Eleven - Part 5 *** Please send feedback to jadeeb94 (at) gmail.com *** *** Everything in my stories is 100% fiction! Children are precious - It's fine to fantasize, but NEVER actualize!! *** My encounter with Karen on the studio bed left me emotionally and physically drained. It was the most powerful experience of my life, and my mind was exploding with memories - her scent, the touch of her most private area, her reactions as I touched her, the sight of her beautiful powdery white ass with her dark, hairless slit displayed in front of my eyes, the touch of her sex on my tongue... And mixed with those explosive erotic emotions, that had me stroking my aching shaft at all times of the day and night, were other, darker feelings - guilt, and fear. Yes, fear. At times it would fly up at me like a ghost in a haunted house - stark, chilling, sending brittle icicles down my spine. What if she told? What if she reported me? What if this was all a set-up to blackmail me? Who would I hear from? The police, banging on the door in the middle of the night? Her hideous fat mother, or that skinny Chinese no-good father, slouching on my door with a threatening leer on their faces? I had ruined my life!! And if not mine, then probably I had ruined hers. What was she thinking about our encounter? Was she feeling the same sense of confusion and disorientation as I was? Did she feel abused, violated? Was she feverishly washing her private parts to try and clean off the stain of my disgusting perversion? Or did she feel some shadow of the overwhelming fulfillment, ecstasy, tenderness, and love that I had experienced? Oh, Karen, please be well, I prayed - imagining all the while a God who hated me for my sin, and who would willingly cast me into the well-deserved perdition of public exposure, hatred, financial ruin, and the hell of a long prison term at the mercy of the pedophile-hunters. No one to feel sorry for me. My marriage, family relations, friendships all ended as though cut with a scythe. In a moment of panic, I erased all of the photos I had taken that day. Emptied my recycle bin. Cleaned the empty space on my hard drive. And then I felt unbearable regret. I had destroyed the most beautiful images I had ever taken. They would have kept me sexually fulfilled for the rest of my life. Absently, I carried on with my business. I finished my project, went in to New York to talk to my client about the next one. I kissed Angela when she came home from work, I fixed dinner, went to the movies with friends. I even had sex with Angela - pretty good sex in fact. But I was not really there. All the time, I was still in that studio with Karen's naked body splayed out in front of my eyes, her dark, smoky slit wet with my tongue. A week went by. I started to fall back into a daily routine. Although I was still terrified of the consequences of my actions, I no longer expected the door to be broken down at any moment, nor did I freeze in terror whenever a police cruiser drove past. I was beginning to hope that I might put the whole episode behind me, perhaps just blot it out and move on, perhaps find a tender corner of my mind to remember it as one of the great experiences of my life. I had had sex with an eleven-year old girl!! I had touched her soft child-flesh, stroked her powdery buttocks, feasted my eyes on her smooth dark pussy, plunged my tongue inside and felt the sweet, sour childish sexiness of her, felt her buck and writhe with my touch... And then, on Wednesday afternoon a week to the day after the event, the front door bell rang, and there she was. She was on her own. I looked behind her to see if her parents were standing waiting to burst in on us, but it was just Karen and Bono. It was an overcast, drizzly day, and she was wearing a pair of calf-length jeans, knees frayed, a yellow tee-shirt with "Cranston Skate" across the chest, and a bright yellow plastic rain jacket. Her cheeks were flushed as though she had been running. "Hey" she said, as though nothing had ever happened between us. "Hey," I said back, feeling my throat dry and raspy. I opened up the door to let her in. "What's up?" Karen was cheerful, chatty. She treated me like an old friend, shucking off her jacket and throwing herself down on my sofa with her thigh up over the arm. Bono settled himself at her feet with a fart and a pleasant sigh. "Not much. How was school today?" "Oh, God, school is so boring! Thank god today's a Wednesday and we get out early. I hate my teachers and I hate most of the kids. Not Carly or Janey of course." "Are they your friends?" "Yup. We do pretty much everything together. But on Wednesdays Carly has piano and Janey goes into the city to see her Dad." "So you're all on your own." "Yup." "Well, want to watch some TV?" "Yeah, sure." But she didn't sound that enthusiastic. And after we had watched five minutes of The Simpsons together, she stretched and said, "Actually Jason, I was thinking maybe you wanted to do another modeling session." She sounded casual, but I could hear the uncertainty in her voice. I looked her in the eyes, and she blushed. "I mean, I think you got some pretty good shots last time, didn't you? You know, Jason, I really want this. I think I can make a good career as a model, don't you?" My mind filled with memories of the shots I had taken of her the week before. Great modeling shots, to be sure. But other shots too. Close-ups of her naked buttocks and thighs. Tight shots of her dark, puckered nipples and pudgy budding breasts. And shot after shot of her sex. Ultra-close-ups of her few strands of pubic hair, of the puckering skin of her barely developed labia, of the parting of her pussy lips and the traces of moisture there... God, I had destroyed all those pictures. Which was the greater sin, making them or destroying them? Was she going to ask to see them? "Yes, you were great, Karen. It was one of the best model shoots I've ever done. And... the most exciting." I was daring her to acknowledge what had happened between us. She didn't say anything, just looked down at Bono and patted him. But I knew we were both thinking about the same thing. The silence between us said it all. Then, she looked back up at me, and a sly smile spread across her flushed face. "Jason, I want a hundred a week for this." I looked at her. Our eyes met and I watched hers flash with what might have been amusement, or perhaps defiance. My heart was suddenly hammering in my chest. "A hundred a week." "Yup. Don't you think I'm worth it?" "Yes I think you're worth it. But you mean... we're going to do this every week?"