Date: Thu, 31 Oct 2002 13:50:30 EST
From: Louisamay1111@aol.com
Subject: Nia's Party

      I met this oh so cute little nine-year-old girl at the library (I work
the stacks sometimes); we barely talked beyond me showing her where to find
the Lemony Snicket books, but ohhh my. She was brown-skinned, mulatto, I
suppose, but blue-eyed, and such a pretty little face! And her limbs were
just every whichway; long and gawky, and she had this funky tune in her head
that she kept moving her little butt to, you know, kind of doing her own
little soultrain. She wore this funky little short pink knit dress, and (of
course I just happened to have things to do wherever she went!) when she sat
at the little kid tables to read, or gab with her friend, her legs are in,
and out, and up on the table, and on the chair. . .loosy-goose white panties
that she kept adjusting.

       Sooo. . .her name was Nia. I discovered this because her mother was
there with her, and I overheard them talking about how Nia wanted to 'try it,
pleeeeese Mom', and her mother was going on about how, "no, I am not going to
go and buy all these clothes just so you can play dress-up, Nia, NO." And I
butted in, my heart in my mouth, saying that I couldn't help overhearing
their discussion, (it's a smallish town, they've seen me quite a lot, they
know Miss Louisa)-- but if she wanted, I have this trunkload of costumes that
my nieces and nephews play with, but they're rarely here and it would be no
trouble, in fact I'd love to have her (truetrue) . .Of course Nia just lights
up, and eventually Mom concedes... "but listen to me now, you do whatEVER
Miss Louisa says, hear? I mean it. Don't you go giving her any problems." Nia
did a little dance, and Mrs. Nia rolled her eyes.

    So. My God, I was so nervous the first time she was over (which was just
a little while after our conversation; school was out, and I was just
finishing my shift, so. . .? And I would drive her home, yes, I knew that
street, no problem, my pleasure. Yes.)      It was a joy just to watch her so
gleefully enjoy herself, tossing old, dusty lace and gowns left and right,
digging deep into the Magic Box. For the most part, I just sat in an easy
chair by the trunk, and watched, and made little comments on yes, and maybe,
and oooh.
       And LOVED it when she leaned in low to inspect some piece deep down,
as her little pantied butt appeared, her knit dress riding high, almost to
her waist, she didn't care. I was so glad she didn't care. . .such a cute,
cute, soft-but-muscular looking little bottom, its bubble-cheeks peeking out
from beside the errant panties. Her bottom was a bit paler, more golden than
the rest of her. The sun hadn't shone. . .

    That was pretty much it for that day, the looking, and the looking, and
the promise of more fun to come. When I drove her home, her mother got an
earful, and thanked me heartily. I told her, sincerely, how much it was my
pleasure, and, on Nia's pleas, made plans for another session. I had tea with
Mrs. Bowen, and reiterated how much pleasure it gave me to see someone else
enjoying all those costumes that were going to waste. She was happy as well
to get some time to herself. We made a date for that weekend.

    Nia arrived at my door (her mother waving from the car), dressed in the
same knit dress. I raised an eyebrow, but considered it must be her favorite.
Little girls have the oddest fashion quirks sometimes.
    We immediately made for the Dressup Room (the large guest room by my own
bedroom), and she attacked the trunk with vigor. She'd already chosen a few
favorites, which hung primly on a nearby hanger (my own handiwork), but went
straight to her prior labor of digging for gold. I settled into my Viewing
Chair, and sighed. Wouldn't it be a hoot if she turned to discover Miss
Louisa with a hand down her jeans, frigging away? Yes, a hoot. I did grab a
pillow, though, and hugged it tightly. Her bottom was aripple. Different
panties, light blue, but just as ill-fitting. Good.

    And she was in fine form, squirming and bopping to her tunes, and making
a running commentary on everything she saw, and found, and felt: "What is
THIS? (muffled) Is this. . .? Hmm, hm-hmmm, hmmm. . .Ooooh, I like this, I'm
gonna try on this sucker. . ." (a cloth would fly, I'd retrieve it and hang
it up) ". . .hmmmm,hm,hm,  hmm-hmmm. . .hmmmm, oh MAN, this is so cool!
(flip!). . ."

    And every once in awhile she would reach around and blindly pick at the
panties that crept up and around her jiggling bottom; she'd pull them out of
her crack, or slide them this way or that. It didn't seem like anything in
the way of modesty, but rather a kind of habit she'd acquired. It was really
as if I wasn't there. Indeed, a few times she pulled the panties away from
her body to such an extent that she'd reveal the definite dark line of a bare
little pussy, or even a (surprisingly deep-looking) little asshole! I had
begun to scratch tight little circles on the clit area of my jeans, beneath
the pillow. I just couldn't help it.

    I was in danger of coming pretty soon, so I was frustrated but relieved
when she emerged, announcing, "let's put 'em ON!"
    "Ohh-kay," as I stood a bit shakily, "which do you want first, my lady?"
    "Ummm. . ." she fidgeted, and poked through a few hanging specimens.
"Oh, MAN. . .I wanna try 'em ALL!" And she hugged the dresses to herself.
    "Well, that would be hard, and I don't think it'd look very nice. . ."
    She jumped away. "You pick!"
    "Sure?" She nodded vigorously. "Okay, hmmm. . ." I sifted through.
"Alright." I removed a sheer cantelope overgown. It was supposed to be worn
as a gauzy kind of covering for Victorian evening wear, veil and all,  but I
wanted to see HER. The material was a kind of tulle, like a tutu.
    Her eyes widened. "Ooooh. . ." She raised her arms, and I began trying to
slide the thing on her. But the tulle and her own knit material were not a
good mix; the gown bunched and gathered, stuck on her dress.
    Halfway down, I said, "Hmm. . .this is not going to work."
    Arms still up, awash in tulle, she said, "Should I take it off?"
    Hopes alit, I murmured, "What, honey?"
    "My dress. Should I take my dress off?"
    Cream. Casually, "If you want. That would make it easier."
    "Okay. I'm gonna take it off."
    I pulled the gown back up over her head and arms and stood as she
scrambled out of her little pink knit dress. She handed it to me, standing in
just her blue panties, socks and sneakers.
    I smiled. "I'll hang it up special. You like this dress, right?"
    She merely nodded. She looked adorable; her golden skin against that
light blue cloth; little buds of breasts, dark, dark erect nipples, fairly
large, and meaty. I hung up her dress.
    "Okay, let's try this again, shall we?" She dutifully raised her arms
again, and I slid the gown on. Like silk. And there she was.
    "Wait!" She froze. "Here, let me do this. . ." And I went to a lamp I'd
found in the attic, a high, brightlight lamp, and turned it on. It shone
across the floor. "Now. . ."
    And Nia grinned at my new stage, and began playing immediately. She held
her head high, and walked, sashayed, like a model, across the floor, through
the light that shone right through her gauzy gown.
    I sat in my Chair. And she played me, to me. All of a sudden something in
her, unaware, knew my desire, my delight, and all-unconsciously, she played
the sex kitten, and showed me what she had. She started to pose, to dance,
even to make stripping moves. How did she know this stuff? I just sat,
stunned, heavy with lust, and a little nervous. Every once in a while I would
give an "Oh, that's good, Nia," or "That looks so good on you!"
    But she was being a Model, and this was what Models did, and as a Model,
she could do a lot more, pose a lot more, show a lot more, to me as her
Audience, than just Nia, the little girl from the library. Next time, I
thought: Music.


(more?  ---heehee   xL)