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Archive name: imogen.txt (M/f-pre-teen, ped)
Authors name: The White Rabbit (white_rabbit27@hotmail.com)
Story title : Imogen's Transformation

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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2001.  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.
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Imogen's Transformation (M/f-pre-teen, ped)
by The White Rabbit (white_rabbit27@hotmail.com)

***

A nine-year-old girl unexpectedly starts menstruating. 
She's freaked out by the experience and it falls to her 
male babysitter to explain it to her. However, one 
explanation leads to another, and soon her curiosity is 
piqued.

Author's note: This is a work of fiction. I have never had 
sex with a minor, and I would strongly urge readers not to 
try to act out fantasies such as this in reality.

***

I first started baby-sitting for Imogen when she was seven. 
Her mother, Wendy, was a close friend of my then current 
girlfriend, Suzy; and, as Wendy was divorced and on her 
own, Suzy sometimes baby-sat. I got the impression, in 
fact, that Wendy got someone to baby-sit most evenings, and 
spent very little time herself with Imogen. I'm not saying, 
of course, that a mother should put her life on hold for 
her child; but being a parent (mother or father) brings a 
certain amount of responsibility with it. Wendy didn't seem 
to feel that.

One evening, Suzy phoned about six o'clock in a fluster. We 
were due to have a date that night (it was still the dating 
stage of the relationship) and had realised that she'd also 
promised Wendy to baby-sit. I calmed her down, and pointed 
out that the main reason for the date was to see her; and I 
could do that perfectly well anywhere.

So the upshot was, we had our date in Wendy's house. At 
least, that was the idea; but actually I spent a good deal 
of the time playing with the enchanting little seven-year-
old I met for the first time, while Suzy watched TV. I 
don't think I'd enjoyed myself so much for years. At last, 
when Imogen was finally in bed, accepted that she'd had the 
very last story read to her, and fallen asleep, Suzy and I 
had a spectacular fuck on the sofa. I was vaguely aware of 
something more erotic than usual in the air, but I couldn't 
place it, and soon forgot about the feeling.

We baby-sat quite often, after that: it was a while before 
I really convinced the girls that I actually did enjoy 
this. Imogen grew to be very special to me. I suppose, 
being objective, she wasn't the prettiest girl I ever met, 
or the most intelligent, though above average in both 
departments; but she had such a sunny, engaging personality 
that I was completely helpless to resist.

After a while, Suzy and I split up. Fortunately, there were 
no big rows, no open warfare: above all, no reason for 
Wendy to take sides. We both knew that we weren't suited to 
stay together; and, when Suzy had a job-offer in Brussels, 
we agreed easily that she should take it, we'd keep in 
touch, we'd stay friends. I also stayed friends with Wendy: 
at times, I didn't altogether like her, but I stayed 
friends for the sake of seeing Imogen, to continue baby-
sitting.

It was one evening when Imogen was nine. Wendy had just 
left, and we were settling down to watch a TV programme we 
both loved. Imogen had rushed up to the loo, before it 
started; and, before I knew it, there came a shriek from 
upstairs, and she came rushing down the stairs, sobbing, 
and flung herself into my arms. I held her as she buried 
her face into me. "What's the matter, sweetheart?" I asked 
softly.

Raising her head slightly, her face tragic, Imogen 
whispered, "I'm dying."

After a very quick check to ensure that there was nothing 
obvious to support this claim, I felt an impulse to laugh; 
but I resisted. I had always tried to give Imogen the 
respect I'd have hoped for, and this didn't include 
laughing at such a statement.

"Why do you think that?" I asked, caressing her head.

"Because I'm bleeding to death," she said, still not 
meeting my eyes.

For a few seconds, my eyes instinctively ran over her 
little body to find the injury; then, some instinct 
combined with realisation that part of her distress was 
shame, made me realise what was going on. "Sweetheart," I 
said quietly, "are you bleeding from down there? Between 
your legs?"

She nodded miserably, head down, face flushed. I stroked 
her head a little more, then tipped it backward, so she had 
to look up at me. "That doesn't mean you're dying, 
sweetheart," I said. "In fact, it just means you're growing 
up quicker than most."

That really got her attention, and she stared straight at 
me, her tear-filled eyes open wide. "What do you mean?" she 
asked.
I hesitated, wondering if I should start on this. It should 
be a woman explaining it - hell, it should be Wendy. I 
considered the likelihood of that, and I wasn't encouraged. 
Anyway, Wendy wasn't here; and one look at the confused, 
unhappy little face in front of me told me that Imogen 
needed answers now.

"Well," I said cautiously, "what do you know about how 
babies are made?"

She frowned, in puzzlement and thought. "You mean, the egg 
and the seed?" she asked cautiously; and when I nodded, she 
said, "Yes, we did that at school."

So, cuddling Imogen on my lap, I tried to explain 
menstruation in terms that she'd understand but wouldn't 
patronise her. I'm not sure if I entirely succeeded; but I 
don't think I did badly, for an improvised effort. 

 She asked a few questions, mostly quite intelligent ones; 
but, otherwise, she listened in silence, never once taking 
her eyes from my face.

When I'd finished, she was quiet for some time. Finally, 
she asked, "Why didn't they tell me about it before it 
happened?"

"That's a good question, sweetheart," I said; "but you've 
got to understand, most girls don't get to this stage till 
eleven or twelve, sometimes later. I don't think anyone 
quite expected you to grow up so quickly."

That seemed to satisfy her, as I'd guessed it would. After 
another long silence, she said timidly, "Andy. My panties 
are getting a bit uncomfortable. If everyone gets this, I 
suppose they must know what to do about it?"

Clever girl. I explained briefly about towels and tampons, 
and suggested tampons wouldn't be a good idea till she was 
older. "We could go and get some now from the supermarket," 
I suggested.

Imogen agreed; so I drove her quickly over there, and we 
picked out what she needed. We got a few funny looks, a man 
and a little girl (she showed no signs of maturity 
otherwise) buying sanitary towels. So what? We had a 
perfectly legitimate reason for it. No need to be worried 
by busybodies.

By the time we got back inside, Imogen was shifting 
uncomfortably from foot to foot, her face screwed up. 
"Andy," she said, "I've got to do something now. How do 
they work?"

I hesitated. "Well, sweetheart," I said, "I've never 
actually used one, of course. Normally, girls' mums or big 
sisters or someone help the first few times; but..."

"I need help," Imogen insisted. Her voice had a touch of 
whining in it, but I thought she could be forgiven that, 
after what she'd been through this evening. "Can't you 
help?"

"Sweetheart," I said, unsure how to handle this, "I would, 
but... do you really want to take your knickers off when 
I'm there?"

She looked up at me, her eyes wide. "Andy," she said 
simply, "I don't mind you seeing my pussy."

I had several reactions all at once: surprise (and a little 
shock) that she had a more extensive vocabulary than I'd 
thought; amusement at the way she'd put it; and (strangely, 
it seemed then) a little catch at the heart at the 
statement.

Anyway, the upshot was that I helped her change her panties 
and position a pad in the new pair, then show her how to 
pull them up carefully, keeping the pad in place. I got 
quite a good view of her pussy, noting how sweet it looked, 
still with a little of its baby puffiness and not a trace 
of hair. Imogen seemed quite happy for me to look, and I'd 
swear she deliberately opened her legs a little wider than 
was strictly necessary. Her face was very red, though, by 
the time we were finished.

By that time, it was strictly speaking after Imogen's 
bedtime; but I had no intention of sending her straight to 
bed, after such a traumatic evening. Instead, we both 
cuddled up on the settee with hot chocolate, and watched 
something mindless on TV, which wouldn't prevent us from 
talking. After a while, though, Imogen grew silent, her 
face setting into a frown of concentrated thought. I could 
tell that she was working up to saying something. I also 
knew, from experience, that it would be pointless to try to 
get it out of her before she was ready.

Finally, she looked up at me, her face worried. "Andy," she 
said. "You know how this means I've got the eggs now? Does 
that mean I'll be having a baby?"

"Of course not, sweetheart," I reassured her quickly. "It's 
entirely up to you when and if you decide to have a baby; 
but most girls don't start till they're at least twice your 
age, if not more."

"But..." She hesitated. "But suppose it happens by 
accident? I might not even notice."

I tried hard not to laugh at the thought of it happening by 
accident, and managed to keep a straight face. "No, baby," 
I told her, "I can say quite definitely, it won't happen 
without you noticing."

She put her head on one side. "So... how does it happen?"

I felt the moment of panic that probably everyone feels on 
hearing those words from a child. But I could always pass 
the buck. "Darling," I said, "I think it's really up to 
your mum to tell you about that."

Her face screwed up in agony. "But I won't be able to ask 
her till tomorrow," she told me tragically. "I've got to 
know now, Andy. Please."

That was it, I've never been able to resist Imogen, when 
she puts her mind to it. "OK, sweetheart," I said, "snuggle 
up to me while I tell you." When I had her sitting half on 
my lap, her head leaned against my chest, my arm tightly 
around her, I began, "Well, you know where the egg comes 
from now. You know that a boy's got, um... something else 
between his legs, don't you?"

Imogen gave me a look of total scorn and pity. "His willy," 
she said. "Of course I know that, I'm not a baby."

"Well," I said, ignoring the put-down, "the seed comes out 
of a man's willy."

There was total silence for a moment. "You're having me 
on," she said uncertainly. "They pee through their 
willies."

"Think about yourself. Your pee-hole's really close to your 
pussy-hole, isn't it? With a man, there's two tubes going 
through his willy. One carries pee, the other carries the 
seed: it's in a sort of gooey white stuff. Only one of the 
tubes can work at any one time."

"But..." She looked totally mystified. "But how does it get 
inside me?"

"Well... The man has to put his willy into the woman's 
pussy, and then shoot the seed out."

She stared at me in disbelief. "Oh, come on now. I don't 
believe you. A willy's all soft and squishy. How would it 
get inside something as little as a pussy?"

"Sometimes a willy can get really big and stiff," I said. 
"When a man's feeling sexy?" She screwed up her face 
questioningly. "Imogen, is there anyone - a boy at school, 
perhaps, or... a teacher? Or someone you see on the telly, 
who makes your tummy go all funny in a nice way? You might 
feel like you're getting butterflies, and you might feel 
really warm and a bit damp down below."

As I spoke, I could see Imogen going bright red, and she 
turned and buried her face against me. "I'm not asking you 
to tell me who it is," I said quickly. "I just want to know 
if you recognise the feeling." She didn't take her face 
away, but I felt her nod.

"That's good, sweetheart. Everyone gets like that, when 
they see someone they think is really sexy and beautiful. 
Only when men feel sexy, their willies get stiff. That's 
nature's way of preparing, just in case they get a chance 
to put it inside the woman's pussy. And if she feels sexy 
too, her pussy gets very wet, so that his willy slides in 
more easily. Then he can push it in and out, and the 
rubbing feels so good that both of them suddenly feel 
really incredible all over. That's called an orgasm, or 
coming. It's good for both, but part of a man's orgasm is 
that his seed spurts out of his willy and into the woman."

"And makes a baby?"

"Sometimes. But more often it doesn't, and there are things 
you can do to stop that happening, if you don't want to 
have a baby just then."

She didn't answer for a moment; then she asked, "What does 
it feel like, this org- org-, this coming?"

I hesitated. "I can't really tell you what it would feel 
like for you. Imogen, do you ever play with yourself? You 
know, rub your pussy to make it feel good?"

She jerked her head up and stared at me, total horror on 
her face. "I did when I was little," she admitted, turning 
red again. "And... once or twice... a bit..."

"Sweetheart," I said quickly, "there's no need to be 
ashamed of it. 
Everyone does it. Women play with their pussy, men play 
with their willy."

She stared at me incredulously. "You don't, do you?"

"Of course I do, sweetheart. When you do it, find a little 
knob right at the top of the slit, and rub that. You should 
find out what an orgasm's like."

She giggled suddenly, and her eyes filled with mischief. "I 
can't imagine you playing with your willy. I'd love to see 
that." Warning bells sounded in my head; but I hadn't 
thought of an answer yet, when she continued, "What you 
were talking about, where the willy goes... you know, in... 
Was that what you and Suzy used to do, when I'd gone to 
bed?"

That was a real bombshell. Of course, Suzy and I had often 
taken advantage of being alone, once we were sure that 
Imogen was asleep. But how had the child known?

"What makes you say that?" I asked uneasily.

"Well, one time I woke up, and there was a noise coming 
from down here. I couldn't get back to sleep, so I came 
down, but you were both lying on here. 

 You were on to of Suzy, with your trousers down, and you 
were, sort of, pushing up and down, and you were both 
making these gasping noises."

"So... what did you do?" I asked faintly.

"Well... I felt a bit scared, and I was sleepy, so I went 
back to bed. But it's OK, now I know what you were doing." 
She considered for a moment. "You were in love with Suzy, 
weren't you?" I nodded. I didn't feel awkward talking about 
Suzy, but I wasn't sure where this was leading. "Do people 
have to be in love, to do it?"

I thought quickly about what I should say to this. "They 
don't have to be," I said at last. "People do it... It's 
called making love, and people do it for different reasons. 
Sometimes it's because they're in love, sometimes they 
really like each other, and get turned on by how sexy each 
other is. That's OK too. But it's best if you're doing it 
with someone you're in love with."

"Oh." She thought for a moment. "Andy? What does a willy 
look like, when it's stiff?"

"It... um... well, it..." I was really floundering now. How 
do you explain something like that to someone who's never 
seen it?

"I know," she said suddenly, clapping her hands in joy at 
the brilliant idea she'd just had. "I could look at yours, 
and you can rub it so it feels sexy and gets stiff."

"Uh... Whoa, sweetheart." That really threw me into a spin, 
not least because the back of my mind was vaguely aware of 
my cock immediately hardening. Where was that coming from? 
"You can't just go asking men to show you their willies. 
It's not right."

She looked totally gobsmacked. "But you've seen my pussy," 
she pointed out. "So what's wrong with me seeing your 
willy? Fair's fair."

I couldn't deny that she had a point; and, as I struggled 
in my head with the arguments, I began to realise that part 
of me was hoping I couldn't find a convincing reply. What's 
the harm? a voice was whispering inside me. It's only 
educational, it's not like I'm going to do anything. And if 
she doesn't get what she wants from me, she might ask 
someone who can't be trusted.

"All right," I said at last, warily. "But you mustn't tell 
anyone. Some people might not understand. Promise?"

"Promise," she agreed quickly, her eyes shining. "It's a 
secret, cross my heart and hope to die." She a little away 
from me, watching expectantly. "Come on," she said, "get it 
out."

Feeling absurdly awkward and shy, in front of this little 
girl, I undid my trousers and pulled them down. I could see 
Imogen's wide eyes following my every movement; and she 
gave a little squeal, that was between joy and 
consternation, when she was able to see that something was 
making my underpants stick right out in front. "Oh, Andy," 
she breathed, "it's getting sexy already. Let me see, 
please."

So I worked the underwear down over the healthy erection I 
was sporting, and sat with my stiff cock sticking almost 
straight upwards, while Imogen stared, holding her breath 
with excitement. After a moment, she reached out a hesitant 
hand until she'd almost made contact, then snatched it 
quickly away. She looked up at me doubtfully, sucking her 
lower lip. "It's beautiful," she whispered. "Can I touch 
it?"

No way, I said, it's wrong, and I don't want to go to 
prison. At least, that's what I thought I was saying, until 
I heard my voice coming out with, "OK, if you want to."

She reached again cautiously, while I sat and wondered what 
the hell I thought I was doing. I felt her little 
fingertips brush against the head, and it gave an entirely 
involuntary twitch at the sensation. Imogen snatched her 
hand back with a little scream; but, almost at once, she 
was reaching out again, more confident this time. "It's so 
big," she said. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever 
seen."

Well, beauty's in the eye of the beholder; but I'd never 
thought of a man's cock as beautiful. Like most men would, 
I felt a surge of pride at having mine described as so big. 
I did feel a bit of a fraud at this reaction, though, aware 
that almost any adult cock would seem big to a nine-year-
old girl.

"Touch it again, if you want to," I suggested. I think it 
was at that point that my nagging conscience gave up in 
disgust. "You could rub it, if you like."

She nodded abstractedly, as she ran her fingertips more 
confidently over the shaft, giggling as she found that the 
foreskin drew back from the head. Exposing the reddened 
knob, she played with it for a bit, investigating the 
little slit at the end. "Is that where it comes out of?" 
she asked, glancing up at me. I nodded, unwilling to trust 
my voice to answer. I'm not normally a quick shooter, but I 
was definitely close to coming. I'd never in my life 
experienced anything a fraction as erotic as this sweet 
little girl playing with my cock, half like a baby, half 
like a slut.

Imogen giggled again, out of sheer joy, and partly, 
perhaps, the dim realisation of just how much she was able 
to control this grown-up. She started a regular rubbing 
motion up and down the shaft, making up in hard wanking 
what she lacked in skill. she even brought her other hand 
round, and started playing with my balls. It only took a 
minute or so of this, before I felt them tighten and the 
spunk surging up my cock. Then my head flew off into outer 
space, and I felt spurt after spurt of sticky come shooting 
out to splash her hands and my legs.

"Wow," she breathed, "you did a come." Then she looked down 
at her spunk-covered hands. "Yuck," she commented, though 
without any obvious disgust. "This is it, then?" 
Cautiously, she raised her right hand to her nose, and 
sniffed. "Is it safe?" she asked after a moment.

"Completely safe," I reassured her. "Unless, of course, 
you're intending to stick your hand up your pussy in the 
next few minutes." I'm not sure what made me say that; but 
I do know that I felt my cock twitch again, as I spoke.

Imogen wrinkled her nose and looked at me as if I were mad. 
"Of course not," she said.

I cleaned us both up with tissues from a box that Wendy 
keeps beside the settee (thanks, Wendy), and then Imogen 
got back on my lap and we cuddled very tightly in silence. 
It didn't occur to me until she was on my lap that I hadn't 
pulled my trousers up; but she didn't object, and I wasn't 
going to disturb her.

After a while, I could tell, from the tension in Imogen's 
body, that she was working up to saying something. I just 
held her close, caressing her hair and her body, waiting 
till she felt ready to speak.

Eventually, her face still buried deeply in my chest, 
Imogen mumbled, "Andy?"

"Yes, sweetheart?" I said.

"You know I said there's someone who makes me feel sexy?"

"Yes," I said, wondering what she was going to tell me.

"It's you," she said; then buried her face even more 
deeply.

That gave me a few moments to take in this bombshell and 
think about my reaction. And what was my reaction? I'd only 
just discovered that the little nine-year-old I'd adored 
and looked after these two years gave me a hard-on. Now I 
was faced with the news that I'd been making her horny, 
too. 

 How did I handle this?

I suppose I didn't really make a decision, just left myself 
to fly by the seat of my pants. "Sweetheart," I said 
gently, "that's got to be the most flattering thing you can 
say about anyone. I feel really honoured that I make you 
feel sexy."

Imogen lifted up her head and looked at me gravely. "You 
really don't mind?" she asked. I shook my head, and she 
smiled a suddenly sparkling smile. "That's great, isn't it, 
Andy? We both make each other feel sexy."

"Hang on," I said, suddenly sensing a trap closing. "Who 
said you make me feel sexy?"

Her eyes suddenly clouded, and she looked about to cry. I 
felt a real bastard, especially since she was absolutely 
right. "But," she protested uncertainly, "your willy got 
stiff when I asked to look at it. And when I rubbed it, you 
had a come-thing."

I knew that, for Imogen's own protection, I really should 
be ruthless; but, looking at that stricken face that I 
loved so much, I couldn't bring myself to lie to her. 
"You're right," I said, avoiding meeting her eyes, "you're 
an incredibly sexy little girl, and being with you makes my 
willy hard."

She giggled. "I know," she said, "I can feel it." I 
realised, with a shock, that I had another erection, and 
Imogen must be feeling it pressing into her bum. "Andy, 
will you put into my pussy? Please?"

She must have read the shock on my face, because she went 
on quickly, "Well, I'm old enough for that now, as I've 
started getting eggs and bleeding, and we both make each 
other feel sexy, and... and I love you, and I always have, 
and... and... don't you love me?"

So, of course, I just had to take her in my arms and kiss 
her. It started as an ordinary kiss, the kind we've shared 
plenty of times before; but it quickly developed into a 
passionate snog, mouths open, my tongue pushing into 
Imogen's mouth and dueling with her little tongue.

When, at last, we separated, Imogen sat gazing at me, head 
slightly on one side, one of her sparkling smiles lighting 
up her cute face. "So we can do it?" she asked.

"Sweetheart," I said, wishing desperately I could make her 
understand, "I really would love to," (would I really? I 
thought, as I spoke) "but it just wouldn't be right."

Imogen's mouth turned down at the corners, and her eyes 
took on that basilisk expression that only little girls do 
exactly right. Then, very suddenly, her face cleared. "Our 
teacher talked to us once," she said slowly, "about bad 
touching. I didn't really understand it then; but I suppose 
she must have been talking about people who want to put 
their willies up girls' pussies. She kept saying that we'd 
got the right to say no."

"She was right," I said urgently. I knew I'd opened a can 
of worms, and the one thing I must do was to ensure that 
she understood this lesson. "All of these sexy things are 
great, if it's what you want, but you should never let 
anyone do anything like that to you if you don't want it, 
or if it's making you uncomfortable. Do you understand, 
sweetheart?"

She nodded slowly, gravely. "Yes," she said slowly. "I 
wouldn't let anyone put his willy in me if I didn't want 
him to. But..." She looked at me very seriously. "If I've 
got the right to say no, doesn't that mean I've got the 
right to say yes, too?"

As you might imagine, that floored me: it was an argument 
I'd never thought of before. "You're quite right, 
sweetheart," I said after a moment. "You've a perfect right 
to say you want to do anything that makes you happy. 

 But don't forget, there are two people involved here."

Imogen frowned at me again. "Do you mean?" she asked, "you 
don't want to do it with me? I thought you loved me."

"Of course I love you, darling," I assured her quickly. 
"That's why I have to think about doing the right thing for 
you. You see, even though you're very grown up for your 
age, you're still a little girl. Sometimes, you might not 
realise how much you can be hurt by what you want, until 
it's too late. How could I say I loved you, if I didn't 
bother to make sure you're safe?"

Imogen flung her arms around me, pulling herself close to 
me again. For a moment, I thought I was out of danger, 
until I realised that, once again, she was working up to 
saying something. Eventually, she said, "Andy, you know 
when we go to the playground?"

"Yes," I said, puzzled. For a moment, I thought she was 
going to accuse me of looking at other little girls (I 
don't think I ever had); but she simply said, "When I go 
and swing from right at the top of the climbing-frame. That 
scares you, doesn't it?"

"I didn't think you knew that, sweetheart. I tried not to 
make it too obvious; but I'm always afraid of you falling."

"But you don't try to stop me, do you? You don't always 
think I have to be safe, when I'm having fun."

There's no doubt about it: my little Imogen's going to be a 
lawyer when she grows up. I really didn't have an answer to 
her; and I was surprised how relieved I felt to discover 
that. Before that night, I'd have been horrified at the 
idea; but I knew now that what I wanted, more than anything 
in the world, was to be my sweet little girl's first ever 
lover, to watch her adorable little body shake and writhe 
and moan with orgasm after orgasm, knowing I was giving her 
that gift, to shoot my come in her pussy and her mouth and 
all over her soft, sweet skin. I wanted to do nothing else 
for the rest of my life but fuck little Imogen.

I wasn't totally out of control, though. It was all 
happening too fast. I would sooner die than do anything to 
harm my baby girl; and what she wanted now, in the heat of 
the moment, might not be what she'd want tomorrow. Anyway, 
there were certain problems.

"Sweetheart," I said, holding her more tightly towards me. 
She put her lips up to mine, and we kissed, long and 
sensuously. "If it's what you really want," I added, when 
the kiss finally finished, "there's nothing I'd love more. 
But," I forestalled her reaction, "it wouldn't be very nice 
while you're bleeding down there, would it?"

She stared at me for a moment, then shook her head slowly. 
I think she'd actually forgotten about the bleeding, for a 
moment. "OK," I said, "here's the deal. If you still want 
this as much when you've finished bleeding, then we'll do 
it. All right? But remember this, darling: if you have any 
doubts about it, any doubts at all, you must tell me. Never 
let anyone do anything to you that you don't want. I'll 
still love you every bit as much if you change your mind. 
Do you understand?"

Imogen looked at me very seriously, and nodded. "Yes," she 
whispered.

"Right," I said, "I think it's past someone's bedtime."

"Oh, no, can't I just..."

"You want your mum to come home and find you still up?" I 
gave her bum a playful smack. "Just because you're the 
sexiest little girl in the world, doesn't mean you don't 
have to go to bed."

When I tucked her in, as I always did, she gazed up 
adoringly at me. 
"Andy," she said, "does this mean I'm your girlfriend now?"

I smiled down at her. "If you want to be," I said. "I'd 
like that." And I gave her what started like our normal 
goodnight kiss, and finished up as though our mouths were 
making love.

"I love you, Imogen," I told her softly.

"I love you too, Andy," she murmured, half asleep. "I can't 
wait for next time."

And, coming down the stairs with a hard-on I'd just have to 
deal with before Wendy got back, I acknowledged that I felt 
exactly the same.

THE END

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This archive does not condone child abuse, we also do
not censor authors. 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 penitentiary.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 14