THIS STORY IS A WORK OF FICTION INVOLVING INTERGENERATIONAL
RELATIONSHIPS AND URINATION. THE AUTHOR HAS NEVER PERFORMED AND
DOES NOT CONDONE THE ACTS PORTRAYED. IF THIS SORT OF STORY
BOTHERS YOU, THEN PLEASE DON'T READ IT.

This is a work of FICTION. The author does not condone the acts
depicted in the story.

**********************************************************

My Little Neighbor Cathy – Part 1 (Mf*, ped, cons, ws)

I live in a modest home, in what's considered a pretty shitty
neighborhood, in a medium-sized city in New England. I'm the only
homeowner on the street where I live, and mine is the only
single-family home. Everyone else pays rent (or more accurately,
has their rent paid for them by the state) on what the state
euphemistically calls “town houses.”

My neighbors are mostly welfare mothers who usually are too drunk
or stoned care very much about their children. They're about an
even mix of Blacks, Latinos, and poor White trash, with a
smattering of Asians thrown in for good measure.

Except for the Asians, most of whom seem to survive by collecting
recyclables from the streets, few of the residents work at
anything resembling legitimate jobs. The kids are their regular
paychecks, and they supplement their incomes by prostitution,
petty theft, small-time drug dealing, and so forth. But the kids
are their main sources of income. They use them to get welfare,
food stamps, SSI, and whatever the hell other government programs
are out there. Having kids guarantees them a steady stream of
income so they can stay drunk and stoned.

As for me, I used to be an engineer. But after being “downsized”
out of three jobs in five years, I started looking for a more
dependable way to make a living. I settled on technical writing.
I can do it from home, which saves me a fortune on commuting
costs; and it pays well enough that I can live a pretty good life
without working very hard, especially if I keep my expenses under
control.

That's one of the reasons I live where I do, amongst the
drugged-out welfare moms. It's cheap and the taxes are low.
Better yet, no one bothers me, so I can get my work done with few
interruption. At least, those are the reasons what I tell people
who are brazen enough to ask why a middle-aged, self-employed
white guy with a Master's degree lives where I live. And they're
true.

But I also have another reason.

Living in the middle of a tribe of welfare mothers means there
are plenty of unsupervised kids running around. The moms make
sure the kids go to school (they wouldn't want some nosy truant
officer coming around to check up on things, after all). But
other than that, most of them don't give a damn what the kids do
once they got home – as long as they do it outside. So they send
the kids out to play minutes after they return home from school,
and they lock their doors to keep them out.

In fact, quite often the doors are already locked when the kids
get home from school because mommy's still stoned, passed out
drunk, giving a blowjob to some John, or otherwise too busy,
incapacitated, or apathetic to let the kids in, no matter how
hard they bang on the doors.

It was exactly such a situation that convinced me to buy my home.

It was an unseasonably warm, early spring day when I first went
to look at the house with the lady real estate agent. It was in
the afternoon, and the kids were just coming home from school.
While the real estate agent was blabbing on about some bullshit
or another, I was looking out a side window at a little girl,
maybe 6 or 7 years old, banging on the door of the house next
door, shifting her weight from leg to leg and holding her palm
against her pee hole through her pants, obviously desperate to
pee.

While the real estate agent babbled on, the little girl dropped
her books and ran into the overgrown yard attached to what would
be my home, which was the only semi-private yard on the block. I
casually walked to a rear-facing window and looked out just in
time to see the little girl position herself between two trees a
few feet away from the window, completely pull off her jeans and
panties, squat, and let loose a stream of pee that landed several
feet in front of her, where it formed a little puddle in the
dirt.

When she was done, she just sat there for a moment as if catching
her breath from the strain of holding it in for so long.
Apparently she thought the trees shielded her from view, or maybe
she just didn't care who saw her. Whatever the case, I stared at
her hairless cunny until she got up and put her clothes back on.

I turned and said to the real estate agent (who had finally shut
up) and said, “I'll take it.”

The title search, survey, and all that other horseshit took only
a few weeks, and I was in the house before school was out for the
summer. One of the first things I did was install several
motion-activated hidden cameras facing the yard, to record the
little girls (and the occasional boy) who used it as a toilet.
There were quite a few of them, actually, and I got to know their
routines pretty well.

But the little girl next door was the most regular customer. She
was a stunningly beautiful child, apparently of Hispanic descent,
with long, curly brown hair and olive skin. She was slim and
athletic-looking for such a young child, with very strong looking
legs. She also had the cutest little pussy I'd ever seen. Almost
every day, she peed in my yard, in the exact same place as she
had the first time I'd watched. And my camera caught in all, in
living color and HD quality.

I spent about a week jerking off to videos of that cute little
pussy before I decided it was time to see it close up and in
person. A few minutes before the kids would be getting home from
school, I went into my yard with a random collection of garden
tools and waited for the school bus to arrive. When I heard the
hiss of the air brakes, I positioned myself in front of the two
trees she used as her toilet, and started casually digging a
little hole with a hand spade.

I heard her bang on the door, then bang again. My cock started to
swell as I visualized her crossing her legs and pressing her hand
against her pussy, trying to will the pee to stay in for just
another few moments. Then I heard her book bag drop to the
ground, and her little footsteps running toward me. In a moment,
she was standing there in front of me, pants and underpants
already removed as she prepared to squat.

When she saw me, she let out a little scream. I looked up and
smiled, as if greeting half-naked little girls in my back yard
was the most normal thing in the world for me.

“Hello,” I said with a smile, “I'm John. Who are you?”

“Um, my name is Cathy,” she answered, still crossing her legs and
squirming, her bladder begging for release.

“Glad to meet you, Cathy,” I said as I reached out to shake her
tiny hand, and then went back to digging.

Cathy just stood there squirming, her desperation obviously too
great for her to put her pants and panties back on, but not quite
sure whether it was okay to pee right there in front of a strange
man. I decided to help her along a bit.

“Hmm. You've taken your pants and your underwear off,” I said,
stating the obvious. “Are you just hot, or do you need to go
pee?”

“I have to go pee, really, really bad,” she said, pushing her
finger over her peehole, “But my door is locked and I can't get
in. Is it okay if I pee here?”

“Well, sure, if you have to go really, really bad, then go right
ahead and pee right here. I don't mind at all.”

Cathy lost no time squatting down in front of me, and I made no
attempt to avert my gaze. She appeared to push a little, but
nothing happened. As badly as she had to go, the pee wouldn't
come out! She started to whine softly.

“What's the matter,” I asked, “does it hurt?”

“I can't make it come out,” she whined, apparently not realizing
that it was the nervousness of peeing in front of a stranger that
was causing her problem. I almost came in my jeans when she
asked, “Can you help me make it come out?”

“Sure,” I said, with feigned calm, my dick straining against my
pants so hard it was starting to hurt. I positioned myself on her
left side, licked the tip of my right index finger and cautiously
reached around her waist toward her beautiful little cunny.
“Sometimes it helps if you tickle the pee hole a little bit,” I
said, in order to let her know what I planned to do and to gauge
her reaction. When she didn't protest, I started gently tickling
the child's clitoris and urethra.

Cathy gasped and almost fell over. I steadied her by lifting her
up a little and sitting her naked butt cheeks on my knee, so she
was now facing my left with her legs still spread. I held her
around her waist with my right hand and tickled her cunny with my
left. A second or too later, her urine starting flowing -- just a
trickle at first, and then a steady stream. I kept right on
caressing her privates even after the flow stopped, and Cathy
looked into my eyes with an uncertain expression on her face.

“They told us in school not to let anyone touch our private
parts,” she said, but she made no attempt to stop me from
masturbating her.

“Do you want me to stop?” I asked.

“No,” she said, after a bit of hesitation. “It feels kinda good.”

“Okay,” I said, “but we can't keep doing it out here. Someone
might see, and then we'd both get in trouble. So put your pants
back on and let's go inside.”

The child reluctantly climbed down and put her panties and shorts
back on, and followed me down the cellar stairs into the
basement. I didn't want anyone to see me taking her inside. Even
though the neighbors don't generally give a shit about their
kids, why ask for trouble?

Once inside, we climbed the stairs to the first floor, and then
the second, and stopped in the hall bathroom. Between my raging
hard-on and my own full bladder, I needed relief of two different
kinds. Cathy followed me into the bathroom and watched as I
pulled off my pants and boxer shorts, and her eyes grew wide as
saucers when she saw the size of my swollen cock.

“Do you have to pee, too?” she asked.

“Yes, honey, I have to pee real bad. But I can't make the pee
come out when my penis is hard like this. I need to make it soft
so I can pee.”

“How do you do that?” the child asked.

“Well, if you want, you can help me like I helped you,” I
replied.

“Okay,” she said, and started tickling me right around my
pisshole. I almost blew my load right then. I took her hand and
wrapped it around my cock, and showed her how to rub it back and
forth until I shot my load all over the toilet bowl, seat, and
tank.

“Oh, Cathy,” I said, “You did that perfectly. I think I can pee
now.” A few seconds later, the pee started flowing from my wilted
cock, as Cathy watched attentively.

“Have you ever seen a boy pee before?” I asked.

“Yeah, lots of times, but never this close,” she replied as my
bladder finally emptied itself. I gave my dick the customary
squeeze and three shakes, which made Cathy giggle.

“Are you gonna make me feel good again now?” She asked.

“I sure am,” I replied, and reached out toward her. I grasped the
bottom hem of her shirt, and she raised her hands above her head
as if being undressed by a stranger was the most natural thing in
the world. I then removed her pants, and then her panties, and
finally her sneakers and socks. I then admired her beautiful,
slim body, without the slightest hint of puberty marring her flat
chest or her beautiful hairless pussy.

I carried her into my bedroom, me still naked from the waist
down, and laid her on my bed while I removed the rest of my
clothes. Then I laid down next to her and gently started fondling
her tiny nipples.

“Oooh,” Cathy said, obviously not expecting me to touch her
chest. “That feels good, too,” she said, as she reached to caress
her pussy with her own hand. I moved it away and said, “Just let
me do this for you, honey. You just lay back and relax.”

I continued to fondle her nipples, and then made my way down her
belly, and over her hips to her legs, carefully avoiding her
pussy. She opened her legs and her little clitoris poked out from
between her lips, and she reached down to touch it again. But I
pushed her hand away again, and told her to relax.

I worked my hand up the inside of her other leg, and paused for a
moment less than an inch from her pussy. Then I slowly moved my
fingertip to her pussy lips, gently tickling her labia as I made
my way to her clitoris. “Ahhhhhhh!” she cried as my finger hit
its mark and started slowly, gently circling and fondling her
clitoris. In less than a minute, she had her first orgasm,
bucking wildly on the bed as little girls usually do their first
time, and then relaxing, all of her energy spent, her face a
picture of absolute contentment.

I let her lay there for a while, gently massaging her belly.
Finally she looked at me and asked, “Can we do this again
tomorrow?”

“Sure,” I replied, “we can do it as often as you like.”

--- END OF PART 1 --