Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Title : Mountain Girl

   Author : MeatBot

   Keywords : Pedo, Mg

   Date : 20170306

   Mail : meatbot777 at gmail dot com

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   Synopsis : A man meets a pre-teen hooker on a trip to South America.

   Disclaimer : Copyright by the author.  Permission is granted to archive,
repost, or publish in no-cost or low-cost archives, periodicals,
anthologies of this type of material if unaltered and attributed to the
author.  This is a work of fiction.  The author does not condone any sexual
activity among persons under 16 in real life.

   These are just words, people, just words.  If you have a problem with
words see a competent shrink or an English teacher.  Tell me if I made
mistakes in Spanish...  it's been over thirty years.  And while the passage
of time dims our memories, some things are never forgotten.



   --==+==-

   I didn't get to fly my bird to Colombia; damn, that would have been an
epic journey in a chopper.  Instead we took commercial fixed-wings to
Bogata, and then puddle-jumpers to Cartagena.  Our choppers had been in
route on a cargo ship, leaving long before we did.  It was the late 80's,
and the drug trade in Colombia was slowly dwindling as the oil fields were
opening up.  I was there to fly crews and equipment out to offshore
platforms.  The deal was to work for two and a half months, then go back to
the states for a month, then return.  That was my schedule.

   It wasn't the first time I'd been out of the country, but it was the
first time I'd had so much time on my hands in a foreign land.  The first
few times I got my month off I returned to the US to see my family and
such, but by the fourth time I just stayed there on my month off.  The cost
of living was low and there was a lot to see and do, and to me the place
was intriguing and fascinating.  Colombia is a beautiful country, in spite
of the occasional violence that the drug wars brought, and I just fell in
love with the place.

   I had joined with two other guys from my company and rented a nice villa
on the outskirts of Cartagena.  The cost of living was cheap, like I said.
On my month off I hung out on the beach, and found other things to occupy
my time.  The senoritas were beautiful and seemed attracted to foreigners
like me, and I quickly found a girlfriend.  Within two months I had a
second, and juggled them with a minimum of effort.  The two girls knew of
each other's existence, and were careful not to interfere with each other
or cause me trouble.  They traded weekends at my villa, and it all worked
out fine.

   At last one of my girlfriends moved on, and that was fine with me.  I
was young, in my late twenties, and not in the mood to be tied down.  I
made do with just one, and things went well for me.  The nights were long
and sensuous, in spite of the the heat and humidity, and I have many happy
memories of the place and the women of Colombia.

   My most favorite memories, though...  in order to tell you about that, I
have something to admit that is actually the main theme of this story.  I
like little girls.  I learned that about myself almost ten years before
this, on a trip to Indonesia.  I had met a little girl there, a poor little
girl reduced to selling her body to tourists, and I tasted her sweetness
for several days, falling more in love with her than I ever thought
possible.  I still literally thought of her every day, and yearned for her,
though to see her again would have been beyond impossible.  Sometimes my
heart ached and burned when I thought of her and wondered what had become
of her.  Mischa, Mischa, my poor little Mischa.  What I did to her was
wrong, and I freely admit it, but I loved her more than anything in my life
so far.

   Mischa came to mind more than once as I walked about Cartagena and
noticed the little brown girls in their school uniforms hurrying to class.
The girls were beautiful, very South American looking, not as dark as
Indonesian girls, but stunningly beautiful.  I fell in love a million times
in the first year I was there.



   --==+==-

   One night as we prepared our communal dinner, the two men I lived with
were laughing about a trip to a whorehouse that they had made during the
early days of their time in Colombia.  The thing that had made a impression
on them, and shocked them was the age of some of the girls they had been
offered.  My ears perked up.  A sweet little Colombian girl?  Hell yes, I
was interested.  Without looking too suspicious I found out where the
establishment had been, and made a promise to myself to visit.

   It was a month before things worked out.  One day I was beginning my
month off and was at loose ends.  I remembered the conversation, and took
off down the street.  Within a few minutes I was on the corner where they
had given as the location of the house of ill repute.  It looked like any
other villa to me, of course there wasn't a sign out front or anything.  I
gathered my courage and knocked on the door.

   To my dismay, a veritable giant opened the door.  Most Colombians are
small or mid-sized, compared to us foreigners, but this guy was pretty damn
big.  He didn't seem particularly cheerful, either.  He looked classy at
least, dressed in a suit and even wearing a tie.

   "Can I help you?" he growled in crude English, I assume he guessed I was
American from my looks.  I gulped.

   "I am looking for...  girls," I said.  His expression didn't change.  I
tried another tack.  "Chicas?"

   His face split into a grin, complete with a few missing teeth.  "Si!" he
said.  "Chicas!"

   He indicated that I should precede him, and we went into a foyer and
then on into the house.  He seated me in a living room, and disappeared. 
Within moments a beautiful older woman entered the room, and stood before
me.  Some conversation followed, and to my relief, yes, apparently I was in
a house of prostitution.  The woman recited prices and perversions
available, and I nodded, wondering how to let her know the real reason I
had come.

   "So, senor, how may we serve you?" she said, finishing up.  I took a
deep breath, and went out on a limb.

   "La senora," I said, "I am interested in...  in a young girl.  I have
heard you have...  very young girls available."

   She was silent for a moment as she regarded me.  I wondered if she now
saw me as a pervert.  I wondered if it mattered to her.

   "Senor.  You must understand...  we could get in very big trouble, doing
such a thing as you ask."

   "I understand," I said, wondering if this was a refusal.

   "To prove...  to prove you are not a policeman, you must do two things
for me.  You much strip, and allow me to examine your clothes.  And you
must...  you must have a few moment's intercourse with a girl that I will
choose for you.

   I nodded.  I understood her precautions.  This was a wild country, but
they still had laws.

   "And young girls are..." she seemed to muse, "young girls are quite
expensive."

   "I understand that also," I said.

   "I must see your money first of all," she said.

   "Now?" I asked.

   "Yes please," she said.  I stood, and pulled out my wallet.  I counted
out the amount she told me, and she nodded, making no effort to take the
money.  I assumed she just wanted to know I had it on me.  The price didn't
shock me, it was a fair amount, probably well beyond the reach of the
average Colombian, but not bad for a foreign helicopter pilot.  I was
pleased.

   "Please follow me," she said, standing.



   --==+==-

   We were in a bedroom in the heart of the building.  A girl sat on the
bed, dressed in a simple bra and panties, smoking a cigarette.  The woman
that had led me there indicated to me that I should undress, and I
nervously stripped.  I left on my underwear, and gave her a questioning
look.  She nodded, and said "just get it out," and I pulled my cock out the
slit in front.  She had watched me undress, I assume looking for a holster
or radio or anything else that might be used to gather evidence.

   "Good," the woman said.  "Janella...  please give him a few moments..."

   The girl crushed her cigarette, and scooted towards me.  I moved towards
her, not sure what was going to happen.  She leaned down, and took my cock
in her hands.  I glimpsed at the other woman, who was watching this with
what almost seemed now to be a bored expression.  The girl on the bed
gulped my cock into her mouth, and began sucking.  I was partially hard
already, first from being naked in a room with two relatively attractive
females, and second from simply being in my twenties.  My penis hardened
rapidly, and the girl dropped it fairly quickly.  She stood and slid her
panties down her legs, then seated herself on the edge of the bed.  She
motioned for me to approach her, and I did.

   She took my cock in her hand, and pulled it towards her pussy.  This
girl, Janella, wasn't bad at all, and I was pretty pumped from just being
with her.  She was small and sexy, slim and skinny, with cute little
hand-sized breasts which sadly I never got to see.  She was partially
shaved, with just a small patch of pubic hair above her pussy.  As she
pulled me towards herself she spread her legs wide, and I nestled inbetween
them.  She grasped my cock with one hand, and placed it at the mouth of her
cunt.

   "Presionar," the girl said, or something similar.  "Push."

   I pressed into her body, and my cock slid into her.  She was reasonably
wet, and pretty tight.  It felt good.  I was assuming this was necessary
since a policeman on duty probably couldn't actually fuck a girl.

   "You do not need to climax," the older woman said from behind me.  "I
have seen enough, in any case.  You may stop whenever you wish."

   Janella gave me a wicked grin, and whispered something that I didn't
understand, and I assumed she wanted me to continue.  I did continue for
probably two minutes, until I felt that first clench of my prostate.  I
finally slowed, and pulled my cock from her body.  She pretended to pout,
and then laughed.

   "You may dress," the other woman said, and I pulled my clothes on.  I
took out my wallet and gave Janella a ten dollar bill, and she laughed and
smiled and gave me a kiss.  I turned to the el proxeneta, and followed her
out of the room.



   --==+==-

   We sat at a table in what looked like a dining room.  She pulled a large
book from a shelf, and I realized it was a photo album.  She opened it,
placing it in front of me.

   "We only keep a few girls in the building," she said.  "If you wish a
girl that is not here, we make an appointment for you to come in when the
girl is here.  It can usually happen within a day or two.  You may look at
the girls now, and decide which one you like."

   I looked down at the first page, my heart pounding in my chest for some
reason.  The girls were...  they were amazing.  They were beautiful, and...
very young.  Bingo, I thought to myself.

   The youngest in the book couldn't have been more than five, I'd guess.
That was a little below my target age.  Some of the photos were school
pictures, and some were Polaroids.  Some were black and white and looked
like they had been developed by an amateur.  There was one thing they all
had in common, though...  every one was, at least to me, a staggeringly
beautiful innocent-looking little girl.  Many of the girls in the Polaroid
pictures were naked, and that alone got me off.  Remember, this was before
the days of the internet, and easy access to child porn.  This was, in
fact, probably the first real child porn I had ever seen, though it was
barely pornographic; just beautiful naked little girls that would have put
Hamilton or Sturges' models to shame.

   This next part...  and I'm not trying to justify what I did, or what I
am.  I felt for these girls, but I also lusted for them, I did feel bad for
them.  What a life...  what a way to start out, in life...  as a pre-teen
hooker.  I didn't cry or anything, but something ached deep inside me and I
really felt for the kids, in spite of what I intended to do to at least one
of them.  What a cruel, heartless world we live in.

   The woman sat patiently beside me, as I thumbed through the book. 
Several of the girls caught my eye immediately, one in particular.  She
stared into the camera with a enigmatic half-smile on her face.  She was
beautiful beyond my ability to describe.  Long black straight hair, deep
brown skin, fat red lips...  and those eyes, god those eyes...  after all
these years, I still see her eyes...  of course they were brown, brown and
hypnotic and just incredible.  There was no way I could accurately guess
her age; I would say anywhere from eight to eleven.  She was the most
angelic creature I'd seen on this earth.  I finished the book out, but I
had already made up my mind.  I wanted her.

   I'm still not sure, after all these years, what I planned to do once I
got a little girl picked out.  I hoped, of course, to have some kind of sex
with her...  even if it was just rubbing and licking.  Mischa, my darling
Mischa...  I hadn't made love to her, I was too afraid of hurting her, and
she was tiny and delicate.  I still remember her tastes, but I didn't fuck
her.  I both regret and am proud that I didn't, but I didn't.  This girl?
What would I do with this girl?  Would I just kiss and lick and maybe
tongue-fuck her?  Or would I force my cruel American cock into her?  I
didn't know, at that point, I still had no idea.  I hadn't planned that far
ahead.

   I turned back through the album, and found my angel.  I looked for a
name, but there was none.  I turned to the woman.

   "This one," I said, pointing.  "This one."

   She smiled, and at last I seemed to feel some warmth from her.

   "That is Amalia," the woman said.  "She has been with us for just a few
months.  She is from Santa Marta, a town in the mountains, and has come to
the big city to make her fortune.  She is ambitious, but also very loving
and sweet.  I think you will like her."

   I nodded, staring at the photograph of the girl.  I knew, at that
moment...  without even meeting her, I knew I was already in love with her.
Here we go again, I thought, almost mad at myself.  Why did I break my own
heart on purpose?  Why was I doing this?  And why did this always happen,
whether big girl or little?

   The woman continued.

   "Amalia lives close.  I can have her here in less than an hour, if you
wish to wait.  Or you can return tomorrow." She looked at me expectantly,
waiting.

   "Yes, I will wait," I said, and she nodded.  She arose from her seat,
and went to a counter with a large black plastic telephone.  She dialed,
and waited until someone answered.  She spoke barely a half-dozen words,
and hung up.

   "She will be here soon," she said, and then to my surprise sat back down
with me.  There followed a half-hour of conversation, mostly consisting of
her asking me questions about life in the USA.  The whole world, it seems,
wants to live in the US.  We talked.  At last I heard a gentle knock on the
door.



   --==+==-

   I have been around the world a few dozen times, and sampled girls from
every continent except Antarctica.  Well, not by the time of this story,
mostly afterwards.  At the time of this story, I was still fairly
inexperienced, both sexually and socially.  The urge, the over-powering
urge that I have struggled with most of my life, was strong.  I hungered to
hold this girl in my arms and smell her scent.  I wanted to taste her, and
rub her body with my hands.  I hoped that I would get the very thing that
I'd learned to live without the last ten or so years...  a little girl. 
And I hoped to do all this without going to prison in a strange land.

   The door opened.  A girl walked in, a girl that I almost didn't
recognize from the picture I'd just looked at.  This girl was smaller than
I expected, and dressed in a cute little green dress.  Her legs were so
long...  she looked half leg or more.  Something deep inside me ached with
the beauty of her, the glorious soul-searing beauty of her.  I gulped, and
wondered what to say to her.  I felt like a big clumsy foreign bear or
something...  just putting my hands on her delicate little body seemed
obscene, at that moment.

   "Amalia," said the woman, "this is mister Dyer.  He flies helicopters,
and is from America!"

   The girl didn't say a word.  She approached me, and held out her hand. I
took it, and we shook hands.  Her hand was soft and hot.  I have touched
her, a part of me said gleefully.

   "I am pleased to meet you," the girl said in perfect English, with no
accent whatsoever.  Once again, I felt like a clumsy oaf, knowing my North
Carolina accent would make me sound like a hillbilly when I finally spoke.

   "I am pleased to meet you, darling!" I said anyway, and she smiled.  Her
smile was beyond my ability to describe, and her teeth were perfect and
gleamed like fine china in the dim noon light of the room.  Oh, I
thought... how can I do this?  How can I do the things I want to this girl?
How can I spoil her and soil her?  Do I have that in me?  Do I want it that
bad?  What will become of her, what will she be when she's fifteen or
twenty, and what will be my part in that?  How can I do this?

   All that burned through my mind, as I stared at her.  She stared back. I
wondered what she thought of me, if she approved, or if I was just a john
to her.  Could she be that jaded, at this age?  Was this just a job to her?

   "Well, ninos!" said miss el proxeneta.  "Let's find a room!"



   --==+==-

   At last, at last we were alone.  The woman had escorted us to an
upstairs bedroom, pausing for a moment outside the room to ask me for the
money.  She took it and gracefully disappeared, after showing me the lock
inside the room, I assume for my assurance we wouldn't be disturbed.

   I softly closed the door, and turned the lock.  A lazy ceiling fan
whirled, moving the hot air around the room.  The girl was gone, into the
bathroom.  I nervously started to undress, but stopped after kicking my
shoes off.  At this point, I wasn't sure if anything was going to happen. I
didn't know if I could do it.  In spite of loving this little girl more
than almost anything in my life so far, my penis was still soft...  I think
I was just to nervous, and I didn't know what to do.

   The woman assured me I had all the time I needed, but I'm sure at some
point they would run me out.  I felt like two hours was about the max.  She
had told me that noon was their "slow time," so I wasn't that worried. 
Before I touched this child, assuming I got enough nerve up to do that,
before I touched this child I wanted to talk to her, I wanted to get to
know her, and...  as foolish as it sounds...  I wanted to try and explain
myself to her.  And...  also as foolish as it sounds...  I wanted to tell
her I loved her.

   The bathroom door opened.  The moment of truth was upon me.



   --==+==-

   We sat on the bed.  She didn't seem intimidated by me at all, but then
I'm not really a threatening kind of guy.  She almost seemed comfortable
with me already.

   "Darling..." I said.  She stared at me, and I was lost in her huge brown
eyes.  The child had the most beautiful and fascinating eyes I've ever
seen, to this day.  I took a deep breath, and started again.

   "Darling...  you are the most...  most beautiful thing I've ever
seen..." where did that come from?  It was true, but I hadn't planned on
just blurting it out like that.  I'd been planning on making some small
talk about her life before this.

   She giggled, though.  I'm sure she'd heard that one before, just because
she was so beautiful.

   "Tell me something," she said in her perfect English, a soft low voice
that gave me chills.  "What is America really like?  Do you love it there?
Why did you come here, if you do?"

   I laughed, but I was relieved.  That gave us something to talk about, at
least.

   "My job brought me here," I said.  "Yes, America isn't perfect, but I
like living there.  But your country is beautiful, too."

   She laughed.  "This is nothing.  This town?  Mister Dyer...  you should
see the mountains.  The mountains are...  breathless!"

   That was the only grammar mistake I ever heard her make.  But I knew
what she meant.  I nodded.  "I wish I could," I said.  "I hope to see more
of the country than just this region."

   "I would take you, if I could," she said.  "My mountain is the most
beautiful of all.  I hated to leave it, and I will go back someday.  I must
make money, though, so my parents do not lose their land."

   I nodded, feeling for her.  "Would you like to visit the US someday?" I
asked, trying not to let the conversation die out.

   "Not really," she said, surprising me.  I'm sure I had a funny look on
my face.  She giggled again.

   "Okay!" I finally said.  I wondered where to go from here.  What had I
planned on doing, again?  What did I think I could do to a little girl?  I
was feeling more and more lost.

   "What is your given name?" she asked.  "May I call you by it?"

   "Yes!" I said.  "It is Carl."

   "Carl," she said, looking thoughtful.  Once again she extended her hand,
and I shook it.  She didn't pull it away, and I held it, loving the feel of
her hot little hand in mine.

   "Amalia," I said.  "Dearest.  Do you feel safe, here, doing this?  Have
you ever had...  problems?"

   She smiled again, and shook her head.  "Yes, I feel safe, and I am not
fearful." she said.  "I am not supposed to tell you this, but we are
watched, occasionally.  For the girl's safety.  If you are a regular
customer it is done even less.  And, of course...  if I screamed someone
would be in here in seconds."

   I had assumed as much.  I wondered about the wisdom of going any further
with her, if I might be blackmailed or something.

   "Carl," she said.  I looked into those hypnotic eyes again, and felt
their pull.  She went on.  "What do you want to do?  What can I do for
you?"



   --==+==-

   We were in the bed.  I lay atop her small body, feeling the heat from
her radiate into my body.  We were covered with a sheet, to protect us from
snooping cameras, if they existed.

   Watching her undress had been incredible, a holy experience for me.  Her
body was everything I'd spent the last ten years dreaming of...  ten hell,
my whole life, although I hadn't realized it about myself until Mischa. 
Anyway...  Amalia...  she drew her dress over her head, and stood before me
in a pair of tiny pastel panties.  My heart was in my throat, just from her
beauty.  Her nipples, her little nipples...  they were incredible.  Her
chest was flat, but her nipples poked out a good half-inch...  hard little
cones of flesh, dark brown in color.  Hard?  They looked hard enough to cut
glass.  If I can just touch and suck on those, I thought...  I will be
happy.  That would be enough.

   She slowly, sensuously slid her panties down her long slim legs.  My
knees were weak.  Her mound, her beautiful little mound...  it was beyond
anything I'd ever seen before, except maybe on Mischa.  It puffed out like
a little pillow, with a small slit running up the center of it.  It was, of
course, completely hairless.  At that moment, at long last, I felt my penis
stir and begin to harden.

   She was waiting, now.  Waiting for me.  I was embarrassed to expose my
crude American nudity to her, but I slid out of my shirt and kicked my
pants to the floor.  By now my underwear tented outwards from my erection,
and she looked at it and giggled.  Yet another wave of love for her washed
over me.  This little girl knew what a hard-on was.  So what?  I didn't
care.  I loved her.

   I dropped my undies, and she giggled again.  I laughed with her.  We
slid beneath the sheet.  She put her hands on my chest and pushed up, and
then slid beneath me when I finally understood.  Just to feel her beneath
me was incredible, just the feel of her hot smooth silky body.  Her legs
were spread widely, and I could feel the damp heat from her crotch on my
stomach.  My penis got even harder, at that.

   "Darling," I whispered, my face beside hers.  I almost felt like crying,
I loved her so much.  "Darling, I love you...  I love you I love you I
love..."

   She laughed at me, and accepted my pleas of love.

   "Carl," she whispered.  Our faces were inches apart.  Her breath was hot
and smelled like something fruity.  "Carl, I am not a virgin.  I have had
lovers before.  Do not be afraid of hurting me.  Make love to me,
please..."

   "Oh god!" I said convulsively.  I wanted to do just that, but I didn't
know if I could.  I hugged her body against mine, loving he feel of her
beneath me.  I could have spent the rest of my life right there in that
room, just holding her.

   We kissed at last.  She leaned into me, and our lips touched.  Chills
went down my spine at her taste, her taste and her touch.  I gulped air as
we separated, then our lips pressed together again.  I felt her little
tongue touch my lip, and within moments it was in my mouth.  Although this
happened long ago, I cannot think of a more sensuous moment in my life than
pressing my lips against that little girl and feeling her hot saliva in my
mouth.  It was beyond incredible.

   I don't know how long we kissed.  Not long enough, of course.  I could
have done it for hours.

   "Oh baby!" I moaned.  I ran my hands down her naked back, and touched
her bottom.  Her butt was, unlike the rest of her body, cool to the touch.
I buried my fingers in her sweet little ass, and squeezed.  It was magical,
incredible...  I'm running out of words here...  it was fabulous.  She
squirmed beneath me as I squeezed her butt, and she raked her crotch
against my stomach.  I knew what she was doing, and it endeared her to me
all the more.  We both got more and more frantic.  At last I gave up her
beautiful butt and circled her hard nipples with my thumbs.  Once again,
words fail.  Her nipples felt as hard as granite, and god, they were hot to
the touch.  I didn't ask, I just sat up, put my head down, and sucked a
nipple into my mouth.

   Her body had a taste, a good taste...  I just remember that, after all
these years, sadly.  The feeling of her hard nipple on the tip of my tongue
was magical, incredible.  I scraped it with my upper front teeth, and she
squirmed and moaned beneath me.  Since my tongue was taking care of her
nipples, I wrapped my arms around her waist and grabbed her butt again.  I
slid my index finger down into her hot sweaty crack, and felt the wrinkled
skin of her anus.  I moaned and she moaned and giggled.  I rubbed her sweet
little asshole and sucked on her nipples.  I was in heaven.

   Her legs were spread wide, but she wrapped them around my waist and
squeezed me.  I squeezed her ass with one hand, while the other one sent a
finger deeper and deeper into her bottom.  Her hands were in my hair and
she was scrubbing her hot little pussy against my stomach.  I could almost
feel the trail of moisture it left.  I was more turned on than I thought
possible.

   "Carl!" she half whispered, half shouted.  I still don't know how she
did that.  "Carl!  Make love to me!  Make love to me now!" I couldn't tell
if she really wanted it that bad, or she was just a good actor.

   I pulled myself forward over her body.  My cock rubbed right up her
pussy, pushing her pussy lips aside, and smashed into her clit.  I just
stayed there a while, rubbing up and down, and felt her tremble and shake
beneath me.

   "Are you sure, darling?" I said.  I really wanted her to be sure, before
I penetrated her.  I knew I wasn't her first, she herself had told me that.


   "Yes!" she hissed, and laughed again.  I felt like, at that moment, that
she really wanted it, that it wasn't simply a job to her any more.  Can a
child wallow in lust like an adult?  This one sure seemed like she was.

   She smashed her mouth against mine again.  I raised up slightly, and
reached for my cock but she had it already.  She guided it to her cunt, and
I then I felt her hands on my butt, pulling me down against her.  The cap
of my cock entered her body.  She was hot and tight and a million other
sexy things.  I knew that I would not last long.  My hands were still
pinching and squeezing her ass, and I had an index finger half-way in her
asshole.

   She pulled me deeper and deeper inside her body, and I heard her sigh
and groan below me.  I hope it felt good to her.  I'm no giant, just
average, but that day I felt three feet long.  Pushing into her tightness
was incredible and it was all I could do to hold back.

   At last we began to move against each other, and I was right, I didn't
last long.  My prostate exploded and I squirted into her body, again and
again.  I felt bad because she hadn't gotten to cum, I felt like a
stereotypical rapacious American, plundering the wealth of her body and
giving her nothing in return.

   Nonetheless, she giggled, probably from the funny look on my face as I
orgasmed, and we slowed and stopped.

   "Oh, baby!" I said.  "I'm sorry you didn't get to...  get to cum!" She
giggled again.

   "It's okay!" she said.  "But you can make me do it with your finger or
your tongue!"

   We both giggled at that.  She moved beneath me, and I rolled to the side
and she lay beside me, her legs still spread widely.  Her poor little pussy
was soaked with sperm, and she wiped most of it off on the bedsheets.  I
hesitantly reached down, and put my finger on her clit.

   "Yes!" she said.  "I do that every night!  I'm very good at it!" We both
laughed again.  What a joy the child was, a curious mixture of angelic
innocence and worldly-wise deviltry.  I just sank deeper and deeper into
love with her.

   I began to vibrate my finger against her clit, rubbing it up and down
against her body, and she began to shake and tremble, her breath coming
quickly.  I rubbed a nipple with my other hand, loving the hard feel of
them.  Still, to this day, I haven't seen or touched anything as incredible
as her nipples.  What I'd give to suck on one again.

   She came quickly, and came hard.  She gasped and groaned loudly, and her
whole body shook.  Her legs were straight and locked.  She pushed herself
up off the bed with her arms, and then fell back onto it.  At last she
looked up and me with the wickedest grin I've ever seen on a child, and we
both giggled.

   We lay and talked for a while, and I held her, my arms around her back.
I rubbed her body, her chest and stomach and the insides of her thighs, and
that quick I felt my penis harden.  I realized I would probably be able to
fuck her again, and maybe this time I could make her cum.  I hoped so.

   I stared down at her sweet little cunt, and realized that, in spite of
the spermy taste that I'm sure it now had, I wanted her.  I wanted her bad.
I love eating pussy, sweet little girl pussy most of all.

   "Dearest!" I said, kissing her cheek.  "Now let me lick your little
pussy!  Let me taste you!"

   She giggled and nodded, and I slowly moved down her body.  At last I was
over her.  I leaned into her, and sniffed her beautiful cunt.  I could
smell my sperm, of course, but I could also smell her, a wonderful pussy
smell that just knocked me out.  I slowly reached out with my tongue, and
touched her clit.

   The girl was just incredible.  The taste of her, the feel of her
softness on my lips...  I cannot accurately describe what I felt as I
pressed my face into her fantastic pussy.  I was just too much.  I licked
her clit, her pussy lips...  I licked the crease of her legs, beside her
pussy, tasting salt and sweat...  I licked down her pussy lips to her
perineum, and licked her tart asshole.  It was one of the most deeply
sexual and powerful moments of my life.  It was heaven, to me.

   My cock was as hard as a metal rod.  I was pumped up that quick, just
from tasting her.  I knew that doing her again wouldn't be a problem, but
the problem might be cumming to quickly once again.  I hoped not, but I
wanted bad to make her cum, it was important to me.  For my pleasure as
well as hers.  I realized then what I still believe, that she was an
intensely sexual creature, possibly rare for a child as young as she was.
But she seemed to love sex, she seemed able to take pleasure from her body
and mine without guilt, shame or embarrassment.

   "Darling," I said, and she looked at me.  "Darling, I think in a few
minutes I can try again.  May I?  Can we do it again?"

   She laughed and nodded.  She reached down, and took hold of my cock. 
She crawled down my body, and I thought oh my god!  as I realized what she
was going to do.  She stuck her little butt up in the air and her head
down, and gulped my cock into her mouth.  For a kid, she was good.  I'd
have a few blow jobs here and there, my most memorable ones from Mischa, of
course, but this girl was obviously trained in the arts of love.  She
slurped and sucked and within minutes I was rock-hard again.  Ah, to be
young again.

   At last she raised and looked at me.  I took her in my arms and hugged
her, the thing that I seemed to want more than fucking her.  I just
squeezed her to me.  By now I loved her to an extreme that I cannot even
begin to describe.  I wanted her more than I wanted anything in my life,
except maybe Mischa.  The thought of having to leave her here in a few
minutes caused me terrible pain.  Would I be able to see her again?  The
problem would be not coming to see her every day now.  I'd be broke in a
month, if I did that.  But, damn...  damn I wanted her.  I wanted her bad.



   --==+==-

   Somehow I had finally pulled my face out of her crotch.  I didn't want
to, but I did.  I crawled atop her again, and she wiggled down into the
lumpy mattress as I positioned myself over her.  Once again I felt her
small soft hands on my cock.  She guided into her body, and I pressed down
against her.  Fucking the girl was a beautiful and holy experience to me.
The feeling of my hands on her tiny ass, and looking down on the top of her
head as I moved inside her...  it was incredible.  I would feel her toes
sometimes just below my knees, she was so short.  She seemed to love it,
though, she seemed to love being fucked.  I wondered when she had lost her
virginity, at what age.  And her little pussy still seemed so tight!  She
was just incredible.

   We moved against each other, and I knew this time I'd be able to hold
it. We pumped, she gasped and groaned, and I'm sure I made some noises
also. At last I felt her tremble and her muscles tighten, and she gasped
and relaxed.  Hooray, I thought, I made it!  I let myself go, then, and
soon squirted into her body yet again.  Her poor little body was filled
with my hot Imperialist American sperm that day, the poor kid.  At last we
lay again, holding each other on the sweaty bed.

   Finally it was time.  I gave her one last hug and squeeze, and resolved
myself to eventually losing her.

   "Can I see you again?" I asked, and she nodded shyly.

   "Carl..." she said.  "Carl, hug me..."

   I did, and she put her mouth to my ear.

   "Tell me your address," she whispered in my ear.  I perked up.  So, she
wanted some time off the clock.  I could live with that.  I whispered my
address to her, and wondered what my roommates would think if she actually
showed up.

   At last there was nothing left to do.  It had been almost two hours, and
although I felt like I could go again, I knew it was time.  I hugged and
kissed her once last time, wondering if I'd ever get to do it again.  If
she'd be here next time, or if I would.  My contract could be bought out at
any time.  I felt pressure to do this again, and do it quickly.

   I opened the door, and she preceded me out of the room.  Right outside,
the pimp woman was sitting on a couch, like she was waiting for us.

   "Are you okay, darling?" she asked Amalia.  Amalia laughed like it was a
foolish question, and nodded her head, smiling.  The woman thanked me, and
waited patiently while I said a quick farewell to Amalia.  The last I saw
of the girl, she was headed down the hall, away from me.  I watched her go,
but she never looked back.



   --==+==-

   I made it four days.  It was Thursday.  All I had thought of the last
four days had been the girl.  All I had dreamed of, all I had imagined once
again on my lips, was Amalia.  I could stand it no longer.  Off I went, to
the villa on the corner.

   The second time was better than the first, if you can believe it.  Maybe
because I knew the ropes, and I felt pretty safe by now.  Now that I had
basically paid money to molest a little girl, and gotten away with it.  I
shut those thoughts out of my mind, and had a wonderful afternoon with her.
I made it almost a week after that time.

   I knew I was on shaky ground.  I was caught up in Amalia, I was snared
in a trap.  I loved her madly.  I dreamed of her.  Every time my eyes
closed, I saw her.  I loved her way past the safe point.  How would I live
without her, when the time came?  How long could this go on?

   The fourth time I saw her, we hatched the plan.



   --==+==-

   We had just made love, long glorious wet orgasmic love.  I lay there,
basking in the warmth of the afterglow, holding her on my stomach, loving
her.

   "Carl," she said softly, putting her mouth to my ear.

   "What?" I said equally softly.

   "I am leaving Don Mateo's." she said.  I wondered what she meant.  Was
that the name of this place, the whorehouse?  Or was that her neighborhood
or something?

   "What is Don Mateo's?" I finally asked, and she confirmed my worst fear.
Yes, that was the name of this establishment.  My heart sank.  Why was she
telling me this?

   "How can I live without you?" I asked her softly.  She giggled.

   "You can still see me.  I know your address, remember?" To my surprise
she recited it, after only hearing it that one time, two weeks ago.

   "Will you come see me?" I asked hoarsely, tears in my throat.

   "If you want me to," she said.

   "Oh, I do, I do want that," I fervently whispered.  "I want that more
than anything in the world." She giggled some more.

   "When?" I asked her.  "When will you tell them?"

   "I don't know...  maybe tonight!" she said.  "I'm just going to tell
Luciana and then never come back."

   "You must promise me you'll visit me.  And soon!" I said, and she
nodded, and giggled some more.  I held her tightly, afraid of losing her. I
loved her so much it hurt.



   --==+==-

   I was home, cleaning up after the evening meal.  There was a knock on
the door, and my heart stopped.  Was it her?  One of my friends reached it
first, and I heard a girl's voice.  Sure enough, it was Amalia.  I hadn't
gone back to the whorehouse since she told me she was going to leave, I'd
just stayed home in case she actually did visit.  I hurried to the door,
and made introductions, telling my roomies that she was the daughter of my
girlfriend.  They nodded, and I took her to my room.  I left the door open,
just to avoid any hint of impropriety.  We sat on my bed, and whispered.

   "Amalia," I said.  "I am going to get a place of my own.  I hope to do
so within just a few days.  How can I reach you, when I have the address?"

   She gave me an address, a house where she lived with some other girls
who worked at Don Mateo's.  I carefully wrote it down.  We didn't do
anything that evening other than visit.  It was tempting, but I didn't want
to start any tongues wagging.

   I gave her money, though, I gave her the full amount that it usually
cost me to visit her.  She just stared at the money, and seemed to be in
shock.

   "Honey..." I said quietly, realizing something.  "How much did you
receive, when I visited you?" The amount she told me was ridiculously low,
less than a fifth of what I paid out.  I was incensed.

   "That is why I quit!" she said.  "I have heard of places where I can
make much more!"

   "Darling!" I said.  "How much do you need?  How much do you want to make
in a week?"

   The amount she told me wasn't bad.  Surely, I thought...  surely she
made more than that for a week at Don Mateo's.  Further questioning
revealed the truth, though.  First of all, like I had found out, she wasn't
paid very much.  And secondly, she didn't work that often.  In this part of
the world, little girls weren't as in demand as the older more experienced
girls.  Sometimes, she said, she only saw two customers a week.

   Shit, I thought.  My mind was working overtime.  I couldn't afford the
full amount that I had paid each time so far, but I could probably double
her income and survive.  And I had a fair amount of money in the bank, back
in the states.  Could I afford this girl?  Could I basically make her my
private love doll?  Oh, I wanted that more than anything.  I didn't care if
I had to live hand to mouth, I wanted it.  I wanted her.

   In guarded whispers, we ironed our scheme out.  I'd find a cheap
apartment, and she'd move in with me.  That would save her a lot on rent.
I'd pay her a weekly amount, roughly what she made in a week when she saw
three or four patrons at Don Mateo's.  And...  the best part...  every
night I'd crawl into bed with her, the most beautiful and desirable little
creature in the world.  My own private love goddess.  My life, my love, my
darling...  my Amalia.



   --==+==-

   Without much fuss I found a single room apartment, at less than half
what I'd paid for a third of a villa.  I moved in quickly, and helped
Amalia move her few belongings in that very night.  I cannot think of a
time I was more ecstatically happy than that first night, to go to sleep
with her in my arms and then awaken, still holding her...  my heart almost
exploded.

   We made house like newlyweds...  and I have to say about the girl...  no
one was more pleasant, more easy to get along with, more patient than the
girl.  I'm an easy guy to get along with, but she took it to a new level.
She was incredible.

   I wondered what she would do during the long hours I'd be gone, when my
flying shift started again.  I had a nagging thought that she might go back
to her old ways, and earn some extra money on her back, but without my even
asking her she assured me that time was over.  She never said she disliked
what she did...  but I think she was happier just being a one-man girl.

   We talked about school, and I finally convinced her to continue her
education.  That would give her something to do while I flew.  And,
although she was uncommonly smart, she needed that diploma.

   We talked for hours...  we talked about everything, the US, Colombia...
everything.  Did I say uncommonly smart back there?  The girl was
incredibly smart, for a kid.  To this day, her perceptiveness almost shocks
me.  This little girl grew up out in the sticks?  I kept asking myself.  On
the side of a mountain?  How did she get so smart?  It was amazing and
puzzling.

   She was a good cook, and I think that's when I began to struggle with my
weight.  She always waited up for me, on those days that I flew I didn't
get home until way late at times, but she was always there to ask about my
day and let me hold her on the couch.  Incredibly, she was like a model
wife, at her young age.  I couldn't have asked for better.

   We traveled the country, on my month off, and I was constantly amazed at
the beauty of the place.

   "Carl," Amalia said to me one night in a seedy little motel room. 
"Carl, I wish I could take you home.  But...  but they wouldn't understand.
No one, no one in my family knows what I did, at the house."

   I knew what she meant, that's what she called the whorehouse she'd
worked at, "the house." I understood.  I would have loved to meet her
family, but I didn't want to cause her problems.  We did travel through the
mountains, and she was right, it was the most beautiful part of the
country.

   Twice during that year and a half I did send her home on the bus for a
few weeks, and she thanked me profusely for allowing her to do that.  As
that sentence might suggest, it was difficult at times to make her realize
that I didn't control her life, part of that probably being because she was
still a kid, and part because I was her source of income.  She even
frustrated me at times, asking my permission to do simple things.  It was a
cultural thing, I guess.

   Her sad story did come out during our time together, the story of a loan
her father had taken out, and then had trouble meeting the payments on, and
the danger of losing the farm of several hundred acres that had been in her
family for generations.  Her hope was to return home with enough money to
pay off the loan, and upgrade the farm to the point where her family could
make enough money to survive.  I hoped she could accomplish all this, and
she assured me she already had the cash to simply pay off the loan.  The
second time she went home we wired a large portion of her money to a local
bank, she returned happy to report that the loan had been paid off.  I was
happy I had a part in it, even if it wasn't obvious.  Not as happy as I was
to hold her in my arms every night, of course.

   There's not much else to tell.  The next year and a half were the
happiest of my life.  The only real shock was one morning when we awoke to
blood on our sheets, announcing that she was now a woman.  Everything
stopped until we could get her to a clinic, and get her on the pill.  Well,
not everything...  my tongue still got a workout every night, but my cock
did get a little lonesome for a few days.

   I don't have much else to tell.  It was a shock one morning when my boss
led me into a meeting room, and a company rep told me my contract was
bought out.  I gave a good part of the cash I received to Amalia.  I began
to hold her extra tight every night, with the understanding that I would
probably soon be leaving the country.

   I wanted to bring her to the US, where I would hold her every night for
the rest of my life.  I wanted to make her mine, to marry her when I could.
I felt like she was the one for me.  Sadly, as it so often seems, it didn't
work out like that.  For all my pleading and begging, she had no desire to
leave Colombia.  She didn't even seem that interested in seeing the US. 
All she wanted was to get back to her mountains.  Within a month, I knew
that our little affair would soon be over.

   The day came.  The next day I would fly out of Cartagena to Bogota, and
there to San Diego.  Our apartment was empty, and the lease would expire in
a few days.  Amalia had a bus ticket to Santa Marta in her purse.

   I held her that night, and neither of us slept a wink.  I think, if I
may say it without lessening what I know she felt for me...  but I think
the separation had a much greater effect on me than her.  Of course, she
was young, with her life ahead of her...  I was thirty, and starting to
feel the teeth of time gnaw at my bones.  To give her credit, she held me
that night as I held her, and cried as I cried.  I knew, somehow I knew
deep inside, this was the end.  We had made plans and traded addresses and
information, but deep inside, I think we knew.  She was going to a town
where even simple telephones were rare, and from there she'd end up even
further out in the country.

   I hoped for the best for her, and still do.  I have received a half
dozen postcards from her over the years, usually with letters inside, she
is married now and even has a child.  The last photograph I received was
still recognizable as her, but a middle-aged slightly plump version of her.
I still love her, I still think of her every day, as I do Mischa...  cruel
time causes my memories to fade, but my girls are still strong in my mind.
I am sliding down the backside of middle age, now...  and when time comes
for me, I will die with their names on my lips.  I have loved longer, but
never stronger.  Goodbye, Amalia.  I love you.



   --==+==-

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EVEN IF YOU DIDN'T LIKE IT.  THANKS FOR READING.