                              7
                       An Erotic Story
     
     "Seven," she told me.
     "Huh?"  I was resting; trying to get my breath after
the most incredible sex I'd ever had, with likely one of the
most beautiful women I'd ever meat.  (Pun intended.)  Even
the most experienced and high-priced hookers would fail the
test.  I was wondering just when this woman, who couldn't be
more than just *barely* "legal" at eighteen, if that, had
started.
     "I said, `Seven,'" she replied.  "The answer is always
seven."
     Uh ... Just what I needed ... a kook.  Just about the
time I meat a woman that looks worthy of chasing around the
world to marry, she turns out to have some weird hangup over
numbers.  Damn.
     "I was seven years old when I first had sex," she
explained.
     Oh.  Oh God ... Seven.  THAT is what she meant.  I
tried imagining having sex when I was only seven myself, and
couldn't do it.  I was nine, almost ten, before I started
playing with myself, and almost two years older when I first
ejaculated.  Seven.
     "Uhuh," the woman answered my inquisitive look.  "It
was on the night of my seventh birthday that Daddy first
came down to my room, climbed under the covers with me,
slipped his fat prick up in my crack, slid in and out, and
then pumped thick white gobs of baby-goo in my hole.  Seven.
The answer is always seven."
     Oh shit.  "You mean your father raped you when you were
only seven years old?" I asked.
     "Raped?  Who said anything about rape?  I said I had
SEX when I was seven.  It took seven years after I was born
before Mom figured I was ready for it.  I took to sex like a
duck takes to water.  For a while I was annoyed that Mom
actually made me wait seven whole years to feel this
wonderful thing."
     Oh.  I thought a bit more; then opened my mouth to ask
how much sex she had at when she first started at such a
young age.  After all, you don't expect a kid that young to
be having sex several times a day like a teenager!
     "Seven," she replied before I asked.  "I told you, the
answer is always seven."
     This was getting annoying.  The woman didn't even know
what I was going to ask, and replies with the same shit.
     "At least seven times a week.  Mom saw to it that Daddy
slipped into my bed at least once a night after that first
time; and on the times he didn't, she made him make it up to
me the following week.  Seven."
      "Seven times ... That's the number of times Daddy
fucked me in one day," she explained.
     Oh shit.  I wondered how old she had been when she
first got pregnant; as it didn't sound like her horny goat
of a father was inclined to use birth-control ... and her
mother didn't sound like the type to make him.
     "Seven," she said again, to my questioning look.
     I started a slow burn again.
     "It took seven years from the first time we had sex
until Daddy knocked me up, a little past my fourteenth
birthday."
     Oh Geesh.  How had the woman even guessed the question
I was going to ask?
     "Seven," she said.  "The answer is *always* seven.
You're the seventh guy to ask me.  When you look at me that
way, the answer is always obvious; and it's always seven.
For example, my sisters and I had seven kids by Daddy before
we left, and the oldest was just seven, and Daddy was
climbing into HER bed for the first time, when we took off
for college.  Seven girls in one tiny apartment; two of them
my sisters.  No, I didn't have seven kids *personally* by my
father, but they came within less than seven years."
     "So you're ...?"
     "Twenty-One ... or three times seven," she replied with
a grin.
     God, she didn't really look a day over fourteen.  ("Two
times seven," whispered a quiet voice in my mind.  "Shut
UP," I told myself.)
     I wondered if I was crazy enough to marry this woman,
how long it would take to get her to the alter, and if I
did, how old *our* kids would have to be before she had me
porking the girls like she and her sisters were?
     "Seven years," she answered my unspoken question.  "I
*told* you, the answer is always seven.  And yes, my two
sisters were named, `Five' and `Six'; as Mom numbered her
pregnancies from her own father, before she met Daddy."
     Oh God ... That meant her very NAME was ....
                             7.
