("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text Archive name: yim.txt (Mg, ped, rom, asian) Authors name: Xiania Xanadoupolos (alasder@planet-save.com) Story title : Yim -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2004. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Yim by Xiania Xanadoupolos (alasder@planet-save.com) *** An unusual, but deeply intense love affair between a young girl and a thirty-something veteran in the immediate post-Vietnam era. (Mg, ped, rom, asian) *** PART ONE: Yim I looked over my newspaper. It was nothing less than a vaguely darkening feeling of foreboding that made me do it. It was the kind of sensation you get when you get to know that you are being observed in a crowd or when you sense that someone is staring at the back of your head. It had the same creepiness as waking in the winter darkness and knowing that it had snowed in the night. It is one of those inexplicable mysteries of life. It was the kind of sixth sense you cultivated very rapidly in the jungles of Vietnam - if you didn't acquire it, you didn't live to tell anyone! "Hi, Mr. Mellis!" The ten-year-old girl stood no more than five yards away staring at me. Her legs were quite widely splayed and she seemed unsteady on her feet, almost in a parody of a drunken man about to wet himself. There was a strange glitter in her eyes - as if she were high on drugs. The merest ghost of a smile flitting across her lips would not have been out of place on the Mona Lisa. "Christ!" I thought. "What's the world coming to?" I found it difficult to comprehend. "Ten year old and drug-crazed!" There was a ten year old girl in England recently who had died from overdosing on Ecstasy and a ten year old boy in up-town New York who had been convicted of trading in Crack, but this was way long before these two. "Ten year old kids should be playing with Barbie dolls or Action Man," I muttered to myself, "or staring at Walt Disney cartoons on television until they get square-eyes." She was not the prettiest girl I had seen around the trailer park by any standard, but there had been a distinct careless, sensual allure about her which was now emphasised by her school outfit. She had decently shaped legs, her best feature, which were shown to advantage. The black skirt was as short as it could get without being indecent. The white cotton blouse, under an open jet black jacket, was spotless, but hung out at one side from under the waistband of the skirt, and the black cotton stockings, that should have reached just above the calves were around her ankles so that they seemed to meld with real leather black shoes. The footwear alone would have cost the equivalent of two month's wages for me. Not for the first time I wondered why her folks lived the way they did. They arrived at the trailer compound at Dixon Park every year at the same time, around the last day in March, and they left during the last week in November. They had been putting in an appearance since before the girl was born. On this particular year they were driving two top-of-the-market European automobiles. The thing that puzzled me initially was that the girl, Yim was her name, was never with them when they arrived or left; I found out later that she was boarded at the Mary Vane Private School for Young Ladies in the city when her parents were away during the winter. Another puzzling thing was that while I saw the parents coming and going regularly and Yim playing at various places around the park, I rarely saw adults and child together. I first noticed Yim, as a person and not as a feature of the landscape, a couple of years before. She seemed always to play alone in the recreation area, never joining in the games of the other children. Her favorite piece of apparatus was the timber climbing frame. It comprised massive trunks of Californian redwood and spruce locked together in an intricate pattern topped by a ninety foot long, eight foot circumference, stripped and varnished roof tree sticking out, almost pagoda-like, at each end. She often lay astride this, precariously at the end, as she gazed down at the joggers on their circuit outside. I noticed that her hips would often start jerking frenetically as she watched the men run by. And it was on one of these occasions that we made eye contact, held for several minutes, before she smiled slyly as if we had just shared a secret. Then she turned her face away. After that, I noticed her from time to time, coming and going in her school uniform, or running around the camping site half naked. She came to the site shop occasionally, but never bought any of the crap kids usually spend their spare pocket money on. "My parents are not home yet," she said. "Can I wait with you?" "Of course, you can, Yim." I could almost smell the marijuana on her breath. I was laid back in an old wood and iron lounger cemented into the ground in the garden next to the trailer park office. I often sat there for my morning or afternoon breaks, when I could get them, with a beer or a glass of Russian tea. I glanced at my watch. "You're home early today!" I was tempted to ask, "Did you enjoy the joint?" Instead I gave a little bit of a laugh that revealed my decided nervousness in her presence. "It was the last day!" She made the statement as if she were announcing the Parousia and was expecting avenging angels to stampede from the heavens with a chorus of dies ireae at any moment. 'Last Day' was what they called the prize-giving at Mary Vane. "I got a book prize!" she exclaimed without enthusiasm. After the ceremony, traditionally the school broke up for the long summer vacation. "They unleashed us at two thirty!" The silly grin on her face became more pronounced. She set her school satchel down by the iron leg of my chair, then climbed on to my knee, not sitting on it with her backside like any normal child, but astride it as she would a pony. I was wearing extremely abbreviated shorts. She hauled her skirt even farther up before settling down. I could feel the suction from the groove of her vulva as it made contact, through her sheer panties, with my bare flesh. She laid her head on my chest and let her hand search for and settle on my crotch. I was increasingly alert and alarmed. She remained in this position for several minutes, long enough for me to think that she had fallen asleep. I was giving serious consideration to carrying her into my van and laying her on one of the bunks, when I felt the first shudder pass through her body. It was one of the most remarkable things I have ever experienced, almost like an earth tremor, starting at her hips, rippling up her spine to the base of her skull, then back again. I immediately thought of epilepsy. She looked up at me and smiled coyly. Another tremor occurred in another few minutes, then a third shortly after that. By the fourth quivering shock, there was no guesswork involved: the epicentre of the disturbance was located firmly on my bare thigh. Fifteen minutes after she had clambered up on to me, there were regular and emphatic contractions along the fault-line between her legs. Her hips started jerking as if she were indeed riding a pony, and the pressure from her hand on the bulge forming in front of my shorts became a strong pulse beating in resonance with her demanding thrusts. I stroked her hair. She gave out a little whimper like a dreaming puppy, and burst into a frenzied bucking back and forth until I could literally feel the storm burst inside her and the wetness of her orgasm seep through her panties and soak into the skin of my thigh. She continued to gasp for breath and moan as her tiny body whacked into me for another minute or so before she seemed to collapse in a sweating exhaustion. The intensity of her climax shocked me; I could not believe that one so young could experience anything like it. She clung to me while making the most peculiar injured animal sounds. In an odd way, at one and the same time I was sexually excited by the whole episode and absolutely terrified by it. I had never witnessed anything like it. Quite without warning, she climbed from my knee in yet another fifteen minutes, picked up her satchel and kissed me on the mouth. Not the genteel, polite kiss you would expect from a ten year old girl who is not a member of your family, but a wet, slobbering, open- mouthed total-war conflict with no quarter given or asked for! "Thanks, Mr. Mellis!" She turned to leave the tight little garden. "Any time, sweetheart!" It was a careless politeness without any serious thought or intention beyond the saying of it. She stopped in her tracks, turned slowly and dramatically, and stared at me intently. There was definitely something really weird about this kid. "Do you mean that, Mr. Mellis?" She demanded. There was even a touch of aggression in her voice as if she thought I had been making fun of her. "Really mean it?" I was slightly taken aback at the tone. "Of course I do!" I insisted. "Tomorrow, then?" I was even more confused. Nevertheless I replied, "Yes, fine, alright!" I had no idea what I was letting myself in for. Perhaps eight to ten years in the state penitentiary. "I'll help you in the shop," she said. She made it sound almost like a threat. She livened suddenly and scurried away. "Thanks again, Mr. Mellis!" she called over her shoulder. The school satchel seemed inordinately heavy and, as it swung wildly, it made her gait decidedly lop-sided. "See you," she called from the middle distance. "Tomorrow!" The shop was one of the perks that went with the job in the trailer park. I had enough to do as a rule, so I leased the shop to a local charity - the Presbyterian Church Hospital - for which they paid me a token $10 a day. I worked in it most mornings from eight to ten, when the church volunteers appeared and took over the running of the establishment. Most business was done either in the time I was there or in the late afternoon with folks returning from work or, in the holiday season, from touring around or sun- bathing. At any morning session I could easily rake in well in excess of $2000. I didn't complain; it was a good cause and they paid me another $50 at the end of the week for labor. Yim appeared in the early morning. There had just been a delivery and I was stacking the shelves in preparation for opening. She started instantly and the job was done in less than half the usual time. The closeness of her body, however, after the event of the previous afternoon was disturbing, to say the least. The shop is comparatively small, and the serving space behind the counter correspondingly tight. Several times I had to squeeze past her when I was serving customers, and it was more than mere imagination when she responded by pushing out her belly or backside to make physical contact. In less time than it takes to tell it, I had a stiff that would have done justice to a stallion. But as the morning wore on I was becoming increasingly impressed with this kid. She took to serving customers like a natural born shop assistant. She learned the price of everything instantly, and worked the cash machine as if she had been doing it for years. On one occasion, when a guy thought he was on a soft mark and tried to con her with a bad luck story, she had the goods back off him in a flash and stacked safely on her side of the desk. "This might be a charity shop, mister," she screeched at the offender, "but you're not it! If you don't get outa here in two seconds I'll have Mr. Mellis call the police." I gave up trying to monitor her work after half an hour. In the brief respites when there were no clients, she tidied up, picked up litter and swept up the dirt brought in on the people's shoes. The impression that the kid was hyperactive was rapidly supplanting the former one that she was over-sexed and drug-crazed. It was only when I could relax after the volunteers turned up, ten to fifteen minutes late as usual, that I really took time to notice what she was wearing: a floppy pair of shorts that appeared several sizes too big for her, an over-large blouse made of some chiffon material, and open-toed sandals on her bare feet. As I said before, she was not the most attractive girl on the site, but her clothes on that day did nothing to improve her appearance. I took her around the trailer site with me on a routine tour later in the morning. By law I had to check every fire point and hydrant, the public toilet facilities, and access and egress roads daily. I had also a couple of emergency calls to make before lunch, to a blocked sump and a main electric fuse that had blown. The kid was a real help, and she seemed genuinely interested in all the things I did, wanting to know why I did them. And could she try to do them next time? As a reward I took her for lunch at the Park diner. She ate and drank sparingly. "You're not one of those anorexic freaks, are you?" I joked. Inwardly I was adding, "As well as being hyperactive, over-sexed and drug-crazed!" The question, however, was asked less from real concern than for something to say when the conversation lagged - Yim did not have much to say for herself. It was a pleasant surprise; youngsters today seem to be besotted with the sound of their voices and the shit that comes out of their mouths is deliberately designed to irritate rather than inform. Personally, I could not have cared less whether she was anorexic or diarrhoeic, hyperactive or over-sexed and drug-crazed. In fact, I was beginning to like this kid exactly the way she was. And that really worried me! "I'm not hungry," she said. Then quite out of the blue that odd gleam appeared in her eye. "Not for food, anyway!" She stared again, like a vampire. And then she clamped up and seemed to be sulking. "I hate eating for the sake of eating!" I had to think of some other way to reward her. In the afternoon all hell was let loose. One of the trailers caught fire. There was young boy inside; he was only about a year old, and ought never to have been left alone. I had to smash the door to splinters to get inside. I brought the kid out with the bedding of his cot already smouldering. Yim turned a water hose on the screaming baby and stripped off the clothing. By the time the fire department appeared on the scene, the mobile home was a total write-off, and the young child's mother a blubbering slither of potential suicide. We got both of them transported to the local emergency hospital. I collected the names of some witnesses and retreated to my own trailer to write out a report for the insurance people and my employers. Yim lay spread-eagled on a bunk for a while. She picked up one of my trade journals, glanced hastily through it, then tossed it aside unceremoniously, and selected another. She went through a pile of them in ten minutes. "Jeeeeeesussss!" I spun round to stare at her. She was looking at the centrefold in a girlie magazine recently rescued from one of the vacant trailers. "Would you look at the zonkers on that!" She turned the photograph in my direction. "Tits like that are freakish!" Funnily enough, I agreed, although I scarcely afforded the picture a glance. More interestingly, Yim's legs were still spread, but she had bent her knees and dug her feet into the bunk so that her ankles were almost at her butt. The floppy shorts were gaping wide, and there was no way I could have avoided noticing it: she was not wearing panties and the full pound of flesh was in open view, plump, ripe pussy labia slightly parted and swollen, pink and moist, and inviting. For the first time in my life I viewed a preteen girl as a potential sex object. The full implication smashed into my gut. Genuinely, I felt sick! This little sex piece was a private and personal invitation to spend a few years in jail; I had to get shot of her as soon as possible. There was a sharp triple thump on the door. It brought me back to earth with a bump. I looked out at two grim- faced patrol policemen. My stomach looped the loop and crash-dived. "Get rid of that trash," I ordered with a tone of voice that begged no question. "And sit up. And look sweet. It's the cops!" They demanded my account of the fire. I offered a copy of the report I was making. One officer studied the sheets of paper; the other seemed more interested in Yim. "This your daughter?" The man had been around long enough to know that I was bachelor and had no family. There was calculated sarcasm in the words. He had the kind of supercilious sneer the moral majority assume when they think they have stumbled across some deviation from the strait and normal missionary- position, blessed-by-the-church, marital sex. Especially when it involves a female child and an adult male. "This is Yim Callahan." I tried to sound casual. "She's been helping me in her school holidays. She was with me at the fire this afternoon. She helped rescue the baby from the trailer. I needed her evidence for the insurance company." The sneer evaporated. "So! You're the one who doused the kid in water?" Respect replaced the sneer. His eyes did not roam over her as they would have done were she prettier. In fact, he seem to be embarrassed now by her plainness. "You saved that little boy's life. He had third degree burns, but the doctors say that he was hyperventilating and would have died if he hadn't been cooled down when he was." He chucked her chin playfully. Yim, however, was not in the least amused. She scowled at the police officer. "You deserve a medal," he said. He laughed. "We'll have to see about getting you fixed up with something!" I was a bit disgruntled at the remarks. "The kid would not be hyperventilating if I had left him in the trailer," I was thinking to myself. "He would have been an over-cooked cinder!" I kept my opinions to myself; I learned a long time ago, as a street kid, not to argue with cops. "I hate these pigs!" declared the young girl when the two officers had finally left the trailer with little more than a promise of a copy of the fire report. The venom in the voice was frightening. However, I concurred completely, but I grunted, "Don't say things like that! At least not aloud! No matter how strongly you may feel about them!" I watched the patrol car drive away from the office space. I swung round in my chair and chucked her under the chin in imitation of what the policeman had done. And even as I did it, I realised that I was a bundle of confused emotions. I wanted to push her back onto the bunk and grope up under the leg of her shorts. I wanted to do a hundred and one other, illegal things to her. The shock to the system was shattering. I was sweating. I had never felt like this about anyone before, never mind a ten year old girl. I swung away. I pulled $20 from my desk. "You've worked hard today, Yim," I said with as much lightness as I could muster. "Here's your wages." I threw the two ten dollar bills on to her lap. "You deserve every cent. You've been a great help." The close confines of the trailer were getting to me. The walls were closing in on me and the smell of the small female body was overpowering. She sat there on the bunk with the money in her lap. She made no attempt to pocket it - if she had any pockets in her grotesque shorts. Very slowly, she raised her eyes to mine and said, "I didn't do it for the money." Her eyes had taken on that far-away glaze. "I know you didn't sweetheart," I replied. I swallowed. I glanced at the clock on the desk. "Won't your folks be getting worried about you?" She shook her head and, rising, she demanded in a voice that was not to be ignored, "Can I sit on your leg?" Two things registered. One: the door was still lying half open since the cops' visit. Two: I recalled the mess on my thigh after her humping the day before. I did not want the mess on my pants. "You'd better lock the door," I said. I thought I had better get my priorities right. She complied, then dropped her shorts. She waited until I had removed my trousers before mounting me again. She cuddled into me and laid her head on my chest. She sighed deep contentment. "Mr. Mellis," she murmured. "Uh-huh?" I could feel the contraction running through her body already. I could also feel her hand groping for my crutch. "I love you, Mr. Mellis." I had to say it. The kid was expecting it and it could have damaged her self-esteem and psyche if I remained silent. "I love you too, Yim!" I felt for her tiny breasts. To my surprise I found them. To my even greater surprise, I found that I was getting a great deal of gratification from fondling golf-ball-sized swellings. Then she let loose. I'll swear it with my dying breath: that kid had a multiple orgasm that day. She was astride my thigh for the best part of an hour and I doubt if anyone could have made fuller use of the time. And even when I was wiping her with a towel when I thought it was all over, she seemed prepared for yet another state of the arts climax. "Can I come again tomorrow, Mr. Mellis?" I was on the point of answering, "I would not be at all surprised if you could come at the drop of a hat!" I studied her serious face and deadly intent eyes and found it impossible to say anything but, "Of course you can, Yim!" She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. It was full-mouth, lips, teeth and tongue stuff. This time I responded in kind. I fondled her tiny tits again, then her crotch and was not surprised when my finger slipped its full length into her without obstruction. When she finally pulled away, she hauled on her shorts and made for the door. "Could you wear a skirt?" She smiled. "Anything to please," she said. "Seven thirty." "And knickers!" She laughed happily. It was infectious. I laughed. I watched from the window as she ran in the direction of the Callahan trailer. I wondered how long I would have before I was serving time for technical rape of a minor. For it was almost certain that I would soon be insinuating my sexual needs upon her with something more than a finger. I had little idea that evening that one day I would be marrying the little sex kitten, that she would give me two quite staggeringly handsome sons, and that thirty years on, she is still capable of shooting a daily multiple - only she no longer needs my thigh. She is still hyperactive when it comes to work, and she still uses the odd joint. But who the hell cares? I can honestly say that I have never needed to cast lascivious glances at another female. And I seriously believe that I satisfy her sufficiently to keep her from other men. And to this day she still calls me 'Mister Mellis'. PART TWO: Yim Yam The voice came from a million light years away. "Mr. Mellis!" There was an urgency that seemed totally irrelevant. All I wanted was to slip deeper into black oblivion. The universe was swaying gently side to side like an old-fashioned cradle in an unavoidable invitation to sleep. "Mr. Mellis!" The voice was persistent; it battled against a deafening chorus of dark angels banging drums and howling wolves. "Mr. Mellis! We gotta get outa here!" The entire universe was rocking back and forward obscenely. It took an eternity and a half, but I finally managed to force an eyelid open. Then the other. I gazed on the sweetest, most beautiful face that could have been created by a Raphael or Leonardo. Very slowly, painfully as if the use of the eyes was being ripped from my face, I began to focus. "Yim?" The first impression was one of overwhelming disappointment; Yim Callahan never was an oil painting! Now don't get me wrong; Yim is the only person in the entire world that I would risk my life for - after all, I had already decided that she was the one person who was going to share my life. The feelings that followed, however, were that I had been beaten by a horde of berserk karate enthusiasts in a bar brawl, thrown to Everglade alligators and spewed out then spread as manure on a Vietnamese coolie's paddy. "Yim?" I demanded again, half-hoping that I was wrong and that the vision of beauty would reappear. The sound coming from the back my head was most definitely not my voice; I had become a ventriloquist's dummy, and had an irresistible urge to twist round to see who was speaking on my behalf. The pain of the movement tore me apart. I passed out. There was a vague recollection of my body being dragged through swelling seas. I can only half remember scrambling, half crawling, being half carried along on the incoming tide, my body battered by a thousand blackjacks, each hell-bent on my destruction. Then blessed blackness again, but this time with the sensations of numbness and drunken insensitivity rapidly wearing away; I was conscious of an excruciating burning in the region of my neck, legs and lower abdomen. After another seeming eternity I asked, "What the hell happened?" "You almost went and got yourself killed," replied a tearful Yim. "That's what happened!" She hiccuped back the sobs. "I told you not to go out there. Jeeesus!" I knew then that she was mad; Yim, to this day, only swears when she loses her cool! "In the middle of a tornado! You must be nuts! You could have got yourself killed!" The floodgate of tears burst. "Then what would I have done? Christ! I love you, Mr. Mellis! And I want to live with you for ever!" And remembrance came flooding back. "The hurricane!" I must have spoken my thought. Or perhaps it was Yim in her tirade. "Yes, the fucking hurricane!" And I knew then for an indisputable fact that she was really, really mad! And not just mental! There had been several days warning, long enough for most of the trailer people to evacuate the site. Those who had nowhere else to go sought refuge in the more solid buildings in and around the park. I had secured all the vans that were the property of the company who owned the trailer compound. On the last day considered safe for outside work, I had secured most of the trailers in the home bays starting with the farthest, working on the logic that the nearer I was to home when the storm actually broke the easier it would be to retreat to the comparative safety of the office or the site store. I had miscalculated badly! The double berth van nearest the store where we had taken refuge, was bouncing like a single piece of popcorn in an overheated pan. And it was bouncing in our direction and threatening to crash into out safe haven. I had to do something! It was Yim who suggested the store rather than the slightly more solid office because, as she said, there we had provisions and there was a cellar and there was no way of knowing how long the storm would last. And every tornado or hurricane brought out the looters - and just let them try looting our store! The Callahans had gone off on some business trip to South America, Brazil, I think it was, and had left Yim in my care. It was in the second week of their absence that the hurricane warning came through. I thanked providence for the kid, for there is no way I could have coped alone; she did as much I did to make the trailer compound as safe as it could be under the circumstances. There was never any messing around as far as Yim was concerned - she was in the habit of getting straight to the point. After she rescued me and had me safely inside, she ripped my shirt and pants from me and started a salvaging job on my broken gut and lower limbs. She swabbed blood and padded me with towels and wrapped bandages around the wounds. She improvised a set of splints for my thigh and poured straight scotch down my throat as she set the bone straight. I passed out several times. She got us bedded down on a palette on the floor for the duration of the storm; she stripped. I had enough consciousness left to appreciate what great legs she had: long, shapely, tapering and slender - I vowed I would marry her simply to get between those legs. She snuggled into me. The smell of sex emanating from Yim was always strong, but at that particular moment it was overpowering. She could not make use of my thigh that night; she humped my hand instead. And jacked me off. I shall be eternally grateful for all she did that day! Keep your cover girls and glamorous pussies or hide them away in a folder out of sight of the wife and kids; I decided I was better off with what I had. Even though I was still convinced that I would be doing ten to fifteen in the state penitentiary for statutory rape of a minor. Yim Callahan had continued to work for me all through that first long summer vacation from school. Hand on heart, I can say: I have never at any time had a more reliable helper. No pussying around; if there was a problem anywhere on the trailer compound, she could discuss it sensibly, objectively and practically, from which we could do something positive about it, anything from fixing the water pressure in the public toilet facilities to evicting a troublesome tenant. Then, on Monday of the first week of September of that first year she announced, "I become a yam tomorrow." Her voice was solemn. The tone of voice would not have been out of place in a Salem courthouse with a judge passing sentence on a convicted witch. I stared at her. "A yam? Like a vegetable yam? You turn into a vegetable! Tomorrow!" I was sitting on a crate of Californian apples during a respite in the early morning 'busy' in the site store. I nodded. She shrugged. I demanded, "And how the hell do you propose doing that?" I liked the kid, I really liked her, but the closer I had gotten to her had never in any way rubbed the surface off the thought that she was less than two degrees off an isosceles triangle whose corners didn't quite meet. I wiped imaginary sweat from my face. "I go into the senior school this year - tomorrow," she explained gravely. "They call the new girls yams there." She set to work cleaning out the dirt carried in on the footwear of the customers and rearranging the goods on the shelves. "I won't be able to help here after today." She paused in her labors. "Well, not till next summer anyway!" There was an tenseness in her face that troubled me for some reason. Did she want a severance payment? No problem - she deserved it every cent I had given her. I snickered quietly at the libidinous thoughts fleeing through my head, and she punted a sour look in my direction; it was as if she were able to read my dirty mind. Then shock! There were tears in her eyes. "I really like working with you Mr. Mellis," she declared in defiance of the tears. "I really do like you Mr. Mellis!" "I like you too, Yim." I found to my horror that I really and truly meant what I was saying. "I was really glad to have your help. And your company!" "Mr. Mellis," she gasped. The tears were cascading down her cheeks. "I liked all the things we did! The sex things!" She was trembling. "Mr. Mellis, I really love you!" "I love you too, Yim." I have to admit that, while I meant most of it, I had to have reservations. I mean to say, she was only about to become eleven years old. Her body, apart from her great legs, betrayed her age, but her face was a lot older. I swallowed. I had to say it. "I really love you too, Yim!" And quite without warning the feeling crept up on me - I wanted to tear off the ridiculous clothes she was wearing, throw her across the counter and fuck the daylight shit out of her. When the church people finally turned up, just in the nick of time, Yim and I beat a hasty retreat to my trailer. We stripped. She mounted my thigh and jerked me. I held her tight and very close. After jacking off, we lay naked together on my bunk and fell asleep. And I knew for a fact that I would die rather than not have this kid as my wife. There was nothing sloppy or romantic about it; it was the same feeling that I had when I knew I was going to be drafted and sent to Vietnam - it was just one of those unavoidable things. We each shot off a couple of times and that drew the summer activities to a close. After she became yam, I didn't see Yim again until the following July. Her parents collected her from the Mary Vane at Christmas and took her to Brazil, then collected her again at Easter and took her to Mexico. I had a wriggling feeling in my gut that they suspected that all was not entirely above board, polite chit-chat between their daughter and me. I worried a bit about it, even though I knew for a fact that Yim was not a blabbermouth. It was something of a relief when they made their appearance in the trailer compound early in June and booked in, slightly later than they did normally. Yim turned up at the store on the first day of the long school vacation. She looked more than a year older, no prettier about the face, but she definitely had developed boobs and she had great legs! All her other failings faded into insignificance when I beheld those legs under the shortest skirt I could have imagined. "Hi Mr. Mellis!" "Last day?" "Uh-huh! Yesterday! I got a stupid book prize again." She looked around the place with a hypercritical eye. "I swapped it for a set of Roller records." She took hold of a broom and started cleaning out. "I had read it before anyhow; several times!" She sounded hurt, as if it were the unforgivable sin to give anyone a book that had already been read. She paused in her burst of activity to stare at me. "Did you miss me?" "I certainly did, Yim!" "Honestly? Truly turkey?" "Cross my heart, Yim! And hope to live to a great old age!" I settled my gaze on her legs, and realized I had a stiff that would have split her in two were I to force it into her. "And I have not looked at another female! Honest! True!" It happened to be true too! I had had several offers and must admit I had been sorely tempted, but somehow the image of Yim intervened. It was the weirdest thing and it scared the hell out of me. Even as I gazed my fill at her and felt a surge of satisfaction and contentment sweep over me, the feeling that the kid was no way normal did not diminish. We worked hard all that first day, and we worked well together. The store was exceptionally busy and the church volunteers were later than usual. There were several emergency call-outs including a shooting that would bring the cops around the place again. It was late at night when I got her to myself for half an hour. We went at it like hungry beasts; she on my thigh and I with her hand. I drove her round to the Callahan trailer, sneaked a wet kiss and had an exploratory feel at her apparatus with a promise of more on the morrow. She snickered and ran towards the van. It was near the end of the summer that the hurricane broke. It lasted the best part of three days. The paramedics, when they finally arrived, and the surgeons at the Presbyterian Church Hospital, expressed admiration at Yim's handiwork. I had regained some of my sense of humor, and chuckled in agreement: it would have been difficult indeed to fault her hand work. She had quite a mouth on her too, and I intended to put a blow job high on my list of priorities as soon as I was released from hospital. I was hospitalized for ten days. The company that owned the trailer park sent me a 'thank you' note and a fat bonus, since the insurance claims were way far below what they had expected. They had also arranged for a retired janitor to 'fill in' during my absence. "An ignorant, lazy bastard," was Yim's unbiased assessment of the man when she visited me in hospital. "And he tried to feel me up..." I felt flattered. Yim may be slightly mad, but she is no-one's fool! I thought about suggesting that she let me feel her up any time I wanted, but decided that silence was the wiser half of valor. "I punched his face and told him I'd report him to the cops if ever he tried that trick again!" She brought me fruit and flowers. When she saw me eyeing stock from the store she protested vehemently, "I paid for the stuff with my own money!" "I never doubted for a moment you would, Yim," I answered. "But you shouldn't have bothered. I'll be out of here in a couple of days." She leaned over and kissed me with full moist lips. "You take as long as you like, Mr. Mellis," she said quietly. "I'll take good care of the properties for you. I promise!" She reconsidered. "Until September anyway!" I was in plaster for the remainder of the year. Out of respect for my age and my predicament, Yim refrained from mounting my thigh. The night before she was due to restart at the Mary Vane we exchanged hand-jobs and wet kisses. I decided to renege on the blow job - I would wait till next summer! She looked in briefly on me during the Christmas break while her parents waited in another brand new automobile outside on their way to Florida for the winter. She left me a couple of video nasties, then pointed at my leg. "Will that be mended by summer?" she demanded. I was deadly serious. "I think by next summer we'll have progressed beyond that point." I kissed her seriously and played with her breast. "You're getting to be a big girl now," I said when we pulled apart. "And getting to be quite an eyeful!" She nodded. He held my eyes in her gaze. "Promise? No slipping out of it?" "I promise, Yim. If you really want it, I'll supply it!" "I'll want it, Mr. Mellis!" she exclaimed. "Oh, yes, I'll definitely want it!" And she was gone. Roll on summer! PART THREE: I'm Yim I'm Yim Callahan. You may have heard of me. We were sitting together in the brick built office of the Dixon Park trailer complex. It was something I really loved doing - just Mr. Mellis and me. "Have you got a boyfriend yet, Yim?" Mr. Mellis asked. He was half-heartedly checking some unpaid accounts. Mr. Mellis really hated asking people for money. If they were more than a couple of weeks late in paying the ground rental, he would rather tell them to move out. "Of course I have," I replied. I tossed aside the trade journal I was browsing. I find it extremely difficult to hide my feeling. I could actually feel the scowl clouding my face and the frown creasing my forehead. "He is sitting across from me now." He laughed. Mr. Mellis has the oddest-sounding laugh you could possibly imagine. When he starts to laugh at a joke, in no time at all, everyone around joins in the laughter whether they understand the joke or not. But I was not amused. He looked up. He noticed - actually he is very fast on the up-take. "Why?" I demanded. "Are you showing me the exit?" I stood up. "Of course not, Yim," said Mr. Mellis. He looked embarrassed. "You should know me better than ask a thing like that." "Well? Why ask a thing like that?" He leaned across pulled at my shirt to bring my face down real close to his, and he kissed me as only Mr. Mellis can kiss. "Because, I guess I have to resign myself to losing you to some other guy some day." He fell back into place. He sensed the outrage I felt. He waved a hand in the air. "Yim," he said quietly, "let's face it: I am no spring chicken..." "Christ! You're thirty four! So? You've been in Vietnam! So?" He seemed surprised at my knowing how old he was. He was also always most unhappy about any reference to Vietnam for some reason. He flapped his mouth several times before he actually spoke. "And you're fourteen!" He made it sound like an accusation. "There's a gap of twenty years!" "And so?" "And so you're going to look around and see other guys who are a bit younger and better looking and have more to offer. You have a life to live, Yim!" He threw the account book aside. I said, "I have looked around. I look around every day. I also look in the mirror! I don't kid myself. I am not Miss Arkansas and certainly no Miss America..." "There is nothing you see in the mirror to be ashamed of." He said it as if he really meant it. "All right, you are not a beauty queen! But you have great legs. And who the hell would want to live with a beauty queen anyhow?" "... and so far I haven't seen anything I like better than you. But when I do, I promise you: you'll be the first to know!" I could imagine myself stamping a foot to the floor as someone did in Little Women - that was the indignation I was feeling. Instead I was aware of tears of frustration gathering in my eyes. "I don't think there will be anyone else for me. I'm stuck with you. That's the way I want it. Christ! I love you, Mr. Mellis!" For the record: I have lived with Mr. Mellis for twenty five years now. I have given him two tremendous sons - maybe more about them later! In that time I have loused up only once - with the guy who organized the self- defense classes for women in the Dixon Park Community Center, and again, for the record, he was nothing half as good as Mr. Mellis third time round on an off-day; consequently when he offered a second time, I declined. I am pretty sure Mr. Mellis has not gone off the straight and narrow, not only because he has told me so (and I don't know of any occasion when he has lied to me), but because I have seen him interact with other females and, beyond a mild flirting and back-chat, he has shown no inclination to lay any of them. And apart from anything else, Mr. Mellis is a great guy and I would rip the eyes from any cow who tried to take advantage of him. And Mr. Mellis knows it! Mr. Mellis is great sex. I can still blast off even during his foreplay; it is truly magic. But I did have a sex life before Mr. Mellis. First let me tell you about something that happened when I was fourteen shortly after the foregoing conversation. Mr. Mellis had a regular poker school going. Originally it was in his trailer, then in the house built for him by the company that owned the trailer park. As a matter of fact, it was at a kind of belated house-warming poker party that it happened. Well, two things happened. There was lots of beer and hard alcohol like scotch, vodka, Mexican rum. Half way through the night, which was getting progressively more drunken and disorderly, one of the guys was trying to roll a smoke like a chimpanzee scratching his ass. The weed was going everywhere. I had been doing this sort of thing since I was eight. I took the stuff from him and produced a perfect joint in less than five seconds. I even lit it for him. It was something I did automatically. But suddenly I was aware that all the men at the card table were staring at me in a most peculiar way. At that time fourteen year old kids weren't supposed to do that sort of thing. Apart from anything else, it was illegal and had we been caught smoking dope it could have jeopardized Mr. Mellis's job. The silence was getting to be embarrassing until one of the card players said, "Well, don't be a hog! Pass it round!" The guy with the smoke did so, and all the men had a pull - all except Mr. Mellis. He sat with an expression of impending doom on his face. I could see that he was not pleased. Nor could I miss the look of disapproval thrown in my direction. I knew I was in for a bawling as soon as the men left and was mentally preparing for it when the second thing happened that threw the proverbial spanner in the clockwork, that also stood like a screen between me and the bawling I deserved, and strangely enough almost certainly cemented our future married like. The house was built, following a tornado, as a safe retreat, for off-duty recreation, watching television or playing cards, and as sleeping quarters. The kitchen was a sort of add-on annexed afterthought between the house and the site office. Mr. Mellis had asked me to make some fresh coffee - black and strong - some of the guys were really getting high on drink and smokes. One of the men, a bouncer at the casino in Dixon Park and built like a semi-human version of King Kong, followed me. He closed the door from the annex to the house. I cleaned out the coffee pot and filled it with fresh water and had just switched on the power when this guy came up behind and put his arms around me and squeezed my tits as if his life depended on it. I humored him and pushed him away. I made to walk in the direction of the door. He hauled me back, lifted me with less effort than he lifted his can of beer, and threw me across a table. He had a hand over my mouth and another up my skirt. He peeled off my panties and splayed my legs. It was obvious that he had done this sort of thing before. "Make one sound other than a grunt of appreciation," he growled at me while undoing his flies and pulling out his cock, "and I will break your fucking little neck." He brought his face very close to mine. "Do you fucking understand?" I nodded. He slipped two fingers full length into me and worked them in and out a couple of times then introduced the head of his cock. In my life it was the biggest thing I ever had to take. It hurt. It hurt like hell. He removed the hand from my mouth to uncover my chest and I screamed. And if there is one thing I can do really well, it is screaming! It was like the fake cinematography in one of those sci-fi or Billy Wilder spoof western films. It seemed that the scream was only half-way out of my mouth when Mr. Mellis was pulling the rapist away even as he was thrusting his cock fully into me. He threw a karate chop at the guy's neck and a straight jab at his chest, then kicked him in the groin in an attack so synchronized and perfectly coordinated that Bruce Lee would have blushed with envy. The look of complete bewilderment on the victim's face was worth being sexually assaulted for. Before he actually hit the floor he had a broken rib and a smashed ankle. Blood poured from his nose and his mouth and spurted everywhere and only the whites of his eyes were showing. "Jeee-ssssussss!" Six astonished male faces stared down at the crumpled mess on the floor. Mr. Mellis turned his attention to me. "Are you all right, Yim?" he asked quietly, picking up my panties from the floor. When I assured him, he turned angrily on the others. "Get this fucking piece of shit outa my house. And if ever I see him anywhere on the site again, I'll eat his fucking liver. Now, git! All of you!" That was one of the great formative moments in my life. I knew for a fact, an incontrovertible fact, that there would never be anyone ever to replace Mr. Mellis in my life. As he hugged me close, I knew that he knew it too. Now, back to what I was telling you about: I was smoking pot from about the age of eight, and I was getting screwed fairly regularly from shortly after my ninth birthday for more than a year until that first ever summer I worked with Mr. Mellis. After that whenever anyone tried to touch me I tore at him like a wild cat; I paid for all my smokes after that with hard cash. I was raped once more, more seriously, after I met Mr. Mellis, and we shall come to that in due course. I started smoking when I found a joint ready rolled in the glove compartment of my dad's Type E Jaguar - both my parents drove only top-of-the-range foreign cars. I was playing cops and robbers all by myself, chasing bank robbers through the streets of Los Angeles or New York. There was also a gun in the glove compartment; I toyed with it briefly, shooting guys in the balls, but it was the smoke that really intrigued me. I took it to a place like a maze quite near the trailer complex in Dixon Park. It made me dizzy and slightly sick when I lit it and pulled on it like I saw guys doing on television. But I liked the sensation. And after that first smoke I was hooked. I also spent all day in that corner of the Park in a kind of trance. I was about to start school again in a few days. I knew that some of the older girls smoked, and started to figure out how I could get into the act. The Mary Vane is two separate schools: the elementary and the senior with a sprawling sports complex between them. The sports facilities are shared by a third (senior boys') school called The Gilbert Stedman. The janitor at the Mary Vane elementary also helped keep our share of the sports complex in good order. He was an extrovert, Father Christmas sort of guy who was part of the real world for us; he would talk seriously about things that were important to troubled kids. The fact that he touched us up was of little consequence. He never got a girl seriously pregnant nor did anything a girl didn't want to do or anything like that. When I asked him about smokes, he laughed and ruffled my hair, but did not answer yea or nay! A couple of days later, he grabbed me by the hand as I was passing our sports pavilion. He took me inside, pushed me against the wall and stuck his hand up my skirt and under my panties. He kissed me. Then he sat on the floor with me, lit a joint, pulled hard then handed it to me. I remember it because the peculiar smell of my pussy was still on his fingers, and consequently on the joint. He showed me how to smoke it properly. Later he showed me how to roll a smoke perfectly. And from then on, from time to time, he supplied me with the odd joint, mainly as a huge joke, in return for a glimpse and a feel at what was under my skirt. I would go to his office, usually at the weekend when there were no classes. We often smoked together in a store cupboard with an electric air ejector among the brooms and brushes, mops and pails. I would either get felt up there, sitting with my knees apart on a raised duckboard or standing against the wall in his office while he groped under my knickers. He was so gentle when he slipped a finger into my cunt that it hardly seemed an intrusion - just a sensation. Occasionally as he was feeling me up he would jack off, then grin as if it were all a huge joke to him. It was shortly after my ninth birthday that I started to get fucked in return for smokes from some of the older boys from the Gilbert Stedman. I stumbled on a couple of them one Saturday morning. It was during a break in football practise. The two boys were having a smoke and a piss in a patch of wilderness called 'the burning bush' by the senior girls at Mary Vane because of the constant haze that seemed to hang over the place. I had not had a smoke for several weeks, and had wandered off in that direction on the off-chance that there may be some older, sympathetic girls there. I was a bit taken aback when I interrupted the boys and blurted out something like, "Hi, guys! Can I have a smoke?" But the effect was ultra-dramatic. Both were pissing. Both swung round. One of them was still streaming as he tried to tuck his cock back into his pants. The other just went on pissing, then jerked his cock a couple of times before stashing it away. "You're kidding, huh?" he said. He eyed me curiously. I'll never forget that look - a mixture of senior schoolboy contempt for a female kid, humor and unmitigated lust. He seemed to be staring at my legs and summing me up. The school skirt of the Mary Vane elementary was extremely short and left very little room for imagination. He wiped his mouth after taking a pull at his joint. "You're too young!" he concluded. "For what?" "How old are you anyway?" asked the other guy who now had a huge piss stain on the front of his pants. I giggled at the sight when he tried to cover it with his hands. "Old enough to smoke!" The piss stain sneered. "Yea, like old enough to vote!" His companion continued to size me up. The grin seemed frozen on his face. "Or old enough to bleed?" he asked. "Anyone can bleed," I countered. "We better get back, Dave," piss stain said nervously. He nipped the end of his joint and stuck it in a pocket on his waistband. Dave hesitated. "Yeah! Right!" He studied the joint for a second then did as the other guy had done. He threw me one last lascivious look. "You really smoke?" I nodded. He said, "Right! Three this afternoon." He grinned. "Dressed just like that!" He pointed a thin finger in the direction of my skirt. I had reservations. Consequently I was nearly half an hour late in turning up at 'the burning bush'. Dave was obviously annoyed; it was obvious that he resented having to wait for his females. He made some comment like, "Took your fucking time getting here!" The hostility was so heavy in the voice that I turned to go back the way I had come; the fact was that I has suddenly become very frightened. Dave was there on his own. "Cool it kid," he said. The voice softened as he held me by the shoulder. "I am sorry. I just hate to be kept waiting..." "Where's the other guy?" Dave sneered. "Took cold feet!" I suggested, "Still drying out his piss patch?" I giggled and that put me at my ease. Dave laughed. He took my hand. "Let's get outa this place. It's like public here!" He led me into the little woodland that was situated almost equidistant from the three schools. "I like privacy..." He made it sound as if he found it discreet to leave the sentence unfinished. Again I had misgivings. "You got smokes?" I insisted. "You're not gonna hurt me?" He stopped and stared at me. "I got a joint, yeah!" he assured me. "Why the fuck would I want to hurt you?" He pulled my hand. "You are like crazy, kid!" We went into a clump of stuff like rhododendron. He looked around with something like self-satisfaction on his face. "This will do!" He sat. I sat. It is a physical impossibility to sit on the ground in a Mary Vane elementary school skirt without putting your all on public display. I did my best; I pushed my skirt down as far as it would go over my panties, then placed my hands on my crotch. The boy sneered. He lit the smoke, pulled on it deeply then handed it to me. I had to use both hands. I pressed my knees together. He stared. There were no inhibitions to start with; the smoke did little to help. He leaned forward and separated my knees. "You got great legs, kid," he commented casually. He kept staring at my panties. "Your best feature! Why not flaunt them?" He leaned against the thick stem of the shrub and had another deep pull at the smoke and studied my crotch. "I could get into bad trouble for this!" He handed the joint across. He looked disoriented and passed a hand across his face in a badly coordinated attempt to wipe his forehead. He seemed to be sweating despite the autumn cold. "You been down with a boy yet?" "You mean 'laid'?" I shook my head. "No. I am only nine! Why? Are you planning to rape me?" There had been a girl from the Mary Vane senior school raped in Dixon Park at the end of the previous year. "I scream like hell," I said. His stare became even more vacant. "You are one fucking weird kid" He fell silent then repeated. "I could get into bad trouble for this." He shifted clumsily to sit alongside me. I noticed the bulge in front of his pants. He made small chat for a while, asking my name, my home, what I did at school and in my spare time. He put an arm across my shoulder. "Can I kiss you?" I nodded. He wasn't very good at it, but perhaps the smoke did not help. He undid the buttons of my jacket and rubbed the silky cotton blouse roughly in the area of my chest. He fumbled with the buttons of my blouse. I undid a couple rather than have them torn from the fabric. He played with the tiny nipples on my flat chest for a while. Then made another attempt at a kiss. "You are one fucking weird kid," he mumbled again. "But I like you!" He fell silent again. We finished the smoke in silence. I could scarcely help noticing that his erection had not subsided. Briefly I wondered if it was pay-off time. His hand slipped between my thighs. He began to caress from the knee upwards. "Christ, you have great legs," he repeated. He hand settled on my mound. "There are a few girls I know who would kill to have legs like those." He rubbed up and down the groove through the material of my panties. I did not know how to respond, consequently I was absolutely passive. Quite suddenly he stood up. He pulled me to my feet. He kissed me with a bit more success. He referred to his wristwatch. "I have to go," he said, "but I'd like to see you again." He brushed down my skirt and buttoned my blouse. "Next Saturday?" I nodded. "Same time?" Again I nodded. He kissed me again. This time his hand went under my skirt and down the front of my panties to feel me up, in the way the janitor did. And that was it. He led me back to 'the burning bush' and we went our separate ways. I was shocked when I got back to the dormitory at school. I had been away for nearly three hours, and it seemed only a few minutes. On the following Saturday the two boys were waiting at 'the burning bush'. Dave introduced piss stain. "This is Steve!" He snickered when he saw that I was on the point of giggling. "He has dried out sufficiently to appear in public!" He took my hand and led the way into the woods. The routine of the previous Saturday was repeated, except that I noticed that both boys were erect and aroused from the very first moment. "Hasn't she got great legs, Steve?" They were sitting on either side of me. Dave brushed back the short skirt to reveal my crotch. He caressed my thigh and invited Steve to feel the softness of my skin. Before I knew what was happening I was flat on my back, Dave had pulled off my panties, Steve had bared my chest. "Are we going to fuck her, man?" asked Steve. He seemed uncertain. "Not today," replied Dave. "We do her today, it will be a once only. We fuck her when she's good and ready and we fuck her for a year and a day." He leaned over to my face. "Is that not so, kid?" I nodded. He started to finger fuck me as Steve kissed my mouth and licked my chest and belly button. I don't recall a lot about that afternoon. It did not mean a great deal to me; I certainly didn't cum. I remember that we had more than one smoke and that I jacked both of them off and promised to suck them the next time round, but it was just small talk and very little real substance. In fact, it was that next week that I was fucked for the first time. When it happened, it was almost like an anti-climax in a silent second-grade movie in monochrome. And I admit that I was one hundred percent to blame. I had had a terrible week at school; the work bored me to distraction and, although I could have done all the stuff blindfold and walking backward in the dark, I got rotten grades throughout, got yelled at by all the teachers, and I fell out with the only friend I have in the school. The janitor was off sick. It rained almost continually from Saturday night through to the next Saturday. I was in a foul mood when I reached the rendezvous, made no better by the fact that it was still raining and I was greeted by piss-stain. Dave was not there. "He got a place at Harvard," Steve explained. "We were kicking our heels here. He left yesterday..." It was as if he had intended to say more but thought better of it. He looked decidedly nervous. Rain water dripped from the end of his nose. "You got a smoke?" I demanded. "Yeah! Not here though!" He definitely looked troubled. "Let move!" he pointed in the direction of the complex where the sports pavilions were. The place seemed deserted. "Over there!" When we got to where he had indicated, there were a couple of guys already sitting on the floor inside smoking. Both were dressed in football kit. Steve introduced them as Pete and Brit. Pete was white, Brit was black; both looked at least a couple of years younger than piss stain. The white boy shifted his eyes sullenly and commented. "Jesus Christ, Steve! She's only a kid!" The black boy stood up. He unbuttoned and removed my raincoat. The Mary Vane elementary raincoat, unlike the rest of the school uniform, is not ready made for fashion; if anything, it is designed to hide a girl's natural talents - it is dark blue and shapeless from the shoulder pads to the hemline and reaches several inches below a girl's knees. The boy shook the rain water from it and folded it over a kind of trellis- topped table. He turned back to me. He stared at the short skirt and grinned. "Only a kid, she may be, man," he said brightly, "but she got great legs!" He threw a playful punch and gave that peculiar black man giggle. "I'll bet she's a great kid!" He took the weed from the younger white guy, squeezed the moist end of it dry against his shirt and handed it to me. "Sit, kid. Make yooself comfortable!" I took a long pull in the way the janitor had shown me and held a hand over my mouth and nose before I sat. I made no attempt to correct the obvious shortcomings of the Mary Vane elementary skirt. There was a slight touch of rebellion in my mood, but I rather enjoyed being admired by older boys, and quite deliberately sat with my knees splayed. Three pair of eyes examined my panty-clad apparatus with relish, and for the first time ever in my life I felt myself getting wet where it really mattered, not just sticky moist as pre-teen kids are supposed to get, but seriously sopping wet. And I knew that it showed. I could see that both Steve and the black boy were hard. The white boy called Pete continued to scowl; he had a hand over his crotch so I couldn't see if there was a bulge there. We smoked and talked for a while. The boys made jokes about their teachers, their fellow students, cheerleaders; they told stories about home life and girlfriends. I felt as if I belonged. It was the first time that I could honestly claim to have enjoyed real male companionship; not only that: for the first time in my life I wanted to take a positive role in extending the frontiers of friendship as far as they would stretch - and I knew precisely what that involved. It came as no surprise, then, when the black boy stood up and grabbed me under the armpits. He swung me up and around and said that he did this sort of thing at home with his kid sister. The grass was getting to his head, however; he staggered after a few turns and sat again. The only difference was that I was also seated between his splayed thighs. He pulled me in close to him. I could feel his hardness against the small of my back - and it was getting harder. He undid the buttons of my jacket and my blouse and stuck his hand inside to nip and pull at my nipples. He shifted his attention to my thighs, rubbing both of them up to my crotch. Quite suddenly he asked me, "Are you all right with this?" I nodded, and he shifted my position so that my legs hung over his. I was gaping wide open. His fingers explored, watched intently by the other two boys. He whispered, "You are wet!" and I giggled and nodded. Steve started another joint, drew deeply on it then handed it on. The end was sloppy by the time I got it. I squeezed it dry on the loose end of my school blouse. The brown stain seemed to grow even as I stared at it. The black boy was playing with my nipples again. The stain continued to grow. His other hand went between my thighs again. "Christ! You are wet," he exclaimed. "You sure you're not pissing yoself?" He hooked his finger around the crotch of my panties and pulled it aside. Steve and Pete strained round drunkenly to get a view of my exposed cunt. Brit rubbed along the sensitive edge of my wet groove sending a thousand tiny waves of sensation through me. I drew the smoke into my lungs and was rewarded with a feeling of flying on soft cushions of cloud. "Jesus!" exclaimed the phlegmatic Pete. "She is wet! It is running out of her." He probed with a finger. Brit slapped his hand away. He rolled my budding clit and I wanted to scream and laugh at the same time. Quite suddenly, I was whisked up in the air. Vaguely I was aware of my panties being removed. By the time I landed, I was face to face with the black boy. My legs were still splayed. Somehow Brit's pants were down around his ankles. And his fingers were embedded in my pussy. I felt the head of his cock being introduced. I was extremely tight in spite of the lubrication of my own juices. He seemed to stick at the entrance to my love tunnel for ages. Bit by bit he slipped inside me. He crooned tunelessly into my ear and made lewd suggestions. There was one instant of sharp pain, like someone stabbing me with the needle of a pair of compasses, then a final thrust and the black boy was fully inside me. He jerked me back and forward on his cock. I felt the meat of his balls banging against my butt. And then he shot into me - like hot liquid fire spurting up into my belly. Peculiar flashes of sensation punctured my brain and I felt giddy with a spinning dizziness that I had never experienced before. Quite suddenly, like an extra-terrestrial visitation, Steve loomed above us. He stared outrage. "I wanted to bust her cherry!" He seemed to be yelling. "Too late, man," murmured Brit. "I've done it!" He grinned and pulled me close. "And the sweetest one yet!" He kissed me. Then pushed me away. His cock pulled out of me with a liquid 'plop'. "Try for yoself!" He handed me up to Steve. I was laid across the make-shift table. The older boy studied my cunt with something almost approaching embarrassment. I could feel the black boy's thick semen oozing out of me. Steve wiped me with a handkerchief. I noticed the streaks of blood and the yellow semen stain against its pristine whiteness. He pumped his cock several times before slipping it into me. He had a lot less trouble getting there than Brit, and he took less time to cum. Again there was the weird sensation of warm leaden porridge spurting up into my belly, but there was nothing like the exquisite, mind-bending sensual pleasure I later came to expect from Mr. Mellis's love- making - it was just unusual and odd with the same spasm of giddiness. And it was even less of a thrill when Pete pushed his cock into me; talk about premature ejaculation - he shot off as soon as he entered, and pulled away as the stuff was still spurting from him. "Can I keep these?" Brit asked. He had picked up my panties and was half-way to pocketing them. "A trophy?" I had heard some of the older girls in the sports pavilions referring to such things. "A memento!" The panties disappeared; I had little choice, but it was another weird experience walking back to the Mary Vane elementary in the pouring rain without them, a sensation made all the more weird with the shortness of the school skirt under the ugly raincoat. Once inside the gaunt building, I retreated to the toilets to examine myself. There was little sign of physical damage to my person - indeed it was a bit deflating to look at my pussy and see that it was much the same as it was before I set out. There were semen stains on the skirt and some slight indication that there had been some bleeding when I lost my virginity; I suppose it was some consolation. By the time I had showered and had pulled on fresh clothes, the last of the boy's semen had seeped back out of me. Brit, the black boy, had given me a joint. I hid it in the false bottom of my locker for use later in the new week. From then on, at least every second Saturday, except during the holidays, I met with the boys, always Brit usually accompanied by either or both the other boys. We usually fucked in the little woodland or in one of the pavilions. In all that time, I can't remember having had an orgasm; I must have found some kind of satisfaction otherwise I would not have gone to meet them as regularly as I did, and it was not altogether for the smokes, for by that time I had other sources - even at that time there was no shortage of suppliers - and there was still the Santa Claus randy janitor. It was at the end of last day at Mary Vane elementary that I finally plucked up courage to make the approach to Mr. Mellis. He was the true target of my passion. I mounted his thigh and in less time than it takes to think about it I shot off, and that was the first orgasm I ever had. It was spine rattling and beautiful. It certainly wasn't the one and only that summer, I made sure of that - Mr. Mellis was like plastic clay in my hands. But it was not till the attempted rape by King Kong at the poker party that I was absolutely sure I had him securely by the balls. And I wouldn't change him for anything or anyone! END *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* The author does not condone child abuse, this story is meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a fellow convict in their local prison. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Kristen's collection - Directory 27