Tales from the Caribbean Shanita First an Overview, then the Story Having spent fifteen years in the enveloping warmth of the Caribbean, I have come to understand and love the people. I have travelled extensively throughout the islands and talked at length with the locals. Gradually, I have become aware of a trend that had been alien to me and, to begin with, was a little shocking. I found that many of the women who confided in me, confessed to having had very early sexual experiences. They told me that, almost exclusively, they had been happy experiences and ones that they would never regret; but also, they revealed that they would usually recommend their own children to undergo similar experiences providing the man was caring and considerate. A simple example of this was given to me by my maid who had been reporting to me that one of her neighbour’s children – I later met her: a pretty, sleight little girl of eleven – had been visiting the home of another neighbour; a man in his sixties. My maid discovered this through confession given by the child to her own (my maid’s) daughter. Apparently, for over three years, she had been visiting the old man daily, after school, to administer oral sex to him, and to receive it. The girl claimed to enjoy it and was happy to receive her little bag of sweets at the end of the week as her reward. However, the girl confessed that for the last year or so, she had been having full, penetrative sex with the old man, and this caused my maid a little concern. So she had approached the child’s mother and revealed all. The mother’s response seemed to me to epitomise the prevailing philosophy, for she had said: “It’s her cunt; she can do what she likes with it!” My series of stories – all prefixed with Tales from the Caribbean – are dramatisations of true stories as revealed to me over my time here. They were ALL told to me by the, now adult, girl-children who experienced the episodes. You may find some stories disturbing because it is clear that the child was the instigator at a very young age, or because the child was indisputably coerced or tricked; or maybe you will be shocked at how girls can be so driven – almost crazed – by their sexual desires at ages as young as six. If any of these are the case, you must bear in mind that this is the culture that pervades after generations of similar experiences and perhaps it is the overriding sexuality of the Caribbean female that is at fault. Above all, two things should be remembered. First, they are all based on true experiences as revealed to me by the girls themselves; and, second, you do not have to read them. Shanita “Shanita,” her little high-pitched voice softly uttered from the back seat. “That’s a lovely name,” I told her. “How old are you Shanita?” “Ten,” she said shyly. I turned my head to take another look at her for, when she climbed into my car, I thought she looked about eight at the most. My glance confirmed my impression – she did only look about eight. She was petite, with large bright eyes that were made to sparkle all the more because of her black skin. The little pale blue checkered gingham school dress was excessively small even for her delicate frame. It showed nearly all of her thighs as she sat deep in the seat. I wished she’d sat in the front where I could better have enjoyed the sight of her flesh, but at least she was there. I had been driving slowly through the hills on my way home after delivering my kids to school and, as usual ignored the local people putting their hands out for a lift. Shanita hadn’t held out her hand, she’d been walking downhill on the other side of the narrow road and I’d passed her by slowly. We’d smiled at each and I’d stopped. Without a word, she had opened the back door and climbed in. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked as I always do when I meet a new little girl. “Yes,” she answered unhelpfully. Even that one syllable she managed to make sing with her small island accent. “All brothers?” I was used to this kind of conversation to start with. It would take another meeting with her for her to feel comfortable with me. “No. Four brothers and six sisters,” she told me. “All older or are you in the middle?” This all took time, but I hoped it would be beneficial in the end. I liked them to feel relaxed with me. “My brothers are all big. They don’t live at home any more. Jenine is twelve, the twins are eleven and my little sisters are eight and six.” It seemed a lot to remember but I just focussed my mind on the females. “Daddy? What about him?” I deliberately left the question ambiguous. In this Caribbean island, they usually breed from different men. “He doesn’t live with us. Only Mummy and my Aunty.” That sounded encouraging. “So, you have lots of cousins too,” I suggested. “Yes. Five, and they are all girls,” she declared proudly, as if that represented some kind of high score achievement. My thoughts of all these girls living where she must be, way up in the hills in some little shack, and probably with two simplistic and gullible women looking after them, produced a kind of blood-rush that filled my prick. Naturally, it rose in my boxers. As usual in this climate, I was wearing shorts – no underpants – and my prick began to poke out the leg. I had to re-adjust it, which I did without bothering to consider if she could see me or not. In fact, the only re-adjustment I could do comfortably was to pull the damn thing out and let it poke straight up into the air. Once accomplished, I concentrated more fully on my driving – these roads were twisting and quite dangerously precipitous. “What’s your favourite subject at school, Shanita?” “Er, Science I think.” Her voice was so sweet. “That’s a big subject. Is it Astronomy, Biology, Chemistry or what, you like best?” “Oh, Biology. Babies and stuff like that.” Like most girls up to this age, babies feature high on their list of interest. That blurs into reproduction and sex at some point in time. “Right,” I said knowingly. “How to feed them, how they grow, how you make them and that sort of thing.” I suggested. “Yep.” “You know how they get made?” I asked trying to sound innocent of any ulterior motive. “Sure. We had that last month. Eggs get er,” “Fertilised,” I offered. “Yeah, fertilised by them squiggly things.” “And you know where the squiggly things come from?” “Sure. A man has to put them there. We did all that,” she boasted. I wasn’t sure if she could see my throbbing prick from where she sat and as we had a way to go yet, through the hills, before we reached the school I suggested she might like to sit in the front to save my neck from twisting so much. I pulled over and she happily clambered between seats to join me in the front. As she did so, I covered my prick with the cotton shorts but kept an eye on her at the same time I had a wonderful view of her flimsy knickers and clearly saw the outline of her hairless pussy and the divine crack between. We drove on for a minute or two in silence, but I could see her staring from time to time, with increasing confidence, at my tool. My baggy shorts allowed my rampant prick to poke the material straight up. It was obviously not just bunched up material but tented like some pole was forcing it up – which it was. I fidgetted it about a little in an absentminded sort of way. “I’m sorry about this,” I told her casually. “It doesn’t usually go hard like this. It’s a bit uncomfortable.” I tried to re-arrange my prick in my pants, quite blatantly. She watched without saying anything. “I’m sorry if I’m embarrassing you,” I added to get some response. “That’s okay,’ she said softly. Her voice sounded a little different. Maybe she was embarrassed. “You know that this sort of thing can happen sometimes?” I asked her. “Sure. I don’t mind, honest,” she smiled. “The wriggly things come out of one of those, don’t they?” She suddenly asked. “Yes, they do.” I left my tool alone, allowing it to casually poke rudely up inside my shorts as if it was of no significance. “How?” She asked curiously whilst looking studiously at it. “Well, that’s the thing,” I began. “You have to know how to do it,” I said vaguely. “I thought it just went inside the mummy and the wriggly things swam out.” “Oh no,” I said. “They can come swimming out any time, but first this thing has to get hard – like it is now – then, it has to be rubbed. That can be done in different ways – by hand, inside the mummy or even by her sucking on it.” “Er, gross,” she shuddered the word. “Perhaps, but I know lots of ladies who love sucking on this.” I gave it another squeeze. “Why?” “Because it feels nice for them. It makes them feel sexy inside. Don’t you ever feel sexy inside?” I asked as if she would be guilty of failure if she didn’t. “I dunno, but sometimes I feel kinda itchy down there, like now.” “That’s because you are thinking about this.” I stroked it again. “It’s okay for you to feel sexy, Shanita. We all do. It’s a nice feeling isn’t it?” “Well, I sometimes want to scratch it, but I scared to ‘cos it looks rude to do it. Other girls think it ain’t clean down there, but I wash down there every day, honest,” she told me to reassure me of her cleanliness. “So, you never scratch that itch?” “No, only in bed. Then it feels nice when I play with my button,” she was totally relaxed with me now. Much sooner than most girls I’ve had this conversation with. “You are so sweet, Shanita. If it is itching you lots now, you can scratch it now if you want, it won’t matter to me, honestly. Do you want to touch your button now? I won’t mind if you do, promise” Well, she could always say no. To reassure her that it was okay, I began to lasciviously play with my prick as I pulled the car over to the side and stopped. She watched me for a while and tentatively slid her hand under her skirt, seemingly unaware – or unconcerned – that we were parked. She paused for a moment and looked at me, perhaps for assurance. “Go head. It’s okay honestly. I won’t tell anyone. You’ll feel much better for it. Unless you want me to do it for you?” I offered magnanimously. ‘No. It’s okay, thanks,” she declined politely. Apparently that decided it for her. She seemed to think that her choices were that either she do it for herself, or she let me do it to her. It didn’t seem to occur to her that she could merely say that she didn’t want to do anything at all. Her mind made up, she slid her hand up to her tummy and down the top of her pants with renewed boldness that showed that she didn’t want me to do it for her. Once there, she settled her tiny bottom into the seat and slid down a little, parting her legs at the same time. The moment her finger found her button, she emitted a small sigh. “Good girl. That feels so much nicer doesn’t it?” “Mmm,” she moaned, eyes fixed on my prick. “If I get this out for you to look at, that might make you feel even nicer, yes?” “Okay,” she responded softly. I needed no second invitation. In a show of dexterity that surprised even me, I had my full erection in her view as I studied the look on her face. It was a look of wanton wonder and awe. I left my dick poking in the air without touching it. “So, how do the wriggly things come out?” She asked, slightly breathless as she frigged her little virgin pussy. “You have to do this. It’s quite easy,” I tempted her by rubbing my prick. “What do I have to do?” she asked as if she was seeking permission rather than clarifying the instructions. “Hold it, to start with, then rub it up and down. It’s very simple really.” I turned my body a little so the head was pointing straight at her lovely face. Shanita, being right-handed, clearly had some difficulty now. I could see she wanted to get her little fingers around my tool, but equally, she didn’t want to leave off rubbing her clit. She tried to stretch her left hand across to my prick (remember, we drive on the left in this Country so she was sitting on my left), but couldn’t quite reach without major shifting of her tiny body. “I tell you what, Shanita. As a special treat, I will fix your little itch for you so you can use your hand to rub my thingy,” I suggested. She looked puzzled to begin with, but as my left hand joined hers inside her knickers, she realised what I meant and withdrew her right hand – her previous refusal forgotten. Of course, she had to open her legs wider for my large hand, but that was easy to do. Her hand, now free, shot across quickly to grab my prick. “Oh God,” she cried. “What’s up?” I asked with concern. “It feels so much nicer when you do it,” she whispered. “That’s because I’ve had lots of experience with little girls’ buttons,” I lied. She threw her head back in abandonment, eyes shut tight, as she held my prick and I frigged her tiny clit. She felt really warm and soft and I relished the feel of her silky-smooth cunt-lips as I stroked around her pussy. With her eyes shut, I was able to freely study her pretty face, even though she had it a little screwed up with the lovely sensations I was giving her. Her lips parted and she rested her head back and let herself go with the feelings. Shanita seemed happy enough just to hold my dick without doing very much with it. Just the occasional tighter squeeze and moving her little hand and down, but mostly with allowing her fingers to roll over the surface and onto the smooth head. I concentrated on rubbing her clitoris as gently but as fast as I could, speeding up as I sensed her getting more and more worked up. Shanita came moments later. Her legs stiffened out in front, almost crushing my hand. Her grip was vice-like on my dick, but she had stopped rubbing it for me. After a few seconds, she fell limp in the seat. “That was great,” she said. “I never knew it could feel so good.” Her big eyes were all watery as she looked gratefully into mine. “You see, I told you it would be alright. Now all you need is to see how those wriggly things come out.” “Oh yeah,” she said like she’d forgotten about them. She re-gripped my prick and sat up more attentively in the seat. “What do I do?” I held her small hand in mine and began a slow rhythmic up and down motion. “Just rub like this.” “Is that all?” She seemed disappointed. “Doesn’t it have to go inside me?” Clearly, she had been distracted enough earlier not to understand what I’d told her – so like modern youngsters today. “Inside? No, not yet. When you are bigger, unless you want to put it in your mouth,” I offered. “No, it’s okay,” she said definitively. She began to rub more steadily now as I settled back in my seat to enjoy a little ten-year-old masturbation. “Oh, Shanita, you’re so good at this. Wouldn’t it be good to do this again?” I asked. “Sure. Pick me up tomorrow if you like. But Thursday, I don’t have to go to school so I wouldn’t be here,” she told me, not realising the possibilities that that presented. “Okay, but for now, get ready for the little things to come out. You can’t see them because they are so small, but they are inside a white liquid called sperm,” I prepared her. “I know about that stuff, but I didn’t know it was white. Them things is all black, so I thought it would be black stuff as wot come out.” “Here it is. Look for yourself,” I suggested as my hips rose off the seat and spunk shot into the air and all over her small hand. “Keep rubbing,” I had to remind her. “There’s lots more.” Bless her, she rubbed even harder and loads more of my jizm flew out across her fingers. “God that feels good, Shanita. I told you you were good at this. It’s never felt so nice before.” Which was true, especially as I’d never been masturbated by a ten-year-old before. “Me too,” she declared enigmatically. “What?” I asked, strain apparent in my voice. “It never felt so nice for me as when you done it to me,” she clarified. “I want to do it again tomorrow.” Once we’d cleaned up, I continued the journey to her school and, on the way, we made each other promise to keep this our own big secret. She couldn’t wait until the next day, she said. I suggested that on Thursday, if she wanted, she could come to my house and I would teach her how to do lots more and I would make her feel even nicer. “Whah?” She exclaimed. “Even better?” “Sure,” I confirmed confidently, as one who was well experienced in such matters. “Great. Tomorrow we can do what we just did, again, and Thursday, you’ll teach me more?” “That’s right.” “Can’t wait,” she said, and skipped off to school, a much relieved little girl. I drove off thinking about her eleven little sisters and cousins. If you enjoyed this story, do let me know with an email. You will find the link on my profile.