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 Photoplay - 7

   by Feather Touch



   Jans had remained hunched over his little bicyclist friend for the first
part of his stories, then, realizing from her avid attention to his
narrative of his little cousin Mikey and his friend Craig, student of Miss
Williams, that he had something of an epic on his hands, he'd interrupted
himself by cumming hard and heavily between the silken, little-girl thighs
of his pretty new friend.  They'd retreated to a bed of ferns where they'd
continued, the male licking the girl clean and kissing her repeatedly as
she asked for more details.  Her enthusiastic response had admittedly led
him somewhat into the land of fantasy and he'd fabricated a bit as he went
along, twice placing his pixie back on the mossy log and thrusting between
her legs, giving the child gentle cums before he again tensed over her and
splattered the naked young beauty with his hot teen seed.  The hours had
crept by as perfectly as a Saturday afternoon could yield them, the bugs
for the most part left them alone, and it was turning evening when the tall
male and the happy, satiated girl emerged from the woods.  Their hands
squeezed as Electra retrieved her pistol from the bushes and tucked it back
out of sight in her pack.  Both knew they'd had the date of a lifetime and
that their lives would take them in different directions, far richer for
their hours outside the lines.



   Likewise, the day was waning and, having taken sufficient video of all
three histories I'd parked the camera after snapping a number of stills. 
Renaldo had held up magnificently for a fourteen year old, his cousins
obviously enthralled at how big and hard he'd stayed, though hours had
transpired.  Electra, the young champion of the three literate and
thoroughly engaging beauties, now became aggressive with me.  My duties and
her stories over, she reached for my hand and coaxed me down next to her,
lying me on my back, stripping off my briefs, then her training bra and
panties, then lying down on me with her smooth back against my chest.  She
arched and my hands went to her flanks, slowly working low across her
pretty tummy, then up over her chest and tiny breasts.  She felt sleek and
hot, her birdlike torso heaving under my caresses.  She lay inert for
several minutes as Renaldo and Madonna huddled over us, their fingers
roaming over both the girl and me as they bent over us to kiss each other
time and again.  Renaldo, on our left, thrust his huge penis against the
chest of his young cousin and I reached across with my right hand to spread
his seminal fluid over his swollen, purple glans and the child's heaving
ribs.  For a minute or two he tensed, then Electra spoke up.



   "I forgot party of my story," she whispered.  We all looked at each
other.  Everything was perfect, and the pixie told the most wonderful
tales... and nodded.  She smiled happily, rolling quickly over to kiss me
on the lips.  That lasted long enough for Renaldo and Madonna to get, so to
speak, one last taste of each other, before Electra again wriggled on her
back, guiding my right hand high between her silky young legs, and began
filling in the missing chapter of her account of the experiences of others.




   "It was the next morning at LoveLess," she said, "you remember, the
special resort where the lesser get loved, even if they can't vote moron
one out of office." Needless to say, we all did remember, so she picked up
the story of Andrew and Craig without further ado.



   There was a soft knock on the door.  It was eight in the morning, the
occupants had slept like logs since midnight, and Andrew jumped alertly to
the entrance, dressed in a terry robe.  A staff member entered.  He came
right to the point.



   "My name is George Kitrick," he said, "and we have an emergency
situation.  It's not a fire or anything effecting you, and it's a little
complicated, so if I can..."

   "Go right ahead," the executive said, nodding to a chair.

   "Thanks," the bellboy said, "this happens eight or ten times a year. 
The management deals with two psychiatrists in the area, both of whom are
the first to see police cases in their districts.  Both these doctors also
believe in an alternative therapy for rape victims.  Immersion.  The girls
- once in awhile it's a boy, but this time a ten year old female, victim of
her grandfather - are brought here sedated.  When they wake up there in an
angel environment, soft light, a special heart-shaped bed with white pillow
all around.  Both children and adults wearing ancient Greek costumes of
tunics and skirts are lying on the pillows.  The youngest children crawl to
the victim and offer her food and drink.  This goes on for maybe half an
hour to an hour, then slowly older children and young teens come to talk to
the girl, watch television with her, tell her her parents are waiting to
see her and everything is okay outside and ask if she wants to stay.  In
some cases this gentle re-entry is enough and the girl chooses to leave,
but the atmosphere is especially pleasant and beautiful, so most are happy
to lie back on the silk pillows and talk with the boys and girls.  Then the
girls start doing the victims hair and playing around with cosmetics. 
Meantime, some of the older males are moving closer to the boys and girls,
flirting and acting playful with them.  It's a dance, I suppose, with the
victim calling the tune just by virtue of her response.  Gradually, the
adults move against the children, first touching them playfully, then more
sensually, and finally, molesting them openly in front of the victim while
they slowly strip.  Then sometimes the girl is asked if she wants to play a
special game, one that she can play because she's not a little kid anymore.
So far, every one of about six hundred victims has wanted to play.  The
game is called dream partner, and it's explained that it's to balance the
nightmare she's just been through.  When the girl nods, the adults and
children arrange them in a circle around the bed, standing or sitting on
pillows.  The victim is allowed to choose which she brings onto the bed. 
Very childish, but very therapeutic.  After that, the remaining adults and
children begin having open sex play, and the chosen male on the bed begins
touching the victim.  So," the so-called bellboy said in conclusion, "we're
asking you to volunteer."



   "We'd be delighted," Andrew said with a nod from Craig, "and, by the
way, you might try the room next door; a ten year old girl with her brother
and his best friend.  Her name is Mary."



   "Thanks," the visitor said, and telling the volunteers the victim would
be arriving after breakfast and where to assemble, he went on about his
task.



   "Do you suppose that really works?" Craig asked, laughing as he tried
the shower door before remembering that the moral imperative part and
parcel of the exotic resort included a hatred of wasting water and
especially hot water.  Both males slipped quickly into their khaki shorts
and white shirts and headed for the dining hall.  Again the steaming cart
immediately followed the headwaiter, no choice, but everything hot and
savory from tortillas to the exquisite huevos rancheros.

   "It must be so awesome to cook here," Craig said.  "Can I help with
breakfast tomorrow?"

   "From crises intervention counselor to itinerant cook," Andrew laughed,
"you're not missing much on this trip."

   "It's heaven," the boy smiled shyly in response, "I've never had to
pinch myself in the morning before, but this morning I did, about a dozen
times before I knew last night hadn't been a dream."

   "Well," his friend kidded, "a lot of your dream was in the shower, but
there were no damp towels in the bathroom, so what does that tell you?"

   "That I'm glad you trusted me enough to bring me here," the eleven year
old replied, "and what happened at the end, just lying comfortably side by
side with my leg over yours watching you while you watched me, that was the
best of all.  The fact we did wait, I guess that was most of it."



   They ate in contended silence which fit the overall mood of the dinging
room.  Soft conversation, soft clatter, it was all way cloud nine.



   George, the bellboy, met them as they left the dining room and escorted
them to the wardrobe department.  "This is where I'm going to get my dress
for the tea party, too," Craig whispered.

   "Why don't you ask George," Andrew said, "maybe he'd think it would be a
good game to play during the therapy session." So the youngster did.  The
bellboy made a quick call and nodded in approval, guiding the boy to the
display of girls' party clothes as Andrew busied himself with slipping into
the folds of the Greek costume.  A minute later Mary, Paul and Doug
arrived. Andrew approached them and extended his hand.  "We're your
neighbors," he said, "and I guess we were kind of creeping around in the
secret hallway last night, `we' being the eleven year old I'm with and
myself."

   Paul introduced his sister saying their last name was Reynolds and Doug
Merchant.  They exchanged commonplaces, both teens obviously impressed
their new friend was CEO of Abrams and describing the ranch they lived on -
horses - hardly a ten minute drive from Craig's house.  By accord they
agreed to hang out together and chatted on for a few more minutes, the
newcomers slipping modestly into their Greek costumes as they talked.  All
was fitted and arranged when George reappeared guiding an apparition, a
foaming blond beauty in a cloud of pink.  Andrew stared blankly for three
full beats before he realized it was Craig.  Though he wasn't much attuned
to practical jokes, he did manage to keep a straight face... had he
mentioned Craig's name, or the fact he was a male?... no, he hadn't.

   "Crissy here," he said, nudging the child at his flank purposefully,
"wanted to wear something different because we'd planned a tea party for
the day.  George said it would be okay, so she's been plundering the place,
wig to party shoes."

   "She looks incredible," Paul said, to "Crissy's" dubious smile, Doug and
Mary nodding as the later took her hand and led her in pursuit of George.

   "Sweetheart," Andrew intoned as they passed their wing of the resort,
"we can't be forgetting out guests for the tea party.  Why don't I go
collect them from the room while you go with Mary."

   "I almost did forget," the "girl" piped sweetly, and George gave Andrew
directions as he left.



   A few minutes later they were all gathered in the heavenly chamber
getting comfortable amongst the snowy pillows and studying the sleeping
girl on the heart shaped bed.  By a stroke of maximum wisdom, no staff
members were present, just the ad hoc gathering of guests.  Mary took
Crissy's hand and the two girls moved to either side of the sleeping
victim, both gently stroking her brow.  "It's safe to wake up now," Mary,
more confident in her role as a girl began, "this is a special place and
there are a lot of kids here to talk to, so you can open your eyes whenever
you want to."

   "He hurt me a lot," the ten year old murmured.



   "But you're okay," Crissy said, "you can't believe how many doctors say
so.  And it's something that happens to lots of kids.  It's not your fault,
you're very pretty and that can cause men to lose control and do bad things
they wouldn't want to do with most other girls.  And someday it will pay
off, keeping slim and taking care of yourself, it will attract the right
person for the right reason, but this time you got raped."

   "You sound nice, and your friend, too," the girl murmured, "they gave me
something and it's hard to open my eyes, but I want to."

   "There are a lot of us here," Mary said, "and we're not phony like
saying we all want to be your friends, and we're not going to murmur over
you and recite incantations and burn incense, we're just here for company
and your family is - guess what - out by the pool, because this is kind of
a special resort, not a clinic or hospital or anything medical or
psychiatric."



   With that, the two girls moved back on the bed making room for two more
youngsters to come and talk with the waking princess.  In awhile there were
half a dozen kids asking about her parents, her school, her pets, what she
liked on television, and half a barrage of general chit-chat.  Her name was
Sally Hutchins, she had two older brothers, Allan and William, her dachsund
was Dofi, and by the time ten minutes had passed her eyes were open and
flicking from non-professional to non-professional, not staring blankly at
the ceiling in the medically approved response to being done over against
her will.



   "Why are you dressed like that, Crissy?" she asked in her first
question.

   "Because you caused a big emergency," the child replied, "we thought you
were some poor little victim retrieved from the gutter and rescued from the
jaws of hell.  I had this awesome tea party planned with my daddy and two
dolls I borrowed from school, but they dumped you here and asked us to see
if we can do anything for the poor little victim, and, well, there went my
party, tea pot, dainty napkins and all.  Plus, I've got an absolutely huge
secret, so I'm going to have to hang around until you're strong enough to
ask me about it and hear the gory details, and I may never get around to
playing hostess."

   "Well," Sally said, "you all look very nice, even if you're kind of in a
dream, so it's nice to see someone in pink."

   "Hold that thought," the eleven year old said, "and what I said about
tea parties and normal stuff like that, okay?"

   "Sure," the girl said.

   "Good," Crissy responded, "because that's about the only normal thing
that's going on around here.  This is a really different place and secret,
too."

   "How is it different?" the girl asked, her eyes becoming animated as she
glanced from one beautiful couple to another, mostly handsome young men and
lithe boys around her own age, plus the two dressed as girls.

   "The kind of stuff you got in trouble over," the pink beauty replied,
"we like.  letting older people touch us and playing games with them like
we're little boys and we're alone in the locker room with the handsome
coach, or having a pretend tea party with a friend and pretending he's our
daddy, and young boys dressing up like little girls, plus there's a special
pool in back where we skinny dip, then there are little cabins out in the
woods in case we meet someone we like in the pool and want to take a walk
with them."

   "Oh," the girl said, appearing both engaged and perhaps a little
benumbed at her new friends cut-to-the-chase description of the novel
environment.

   "They bring girls like you here," Crissy went on, "because nothing else
works.  Psychologists get stuck on a chapter or with a theory and are
generally too dumb to know what they don't understand, so they do no good,
and smiling ladies from church are even worse, either phony or religious,
neither of which is anything to do with fun.  So boom, ambulances,
first-responders, stretchers, and all, they drop victims on us and we tell
them all kinds of wicked secrets so they know just because you're a kid
you're not some kind of zombie denied access to the human rat race.  What
happened to you was abnormal in one way, and LoveLess is abnormal in
exactly the opposite way, and the idea is to stretch you between the two
and hope when your arms pull out, you'll drop back into the world that is
normal, or at least sometimes perceived that way."



   "It can even be boring," Sally observed.

   "That all depends," her friend said, "especially if you have two older
brothers, which is something we should talk about."

   "Okay," the girl in bed nodded.

   "Do you like them?" the eleven year old asked.

   "Yes," the girl said.

   "Are they okay looking?"

   "Very," the child answered, blushing prettily.

   "Good," Crissy responded, "then we'll not only help you get over what
happened with your grandfather, we'll pack Mr.  Boring off about his
business.  And how about your dad, is he okay?"

   "Yes," the victim said, "he's great."

   "Cool," the therapist said, "because LoveLess has a number of extremely
close father and daughter relationships, brother-and-sister, too, even
though most of it is for boys who come here with their uncles, teachers,
coaches and other older men."

   "That doesn't sound boring," the new girl noted.

   "Mary can tell you more than I can," Crissy noted, "she's here with her
beautiful brother and his best friend, Paul and Doug, and guess what, they
all stayed together in one room last night."

   "Really?" the girl whispered, looking at the Greek-clad cutie her own
age.  Mary nodded and Crissy, breathing an inward sigh of relief, moved
aside so the two real girls could huddle and whisper together.  This they
did avidly, both blushing prettily in their turns as tellers and learners,
as the adults moved closer to their children perched on the special bed.



   Andrew moved beside his companion, plastic bag in hand.  Craig responded
by continuing his role as a preteen female, mincing and sashing it up
perhaps a little as he went through a ritual copied from various media
portrayals.  "Now you girls," he said to the bag, "have had a long day at
school and Daddy and I want you to be on your best behavior if we let you
join us, do you promise?" He held his ear to the sack, nodding from time to
time, alternating between tolerant smiles and stern frowns.

   "Daddy, they didn't like show-and-tell," the pink apparition said in her
pretty girl's falsetto, "but they promise to be good, anyhow.  Do you think
we can take a chance or will they spoil everything."

   "It's two against two," Andrew said, "that's pretty fair, all things
considered, I say we invite them aboard."

   "Did you hear that?" Crissy said down into the bag, reaching in to
retrieve their guests.  He pulled out the adult male doll first, held it
up, and squealed, "Oh, Daddy, look." With that he plunged his hand back in
Miss Williams' bag of tricks, hauling forth the little-boy doll.  By this
time everyone had moved their pillows around the couple seated at the
victim's right flank.

   "What are these, Daddy?" the girl squealed, "they're certainly not Itsy
and Bitsy."

   "Darling," the concerned parent said, "those are special dolls used in
school to teach boys and girls about their bodies, you must have grabbed
the wrong bag by mistake."



   "But why is it a man doll and a little-boy doll, Daddy?" the girl
whispered.

   "Because, sweetheart," the Greek beauty said, "sometimes men like to get
little boys naked and touch them all over, and the dolls are used to warn
kids about what might happen, and demonstrate what a child molester does
when he gets a kid alone."

   "That's right," the girl recalled, "we were meant to have some kind of
special talk, then there was a fire drill and I guess everybody forgot
about it."

   "Well, doll," the affectionate father said, "our guests are not dressed
for a tea party with a nice little girl in a pretty pink party dress so I
guess we better put them away."

   "It's not their fault, Daddy," the girl observed, "can't we let them
stay?  Besides, even though Miss Williams is a really good teacher, I'll
bet you know as much about what men do with little boys as she does, and at
least enough to explain some of it to me."

   "Well," the man mused, "the thing is, men like to do the same thing with
little girls, so that's something to think about."



   The Loveless staff might have felt it best to leave recovering victims
alone with a roomful of non-professionals but that didn't mean they tuned
out, entirely, not with the whole resort openly wired for sound and video.
The door to the dream chamber opened and their friend George escorted in
two handsome boys, one a mid teen and the other an older teenager.  "Hi
sis," they said crossing to the bed as the door closed quietly behind them.

   "Allan, William," the girl said reaching to the new arrivals and drawing
each to her for a hug before they took their places sitting on the bed
across from Andrew and his dolls.  "You look outrageous in those costumes,"
Sally said, her eyes now fully alive and ravenous for the sight of familiar
faces, "why doesn't everyone wear them all the time?"

   "You look good to," Allan, the elder responded, "your hair is really
cute and somebody's been painting on you like you were a starlet."



   "That was Mary," the girl said, "it gave us something to do while we
were getting to know each other, and Crissy's pretending to have a tea
party for her pretend daddy, but she brought the wrong dolls."

   "Hey, we had those in sixth grade," William said, focusing on the
tangentially bizarre scene across from his brother and him.

   No one was carefully avoiding what had happened to Sally, afraid of
upsetting the delicate child with a thoughtless reference or tactless
remark, weren't time.  Too much new stuff going on to worry about what
couldn't be changed by all the prayers in churchville.

   "Did they explain everything?" Crissy asked, looking at William,
"because I think my daddy's embarrassed to tell me some of the details."



   "I guess Mr.  Watson tried," the boy said, "but we had four dolls, two
male and two female, and they were all white.  That scared him because
there's never meant to be more than three kids without a tokenberry, an
ethnically correct kid.  It wasn't a case for smelling salts or anything,
but he was obviously upset so the dolls were packed away while he wrote a
memo exonerating himself and asking that the administration be more
vigilant in protecting the sensibilities of the student body and teaching
staff."

   "Very sensitive," Crissy agreed, "which means he might have been just
the person TO teach you, had not the unfortunate event occurred."

   "Not-exactly," the fourteen year old responded in meaningful cadence.

   "That means the spotlight's on you and your dad," the victim said to the
party girl, sitting up while a second pillow was stuffed behind her.  There
was a general nod and murmur of agreement in the dream room, attention
alternating between the sick girl and her new friend, while, not far away,
George approached a couple by the inner of the resort's two pools.  A short
conversation ensued, both adults smiling with relief, then the bellboy
escorted the attractive parents to the wardrobe department.



   "Is it a fate worth than death?" Crissy asked, holding the child doll so
the adult teaching aid touch it.

   "Religion is the fate worth than death," Andrew replied.  "Religion
indoctrinates and causes psychosis.  Part of this is making the most normal
of physical acts appear monstrous and hateful, same way they do with
devils, ogres, and the fevered visions of hell that pour from badly-warped
minds.  Lots of nice shock value for the bishops to sell, and the same
thing goes for `fate-worse-than-death' allegories, when what it really is
is a fate about the same as a boxing match, and that's assuming physical
punishment at the hands of the rapist; otherwise, it's a fate no worse than
many hospital workers face on a daily basis, touching and being touched by
people who are unattractive or even repulsive to them, and often enough
dead and smelly.  It's not fun, duh'uh, but eminently survivable.  Being
raped isn't fun, but it's hardly worse than escorting a raving lunatic to
the toilet or bathing a four hundred pounder; maybe about the same as being
beaten up on the playground.  Yes, it's a fate worse than ice cream, but
assuming no serious physical damage, one you bring to yourself if you let
yourself be poisoned by social attitudes and conventions.  They're just
guidelines which first should do no harm, and sometimes it's healthiest, in
the long run, to ignore bits and pieces of the web, not including red
lights and stop signs."

   "How about all those little charts on bottles of mustard and soy sauce?"
Sally asked, her participation in the conversation causing no stir because
it seemed as natural as sun through scattering clouds.  "Are we meant to
obey them?"

   "That's why the hypodermic needle was invented," Crissy answered the
girl, "so nobody would ever put into their body a gram too much protein or
carbohydrate due to crude, kitchen-quality measuring instruments, and
that's not even mentioning the dreaded sodium."

   "We are so lucky," the girl breathed in wonder, about as cured as they
get.  Indeed, most of liberalism was so insane as to be highly comic and a
sure cure-all for a case of the blues.  Attention remained on the girl and
her handsome young father.



   "Okay," the man said, half-embarrassed at being the focus of all eyes,
"the way we start is by putting the big doll behind the small doll, okay?"

   "Okay," Crissy murmured, helping her dad place the foot-high figures in
the proper position.

   "Yes," Andrew said when she had it right, "his hands on the boy's
shoulders, just like that, but don't bring them too close together at the
beginning."

   "Okay," the girl repeated.

   "Now," the instructor said, as all huddled a little closer for the
details, "what happens next?" He looked expectantly over the twenty or so
in the room, catching the eye of a preteen boy who had his hand half raised
and nodding to the child.



   "He asks you lots of questions," the boy said in a breaking, adolescent
voice that instantly turned hard erections to solid steel.

   "Exactly," Andrew said, "and they're almost the same for a boy as for a
girl." He nodded again to the youth and the halting voice went on.

   "First, about if anyone has ever touched you, then about things you've
seen and heard, then about continuing the conversation or going and doing
something else, then about things you do at night before you go to sleep or
while you're in the shower.  Then he sits and you sit on his lap and he
tells a story about what happened to him when he was a little boy, and, if
you like it, he might tell another about something that happened to a
friend of his or a kid he knew.  Not made up stories, real ones.

   "After that," the tyke continued, "his voice gets hoarse and deep
sounding which is really scary and exciting at the same time, like shooting
a double-barrel twelve gauge, and he asks if he can touch you inside your
shirt."



   Crissy patted down the skirt of her frothy dress, using her left leg as
a bench for the dolls.  She sat the adult, then looked to James, the boy.
"Cross wise, with the back in the adult's left arm," the child instructed,
"and the right hand of the adult goes on his knee, that's right but a
little further out, getting close comes later." She soon had the little
figures correct and her instructor nodded in satisfaction.  With minimal
shuffling, the various couples gathered around emulated the positions of
the dolls, Sally, having outgrown her invalid status, sitting beside
Crissy, facing her, in William's lap.  James, having gotten things off to a
good start, was encouraged to continue.

   "This is where the adult goes up under the child's shirt," he said, "if
that didn't happen while the man was behind the boy.  He goes very slowly,
watching for any negative reaction, because some kids like talking about it
but freak out if they get touched, though usually it's the other way
around, they like getting touched but don't like any whispering."



   There were nods and again a murmur of approval.



   "If the boy sits still the man suggests that he stretch his hands over
his head and lean back.  That's something a kid has to actually do, what
they call proactive, rather than just reacting and saying yes and nodding
his head, so it serves as a final check.  When the boy is stretched out,
the man's hand goes way up inside his shirt feeling him all over, then he
takes it out to unbutton the boy and get his shirt completely off.  Most
boys are excited enough at this point to reach to the older male and
unbutton his shirt.  When they're both bare-chested, the man lies back on a
bed or on the floor and the boy lies on top of him with his back to the
adult's chest.  Then the man uses both hands all over the boy and makes him
start panting and wriggling and arching for more.  This goes on for quite
awhile."

   It was more than show-and-tell, it was show and tell and do.  "Quite
awhile" amounted to ten minutes or more of copy-catting to much whispering
and purring.  Sally held Allan's hands in hers as she lay, still in her
pajamas, on William's chest, guiding her older brother to her buttons. 
Mary lay beside her on Paul as Doug took on Allan's role, kneeling between
the young girl's legs and bending to ease her tunic down to her waist. 
Andrew worked at the buttons on Crissy's pink dress, and soon had his
beauty bare-chested and lolling back against him, also arching in welcome.
By this time there were eight handsome couples on the spacious bed, with
two stretched out on nearby pillows.  Then another quiet knock at the heavy
door to the chamber, and it opened to allow the entry of Charles and Vicky
Melrose, parents of the victim.



   "Oh, Daddy," the recent invalid cooed, "I hope you didn't come with a
can of frozen orange juice to wake me up."

   "We were told you were making excellent progress, darling," the athletic
forty year old said, his slim red-headed wife nodding at his side.

   "It's like I was in a fender-bender," the girl responded, "and the other
driver gave me a new Rolls Royce so I wouldn't feel bad."

   "Well, sweetheart," the man said, as others made space for Vicky and him
to sit near their girl, "the news is that it turns out it wasn't your
granddad at all.  He got drunk, yes, but an acquaintance of his dropped by
to borrow some money, found the door open, and started snooping around. 
He's the one that threw a pillow over your head."

   "I tried to tell the police that," the girl said, "that Granddad
wouldn't ever hurt me, and Mrs.  Fitzwilliam, that's the lady whose house I
called from, but Granddad was there, and two and two made four as far as
they were concerned."

   "Well, he's been released," the man said, "and appears to be okay and
very, very sober."

   "If a man can't drink in his own house he might as well go live with the
alligators," the daughter responded.  "And it wasn't his fault the door
wasn't locked, I was the last one to go to bed, and no one locks up in that
neighborhood, in the first place."

   "Well, speaking of places," the father said, "you seemed to have landed,
so to speak, on your feet, here."

   "I woke up totally scared, and now I'm totally scared I'll WAKE up," the
girl said with a shy smile, loving the fact her handsome father's gaze
seemed irresistibly drawn to the budding nipples of her immature chest.

   "George seemed real enough," Charles said, "and he showed us an album of
before and after pictures, when the police found a kid, and after she'd
spent a couple of days in therapy a la LoveLess.  I guess it's no
coincidence most of the victims brought in end up as members."

   "Oh, Mommy, can we?" the girl whispered.

   "Yes, baby," the girlish thirty five year old said, "we thought we were
going to get back a shell; instead our peanut seems to be alive and well,
and it would be pretty hard to be prejudiced against that."

   "Well," Sally responded, "the church only gives - sells - us a little,
so there's not all that much to forget, and if I can forget that drunken
moron jamming in me, you can forget enough to be happy for me, or at least
I hope so."

   "And what you can forget," the redhead said to her daughter, "is this
flat belly.  I'm not leaving until it's blue times two from your dad or any
of half a dozen other males I saw in this rather distinct collection."

   "Then there has to be a rule," the girl said.  "I've wanted to take
baths with my brothers and sleep with them since I was four.  We need to
live in a Victorian-free zone from now on."



   "Well, darling," the young woman said, "you're beautiful with your
brothers; nothing could look more natural, and you have an entirely special
dad, to boot."

   "And you know about the second pool and the outback, right?" the girl
asked.

   "Yes, darling," the mom nodded, "and if I get a sudden hot flash it will
be because I know you and your dad are spying on me."

   "When I grow up," Sally said, "I'm going to start a chain of motels. 
`Voyeurtels.' Cameras and microphones in every room, including bathrooms
except for the toilet area, and at least two monitors in every room.  The
motto will be: `Less boring than other lodging.'"

   "I like the understatement," Charles said, tilting his head back for a
long kiss from his bride-like pixie of a wife.

   "Whatever happens in the outback," Vicky said to him, "I'll bet
ten-to-one, maybe twelve, the bambina that results will be yours." With
that, she shyly shook a few hands, smiled mysteriously, and left the dream
chamber, exotic and girlish in her ancient costume and very eager for
another daughter as dazzling as the one she had.  All pictured her lithe
adult body as she attracted a group of males in the back pool, then four or
five carefully drying her off before chaperoning her into the forest
where'd they'd find a vacant cabin and huddle around the beauty for hours.
In fact so stimulating was the image, Charles pulled down his little girl's
pajama bottoms and panties and, stripping out of his toga, moved forward
over his immature daughter.  He paused a few moments, staring down into the
child's huge eyes while everyone else rid themselves of their costumes,
then moved fully over his girl, spreading his powerful legs so he could
find her.  William, lying under his sister, guided the athlete and they
coupled carefully and fully, Sally's legs and arms surrounding the panting
male in welcome.

   "Are you okay after what happened last night?" Charles whispered.

   "More than a hundred percent," the girl rasped, "much more."



   Paul was equally tender as he mounted Mary, the couples close
side-by-side, the little girl's legs twining around each other as well as
pulling their males to them.  Andrew stripped Craig out of his party
costume, carefully hanging the expensive confection, then took off the
boy's panties as Sally stared with huge eyes, whispering: "Awesome." Andrew
moved behind the eleven year old as he knelt close to the girl, her
brother, and her powerfully surging young father.  His right left arm went
around the arching boy's chest, and his right found the you beauty's
teen-size erection.  Others gathered as close as they could to the two
girls, the juveniles masturbating the adults.  Craig was the first to
ejaculate, spraying hotly and fully on Sally and Mary, proving Crissy the
ultimate joke.  There followed a gentle murmuring, whispering and movement
until both mating couples were being slicked with one heavy shower of semen
after another.  The girls began wriggling avidly, then frantically,
thrusting hard and fast against their vigorous stags until the males were
gasping and nearly howling.  Paul went rigid over Mary first and the girl
screamed to Sally, grasping her hand.  Then George froze over his little
girl and she could make no sound beyond incoherent gurgling as she felt the
hot flow of his body pulsing high between her straining legs.

   In a few minutes the young, fit group was beginning to regain
consciousness.  "Daddy," Sally whispered as William moved between her
spreading legs, "can I visit granddad again next weekend?"



   Electra's story actually had an end, say it isn't so, though there was
an epilogue to the adventures she'd cited and I was an included character.
Not only that, the three, in spite of their hair-raising occupation, seemed
to be looking to me for leadership.  Hey, I was just the cameraman, but no,
it was like being in a science-fiction museum where the eyes of every
painting remain trained and focused however you try feinting and dodging.
Of course, dozens of trips back and forth to the computer had blunted my
edge, so I wasn't at my defensive peak, and I assure you, for that reason
alone - path of least resistance - I accepted the mantle, realizing as I
responded to their purposeful nods, I had a philosophical out.  It is my
belief, and this is repeated in an extensive paper trail, that if something
happens, the youngest is strictly in charge.  No coincidence I suppose that
the spicy and engaging Electra was the youngest by two years.



   "What to you want?" I whispered to her.

   "I want Madonna to see it happen," the twelve year old replied.

   "Then it should be Renaldo," I said, "because what happens at my age is
more symbolic than copious."

   "Yes," the girl responded, with the grace to ponder a moment, chewing
her lip, before speaking.

   "On your breasts?" I whispered.  She nodded, "and on hers, too."

   A good leader often just stays out of the way, and I did.  I vacated to
mount the little camera on the tripod and set it by the studio bed.  The
three had arranged themselves, girls side by side, naked, one leg linked,
the other spread wide.  Renaldo knelt over the twining legs and nodded for
me to approach him from the rear.  After turning the Elph on, I moved
forward on my knees, wrapping my left arm around his hard teen chest.  With
my right hand I found his jutting seven inch shaft and nursed back his
foreskin, spreading him with a heavy slick of seminal fluid.  His hands
went behind my neck as he arched in response.  It had been hours of
excitement, reviewing their histories one by one, and the fourteen year old
was impossibly hard and hot and began tensing like a spring almost
immediately.  I panted over his left shoulder as I settled into a fast hard
rhythm on his huge, slick penis.  Madonna stared up at us in special awe as
her cousin began quaking and gasping in my arm, his hips thrusting
uncontrollably to my rapid stroking.  "Oh, sis," Electra whispered, "he's
so beautiful."



   He certainly felt that way, his hard, taut body belying the sensuous
delicacy of his childishly smooth skin, his straining muscles, his hands
tight around my neck, his jutting penis both of fire and iron; more
beautiful than I can describe.  And then he thrilled the artist in me,
simultaneously greatly enhancing his young male beauty to the girls lying
on either side of him.  While the little Canon still had over a minute to
go he gasped his warning and cummed off hard and hot in my hand, his sperm
splashing everywhere at first, until I realized what was happening with the
beautiful young stallion and ran my right hand hard to his base, at the
same time holding him in the direction of Madonna.  The sight of his first
spray slicking the lithe beauty caused him to grunt and tremble and
whisper, "I'm cumming," as if he was for the first time losing control. 
Half a dozen times his silky jets of almost white cum splashed on the girl,
the sound obviously loud enough to add to the images being recorded at
fifteen frames a second.  Then I guided him to Electra who immediately
scooted down on the bed until the shuddering boy was cumming over her
cheeks and lips as Madonna stared far lost in a world of her own.



   They stayed another hour, camera put away for good.  Electra chose me as
her first mount, and after we'd wet her thoroughly with her cousin's slick
seed, I found her and felt her legs and arms go gently around me as I got
used to the heat and tightness of her preteen body.  My senior status paid
off, because I was able to fully enter her in a methodical and deliberate
way, thrusting through her hymen with one quick lunge of my hips, then
holding her gently until I again felt her moving in welcome.  Renaldo raped
Madonna the same way, and once we were fully with out females, we thrust to
them for ten minutes then twenty then thirty, the younger male tensing
twice over the fourteen year old as I continued building toward a single
gentle orgasm deep inside little Electra, not even trying to make her cum,
hell no, not with that beauty with his body and will of iron in the
running.



   We dressed slowly and reviewed the video on the LCD, too tired to think
of uploading it at the moment.  There was a spot of memory left on the
card, so I went for a few "after" stills.  They gathered in a bunch on the
freshly arranged bed.  For some reason, I don't know exactly why, I didn't
even think of saying "queso." They were American friends heart, soul, and
marrow, so I said: "Cheese!"

   THE END - Photoplay

   Posted by Thomas@btl.net

   xxx