Eleven - Part 5

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*** 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?"