to their respective bedrooms to rest, perchance to
sleep.
Mike Camden awoke at Ruthie's first touch. The clock
radio showed eleven-thirty p.m. His daughter gently coaxed the man from
beside his sleeping wife, and he followed her, wearing only briefs, which
he stripped out of the moment he saw Simon holding a candle in the hall,
naked and hugely erect, his eyes quizzing his father almost violently.
Standing, his own penis hugely swollen, the man looked back at the boy, and
from fear grew passion. "You're beautiful," the boy said to his father,
and the pretty naked girl offered no argument. The males followed the
female child, and they crossed the house to Lucy's bedroom door. Simon lit
a third candle, and thus armed, Ruthie opened the door a crack and called
gently into the room.
"I'm awake, Ruthie, come on in," came a soft voice from
within.
"Are you lying down?" the pixie asked.
"Of course, silly, I'm in bed," the older girl laughed.
"Stay there," her younger sister advised.
"Okay," Lucy said, "what gives?"
A picture may be worth a thousand words, but the sight
of Mike and Simon, naked, flaking the eight year old girl, also naked, all
holding candles, the males hugely erect, elicited only a barely audible,
"Ohhh."
Ruthie crossed by herself to Lucy's bed and sat at her
sister's right shoulder. "I slipped Mom something to be sure she sleeps,"
the younger girl said, "but we're going to tell her when the time is
right."
"Ohhh," the older girl murmured again.
"We're not going to a new calendar, or anything,"
Ruthie explained, "but from tonight on everything is going to be totally,
absolutely different around this house. Mary is out, zero, Matt at long
arm's length, probably also a puffed up balloon of hair and complexion, and
not welcome." The eight year old went on to list a seemingly impossible
list of don'ts for Lu, but only had to nod toward the doorway to assure her
older sister that the reward for following the high road would surpass the
loss of pizza and boys. In case the older girl didn't get the full
picture, Ruthie stood facing her sister and held her candle at her waist.
"Simon and Dad," she whispered as Lucy stared at the slick, slightly foamed
white wetness of her little sister.
"I'll get pregnant," we're the pretty girl's first
coherent words as she gazed hotly back and forth between her pixie sister
and the two tall males at her door, apparently awaiting her invitation to
approach. This stimulated a long bout of whispering from the girl, but
we'll let Mr. Hawthorne deal with twice-told tales and move on, only noting
a look of wonder mixed with gentle nods, and, finally, a soft, inscrutable
smile on the older sister's lively face as she nodded for her father and
her brother to enter her bedroom. As the males stood at the foot of her
bed, Ruthie peeled back the sheet and light blanket covering her sister.
She'd been sleeping in a teddy a size to small and the baby-doll garment on
the fully developed sixteen year old made both males swell obviously.
Ruthie, staring intently, unbuttoned the negligee, baring her older
sister's full, lush breasts. As Lucy shrugged the top of, Ruthie moved
beside her, pulling her panties down over her the teen's ankles, then
kneeling to stare down at her handiwork. Lucy's nipples were dark pink in
the candlelight and swollen to the size of small strawberries. The older
female reached for her staring sister's hands, guiding them to her breasts,
and traced her own fingers tenderly over the eight year old's beautifully
developed bare chest. Slowly, Lucy pulled her naked sister down to her,
and the younger girl placed her candle on the headboard before being gently
lower so her chest was against her big sisters. "Oh, Dad, she feels so
beautiful," the younger girl said, her face approaching her sisters. "And
I'm finally going to be kissed," she added in a happy whisper a second
before her lips touched her sister's soft mouth.
Simon moved in front of his tall, athletic father,
reaching back and linking his finger's behind the powerful adults neck.
Mike's hands found his blond child's slim waist, and roamed over the
stretching boy's taut belly. "Don't masturbate me too much," the boy said
as his father found his hard, jutting penis and began fondling him from
behind, his left arm around Simon's smooth, boyish chest.
"Tell me when to stop," Mike said as they watched
Lucy's arms engulf her sister and squeeze the young instigator to her
heaving breasts. For five minutes Mike stroked his young son, then Ruthie
gently raised her head, whispering, "I love you," and, rolling off the
girl, eased her from the bed to the carpet, then positioned the teenager so
her arms were on the bed as she knelt beside it. Ruthie mounted her to lie
on the older girl's back, her small hands going once again to the mature
female's breasts. "Oh, Simon," she whispered, she feels so beautiful this
way." As she said this she extended her hand to the thirteen year old. He
approached, his jutting penis wetting and swelling again. She guided him
to his knees behind his older sister, then positioned her naked body on his
back so she could reach around his slim hips, find him, and guide him as he
replaced her hands with his masculine one's on the older girl's high,
jutting breasts.
"Are you a virgin?" the younger sister asked.
"Yes," the older girl replied, "but an athletic one."
"Okay, but still be gentle with her," she whispered to
her brother. She beckoned her father with her eyes, then coaxed the
athletic man to lie on his back beside the bed, looking up at the children
just above him as his little girl positioned herself on his panting chest
so she could look, too. Lucy, sensing the presence of her father and
sister at her waist, spread her legs more widely, and the boy also raised
up from his sister's back, having felt her fully with both hands, improving
the view of the voyeurs on the bedroom floor. Simon's hands moved to the
generous swell of Lucy's almost-adult hips and he became serious with her,
flexing his long coltish legs and bucking his hips with carefully
controlled urgency. Ruthie hissed at the sight, tensing in her father's
strong arms as she watch Simon stroke gently and fully into her beautiful
sister. The boy remained purposeful, his father amazed that he didn't
crash to the ground, now mounting the girl fully each time his slim hips
thrust to her. "Oh, Dad, he's beautiful," Lucy moaned. "You don't know
the half of it," the voyeur thought to himself as he watched his handsome
son pulling the female urgently to his thrusting hips. Ruthie instantly
sensed the change in the rhythm of the incestuous couple, and, Ruthie being
Ruthie, scrambled from her father's heaving chest and down onto the carpet,
sliding half under the bed so her face was directly below the young stag
and mature fawn above her. And not an instant too soon. Long streams of
hot, thin, boy sperm hung, then dropped from Lucy's now wantonly spread
thighs. The boy knelt hard against his sister, his chest arched, his head
back, his strong hands white-knuckled on the girl's lush hips. "I'm
cumming," he gasped three times, and the slight torrent of dripping semen
formed a slick pool on Ruthie's lips and face. As he ebbed, Simon took
Lucy gently by the shoulders, pulling her slowly from the bed as his last
spams subsided, then, grabbing a pillow, lay her on her back next to her
father, placing the pillow under her bottom. Lucy's hand went to Mike in
welcome, and she guided her handsome, athletic father between her legs,
reaching for his huge penis with her right hand, and spreading her legs to
the side, she guided him as he positioned himself over her heaving chest.
Ruthie lay on her stomach facing her sister's waist, and pulled Simon onto
her back, guiding him as Lucy had just guided her father. This time it was
different. Mike, after a few gentle strokes to his daughter's coos of
welcome, rose on his arms and began to take the sixteen year old. He
thurst first deliberately and fully, then hard and fast. He kept at her
and at her, and Simon rose off Ruthie's back to find the second pillow and
put it over Lucy's mouth. This prompted the girl to scream at the top of
her lungs, her hands, ripping her father's powerful back to her, her legs
splayed like a dancer's as her heals beat hard on the carpet. Mike stayed
wild with her and in minutes sent the hot young virgin into her first
crashing, seizing orgasm, then, minute later, a second that left him tender
and gentle on top of her as she lay soaked in sweat and panting like an
exhausted hound. But after five minutes of his gentleness with her, the
fire rekindled in the lush teen's pretty eyes and yipping and mewing she
quickly began thrusting up against the mature male with all the wantonness
of her first hard minutes with him. This time she rose quickly and crashed
hard and fast, lying motionless and panting for almost ten minutes as Mike
eased himself to her with a slow, affectionate rhythm. A secret signal
passed between them, and both became ridged together while Lucy smiled
softly and promised herself she'd be good as gold for the next one-thousand
years. (She didn't make it, but she died trying -- and loved.)
Some essay this is turning out to be. Maybe an essay
by default and only in the sense it's not part of the novel. Since I seem
to be in the mood, and the muses still bridle at being prodded eighteen
hours a day after the relatively lax holiday season, I thought I might
bumpway, which is an abrupt segue, into another story inspired by
Hollywood, and one I've threatened you with elsewhere. The scene is
Kansas, and you'll be able to guess the rest, but I'll go ahead and tell my
version, anyway, since I've already done 12,000 or more words today and
thus am well warmed up for the long night ahead. Also, I'm getting hints
of carpel tunnel syndrome in my left wrist, and, as research, I want to see
if it's real or psychosomatic
Again, we're in Kansas. The Family Truckster is
pulling into the drive as Dale and Vicky, half teens, half kids, try to act
cool at the appearance of their Chicago cousins. The doors of the green
wagon open, the Griswoldd interact shyly with their country cousins, but
Vicky and Audrey find the see-saw and sparkling off each other launch into
girl talk.
"I'm going steady," Vicky, thirteen, said to her cousin
of the same age.
"So," Audrey replied, her tone gentler that her words,
"everyone does that."
"Yeah," her cousin added, also more friendly than
serious, "but I French kiss."
"So?" Audrey responded, "everyone does that, too."
"Yeah," Vicki said, "but Uncle Wayne says I'm the
best."
Audrey's eyes grew big. "Are you serious?"
"Remember what I showed you under my bed," the pouty
face, dirty blond in simple farm clothes asked, "was that serious, or
what?"
"I guess so," the Chicago girl allowed, grinning at the
memory of her cousins shoebox full of home-grown marijuana.
"Uncle Wayne is serious, too," the girl said, looking
around to be sure none of the other were close enough to hear her soft
voice. "He looks like Pierce Brosnan, not soft and friendly like our
dads."
"Where is he," Audrey asked.
"He'll be over with Jeffie, later," Vicky said, "they
have converted school bus with a six-hundred-horsepower Cummins diesel in
it, and they're way cool to hang out with."
"Who's Jeffie?" Audrey asked.
"The only nice eleven year old on the planet," Vicky
answered. "He's even pretty cute. He's our cousin and Uncle Wayne's
nephew. They live together on the bus and Uncle Wayne teaches him, so he's
kind of totally smart to be cute, but that's more fun than being dumb, so I
let him get away with it, most of the time."
"Are you serious about kissing him?" Audrey asked.
"Wanna find another place to talk?" her slightly older
cousin responded.
"Okay," Audrey said with a not, trying not to grin as
they dismounted the see-saw and headed to the rickety barn at the rear of
the homestead. "Spies can be anywhere," the hostess cautioned as they
circled the barn, then entered, searching its recesses before climbing up
to the hayloft. They lay back on a mound of soft straw and chewed the
golden stalks for a few minutes.
"You have a lot of stuff to do where you live, don't
you?" Vicky asked.
"Dad and Mom are pretty mellow about over engaging,"
the younger girl said, "but there's still all this and all that, so, yeah,
too much, most of the time."
"It's different here," Vicky said, "I mean obviously.
Farming isn't, at least on the surface, a social activity."
"What do you mean?" Audrey asked her cousin.
"A lot of stuff," Vicky replied, "but it's so different
than the options you have you might think it's totally out-of-town."
"Is that how you feel?' Audrey asked.
"No," her cousin said, finding a new straw, "I think
it's more exciting than anything you and Rusty probably know about. It
makes cheerleading look like sleeping, in comparison, as far as I'm
concerned.
"You've found a strain of pot that increases milk
production?" Audrey asked, happy to hear the conspiratorial tone in Vicky's
voice, but confused at what the girl was talking about.
"That would just mean money," the hostess said, "and
you have to be poorer than we are to care about that stuff."
"You've got me," Audrey said, "I mean I like talking to
you, but it's not too cool to be a farmer."
"Yeah?" the local girl said, "well how cool is this.
We have a whole different set of rules when it comes to boys and girls, and
the rules include men and girls and men and boys, and they're not rules for
hopscotch, which, yes, we play just like anywhere else. Jump-rope, too."
"So it has to do with kissing your uncle?" Audrey said,
beginning the eight-hundred-mile journey from suburbs to country.
"Can I ask you something?" Vicky asked.
"If you promise you'll tell me everything," the city
mouse said.
"Totally," her country cousin agreed, instantly, "but I
want to ask you something really personal, you know, to find out how
squeaky clean the `burbs really are."
"We have crime," Audrey said.
"Yes," her cousin said, her voice suddenly lowering and
taking on a husky note, "but do you commit any?"
"What do you mean?" Audrey asked, beginning to be
thrilled by he overtly sexy cousin.
"Things that are against everything," the older girl
explained, "the law, social standards, religious teachings, and the scout's
code, only things that don't hurt anybody in any way as long as two percent
common sense is used once or twice a year."
"It sound more like magic than anything we have in
Chicago, I mean if it isn't religion or a cult or something."
"Neither," Vicky assured her guest, "it's totally free
and as tightly disciplined as an English battleship."
"So, it sounded like you were going to ask me something
more," Audrey said.
"It's really mature," Vicky repeated, "and if it freaks
you, even a little, we can go up to my room and smoke pot, or hang out with
the `rents, so you don't have to stay and listen to what I want to know if
you don't want to."
"I'm totally comfortable, at least physically, right
here," Audrey noted, "and I've, for sure, never talked to anyone like you
before in my life, so unless this place catches fire, I don't want to
leave."
"It's about your brother," Vicky said, her voice now a
husky whisper, "he's a dead cute boy, and he has big hands and feet, which
is the best sign there is, so I wondered if you guys had ever broken any
rules together, or, you know, experimented with breaking them"
"You mean like shoplifting?" Audrey asked, "never."
"I said `mature' the older girl reminded her cousin,
"as in grown-up, as in being adults at least some of the time when you're
alone together, as in becoming closer than A brat and B brat, as in sharing
more than colds and a bathroom, and as in having special times when you
love each other that's nothing to do with any rulebook ever printed."
"Rusty?" Audrey asked, looking into her cousin's
penetrating eyes and seeing only tenderness and affection. Her own eyes
widened slowly as her mind worked through Vicky's list of facets to
maturity, then widened more. "Rusty," she repeated, half-startled at the
sound of her own voice. Coming back to the here and now, she again focused
on Vicky's bright eyes. "No," she said.
They lay on the hay on their sides now, staring into
each other's eyes from a foot's distance. For long moments neither spoke,
then Vicky broke the silence with a whisper. "I better tell you things and
then you can ask me questions, if you want," the hostess said.
"Good," Audrey said, "because I wouldn't know where to
start."
"Do you feel very differently than you did a few
minutes ago?" the older girl asked.
"Almost completely," the thirteen year old said,
"It can go in really huge jumps," Vicky agreed, "one
minute this, and then someone says something, or touches you, and it's
rockets and more rockets, unless it's a creep, then it's bugs and more
bugs, but that's never happened to anyone I know so it may be more for
television than anything else."
"They have to put something on," Audrey noted, giving
herself time to think. Again there was a pause in the conversation.
"You and Dale?" the younger girl finally asked.
"Sometimes," the older girl whispered, "we're not
really close, but he's vigorous and gentle as the same time, so it's nice,
but we'd both rather be with someone else, not because we're brother and
sister, but just generally speaking."
"How long has stuff like that been happening?" Audrey
wanted to know.
"Mom let me take a bath with Uncle Wayne on my eighth
birthday," Vicky replied, "but she wouldn't let me spend the night in his
bus until I was ten."
"Did it happen a lot with him?" Audrey asked.
"A lot at first," Vicky said, "because he stayed for a
couple of months after my birthday, and we spent an hour in the bathroom
every night while he got me ready for bed, then he got a contract for a
series of articles on antique railroading, so he and Jeffie have been on
the road a lot, but he still comes for a night or two every months, and we
talk on the phone, so it's solid."
"I'm really happy for you, Vicky," Audrey said, her
eyes bright with what might have been tears.
"Thanks, cousin," Vicky replied, "that means a lot to
me. No way we're freaks, just farmers living miles from each other, and if
we've figured out a way to add something to life that hurts no one, ever,
then good for us."
"Here, here," the city girl cheered with a soft laugh
"How do you feel about your brother, now?" Vicky
continued.
"All differently," the pretty thirteen year old said,
"it's kind of awesome because we've never been especially close, but now I
want to be near him and talk to him like we're talking."
"Lucky boy," Vicky remarked, "and you're lucky you
found out, too, before you're not kids anymore, because that's when it's
the most exciting."
"Were you scared the first time you took a bath with
your uncle?" Audrey whispered. Unconsciously, due to the serious nature of
their conversation, the two young females had moved so close their pug
noses were almost touching.
"The weird thing is, I was," Vicky replied, "and it was
weird because I'd had a monster crush on him for months. My mom talked to
me about it, and told me about farm life, and gave me her permission as
long as I made sure by waiting until my birthday, and she told Uncle Wayne,
and we even used to kid about it a little, but then when the time came, and
the party was over, and Mom and Dad took the little kids to a movie, and we
were alone in the house together, my knees started shaking and I got the
hiccups."
"I would have needed smelling salts, or the
paramedics," Audrey whispered.
"I thought I was going to need the morgue," the older
girl said, "I was so scared I wouldn't make him happy, or I'd do something
stupid, I almost wet myself."
"Was he cool about it?" Audrey asked.
"No," her cousin replied, "he was as nervous as I was,
yawning and going by me from one chair to another as I stood in the middle
of the living room in my party dress, not knowing if I should stay or go,
and worried about him, and if he'd get tired of me being so dumb, and go,
himself and maybe get in with Jeffie because I disappointed him."
"Oh, Vicky," her cousin whispered, "I'm sorry. The
first time's meant to be really special and it sounds like Tennessee
William and Jason, combined, with a little Eugene O'Neill thrown in, and
it's meant to be flowers and silk with plenty of bubbles and perfume."
"How did you know?" Vicky squealed, "you're psychic!"
"Am I now," the younger girl said, more fascinated by
the virago lying close to her by the minute.
"He finally stopped pacing and came up behind me and
put his hands on my shoulders. `I bought you some bubble-bath that cost a
hundred dollars,' he said."
"I'm sorry, Uncle Wayne, I just don't know what to do?"
the birthday girl murmured shyly as her tall, hawk faced uncle gently
massaged the back of her neck.
"I could take you into town and drop you at the
theater," the twenty-five-year-old writer said to his niece, or just go out
to the bus and read."
"No," the girl said, "don't go. I'm just afraid I
won't know what to do, and you'll be disappointed."
"It starts very gently," Wayne soothed the girl, "so
it's actually impossible to do anything wrong unless you have a knife in
your hands."
"I don't know," the eight year old giggled, "for a
hundred dollars those must be pretty strong bubbles, and I want to be
hiding under them when you come in to wash my hair."
"That's why they invented the chain saw," the girl's
uncle said, kissing her tenderly on the top of her head.
"They run out of gas all the time, so I'd better go
up," the girl said, and her uncle pinched her bare shoulders and gave her a
playful shove which launched her, silver box in hand, up the stairs to the
bathroom. Wayne sat for a few moments, visualizing the child slipping out
of her party dress as the tub began to fill, then out of her little slip,
bra, and tiny yellow panties he'd glimpsed twice as she'd played party
games with her friends. He gave her five minutes, then stripped, and,
unable not to look at the huge erection jutting from the pelt of black fur
at his waist, he climbed the stairs just as the pixie's voice called that
she was ready.
He entered the bathroom and stood close to the tub
where the girl was buried in fragrant foam. She stared up at him and the
macho in him surfaced at the heat of her young eyes and he spread his taut,
long legs wide and displayed openly, feeling her steady gaze on his
nakedness like the wet fist of an avid boy. He looked down to see himself
noticeably bigger than he'd been since his first long nights with Jeffie
two years in the past.
"I don't give the bubbles any chance at all," the girl
whispered, her pretty eyes alive with excitement as she lifted her hand
from under the suds and extended it to the tall, slim naked man standing
over her. He took her hand and knelt beside the tub.
So ends the day at just over 14,000 words, but, hey,
there's always tomorrow, and if Randy doesn't show up I'll really get
something done.
"I'm still scared," the girl whispered, "but I'm
starting to feel grown up.'
"Don't do that, Vicky," her uncle advised, "you're
perfect exactly the way you are."
"I just feel kind of dumb," the pixie said, "because,
you know, I've seen what happens with the animals, but I still don't know
what to do."
"Just keep looking into my eyes," the tall, athletic
male said, as he traced the child's gamin face with his finger, then
cradled her head with his left hand while his right moved slowly down over
the girl's neck and under the sea of bubbles.
"That feels nice," the girl whispered as her uncles
hand began gently massaging her under the hot water.
"Tell me if anything makes you feel uncomfortable," the
man whispered, finding her swollen right nipple and fondling her with a
delicate, experimental touch.
"I'm really sensitive there," the girl said.
"Sometime girls touch each other this way," Wayne said,
"if you ever trued with your friends?"
"Not yet," the girl said. "I guess I'm the most
developed girl in gym, and the other look at me a lot, but I didn't know it
would feel like this if one of them wanted to touch me."
"Girls know just how to touch each other," the man
said, "so it would probably be even better."
"Do boy's know how to touch each other, too?" the girl
asked.
"Yes," her handsome uncle said, "same thing. The ones
who like to do it do it more perfectly than most girls do. I guess it's
kind of natural."
"Does Jeffie do it really well?" Vicky asked, her eyes
puzzled as she tried to imagine the tall, hugely erect male kneeling beside
her with his six-year-old nephew.
"Yes," the writer said, "boys his age make extremely
good partners as long as things go very slowly and gently, plus, I've let
him be with a few other men, so he's experienced."
"Had he been with others before he was with you?" the
girl asked.
"Yes," Wayne said, "an older boy taught him just before
I visited them last month. I didn't have any thoughts about adult stuff
with him, but I liked him because he wasn't a chatterbox, and he wasn't
fat, and he had long blond hair with huge blue eyes."
"Did you feel the same way about him as you do me?" the
girl asked.
"It wasn't instant like it was when I came the last
time and found you were starting to grow up, but as time went on, we did
fall in love, especially when he told me he was starting to get experience
and asked if he could sleep with me."
"Was the older boy molesting him a lot?" the girl
asked, guiding the man's right hand lower on her soft belly.
"Yes," Wayne said, his huge erection stiffening and
swelling at the husk in the eight year old's voice, "for a couple of hours
whenever he came to baby-sit."
"Did he tell you everything about it?" the girl
quizzed.
"We had a long talk," Wayne whispered, "then we took a
blanket and walked out into a wheat field. I'd never done anything before
because I wasn't much to look at when I was in school and college, so I
just read and studied. The last time I'd seen Jeffie, he was still a
toddler, but when I came to visit my sister the next time, he was tall for
his age, and slim, and very mature because he lived with just his mom and
they had a lot of time together, because she worked at home and read to
him, so we were kind of shy with each other, you know, from having too much
to say to each other and not knowing where to begin, and wanting to like
each other, and afraid because we knew so much we'd say something too
clever and spoil things."
The suds were disappearing and the girl's delicate body
coming into view of the hot-eyed man. As he molested the child more openly
she arched to his touch, showing her pink belly above the surface and
staring down at the man's hand circling lower and lower on her stomach.
She began panting and pulling at her uncle's arm. "Come in with me," she
urged, "then I can lie on top of you and you can do what you're doing on my
tummy with both hands and tell me everything."
Wayne followed the child's guidance, pausing for a
moment on the edge of the tub as Vicky held him back so she could
experiment with his long, hard, circumcised penis. "I want to lie on my
stomach on you," she whispered, "so I can feel you against my belly, would
that be okay?"
"Yes," the man nodded, and his niece pulled him into
the tub, moving on top of him, her face buried in his neck and wriggling
her slender hips from side to side.
"I wish you could take me in on my bed," she sighed.
"No, darling," her uncle said, "your mom's right. This
is a great privilege for people who like it, and with it goes a lot of
self-control and discipline. Two years from today we'll be together all
night long, but until then, we learn by being children in a bathtub."
"I wish there was a magazine for farm people, without
the plows and cows," the girl said, "then I could send them a story titled:
"The Rubber Ducky Chronicles", by Vicky Roberts, and not just make up
pretend stories about you that I have to burn so Dale won't find them and
tease me."
"Sweetheart," Wayne said, "there are places for stories
like that on the Internet, lots of them, though, I don't suppose a lot are
written by eight year olds. Even if you don't write one and send it in,
you might like reading other people's stories. Then you'll find out that a
lot of young girls like being with their dads and uncles and big brothers,
even sometimes their granddads."
"Are some of them about taking baths together?" the
child wanted to know.
"Things like this often start in the bath tub or
shower," Wayne said, "so there are themes like that, but each one is
different. It's not the soap operas."
"They're mostly written by Jews," the girl responded,
"they're indoctrinated in monotony before they can walk, so I'm glad
there's something better out there."
"The Jews invented the god that chose them," Wayne
said, "and it's pretty hard to build a philosophy on a foundation like
that, so they've become merchants of the glib and cheap, what's called the
lowest common denominator, but you can get away from them, at least a few
inches, by reading. The stories are cleansed, but at least they don't dote
on the wonders of being a Hebrew, or get mired in repetitive treacle like
the dishwater on daytime television."
"It's closer to the bathroom than the kitchen," the
girl observed, now thrusting her naked young loins slowly up and down
against her uncle. "You feel so alive," she whispered as he toyed with her
braids and ran his fingers up and down her spine.
"You feel warm and healthy, too," the young man
whispered.
"Tell me about Jeffie," the girl coaxed.
"As I said," Wayne began, "he was not exceptionally
mature for his age, but extremely mature, partly by inclination --
genetics from my sister -- and partly because his mother read to him,
sometimes two or three hours a night. Two and two made about a hundred in
his case, and by the time he was six, he was a bookworm cutie, with big
glasses and a mind full of more stuff than you could imagine in a college
instructor. His focus when I visited two years ago, was obsession and
addiction; alcoholism, which had claimed his father when he was two: food,
drugs, gambling, and other pitfalls awaiting those who aren't addicted to
sleep. Specifically, he was trying to draw a correlation between a first
transcendent experience with something, and a later compulsion for the same
thing, for example, a particularly nice wine might turn someone into an
alcoholic forever trying to recapture that first experience. A delicious
chocolate cake could be substituted for the wine, a winning bet at the
track, or any experience enabling excess gratification, like shoplifting."
"He doesn't sound like your standard first grader,"
Vicky said.
"In a lot of ways he is," Wayne said, "he loved to go
into town to the pool and he had a few friends there that he saw two or
three times a week, at the same time, he never went to school, or rode on
the bus with all the foul language -- the pool was very strict -- and
white-trash carnality of the louts and goofballs."
"Dale tried using some words around here," Vicky
tattled on her two-years-older brother. "Dad actually came out of his haze
over that, and he hasn't tried it since."
"Hanging around with morons is unhealthy in lots of
ways," Wayne agreed, "degrade girls, degrade minorities, then try your hand
at a convenience store."
"I think he knows," Vicky said softly, "I shouldn't
have said anything."
"How do you get along with him?" the man asked.
"Pretty okay," the girl said.
"The reason I asked," Wayne explained, "is that the two
of you spend a lot of time alone here, except for Annie and Stephanie, and
it's not too unusual for an older boy and younger sister to have a special
side to their relationship under those circumstances. Probably not now,
he's only ten, but when he's twelve or thirteen and you're ten or eleven,
If you can stay friendly with him, in the meantime, it will make it easier
for things to happen if you want them to."
"Can you teach him like you're teaching me?" the child
asked.
"I don't know," the man said, "how does he feel about
me."
"He was excited you were coming to visit," she replied,
"even more than me, because he remembered you better from the last time you
were here."
"Does he know something's going on with us while he's
at the movies?" the man asked.
"I don't think so," the girl said, "it was pretty
spontaneous."
"I don't want it to become a secret you have to hide
from him," the uncle mused, "I mean, I'll leave it up to you, but if you
think he's bothered by it, then have a talk with him if you can. Tell him
lots of kids learn with older family members and he shouldn't use it as the
nut at the center of a snowball; that's what Jeffie calls a core obsession,
because it can be the size of a peanut or a coconut, and, even if there's
no immediate reconciliation or acceptance, he'll get used to the idea and
at least know that nothing all that weird is happening in the first place."
"Plus, were just experimenting until I'm ten, anyway,"
the girl added helpfully."
"You can even bring the subject up," Wayne said, "if
the time is right to have a serious talk, and if you feel attracted to
him."
"How much could I let him do with me?" the girl asked.
"He'll probably need to be a few years older before
he's ready," the man replied, "boys need to be more mature to feel the same
things girls do even at ages younger than you are. Again, it's not
something to rush. Better to wait, like we did for your birthday, and have
something special happen, even once, than to try again and again to find a
nut."
"The secret is only some snowballs have them?" the girl
asked.
"Jeffie would chain you to something for a reply like
that," her uncle laughed, "he'd never want to let you out of his sight."
"The wizard and the wolf, and the wolf's a wizard,
too," the girl said.
"Takes one, no kidding, to know one," he whispered to
the girl in his arms, gently rolling her on her back and fondling her soft,
smooth chest and belly. Vicky spread her legs wide, extending the right
over the edge of the tub, and her handsome uncle found her and began
masturbating her by holding his hard penis tightly against the panting
child and letting her buck her hips against him. "Can I," she hissed,
replacing his hand with hers and allowing him to molest her as she
experimented with moving against him while she stroked and thrust, emitting
mews of excitement as she found a perfect rhythm for them both.
"Can we do this together until they get home?" she
asked.
"Yes, darling," the man whispered, "but we'll have to
stop for a little while after I get you wet, plus we won't want to look
like prunes when they come through the door."
"Dad thinks they save his asteroids from abuse," the
girl giggled. "We'd make a cannibal out of him."
"I'll keep that in mind," her uncle said.
"But at least half-an-hour," the girl said, her voice
resuming its husky note, "okay?"
"Yes, darling," the man said, "I love it just as much
as you do."
"How old do I have to be before we can experiment with
kissing?" Vicky asked.
"What did your mom say?" Wayne asked.
"Thirteen," she replied.
"Smart," the man noted, "there's a whole new sit of
feeling involved when it comes to that, and it's actually a lot more
intimate than the things males and females do to make babies. You may
never want to kiss me, at all, because I'm a relative, and the same goes
for Dale, if things start happening between the two of you; you may let him
be a boy with you, and you be a girl to him, without ever becoming lovers.
It's complicated and one size does not fit all, so the best thing is to be
thankful for the experiences you have -- remember lots of fat or
disagreeable kids your age and older never have anything like this happen
to the, not how much they want it, at least with an attractive partner --
and try not to dwell on what doesn't happen, or, more importantly, waste
time on pursuing phantoms vis-à-vis the theories of my young friend, the
prodigy."
"What does he want to be when he grows up?" Vicky
asked.
"A civil engineer," her uncle said, "he thinks it's way
cool to drive around with a hard hat on the back shelf of the car."
"It's good he didn't pattern on the sound of the toilet
when he was two," the girl giggled.
"He calls that `the fire-engine syndrome' the man
explained. "Kids that want to be firemen after a parade, or cowboys after
a Western, or doctors because they want to wear a stethoscope, or
architects because of the shiny tools they use, or surgeons, because of the
shiny tools they use, or pilots because of all the switches and dials in a
plane, or photographers because they like cameras. It goes with his
overall theory of patterning."
"What's his thesis?" the girl asked, wondering to
herself, just a bit, if it was humanly possible for a six year old to have
one, even if he was a boy.
"Quite simple," her uncle replied, "that your first
experience should be complete and satisfying. If a boy spent a few hours
in the cockpit of a plane, he'd get used to all the complicated stuff, and
not pursue flying for transient or superficial reasons."
"What if a kid got airsick in a plane," the girl asked,
"would he or she grow up averse to something they might like if they knew
more about it?"
"Why don't you ask him?" the man laughed, "you two are
bound to like each other, and it's totally good for kids your age to have
friendships with no strings attached, especially if they are doing things
in secret with a mature partner."
"We'll have snowball fights," the girl said.
"Perfect activity for a pair of nuts," her uncle
responded.
"So how did you end up on a blanket in the wheat
field?" the girl asked.
"It was an offshoot of our underlying dialogue
concerning initial experiences and successive addiction," the young writer
explained, "I thought we'd covered the subject but he kept bringing it up,
and one day I realized he had something on his mind that he was having a
hard time coping with. His mother noted it, too, and suggested we spend a
weekend alone together so maybe I could get to the bottom of it. We went
into town to a show on Friday night, then just cleaned and fussed with the
house on Saturday morning. I tried not to quiz him, but still to find out
something. Over the course of the morning, I discovered he was afraid he
was addicted to something. We didn't talk about it over lunch, but I
cheated a little by slipping him a glass of wine. Then we went in the
living room and sat on the sofa with nothing on the agenda for the rest of
the day.
"He was quiet at first, but finally he reached some
king of decision and asked if we could talk. He was almost shaking with
nerves by that time, so I was thrilled that he wanted to open up a little."
"Uncle Wayne," the six year old said, "you know I'm not
just uptight over what happened to my father, don't you?"
"You don't seem up-tight to me about anything," the man
said, "just as if you had something major on your mind, and wanted to talk
about it, not like you're afraid of something that's harmless, or anything
abnormal, as far as I can tell."
"I guess the thing I'm afraid of is telling you," the
blond boy said, "besides what's worrying me, in the first place."
"And that's that you've contracted a fixation?" Wayne
said, adding: "which would be ultra bad if it concerned rattlesnakes or
sleeping under trucks."
"Are those the only bad ones?" the boy asked, his eyes
seeming brighter than normal, which was bright, indeed.
"There's throwing hatchets straight up, and lots to do
with electricity," Wayne replied. The boy responded to the teasing, but in
a way so restrained the older male knew there was more snow to go.
"Seriously," he said, "you can get hooked on comics and never read a book,
things like that, though it seems the list must be fairly short at your
age."
"It's not comics," the boy said, causing his uncle to
sigh inwardly with relief at an opportunity to ask leading questions.
"I didn't think so," the man laughed, "but how about
your friends? You spend a lot of time at the pool, though I hardly see you
as a carp."
"Yes," the child said simply.
"Should have been a lawyer," the adult mused to
himself, saying to Jeffie: "You're kind of young, but a lot of things go on
between boys, and girls, too, for that matter. Some of them are secretive
and private, so if that's what's happening, you can keep it to yourself and
you'll outgrow it like the fears about bogymen and ghosts you had when you
were two."
The boy bowed his head and blushed, pausing for a long
moment as his slim chest heaved and a sheen of perspiration glistened his
forehead. "He's seventeen," the child finally whispered.
"Only one?" the man queried.
"Just Kenny," the boy affirmed, nodding with another
blush.
"Did you want what happened?" the man asked.
"Yes," the boy said.
"Was he gentle with you?" Wayne queried.
"Very," the boy acknowledged.
"And you didn't get a disease from what happened
between the two of you."
"Nothing physical," the boy said, apparently now broken
to the rein.
"But you've been obsessing over him; wanting to be with
him, again?" the man asked in a soft whisper.
"I want it to happen with you," the boy said, his words
now tumbling out. "Ever since you got here. For the last two days all
I've been able to think about is going out in the field with you, taking a
blanket, and spending an hour or two in private. Looking at you, the way
Kenny let me look at him, then kneeling with your right leg between by legs
and touching you to get you excited, then falling down on your chest so I
could feel it slippery between our bodies."
"You'll have to teach me," Wayne said, "I've always
been out of the loop on that kind of thing, except I've read about it."
"Kenny was new, too," the six year old said, "but it
was perfect the first time, so I guess it's easy to learn, plus, it's
pretty natural."
"Still," Wayne said, "you're experienced and I'm not,
so you take the lead, and if there's any driving involved, I'll take over."
"Just walking over the rise and down the other side,
and lying down," the boy said, "and it's cloudy enough that we don't even
have to worry about getting a sunburn."
"Okay," the uncle whispered, "I can't think of anyone
in the world I'd like to have my first experience with half as much as with
you, including girls, whom, by the way, I'm given to liking, bad luck,
notwithstanding."
"Kenny has a girlfriend," Jeffie noted.
"Do you still see him?" the uncle asked.
"Just at the pool," the boy replied. "He wants to get
together again, but when he'd come out here to baby-sit, or visit on
Saturdays, he had a car, which has since gone to the junkyard."
:"Aha, driving after all," quoth the nineteen-year-old
student.
"Would you?" the boy asked, "I hate to ask mom because
driving around is not conducive to keeping us fed and watered."
"Yes," the man said, "and you know what I think about
the situation, in general?"
"What?" Jeffie asked.
"That you're as lucky as a tiger in a cow pen," the man
said. "All the things most boys waste their time worrying over, and you've
drawn a bead at the extreme age of six years."
"That's what I'm worried about, even though stuff has
happened," the boy responded, "that since it was so exciting the first
time, I'll run off to the city when I'm twelve and hang around public
toilets."
"At the rate you're going," the man said, "you might
just get away with it. You're cute enough, even now, that you probably
wouldn't have to wait very long, and you're not likely to flunk out of
anything, and you're nice enough that if you did end up on the street,
because it can happen to almost anybody, some pretty decent guy would take
you in."
"Probably feed me on Purina," the boy quipped.
"I would, too," the uncle said, "to keep you as slim
and sexy as you are, which must be something like a world's record for the
under-under ten age group."
"Twinkies," the boy said. "Kenny had read about it on
the Web, and he said that's what young boys are. Twinkies or
milk-and-cookies."
"I'd prefer a wriggling minnow," Wayne said, pulling
the child across his lap and tickling the young beauty.
"But a minnow with a mission," the boy observed,
"because it's research. I want to know if I'll be satisfied with you, and
maybe getting together with Kenny, too, once in awhile, or will you be so
exciting, I'll want to find another man, and one after that."
"Hold that thought," Wayne suggested, "because if you
succumb wholeheartedly, I'll be able to take you with me and support myself
by selling your body at better country clubs and theme parks."
"If they cloned you and Kenny perfectly," the boy
responded, "and restricted membership to your doppelgangers, I'd go even if
there were a hundred of you."
The child remained in the young man's lap, turning on
his back and staring up with his huge blue eyes. "Kenny unbuttoned me here
on the sofa, before we got the blanket," the boy whispered. Wayne traced
his young nephew's face with his fingers, running them down the boy's long
neck to his throat, then working down his buttons and pulling his shirt
tails from his cargo shorts. "I've never seen you this way," he whispered,
spreading the fabric and staring at the boy's birdlike chest, rising and
falling as he stared panting back.
"I wanted to take it off for you," the boy said, "but
in those days I only thought you were cool, I didn't know you were."
"You are growing up fast," the man admitted, since
"those days" amounted to the last two days.
"I don't want to," the boy responded, "because nothing
can be more exciting than for a kid to get a blanket and go to a private
place with a man."
"Do you think that's the most addictive part?" Wayne
asked.
"No," the boy said, "that comes at the end, but once
you know how exciting the end is, the journey to it becomes more exciting,
so it's sort of a whole package."
"Rich kids with low caliber parents get tired opening
fancy packages," the man observed, "that's a good thing to remember."
"That's what the research is all about," the boy
reminded the man, "quantifying it. How many is too many, how much is too
much, how often is too of the, how long is too long; how little is too
little."
"I think of the boring existence of most guinea pigs,"
the man said, "and it makes me want to cry."
"You don't really mind, do you," the little boy asked,
arching his back in welcome as his handsome uncle began molesting him
openly, "I mean what could be better for a scientist than doing important
research with someone he loves."
The shock of it was that it WAS important. The
statistics continued relentlessly while the prisons filled to overflowing
with victims of one-size-fits-all community standards. In addition was the
perhaps even worse corrosive affect on the spontaneous and unfettered
relationships between men and children. [The author was `victim' of a
harmless, but perfect example. Driving to my brother's house, I picked up
one of my nephew's at the foot of the drive, then proceeded two hundred
feet up to the house. No sooner had I entered the house than the phone
rang. It was the neighbors from across the street telling the tale and
asking if Galen was okay. What if I'd happened to be going the other way,
say into to Woodstock or down to the Cape? How many pistols at the car
windows? The irony here, and I include it because it's so representative
of liberal perceptions, is that my brother is an aggressive pedophile whom
I wouldn't trust off a length of chain. This is your ruling class. If you
can think of a better place for them than the frigid wastes of northern
Newfoundland, you're one up on me.] Why wouldn't a six-year-old mega
genius have something to offer on the subject; worthwhile thoughts on
seduction, tampering, stalking, and desensitizing, granted that his
specialty was repetitive events off a first event. Wayne wanted to know
more.
"If Kenny had invited you to a party," the writer
asked, "you know, with six or eight reasonably okay guys, how do you think
you'd have felt?"
"As a researcher or a boy?" the child asked.
His uncle rolled his eyes, making the sweet kid giggle.
"Kenny's the only one," he said, "but, since you asked, I'll have to admit
if one of his friends, Roger, had ever come out into the field and watched
what I was doing with Kenny, I would have kept doing it and let him watch."
"How about if he stripped and lay down beside you
friend?" Wayne asked, "do you think you might have crawled over on his
leg?"
"I guess I would," the boy mused, then brightened
considerably. "We could do it, you know," he said, "honest to god. Travel
around to water parks and motels with saunas. I'd have to go with older
guys and fat guys, but research is no picnic forensic pathologists, either,
and you'd be there to protect me from anything too gross. I'd meet kids my
own age if we did it over the summer," he added, "and with your help I
could interview them. There might even be some interesting case histories
so the paper wouldn't be a drag to read."
"You are an academy-full," Wayne whispered into the big
blue eyes, with the certain knowledge that you didn't have to be addicted
to love because one fine day it would come along and addict you all by
itself.
"With summers off," the boy said.
"How long was Kenny doing this with you on the sofa?"
the older male asked the child in his lap.
"About as long as we have," the boy answered.
"Did he take his shirt off?" the man quizzed.
"No," Jeffie said, "he'd molested me a little in the
pool while we were fooling around, so we weren't curious about each other,
that way. And if that's a little subtle in the hint department, I think
you're way attractive."
"My idea is this," Wayne responded, "that, in the name
of research, we create your first experience as accurately as possible,
reinforce your baseline and establish your parameters; perhaps help you
recall things you've forgotten."
"I want there to be a difference, though," the boy
said.
"From a scientific point of view," his uncle noted,
"the closer to identical experiences, the better."
"Oh," the boy said, "I think you're right. "I just
wanted to use my mouth a little at the very end. Kenny wouldn't let me,
and I wasn't that interested because I like the way it happened with him
when he was in my hand. But I feel differently with you. Maybe because
we're related and I know it will be more permanent, or just from growing
up."
"Oh," the man said, his love of science undiminished
but his sense of irony honed to a single molecule at the bleeding edge, "I
guess that's why the invented tomorrow."
"I don't want to quibble," the young researcher said, a
hint of academia in his voice, "but I know you had a long trip here, and
that you haven't probably had time to do what older boys do once in awhile,
so I thought, just maybe flying in from Asia, with all the jet lag, and
only two days to catch up, you know, it would be extra exciting our first
time together, and, since the paper dwells at length on excess, that might
be more important this afternoon than being sure all the dots on the graph
paper were lined up like a row of ancient Oriental scholars assigned
temporarily, but, here's a linguistic one for you, permanently as grave
diggers."
The wizard looked happily up into his handsome uncle's
hard, gray eyes. The nervous, faltering shadow of the previous days now
glowed gently and happily, panting gently every time Wayne traced his
fingers below the child's bellybutton. "Did you display to Kenny at the
pool?" he whispered.
"I guess I did," the boy said, "from just after I saw
him, I tried to stay near him without being faggy about it."
"Why?" Wayne asked.
"Well," the boy said, "beside `Twinkie' and
`milk-and-cookies' and `minnow', they also use the word `package'. It's
gross and almost derisive, but research means taking it as it comes, so,
anyway, Kenny really bulged out between his legs. He's tall and slim,
maybe a little wimpy more than athletic, with a big nose, a wide mouth, and
big hands and feet. Even that early in my investigation I'd figured out by
deduction, not observation, because the younger boys have a separate locker
room, that these physical characteristics are backed up where you can't
see."
"I'm afraid the Victorians of Darwin's day would have
called that `unnatural selection', Wayne commented.
"Then magnetism and gravity are bogus, too," the boy
responded, "because I felt them like a compass in Minnesota."
"How long was it before you got him to touch you?"
Wayne asked the child in his lap.
"About half an hour," Jeffie replied, "I didn't want to
be too obvious because of my friends an the other people there, and just to
be polite, and later he told me he felt the same, that he wanted to help me
practice floating right away. But he was new, so it took awhile, although
in a way it helped because I could ask him where he was from and all that
stuff."
"What happened," the uncle asked, and, by accord, the
males got up from the sofa, Jeffie fetched a light cotton blanket with
remnants of straw on it from a trunk, and the boy led the man across the
yard and out into the waist-high golden wheat. This is a trap for
consistency buffs. The principal characters talk about spending the summer
together, but, if the wheat is waist-high, it is summer, and if they're
spending a lot of time at the pool, it should be described as an indoor
pool. I've left a couple of similar glitches, ages, for example, in simply
because it's time consuming to go back and make tidy little revisions.
"We sort of accidentally ended up near each other where
we could just touch the bottom," the child said, "and I did ask where he
was from, which turned out to be Chattanooga. I really liked his accent,
so that made it easier to talk. His dad had just moved here to be the new
head of the library, and I asked him if he was kidding. He laughed an
splashed me and asked me who'd kid about a thing like that. Then I told
him about mom, and he got kind of shy and said most boys thought books were
something people threw at each other in movies to enhance the filmed drama.
We'd both just read "A Prayer for Owen Meany", which is a good book for
kids to talk about because it's about kids, and while we talked we kept
getting closer and closer until we were about an inch apart and the water
between us was about a thousand degrees hot. I knew about pedophiles and
stuff like that," the six year old continued, so I thought maybe he was
scared to touch me, and it would be better if I touché him, so I let my
right leg go against his left one by pretending I was kicking because my
feet wouldn't reach the bottom. He asked if I wanted him to hold me up so
I'd be more comfortable, and I said yes. He moved behind me and held my by
the waist, which was more comfortable. I told him it felt nice, so he
moved a little closer to me, but not so I could feel him against me, which
I though was cool, because if he'd been pushy or domineering it would have
spoiled everything. But he was very gentle and just molested me a tiny bit
so I'd start getting ideas, but not be grossed out. We were totally on the
same page from then on, then I remembered my mom was looking for a
baby-sitter. He thought that was a great idea and I invited him out here
for lunch on Saturday. That was seven weeks ago"
"What did your other friends think?" the man asked as
they walked carefully along a narrow path in the valuable crop.
"I just kind of found out they weren't my friends," the
boy said, "I mean they didn't taunt me or act gross or anything, it's just
that Kerry had so much more to talk about. An hour with him was more
exciting, never mind what happened out here in the field, than a week with
my old friends."
"You should backtrack," Wayne suggested, "go back and
interview them, see what they felt when they saw you with the new boy.
What they said to each other about it, if anything. Research."
"We're going to write a drop-dead sensation," the boy
said, hugging his uncle right arm tightly to his chest, then releasing it
to a least hurry the tall athletic writer a little through the fragile,
waving grain.
"But it has to be balanced," the man cautioned, "you've
got to talk to boys who some creep got to, and get those stories, too, then
get anylitical, even if anecdotally, and try to put your finger on how many
kids were truly disturbed by an unwanted event, and how many are using bad
touching as an excuse to drop out and goof off."
"You're serious, aren't you?" the boy said.
"You are," the man laughed as they crested the gentle
ridge in the field and followed the path down to the verge of the crop and
the windbreak, "I'm just along to drive"
"Bull," the boy chirped, "you've come up with one great
addition after another."
"One suggestion is avoiding overkill," the man
responded, "you and Kenny are dynamic enough for ten or twelve chapter on
your own, sort of a Batman and Robin team without the Penguin and the
skylight. Add one more facet. At the rate you're going, that might even
be celebrity interviews. Work with that, and save other aspects for
further volumes of your study. It's easy for writers to delude themselves
into creating sketch after sketch while losing track of the underlying
story, thus confusing and frustrating the reader."
"It is about sex," the boy reminded the man.
"I stand corrected," Wayne said, hugging the
open-shirted child to his right hip as they found the secure hideaway
tucked into the verge of the cultivated land and spread their blanket.
"Kenny posed for me after I got him naked," the boy
whispered, facing the man and undoing the buttons of his light cotton shirt
while shrugging his own to the ground. Half numb, Wayne stripped out of
the garment, trying to ignore the tiny, butterfly fingers quickly undoing
his belt, snap, and zipper. The adult's shorts joined his shirt, and
Jeffie stood back to ogle, then slipped out of his own shorts, leaving
himself just in his red bikini underpants. "I think Kenny chose you for
the same reason you chose him," the man whispered, staring at the boy who
smiled shyly back at him. "We don't use the locker room with the bigger
kids," the boy said, "but I guess I'm bigger than the little kids."
"Well," Wayne said, "you look the size of a hot dog,
not to be crude about it, and most boys don't look like that until they're
twelve or thirteen."
"I always change against the wall," Jeffie said,
"because an investigator is not meant to influence his subject matter if he
can help it."
"Some things can't be helped," the older male noted,
"but you've got the right idea."
"And it's another facet," the college student said, "at
some point, along around Volume Three, you can interview the kids who
didn't get a chance to look at you; find out if any of them felt left out,
or if they even noticed in the first place."
"Plus," the boy added, "I'd like to know if anyone was
inspired by us, because it was a pretty open secret that we spent a lot of
time together, and a lot of kids probably had some idea of what we were up
to, so maybe that was like a catalyst, you know, two guys talking about us
on a sleepover, and their voices getting like Kenny's and yours, and then
experimenting with what they imagined goes on between us, Kenny and me."
"At this rate," the older male laughed, "Volume One
will be nothing but ideas for the rest of the shelf."
"If Hammermill has the paper, I have the time," the six
year old noted sagely, his hands on the waistband of the mature male's
briefs. He pulled them slowly down, hissing at the hugely swollen,
circumcised penis of the adult, then placed them on top of the other
clothing and stood to stare down at his young uncle's hot pole of a penis.
"Man oh man, am I glad I'm related to you," he whispered, "you're at least
an inch longer than Kenny, and he was six and a quarter inches when he got
really excited."
"You were right about the traveling and jet-lag," Wayne
noted, "and that, plus you in those red underpants, probably are adding a
little something."
"Well then it's back around the world for you," the
bright child giggled, his eyes glued to the hugeness jutting at a
forty-five degree angle from the loins of the young man to within and inch
of his little-boy chest. After staring for a full minute, he thrust his
hips meaningfully toward the adult, and Wayne dropped to his knees and
stripped the now panting boy, adding his red underpants to their pile of
clothing. Both knelt on the blanket facing each other and almost touching.
Taking the lead he'd been promised, the naked boy gently pushed on his
uncle's rugged shoulders, coaxing him to lean back, still kneeling and
supporting himself on his sinewy arms. Tapping gently with his fingers,
the child got the adult to spread his powerful, lightly hair legs as widely
as he could. The boy supported himself on the man's inner thighs and
lowered his head to the huge penis almost seeming to lunge up at him. He
found the top with his lips then his six-year-old tongue. He kissed the
older male's flaring, purple glans then gently lowered his wet, butter soft
mouth several inches down the thick, throbbing shaft of his second lover.
Wayne arched his back, heck, he'd never posed the way the boy wanted, too
late now, and leaned as far back as his strength allowed, spreading his
athletic legs another inch or two in absolute welcome of the little boy.
The cute mop of hair rose and fell, and the small tongue made up for its
lack of size by the avid way in which it experimented and explored.
A minute passed, then the adult's sperm came in a huge
rush, so fast he didn't have time to even grunt a warning to the blond
moppet. The hard, sizzling shock of his climax brought the athlete bolt
upright. For a few seconds his arms hung limply as his sides, then he
reached to the child at his waist, finding his beautiful face with his
fingers, and, doing his own research, fondling the boy's throat. Sure
enough, every hot heavy bolt that passed from his mature body to the boy
triggered a convulsive surge of the boy's throat. "I'm cumming," he was
finally able to whisper, and the boy's response was instant, a soft but
hard humming, which has been described by others as the world's happiest
sound.
It went on and on and the man was still spilling hard
and fast with the boy after half a minute. By the end of a minute, the boy
had moved his mouth down another inch and was making mewing sounds in his
throat as his tiny tongue carefully and tenderly said good-bye to his
partner and he rose slowly from the adult's still flexing thighs, his lips
white with hot semen, his eyes huge, ready to kiss the handsome student
gently and lingeringly on his lips. Slowly the fell to the blanket, the
boy's bare chest against the adult's, and lay together for half an hour in
the soft, cloudy light. Re-energized by the short rest, they got the
needle in its proper groove, and got down to science.
"Wow!" Vicky said, "I'll never look at a boy the same
way again."
"You won't be the Lone Ranger," Wayne allowed. As he'd
told his story, the man had eased the girl's tiny hands from his hugely
swollen penis, and, as her head lolled against his chest had begun to
masturbate her with his right hand while molesting her, especially her
tender upper thighs, with his left.
"How did you feel about the way it happened?" the
softly panting girl asked, "did you want Jeffie to watch you, or feel it go
into his mouth?"
"I loved feeling his throat as he swallowed my semen,"
the man said to the lolling, sweating girl in his arms, "but, before I met
him, I'd always done it into a tissue. I'd never thought to look, so I
would have liked to watch, but he's watched Kenny ejaculate several times,
so I was happy for him, and he was a little bit of a virgin for me."
"I guess either way would be awesome," the girl mused.
She whispered up over her right shoulder: "Have you ever seen it, I mean,
since?" she asked.
"No," the male said, "now that you mention it, and
weird as it must seem, I never have. Jeffie thought the best way to test
his obsession theories was to stick to that way, which he thought was the
best, then see how he felt when I had to go out on assignment. He jerked
me off on his face twice, but we were in bed and it was dark, besides,
after that first time on the blanket, I never had nearly as much for him as
that first time."
"How about now?" Vicky asked, her voice rasping as she
whispered the question.
"What do you mean?" her uncle asked.
"When was the last time it happened with you," she
said, "the all-the-way part?"
"Homosexual couples are together based on friendship,"
the man explained to the little girl in his arms, "so having sex with each
other goes on the back burner after a few months. I used a tissue last
week because he was asleep, and otherwise we've been traveling and I've
been busy writing and teaching him the basic twists and turns of algebra.
It's been five or six days, now that you mention it."
"I mentioned it because I have a plan," the pixie
whispered, "based on the assumption that a male's semen is white. I think
I heard that at school, because the only white thing you saw on the blanket
was Jeffie's blond hair."
"That's right," the male said, "I watched myself when I
was first starting, and there was a lot of white on my tummy."
"Okay," the girl said, "I think we're safe with that,
and it's unlikely to be green or purple."
"That's true," the man allowed.
"The reason I asked," the girl said, "is that I saw a
wedding dress in the mall last week and it was white on white. Beautiful.
And," she went on, her slim chest heaving in her uncle's gentle embrace,
her right leg trembling over the side of the tub, "the parceling is white,
so I thought if I let the water out, so there wouldn't be too much
splashing, and we dried off, so we'd be more comfortable, that I could put
a towel in the bottom of the tub and kneel in it, and you could straddle
the edge, since it's kind of low and wide, and brace yourself against the
wall, and I could hold you against the slippery surface and you could teach
me to do what Jeffie and Kenny liked to do with each other, then you could
look down and we could both watch it happen."
"Before that happens," the man whispered, slowly
withdrawing his wet fingers from between her angel-soft thighs, "I just
want to say that your brother, Dale, is the luckiest boy on earth, times
two."
"You have to teach him before you go," Vicky said, "I
mean, we'll wait, and all, I understood what you said about a boy needing
to be at least part man before he's interesting to a female, but still I
want you to spend at least a few hours alone with him. Promise?"
"Yes," the male whispered as they released the water
and the few remaining bubbles from the tub and slowly and carefully dried
each other off.
"I'll 411 Mom, and she'll put a bridle on Dad, and
we'll take Annie to the movies, and you can go up when he takes a shower.
I think it's be cool if you just said Hi and went in behind him, and if he
freaks, guess-who will have another page for his book."
"Guess who has a cousin with the world's number one
younger sister," Wayne replied, as they placed their damp towels in the
bottom of the empty bathtub and stood apart to look at each other. "Pose
for me, and don't forget like you did with Jeffie," the girl said, her eyes
bright as diamonds. "Like in a magazine?" the man asked.
"Yes," the girl said.
"Should I be looking over my right shoulder or my
left?" Wayne said, spreading his legs, arching, and linking his fingers
hard behind his neck. "Left," the girl said, "then back at me because I
want to do the same thing and I want to watch you watching me."
Slowly, staring at each other, the naked adult and
child spread their legs and posed for each other. In five minutes they
hadn't seen enough, but by now they were madly in love, and hot, fresh
lovers can never see enough of each other. By accord, they lowered their
arms, moved to within inches of each other, and look down over their
bellies and thighs. Vicky reached out with her right hand and guided her
handsome young male partner into position, the stool she used at the sink,
with another towel on it, a perfect support for the adult's left knee.
Oozing femininity, the naked girl was careful in getting her stallion's
right knee comfortably placed on a rolled towel, and positioning herself at
the male's right hip with her left arm around his hard, muscular waist.
"The soap's white, too, but I won't use to much," she said, turning the tap
to a trickle, wetting her hand in the warm water, and rubbing her palm over
the bar of Ivory in the soap dish. Wayne watched in dumbfounded awe, then
stared at the tiles inches in front of him like a man about to be injected
with a veterinary syringe. Her left arm was hot as a tropic snake, but it
failed to constrict the adult's heavy, hoarse panting. Thanks to the
towels, he was able to spread his long legs widely, so her first touch half
killed him. Her hand was warm and slippery, her touch uncertain as she
accustomed herself to her new position with him.
"Will you be able to tell me?" she queried, perhaps a
little anxious over the ragged breath of her mate.
"No," Wayne managed to croak, "but I'll look down."
"Look at me to, not just yourself," the girl advised
and he stored the tip in the last iota of his memory. Her hand quickly
found the tension and rhythm she'd already discovered while they were
bathing. Her swollen left nipple was a firebrand against his heaving,
sweating left flank but her nipping at his right shoulder eased the heat
and made her scalding rose not only bearable, but sensual. She nipped, she
stroked him beautifully for a minute or two, gentle and attentive, then
slowly released him to wet her hand and slick her palm with soap. She
murmured to him, half words mixed with coos and mews, then she nibbled
again, and he knelt shuddering through another gentle and awesomely
feminine cycle. Half an hour passed, then he did look down. Vicky
whispered, "Yes, baby," and he after a few endless moments with her right
hand instinctively clenched hard at his base, he came for the girl. "Oh,"
she hissed repeatedly as his thick adult semen pooled quickly and heavily
on the slippery white porcelains. With a quick, feral movement, the girl
left the male, wet her hand, and returned to his swollen glans, gripping
his hot flesh firmly, and sliding her slippery fist again to his base,
where she held him with all her eight year old strength. "I'm cumming,"
Wayne managed to rasp, his head hanging as his extended arms shook against
the tile wall of the bathroom. The girl remained avid and excited even as
she gently stroked a last gentle flow from his shaking body. "You don't
have to be celibate for a week for Dale," she whispered, but I want him to
share most of what I did so I can broach the subject at an appropriate
time."
"You are one totally awesome female child," the
handsome man replied, "and waiting to be with Dale is nothing compared to
waiting until your tenth birthday."
"That will be together," the girl noted, "and,
meantime, we need to stay clean, Mom's big on that."
"Vicky," Audrey whispered, "if I ever say anything
weird about living in the country again, hit me with something heavy."
"They'll be here tonight," Vicky whispered back,
"that's why Dale's wearing the cut-off tee shirt, so Rusty can look at him
while they play catch."
"I think it's working," Audrey said, "seeing as how
they're still passing the ball, and Rusty would rather be playing video
games."
"He's got some magazines under his mattress to get your
brother started," Vicky explained, "but that's Plan B. Plan A is to have
Uncle Wayne upstairs with us, and little Annie so he can teach her, because
Dale's uptight about having incest with more than one sister, and Uncle
Wayne is much to big for her body. Jeffie can teach Rusty, if he's not
experienced, and you and I will be with Uncle Wayne and my brother."
"Your mom is way cool," Audrey said, "but will she go
for that much mischief?"
"She'll never know," Vicky whispered as first among
equals in conspiracy. "I got Aunt Edna holed on home grown, she's going to
pitch a fit just after super, and the adults will take her to the hospital,
which will be paid, by the way, leaving Uncle Wayne to be sure we behave.
You know teens."
"Dorothy was wrong," Audrey said, "Kansas is no
freaking place like home."
"Yeah," the farm girl said, a rare trace of sarcasm in
her voice, "but do you know how many new hairstyles we see at the local
disco in a month? Zero."
"Must be rough," Audrey giggled. She quickly calmed
and lay staring into the eyes of her older cousin.
"Aud?" Vicky whispered very softly.\
"What?" the younger girl whispered back.
"I'm not exactly Marilyn Monroe or anything, but, you
know, would you like to look at me?"
"Yes," the visiting cousin whispered back, and they
moved together until their pretty noses touched.
"We can do it like lovers or like girls in a locker
room," Vicky said. "The latter way is actually sexier. I found out my
first time with Dale. We didn't make out or anything, just stripped like
to straight guys getting ready for the shower."
We'll get back to our story in a few moments, but I did
want to take a moment out to thank John Hughes, especially, and also the
writers of "7th Heaven", for back-to-back fourteen thousand word says.
Mr. Hughes' characters are especially easy to work with, and it's a thrill
for a writer to pay tribute, as writers do, to the man who wrote the tie
(with "The Gods Must be Crazy" and "Amadeus") best screenplay of all time.
The writers of "Married with Children" do exceed "Vacation" by dint of the
their sheer output. Unfortunatly, Kelly and Bud, she being senior, don't
inspire my individualistic take on what makes a good story, but,
nonetheless, it's the greatest mainstream writing achievement of all time.
Extreme honors, especially to the episodes with Jefferson as Mr. Marcy
Darcy.
I've been having some low-key fits over the prolific
body of work of Charles Dickens, who is my only competition in the field of
fiction. I'm afraid I win, though you can hardly imagine how thrilled I'd
be to find a better writer than myself, someone I could learn a trick or
two from. Two reasons. First of all, my colleague wrote large amounts of
dreadful stuff, even allowing for audience response to detailed description
at the dawn of the media age. There are hundreds of pages of sticky clay
for the modern reader who is lucky enough to have seen every bustle and
corset and bonnet and hat from the cave person to the outer space person.
Product of a different era. Second, Mr. Dickens had a dedicated staff
supporting his efforts. This included editors and type setters familiar
with his handwriting and style who could polish his drafts. How cool would
that be? If I had a tuned-in editor, I could increase my output by thirty
percent, and turn out smoother copy, into the bargain. Of course, this
doesn't take into account the word processor, but a lively person with a
comfortable writing studio can, if he works with experienced editors, write
almost as fast as I can type.
I lost at so many things as a child and growing up,
it's hard to believe I've ended up as the ultimate winner in the world of
art. Just goes to show you. Actually, it doesn't. Too much luck
involved; too many fickle fingers who dialed the right numbers at the right
time, for anyone to draw any lessons except the one about practice making
perfect, and even it is fatally flawed if you don't find, somewhere along
the line, that you have abnormal amounts of talent. That talent can only,
in some cases, be revealed by ceaseless practice is a conundrum of the art
world that keeps millions of sensible people happily out of it, except as
consumers.
What else can I say? Sir John Hughes, you make it a
walk in the park.
The girls did their straight-guys strip silently, back
so each other. They turned shyly to each other, looked for long moments,
then approached, their hands going to each other's waists. They looked
very similar, ironically, Vicky having more the Madonna city-girl face,
while the Chicago girl was prettiest-girl-in-the-class and nothing but.
"I've never looked a girl before," Vicky whispered
after they'd whispered a shy Hi to each other.
"I looked at Betsy Molino because she has such
beautiful skin," Audrey said, "but it was just for a minute in the locker
room."
"Were you alone with her?" the older cousin asked.
"Yes," Audrey said, reddening.
"Did she look back?"
"Yes," the city girl whispered. Both girls sank to
their knees in the straw, fingers still on each other's heaving flanks, not
yet daring to touch their nipples which were swelling as Audrey spoke.
"Was your off, too," the curious girl wanted to know,
her eyes bonded to those of her pretty cousin.
"I let it fall off," Audrey said, "and she knew I'd
just put it on."
"That must have been so exciting," Vicky enthused.
"It only lasted a minute, then we heard someone
coming," Audrey said.
"Are you still friends?" Vicky asked.
"Yes," Audrey said, smiling shyly, "but it happened
right at the end of term, so we only saw each other a couple more times."
"Do you think something will happen when you go back?"
the country girl asked.
"I might try starting with our trip through Kansas,"
Audrey mused comically, half to herself.
"Call me up," Vicky said, "we're cousins, not kids at
camp, from now one we've got to put energy into the family, and by that I
mean having a few sensation secrets, not a lot of tawdry ones."
"If those guys are writing a book, we can too," Audrey
said. "We can send each other printouts and outlines. Loads of writers do
it, and your uncle's a professional, so he could help."
"How about "The Mice that Split the Tiger" for a
title?" Vicky suggested.
"Yeah," Audrey agreed, "because it's king of backwards,
you know, the tigers are splitting the mice, if you want to get graphic
about it, but it's just twisty enough to land like an anvil on some
editor's head.
"It could be a celebrity bathtub," Vicky said.
"Maybe in a truck that goes out the locations," Audrey
added. And so it went.
"Really cool inside, with a marble tub set in black
wool carpetijng."
"Lighted with candles."
"Mirrors."
"Ostensibly, it's for advertising shots."
"But the union guys split after sunset."
"And who remains?
"You know."
"No I don't."
"You see him all the time."
"I do?"
"Yeah, and he's way cute.
"You've got to give me a hint."
"Think of the story about Jeffie."
"So way cute means way young."
"I'm not talking about us, but about our audience."
"Sorry."
"No, it's cool, it just means you aren't thinking of
him because he's too young for you and me, but if you take age away,
vis-à-vis Jeffie, it's easier to guess."
"So we have this cool truck with a bathtub in the
trailer, and we roam the movie sets, and we settle on one particularly cute
actor who's too young for us, but whom we know, from family stories, is not
too young, one-size-fits-all."
"Precisely."
"Then it's Ricky Schroeder."
"Precisely."
High-fiving hadn't been invented but the girls did it
anyway. "With?" Vicky asked.
"That's a good one," Audrey replied, "it's hard to
think up the right partner."
Both girls used the intellectual exercise at hand as an
excuse to pause their conversation. "I don't want you to do anything
between my legs," Vicky whispered, "but I'd like it if you touched me."
"Okay," Audrey said softly, "you're really pretty.
Dale's lucky." She gently took her cousin's right breast in the fingers of
both hands and mewed when she felt the large, pink nipple swell suddenly to
her touch.
"Rusty's lucky, too," the older cousin said as Audrey
dropped her arms to her sides, nodding welcome to the more experienced
female. She mewed at being touched, her eyes widening from the sensations
of her first experience.
The thirteen year olds spent half an hour on their
knees, a foot apart, experimenting with low-key lesbian acts.
"I have one," Vicky said, her cousin so attuned to her
she didn't have say a partner for the young television star.
"I thought of one, too," Audrey said.
"Should I go first?" the country cousin asked.
"Okay," Audrey grinned.
"Charles Bronson," the dirty-blond announced.
"Cindy Brady," the brunette beauty contributed. Come
to think of it, these very girls may have invented high-fiving. They
pecked each other gently, lingering just a second, on the lips, then
slipped back into their clothes, brushing each other off as they climbed
down from the hayloft. As they crossed the yard from the barn to the house
a brief peep from an air horn attracted their attention, and they stood,
hand in hand, as a beautifully painted -- white on white -- school bus
slowed, turned into the driveway, and thundered briefly almost at their
feet before it's engine died and the door swung open.
"Best hooky bus in Kansas," Wayne called out, and Vicky
and her cousin jumped up the steps.
"You haven't taught it to fly yet," the girl pouted,
"last time you were here, you promised."
"Last time I was here," the handsome driver recalled,
"I promised to marry you and keep you barefoot and pregnant for ninety
years, and I haven't done that, either."
"They both lie," the eleven year old nephew and cousin
said, standing politely and holding his hand to Audrey, whom he'd never
met, "last time we were here all we promised was to come back soon and stay
for a long time." He'd grown to be a beautiful boy in the last five years,
still tall and slim with gentle eyes and a face clearly showing his alert
intelligent but perhaps holding back from signally the razor keenness of
his fiery mind; eyes bright, but not hawkish and glaring.
In a moment Annie was with them followed by the two
fifteen year old boys, Dale still in his cut-off tee, his slightly soft
belly sleek and smooth, with the adults behind and screeching from an upper
bedroom of the house to do with air pollution, scaring animals, boys who
let older men see their immature bellies, girls who wouldn't come and read
her letters to her, fruitcakes throughout history, and, at long last, her
grand announcement, "You're taking me to Phoenix!" The window slammed
shut, the tornado moved on, and the wicked witch was quickly forgotten.
Pleasantries were exchanged, and Vicky christened the
bus The Truant Express, forbidding adults other than the driver, and
destined for a three hour tour in the direction of the World's Second
Biggest Ball of String. Thinking on her feet, the farm girl did wonder if
her glass-on-sand-on-glass aunt would be smart enough to cancel her dinner
time performance, then, glancing out the door window across the yard at the
column of black smoke arising from the area of her father's grill she
realized they adults would be on the back burner for hours. Still thinking
on her feet, she rearranged her, so to speak, seating chart, or dance card,
if you will. She and Audrey found a seat at the rear of the coach and put
their heads together as their uncle launched the smooth, quiet vehicle back
onto the state road, letting the ponies gallop it up to a little over a
hundred miles an hour before resuming the posted speed limit.
"I was thinking of rearranging things, anyway," Vicky
said to her brunette cousin, so this is cool. Tell me what you think."
Audrey nodded and they locked eyes for a long, gentle
moment. "I want to feel you against me," the dirty-blond said.
"I'm getting braver, too," Audrey responded and they
nodded almost imperceptibly to each other, then faced front. Wayne (last
name: Shirley) called back to Vicky and Dale for direction, but it was
little Annie who piped up saying he should stay on the state road for ten
more minutes. "How did you know?" Vicky asked her pretty little
seven-year-old sister. Annie stuck out her tongue, then giggled. "Dale
told me," she said. "We had a long talk, and I know we're going for a long
ride, but not a far ride, so I figured we'd want to park in the shade, so
we might as well have some water to look at, so there's the Carmella place
where dad fell off the scaffolding, and the owners are really nice, and
there's a lake and trees and it's really private because there's only one
road in and you can see anyone coming, and it's just second grade
arithmetic to add it all up and tell Uncle Wayne that we should turn right
in, now, about eight minutes."
Cute as a whistling bird, she was, especially because
her eyes were alive with excitement as she climbed into her older sister
lap and stared up at her, then at Audrey. Rusty started "Ninety-Nine
Bottles of Beer" and the converted bus was well clear of the highway and
approaching the small, blue lake as they got down to the last bottle of
beer. Annie was right. There was a note on the door inviting Eddy
Carmichael and/or family to use the cottage. Annie knew where the key was
-- he little psychic -- and there was another note in the kitchen
inviting any Carmichael guests to raid the refrigerator, as well as a sheaf
of a hundred five-dollar bills. Eddy may not have been perfect in every
last detail, but he'd made a friend along the way.
Vicky's mind was a turmoil. She led Audrey to a back
bedroom of the cottage. Closing the door, she said, "I've been trying to
come up with some kind of plan," she said, "to make it as special as
possible for us, and then we're on the bus, and now were here."
"Does that change anything?" Audrey asked.
"No that, I guess," the slightly addled thirteen year
old said, "more, it's Annie. She's grown up even since yesterday. At
first, I thought she'd be right for Jeffie, eleven with seven, but now
she's talked with Dale, which is double cool, and so he's probably going to
be her choice. I thought Dale should be with me, while Jeffie was with
Annie, and Uncle Wayne should just watch until you or I was ready to be
with him. The only thing I've had right from the beginning is that you and
Rusty should be together. That's totally obvious, I hope."
"Yes," Audrey replied without hesitation.
"The way I see it now," the hostess went on, "is that
you and Rusty should teach Annie before Dale goes too far with her, and
then Uncle Wayne will be with me, leaving Jeffie out."
There was a tap on the door of the bedroom. Come in,
the girls said and the eleven year old boy entered. "I've got something to
tell you guys," he said.
"What?" the pretty girls on sitting on the bed
chorused.
"It's kind of personal," the boy said, blushing, "but I
guess you're pretty mature, and, you know, were here alone together, and
we're going to be here until this evening, and we're sort of different from
other families, so there's only one thing I want to do while we're here, so
I'll remember it for a long time, and that is to have Dale get behind me
while I'm on my hands and knees so I can feel his tummy against me. I've
never let anyone get against me that way," the child went on, "but I'm old
enough to experiment with it, so I just thought I'd tell you in case you
were making plans so it wouldn't turn into a debauch."
"How do you feel about Annie?" Vicky asked.
"I don't think watching Dale with her would sully the
memory," the boy replied, adding: "I think it would make him gentler with
me, too."
"If he was with you, first, he'd be gentler with her,
"Vicky mused, looking at Jeffie for a response.
"You guys can help protect Annie, and a brother is
going to be gentle with his little sister, anyway," the drop-dead eleven
year old said, engaged in his case but not forcing it."
Vicky looked at Audrey and smiled at the younger girl's
nod. Jeffie opened the door and as they filed into the living room of the
cottage, guiding Audrey, in her idea of a playful act, and yelled: "Locker
room!" Audrey, beginning to learn to think on her feet from hanging around
her tomboy cousin, responded immediately to her cousin's call, as did the
others, including little Annie. Everyone but Rusty who backed into a wall
at the sight of an adult and six children shucking out of their clothes,
all their clothes, as if they were world champions waiting to feast on
maimed opponents.
Audrey glanced at Vicky, who flashed her a fraction of
a wink, then to her fifteen year old brother, he of the slack jaw and
glazed eyes. Standing naked in front of him, the girl unbuttoned his
shirt, and shook his knees so he'd kick off his sandals as she lowered in
shorts. The adolescent looked spectacular in his white, you bet,
underpants and his sister moved back so everyone could ogle the handsome,
blushing boy. Watching Wayne, Dale, and Jeffie become quickly and fully
erect mollified the shocked teen and it wasn't three minutes before he
gently thrust his hips to his younger sister, welcoming her, and the girl
had responded by pulling his briefs to the ground, and placing them, with
his sandals. Again, she moved back and let the males move in close to
their gender mate.
Annie moved close in front of Dale, pushing back
against him as the slightly pudgy boy circled her thin, little-girl chest
with his gentle hands. Audrey stood on Rusty's left, and the brother and
sister held hands. Vicky knelt in front of her adult uncle and pulled him
gently down on top of her, spreading her legs and rising her beautiful hips
to him. "You can help, Annie," she whispered to her little sister. Dale
showed the child how to hold the man and guide him against Vicky, reaching
in front of his little sister to finger her gently where she should place
the purple tip of the adult male's seven-inch penis. She cooed with
delight as she heard her big sister's shriek of welcome, and the huge male
entered her in a single long, gentle thrust, grinding his pelvis to Vicky's
harshly-bucking thighs. Her job done, Dale eased Annie back from the
couple on the carpet, position the tyke slightly in front of her big
sister's waist, and crouching tensely over the seven year old so they could
both watch their handsome, athletic uncle as his thirteen-year-old niece
lay beneath him, her legs stretched widely apart on the wool rug, her arms
stretched high above her because she know the adult loved looking at her
taught breasts. Rusty was slower to respond, but readily yielded to his
kid sister's gentle tug, lowering himself to the girl's smooth back as she
lay at Vicky left hop, sharing Annie and Dale's view. Jeffie knelt, slim
legs spread widely on the red rug, just behind Audrey's head, and, with his
eyes hot on Dale, gently masturbated himself as he watched Wayne master his
experienced partner. The man held himself high over the pubescent teen
beneath him, and she raised her hips eagerly, quickly settling into a had
fast rhythm matching that of her stallion. Vicky climaxed hard, lolling
her head, moaning, hissing, and shaking. "Oh, sis," Annie mewed as her
athletic older sibling quickly recovered and resumed her intense thrusting
against the man. "Dale," she whispered, sensing a harsh tensing in her
partner, "let Annie see what's going to happen when you're inside her."
Dale moved quickly off the youngest female and knelt at Wayne's right hip.
"I'm going to cum," the man warned the fifteen year old. Dale put his left
arm around the athlete's bucking waist, and quickly found his uncle's long,
hard penis with his right hand. At his touch, Wayne bellowed harshly and
withdrew from his hot, wet niece. Dale held him low and hard, keeping him
pinned against Vicky's soft, white belly. Annie stated in fascination and
yelped involuntarily as the first jet of thick, white cum slashed across
the thirteen year old's heaving, wet belly. "Oh, Dale," the tyke
whispered, "Oh, Dale, oh, Dale, oh, oh, oh."
Half his sperm on the girl's panting belly, Wayne
grunted, "Please." Again, Dale responded to the subtle cue as his uncle
rose forcefully from the young female's now thickly clotted belly. As the
man remained rigid for a long, shaking moment, the teen guided him back to
his mewing sister. Vicky slammed her hips and screeched in welcome Wayne
cried out repeatedly as he thrust wildly into the hot mink beneath him,
smashing the child into another flailing orgasm as he continue pumping his
seed hard and fast deep into her now slack belly. With a final bellow, the
man fell to the girl and for long moments the couple lay still, panting
furiously, but recovering quickly.
That eased the tension, and everyone relaxed. The
males slipped into their underwear and the young females donned their tiny
panties. Wayne rustled in the kitchen, finding snacks, and for half an
hour they ensemble gloried in the vastness of their new maturity, leading
to what we all know so well: a quiet interval which inspired someone to
tell a story. It was Dale. He'd just turned eleven, so it was four years
in the past. This is what it was about.
Posted by Thomas@btl.net
xxx