Business trips. For many a curse, for me a blessing.
For years I had thrown myself at every opportunity to travel abroad,
simply to get away from the car-crash of a marriage which neither I nor
my wife would openly admit was an utter failure. To her I was always
being forced by my bastard of a boss to travel; to my boss I was always
eager to volunteer, and did rather well out of it. When finally we did
brace ourselves and leap into the void, the truth came out and
Caroline, bless her, simply laughed. Four months later she married my
boss.
But all that was still to come at the point in time my story is set.
The sordid little tale I'm about to tell you happened at the peak of my
depression, at the lowest ebb of my happiness. I was in Chicago for a
week, at a huge trade convention, alone. Although there was no doubt
that being away from home had its benefits - no blazing rows, not
having to sleep in the spare room on the mattress with the broken
springs, things like that - it was a lonely existence. I ate most meals
alone, not really knowing anyone since we were the only British company
to attend, and while my contemporaries went out for raucous parties in
the evenings, I retired to my room and read or wrote, and ordered room
service when I became hungry, and watched countless hours of ESPN. I
attended the same convention in the same hotel and had the same routine
for four years running; this was to be my fifth and, I decided, last
time.
When I arrived at the hotel, exhausted and dirty from the flight, I
wanted nothing more than to book in, get up to my room, have a shower,
and catch up on the sleep I had missed. There was, however, a
monumental spanner in the works. This was a big hotel, a significant
conference venue with three massive halls. Of course there was a chance
that another large convention might be taking place. I just didn't
quite expect the sight that greeted me. The entire lobby, end to end,
front to back was filled with groups of school kids of varying ages. I
stopped dead in my tracks, slightly taken aback by the sight. The bag
dropped from my hand, and my jaw followed it. Something broke inside my
exhausted little mind, and I stood frozen to the spot.
"Excuse me, sir?"
It took a moment for me to respond, coming slowly out of my stupor.
"Sorry, sorry," I muttered to the well-dressed young lady who had appeared at my elbow.
"Not at all, sir. I have a feeling you are not with the chess tournament, no?"
She had a strange lilt to her voice which was rather alluring.
Something Scandinavian, which fitted with her blonde haired, blue eyed
look.
"Uh, no... no. The lighting convention."
"Very good, sir. Would you like to come this way to check in? We've
reserved an office for those guests who are not with the chess
tournament. Somewhere a little less noisy. Most of your colleagues will
be checking in tomorrow, of course."
"Is that what's happening? All those kids are here to play chess?" I
asked, dumbfounded, as I obediently followed her lithe form through the
chaos. There were hundreds of them!
"Yes, sir," she said, raising a counter-top and beckoning me through a
door into a private office. "They're here from all over Illinois. I
sincerely hope they don't disturb your stay. We've made every effort to
keep disruption to a bare minimum."
I waved aside her pre-emptive apologies. "It's OK, you have a business to run, you can't turn down that kind of money."
For the first time her professional mask slipped a little. She smiled
warmly at me. "Thank you for understanding, sir. Now, may I take your
passport and a credit card, please? You may wait here while I check you
in. Can I send you in a drink? On the house, of course."
I hesitated for a moment, and she correctly guessed why.
"A whiskey, perhaps, or a beer? Anything you would like."
"Well, actually, I could murder a long G&T right now."
She beamed at me. "Coming right up."
It was the most painless check-in of my life, sitting in an
air-conditioned office in a comfortable chair with a truly excellent
drink in my hand. Trudi, as her name badge had betrayed, was gone quite
a long time for a simple check-in, but I suspected she was rather busy;
the badge had also said 'General Manager'. When she returned, looking a
little harassed, she gave me my room key and handed me over to one of
her employees, who escorted me to my room via the service lifts, deftly
avoiding the chaos.
Even the room was nicer than normal, up above the worst of the noise
and amply kitted out with a proper, full-sized bathroom rather than the
shower cubicles I had grown to expect on my limited travel budget. A
little compensation, it seemed, from the gracious manageress, because
this certainly wasn't the room I had paid for. I over-generously tipped
the guy who'd brought my bags up, and then stood and stared out of the
window across the city of Chicago.
I have a soft spot for the 'Windy City', whose inhabitants always
treated me with the utmost care, attention, and quite frankly
affection. Perhaps it was my accent, something I've cultivated over
time, free of regional variation, as close to a BBC newsreader as you
could hope to be. It worked for business, especially in the States, in
the same way an American accent will always sell a film or music in the
UK. We love each other more than we would care to admit, don't we?
As I watched out of the window, the faintest sounds drifted up from
below. Sounds of children, having fun, causing chaos. My week was, it
seemed, going to be full of that noise. I wondered how easy it would be
to go about our business with so many children present, because the
reality was that deals were done in clandestine little meetings of two
or three in the hidden corners of the conference centre. How easy would
that be with the place overrun with kids? Perhaps it might play in my
favour if the usual suspects couldn't do business in the usual way and
freeze us out. In my mind's eye I imagined the frustrated face of my
competitors as their secret rendezvous were interrupted by chattering
chess players, and allowed myself a little smile at the thought.
Something which had lain dormant at the back of my mind awoke at that
moment. The Krakken stirred in the inky depths of my soul. My heart
beat a little faster, and my stomach became uneasy. I could feel sweat
forming on the small of my back. All signs of something I had hidden
over the years, even from myself. An attraction to the younger end of
the human race. A sexual attraction, as well as an emotional one. A
desire for the untainted form and flesh. A need for nubile limbs,
undeveloped bodies, fresh and smooth, not old and wrinkled. Bodies
where hair did not run rampant, where stale sweat did not mar the
perfect scent of youth, where voices were pitched high and where eyes
widened in innocent shock at new pleasures found.
It hardly mattered whether it was a boy or a girl. Perhaps a girl,
though, perhaps that would be what I preferred. I allowed myself the
indulgence of a few moments daydreaming, imagining some unlikely
scenario whereby one of the smart little girls wound up in my room, and
I gave her the education she hadn't had by playing chess and doing well
in class.
A stupid thought, and I crushed it. So many reasons it would never
happen, could never happen. Not least the infinitesimal chance that I
would make a connection with a girl of the appropriate age. That was
the killer, although there were plenty of other reasons; the security
cameras all over the place, for instance. Not in my room, but
practically everywhere else. I paid attention to that sort of thing -
our company might have concentrated on street lighting rigs, but a
partner firm was in security, and a fascinating meal spent with my
counterpart from that company had opened my eyes to our surveillance
culture. I didn't imagine for a moment that things were any different
here in the States than they were at home.
I stepped away from the window and looked at my bag. I should have
unpacked it then and there, and readied my suits to be straightened out
by the laundry. I should have hooked my computer up to the hotel's
wi-fi and replied to those emails my phone told me had followed me
across the Atlantic. I should then have taken a wander downstairs and
sought out the convention organiser, to see if the courier had
delivered my stand yet, and if they had, taken it out and set it up to
check it over.
I did none of those things. I locked what I had to in the room's safe,
grabbed my wallet, keycard and jacket, and went for a walk.
It was still chaos in the foyer. If possible, it was even more packed
than before. I spotted the harried form of Trudi rushing around,
fielding endless enquiries and directing people here, there and
everywhere. Our paths crossed near the door, and she smiled warmly to
me.
"Can I get the doorman to get you a cab?" she asked, showing her professionalism even under the most intense pressure.
I smiled and held up my hands. "No, thanks, I'll walk. Besides, you have plenty else to do! Thanks for the room, by the way."
"It's a pleasure," she replied, with another smile. "Think of it as our way of saying 'sorry'!"
I thanked her again, and was then out of the door, propelled away from
the pleasant conversation by the tide of people. It was a warm evening,
and I enjoyed my stroll around, even though the hotel was one of those
out-of-town places with an artificial community built up around it.
This one had a nice little artificial lake, with some not entirely
artificial ducks on it, and people jogging around, which is a
long-winded way of saying things could have been worse. I found a bench
and say myself down to have a long hard think about where I was going
with my life, and if this was what I really wanted. Of course, it
wasn't.
I sat there for ages mulling things over in my head. I knew this was
it, this was the point at which I either decided to end things with my
wife, or to carry on forever. I began to think that if I didn't make
the change now, I might never make it. Leave Caroline, leave the
company, leave my life behind and do something I could actually believe
in. I was still fairly young, there was time to find someone else. Time
to be on my own for a while, too. We'd been together since the first
days of university, Caroline and I. She was my first love, and we'd
been married not long after we graduated. Somehow I'd drifted into this
shitty sales job, and we'd just bumbled along and never really done
anything about the fact that it clearly wasn't working. I was only two
years shy of turning thirty, and I realised suddenly that I couldn't
remember the last time I was truly happy. I wanted so much more out of
life, and I wasn't going to get it unless something drastic happened.
Still, I wanted something more sure than that. I needed a sign.
With a sigh, the space on the bench to my right was suddenly occupied.
Naturally I glanced across, and found myself sitting next to a young
girl, maybe eleven or twelve years old (though I was no judge of kids'
ages). She looked as down as I felt, and was staring out over the water
as if she, too, had an important decision to make.
"Hey, you alright?" I asked. Funnily enough, though I had only recently
been having rather indecent thoughts about girls her age, the question
arose purely out of concern. I assumed she was there with the chess
players, but there was no way of being sure.
"Yeah, I guess," she replied. Her voice was soft and high, and quite delightful.
"Zack," I said, offering my hand. She took it and gave it a gentle shake.
"Caroline."
My eyes widened in surprise, and she noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing much, it's just that's my wife's name. Bit of a coincidence, that's all."
"You're married, then?" she asked.
I nodded. "Not for very much longer, though."
I don't know why I offered up that particular bit of information, but it didn't seem to phase her.
"Oh, how come?"
I shrugged. "Not sure, really. We've just drifted apart, I suppose.
Sounds like a bit of a cliché, doesn't it? We're different people than
we were when we got married."
She sat there in silence, digesting what I'd said. I looked across at her and found her frowning.
"What's bothering you?" I asked.
"Oh, nothing much, I suppose. Just this stupid tournament. I probably won't do very well. Can't seem to concentrate lately."
"Any reason? A boy in your life, perhaps?" I said with a grin, surprised with myself for being so direct.
"No!" she said with a laugh, blushing slightly. "No chance of that."
"Oh, right. A girl, then?"
She chuckled at that.
"That's not what I meant, silly. No, it's just... well, the boys in my grade don't really see me that way. Oh, I dunno..."
She looked so downbeat I just wanted to grab her in a big hug and make her feel better.
"They will do, trust me. Just give it a bit of time."
She just shrugged and looked away. When she turned back to me, there were tears in the corners of her eyes.
"Yeah, sure," she whispered.
We sat in silence for a while longer, watching the sun sinking in the west.
"When's your first match?" I asked, after a while, just for something to say.
Caroline looked down at her watch and groaned. "Ugh. Fifteen minutes. I was hoping I'd forget."
She stood up to leave, and looked over at me with a smile. "It was nice
to talk to you, you're not as dumb as most adults," she said, with the
innocent directness of youth.
I smiled back. "Thanks. Nice to have met you. Perhaps we'll bump into each other over the next couple of days."
"Yeah, maybe."
Then she was gone, sloping off down the path with the attitude of a
condemned criminal going to the gallows. I grinned at the pantomime.
Only when she was out of sight did I realise that I had smiled the
whole time she sat next to me.
---
Trudi approached me as I walked back through the door to the lobby. I'd
never before had so much interaction with a hotel manager.
"Excuse me, Mr McNaught, would you be able to spare me five minutes?"
"Uh, sure."
She led me back through to the office where I'd been checked in, and carefully closed the door behind herself.
"Mr McNaught," she said, directing me to a chair and sitting down opposite me.
"Zack," I replied, to which she smiled.
"Zack. Can I count on your confidentiality in a rather sensitive matter?"
"Uh, sure," I replied. This sounded rather odd; where was she going with this?
"We have a bit of an issue, and I was wondering if I might call on your technical expertise."
"OK, what's up?"
"It's our security cameras. The system has crashed, and we can't get it
re-booted. Our installers have, apparently, gone out of business, and I
can't seem to find anyone who will come out and look at it. I noticed
when I was looking over the lighting conference packs that your company
also deals in security cameras."
"Ah," I said, and I could see her deflating slightly when she
recognised the tone. "That's actually our partner company, Bulldog
Closed Circuit. They have an office in New York, but that's the closest
I come to knowing what's going on with those systems."
"Oh, damn. Look, I know this is an imposition, but could you perhaps
call them and see if they'll fly someone out? I'll make it worth your
while..."
As I was wondering what that could possibly mean, she turned round the
monitor of her computer to face me, and there, in all its glory, was
one of the top floor suites. "Yours for the next three nights if you
can get someone to come out here and fix it."
I grinned at her and fished in my pocket for my phone.
---
An hour later, I was reclining on the bed in my four room suite,
wondering how the hell the chips had fallen this far in my favour. When
I'd called Bulldog they'd agreed straight away to send someone out -
for them, it was a chance to spread into a new territory in the States,
so the cost of flying someone over from New York was well worth it. And
for me, it meant my stay would be truly luxurious.
I picked up the room service menu, and the words of the hotel employee who'd shown me the room echoed through my head.
"And of course, sir, room service is included free of charge with your room booking..."
America may not be the source of the finest gourmet dishes in the
world, but no-one does a better steak, and that night I gorged myself
on chargrilled rib-eye, downed half a bottle of red, forgot about
troubles back home and fell asleep thoroughly contented with the world.
---
The conference proper started the next day, so I was up bright and
early getting my stand set up and ready to be ignored. The reality was
that the stands were merely a way to tell people you were attending -
no-one at a trade convention was going to walk up and place an order
for a product they'd never seen before. As I've already hinted, most of
the deals took place in ad-hoc meetings, and were really about sealing
contracts which had been in the pipeline for years.
I gave a wave to the usual suspects, people I saw in real life once a
year, and online about once a week; we all visited the same trade
forums. I renewed a few connections, and then left my stand alone and
wandered out for my last chance of a bit of fresh air before the fun
began.
Trudi was in the lobby, chatting with a tall, fair-haired man who
looked vaguely familiar. When she saw me she beckoned me over, and as I
approached I realised who the man was - Pete was one of the guys who'd
left Bulldog in the UK to start the New York office. He must have been
on the first flight in to get here so quickly. I shook his hand, and
said good morning to Trudi.
"Pete's already had a look at the system," Trudi said when our
greetings were done. "It'll take a couple of days to get fixed, but he
tells me he can make some changes to make it much better."
"Yeah, the set-up's a bit of a lemon," Pete said with a grin. "Shame
that company went out of business, or you could have sued them! Perhaps
that's why they're no longer around. Anyway, we'll upgrade the control
computer, shouldn't cost too much. The cameras and the control panel
are all pretty much up to date, it's just the computer which let things
down. Fried its hard drive trying to shift the video around!"
I laughed along with Pete, though it really wasn't that funny. Managing
to extricate myself, I wandered out of the building, intent on finding
the same spot in which I had met Caroline the day before. She, it
seemed, had had the same idea, and had beaten me to it. She sat,
wearing a rather pretty floral pink dress, one leg bent up beneath her
and a battered copy of the Hunger Games in her hand. She was utterly
absorbed, and didn't seem to notice me sitting down. I left her to read
for a few minutes, before the chance of talking to her outweighed my
desire not to interrupt her moment of peace.
"Hey," I said, softly. She looked up from her book, taking a moment to focus, and then beamed at me.
"Oh hi, it's you!" she said, sounding genuinely pleased to see me.
"How did your first match go?"
"Oh, you wouldn't believe it! I lasted about five minutes before they got me check-mate! So stupid. My dad was real mad."
"Oh, sorry. Did he shout at you?"
"No, nothing like that. But you can tell when he's mad. I have to win
the other two games in my round or I go out. At least my brother is
doing OK."
"He plays too?"
"Yeah, but he's actually good!" she said with a laugh.
"Is he older, younger?"
"The same. He's my twin. Not identical - he got the brains, I got the looks."
It was a throwaway comment, but with her sitting there in that little
dress I suddenly realised that she was right, she had indeed got the
looks. Do something with her rather flat hair, get her out of those
glasses and a few other Hollywood make-over clichés and she really
would look rather attractive, especially to a man of my particular
tastes.
"Well, I'd rather be sitting here talking to you than him, then!" I
said, which got a laugh from her. "Won't your dad be wondering where
you are though?"
"Nah, it's cool. He thinks I'm practising on my iPad."
She reached down and pulled the premium chunk of metal, silicon and
glass out of her bag, and handed it to me. I unlocked it and discovered
she'd managed to do something really quite clever - she was pitting one
automated chess player against another.
"He checks my account to make sure I've practised. He has no idea."
She said it in the way a lot of kids talk about their parents and technology - with pity.
"Does he really make you practise that much?" I asked. The idea of
someone being that strict on their child really bothered me. It
reminded me of the book I'd read about Chinese 'Tigers Moms', who push
their poor kids to academic extremes, sometimes to disastrous effect.
"Yeah, but only at tournament time. He makes Logan play even more than me. But Logan likes it."
"Did your dad ever play?"
Caroline laughed as she shook her head, seeming genuinely amused.
"No, dad's not really the thinking kind," she said. "He used to be a
pro football player. He's not stupid, but he's not exactly clever
either."
"That's why he's so driven, then?"
"Yeah, I guess so. He's always been really competitive. I think he used
to get mad at Logan because he was no good at sports, but when he found
out Logan's good at chess he got all 'yeah, let's play chess!' all of a
sudden."
"Do you even like playing?" I asked.
"No, not really. I mean, it's fun to play once in a while, but if you play every day it gets kind of boring."
"Yeah, I imagine it would."
"Hey, what do you do for work?"
"Uh, I'm not sure you want to ask that," I replied.
"Why? Will I be shocked?" she asked, suddenly taking a great deal more interest in the conversation.
"Oh yeah, I'm a porn star."
The joke left my mouth before I'd even considered whether it might be
appropriate for the audience. Hint: it wasn't; but that didn't stop
Caroline breaking into gales of laughter.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said when she could breathe again. "Sorry. I
didn't mean to be mean about it. It's just you're so... well...
British!"
I laughed along with her now. The very thought of me being a porn star
was ridiculous, especially in my slightly crumpled suit, which if I was
brutally honest wasn't exactly tailored to my body.
"Yeah, no. I sell street lights, actually," I said. "There's a big convention here for the next couple of days."
"A convention about selling street lights?" Caroline asked, incredulous.
"Yeah, really. It's big business. Think about it, how many street
lights must there be in America? They can't last for ever, so every
year a certain number need replacing. That means someone has to sell
them a new street light. That's what I do."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh. Boring, isn't it?"
She giggled at me. "Kinda. Sorry."
"Don't be, I'm the one who's sorry! I'm getting out anyway. I need a
change. It's not as if I like street lights. I only joined the company
because I needed a job doing something - anything - when I left
university. It's not exactly my dream job."
"So, what is your dream job," she asked. The Hunger Games lay abandoned
between us on the bench. I picked it up and glanced at the cover.
"Writing. Writing books."
"Are you any good?"
"Ha, no, not really. But I've got some stuff written, maybe now's the time to see if anyone will read it."
"Can I read it?" she asked.
"Yeah, sure," I replied, without thinking. Then I remembered why I should have said 'no'. "Except..."
"What?"
"Well, I'd kind of forgotten this, and it's a bit embarrassing. There are a few... adult scenes in the book."
Her eyes went wide, and she grinned like a Cheshire Cat.
"No way! You wrote a dirty novel? I definitely want to read it now!"
"It's not a dirty novel! It's just that there are some bits which are..."
"Dirty?" she supplied.
"Ha, yeah. OK. Dirty."
"So, when can I read it?"
I should have put her off, or turned her down completely. That would
have been the action of a mature, responsible adult. But of course I
did not. In the back of my mind, the part which thinks with hormones
instead of neurons, I had the vague notion that it might be worth my
time encouraging whatever this was, and for some reason certain words
echoed in my mind... 'the security cameras will take a couple of days
to get fixed...'.
"Look," I said, my heart hammering in my chest. I was take a serious
gamble here. "It's on my laptop, and I really don't want that to leave
my room in case someone steals it."
"Oh, I see," she said with a rather-too-knowing grin. "I'll have to come up to your room to read it then, won't I?"
---
I should have returned to the exhibition hall. I should have said to
Caroline that perhaps it was a bad idea for me to let her read the
story, especially in my room. I really shouldn't have taken the chance
I did, either in inviting her up to my room - in a roundabout sort of
way - or in then going through with it.
I did take the risk, though. I was intrigued. Caroline and I were
acting like an adult couple taking the first steps towards a
relationship. It didn't feel like she was a 12 year old girl hiding
from her dad and I was a middle-aged lighting salesman four thousand
miles away from a crumbling marriage. It didn't feel like I was being
predatory, didn't feel that I was luring an innocent, naive girl into a
den of iniquity. The difference in our ages didn't even cross my mind,
though with hindsight I realise that my attraction to her was at least
in part due to her youth.
Why I made that decision is easy to justify to myself, if I'm willing
to face the awful truth - I took Caroline up to my room that day
because I thought there was a good chance I would end up having some
sort of sex with her. Worse, I was still sufficiently in control of my
faculties to ask her to wait, and to take an alternative way up to my
room, even though I knew the cameras would be off. The only mitigation
I offer is that she was a willing and knowledgeable participant. She
smiled and nodded when I explained the need for secrecy. She knew what
we were doing had to be hidden from those around us. She understood how
illicit it was, and I can't help but be certain that she knew exactly
what she was getting into, even as we sat by that lake plotting.
---
The knock came ever so softly at my door. I walked on socked feet
across the thick carpet to open it, and smiled at her as she slipped
inside. Following my lead, she dropped her strappy little shoes by the
door, and according to some innate sense of neatness I lined them up
next to my own. I felt my stomach lurch to see how small they looked in
comparison.
She wandered around the suite in awe, amazed at the size of the place.
"I thought you said you sold street lights?" she said, wandering from
the living room to the half-enclosed balcony, which held a secluded
hot-tub.
"Ha, yeah. There's a bit of a story here. This wasn't the room I booked. I did the manager a favour and she upgraded me."
She wandered back through to the main room, her eyebrow raised.
"Not that kind of favour," I continued. "I helped her sort a problem with some computers."
"Must've been a big problem!" she said, to which I just shrugged. "So, where's this story, then?"
"Oh," I said, trying to be casual, "I left it on my bed. I'll go and fetch it, and you can read in here."
"No, it's OK," she said, heading straight for the open door of the bedroom. "I'll read it in there."
I followed her into the bedroom, glad that the maid had already been
and tidied up the mess I'd left. She climbed straight onto the bed and
flopped down in front of the computer, tapping on the space bar to wake
it up, making me once again marvel at how comfortable kids are with
technology. My mother, bless her, wouldn't even have been able to work
out where the power button was, let alone realise that the blinking
light in the corner of the chassis meant that the computer was merely
sleeping, not shut down. Caroline's generation would be growing up in a
different world.
The file wasn't open, so I had to join her on the bed to find it. I sat
down next to her and leaned forward to operate the machine, and in
doing the softly sprung mattress tipped us together. Her shoulder
rested on my side, then her arm snaked around my own, gently trapping
it in place. I revelled in the softness of her skin against my own, and
the heat radiating from her, and the gentle scent of her perfume.
Somehow I'd missed that scent before, and wondered if she had actually
been wearing it. Her hair fell against the skin of my arm, tickling it.
I didn't realise until that moment quite how I had come to miss the
casual intimacy which had been missing from my life for the last few
years.
"Stay here while I read, OK?" she said, her voice suddenly less sure
than it had been, less imbued with confidence. She was nervous, too.
I hadn't even bothered to try to be clever; I opened it and took her
straight to the bits she would want to read - the sex scenes. Besides,
there wasn't time for her to read through the whole thing just to get
there. I watched her as she read, fascinated by her reactions. Her
eyebrows shot up at one point, I guessed where the hero plunges deep
into his conquest and brings a howl of tortured pleasure from her, and
after a while I noticed the most gentle rocking of her hips, side to
side, as if she were squirming in discomfort. God, had it really had
that sort of effect on her already?
I pulled my hand free from her grasp, drawing a surprised protest from
her lips, which I quelled by placing my freed hand upon her back. Her
eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if the touch was unutterably
wonderful, and then allowed her chin to fall forward onto her folded
arms. She went through the motions of continuing to read as I gently
stroked up and down her back, but her occasional suppressed whimpers
and writhing hips gave the game away - she was far more interested in
the artistry of my fingers on her back than in the screen. After a
minute or two, her head fell to the side and I could see that her eyers
were closed, a half smile curling the corners of her lips.
As the minutes passed I allowed my fingers to extend their range,
taking possession of her whole ribcage at first, then expanding into
the hills of her shoulder blades at the northern extreme, and down to
where the tie of her dress encircled her waist at in the south. Then,
with desire bolstering my arm I stripped away the last vestiges of the
disguise. This was no friendly back-rub, this was a seduction
(dammit!), and my hand made sure she was aware of this by slipping
across the gentle rise of her backside.
Acceptance comes in many forms. It can be a lack of resistance, or a
full-on embrace. It can be resignation or relief. Or neither. It can be
whimpering, leg-writhing submission to a pleasurable sensation, as
Caroline demonstrated. My hand lingered in place, happy to be wanted,
keen to continue its good work. She whimpered again, and pushed herself
up at me. I had paused, and that could not be allowed. When my hand
moved once more, its work was rewarded with a low, contented growl.
I shifted and dropped onto the bed next to her, letting my grip on her
slip for no longer than absolutely necessary. Young blue eyers
fluttered open, staring into mine, searching for something.
Reassurance, perhaps? A need to know that I wanted her as much as she
wanted me? She surely must have known that by now. I leaned forward and
she rolled away slighltly, making herself available to me. Our lips
met, mine roughly searching, hers soft and submissive, and
inexperienced. My hand left her body to reach up and hold her head,
drawing her to my lips as we locked in embrace, keeping her there until
her own desire for this new sensation kept her there of its own accord.
This left my hand free once more, and now it rested on her flank, and
continued its gentle mission to excite her skin. On the upward stroke
my thumb would swipe down over her chest, making no effort to hide my
intentions. I wanted her immature breasts in my hand, and judging by
the manner in which she pushed forward her chest, she, too, desired it.
No more time to be wasted with subtle seduction now. My hand went
straight to her little hillock where it strained against the thin
cotton fabric of her dress; nothing but that fabric hindered my
exploration. The nipple was a small, hard pebble, still that of a
child. I roughly pinched at what I could grab between forefinger and
thumb, and she groaned into my mouth.
I rolled her onto her back, leaning over her, my hand continuing to
work at her chest as my mouth assaulted her lips. I pinned her
wriggling legs with one of my own, and for the first time let my
aroused manhood press up against her, albeit separated from her skin by
our clothes. She was so small beneath me that for a moment I hesitated,
lifting off her and looking down at her dazed expression, the
expression of a child within whom something more adult, more primal had
awoken. She might have played at maturity before, but now, for the
first time, she was experiencing it.
She reached up and grabbed my head with one hand, pulling me down
towards her to once more lock our mouths together, and with her other
hand prized my over-sized fingers from her chest and pushed them down,
down between her thighs, down to the furnace which was her sex,
desperate for attention in the throes of our passion. I pushed hard
against the soft folds of her immature mound through the double layer
of her dress and knickers, and felt rather than heard the groan which
escaped her lips, only to be entrapped by mine. She writhed and
squirmed beneath me, on fire now, her face flushing deep red.
I broke the kiss again, this time to watch her face for signs of
disapproval as my groping fingers bunched the hem of her dress up above
her waist. But no signal came to stop. She stared up at me, full of
wonder at the new sensations coursing through her body. Her knickers I
deemed an unnecessary obstruction, and so they, too, were removed,
roughly pulled down to mid thigh by my hand, and ejected completely as
she wriggled free of the encumbrance and pushed them away with her
feet. As much as I wanted to glance down at her exposed sex, I could
not tear myself away from her face, and so my fingertips became my eyes.
They found no adornment on the rolling hills of her sex, no coarse
addition of hair to mar the perfectly smooth skin. Dipping between the
folds they found her inflamed clitoris; each swipe of my finger was a
glorious torture made apparent in her pained expression. Too much, too
much, her eyes said, and so I relented, diving instead into the deeper
folds of her flower, finding that gentle hollow so apt for catching a
wandering fingertip and inviting it inside, inside. Past the heat and
the pressure, and beyond into the warm, impossibly soft interior, where
big, rough fingers provided more pleasure than soft, girlish ones ever
had.
Her eyes were briefly wide, but glazed and lost focus as I plundered
her hidden treasure. Her fingernails dug into my upper arm where she
grabbed me, the tension in her muscles the only way she could stop
herself falling into the abyss, blacking out with the pleasure, or
perhaps screaming. She ground her teeth together, eyes shut, a single
tear squeezed out to roll gently across her cheek, leaving a dark trail
in its wake. Her breath exploded from her lungs, then she was panting,
panting to get it back, to get oxygen in to muscles wrung taut by my
actions. Her back arched and she squeezed inside, trying to expel the
intruder, but there would be no relief until I was satisfied that she
was satisfied, and with the renewed assault on her breasts led by my
teeth, sheathed in the cotton of her ever-present dress, I brought her
to that place so special. As the ultimate pleasure ripped through her
body, sending her into a writhing, growling fit I plunged my mouth onto
hers, accepting her muffled cries as proof of her joy.
She grabbed me to her, forcing the air from my lungs with a grunt, her
grip supernaturally strong. It was love and lust and gratitude and
relief all in one. Her hand entwined in the hair at the base of my
skull, grabbing a handful as if letting go would mean she lost me
altogether. She crushed my face into her shoulder, whimpering slightly
as I gently slid my invading digit free of the now-slick confines of
her most secret place. I grabbed her hip, rolling over with her on top
of me and held her there, comforting her, aware of her fragility, the
mask of her maturity lost in her girlish orgasm. She had given herself
up to me, not completely yet, but partially, and with intent to finish
what we had started.
Not now, though. Now as I held her the insistent ringing of her phone
penetrated our sacred space. She rose groggily, smiling down as me as
she wriggled her hips in one last act of torture on my still-clothed
manhood. She trotted on unsteady feet to where her bag lay discarded,
and answered the phone, having an insistent conversation with whoever
had called. Her father, I suspected from the tone.
As she stood there, sunlight burst through the window and lit her up,
setting the thin cotton fabric of her dress alight, showing her frail,
juvenile body in silhouette beneath. I groaned at the sight, wishing I
had a camera to capture that perfect moment. Enough, enough teasing
now, enough resistance. I roughly pulled my clothes from my body and
encircled my engorged member with one hand, watching her on the phone.
She turned toward me and her hand flew to her mouth when she saw my
nakedness brashly displayed. Still taking on the phone, now clearly in
argument with her father, she padded across to me, standing by the bed
and reaching out a hand to replace my own.
Oh, what a thoroughly depraved and exciting scene, the young girl
inexpertly masturbating me as she spoke on the phone with her father,
her protector. I snaked a hand in between her thighs as she stood
there, and grinned as she stuttered, faking a cough to cover herself.
Her sex was hot and still damp, the insides of her thighs sticky with
pleasure and perspiration. When I could finally hold back no longer,
her eyes grew wide in shock at the force with which I coated my chest
in spilled seed, and she stopped talking altogether. In the silence of
the room I could hear her father's voice on the other end of the phone,
growing increasingly irate. Smiling wickedly at me, Caroline very
deliberately hung up and threw the phone onto the bed.
---
She had to go, of course. Her father was angry that she wasn't in her
room as expected, but so far he had no idea she was with me instead.
There was still time to avoid dealing with that thorny issue. She had a
match to play before lunch - it was still just mid-morning - and I
needed to have a shower, and consider taking a wander down to the
convention. I'd already missed two hours, but things barely warmed up
on the first morning anyway. There would be time to have a quick few
stand-up meetings, and then after lunch a few more, before an early
finish and the chance to relax and do nothing with most of my afternoon.
Caroline left me her mobile number, and promised she would try to get
away from her father later in the day to, as she put it, 'read some
more stories'. It was a delightful little euphemism for having sex. I
told her that next time she came up we could try the hot tub together,
and she gave me a wicked smile. A quick but passionate kiss later and
she was gone, trotting off down the corridor, her hair still a thorough
mess from rolling in the hay.
I could think of nothing else all morning. I ought to have been relaxed
and confident, because I was on top of the world, but the reality was
that I just wanted the day to be over so that I could retire to my room
and hopefully have the pleasure of Caroline's company once more, if she
cold get away from her father. Truth be told, I was beginning to think
the convention was a complete waste of time - the usual suspects spoke
to their usual suppliers, and although there was some polite interest
in what I was doing, there wasn't really any solid interest. It was a
shame, because we were selling a cheaper, longer-lasting and more
efficient product than all of our competitors, but because we didn't
have a track record we could make no headway in the market.
Still, at that point in time I really couldn't have cared less.
My phone buzzed in my pocket just after lunch, when the convention hall
was beginning to fill up a little. It was Caroline, and the message
intrigued me: 'Meet me @ the bench ASAP'. I made my excuses to those
around me and abandoned my stand, heading out of the door without
caring who saw me leave.
When I reached the bench she was sitting there with her legs tucked up
under herself. She beamed a kilowatt smile at me as I sat down.
"Guess what," she said without any preamble. "I won! I won my match,
and Logan lost, and now he has to go into a play-off round this
afternoon."
"And you?" I asked.
"I've got one match in about twenty minutes, but it's timed so it won't
take long, then my dad said I could do what I want all afternoon
because he wants to be there to coach Logan."
My heart skipped a beat at the thought of Caroline doing what she
wanted. I fervently hoped it would line up with her doing what I wanted.
"How angry was he earlier?"
Caroline waved it away. "Not very. He was just annoyed that Logan had
lost. I told him I'd gone for a walk so I could be ready to win my next
game and he bought it."
"So," I said with a grin, "what time are you coming up to try out the hot tub?"
---
Caroline looked stunning in her two-piece bikini. It really was a
rather adult design, but she had enough curves to make it look right,
even though the breast cups were unfilled, and her slender hips
struggled to hold onto the strings at her waist. She eased herself down
into the hot tub, and watched me with a smile as I did the same,
sitting opposite her.
Immediately she was flirtatious, running her foot up the inside of my
calf, her face host to the most thoroughly lewd of grins. I upped the
ante, going straight for the ultimate prize, pressing the pad of my big
toe between her thighs and directly onto her sex. She gasped at the
contact and pushed my foot away, but when I did the same thing again
she relented and allowed the wriggling intruder to remain. Her eyes
glazed over slightly as I gently pleasured her.
Her hips joined the action a few moments later, gyrating beneath the
water, trying to force the rhythm which was most enjoyable for herself.
She moaned when my foot withdrew, and glared at me accusingly from
behind her long eyelashes.
"Why did you stop?"
"Did you know," I said, casually, "that in the information for this
room it reassures visitors that the hot tub is totally private and
cannot be seen by anyone else in the hotel."
Caroline looked at me in confusion for a moment before realisation
dawned, accompanied by a filthy grin. Without further ado she reached
below the water, and with a wiggle of her hips freed herself from the
confines of her bikini bottoms, sending them to land with a wet
'splat!' beyond the edge of the tub. Her top followed, and so did my
shorts, and suddenly we were both naked.
She rose and came to me, water cascading from her slender body, lending
her the air of a water nymph. Thin fingers gripped my shoulders as she
knelt over me. Her immature breasts were targets for my thumbs, even as
she lowered herself into my lap, and for the first time touched her sex
to mine. She shivered, her limbs shaking beyond her ability to control
them, fear and excitement taking control. I pulled her to me and kissed
her deeply, delighting in the feeling of our wet bodies sliding past
each other. My hands roved freely over her back and down to where the
twin globes of her behind formed a perfect resting place for my
over-sized paws. A perfect handhold to pull her to me, to force our
bodies together, to excite her as the underside of my hardness crushed
her immature sex against the unyielding bone of her pelvis. We kissed
and writhed, and moaned and whimpered, and yet were incomplete.
She was ready. She signalled as much, for there could be no
misinterpretation of her actions. Rising up above me she reached down
between us to grasp the spear upon which she planned to impale herself,
to commit her childhood to history, to become a young woman. Her hand
worked along its length for a moment, sensing its size. Her eyes hinted
at the fear she was feeling, but her clenched jaw showed her
determination to see this through. One hand planted on the wall behind
my head, the other still holding my straining shaft, she slowly lowered
herself into my lap.
Her eyes squeezed tightly shut and the shaking in her arms grew
stronger as she sank down, her body reluctantly accepting me. It had no
choice, because Caroline wanted me to be inside her, and nothing was
going to stand in her way. Her tunnel gripped tightly around my shaft,
meaning progress was painfully slow, literally and figuratively. When
at last Caroline settled upon my lap - when there was nothing more I
could give her - she sobbed and slumped forward. Her face pressed into
the crook of my neck, and the hot droplets of her tears ran down over
my chest.
When Caroline's tears dried up, she looked up at me with a weak smile.
"I did it," she said in barely more than a whisper.
I nodded. "Yep, you're a woman now," I said, wiping the tears from her face.
She laughed, her humour born of relief.
"It feels so big, so much bigger than I thought it would. And it's so hot inside me!"
"You're pretty hot, too," I said, giving her a peck on the nose. "You did so well to take it all in."
She blushed. "I kinda practised with a carrot, but it was never as
thick as your thing, and never went in so far. What happens if I do
this?"
With that I felt the most exquisite torture I'd ever known, as her
already vice-like grip on me was tightened further as she flexed
muscles deep within. I groaned and felt myself tipping toward release,
but she let me go before it happened, laughing at the discomfort her
pleasure-giving had inflicted. Then she wriggled her hips, and the hot
tightness of her insides rubbing across the sensitive skin of my
manhood awoke the beast in me. I needed to fuck her now.
Grabbing her flanks, I began to lift her up then drop her down, feeling
the obscene pleasure of stretching her to her limits. Each downward
stroke brought a grunt from her, but as the seconds passed her pained,
concerned expression melted away, leaving her open-mouthed and panting,
her eyes closed in pure bliss. I hadn't expected her to take such
pleasure from her first union, but suddenly I could feel a twitching
inside her. Her impending peak triggered my own, and I pulled her her
to me in a bear hug as my seed surged powerfully into her immature
vagina.
She collapsed against me, and I too collapsed, leaning bag against the
side of the tub. The warm water soothed our aching, chafed bodies, and
the bubbling jets cleaned the evidence of our lovemaking from our skin.
When at last I softened enough to slide naturally from her hot confines
she groaned into my shoulder, biting the skin there.
---
She didn't want to leave. She wanted to tell her father all about us,
and tell him that she was with me now and wouldn't be going home with
them. She was irrational, and had grown overly attached, and she
realised it. She grabbed on of the cushions from the sofa and screamed
into it.
"It's not fair!" she cried. "I love you and you love me, why can't they just let us be happy?"
I wondered the same thing myself. Caroline was clearly smart enough to
know what she wanted, and capable of enjoying it when it was received.
It seemed perverse that our passion had to remain hidden, especially
after we had shared such a loving moment in the hot tub, but the
reality of the situation bore down upon us.
"I know, I know," I said, drawing her to me in a strong embrace. "But
that's the way it has to be. I'm sorry, I don't like it either."
"Are you sure I can't stay here?" she asked. "We could fuck again..."
I loved how direct she was, but even that promise wasn't enough to dissuade me.
"Uh, fine," she said, climbing off my lap and giggling at the sight of
my erection bouncing up, freed from beneath her bottom. "What does that
taste like?" she continued, regarding my manhood.
"Don't know," I replied. "It's never been in my mouth."
With a sly grin she slunk to her knees and placed her lips on the very
tip, grabbing at the foreskin which hung over the end and leaning back
to stretch it out, laughing when she let go and my penis slapped
against my stomach. When she leaned forward again she took it straight
into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down a few times before
releasing me.
"Oh God," I said, resigned. "How hard and fast do you think you can take being fucked? We've got five minutes."
Caroline's mouth dropped open in shock, but then the corners of her mouth curled up.
"Will I like it like that?"
I shrugged. "No idea. Want to find out?"
"Uh, OK," she said, not sounding too certain.
"Get on your hands and knees in front of me," I instructed, and then
knelt down behind her, taking my hardness in one hand. It's one thing
to be loving, but sometimes sex needs to be raw and passionate and
animalistic. A hand on her lower back pushed her waist down and her
backside up, revealing the reddened entrance to her most private place.
She grunted and pushed back against me as I rammed forward into her,
surprised by how moist she had become, and the ease with which I made
my way inside.
I gave no quarter, paid no heed to the fact that she was twelve, or
that this was only the second time she had had a man inside her. I
worked my hips hard and fast, concentrating on nothing but my own
pleasure. It came quickly, too, her grasping sheath so tight and hot
and slick that nothing could hold me back from flooding her insides for
the second time in an hour.
She collapsed onto the floor in front of me. With my ardour diminished
I quickly became concerned to know that she was OK, but I need not have
worried. She rolled onto her back, legs lewdly spread, and gave me a
filthy grin as with a stifled groan of effort she squeezed my load from
within her, letting it drip onto the carpet beneath her.
"Mmm," she said, feeling her abused sex with her fingertips. "Not as good as the first one, but I liked it anyway."
---
I stood in the shower, revelling in the feel of the hot water cascading
over my shoulders. My manhood hung heavily between my legs, still
distended from over-use. Three times already today I had reached my
peak, a feat I thought I had left behind in my youth. My real
admiration, though, was for my young lover, who had departed on wobbly
legs not fifteen minutes past. Oh how I wished we could have spent the
evening together, but it couldn't be. Tomorrow would be our last chance
to spend time together before Caroline would be leaving to return to
her normal life.
As I slowly slipped into slumber that night, scenes of our day's lovemaking played across the insides of my eyes.
---
There was, I am sad to say, still work to be done on my trip. I'd
missed good chunks of the first day, but it was nothing which couldn't
be remedied on the second, if I spent a good deal of it on the
exhibition floor, making contacts. It was going very well, too - by
about mid-morning I had spoken to a few interested parties, and for
once it seemed as though we might actually be gaining a bit of traction
in the market. Perhaps my new, relaxed approach was paying dividends. I
certainly didn't care a fraction as much about making deals as I did
about seeing Caroline again.
At about half past ten my phone started to buzz insistently in my
pocket. I managed to extricate myself from a conversation, and when I
saw that it was Caroline calling, stepped behind my stand.
"Hey."
"Hey. I'm heading to your room right now. Meet me there," was all she said, before hanging up.
---
She wore skinny jeans today, and t-shirt which had artfully been
designed to look like it was old and worn. I'd normally dismiss the
look as being a bit silly, but on Caroline it was a bit fantastic. As
soon as we were through the door she jumped up into my arms, legs
wrapped around my waist. Our lips locked in passion, and I carried her
through to the bedroom, turning so that I could sit down with my
lightweight lover in my lap.
I fell backward, pulling her down on top of me, hands roving all over
her backside. I tried to slip my hands beneath the waistband of her
jeans to directly touch the hot skin beneath, but her clothes might as
well have been painted on for all the room I had to work with. I
impatiently threw her off me onto the bed, and knelt over her, undoing
the button and working down the short zip. I stepped off the bed, slid
my hands beneath her backside, grabbed the waistband in both hands and
pulled roughly upwards, denuding her from hip to knee. The skinny jeans
were far too much trouble to remove entirely, but that was fine by me -
I left them there, holding her knees together, and pushed her legs up.
Her sex looked so inviting, lips squeezed into a thin slit by her
thighs, her button poking out from between the pink, glistening folds;
it made my heart beat faster to see that she was already aroused. I
knelt by the bed, ready to make my devotion at the temple of her mound,
diving down and insinuating my tongue between the folds. She gasped and
jerked her hips, surprised by the new sensation, but then relented and
grabbed the backs of her knees, pulling them to her chest and exposing
herself even more lewdly to my ministrations. I took the proffered
invitation, my kisses on her lower lips as passionate as my treatment
of those above.
Caroline growled through gritted teeth as I repeatedly plundered her
juicy peach with my tongue. Like a peach, its flavour was subtle and
sweet, not the bitter, acrid flavour of my wife's overused cunt. The
further I delved into her hole the looser it became, and the sweeter
and stronger the taste. Her hips began to writhe as I kept up my
assault on her, and I could hear her making little 'mmm' sounds,
growing closer together and higher in pitch as her excitement grew.
Finally, with a massive buck of her hips she reached her peak, and it was her most vocal yet.
"Aaahhhh, ahh, ah, ah-ah-ah," she cried, followed by "fuck, fuck,
fuck," as I pushed her legs back to her chest continued to abuse her
swollen button.
As I let her come down from her high, I decided she ought to pay for
calling me away from the convention. Standing, I stripped out of my
clothes and then leaned down beside the bed, lifting up her legs once
more, exposing her spit-slick valley. I dragged the head of my hungry
manhood through the slick, up and down, abusing her sensitive sex,
listening to the gasps and moans it elicited from above. When I pushed
into her I found the binding of her knees by her jeans had given her
tunnel added tightness, and I struggled to make my way inside. I
stopped when I was half in, and made short strokes, trying to open her,
but to no avail. With no other choice, using two hands grabbing the bed
covers to brace myself, I started pounding those few inches in and out
as hard as I could, delighting in the astonishing heat and pressure,
feeling myself building to an unstoppable climax. Just as I was about
to empty myself into her, I...
---
"Excuse me, sir? Sir!?"
I snapped out of my daydream with a start.
"Sorry, sorry," I muttered to the well-dressed young lady who had appeared at my elbow.
"Not at all, sir. It's just that you're blocking the doorway, and we
have rather a lot of people to deal with at the moment. If you could
just join one of the queues, you'll be seen as soon as possible."
Trudi - according to her name badge - gave me a warm smile, and then
ducked past me to talk to one of her colleagues, muttering something in
low tones about the security cameras.
I joined the nearest queue, caring not one bit that it was longer than
the others. Trying to guess which queue will be quickest is a mug's
game, so instead I stood calmly and let my mind wander. It made its way
home pretty quickly, to my little Cotswold cottage, where my wonderful
wife Caroline would be waiting for me when I got back. I'd already
decided this would be my last trip abroad for the company; someone else
could take the burden now. I would be needed at home pretty soon, with
my first born on the way. Things had been looking up lately, and
Caroline being pregnant was just the icing on the cake. I couldn't
remember being so happy.
I was jolted out of my revelry by the impact of a small body on mine. Immediately I heard a shout from my left.
"Caroline Gauley, you apologise to that man right now, y'hear?"
I glanced down. What a cute little coincidence: the girl was called
Caroline, too. She beamed up at me, gave me a rather unconvincing
'sorry!' and raced off to make an impact on someone else's day, chased
by a boy of the same age. The strange thing was, I was sure I'd seen
her somewhere before...
The End