Title: Babysitter - Jenny By Clayton Author: Clayton Keywords: Mgg ped cons rom voy slow Summary: Greg is hired as a math tutor for Jenny **************************************************** Introduction: I found some of Clayton's stories years ago. Recently I finally found this much of Babysitter-Jenny in SirSnuffHorrid/Clayton. This story doesn't fit that name at all, see the story codes above. I decided to combine the 8 parts into one. I reformatted it to work well as text, and corrected a few obvious misspelled words and a few blatant other errors in grammar and layout. If there seemed to be any possibility that Clayton intended to do something or that a spelling was an aussie variation, I left it alone. This story is the prequel to Babysitter-Jenny-addendum and should be read first. Clayton -- if by happy chance you should see this -- If you have any objections to what I have done with your story, let me know and I will correct things, up to and including removing it from my collection. MrJenkins **************************************************** Babysitter - Jenny Chapter 1 - Mgg, voy, setup Greg applies for a position as tutor and meets a couple of wannabe sluts. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. No illegal activity described herein was carried out, this document details fantasies that took place late at night when I was alone in bed. I firmly believe that no fifteen minutes of pleasure is worth the innocence of a child. Besides, I derive much pleasure from the company of children, playing with them or simply watching them at play, I am not going to risk this for any momentarily heightened sense of pleasure. If you are under the age of eighteen the law says I've got to tell you to go away, so, "Go away!" Common sense says you're going to ignore me, so don't blame me if you go blind, your parents find you in possession of this document or your space bar to stops working. If this type of material is illegal in your city, state, country, then see above, substituting "law enforcement agency" in place of "parents". Introduction: Between now and the new year I will be unable to do much writing. Instead I will be proofreading this story, and possibly a couple of others, and publishing a chapter or so every day or two. When I next have the time to write, your response will determine which stories I will work on. So if you have a preference for which story you would like me to finish first, send me an email or five. __ _/ ) // _/_ / // __. , , / ______ (__/>/_(_/|_/(_/_>__(_) / /_, / ' +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ | Clayton | clayton@nym.alias.net | |--------------------------------------------------------------------| | There is nothing so soft, or pleasing to the touch, as the skin of | | a child. Cup their cheek in your hand and ask yourself if you are | | willing to harm such beauty for your own gratification. | | Take you fantasies to bed - alone. | +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ Chapter 1 - Jenny I had answered an ad in the newspaper for a maths and science tutor. Then when I fronted up for my interview, I almost cut and run right there. The century old house her parents owned occupied about two acres of prime real estate and looked big enough to house an army. Parking my battered old Valiant around the corner, I gathered my courage and walked up to the gate. After checking my watch to make sure that I am not too early, I follow the endless drive to the front door, feeling as if a thousand eyes were following my every move. Hesitating on the step I'm just about ready to turn and leave when the door opens, revealing a small, pretty, and somewhat startled woman in her early thirties, dressed in a faded work shirt several sizes too large and ratty old jeans with mud stained knees. Her dark brown, almost black, hair is pulled back into a pony tail but several wisps have pulled free and hang down beside her ears. Finally a streak of mud on her lightly tanned cheek, where she has pushed that hair back completes her dishevelled appearance. "Oh!" she gives a startled squeak, "You must be the young man I was to interview about tutoring Jenny. Please excuse my appearance, I was working in the garden and forgot all about you coming today. "Please come in. Do you mind waiting a few minutes while I make myself presentable?" "Not at all." I reply smiling, "But unlike the garden I'm only going to be here a few minutes." "Are you sure?" She asks, "I must look a positive hag." "Positive," I reply, "in fact, you'd be doing me a favour. I almost took off when I saw this place, it just seemed so far out of my league that I felt like would be wasting your time." "But now that you've discovered that human beings live here you want to have the advantage of being better dressed than the interviewer?" she asks, cocking an eyebrow and smiling up at me. "Something like that." I admit sheepishly, "Although I really would be more comfortable if you didn't go to any trouble for me." "That's fair enough, take a seat over there and I'll go get a drink and we can begin." she says waving me toward a lounge that probably cost more than I could hope to make in six months. I gingerly sit on the edge of the plush leather couch and promptly have to throw myself back into it as it gives way beneath my weight and threatens to dump me on the floor. While I wait, I glance around the room and begin to realise that things aren't quite as bad as they had seemed. Although the room was immaculately clean, there were signs that a family really did live here and it was not the showpiece that it had at first appeared to be. The leather of the couch on which I was sitting showed some signs of wear. Proudly displayed amongst the obviously expensive knick-knacks on the mantle, are cheap plastic trophies of the type that might be presented to a child at school; an inexpertly thrown pot; and an impossible to identify conglomeration of coloured string, sticky tape and paint daubed cardboard tubes. On the wall, a citation lauding one Jenny Gormley's achievement in reading a book a week for an entire term some three years in the past takes equal place with a master's degree in aerospace engineering. The bookshelves too, bear witness to this being a home, Enid Blyton juxtaposed with engineering texts; Robert Heinlein and the Baby-sitter's Club; and at one end of the shelf filled with the Britanica encyclopaedia Alfred E. Neuman stares up at me with his crack toothed grin from a pile of dog-eared magazines. "I hope you like tea." the woman's voice, snaps me away from my examination of the bookshelves. I turn to find that Jenny's mother had taken time to freshen up, exchanging her gardening garb for a comfortable looking pair of slacks and a pale yellow shirt that better fits her diminutive frame. The smudge of dirt is gone from her cheek and her hair, though still pulled back into a pony tail, is now neatly brushed back. "Tea's fine." I reply, returning to the center of the room. She sets the tray, down on the coffee table, and extends her hand towards me. "I'm sorry," she says, "your turning up like that had me so flustered that I forgot to introduce myself before. I'm Dianne Gormley." I take her hand and, reply, "Sorry, I was just as forgetful. I'm Greg Parry, Mrs Gormley." "Dianne please. How do you like your tea?" "White with two thank you." As she hands me my cup, she apologises, "I'm sorry I took so long, but I took a look at myself in the mirror and nearly had a heart attack." "Not a problem, it gave me time to realise that all of my fears were for naught." I say, indicating the overstuffed bookshelves and Jenny's certificate on the wall. "So you've discovered our secret." Dianne says with a smile, "We're just plain folks, like you." "That's some of it," I smile back, "but mostly it's because you give your children's achievements equal place with your own." "And why not?" Dianne says a trifle hotly, "To Jenny her book a week was as important as a Nobel prize would be to my husband." "Hey I agree." I say holding up my hand, "It's just that a lot of parents consider the side of the fridge the place for that sort of thing." I indicate the bookshelves again, saying, "And their room is where their books should be." "Again why not? After all this is the family room." "Indeed why not? But while I may not be entirely fair considering the limited size of my sample, I have noticed that more often than not, the richer people are, the more likely that attitude is to prevail. Which is why I almost turned away when I saw your house and the way the gardens were kept. No that isn't fair, it's a home, because it's become obvious to me that you take pride in it because it's the place where you live and not because you are out to impress the neighbours." "You obviously have time for your children, unlike too many other parents, both rich and poor, and that really makes me want to take the job, assuming of course that I haven't just talked myself out of it with my outspoken expression of my attitudes." "But wouldn't the children of parents like you just mentioned be in greater need of your services?" Dianne asks. "No, because parents who don't take time for their children, usually see their children as a personal asset to be turned into something that they can trot out at the appropriate times to show off what bright offspring that they have produced; or a bother that needs to be bribed into keeping out of the way. "I won't be a party to the first, and in the second instance I have to avoid making waves while still producing results with a spoiled child who in all probability does not want to work, does not know how to work, and will go to extraordinary lengths to avoid having to do anything that has the appearance of work." "No thank you. I'd much rather work where I have the best chance of achieving the greatest good and really make a positive difference." "So how would you go about making a positive difference with Jenny?" Dianne asks. "I'd need to know a bit more about her circumstances before I could say." I reply, "On the phone you said that Jenny's performance at school has dropped right off this year and you felt she needed tutoring to bring her back to her usual level. "The first thing I'd need to know is why her performance has dropped off. Has she missed a lot of school because of an illness?" "No, but she did miss a lot of groundwork because she had a new teacher for the final term of last year who had rather unusual thoughts on what should be taught. She concentrated on what she called 'Social Development', which to be truthful was quite good and we welcomed it. However, for the rest she just gabbled what the syllabus required from the books and then marked everything according to what she 'believed' the child should have achieved. Which as far as we could tell was to simply perpetuate the marks of the previous two terms with enough variation to disguise what she was doing." "Unfortunately, because Jenny has always been a good student, and her marks had remained where they 'should' be we saw no reason to check up on her work. We only discovered the truth towards the very end of the year when she dropped a returned homework sheet coming in from school and I noticed that several clearly wrong answers had been marked correct." "The teacher's response when we spoke to her about it, was that interpersonal relationships were much more important in determining how a person advanced in the real world. "The attitude of the school principal, when we brought this to his attention, was a combination of 'Well it's too late to do anything about it now.' and 'They'll survive, after all it was only one term.' Even more frightening was the fact that he allowed that teacher's assessment of Jenny's class to stand, because in his words, 'It would be unfair to the students and the school to provide a true assessment when that teacher would not be coming back in the new year.'" "What was really apparent was that his primary concern was the damage failing an entire class would do to his school's reputation. So this year Jenny is at a new school, and Mr Sampson, her new teacher, is doing his best to help her catch up, but she is only one of twenty five students and he can only do so much. He suggested that a tutor would be the best thing." "Up until a week ago we thought we had a perfect tutor in Julie, but the pressure of her class work forced her to give up tutoring. But after talking to you, I feel that you'll be even better. It's obvious to me that you tutor for more than just the money. Speaking of which, how does thirty five dollars an hour sound." "Like way too much." I reply, mentally kicking myself for my honesty. "I assume that means I've got the job. However, before I take it I'd like to meet Jenny for myself. I need to be sure that I really can help her and that we can get along together. It wouldn't do much for her self esteem if I wasn't suitable and you had to find yet another tutor." "Of course." Dianne replies, "As for the money, that's less than what I would be paying for and agency tutor. Besides I know how little a graduate assistant gets, I married Tony while he was still working for his Master's and if I hadn't had my allowance we would never had made it. "Now before I go and get Jenny, I should tell you about her brother Jeremy. There were unfortunate complications with his birth and he was born profoundly retarded and almost completely deaf. Because of this he sometimes yells loudly so that he can hear his own voice, it gives him a great deal of pleasure and we have been unable to make him understand that it disturbs others. "Up until now he has been able to go out in the garden, or either my husband or myself have taken him elsewhere during Jenny's sessions. However, with the colder weather coming on, I think we might have to make some sort of alternative arrangement if he is too much of a disturbance." "Let's try not to make too many changes in Jenny's routine for the moment." I say, "We can always rethink things later if we need too. I hope you don't mind my asking, but why do you need me at all? Couldn't your husband tutor Jenny?" "His job takes up too much of his time during the week and we both feel that Jenny's weekends are her own time. Besides," Dianne finishes with a laugh, "Tony's a lousy teacher. He keeps on drifting off into algebra and calculus." "I can see where that might be a bit of a problem at Jenny's level." I chuckle. "O.K. let's go get the monster and see if you can put up with her and if she can put up with you, she's up in her den with a friend." Dianne leads me out into the entry and up a sweeping flight of stairs to a wide landing. At the end of the hall, a partially open door allows girlish voices raised in laughter to escape. Pushing the door open, Dianne precedes me into the room. Following her I come to an abrupt halt as twin shrieks of embarrassment greet my entry. Faced with a bed strewn with clothes and two half naked little girls, I beat a hasty retreat as one of them, Jenny, berates Dianne, "Mum how could you? We're not dressed. You should have knocked." "How was I to know? The door was open." Dianne replies, her voice filled with suppressed laughter. "You should have still knocked," Jenny continues, "he's a *man*." From where I am standing in the hall, I suddenly get a glimpse of one girl's bottom encased in brief pink knickers as she bends over to rummage through a pile of clothing on the floor, her bottom protruding past the frame of still open door. As she straightens, I look up and notice that I can see the other girl from behind, reflected in the mirror over the dressing table. Unable to help myself I continue watch as she bends over to retrieve her own clothes, Her lacy powder blue knickers are even briefer that the first girl's and as I watch they creep up into the crack of her backside, revealing a broad expanse of white untanned skin. "Jenny!" Dianne's voice rises in mild outrage, "They're not your undies." "They're Vanessa's." Jenny replies, squirming uncomfortably as she extracts them from her butt crack with a curled finger. "Well take them off before you stretch them even further out of shape. They're positively indecent, in case you haven't noticed, Vanessa's two sizes smaller than you." "But they're so pretty Mum." Jenny protests, "How come I don't have any pretty knickers Mum?" "Because you don't need them." Dianne replies, "Nobody sees them so it doesn't matter what you wear so long as they are clean and comfortable." "But you have s-pretty knickers." Jenny pouts. "So that's the way of it," Dianne sighs, catching the almost slip, "my little girl's growing up. That's a bit different, your daddy sees mine." "Daddy sees mine too sometimes." Jenny says reasonably, "Can I have some pretty ones for him to see?" "Uh, I don't think that's a good idea." Dianne says, suddenly on the defensive, "Now hurry up and put some clothes on, Mr Parry's waiting to meet you." "Oh!" Jenny squeaks in embarrassment, suddenly reminded of my presence on the other side of the door, "Who is he anyway?" "Your new tutor." Dianne replies, "At least he will be if you haven't embarrassed him so much that he's left." "Oh no, he can't be!" Jenny shrieks, her dark hair swinging from side to side as she looks about the room, as if she fears that I might be in there with her rather than in the hall outside, "He's seen me naked!" "Don't be silly, he's probably forgotten it already." Dianne says, then teases, "Besides you're the one who want's the sexy knickers to show off, maybe I should call him in her so you can show those off for him." "Mu-um!" Jenny cries stretching the word to two syllables. "Well hurry up and get changed." Dianne says. Fearful that her mother might carry out her non-threat, Jenny skins out of the knickers she is wearing, giving me a brief glimpse of two pouting white lips separated by a thin vertical slit. As she rises she turns toward the dresser and I take a quick step to the side, suddenly conscious of how it would look if I was caught where I was. As I hear the scrape of a drawer opening, I beat a hasty retreat to the wait on the landing at the top of the stairs. A few minutes later they emerge, the first out is a tiny, elfin, slip of a girl, barely a metre tall and probably weighing in at less than twenty-five kilos dripping wet. As she glances toward me a faint pink blush darkens her clear, pale skin. Flawless skin that so rarely accompanies the magnificent red-gold hair with which she has been blessed. Slightly over shoulder length with just a hint of a wave it frames a narrow triangular face. Astonishingly dark eyes meet mine as she ventures a tentative, slightly embarrassed smile. Behind her, almost as if propelled from behind, Jenny emerges, a cascade of long jet black hair half concealing her brightly glowing features. A good fifteen centimetres taller than her friend and outweighing her by the best part of ten kilos, she stumbles to a halt beside Vanessa, her eyes briefly darting all over the place, before settling on a point just in front of her toes. Behind them Dianne apologises, "I'm sorry about that, I didn't realise what they were up to." "On the contrary," I return, "it is I who should apologise. A true gentleman should not enter a lady's boudoir unannounced and uninvited." Bowing with a flourish towards the girls, I continue, "For that I most humbly and abjectly beg your forgiveness ladies." Giggles and a slightly deeper chuckle greet my display, and I look up to see the two girls their eyes dancing with mirth over hands cupped over their mouths and Dianne smiling broadly over the tops of their heads. I remain half bent, waiting, for a few seconds then ask, mournfully, "Am I forgiven?" Twin jerky nods and more giggles answer me, and I make a show of rubbing the small of my back as I stand, eliciting another round of giggles. "Jenny, Vanessa," Dianne says, "this is Mr Parry, he is going to be tutoring you Jenny, that is of course if he's willing to put up with you. Greg, this," she lightly rests her hand on top of her daughter's raven head, "is Jenny my daughter. And this is Vanessa her best friend. Jenny, why don't you take Mr Parry through to the schoolroom so he can give you the third degree while I take Vanessa to get some drinks." Leaving me and a suddenly quiet Jenny in the hall, Dianne and Vanessa head off down the stairs. After a few seconds of embarrassed silence I ask, "Hadn't you better show me to the schoolroom?" making her jump. "Oh." she squeaks, "It's - It's down here." Almost running ahead of me, Jenny leads me to the hall on the far side of the landing, stopping outside a closed door and waiting, her eyes downcast, and her toe digging into the carpet as I catch her up. Opening the door, she plunges through and once again halts abruptly, standing just inside the door looking anywhere but at me. Giving her some time to get over her embarrassment, I edge past her and survey the room. Wrought iron bars cover the lower half of the windows, obviously intended to keep small children from climbing/falling out of the windows. On one side of the room two doors lead off into small, almost box like, rooms. One room, obviously what was once the nanny's bedroom by the second door that leads out onto the end of the hall, is now fitted out as a bathroom. The other is a storeroom neatly filled with an old rocking horse and other toys that Jenny has outgrown, many of them obviously her mother's before her, and just as obviously intended to serve the next generation. At the other end of the long airy room, a wide archway has been cut through into what was once a dormitory style bedroom. A ping-pong table fills the centre of the room and low shelves line the walls, filled with an enormous selection of children's books, games and jigsaw puzzles. The main nursery/school room is fitted out with a TV, VCR, and a good but not flashy sound system. Interestingly the TV set is fitted with what appears to be some sort of timing mechanism. On a desk in the corner is a state of the art computer system, complete with scanner and colour inkjet printer. Both rooms are furnished with modular foam rubber lounges and beanbags, two work tables with comfortable looking chairs stand in the main room and lightweight curtains decorated with cute cuddly animals idly sway in the light breeze coming through the wide open windows. "You know," I begin casually, "what happened before reminds me of the time I was hiking up in the mountains when I got caught in a downpour. I knew there was this hut where people could take shelter in storms, so I went looking for it, but by the time I found it I was completely saturated. So I got the fire going and hung all of my clothes up to dry. I mean everything, even my jocks were soaked. So there I was, stark naked trying to get some heat back into my bones when the door opens and a whole troop of girl guides rush in." "What did you do?" Jenny asks giggling. "What could I do? All of my clothes were on the line behind me and I couldn't turn around, so I just stood there while they giggled at my hairy bum. What was even worse was that their leader was a girl I used to know at school. I was so embarrassed that I almost put the fire out." "How?" Jenny asks, then "Oh!" as comprehension hits her and she begins laughing so hard that she collapses on the floor and rolls about with un-contained mirth. Finally half a minute later, she crawls over to a beanbag and still giggling occasionally, flops into it. "What happened then?" "Susan, the leader, lent me her raincoat. I spent the next two hours, waiting for my clothes to dry, in a clammy, too small, plastic raincoat with a dozen ten to thirteen year olds giggling every time they looked at me and whispering 'did you see it?' to each other. By then it was dark and it was raining even harder so we had to stay the whole night together and last thing I heard as I slunk off the next morning was 'Hairy bum.' and the whole lot of them giggling." Two minutes later, Dianne and Vanessa enter the room carrying a tray of drinks and a plate piled with slices of fruitcake. "Well whatever you said sure broke the ice." Dianne says looking down at her still howling daughter as she carefully set her tray down on the coffee table, "What did you say to her?" "Oh Mum." Jenny gasps, holding her sides, "It was so funny, he only saw us in our knickers and he had no clothes on at all." "What? When?" Dianne asks sharply, looking at me as if expecting me to be standing there stripped bare. "Not now Mum." Jenny cries, "Another time when he was hiking." "You hike nude?" Dianne asks me, "I'm not sure you should be telling my daughter stories like that." "Not nude." I put in before Jenny can dig me in any deeper. "I was telling her of my most embarrassing moment. Which was a lot like me walking into her room before, except in my case I didn't have a single stich on and it was an entire troop of girl guides, complete with leader, who walked in on me." "Oh my!" Dianne slaps a hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to control her mirth, as Jenny once again collapses with howls of mirth, joined by Vanessa who falls on top of her. Hugging each other, both girls roll about on the floor. Loosing her fight, Dianne falls back onto a chair, tears of mirth streaming down her cheeks. Eventually they get themselves back under control, Dianne dabbing at her eyes with the corner of a handkerchief, and the girls lying in a tangled, gasping sprawl, unaware that their skirts have ridden up to expose their bodies from the waist down. Vanessa is still wearing the pink, wispy almost nothings that I had briefly seen earlier. Clearly visible through the thin, tightly stretched nylon, her young mound rises in a smooth prominent curve, split by the slightly darker line marking the cleft separating her obviously hairless labia. In contrast to the what she had been trying on earlier, the full, high waisted, dark blue briefs now worn by Jenny, hide every inch of her body from just below her navel to the tops of her thighs, leaving nothing but a smooth androgynous curve. "Uh girls, I think you'd better straighten your skirts." I say looking away. Vanessa gives a brief embarrassed squeak before quickly tugging her short pleated skirt into place. Jenny however seizes the hem of hers, and flips it up and down several times - the movement catching my eye and drawing my gaze back between her legs - before settling it into place. "I don't care." she giggles, "You can't see anything anyway, they saw your *hairy bum*." "Jenny!" Dianne cries, trying to sound shocked through her involuntary giggles. "Well he said it first." Jenny defends herself giggling. "That doesn't mean you have to repeat it." Dianne remonstrates, still laughing. "O.K. they saw his hirsute gluteus maximus." "Jenny!" Dianne cries again. Turning to me, she says, "You can see why we only need you for maths and science, she already reads more than a sufficient plenitude." "Well that probably explains the teeth marks in the dictionary." I say. "Ha. Ha." is Jenny's sarcastic response. "Probably." Dianne smiles. "Now if we can be serious for just a few minutes we can get this finalised and everybody can get back to what they were doing. Though you can keep your own underpants on this time young lady." She turns a significant glance on her daughter, who in turn looks at me. "At least I was wearing some." "And they'll be around your knees in a moment if you aren't careful." Dianne warns. A quick glance at her mother, tells her that she has milked that one for all it's worth, so she squirms back into the beanbag and awaits her mother's words with somewhat poor grace. "Now as I was about to say," Dianne says ignoring her daughter, and turning towards me, "I'd like Jenny to have three hours a week if possible. Since she already has gym on Tuesday and Brownies Friday night, would an hour a night on Monday, Wednesday and Thursday suit you? Say from five thirty to six thirty or seven to eight." "But Mum," Jenny protests, "I only did two hours with Julie." "That's because Julie could only manage two hours Honey," Dianne replies, "I really think you need three hours. At least until you get properly caught up at school." "But that's every night of the week." Jenny wails. "Might I make a suggestion?" I ask. "Please do." Dianne says, while Jenny looks on hopefully. "I have a free afternoon on Wednesdays, so what if instead of an hour on each of three nights, we do an hour on either Monday or Thursday and Two hours straight from four until six on Wednesday or we can take a break in the middle and finish at six thirty? That way Jenny has one free night a week, and if we make it Monday, and Wednesday, it gives her that day near the middle of the week when she needs it most." "Please Mum?" Jenny pleads soulfully. "I'll work hard I promise." "I suppose leaving Thursdays free has absolutely nothing to do with Student's Night and two dollar shots down at the Royal?" Dianne asks with a grin. "Oh absolutely." I grin back, "How could you think such a thing of me?" "Like I said, I married a graduate assistant, I know these things." she returns. "Madam you wrong me." I gasp, "I'm as pure as the driven snow." "The closest you get to snow is the ice in your glass." she scoffs. "Well Mum." Jenny interrupts, "Can we do it like that? Pleeeezzze?" "Well O.K.," Dianne agrees, "but no slacking off on Wednesdays, Mr Parry's very kindly giving up his free afternoon for you, so you'll have to work hard and not waste it." "Oh I will." Jenny avows, "I'll work so hard I can have Mondays off too." "We'll see about that." Dianne smiles. "So you think you can do good work for Mr Parry?" "Uh-huh, he's sick." "The ultimate accolade." Dianne says to me with a wry grin and rolling her eyes. "Now since you spent the time you were supposed to be getting to know Jenny telling her dirty stories, is there anything you would like to ask her now?" "Well if I hadn't, we'd still be at the 'yeah', 'nuh', and scuffing holes in the carpet stage." I say, making Jenny blush with remembered embarrassment. "About the only thing I'd like to know is what she's up to in school so we can get straight into things on Monday, but that wouldn't be fair to Vanessa, so I'll just have to bluff my way through instead." "Vanessa's got to go home soon." Jenny says glancing up at the clock on the wall, "Can't you wait and I can show you then? I really do want to catch up, 'cause I really hate feeling dumb." "Jenny you can't ask Mr Parry that," Dianne remonstrates, "I'm sure he has more important things to do, than wait on you." "Pleeeezzze Mr Parry?" Jenny begs, ignoring her mother's indrawn breath. "Well I was going to wash the cat," I demure cutting over the top of Dianne's sharp reprimand, "but in the face of such dedication, how can I refuse. And it's Greg, the only Mr Parry I know is my dad. Now you'd better scoot, while your mother tells me off for giving in." "Thanks Mr, uh Greg, you're, the best." Jenny cries, struggling out of the beanbag in a fashion that flashes the tops of her thighs and a broad expanse of sensible navy cotton for a couple of seconds. In an attempt to avoid a repeat of her friend's ungainly exposure, Vanessa rolls to her hands and knees first, but is defeated by the shortness of her skirt, and I have to look away from where her plump little pussy stands out in sharp relief below her half exposed buttocks. As they scamper from the room, Dianne lets out a sound that is half exasperated sigh and half giggle. "Now you know why I don't buy her sexy knickers like she wants, but she's growing up so fast." "I know it's not quite the same, but I remember the hell we used to give any kids who wore clagies and it's probably not much better in the girl's changing rooms." "Clagies?" "Those baggy, white, underpants with the fly." "Uh-huh. I remember the same thing except with us it was bloomers. And you are wrong, girls are probably worse than boys when it comes to clothing, since it's our clothes which are the main weapons in our arsenal. God kids can be so cruel." "Pink monkeys." I murmur, remembering a particularly nasty experiment I'd read about. "What have pink monkeys got to do with it?" Dianne asks obviously confused. "Take a monkey from a cage full of monkeys and dye it's fur pink, then put it back. The other monkeys will tear it to pieces." I explain, "It's an experiment I read about once." "That's sick, and I don't mean that in the sense that Jenny does." Dianne says, her face twisted up in disgust, "What were they trying to prove?" "Probably what they already knew; that most creatures fear the strange and unusual, and react aggressively towards it. The strange thing though, is that human children start out with a very sketchy outline of what belongs in their world, and its we adults that make them into little monsters, when we fill them with bigoted ideas of who they should associate with. Are they the right colour? Do they have the right money? The right education? Do they speak the right type of English?" "I'd like to think we aren't guilty of that." Dianne says. "I'd like to too, but there's the TV, videos, their friends, and a whole host of other sources that still do. And while society might be well on the way toward eliminating some of those foolish notions, they've been replaced with a whole raft of other ideas that are just as silly. In this case the way we dress. "What would you have done if I'd turned up in ripped jeans and a filthy t-shirt?" "Probably turned you away." she admits. "And even after I said it didn't matter, you still felt so uncomfortable that you couldn't help yourself and you had to change your clothes. I'm guilty of the same thing. If you were to go for a walk around the block, you'd see a beaten up old Valiant that I couldn't bring myself to park in front of a house like yours. That's possessions, which is a thinly disguised way of measuring of how rich or poor someone is." "Then there's the bigotry we instil even when we think we are doing the exact opposite. What is the natural reaction to a toddler staring at somebody who is different; an amputee, a blind person, a cripple, a drunk?" "You tell them it's rude to stare." she replies. "But what if the subject of their scrutiny has the good fortune to be good looking, or is doing something amazing like juggling six balls, or is some fascinating piece of machinery?" "I get your point," Dianne says, "by establishing a class of what is all right to stare at, and a class that is wrong to stare at, we are also telling them that there is actually something wrong with what they shouldn't stare at." "Right." I agree, "They also pick up on our feelings of discomfort which only intensifies that feeling of wrongness. A staring toddler is not being rude they are just trying to do their job, which is to expand their understanding of the world around them. A paraplegic is not going to be angry because a child asks them why they have wheels, but they have every right to be angry when an adult calls negative attention to those same wheels by loudly shushing the child." "At least the schools are doing something about that sort of thing, by bringing different people into the classroom and helping the children get used to them." Dianne says. "It is a help, but it's also a case of too little too late. By the time these familiarisation sessions take place, a child's visceral reaction is, different is bad, and all that is accomplished is to give them the intellectual understanding that there is nothing 'wrong' with these people. It does help them to get over it eventually, especially if a child with a particular disability joins them in class, but why should children have to get over it in the first place, they should simply be able to accept them." "Phew, you certainly have strong feelings on the subject." Dianne says. "You're what twenty six? Twenty seven? How did you get to think about is as much as you obviously have?" "Twenty eight actually. Mostly because I was one of those kids who was different, I was an intellectual in a small country town and it didn't help that I had the poor sense, at least as far as my peers were concerned, to choose an aboriginal boy for a best friend. Unfortunately, that was what I picked up on. So when I tried to be like everybody else, the only thing that I accomplished was to drive off the only real friend that I had. It was several years before I realised that I would never be a part of the 'In crowd', and in the meantime I was always pushing away those with whom I actually had something in common, and any real chance of friendship. "It took over fifteen years before I began to get an understanding of what the real problem was. Actually it was reading about the pink monkey which did it, and since then I've kept my eye out for articles about the subject ever since and made my own observations as well. I even audited a couple of psych lectures from the teaching course." "Why didn't you do teaching instead of computing? You obviously like children so what was it that kept you from working with them full time?" "You're right, I love kids, but I don't like the education system. If I was to try and teach the way I think children should be taught, I'd soon be out of a job at best and more than likely lynched into the bargain. Instead I work with a few children at a time and hope that in time they in turn will be able to make a real difference." "So just how do you think children should be taught?" Dianne asks. "Give them the naked truth." I reply, "If a child is old enough to ask a question, they are old enough to hear the answer. I might simplify an answer to suit what I believe is their level of understanding, but I won't lie. And if I don't know the answer, I'm not afraid to say so, and then join them in searching for the answer. I guess the most important thing I try to teach a child is how to learn." "Oh no!" Dianne gasps in mock horror, "The naked truth *and* teaching them to think for themselves. You'd hang for sure. How would you handle something touchy like religion or sex? Would you destroy a child's belief in Santa just because Santa doesn't exist." "If it's something like a belief system, I present it as; 'Some people believe this, and other people believe something different.' Then as their ability to understand grows, I help them to learn the difference between blind belief and real understanding. And you are wrong, Santa does exist, he exists in the heart of every child who believes. "As for sex, you're right it is a touchy subject. Very touchy. So if the subject does come up I try to give as simple answer as possible, and explain that I have to ask their parents before I tell them anything else, because it's something that they might want to teach their own child. If I know in advance that a child's parents have negative attitudes about sex, and the child is old enough, I may explain that their parents wouldn't like me to teach them about it and give them a few pointers on how to find out what they want to know from the library, as well as a warning to keep quiet about it. Oh, and if they already have some knowledge, I will correct any misconceptions they might have." "Such as?" "In one case it was a girl who was approaching puberty and the explanation she'd received from her mother was so garbled that the poor girl had the impression that the only time she could get pregnant was *during* her period." "Oh my, that was a time bomb just waiting to explode." Dianne gasps. "And how." "So you did the right thing." Dianne says approvingly, adding, "Which would have cost you your job in mainstream education if you'd done it outside the approved sex education course, and it came out that you had done it." "Exactly. What about here? Should I get out the axle grease?" I ask. "What on earth for?" Dianne asks, surprised at this non-sequitur." "For the rail. I find it's a lot more comfortable that way." "No you won't be needing it." Dianne smiles, "Tony and I both agree with your view that if Jenny is old enough to ask a question, she's ready for the answer. Hopefully though she won't bother you too much with the sex angle, she's had the talk and we've given her a few books. Just keep us posted on anything you think we need to know. " "Of course," I reply easily, "but I won't break any confidences to do so. Though if I think it is something you *should* know, I'll try to convince her that she should tell you, herself." "That's fair enough, I wouldn't ask you to do otherwise." Dianne agrees, "However this conversation seems to have drifted a fair way from where it began, and I can't quite work out whether you are telling me I should, or should not buy her some not-sensible underwear." "Hey I'm not telling you anything," I say lifting my hands, "I found out a long time ago that there's no percentage in telling parents how they should raise their children. If you want my opinion, then I'd have to say in this case give in, the battle has already been lost. Jenny has demonstrated a desire for and the ability to obtain frilly knickers. "At least by supplying them yourself you have some say over just how not-sensible they are, and of course their proper size. At the same time I'd suggest a few lessons in feminine deportment and why it is not a good idea to crab-walk out of a beanbag whilst wearing a short skirt." Dianne giggles, adding, "I think you might be right, and I wish you wouldn't do that." "Do what?" "Make me giggle. It makes me sound like a silly schoolgirl." "What's wrong with that?" I ask raising an eyebrow, "I spent the first eighteen years of my life trying to grow up too fast and the last ten trying to recapture what I threw away." "Point taken." She smiles, "Look I'm sorry, but I've left a number of plants out there in the sun, and if I don't do something about them soon they'll die. Do you mind if I leave you? You can wait downstairs in the family room." "Would you mind showing me whatever schoolbooks Jenny has here at home, that way I can begin to familiarise myself with her work and then I'll just have to find out what she's doing at the moment. And if you still have her books from last year they would be a great help as I'd be able to get a better idea of exactly what she has missed." "They're all right here." Dianne says, moving over toward a set of bookshelves near the computer, "Last year's stuff is on the bottom shelf and this year's is here. Hmmmm, it look like her science book isn't here but here's her maths book." She looks about for a few seconds until her eyes alight on the desk, "And here are her exercise books. There you go, I'll leave you to it." "Thanks." I reply, "I'll see you on my way out." As I settle back with Jenny's books, I hear Dianne in the hall calling out, "Jenny, I'm going back down to the garden, Greg's in the schoolroom looking over your books." In reply, I hear a muffled, "O.K. Mum." Ten or fifteen minutes later I hear the muffled thud of feet on the carpeted floor of the hall followed by Jenny and Vanessa bursting into the room. Giggling, they come to a halt side by side a couple of metres in front of me and assume poses somewhere between sexy and ridiculous. "Wadda ya think?" Jenny asks in a sultry(?) tone combined with a toss of her head that flicks her hair back and then forward over her eyes. Giggling she pushes it behind here ear and rests her fist on her hip. "Well?" Carefully containing my mirth, I look them up and down: Reebok sports shoes; bare ankles; an endless length of leg that stops at the hems of their matching pleated netball skirts which to my eye are a good two inches higher than even such short attire should be. In fact, at anything above eye level, I would lay long odds on their ability to conceal anything. Lifting my eyes to the where the waistbands of their skirts have been turned twice, I see why. Form fitting tank tops hacked off just below their rib cages complete the ensemble, leaving their bellies bare. One showing the trimness of fairly intensive gymnastics training, while Vanessa's is still slightly rounded with puppy fat. Makeup, well past garish, has been applied with a heavy hand to their faces, making them look like cheap hookers. Below the makeup, which stops well above their necklines a flush suffuses Vanessa's pale skin, and this makes me decide that a blunt response is called for. "I hope you two are trying to be funny, because if you're not, you are looking for serious trouble. And if you are trying to be funny, I'm not appreciating the joke." "Huh why? What's wrong?" Jenny asks, crestfallen, beside her the pink of Vanessa's flush begins to show even beneath her thickly applied makeup. "Let's take this one step at a time. Come with me." I say, getting up and leading the way to the top of the stairs. "O.K. both of you go down to the bottom and look up at me." Giving each other puzzled glances they comply, turning at the bottom to stare up at me. "O.K. Jenny start coming back up." Ignoring her, I watch Vanessa's face, and when her eyes widen, I say, "Stop! O.K. back down to the bottom and Vanessa you come up." This time I let Vanessa, who by this time is blushing furiously, walk all of the way to the top. At the bottom Jenny's eyes indicate that she too has seen what I wanted her to see. Calling her back up, I lead the way back into the schoolroom, and take a seat on a lounge and wave them toward the beanbags. Blushing and shaking their heads violently then perch themselves on the very edge of chairs pulled out from one of the work tables, their knees pressed tightly together. "Well?" I ask. "A bit too much huh?" Jenny says with an embarrassed giggle. "Way too much I'd say." I reply. "But other girls wear even shorter skirts sometimes." "Loose netball skirts?" I ask raising an eyebrow. "No tight ones." Vanessa puts in. "That's right, tight skirts that fit so close that you could slip a piece of paper underneath and it wouldn't fall out. Even then you'd have to be very careful just how you sat." I wave my hands at their current uncomfortable looking postures. "The shoes and tops are O.K. like they are, but that makeup has got to go. If you were to wear it like that very often, you'd have zits like you wouldn't believe. "Pretty soon girls, your bodies are going to start making a whole lot of different chemicals, and those chemicals make your skin very susceptible to acne. If you don't let it breath properly, like by covering it with lots of makeup, you risk making it even worse and if you aren't careful, you'll have to start putting it on that thick just to hide the scars. "Jenny I'm sure your mother knows how to put makeup on properly. When you need it, or for a special occasion, I'm sure that she'll be happy to help you, but in the meantime, you both have beautiful skin, don't ruin it by trying to make yourselves look older. You'll get there soon enough, for now stick to a little bit of lipstick on special occasions. I'll let you in on a secret, the best way to put on makeup is so that it can't be seen once it's done, and that takes loads of practice." "Does makeup really cause acne?" Jenny asks. "It can, if you put on too much, or too often." I reply, "Older girls and women wear makeup to try and make their skin look like yours does all of the time, so there's absolutely no need to hide it. If you want your skin to stay looking good, the only thing you need is sun screen." "Now go fix your skirts and wash your faces, but you'd better scrape some of it off first, we don't want you blocking the drains. And when you get back I'm going to thrash the pants off the pair of you at tables tennis." "One at a time or both at once?" Jenny asks impudently. "Both, now git." I reply, "Oh, and put your own knickers back on Jenny." "How'd you know?" she asks whirling in surprise, incidentally giving me proof that my guess was on the money. "Well if you spin around like that when your skirt is as short as it is, it becomes pretty obvious, but I guessed. I figured that you wouldn't put on a get up like that with out completing the ensemble." Turning her head to show me her tongue, she flounces out the door, briefly flashing a small patch of pale blue fabric and twin crescent moons of pale creamy skin. They return so quickly, that I barely have time to settle back and finish skimming the chapter that I had begun earlier. They take so little time that I fear for the state of the towels, that however, is not my problem. "Much better," I say with a smile, "and guess what? You still look pretty sexy." Blushing rosily they respond with nervous giggles. Now before we start playing I've got a few more things to say. "I know you were trying to look sexy before, but you are nowhere near old enough to carry that sort of thing off, all you managed to do was look like tarts, and ridiculous tarts at that. "Not only that, but for girls your age it's dangerous. If you went trolling for boys looking like that, the sort of boy that you're most likely to catch would use you until they got what they wanted and then dump you. Or even worse; you've had 'stranger danger' talks at school?" Twin wide eyed nods, answer me. "Well that's the other sort of person you might attract." "We wouldn't really go out dressed like that." Jenny says, "We just wanted to tease you a bit. Besides Mum'd kill me if I tried it." "Well you shouldn't tease an old dog, he might just have one bite left." I say. "Now are you ready for that thrashing?" "Ha!" Jenny replies, "You haven't got a hope." "Sez you!" I mock, "I'll even let you have first service." After selecting our weapons, we face off across the table and I prepare to face the first shot. Coming low and fast, I barely have time to meet it with the tip of my bat and I return it with little power, barely clearing the net. Pouncing on it, Vanessa smashes it past me and first blood goes to them. "Ha looser, my grandmother plays better than that." Jenny mocks and sends the ball flying my way. Better prepared, I catch the ball in the center of the bat this time and Jenny barely manages to touch it with the upper edge of he bat, skying it terribly, it falls in on my side and a second later I smash it back over their heads. "Who's a looser now?" I jeer, "You nearly put that one on the moon." Back and forth, we exchange the lead several times throughout the match, their ability to cover more territory making up for my greater power and height. Closely matched, the game looks like going on forever, until, when the score stands at 26-25 in my favour, I manage to put so much back spin on the ball that it actually comes back at me over the net and I reach forward to pluck it out of the air. "Whew!" I breath, wiping the sweat from my forehead, "Great game girls. A bit more practice and I don't stand a chance." "Yeah not bad." Jenny replies panting hard. "But it was a lucky shot." "Oh no!" Vanessa suddenly wails while staring at the clock on the VCR, "I missed the last bus. Mum's going to kill me." "I'll give you a lift if you can wait fifteen minutes." I offer, "I've just got to find out what Jenny's doing in school at the moment and then we can go." "Oh would you?" Vanessa says with immense relief, "I've got all of those clothes to take home too." "Not a problem." I say moving over to the chair where I'd left her books and falling into it with a groan. "Now Jenny, come here and give me an idea of what you missed last year and what you are doing right now so I can plan out where to start on Monday. Vanessa why don't you get your things packed while Jenny and I talk." "O.K." Vanessa chirps as Jenny moves up to stand with her hip pressing into my upper arm. She quickly blocks out the sections in the previous year's books indicating where the new teacher had started taking her classes. In maths, she'd missed out on adding and subtracting large numbers, the beginning of division and fractions. In science it had been things like: measuring heart rate and respiration before and after exercise; growing beans under different conditions; and simple experiments on the solubility of different substances. Pretty much the things intended to teach that, on which science is based: careful measurement; observation; and hypothesis and experiment. "I left my science book at school b'cause we don't have it till Wednesday." She tells me apologetically as I set last year's books aside and pick up her current maths text. "That's O.K. we'll just concentrate on maths on Monday." I reply. "For now I think we should work on catching up on the things you need for whatever you are doing in maths on Mondays, and an hour of the same for science on Wednesdays, and then use the other hour to catch up everything else. O.K.?" "O.K." she nods. "So what are you doing in maths at the moment.?" I ask. "Compound fractions." she replies with a mixture of disgust and anguish, "And I don't understand them at all." "That's not surprising if you missed out on basic fractions last year." I reply, "So they're what we'll do on Monday. We'll go back to the beginning on fractions, and do just enough on compound ones to keep you from falling even further behind." "So that's it." I say getting up. Holding up last year's books I ask, "Can I borrow these so that I can work out Monday's session?" "Sure," Jenny agrees, "and thanks, I really appreciate your helping me." "And I really appreciate having a student who wants to learn." I reply smiling down at her. "Got everything?" I ask Vanessa, who has been waiting patiently for the last couple of minutes. At her nod I continue, "Well lets go." "Uh Greg?" Jenny asks, stopping me as I reach for Vanessa's bag, "You won't tell Mum about the way we were dressed before will you?" "Not this time." I reply with a conspiratorial wink, then harden my voice, "Next time though, I'll march you out into the garden just as you are, even if every boy in your class is walking down the street." Blushing at the thought, she accompanies Vanessa and I into the garden and leads us to where her mother is working at the side of the house. "You're still here?" Dianne asks in surprise when she sees Vanessa. "How are you getting home?" "Greg said he'd drive me." Vanessa replies. "That's very kind of him," Dianne says, "But you shouldn't have missed the bus, and *you*," she turns to her daughter, "shouldn't have let her." "Actually it's my partially fault." I confess, "I challenged them to a game of table tennis and it lasted a bit longer than we expected. "So it's only fair that I keep her out of trouble with her mother." "I guess it's O.K. then," Dianne relents and turns to me, "but if it's too much trouble, I can drive her." "It's no trouble, and you won't have to get changed yet again because of me." I say referring the disreputable clothing she'd resumed for her work in the garden. "O.K. but don't let them take advantage of you." she says, warning me, "They'll both shamelessly exploit any opportunity you give them." "It's too late." I reply, "When it comes to beautiful young ladies, I'm a pushover." Giggles and speculative looks greet my admission, then fade as I continue, "Unless of course I don't want to be pushed, in which case look out. And cooperation always comes at a price. Jenny, I'm sure your mum would appreciate a hand to finish up here." Extending her tongue in response to my suggestion, Jenny starts gathering plant trimmings from the path and tossing them with more force than is necessary into the wheelbarrow. Over her head, Dianne raises her eyebrows in question, to which I return a little shake of my head. "Come on Vanessa," I say, adding, "I'm sure your mum has plenty of dishes waiting for you." to let Jenny know she not alone in having to make restitution for their earlier silliness. Grinning, Dianne says, "I won't ask what they did, I'll see you Monday and you can see about keeping her so busy that she won't have time to think about being naughty." "See you then." I reply, grinning at Jenny's scowl, "I'll be here at about quarter past five with my slave driver's whip." After accepting an ungracious "Bye." from Jenny, Vanessa and I head for the gate and around the corner to my car. Tossing her bag in the back seat, I reach across and open the door for her, waiting while she settles herself into the seat and fastens the seatbelt across her lap. ************************************************** Chapter 2 - Vanessa "O.K. Where to?" I ask, starting the car and pulling out from the gutter. Vanessa starts giving me directions that I follow, until after about ten minutes or so she says "Stop here." Obeying, I pull over to the side of the road and turn towards her, "O.K. what's this all about?" I ask. "You obviously don't live here, there's nothing here but trees." "I know." she says quietly, "It's not far though, I just wanted to talk to you without my big brother seeing." "I'm not sure that's a good idea." I say, "People might get the wrong idea if they see you alone in a car with a strange man." "It's O.K. nobody ever comes down here on weekends." she says trying to reassure me. "I'm not sure that doesn't make it worse if somebody does come." I mutter, then to her I say, "O.K., but you'd better make it quick, your mum's going to start wondering where you got to?" "No she won't, she's at the footy with daddy that doesn't finish till past five o'clock. That's why she would have been mad if I called her on the mobile and got her to come and get me." "O.K.," I say, "your big brother isn't looking and your mum isn't wondering where you got to, so what is it you wanted to talk to me about?" Lifting her right leg up onto the seat, she twists around to face me and says, "Promise you won't tell anybody." 'Uh-oh' little warning bells start to ring, and I think about it for a few seconds before replying, "Well I can't promise outright, but I won't say anything unless I really think somebody needs to be told and I'll tell you why I think so before I do. Is that O.K.?" "Oh it's nothing bad," she avows, "or at least not really, but it's embarrassing and I don't want everybody to talk about it." "In that case I shouldn't have to say anything." I reply, "So what's on your mind." Blushing, she squirms into a more comfortable position leaning back against the door, and for the first time I notice that with her right knee pressed into the back of the seat and her left foot still on the floor her skirt has been pulled tight across her lap, exposing her nylon encased pudenda. This time however, the thin fabric is all but transparent, having been soaked by the sweat raised during our strenuous table tennis game. Every detail of her little pussy is open to my interested gaze, the only effect of the damp gauzy fabric stretched tightly across her young mound is to tinge the pale flesh with pink, giving it a look of heightened arousal. Within my pants my cock begins to stir, and to hide my beginning arousal I match her posture and turn to face her. "Um it's real 'barrassing promise you won't laugh or anything." Vanessa murmurs quietly, blissfully unaware of just how ''barrassing' it would be if she was aware of her exposure. But since no harm was being done, I say nothing, vicariously enjoying her unconscious display. Trying to keep her unaware of the direction of my gaze, I reply, "I promise, and I've often noticed that things aren't always as bad as they first seem, especially if you share them with a sympathetic listener." "Well you know how you said I was sexy?" she begins, adding as an aside, "Is it true, do you really think I'm sexy?" "Vanessa," I reply, "I think that you are one of the most beautiful girls I've ever had the good fortune to meet and in a few years you will be the sexiest thing on two legs. But that's not really what you dragged me out here into the middle of nowhere to ask is it?" "No, but it happened then." she replies with a deepening flush. "What happened?" I ask in confusion. "What I wanted to ask you about." she continues, still skirting the real issue. Sensing her hesitation, I lower my eyes from hers, incidentally getting another look at her beautiful little pussy, which for some reason seems to be a little fuller than a minute or so earlier. With eye contact broken, she seems to gain courage and she continues, "When you said we was sexy, I sort of felt funny and it happens at other times too." I immediately see where she is headed and I wonder whether I should cut it off now or take the risk of letting it develop further. A slight shift in her posture however, calls my attention back between her legs, and I find myself prompting her. "What do you mean 'funny'?" "Sort of squirmy. Like butterflies in my tummy, but lower." she admits, her flush deepening as she all but whispers the last two words." "Between your legs you mean?" I ask. "Uh-huh." she whispers, her face burning a bright crimson. "Is that normal? I mean I'm not sick or anything am I?" "Don't worry," I smile, "it's perfectly normal, and I bet you're feeling it right now, right?" I don't even have to see her nod to know this is true, as the dark patch of moisture - no larger than a five cent piece - staining her undies attests. "Uh-huh, its real strong right now," She admits, "and it was even stronger the time I saw my brother rubbing his thing. Is that bad?" "Well it depends on how you look at it." I reply, getting a nervous giggle in response to my inadvertent pun. "No, not like that silly." I smile, "I mean your brother would probably be upset if he knew you'd been spying on him and your parents wouldn't like it either, because they probably think you're a bit young to know about sex yet. But so long as nobody got hurt and you don't make a habit of it, I don't think that it's anything to worry about." "Oh good," she says in relieved tones, "b'cause I didn't really mean to spy, I just heard him making noises like he was hurt or something. So looked to see if he was O.K. and he was rubbin' his hand up and down his thing, and it didn't look like it did we were little. It was all swollen and red like it was sore. Then pus came out of it and I felt scared so I ran away. I thought he was going to die or something, but he was all right later. "Then after I went to bed I heard him making those noises again and I felt that scary feeling again but it wasn't really like being scared. It was sort of like the good scared you get on the rides at the show, but it was different b'cause it wasn't in my tummy, it was in my privates." "Did you touch yourself there?" I ask. "No, Mum says it's nasty." Vanessa replies, "Does that mean Geoff was doing something bad?" "No, it's something perfectly natural." I reply, "It's just that some grownups were told that it was bad when they were kids so they still think it is, but nearly everybody does it sometimes." "Why?" "Because it feels good." I reply, "How much do you know about sex?" "I sort of know that it's how babies are made," she replies, "Mum says I'll find out all about it when I get married." "That's a pretty silly attitude." I say without thinking. "Huh why?" "Because it can get you into a lot of trouble if you're not careful." I reply. "Look, I really shouldn't be telling you this. If your mum found out I could get into a lot of trouble." "Oh I won't tell." she promises quickly, "How come I can get into trouble?" "Well it's like this." I say, "Your mum thinks that if you don't know about something you won't be tempted to try it. On the other hand I think it's pretty stupid, because if you don't know what something is, you mightn't be able to stop it in time if somebody else tries to make it happen." "What if you're at a party and this really cute boy tells you he knows a way to make you feel really good and he asks if you want to try it. At first he just wants to cuddle and kiss, and since some others are doing it you go along. Then he starts to touch you in a certain way, and that feels good so you let him keep doing it. Then a bit later he does something else, and that feels good, so you don't stop him, and before you know it, he's trying to make a baby inside you. All because you didn't know what he was doing, so you didn't know you should stop him." "But wouldn't he stop, if he knew he was making a baby in me.?" she asks. "It's highly unlikely, boys don't have to carry the baby so they don't worry about it. Also there are ways to keep from having a baby, so even if they do think about it, they'll probably think that since you aren't stopping them, it's all right to do it." "Do you know what an instinct is?" I ask. "Yeah, it's like how a dog turns around a few times to flatten the grass before he lies down, even when he's on carpet." she replies. "Exactly," I say, "it's something you can't help doing, unless you are thinking about it and make a conscious effort to control it. Now every living thing, has an instinct to make babies, and since a boy doesn't have to make much effort to make a baby his instinct is to try and make as many as he can." "What about girls?" "Girls feel the same thing too. A girl however, has to put quite a lot of effort into making a baby. First to grow it inside her body for nine months, and then to look after it until it grows up. So they're a bit more choosy about who they do it with. The problem is that if a boy can get her feeling good enough, her instinct to make a baby can take over. Then if it's the right time and everything goes exactly right they start a baby growing." "Doesn't a girl always have a baby when she does sex with a boy?" "Has sex." I correct automatically before replying, "No, most of the time it just feels great, and that's to make you keep on doing it until you do have a baby." "Was that why Geoff was rubbing his thing?" she asks. "That's right," I reply, "it feels a lot like having sex does, but not as good, because nature want's people to do it together so that they make more babies." "What about my feeling funny?" "That's your body getting ready, just in case you might have sex." I answer, "If you see something like your brother pretending to have sex, or something happens that makes sex more likely, your body starts to send signals that feel good, just in case." "Like when you saw us in our knickers?" she asks. Then noticing the direction of my gaze, which had been drawn back between her legs by her mention of the word 'knickers', she yelps, "Hey you're peeking." "I'm sorry," I apologise, as she hastily pushes her skirt down to cover herself. "It's O.K. I guess." she replies blushing, "It's like what we were talking about, isn't it? I was showing you my knickers by accident, and when I said it you had to look, because it made you think about sex." "Pretty much," I admit, "but I'd better confess, I've been sneaking peeks at you ever since we stopped and you turned around to face me." Blushing furiously, Vanessa turns to face the windscreen and stares off down the road for a few seconds before saying, "And you didn't tell me because it was making you feel good, just in case, right?" "Yeah," I confess, "but I'm old enough to know better and I should have told you." "But its an instinct, so you couldn't help it could you?" she asks, giving me an opportunity to weasel out. However, honesty makes me say, "Well it was, but I wasn't at the stage where I'd stopped thinking about it, so I could have stopped at any time, I just didn't want to." "I'll bet I'd feel even more squirmy if I let you see them on purpose." she says with a sudden mischievous grin. "Uh, I don't think that's a good idea Vanessa." I say. "Why not?" she asks seriously, "Would it make you try to have sex with me?" "No, I just don't think it's a very good idea." I repeat. "You're a lot younger than I am and it could get me into a lot of trouble." "But only if somebody found out right?" she asks, "Well I'm not going to tell anybody. I won't even tell Jenny. I bet you'd like it if I showed you my knickers." "Yes I would." I admit, "I'd like it a lot. But if you do, it's got to be because you want to do it, not just to please me." "Here goes." she says blushing. Locking her eyes challengingly with mine, she lifts her leg back onto the seat and pulls the hem of her skirt above the waistband of her low cut knickers. Breaking contact with her eyes, I look down between her legs at her perfect little nylon encased pussy. The visibly swollen lips are tinted pink by the fabric of her knickers, but even without that covering they would be glowing faintly pink as attested by the narrow strip of labial flesh exposed by her movements. Splitting her protuberant mound, a slight indentation of the fabric delineates her slit. "Oh wow!" she gasps, "It really does make me feel squirmier." "Me too," I breathe softly, "you have a beautiful pussy." "But it's just a little crack." she objects. "Not at the moment," I say, "look." "Oh wow! it's all swelled up." she cries, "Sort of like Geoff's thing was. Is your thing like that?" "Yes." I reply, "My penis is just like your brother's was." "Is that what it's called?" She asks, "The boys at school call it a dick." "Well penis is the proper name for it, but it's also called a dick, cock, prick, and a whole lot of other names. Just like your pussy is also called a vagina, or more properly a vulva, because your vagina is actually just the hole that goes up inside you. It's also called a cunt, twat, quim, beaver, and a lot more." "That's a bad word though isn't it?" she asks. "You mean cunt?" I ask in return, and when she nods I continue, "Most of the time it is, because that's the way people mean it when they say it, but you can also use words like it to make the squirmy feeling better. Personally though, I prefer pussy, because it makes a girl purr when you pet it." "Would it feel good if you touched my pussy?" she asks, her voice almost inaudible. "Again that's probably not a good idea," I say, before admitting, "but yes it would feel good, and If I did it for long enough, it would feel very good. But I think would be best if you did it yourself when you get home." "But you'd like to do it, wouldn't you?" she asks, again putting me on the spot. "And you said, doing it yourself doesn't feel as good." "Yeah. I'd like to do it, but I shouldn't." I admit, "And this is definitely not the place to do it." "There's a fire track just up the road." she tells me, "You could drive up there and we'd be really private." "Are you sure?" I ask, "This is a pretty special thing and you need to be really sure before you have sex with someone." "Would we have to have sex if you touched my pussy?" she asks in surprise. "Not baby making sex," I explain, "which is when a boy puts his penis inside a girl's vagina, but there are a lot of other ways to have sex, and touching each others sex parts is one of them." "Would I have to touch your penis too?" she asks. "No, you wouldn't even have to see it if you didn't want to." I reassure her. "Oh I want to see it," she tells me, "but I'm not sure that I want to touch it." "That's all right," I reply, "you don't have to do anything that you don't want to." "Can we go then?" "Well Stanley," I address my joyfully twitching cock, "this is another fine mess you've gotten us into." "What?" Vanessa asks in confusion. "Joke Hon," I reply, while starting the engine, "I was telling my cock off for getting me into trouble." "How come?" "Because most people think little girls like you aren't supposed to have sex, especially with a man." I explain, "And they think that men like me who like to show little girls about sex are bad." "Even when I want you too?" she asks in surprise. "Even then." I confirm, "They'd say I forced you into it and you were too young to know what you were asking." "That's silly." she says, "I really do want you to do it, and you wouldn't force me to do anything I didn't want to, would you?" "Never." I reply, "I'd never do anything you or anyone else didn't want me to do. All you ever have to say is stop and that will be the end of it." "Well let's go then." she says impatiently, flapping her skirt to get my attention. Grinning, I pop the clutch and take off, leaving a rooster tail of road dust and gravel behind us as I head for the fire track half a mile down the road. Less than five minutes later I pull up under an enormous ghost gum and kill the engine. For another minute both of us stare silently through the windscreen, neither of us wanting to be the first to speak. Finally though, Vanessa breaks the silence, saying, "I've got to ask you, don't I?" "It'd be better if you tell me exactly what you want me to do," I reply, "I want you to feel like you're in total control the whole time." Blushing furiously, Vanessa fumbles with her seatbelt, giggling nervously as she fails twice before finally succeeding. Released, she shuffles across the seat until her thigh touches mine. "I want you to do it." she mumbles quietly. "Do what?" I ask, wanting her to express herself exactly. "Lift up my skirt and look at my knickers again." she replies almost inaudibly. "O.K.," I say, "tell me when you want me to go further." Moving slowly so as not to startle her, I turn to face her and reach across to place my right hand on her leg, just above her knee. She shudders slightly at the touch, and I pause, waiting for her jerky nod before continuing. Caressing her thigh softly, I slowly move my hand upwards until my fingers brush against the hem of her short, pleated skirt. Once more I pause waiting for a signal to continue, and when I receive it - again a slight nod - I take hold of the soft fabric and carefully lift it upwards until I can tuck it into the waistband. Taking my hand away I, lower it to her knee and tarry to gaze upon her sweet innocent charms. With her legs pressed together, the tension has been taken out of the fabric of her knickers, and the cloth sags slightly, leaving her hairless little quim, visible as only a vague shadowy indentation at the juncture of her thighs. Waiting for her to become accustomed to my extreme proximity, I let my hand rest where it is, gently rubbing my thumb back and forth over the exquisitely soft skin of her leg. Then as she relaxes I apply a gentle outward pressure to her leg. She offers no resistance to my touch, allowing me to guide her leg until the edge of the seat prevents further movement, then without any additional urging on my part, she lifts her other leg to rest on top of mine. "Beautiful." I murmur, as once again the sheer fabric of her knickers is moulded to the smooth, soft curves of her delightful young pudendum. For several seconds nothing more is said as I drink in the enchanting vision. Her quiet, "Touch me." gives me the permission that I have been waiting for. However, rather than moving directly to her vulva the way she seems to expect, as indicated by the slight tensing beneath my hand, I gently rub my hand up and down her leg, approaching the juncture of her thighs a centimetre at a time. Finally as the inside of my thumb brushes against the delicate, yielding softness of her nylon encased pudenda, a strong shudder ripples through her slight frame and a quiet moan escapes her slightly parted lips. Then as I slide my hand away another moan emerges and she pushes upwards with her hips, sliding a little toward the edge of the seat. Encouraged, I press more firmly against the resilient flesh of her precious, pre-teen mound, drawing another murmuring sound of pleasure from her throat. With my hand encircling her upper thigh, I softly trace the elasticised leg band of her skimpy knickers with ball of my thumb. "Mmmmm, that's nice." she tells me, smiling happily. I press a little harder, angling my thumb so that the elastic of her leg band begins to ride over the top and with each pass move a fractional inch closer to her waiting slit. As I close on her cleft, Vanessa begins to respond to my touch, her hips rocking in gentle counterpoint to the motions of my thumb. At the base of her cloven mons, my ultimate goal makes itself apparent, her juvenile juices staining the fabric of her knickers in an ever widening circle. The sweet, delicate aroma of childish arousal fills the air of the car. Finally, my thumb slips into the soft, warm, crease separating her smooth, hairless pussy lips and my thumb brushes over the extended tip of her sensitive clit. The sudden heightening of sensation causes her to suck in her stomach with a sharply indrawn breath. Released from the waistband, her skirt slides down over my hand, concealing her sweet charms from my gaze. Uncharacteristically irked, I make a sharp abortive motion to flick it aside with my hand, only to be brought up short by my thumb caught in the front of her knickers. My sudden motion, breaks the spell holding Vanessa making her giggle, and reach down to take hold of the hem of her skirt, but instead of lifting it back up, she pulls it down hard over my wrist, trapping my hand against her leg. Afraid that I have scared her, I look up into her face only to be met by a cheeky grin. "I didn't say you could touch *inside* my knickers." she teases me. Matching her tone, I respond, "Well, I'd better take it out then." "Don't. You. Dare." she enunciates forcefully. Although able to move my hand beneath her skirt, I hold it still, saying, "Well we seem to be a something of an impasse. What next?" "Hmm," she murmurs with mock thoughtfulness, "my skirt seems to be in the way. Do you think I should do something about it?" "I guess we could wait until my hand drops off." I reply. "Nah," she grins, "I think something else should come off instead." The flatulent rip of parting velcro rends the air as she lifts her bottom clear of the seat, and tosses her skirt over the back of the seat with a flourish. "Ta da!" Presented with the slightly rounded, eight inch wide expanse of clear, pale skin between the low waistband of her knickers and the ragged edge of her hacked off tank top, it is my turn to express my pleasure with a sharply indrawn breath. My eyes however, are inexorably drawn lower by the sight of one bare, hairless labium, exposed by my earlier attempt to rid myself of the now absent skirt. "Do you like my pussy?" she giggles, half wickedly, half nervously. "It's a very pretty pussy." I reply stroking the ball of my thumb over the, soft, hairless ridge of flesh. For a few seconds she all but purrs at the my soft gentle touch, then without warning she lightly slaps my wrist. "Stop that!" she giggles, "I want to ask you something." "Yes?" I ask, pausing with my thumb still touching the soft flawless skin of her bulging preteen mound. "It felt real good when you were rubbing my pussy," she says, "then when you touched the middle, it felt like an electric shock, how come?" "Have you ever tried to look inside your crack?" I ask. "When I was a little kid." she replies, "But Mum, told me it was bad and I shouldn't do it." "Well, just inside your crack up near the top there is a little knob of flesh called your clitoris or clit for short. It's full of nerves and when you get excited it swells up and sticks out a bit." I explain. "Show me." she commands. Lifting my hand from her leg, I use my left hand to pull her knickers to the side, fully exposing her jutting mons to my gaze. For more than a few seconds I simply stare at her perfect hairless mound, cleft in twain by a thin vertical slit. Toward the very top, at the apex of her prominent mound the slit widens slightly, parting to make way for the small, pink nodule of her clit. Suddenly I am brought back to earth as, with the impatience of youth, Vanessa verbally prods me, "Well hurry up and show me." Taking a deep shuddering breath, I use my thumb and middle finger to part her soft, resilient labia. Again I pause to take in her sweet charms. Bounded on either side by her partially flattened pussy lips, a glistening coral pink crease stretches from her stiff little clit down to the rose pink dimple surrounding the dark centimetre diameter entrance to her young vagina. Placing my index finger within this flushed, rosy groove at the base of her clit, I push upwards forcing it to stand clear of its protective hood. Indicating the glistening little pearl, I ask, "There, can you see it?" "Sort of," she replies, straining her neck to see better, "but not very well." "Damn I wish I had a mirror." I mutter. "I've got one in my makeup case." she offers helpfully. Even as she speaks, she twists from beneath my hands and climbs up onto the seat. Leaning over the back of the seat, she reaches for her bag which is just out of reach. Not lifting a finger to help, I watch her little bum wriggle delightfully beneath it's totally inadequate covering as she pushes herself back until she finally overbalances, her hands on the seat behind me, and the middle of her thighs resting on the back of the seat. Unable to resist the temptation, I reach back and playfully slap her tight little bottom, once on each cheek. She lets out a sound that is half outraged squeal and half giggle. Trapped as she is, she can do little to stop me, so I repeat my mischievous abuse of her quivering little derriere. Again she squeaks her indignity and tries to escape by pulling herself the rest of the way into the back seat. However, I'm not yet finished with my delicious little target; restraining her by one ankle, I slide my hand up the back of her leg and over the taught mounds of her buttocks. Gripping the waistband of her knickers, I draw them down to the tops of her thighs and lay a rapid volley of light taps on her wriggling bum, continuing until her giggles become to much for her and she slithers helplessly into the back seat. Scrambling out of my reach, she jerks her knickers back up over her hips and glares unconvincingly at me for a few seconds before succumbing to another fit of giggles. When she recovers, she informs me in a pouting voice, "You're bad. You touched my botty." Then having delivered her accusation, she climbs up onto the seat and points her 'botty' at me as she crouches over her bag. For a few seconds I stare at it and the pouting split mound beneath it as she rummages through the contents of her bag. Then as her delving continues beyond the point where she could have emptied her bag several times over I realise that she is waiting for me to be 'bad' again. Twisting in my seat, I catch her watching me out of the corner of her eye as I reach toward her upthrust rear end. Cupping my hand for maximum auditory effect I bring it down with a satisfying ringing crack. "Ouch!" she squeals unconvincingly, and rises up onto her hands and toes as I lift my hand. I apply another nine noisy but painless blows to her slowly swaying bottom, watching in amazement as the dark patch marking the entrance to her vagina blooms rapidly. Within seconds, the entire area covering the twin ridges of her pouting labia becomes all but transparent, revealing every detail of her young sex in exquisite detail. The look she throws me when I stop is frankly disappointed. Then when I make no move to resume, she digs into her bag, immediately coming up with a compact. Standing on the back seat, she keeps her back to me as she throws her leg over the back of the front seat, presenting me with a perfect view of her nylon clad, pre-teen pudenda, and filling my nostrils with her irresistible scent. Lifting her other foot from the seat, she lies along the back of the front seat, straddling it with her pussy less than a foot from my face. Prompted by some wicked demon within me, I blow a stream of air onto the saturated scrap of cloth covering her hairless little pussy. Shocked by the sudden chill between her legs she squeals and tumbles the rest of the way into the front seat, her heel narrowly missing my jaw as she lands half in my lap. However, my laughter dies before it begins as I see the scared look on her face as she tentatively reaches down to touch herself between her legs. The moment her finger touches the damp fabric she jerks it back with a look of immense distaste on her face. Looking at me accusingly, her almost tearful lament, "You made me wet myself." brings the laughter back to my lips. One look at her face though, makes me choke it back and hasten to reassure her, "Hey it's O.K. You haven't peed your pants." "Well what is it then?" she asks, struggling to sit up. "You know how I told you about your body getting ready to have sex?" I ask. When she nods I continue, "Well part of getting ready is to make some slippery stuff so that it doesn't hurt when a boy's penis goes into your vagina, and so that it slides in and out easily." "Here," I say taking hold of her hand and folding three of her fingers into a fist, leaving her index finger extended. "Drag your finger over your belly." Guiding her hand, I press her finger hard enough against her belly to make her grimace a little as the skin catches and wrinkles. Still holding onto her hand, I push her finger against the fabric covering the entrance to her vagina, grinning at her distasteful expression. "Now try it again." I say releasing her hand. She does as I instruct, her eyes widening in surprise as her finger slides almost frictionlessly across her abdomen. "Hey it's really slippery." she cries, then remembering what I'd said a few moments earlier, she asks, "Does a boy's penis really go inside a girl's vagina? Is that how they have sex?" "That's right," I reply, "it's called sexual intercourse, or to use naughty words, fucking, screwing or rooting." Like the little girl she is, she giggles embarrassedly at the rude words, and reminded of a preschool toilet humour joke I'd heard once, I go on, "Poo poo, pee pee, booby booby, bum." Totally out of proportion to the joke she doubles up, holding her belly as gales of laughter leave her totally helpless. Then as she begins to recover, I dig my fingers into side, renewing her giggles and making her squirm in an attempt to protect her vulnerable ribs. A minute later I desist as she cries out, "Stop or I really am going to pee." With heaving ribs she regains her composure, eying me warily as she slowly straightens. Then without warning she launches herself at me, her hooked fingers reaching for my ribs. Laughing, I let her tickle me for a few seconds then retaliate in kind, causing her to become wedged between me and the steering wheel. "Stop, Stop!" she gasps. "And if I don't?" I ask, pausing with my fingers still touching her ribs. "No, please." she pleads, "I really gotta pee bad." "Can I watch?" I ask, grinning. "God no!" she yelps, jerking upright with a rosy flush on her cheeks. Seconds later the flush deepens, and almost wonderingly, she says, "Oh wow, thinking about you watching me pee, is making me feel all squirmy again." "So can I watch?" I ask. Avoiding my eyes and blushing furiously, she whispers, "O.K." Opening the door, she clambers out of the car, and waits as I crawl across the seat and follow her. Then, even though there is nobody within sight, she moves behind the trunk of the tree I'd parked under. When I join her a moment later, I pause struck dumb by the mythical sight that greets me. Her hair shimmers like spun gold in the dappled sunlight streaming through the canopy above, and the little clothing that she still wears blends almost imperceptibly with her pale skin, leaving her as if naked before my sun dazzled eyes. This coupled with her slight frame and elfin features leaves me with an otherworldly image of a hamadryad caught in the process of merging with her tree. Suddenly the spell is broken by her giggling, "You'll catch a fly if you're not careful." "Huh?" I ask dumbly. "Shut your mouth silly." she giggles. "Oh." I say shaking my head, "I couldn't help it, you looked like a goddess standing there beside your tree." "Really?" she squeals, "Did I really?" "Honey, I wish I'd had a camera," I say softly, "you looked like something out of this world." "That's naughty," she giggles, "I bet you just want to take pictures of me with hardly any clothes on." "No clothes'd be better." I whisper, making her blush and giggle nervously. She seems to think about my words for a few seconds, then reaching a decision, asks quietly, "Want me to take them all off now?" "Honey I'd love it, but only if you want to do it." I reply. "Uh-huh." she nods, "Thinking about it is making my tummy do real big flip-flops." Still possessed of a small vestige of modesty she turns her back to me and crossing her arms across her chest, draws her top off with a smooth economy of motion that is in its own way more erotic than any ecdysiastic performance. Hanging the scrap of cloth on a broken branch stub, she glances back at me, catching me adjusting my prick into a more comfortable position. A sudden grin flits across her features and she puts a sensuous sway into her hips as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of her knickers. Pausing for effect she glances back over her shoulder, then begins to slowly inch first one side then the other of her knickers downward. With the top half of her buttocks revealed, and the fabric of her knickers beginning to sag, she turns to face me. Slipping her fingers around toward the front, she gives me be a brief, split second, flash of her rounded pudendum, before once again turning her back to me. Then bending forward, she pulls them down to her knees and reaches back to pull her buttocks apart, exposing the pale pink rosette of her anus and below it, the split out thrust mound of her swollen, glistening labia. My cock twitches at the obscene sight presented to me, and she grins a wicked upside down grin when she sees me adjust it once again. Then I spoil it for her by saying, "I can see what you had for breakfast." Snorting loudly, she looses her balance and tries to take a step forward only to be brought up short by the knickers about her knees. Two or three hobbling steps later she manages to regain her balance, and stand, uttering disgustedly, "Eew gross!" as she wipes her arm across under her nose, then again, "Yuck!" as she surveys the gooey ribbon of snot adorning the back of her forearm. I can't help laughing at her revolted expression, and the glare I get in return would melt battle steel. Still chuckling, I take my handkerchief from my pocket and offer it to her. "Here." She rudely snatches at it, first scrubbing under her nose and blowing into it with excessive noisiness, then wipes down the length of her arm before throwing the sodden wad of cotton back at me. Handling it with mock distaste, I shove it back in my pocket, and grin at her. "Better?" "No!" she yells stamping her foot. However her knickers are still about her knees, and she stumbles once again, falling against my chest with an involuntary giggle. "Stupid undies." "Here let me." I say. Dropping to my knees on the hard clay, I find myself looking down on her pussy from just a few inches above it. A dusting of fine almost invisible hairs coat her bulging mound and pale puffy lips, juvenile precursors to the coarser mat of hair that will come with advancing maturity. But for now, her prepubescent genitals lie revealed in all their perfect, unsullied glory. "Hey you're supposed to be getting these bloody stupid knickers off." she admonishes. "Oh yeah, so I am." I briefly grin up at her, then go back to staring at her out thrust mound. "But it's such a pretty pussy." I take hold of the sides of her knickers and draw them down to her ankles, holding the leg holes open so that she can pull her sneakers through and step out of them. Now totally naked except for her shoes, she takes a step backwards and assumes a slightly aggressive stance, her hands on hips thrust slightly forward, and her feet about eighteen inches apart. "You better move," she warns, "I'm gonna do it standing up like a boy." Wanting to get the best view possible, I shuffle sideways until I am outside the splash zone and drop back onto my heels, putting her sweet little cleft just bellow my eyelevel. Grinning up at her, I say, "O.K. fire away, m'laddo." Giggling, she makes a tunnel of her thumb and fingers, holding them at the top of her mound as if taking aim with, what would be for someone of her size, a monster cock. She pushes her hips a little further forward, and her forehead furrows a little in concentration. Then a few seconds later she lets out a little sigh of relief, as a small spurt of pale yellow pee squirts from between her puffy pussy lips, just beneath her curled little finger. That first spurt quickly slows to a dribble that splashes into the dust between her toes, then rapidly gains force, emerging in a strong parabolic stream that impacts a good two feet in front of her. My cock, which had been about three quarters hard since we had left the car, suddenly springs painfully to full rigidity at the incredible, erotic sight of this ten year old enchanted creature peeing for me. Unwilling to miss a single second, I endure the discomfort of my achingly folded member, as I watch the golden stream slowly loose strength, until the last dribble splashes once more between her toes leaving a final shimmering droplet of urine clinging to the right hand lip of her vulva. "Your turn." she announces with a glance toward my groin. "Don't need to." I say as I rise to my feet with a groan. The disappointed look that passes across her face, lets me know what she really wants, even I hadn't already know. I chuckle saying, "Even if I wanted to I couldn't anyway." "Why not?" "I'd be pissing up my nose if I tried." I say. "And why didn't you just ask for what you really wanted?" Blushing, she remains silent, but her eyes, fixed as they are on the bulge in my trousers, are as eloquent as any words she might utter. "You want to see my cock don't you?" I ask her. "Uh-huh." she nods, her flush extending down her tiny erect nipples. "Here or do you want to wait until we get back to the car?" "Back in the car I guess," she says, lifting her top off its hook, "I gotta wipe up." Keeping her feet just far enough apart to lend an unnatural roll to her gait, she passes in front of me, which lets me watch the rhythmic clenching of her tight boyish buttocks. Taking a couple of tissues from her bag in the back she carefully dries her hairless, little mound then looks around for a place to dispose of the soiled wad. "Put 'em in the ashtray," I tell her, "I'll get rid of them when I get home." "Thanks." she says while doing as I'd suggested then, still naked, slams the back door, and waits for me to crawl back into the front before slipping in beside me. "O.K. big boy," she says in sultry tones spoiled by the giggle that follows, "show me what you got." Starting at the top, I slowly unbutton my shirt, tugging it out of my waistband to get at the last button. Then when I fold it back to either side, she giggles, "Wow you look like a gorilla. Can I touch it?" "If you like." I reply. Reaching out with one hand, Vanessa pats at the dense matt of hair covering my chest and abdomen, then combs her fingers through it, her delicate touch sending deliciously icy fingers crawling up my spine. "It's softer than it looks." she says wonderingly. A few seconds later she withdraws her hand and waits expectantly for me to continue. The rattle of my belt buckle sounds unnaturally loud in the still silence of the bush. Then as I reach for the button fastening my trousers, I hear Vanessa's sharp intake of breath. With my fingers on the tab of my zipper I pause teasingly, then slowly lower it, each rifle like crack of the parting teeth sounding distinctly in the charged atmosphere. Finally, the zip is low enough for me to take hold of the waistband of my slacks. Lifting my hips, I push them down to mid thigh, leaving the outline of my rigid prick clearly visible through the tightly stretched fabric of my jocks. "Would you like to do the rest?" I ask, looking to Vanessa's eyes. She responds with a frightened shake of her head, so I ask, "Are you sure about this? We can stop if you want." "No I want to see it." she says hurriedly. "O.K. here goes then." Seizing the last scrap of cloth covering me, I push them down to my trousers and lean back. Vanessa gazes with rapt fascination at the rigid shaft of flesh rising up from the curly thatch of hair covering my groin to lie against my belly. Surmounting the shaft, the shining purple glans flares out over the wrinkled collar of my foreskin, with a glistening drop of precum beginning to weep from the open slit at the tip. Several tense seconds pass, then Vanessa breaks the spell by saying, "You *do* have a hairy bum." The incongruity of her words cracks me up, causing me to laugh uproariously for a considerable amount of time. Vanessa's higher pitched giggle joins with my laughter, as she falls against me. Then as our mirth turns to gasping pants punctuated by the occasional snort, she suddenly goes stiff in my arms. At the same time I realise that her hand is resting on my now limp member, pressing it into my leg. Her hand jerks back as if she had been scalded, and both of us begin to apologise at the same moment, stopping and starting again simultaneously until we once more break out in fits of the giggles. For two or three minutes we dare not look at each other until Vanessa says, "It wasn't like I thought it'd be." "And how was that?" I ask. "Sort of slimy and gross I guess." she replies, "But it was just sort of warm." "Well is your curiosity satisfied?" "Yeah." she says, "How come it's got small like that?" "You don't think we blokes walk around like we've got a hunk of salami in our pockets all the time do you?" I ask with a smile. "I dunno." she says, "I never seen one properly before except for babies and my brother's when we was little." "Well most of the time, it's small and soft like this," I explain, "it only gets big and hard when I think about sex." "Can you make it get big and hard?" she asks, "I want to see what it feels like then." My cock twitches at the thought of my tiny ten year old companion's fingers on it. "Did I do that?" she asks in amazement her eyes fixed on my slowly expanding member. "What do you think?" I respond. "I think that you want me to rub it with my hand like my brother was." she replies. Another twitch of my cock signals my agreement and she giggles, "I think that you want to put it here." She slips her hand between her legs and drags her slim fingers over her full labia stoping with her middle fingertip nestled at the very top of her slit. Instant hardon. My cock impacts on my lower belly with a meaty slap causing Vanessa to squeal with surprise. "Oh wow you want to fuck me." she says, her voice containing a mixture of fear and carnal hunger. "I don't suppose there's any point in trying to deny that particular charge." I chuckle, then continue more seriously, "But I promise you that if it ever happens, it won't be until you are absolutely sure that you are ready, and it won't be some hurried quickie in the back seat of a car." "Will you really do it when I want to?" she asks, the fear receding from her voice. "Only if it's possible for us to do it without causing any trouble." I reply. "Of course." she agrees in matter of fact tones. "How do I keep from having a baby?" "Well in your case you don't have to worry until you after you start having periods." I reply, "Do you know what they are?" "Yeah," she replies in tones reserved for brussel sprouts and maiden great aunts, "that's when girls start bleeding down there. I think it's gross." "It's not that bad," I say, "at least you don't have to stuff a bloody great hunk of sponge between your legs like your grandmothers had to do." "Yecch!" "Or how about a nice dry cow patty." I continue with a grin. "No way!" she exclaims, "I don't believe you." "It's the truth," I say, "some primitive tribes used to use dried animal dung, and they used it instead of nappies too. Look it up if you don't believe me." "I'm glad I didn't live back then, then." Vanessa says with some relief, adding with morbid curiosity, "What else did they do?" "Let's see, they chewed up food for babies and old people without any teeth. They made white leather by soaking it in buckets of piddle. To this very day, there are people in Africa who eat nothing but milk mixed with the blood of their cattle. People used to uses spices to hide the taste of rotten meat because they didn't have refrigerators." "How come people talk about the good old days them?" Vanessa asks. "Because everybody prefers to remember the good things that happen to them and they forget about the bad." I explain. She nods thoughtfully for a few seconds, then picks up her compact from where she'd dropped it on the floor. Handing it to me with a broad grin, she says, "I want you do something *bad* to me now." "O.K. bad girl," I say, kicking my shoes off and pushing my pants down onto the floor. I lift her across me and lean back into the corner formed by the back of the seat and the door, then pull her back against my chest, "Lean back against me and put your foot up on the seat." She does as I ask, resting her head in the hollow of my left shoulder. I examine the compact, discovering that the lid easily detaches from the base and that the mirror itself is of the magnifying variety. Handing the mirror back to Vanessa, I say, "O.K. hold this so you can see between your legs properly, and I'll show you what's what." "Oh wow!" she exclaims, "I can see everything." "Well that was the general idea." I respond dryly. "Oh yeah." she giggles. Grabbing my hand she pulls it against her mound, commanding, "Hurry up I want to feel good again." "O.K. O.K.," I say, "don't get your knickers in a knot." "Haven't got any." she giggles, "Hurry up." Insinuating my right arm between her and the seat, I trace her outer labia saying, "These are your labia major which means big lips, they protect the rest of you pussy and help to keep it clean." Gently prising them apart I continue, "O.K. inside you should be able to see two little strips of skin." I feel her nod against my chest, "They're your labia minor, or little lips, or if you want to be really crude, your piss flaps." She giggles at the appellation causing my fingers to slip deeper into the soft folds of her preteen vulva. "Ooh." she murmurs with a delightful squirm. "Do that again." "We'll get to that in a minute little Miss Impatience." I reply chidingly, "Your little lips do pretty much the same job as the big ones, but do you see the little knob at the top where they join together." "Uh-huh," she nods, "that's my clit thingy isn't it?" "That's right." I say approvingly, "That's your clit, clitoris, clitty, love button, little man in a boat, plus a few more names besides. Well your inner lips, stop it from chafing between the big ones and making you squirmy all the time." "Little man in a boat?" she inquires. "Well don't you think it looks a bit like a canoe?" "Oh yeah." she giggles. "What's that little hole just underneath him?" "That's your pee hole." I reply, "And down here at the bottom," I cover her vaginal entrance with the tip of my finger and press gently, "is your vagina." "Your penis wouldn't fit in there," she says disbelievingly, "it's way too small." "You'd be surprised just how much it stretches." I reply. "How do you think the baby comes out?" "It comes out of there?" she asks incredulously. "Wouldn't that hurt." "That's right, the baby comes out the same way it goes in." I say, "And yes it does hurt. Quite a lot sometimes, but these days doctors can make it so you don't feel it if you don't want to." "Can you make your finger go in like a penis" she asks, "I want to feel what it's like." "Yes, but not just yet." I reply, "Remember how your finger dragged before? Well you wouldn't want a Chinese burn in your pussy would you?" "No way!" she yelps, he hands snatching at my wrists. "Don't worry." I chuckle, "You just need to be wet and slippery again." She relaxes her death grip on my wrists and snuggles back against my chest, "O.K. you can make me feel good now." Grinning at he matter of fact tone, and knowing it won't last, I begin to gently caress her upper thighs, lightly running my finger tips up her legs, stopping within millimetres of her waiting pussy lips, then dragging my fingernails back down to her knees. Almost immediately tiny shudders begin to course though her body as she gives herself completely over to my touch. By the third pass up and down her soft legs I begin to smell the incredible scent of her rising arousal. Teasingly, I add brief, fleeting touches along her swelling labia, each flickering caress drawing a tiny moan from her slightly parted lips. Leaving my right hand to gently frolic over her warming mons, I trail the fingers of the other upwards over her belly, making the soft flesh quake with the new sensations that I am introducing into her responsive young body. Arriving at my goal, I gently circle each tiny pink nipple once, then gently pinch one of these minute protuberances, receiving a sharp gasp for my troubles as her lithe young body arches with reaction. Between her tender young thighs, her juices are beginning to flow freely, allowing me to begin a series of long firm strokes from the base of her mons to the apex. My fingers, cushioned by her plump labia, gently crush her turgid clitoris, bringing a long shuddering groan from her flushed throat. Returning to the bottom of her tight little slit, I insinuate a finger between the slick, hairless lips of her pussy, gently probing at the entrance to her vagina. Like the tiny mouth of a suckling baby, it almost seems to draw my finger inwards, enveloping the first joint in a slick little tube of rippling flesh. "Oh!" She finds voice, uttering a girlish squeak of pleasure as, for the very first time she feels something penetrate her tiny elfin body. Keeping my finger curled to avoid damaging the fragile membrane of her hymen, I gently finger her tight gripping sheath. Each short stroke within her swollen pussy, brings another throaty cry to her lips, her head lolling feebly from side to side. "Oh. Oh. Oh. OH!" She expels her breath almost explosively as I strum my thumb over the distended bulb of her clit. Within my arms she writhes weakly, her entire being caught up in the powerful sensations radiating out from between her legs. "Oh something's happening!" she cries weakly, "Oh no what is it? Oh. Ah. Please. Yes! No! Yes! No! More! Don't stop. Please. Oh God. Yesssss! Ah-ah-ah-ah-AH-AH-AH-AHHHhhhhh...." She gives voice to her orgasm with a long, shuddering, breathy cry. Caught up in the throes of her climax, she thrashes her head from side to side as her tight, silken sheath rhythmically squeezes the tip of my finger. As her orgasm passes its peak I slow, then stop my gentle finger fucking, leaving my finger within her as I gently massage the top of her mound, where it curves back to meet her belly, with my thumb. Lifting my left hand to her forehead, I gently smooth her hair back, soothing her; letting her know that someone is there to hold her as she comes down from the most intense experience she has undergone in her young life. "Oh boy." she finally breaths, "That was awesome." "Something else huh?" I whisper into her hair. "And then some." she replies, "No wonder Mum doesn't want me to know about it. If I was a little kid I'd be doing it all the time." "And now?" I ask with a smile. "Oh probably only ten or twenty times a day." she giggles. "Hedonist." I accuse, giving her clit and right nipple a flick with my thumbs. She emits a little yelp in response to the impertinent touch, her hand sliding down to cover and protect the more sensitive point of attack. "Hey you've only got a little bit of your finger in me." she cries in surprise. "I didn't want to break your cherry." I explain. "What's that?" "A little piece of skin that blocks off most of your vagina to help keep it clean when you are young." I say. "It gets torn away the first time something is put deep into your vagina." "Does it hurt?" she asks a little fearfully. "That's difficult to say," I reply, "some girls hardly feel it when it goes, others find it pretty bad, and some never notice it at all. A lot of it's got to do with how ready you are. If you're all dry and scared it'll almost certainly hurt like hell. On the other hand if you're really juicy and just about to pop off like you did a couple of minutes ago, you shouldn't have any trouble." "My advice is to wait until you have plenty of time alone, and break it with the handle of a hairbrush or something similar while you're masturbating." "What's that?" "Playing with your pussy, so that you have an orgasm." I explain. "Wha-" "That really good feeling you got at the end." I interrupt the inevitable inquiry. "A boy can do it with his penis can't he?" she asks. "Some girls like to do it that way." I reply, "To them it's a symbol of becoming a woman. But if their lover isn't caring and gentle it can turn what should be a beautiful experience, into something filled with nothing but blood, pain, and disappointment." "Does it bleed much?" "There's always some blood, so you should be ready for it and not get it all over the sheets." I reply. "At least if you want to avoid any awkward questions from your mother." "Yeah that would be sort of hard to explain." she giggles. Then with one of the mercurial changes of tacks common to youth, she asks, "Do boys get that orgasm thingy too? Is that when the pus stuff comes out?" "Yeah, boys get to feel good too." I chuckle, "But I what you saw is not pus. It's nothing at all like it. What you saw come out of your brother's penis is called semen, it's got millions of tiny little cells in it called sperm, and when one of them joins up with an egg cell inside a woman, it becomes what grows into a baby." "And I start making eggs after I have my periods, right?" Vanessa asks. "Exactly, your periods happen when your body is discarding the old lining of your womb. (Which is where the baby grows in your tummy.) Every four weeks or so, a fresh lining grows inside it and if your egg isn't fertilised it gets rid of the old lining and starts making a new one." "Can I look at your penis now?" she asks, having disposed of the subject of conception to her satisfaction. "I don't see why not." I reply. "I do." she giggles, "You gotta take your finger out. Hang on a sec, I wanna see what it looks like." She scrabbles around beneath herself for a second, looking for the mirror. When she finds it, she angles it so that she can peer between her legs. After a few seconds of silent scrutiny, she asks, "Are you sure it stretches enough for a penis, it looks pretty full." "Yep," I reply, "you just have to take it slow and gentle. My penis fits in my seven year old niece's pussy just fine. She loves it so much that her mum just about has to drag her off my lap when it's time to go home." "Her mum knows about it?" Vanessa asks incredulously, twisting about to look into my face for any sign of duplicity, "Doesn't she get mad." "It's a special case," I grin, "my big sister's been fucking me since I was six and she was twelve, so when Christine caught us a couple of years ago, we let her join in the fun." "Wow you've been fucking her since she was five." "Not quite." I reply, "That didn't happen till her sixth birthday. Before that we just did things to help her get ready." "You fucked your sister." she muses, and I can almost hear the wheels clicking in her head, "That means I could do it with my brother." "Yes you could, it gives you a convenient partner who nobody would suspect so long as you both were careful. And you do have to be careful that nobody finds out, because people think brothers and sisters having sex together is almost as bad as children and grownups doing it." "How come?" "Because there's an increased risk that any baby they might have will be deformed, it's not a very great risk to start with, but if it goes on for a couple of generations, it does become very real. These days however, the availability of safe and effective birth control makes it possible to have sex for fun without the risk of having a baby." "Well I don't have to worry about that yet." she says complacently. Without warning she suddenly reaches between us and secures a firm grip on my half hard, but now rapidly growing member, saying, "Besides, he only gets to fuck me after you do, so I can tell him how to do it properly." Her words finish the process that her touch began, leaving her with a fistful of throbbing, rock solid prick. "You could have a long wait." I warn, "We won't get many chances to be alone together. Besides, you might meet a real spunk in the meantime." "No way," she avows, "I know you'll do it right." "I'd certainly do my best," I reply softly, "just don't cut yourself off from other options." "Well all right." she says, sounding unconvinced, "Now show me what to do to make you feel good." "Well to start with," I reply, "I'd like you to sit so I can look at your pussy." "O.K.," she says, "but you can't touch it, 'cause I don't want to be distracted." Assuming the posture that had gotten the whole situation under way in the first place - one leg drawn up onto the seat, the other on the floor - she shifts her grip to her right hand. "O.K. what next." Closing my hand over hers, I begin a slow up and down motion, saying, "Start off slowly like this. Relax your hand a little as you go down, and squeeze as you pull up. That's it, just like that." Concentrating intently on her task, she quickly picks up on my instructions, the fingers of her small fist not quite able to meet as she rolls the foreskin back and forth over the shining crown of my prick. Within a very few stroke, as delightful shivers begin to course through my system, a dewy bead of precum begins to ooze from the tip. "See that drop of moisture?" I say a little unsteadily, "It helps make things slippery like the juices your pussy makes. Use your thumb to smear it over my knob, especially that wrinkled bit. Oh fuck yesss!" I gasp as her thumb makes contact with my fraenum. A grin begins to spread across her features as she starts to realise the sort of power that she has over me. Leaning close to observe, she falls into a steady rhythm: Down, squeeze, pull, swipe with her thumb from the tiny slit in the end of my cock, down over the fraenum as she begins the next downstroke. After half a minute or so, she looks up at me and says, "I'm running out of the slippery stuff." as the supply of precum begins to dry up. "Dribble some spit on it." I gasp, leaning back with my eyes closed, "And start to go a little faster." "Oh fuck!" I cry, a few seconds later. Ad libbing on my instructions, she drools her spit into her left hand and cups it over bloated knob of my prick. She begins to repeatedly squeeze my glans as if playing with a bar of soft soap whilst she continues to pump on the shaft of my prick with the other hand. Half a minute later, her right hand ceases pumping and instead scrubs the head of my cock in a tight circle in the palm of her left hand. "Oh shit!" I yelp. Seconds later the meaning of the squelching sound that had been tickling at the edge of my consciousness becomes apparent. A veritable torrent of saliva cascades over my prick and she works her hands, one after the other, down the length of my prick. For all the world it feels almost as if I were entering a vagina, over and over again. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Fuck me. Fuck that's good!" I cry, as the cum begins to boil up from my balls. "Rub it fast!" I cry, fumbling to close my hand over hers and guide it in a simple up and down motion, "I'm gonna cum." Pushing my hand aside, she closes both fists around my shaft just behind the head, milking my prick as the first scalding blast of cum, sears a path through my prick to erupt in a fountaining geyser of sperm. "Oh!" I hear her half disgusted cry of surprise through the orgasmic pounding in my ears. Opening my eyes, I see that in her eagerness, she'd placed herself in the line of fire. A thick gooey ribbon of jism, runs from just below her right eye, across the bridge of her nose and left cheek to her ear. "Keep going." I beg, as her hand begins to falter, the second burning gout of cum, falling with a wet splat on the back of her hand and my thigh. "Don't stop please." Her grip tightens on my prick, and she resumes pumping her fist up and down. Then as she discovers how slippery my cum is, she brings her left hand back to my prick, smearing the viscous white paste over the head, squeezing and swirling her fist, in a way that makes me let out a howl of pure pleasure. "OH FUCK YESSSS!" Some unknowable time later, the mild chill of the jism cooling in my lap brings me back to earth. In front of me, Vanessa plays with the gooey film of cum coating her hands, a mixture of fascination and distaste on her sperm beribboned face. Seeing that I'm looking at her, she pulls a face and declares, "That was gross." "Well you were the one who got in the way." I chuckle, "Besides I think you look pretty sexy with my cum all over your face." "It's still gross." she giggles. "Sexy, gross." I do my best Yiddish accent, "It's got to go, your mother'd have kittens if she saw you now." "Kitten's, shmittens." Vanessa throws back, "She'd have a whole bloody zoo. Can you get my tissues?" she asks, holding her sticky hands up by way of explanation. While I work on getting enough of the sticky cum out of my body hair to dress, Vanessa scrubs her hands clean, following my example of tossing the damp tissues on the floor. Then as I'm working on a particularly matted section, Vanessa remarks, "You're right it is pretty sexy." I look up to see her scrutinising her face in the little hand mirror, tilting it from side to side to observe the full extent of her inadvertent facial. Feeling my eyes on her, she looks up, "You can do it all on me next time if you like." The thought sends a certain thrill through my groin, but the flesh is weak and apart from a slight stirring, my prick remains quiescent. Which as it turns out is for the best. As I reach into the back for Vanessa's clothes, I catch sight of my watch." "Shit it's a quarter to five, we've got to get a move on." I yelp tossing her knickers at her, while scrabbling after her top and skirt. Turning back with them in hand I find that she has made no move to put them on, instead she is twirling them on a finger. "Wanna souvenir?" "God yes," I breathe, thinking of future masturbatory delights, "but how are you going to explain coming home with no knickers to your mum." "No problem," she says throwing them to me, "I got the ones Jenny was wearing in my bag." "Thanks," I say, lifting them to my nose, "they'll help me have a really good wank tonight." "Yuck!" she cries, "They're stinky." "Mmmm, stinky, sexy little girl." I say, taking a deep breath of her incredible scent. "Speaking of stinky little girls," I go on, "you're still leaking." Giving her no time to object, I wipe the scrap of cloth in my hand through her crotch, soaking up the residue of her earlier orgasm. "Eew gross!" she giggles, while lying back to present me with an even more obscene spread. I take one last swipe from the base of her cleft to the top, then lightly slap her rounded, upthrust mound, "Enough, we've got to get you home now." Pouting, she starts to scramble into her clothes, while I struggle to pull my pants, back on. As I'm buttoning my shirt, I have to work with the distraction of her fragrant little pussy mere inches from my nose as she delves into the back for her knickers. Unable to resist, I turn and plant a quick kiss on the pouting lips, caught between her thighs. "Eew gross," she cries, slithering back into the front seat, fortunately with the knickers in hand. "how could you do that?" "You'd be surprised what I could do if we had the time." I return with an unabashed grin, and lick my lips. "You're pretty tasty, stinky girl." "You're gross." she accuses me. "You bet." I grin, "Put your seatbelt on. Oh and those too." I point at the knickers still in her hand. "How?" she asks, "Or am I supposed to drive?" As I shuffle across the seat, and she crawls over my lap, I take the opportunity, to flip up the back of her skirt and deliver one final penny whack to her cute little behind. "What's a hedonist?" she asks out of the blue, as she clicks her seatbelt into place. "Someone who lives for pleasure," I explain, "so much so that they go out of their way to look for it." Following her directions, we quickly cover the final kilometre to her house. As I pull up in front of her house and turn to say goodbye, she gives me a wicked grin, and demonstrates quite comprehensively that she is still not wearing her knickers. Flipping up the front of her skirt, she holds it against her belly with her arms, and pulls her pussy wide open. With the light of the setting sun streaming in through my window to illuminate it, I can see all the way up to the delicate membrane of her hymen glistening with the juices of her continued arousal. "Look at me, I'm a hedonist." she giggles, her finger twirling around the stiff little bulb of her clit. "And an exhibitionist too." I growl, "Now git stinky girl, before I grab you and we end up rooting on the front lawn like a couple of dogs." "Sounds like fun." she giggles, "We'll have to try that some time." "Git!" I growl, taking her bag from the back seat and holding it out to her. With a final giggle, she pushes her skirt back over her lap and takes it from me, "Here keep these too," she says stuffing a pale blue scrap of nylon into my hand, "and you can smell Jenny too." Taking care to keep herself covered, she slides out of the car, and with a backward wave goodbye, she scampers up to the front door of her house. Though I know I should be going, I wait to see her through the front door, receiving one final treat as she drops her bag on the porch. With a quick glance around to be sure that the coast is clear, she points her rear at me and bends with straight legs to retrieve her keys from her bag, revealing the bottom half of her tiny pussy to my frightened gaze. As she straightens she gives me a final wave, and I, with my heart in my throat, return it weakly. However as I look around as I pull out, I realise that my fears had been groundless, with nothing but the gap between two houses opposite her front porch, and shrubs to either side, there was no one but myself to see her little exhibition. One final heart palpitation remains though, as I continue down the street a car turns a corner behind me and pulls into her drive. We'd beaten her parents home by less than five minutes. **************************************************** Chapter 3 - First Lesson Almost exactly two days to the minute later, I pull up in front of Jenny's house, ready to begin our first lessons. Armed with her books and a couple of tools I'd whipped up on the computer to demonstrate both fractions and especially compound fractions, I straighten my collar and reach for the door knocker. Almost immediately I let the heavy brass ring thump into the door, it swings open and I'm greeted by two giggling nymphs. Vanessa is still wearing her school uniform, a simple tunic of bottle green tartan, that covers her to mid thigh, over a long sleeved white blouse. Plain white stockings or tights cover her slim legs and her feet are tucked into black patent leather shoes. Jenny having had the opportunity to change, greets me with a cheerful "Hi." She's wearing a green and gold pair of satin running shorts, and a matching loose fitting singlet, her feet stuffed into a scuffed pair of runners with the laces undone. "Hi Jenny, Hi Stinky Girl." I greet them bringing a rosy flush of embarrassment to Vanessa's cheeks. "Stinky Girl?" Jenny shrieks, rounding on her friend, "Did you fluff in his car?" "Something like that." I chuckle. "Here Vanessa, this must have fallen out of your bag the other day." I hand her, the compact she'd left on the seat of my car. "Thanks," she says, "I was wondering where I'd lost it." "Ready for your lessons Jen?" I ask. "Yeah." she pulls a long face, "Vanessa was just going. Mum say's she's a distraction." "That I can believe." I say significantly, making Vanessa giggle helplessly. "What's so funny?" Jenny demands, looking back and forth between Vanessa and me. Oops, damage control mode, "Well I seem to recall the two of you doing your best to *distract* me the other day." I say with a direct look at her. "Oh yeah." she subsides with a blushing giggle. "Girls!" Dianne cries, emerging from the family room, "Don't just stand there blocking the door, let him in. Vanessa, I think it's time you went home." "O.K. Mr's Gormley, See ya Jen, bye Greg." Vanessa scoops up her schoolbag from beside the front door and heads off down the path at full tilt. "Hello Greg, nice to see you again." Dianne greets me, with a warm handshake. "The pleasure is all mine Mam." I reply bowing low over her hand. Beside us, Jenny giggles at her mother's rosy blush. "Get on with you." Dianne laughs lightly, retrieving her hand, "I'll be up with some refreshments in half an hour." Showing me her heels, Jenny pelts up the stairs ahead of me, leaving me to follow at a more sedate pace. By the time I enter the schoolroom, Jenny has already got her books out, and is sitting at the table waiting for me to join her. "O.K. Jen," I say, pulling up a chair at her side, "let's see what you already know about fractions." As it turns out, she has a pretty fair knowledge of fractions when she is able to visualise them using concrete examples. Where she falls down is in seeing them as abstract ratios of whole numbers with no more sense than the numbers themselves. Much to her disgust, having established this, I take her right back to the beginning, halves and quarters. She sets herself to the task with poor grace, complaining when I won't let her draw little circles and pie wedges to help her, arrive at the answers. Suddenly though it clicks and she comes to realise exactly how two quarters make a half, and with fingers flying, she quickly writes out all of the different combinations of halves and quarters that add up to a half, three quarters, and a whole. "There." she declares, thumping her pencil down on the table. "O.K.," I say, laying a fresh sheet of paper in front of her, "lets see how you go with thirds and sixths." She frowns at the blank sheet before her for several seconds, unsure where to begin. "O.K.," I say, "Start with just the sixths and write them out across the top." Following my instructions, she writes down 1/6, 2/6 through to 6/6. "What next?" she asks looking up at me. "Well where do you think three thirds goes?" "That's easy." she declares, writing 3/3 underneath 6/6. "And one third?" "There?" she asks tentatively pointing bellow 2/6. "What do you think?" I ask. "Yeah there." she decides, writing it down and adding in 2/3 in the right spot without asking. After staring at the two rows of numbers for a few seconds she starts toting up the different combinations, groaning as she realises that the final list will be longer than that for halves and quarters. "Very good." I compliment her, as she finishes with a sigh. "Now do fifths and tenths." Looking daggers at me, she scrawls the tenths across the page, and then the fifths underneath. I let her begin the list of combinations, but stop her as it becomes apparent that she understands the concept. "What now?" she asks with a long suffering look. "Start with twelfths and see what you can come up with." I say with a grin. She replies with a low mutter to my instructions. "What was that?" I ask sweetly. "Nuffin'" she growls applying herself to the clean sheet of paper in front of her. The twelfths are written out across the top and after a few seconds she adds in sixths and thirds. Suddenly something clicks and she adds halves, and quarters, then after a little thought five tenths. Some more thought and she snatches up the sheet with sixths on it and fills in all of the ninths that she can match up. She then does the same with eights on the first sheet. Taking a fresh sheet she writes out the sevenths and comes to a grinding halt, looking up at me perplexedly. "Don't worry about it." I chuckle. "You'd have to go up to around two and a half thousand if you wanted to fit in everything from halves to sevenths. Now that you seem to have the basic idea let's see about converting fractions to different fractions." I quickly write up a set of equivalences for her to complete, throwing in a couple which are impossible to do, just to see what she will do with them. Then setting her to do these, I pick up her homework sheet. A tiny grunt from her makes me glance over the top of the sheet at her. She is sitting hunched over the sheet of problems I'd given her, sucking on the end of her pencil as she contemplates the problems. As I watch she squirms in her seat, kicking her heel against the leg of the chair. Through the open armhole of her singlet, I glimpse a tiny swelling pushing her areola out from the smooth childish planes of her chest. The tiny three quarter inch pink rosette surrounding her nipple rising in a rounded cone no more than a quarter inch high. A moment later, her arm comes down, obscuring my view of her budding breast as she makes a notation on the page. "How's my girl doing?" Dianne's voice breaks the silence, as she backs into the room with a laden tray. "Oh mum he's mean," Jenny complains, as I jump up to take the tray from her mother, "some of these just can't be done." "Just keep at it," Dianne encourages her daughter, "I'm sure you'll work them out eventually dear." "I doubt it." I chuckle, "She's absolutely right some of those problems can't be done, I wanted to see if Jenny could spot them, which would show that she really did understand this, or if she'd just make a wild guesses." "So how'd she do?" I pick up the problem sheet and quickly go through it in my head, "Two not finished, one wrong, one wild guess and two little faces with their tongues poking out, which I assume are her way of telling me what she thinks of my red herrings." "Jenny!" Dianne berates her daughter, though in notice the corner of her mouth twitching. "Sorry Greg." Jenny giggles. "So you should be." I reply while pushing a sheet of problems I'd prepared at home across in front of her. "Just for that, you can show me what you can do with these, while I chow down on some of this excellent looking cake." "Slave driver." she accuses me taking up her pencil in one hand, while snatching up a slice of cake in the other. While she works at adding up fractions with the same denominator, I begin writing up some problems on converting whole numbers to fractions and vice versa. "O.K. I'll leave you to it." Dianne says after watching her daughter at work for a while. "Thanks for the snack." I say looking up. "Yeah thanks Mum." Jenny says around a mouthful of crumbs. As Dianne closes the door behind her, Jenny makes a little sound of disgust and looks up at me, "I can't do this one, it keeps on coming out to nine eighths." "Really." I say mildly. "Leave it then and keep going, I'll correct it when you're finished." Ten minutes later, she announces, "Done." As I take the sheet of completed problems from her, she lifts her right foot - the one nearest me - onto the seat of her chair. The fabric of her shorts is pushed up at the side, exposing the entire length of her muscular leg to me, all the way up to leg band of her plain cotton knickers. Then as she turns to face me, the leg hole gapes open at the crotch, showing me the rounded outline of her preteen vulva, though the reinforced gusset hides most of the detail. A quick glance down the list of problems determines that she has got them all right. However those problems which resulted in the numerator being larger than the denominator have all earned me more cheeky little faces. "Very good Jenny." I praise her, "All correct and accounted for." "But what about those ones that came out bigger on top?" she asks. "What about them?" I return, "They're supposed to come out that way." "But why?" she asks plaintively. "You'll see in a minute." I reply. "Let's work on these together." Pulling her chair over next to mine, Jenny peruses the sheet of paper I set before us. "Oh I can do these." she skites, "We did these the other week." "O.K. go for it." I say. It takes her less than five minutes to scribble in the answers, and sit back with an 'I told you so.' look plastered over her face. Taking the sheet, I go along beside all of the whole numbers, adding the denominators of fractions, beside her whole numbers. "O.K. smartie," I grin, "fill in the blanks." "How?" she asks, looking at the sheet with a perplexed air. "Think about it." I say, "Eight quarters is two and how many quarters." "None." she replies, still looking puzzled. "So?" "But what do I do?" she all but wails. "Well what number is the same as none?" I prompt. "Zero." she replies. "Oh!" With that light dawns, and she quickly runs down the sheet filling in zeros all the way. "Hey they look like what we're doing now." she cries excitedly. "That's because they are." I grin. "So what's five halves?" "Two and one half." she throws back. "And seven quarters?" "One and three quarters." "So two and one third would be?" "Um, seven thirds?" she says, questioning her own answer. "Are you sure?" "Yeah seven thirds." she repeats, this time making it a statement. "Hey how come Mr Sampson doesn't put in the zero bits?" "Because you don't really need them if you know fractions really well, your mind fills them in without you even thinking about it." I explain. "Now lets see how you go multiplying fractions together." "Shouldn't I do adding first?" she asks. "Nope." I reply with a grin, "Strange as it may seem you need to know how to multiply fractions before you can add them." "That's silly." she objects. "Yep," I agree, "but it's also true, you'll see why when we get to it." After explaining the rules for multiplying fractions, I spend the rest of the evening, setting harder and harder problems. She devours them voraciously, only occasionally producing a wrong answer, which more often than not, is the result of carelessness as she hurries to get on with the next problem. At one point I have to stop and teach her how to multiply a large number by a single digit number so that she can continue. "Hey don't you think it's time you stopped." Dianne's voice interrupts our progress some time later. When I look up, I discover that it's nearly seven o'clock. "Sorry," I say, "we were going so well, I lost track of the time." "Hey Mum," Jenny says excitedly, "did you know, you have to be able to multiply fractions before you can add them up?" "Well it was never put like that when I was at school, but yes I see how it makes sense." Dianne replies, "Do you know why that is?" "No we haven't got to the adding up part yet." Jenny admits, "But I can times big numbers now, well at least one big number and a little one anyway. Go on give me one." "O.K. do fifteen times eight." "Mu-um," Jenny cries scornfully, "give me a hard one." "O.K. then." Dianne says, pausing a moment to think, "How about, five hundred and eighty nine times seven." "Four thousand one hundred and twenty three." Jenny announces triumphantly after several seconds of scribbling. "Is she right?" Dianne asks me. "I don't know," I reply, "it's your problem, you work it out." After taking nearly three times as long as her daughter, and with one false start, Dianne looks up with a rueful chuckle. "She's right, and she's also shown me that her old Mum has just about forgotten her seven times tables." "Told ya." Jenny skites, "Now you're going to have to be tutored too." "We'll see." Dianne smiles. "Now say goodbye to Greg, I need to talk to him downstairs for a minute." "O.K. Goodbye to Greg." she recites wandering off to switch on the TV. "Jenny!" Dianne cries shocked. "That's all right Dianne." I stick my oar in, "I think Jenny's going to love dividing fractions next time." "I thought we were going to do adding." the suddenly attentive little girl protests. "I changed my mind." I reply blandly. "NOooo." Jenny wails in sudden despair, "I hate dividing things." "Come on Dianne," I say, when it appears that she might let the cat out of the bag. "Let's leave Miss Smarty Pants to stew in her own juices for a while. 'Bye Jenny see you Wednesday." "'Bye!" Jenny's response comes back with poor grace, but at least it has *some* feeling in it. Almost steering Dianne ahead of me, we make our way to the family room where, as soon as the door is closed, she breaks down into quiet chuckles, "You're a cruel man Mr Parry." "Moi?" I ask in surprise, touching my fingertips to my chest. "Vous." she chuckles, "She's been dividing things all evening, and if I remember my primary school maths, dividing fractions is just multiplying turned upside down." "You know that, I know that," I laugh back, "Jenny don't know no such thing." "Well it's your funeral." Dianne smiles, "And your English is atrocious." She chuckles at my exaggeratedly shocked expression, and continues, "Would you mind staying for a few more minutes? My husband should be back with Jeremy soon, They've been at a physio session." "Of course." I answer, and we spend the next few minutes making small talk, waiting for Jenny's father to return. The sound of car doors slamming, followed by the sound a harmonica being played on a single note, announces their arrival. Then as the front door opens, we hear a loud "Daddy!" and several thumps as Jenny flies down the stairs to greet her father. A few seconds later, a tall lanky man with receding jet black hair enters the room, Jenny clinging like a limpet to one hip. On his other hip, he carries a small boy, who looks to be no more than five or six years old. The beautiful smiling face that he turns toward me is in such contrast to the pathetically twisted body that I find myself swallowing a lump in my throat. Immediately, Jenny's father sets his children down, Jenny takes her brother by the hand and leads him over to me, "Greg," she begins hesitantly, unsure of my reaction, "this is my brother Jeremy. You have to speak loud b'cause his hearing aids don't work too good." she tells me. "Hello Jeremy," I say, hopefully loud enough for him to hear, as kneel in front of him, and I hold out my hand, "How do you do?" His smile, already sunny, widens beatifically, and he holds up an harmonica, that he had been clutching in his twisted fingers, putting it to his lips he repeatedly sounds the same note over and over again, then looks back at me expectantly. "What a beautiful harmonica," I praise, "did Santa bring it for you?" Though not understanding my words, he picks up on the inquiring note in my voice and nods enthusiastically in answer. Suddenly he throws his arms around my neck and deposits a wet, smacking kiss on my cheek. A moment later another pair of small arms surround the both of us and Jenny gives me a drier, but just as enthusiastic kiss on the other cheek. Then still with her arms around us, she turns her head towards her parents, "Did you hear it? Jeremy play your harmonica." She touches the small instrument in her brother's hand, pushing it towards his lips. Unerringly, he picks out the same note as before and plays it continuously until Jenny yells, "Enough Jeremy." gently forcing the harmonica from his lips. In more moderate tones, she says to me, "Say something Greg." "Like what?" I ask, my mind going blank as I'm put on the spot. Jeremy's head snaps around to watch my lips as soon as I open my mouth, so I address myself to him. "Did you have a good day Jeremy?" "Did you hear that?" Jenny cries exultantly, "They sound the same. Jeremy can hear him." "Yes I did." Dianne says, her voice filled with wonder and unshed tears, "Thankyou Greg." For what?" I ask, still not sure what I've done. "First for accepting him as he is, though I expected no less of you. But mostly for showing us something we didn't know about Jeremy. He only got that harmonica from his grandfather on Saturday, and since then he's been driving us to distraction by playing that one note over and over again. Before that, he was always yelling like I warned you, and now we know why, his yell was the same pitch as that note and so is your voice." "Yes thankyou Greg." Mr Gormley says gruffly. "Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou." Jenny cries happily while plastering my face with kisses. "Ahem," Mr Gormley clears his throat, "I think that's enough Jenny." Blushing, Jenny ceases her osculatory assault, but still keeping an arm about us, she turns to ask, "Can Greg stay and have dinner with us? Pleeeezzze Mummy?" "Greg might have other plans for dinner." Dianne cautions her daughter, while asking me with her eyes if it would be all right. "Pleeeezzze Greg?" turns her wiles on me. "Would you mind Greg?" Dianne asks me. A small hand pats my cheek, and when I look down, Jeremy raises the Harmonica to his lips and plays a single note, then waits looking at me expectantly. Though I'm sure that all he is waiting for is for me to speak, I answer, "I don't think I dare not accept your invitation." earning myself another beautiful smile from Jeremy and a further flurry of kisses from Jenny. "Jenny!" Mr Gormley calls. "I think I can live with it, Mr Gormley." I chuckle, rising to sit in my chair and lifting Jeremy into my lap. "Tony please." he replies with a chuckle of his own, "I'm sure you can, but she's getting too old to be kissing strange men like that." "He's not a strange man," Jenny declares hotly, squirming into the chair beside me and throwing her arms around her brother and me, "I'm adopting him." "I give up." Tony chuckles throwing his hands into the air, "Welcome to the family Greg." "Yay!" Jenny cheers, welcoming me with yet another kiss, this one smack on the lips. "Wah, Wah." Jeremy says, pushing at his sister. The moment she moves her head out of the way, I find myself the recipient of a wet and sloppy kiss from him. "Now you got to kiss him too." Jenny demands of her parents. "Maybe later." Dianne begs off, I've got to see what I can do to stretch dinner. "I think we'll settle for a handshake." Tony smiles, walking over to offer me his hand. Rising with Jeremy on my hip, I return the handshake, "You've got lovely children Tony." "Thankyou." he replies, "Jenny why don't you take Jeremy off and play with him, I'd like to have a few words with Greg before dinner." "O.K. Daddy, C'mon Jeremy." I set the little boy down, smiling as he gazes longingly back at me, while obediently trailing after his sister. At the door he raises his harmonica to his lip and I hear the single note that is able to penetrate his silent world repeated over and over as he stumbles up the stairs. "You don't know how much I have to thank you for." Tony says. "For what?" I say, "For being myself? I've done nothing." "You've given me hope." he replies gruffly, "But I won't embarrass you any more. How did your first lesson with Jenny go?" "Marvellously," I reply, "and for that I have to thank you. You've given me a student who wants to learn. At the rate she's going, I'm soon going to be out of a job." "You don't sound too unhappy about that." "Should I be?" I ask, "The faster she learns, the more successful I've been." "Dianne told me about her conversation with you on Saturday, and quite frankly I didn't believe her. You sounded too good to be true, but you welcome my son with open arms, and you've shown us a new way reach him. In your first hour with Jenny you make successful strides towards undoing three months of mismanagement, and you're pleased when her progress puts you that much closer to returning to bacon grease sandwiches and scraped icebox soup. I remember those times far too well, Dianne's money was the only thing that got me through, and in your position I'd be sorely tempted to do anything I could to milk even an extra month's rent out of the situation." "Yeah well," I say uncomfortably, "graduate assistants aren't quite as badly off as they were in your day. Besides, I don't have to worry about rent, my grandmother left me my house." "And Jeremy? You looked past his deformities as if you dealt with children like him all the time. Do you?" "Not for quite some time and never on a regular basis." I reply, "I simply find it more profitable to look first for the beauty in those I meet. With Jeremy that was easy, he's a beautiful child, it was the very first thing I saw when you came in with him." After that the silence stretches uncomfortably, until Dianne breezes back into the room, "Dinner will be about ten minutes." she says, then noticing the strained silence between us, she asks, "What's up." "Uh nothing darling," Tony replies with a shake of his head, "just a little too much not-guy talk." Dianne chuckles, saying, "He has that effect doesn't he? Come on, I'm sure you two can find something to talk about." With Dianne in the room we make a few desultory attempts at talking about politics and world events before giving up and just talking shop. We barely notice when she leaves the room to finish dinner. When Dianne calls the children down a few minutes later we find ourselves well on the way to forming a new friendship. Acting the little hostess, Jenny seats me at the table between herself and her brother, then helps her mother bring in the food from the kitchen. The womenfolk serve up ravioli with a spicy meat sauce, due to my unexpected inclusion at the meal table it is a little heavy on the pasta, but delicious all the same. Tony and I continue our conversation for a couple of minutes, until a significant look from Dianne brings her husband to a halt. It seems that I truly am included in the family as with a slightly apologetic look at me, he asks Jenny about her day, something I'm sure he wouldn't do, nor Dianne require, if I'd been a run of the mill dinner guest. "We did painting today, but I spilt water on mine so it was wrecked. And we had to write a story, and Mr Sampson read mine to the whole class, he read out Jimmy's and Rachel's too." "And what was this literary masterpiece about?" Dianne asks, scooping up a dribble of meat sauce from Jeremy's chin and spooning it back into his mouth. "This girl who lives with her daddy who runs away from home because he won't let her have a horse and she meets a unicorn who can speak and make magic happen with his horn. And they rescue a prince from some bandits. And then he marries her and everybody lives happily ever after except for the girl's father, b'cause he has to cook his own teas." "Do I detect a significant thread running through that story somewhere?" I ask Tony with a grin. "Just a small hawser." he grins back, "My poor deprived offspring had to make do with a new bike and a trip to Seaworld for Christmas. Though I am a bit disappointed she killed her mother off." "But I had too Daddy," Jenny explains, "otherwise you wouldn't have to cook your own teas." "A fate worse than it sounds." Tony tells me with a grin, "On the few occasions that Dianne has left me to look after the kids, we order out or they refuse to eat." "Not to mention the expense of new cookware." Dianne puts in, "I could have literally served his last attempt at cooking with a hammer and chisel." "What else did you do Jenny?" Tony hastily asks. "We did compound fractions in maths and I didn't do very good." she answers, "But I can do them now, Greg showed me. And he showed me how to multiply them b'cause he says you need to know that before you can add them up." With a dirty look at me she finishes her account on a disgusted note, "And have to learn dividing next b'cause I was rude." "But-" Tony begins, only to be cut off by Dianne. "What? Oh ho!" Looking at Jenny, he smiles, "Are you in for a surprise young lady." "Yeah he's mean." Jenny glares at me. She then hugs my arm, "But I like him anyway." "Let the poor man eat his dinner in peace." Dianne tells her daughter with a long suffering sigh. "He doesn't mind." Jenny declares on my behalf, "Do you? You can eat with your other hand." "Jenny." Tony grates warningly. With an impudent grin, Jenny releases my arm and turns her attention to her own plate, letting me get on with mine. The remainder of the meal passes without event, Tony and I permitted to continue our own conversation now that Jenny has had her turn. After the meal Dianne takes Jeremy off to get him ready for bed, while Tony invites me to have a drink with him. As I settle myself in an armchair, Jenny squirms her way in beside me, her expression daring Tony to try dislodging her. Wisely, he limits his response to rolling his eyes heavenward and telling me, "Dump her on the floor when you get sick of her." "Greg won't do that." Jenny declares, pulling my arm around her shoulders and laying her head on my chest. "He's nice, not like my mean Daddy." A few minutes into Tony telling me about a new computer system they are trialing to manage attitude control in a communications satellite they have under development, Jenny interrupts, "I can hear your heart Greg, it's going thump-thump, thump-thump." "Here," I say handing her my watch, "you can do some science homework by taking my pulse." "I don't know how." she complains as Tony chuckles. "Count the thumps in fifteen seconds and multiply it by four." I tell her. "So how do you deal with a thruster that won't fire." "It's set up to fire the working thrusters in combination without any intervention from the ground. All the controllers on ground have to do is tell the satellite where to point, the system does the rest." "Oooh!" Jenny grates in frustration. "Did you hear something?" I ask Tony. "No, I don't think so." he replies with a grin. "What we're working towards Greg, is a point and click style of interface for satellite systems. To do this, we're designing a satellite chassis with as much autonomy as possible, it's not like rad hardened memory is a million bucks a kilobyte any more. Nowadays the ground stations, and especially the people needed to staff them, are what costs." "One system we have on the drawing board deals with handing over control from one ground station to the next. Instead of the satellite relying on a signal from the ground to let it know when to do so, it uses GPS to determine where it is and which ground station it should be talking to." "Seventy two." Jenny announces, when her father stops speaking. "Check it again." He says. "Already did." Jenny replies impudently. "What happens if it can't find a ground station to talk to?" "That depends on the job the satellite is doing," he replies, "if it's something that it can keep doing on it's own, it does so, otherwise it shuts down the bits of itself that aren't needed. Either way it keeps pinging ground stations beneath its track until one replies." "What if there aren't *any* ground stations any more?" "Little nihilist." Tony chuckles, "It keeps on waiting until new ground stations get built or it runs out of fuel and burns up in the atmosphere." "Am not," she declares, "I just reckon people shouldn't be testing atom bombs any more b'cause there's too many already." "You won't get any disagreement from me there." I say, "But hopefully nobody will be stupid enough to ever use them." "Well why do they have to have them then? I mean if they won't ever use them it's stupid to have them just lying around b'cause someone might set one off by accident." "Because the men who run those countries are all trying to show off to each other what big-" "Greg." Dianne says warningly from the doorway, as Jeremy limps across the floor to clamber awkwardly into his father's lap. "*weapons* they have." I finish with a grin. Dianne and Tony chuckle at the double entendre while Jenny looks back and forth with a frown, realising that she is missing something. "Jenny," Dianne says, "it's time you had your bath and got ready for bed." "Do I have to?" Jenny complains, pulling my arm tighter around herself. "Yes you have to." Dianne says, "Now git." "Another drink Greg? Dianne?" Tony asks getting up to refresh his own glass. "I really should be going." I say. "You can't go yet." Jenny cries, sticking her head back in through the doorway, "You've got to say goodnight to me." "Jenny!" Dianne barks, and the small head disappears with alacrity. Chuckling Tony says, "I think you'd better hang about, I don't think I could stand her love sick pouting." "I heard that!" Jenny's voice rings out, followed by the pounding of her feet as she ascends the stairs. "That bad huh?" Dianne grins at her husband. "She looked ready to tear my eyes out and eat them if I even thought about objecting to her forcing her way into the chair with him." "Oh well," Dianne sighs with resignation, "it'll pass, these things always do." "I remember *one* schoolgirl crush that didn't pass." Tony says archly. "Tony!" Dianne chides him blushingly, "I was sixteen, besides it wasn't a crush." "No it was true love," he teases, "just like the ailment afflicting Jenny right now." To me he says, "Dianne fell in L O V E with her maths tutor too." "Hah!" Dianne scoffs, "You were a lousy tutor. Dad only kept you around because he could never deny his little girl anything." "Yes you were a bit of a spoiled brat, I don't know why I put up with you." "Really?" Dianne asks in a way that makes Tony stutter with embarrassment. "Ah- let's not go into that." he mumbles, "Another drink Greg? What about you Hon?" "Just the Coke thanks," I reply, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile, "I have to drive." "I'll have whisky and ice Darling." Dianne replies in a voice dripping with honey, "As for that spoiled brat crack, I'll give you spoiled brat tonight." Holding his hands up in a mock warding gesture, Tony steers the conversation back onto the safer subject of experimental satellite design. After a few more arch digs at her husband Dianne subsides, watching with rapt fascination the animation her son shows at the sound of my voice. Clutching his precious harmonica, Jeremy climbs down from his fathers lap and hobbles across to me, holding his arms out for me to lift him into my lap. Wriggling a little, he settles himself so that he can look up into my face, his eyes locked on my lips as I speak. Some fifteen minutes later, Jenny announces that she has finished her bath with a loud thud in the foyer outside. "Jenny," Tony says loudly as she bursts into the room, "what have I told you about sliding down the banister?" "Don't let you catch me doing it." she replies impudently, "But you didn't catch me, I might have jumped down the last few steps just to wind you up." "You might have," he concedes, "but I know you didn't." Of me, he asks helplessly, "What do I do, she's impossible." "A small nail halfway down might do the trick." I grin, pretending to peer around her body at her behind. Something that wouldn't be all that hard to manage, given the barely adequate nature of her nightwear. Dressed for bed, Jenny is wearing a somewhat faded nightshirt with a picture of Taz on the front. Obviously bought for her some time ago, it comes within a bare two inches of indecency. "Good idea." Tony says, grinning at his suddenly self-conscious daughter, "An extra crease in your bum might remind you that I'm still boss around here." "Only when Mum lets you." Jenny replies unabashed. "Don't be cheeky." Dianne says, grinning, "Even if you are right." "They want to put holes in mine." Jenny pouts, pushing her bottom out and tapping it lightly with the hairbrush in her hand. "You'd better put that hairbrush to it's proper use or I'll show you how to do that properly." Tony warns with a chuckle. Ooh I'm real scared." Jenny responds, sounding anything but. Coming over to me, she gently moves Jeremy to make room for herself between my knees and asks, "Will you do my hair please Greg?" "Jenny!" both her parents cry, even as I say: "I'd be happy to." To her parents I add, "Don't worry, It's something I enjoy doing." Taking the brush from Jenny, I slowly work the tangles from her luxuriant cascade of jet black hair until I can draw the brush unimpeded through its full length. With Jenny murmuring her approval, I continue brushing as we talk until her raven locks crackle with electricity. Then separating the dark, silken strands into six, I finish it off with a simple herringbone braid, fastening it with the hair elastic Dianne had been using to hold her pony tail. Seizing the braid from my grip, Jenny inspects it, going cross-eyed in her attempt to count the strands. Finally she asks, "How many?" "Six," I reply, "it's all I can do without another pair of hands, or lots of little rubber bands," "How many can you do then?" she asks. "How long is a piece of string?" I ask her. "Huh?" she grunts, confused by my answer. "How many would you like? I can do you a beaver tail if you have an hour or so to spare." "Not tonight she doesn't." Dianne puts in before Jenny can open her mouth, "Where'd you learn to do hair like that?" "Well half of it came about when I was trying to make a whip, and the other half was my big sister who insisted I do her hair when she saw me going for a record with twenty pieces of string. Since she's six years older and has a viscous right hook, I learnt hairdressing, Though I can't cut hair to save my life." "Twenty?" Jenny twists around to look at me incredulously. "Twenty or a hundred, it's all pretty much the same." I reply easily, "The only difference is that the with a lot of strands it's pretty easy to tangle things up." "Have you ever done a hundred?" Jenny asks me. "No," I admit, "twenty's the most I've ever done." "Well how do you know you can do a hundred then?" she asks, her tone challengingly sceptical. Because the patterns the same no matter how many you do." "Oh." she says briefly deflated, "What's a 'beaver tail' anyway?" "it's the bit that keeps the water out of his bum." I answer without thinking. Then recalling the tender years of my audience, and more importantly the presence of her parents, my ears burn as I stammer out my apology. "Uh, sorry Dianne, Tony, it slipped out." "It's O.K.," Tony reassures me with a chuckle, while Dianne unsuccessfully tries to keep the corner of her mouth from twitching as she attempts to direct a withering glare at her husband, her madly giggling daughter and myself, "I don't think I could have resisted a straight line like that either. Besides you should hear some of the ones she and her friends come up with when she doesn't think we are listening. Right Luv?" Giving up, Dianne chortles at her daughter's suddenly discomfited look. "That's right. What was that one about Cherry Lane, Jen?." I have no trouble recognising the joke she was referring to, having heard it myself for the first time when I was about Jenny's age, but even if I hadn't, the look on her face would have given away its decidedly unclean nature. I join her parent's unrestrained laughter as Jenny first goes white with shock and then so violently red that the thin white fabric of her nightshirt visibly darkens as the crimson flush spreads beneath it. "You're all mean!" Jenny declares with a scowl all round, once she is finally able to find her voice. The only result of her heated allegation is to draw another round of laughter from us, this time joined by joyful gurgles as Jeremy, all unknowing joins in our mirth. "Et tu Brutus." Jenny says with a quirky smile. Unable to be mad at her little brother, especially for something he has no way of understanding, she gives up on being mad at the rest of us too. Somewhat surprised at her quote, "I raise my eyebrows and look towards Dianne, "Shakespeare?" "Since she was three." Dianne replies, "We were staying in a guest house up in the Southern Highlands and she insisted on a bed time story, but when I got out her books to choose from she pushed it away and said, 'I don't like them. I want a growed up story.' In the end, I said 'fine' and started to read Macbeth to her thinking that she would quickly become bored with it." "Ha," Tony puts in, "She lapped it up, and came back for more, the second night I got dragooned into it, because as Jenny put it, 'Mummy can't do the growly voices proper.' and by the end of the trip all three of us were reading the different parts." He chuckles at my incredulous look, "That's right, Jenny learnt to read from a Shakespeare play. It surprised the hell out of us too. We'd tried on a few earlier occasions to get her interested in reading by pointing out the words as we said them, but she showed absolutely no interest so we didn't try to push her." "However after a couple of days of reading Macbeth to her, she caught on that we were skipping the stage directions. She insisted on knowing what they said too, and to make sure that we didn't hold out on her, she pointed out each and every word from then on. The story suffered a bit, but by the end of the evening she was picking out several of the easier words on her own and by the end of our stay, she was the main attraction." "You should have seen the look on the waiter's face, when he asked me what she would like for dinner." Dianne puts in, "She grabbed his sleeve and gave it a tug, saying, 'I can do it myself.' Holding up the menu, which was very nearly as big as she was, she copied the way Tony had ordered, and said in the most serious of tones, 'For 'tarters I will have the tomato soup, but I want the b'ead all cut up in little bits and put in it. Then I want the chicken - what's that word Mummy - kiev, but I don't want any salad just the chips, and for desert I'll have ice cream with lots of hundreds and thousands.'" "He obviously thought it as a put up job, but he very nicely complimented her on her reading ability anyway and gravely took down her order. When he returned with the soup though, it was a whole different story. He very nearly had to fight his way through the crowd that surrounded our table. Knowing that there would be a wait before our meals would be served, we'd brought the book along to keep her amused, not thinking about the sort attention it would attract." "The first we knew of his return, was the crash as three bowls of soup hit the floor, and the startled oath that followed. Jenny was just reading out 'Is this a dagger I see before me.' when it happened, and we all looks up to see this poor man standing there with a mixture of tomato, and mushroom soups dripping down his front, complete with small squares of bread stuck to his white shirt front. 'Hey that's my soup.' she yelled at him." "The poor fellow was mortified, and when the owner, who was also the chef, came out to see what all the fuss was about he looked like he wanted to sink through the floor. The chef who was a very determined lady, chased him out of the room and called in someone to clean up the mess. Then as the other guests started to pester Jenny to read some more, she chased them back to their seats and laid down the law. No one was to ask her to read anything, if she wanted to read she would read but it was to be her choice, and they weren't to crowd her." "Right in the middle of this, Jenny piped up, 'Who are you?' and when the woman told her that she was the chef. they then proceeded to have an argument about proper chefs having to wear their hats. In the end she served us herself wearing a 'proper' chefs hat cobbled together out of butcher's paper. The next morning, Jenny found her very own newspaper waiting for her at breakfast." "So you think you're pretty smart?" I ask the smug looking little girl perched between my knees. "Uh-huh." she nods, grinning hugely. "Well we'll see about that on Wednesday." I grin back. Still grinning, she complains, "Did'ja have to remind me?" "No," I reply loftily, "but I wanted to." "Oooh!" she growls, and thumps my chest. "You know," I remark conversationally, "that wasn't a very smart thing to do." "Why not?" "Because I can do this." I say, lifting my legs to cross them over her lap and poking her in the sides. "NO!" she shrieks, struggling to pull my legs apart so she can escape. "No what?" I tease, delivering another pair of jabs to her unprotected sides. "Please don't." she begs, "I'm ticklish." "You don't say." three more jabs. This time a little harder to deliver as she pulls her arms into her sides. "Are you sure about that?" Four more. No please!." she cries, giggling and wriggling like mad. "What?" I ask with mock surprise, "You're not ticklish?" Bypassing her arms, I go straight for the stomach, making her double over and yell with laughter. "Yes!." she gasps, then as I come at her ribs from behind, "I mean no." "Yes? No? What is it?" I inquire mildly while punctuating my words with more jabs to her ribs and sides. "Oh please stop." she pleads, almost impossible to understand through her giggles. "Stop what?" I ask. "STOP TICKLING ME!" she yells. "There's no need to yell." I say in hurt tones, as I suddenly release her. "All you had to do was ask." Bereft of support, she slides bonelessly from the chair, landing with a soft thump on the floor between my feet. As she falls her nightshirt gets caught up on the front of the cushion and my legs, rucking the garment up under her arms and leaving her with nothing but her thin white knickers to cover her from just below her nipples down. As she rolls away from me, intent on escape, it becomes apparent that these too did not escape the effects of her precipitous descent. For the second time in two days, I'm treated to the sight of Jenny's milky white buttocks, this time with the seat of her undies pulled up between them in a full fledged wedgie. Then as she rolls over to glare at me, I'm pleased to note that the gusset of these knickers isn't lined and the outline of her sweet young pussy is clearly visible through the taught fabric. So intent is she on letting me know just how badly I've blotted my copybook, that it is not until her mother tells her, "Jenny! Straighten your clothes." that she realises the extent of her dishabille. With a crimson flush rising to cover her face, she lets out a little shriek of embarrassment, and unintentionally prolongs her display by first casting about with her eyes, looking for somewhere to hide. Then as she realises what she is doing she squeaks "Oh God!" and in her flustered state, the first thing she thinks to straighten is the undies uncomfortably stuffing her bum crack. As she pulls the rucked up fabric from between her buttocks I'm treated to a brief glimpse of a smooth hairless lip and the pale, pink flesh lining her prepubescent vulva. As she finishes her eyes meet mine and her flush deepens. With a despairing, "Oh no." she quickly tugs the hem of her nightshirt down, stretching the fabric until it almost meets her knees. Once she is decently covered, I apologise, "Sorry about that Jen." "Humph!" she responds, as she pointedly turns her back on me and her laughing father to select a book from the bookcase. "Don't worry about it." Dianne replies with a chuckle, "She started it and you finished it, though half tearing her clothes off was taking it a little too far." Now it is my turn to flush crimson as I stammer out, "I'm sorry, that was an accident." Chuckling again, she tells me, "Forget it, I was only teasing you." Turning to Tony she asks, "My point, wouldn't you agree?" "Indubitably, I couldn't agree more." he says in imitation of the Loony Toons chipmunks while grinning at me. "Hey I didn't know we were keeping score." I protest. "Well now you do." Dianne grins at me. "If I weren't a gentleman," I say, "I'd have to make a point about the attire in which it is customary to greets prospective employees." "But you're not." Dianne smiles, unfazed. "By your own admission: A true gentleman would not walk into a young ladies chamber unannounced." "Two - love," Tony says, "If I were you I'd stop digging before you get yourself in any deeper." A giggle from the bookshelves indicates that while she may not be talking to me, Jenny is still listening. "Watch it kid," I warn, "or I'll tell your mum why she had an extra pair of hands in the garden on Saturday." "What's this?" Tony asks, his interest piqued. "Nothing dear." Dianne tells him, "The girls decided to tease Greg with a fashion show, and he dealt with it. No Greg," she continues seeing the querying look in my eyes, "I didn't give her the third degree, she 'fessed up herself and told me everything, and I think you dealt with it admirably." "Thankyou." I respond. Then of Jenny I ask, "So why did you ask me to keep it quiet Jenny?" "B'cause I wanted to see if I could trust you of course stupid." She replies with an edge to her voice, then turns back to the bookcase. "Damn," I mutter in a voice intended to be heard across the room, "I lose more girlfriends that way." The tips of Jenny's ears turn bright pink as I say this, and her parents chuckle. "Your point." Tony tells me. An unintelligible mutter comes from Jenny as she grabs a copy of MAD from the shelf and throws herself face down on the floor in front of us, her back pointedly toward both Tony and myself. At first her bottom remains covered by her nightshirt but as she repeatedly rises to turn the pages, the hem begins to creep upwards until the bottom of her knickers comes into view. As Dianne, Tony and I talk she continues to move and within a very few minutes almost all of her tightly encased behind is on unconscious display. As neither of her parents comment, I take the opportunity to steal quick glances at her squirming bottom as I turn from one to the other. Finally though the temptation becomes too much for me and I say, "Jenny, I'm not sure that we really need to see what you had for breakfast." At first she looks up at me in confusion while her father roars with laughter and Dianne fights to look properly scandalised, then as she realizes what I mean, she mutters a clearly audible "Oh Shit!" and tugs her recalcitrant hem back into place over her partially exposed rear. "Sorry mum, it slipped out." she apologises, red faced. "So we saw." Dianne says, giving up on her attempt to appear outraged. "That's a disgusting expression Greg." she giggles. "It's a beauty isn't it?" I respond with a grin. "Depends on what you're talking about," Tony says, "because if you mean my daughter's backside, I'd have to kill you." "Nah it's too flabby for my tastes." I say casually, pretending to flinch as Jenny rolls over to glare at me. "Flabby?" she shrieks indignantly, "Flabby?" Scrambling to her feet she presents me with her back and bends over. "You call this flabby?" she asks looking back over her shoulder as she slaps her protruding buttocks with both hands. Even through the twin layers of cloth, the outline of her tightly encased buttocks is clearly visible, while beneath them only a single layer of fabric stands between my eyes and the puffy mound of her juvenile labia. Critically examining the out thrust fundament before me, I say, "No I call it a target." I pick up the hairbrush from where I'd set it down and brandish it menacingly, "And if you don't put it away, we'll see just how firm your bum really is." "Ha you don't scare me." she declares, skipping out of range just in case, "Daddy wouldn't let you. Would you Daddy?" "No honey I won't let him." Tony promises. "See." she says smugly, showing me her tongue and waggling her admittedly cute tail at me. "But I might let him watch me do it." Tony continues with a growl. With a sudden squeak Jenny jerks upright and skips backwards out of range of both me and her father. Grinning, she turns and briefly flips up the back of her nightshirt and bends over to wiggle her bottom twice before bolting from the room, her giggles fading as she pounds up the stairs. "I get no respect." Tony mutters while directing a glare at his chortling wife. "Yes dear." Dianne murmurs submissively, straightening her back and schooling her features into something resembling proper wifely respect. (For the eighteen nineties) "What would my lord and master have me do?" Lifting Jeremy around to sit astride my knees facing me, I smile saying, "Game, set, and match to the womenfolk, don't you think?" Chortling, he lifts the harmonica to his lips and blows a single short blast, almost as if he were agreeing with me. "Quite right," I nod solemnly, "sometimes I wonder why we put up with them." He answers with four short blasts on the harmonica, grouped two and two. "Yes," I say, as if agreeing with something he'd said, and continue with an arch look over his head at Dianne, "there is that." Two more notes, slightly longer this time. "Oh, and of course that." I respond, "But aren't you a little too young for that yet?" Giggling and blushing like a schoolgirl, Dianne breaks into my one sided conversation, "Enough, I concede the point. Now if you've quite finished corrupting my son, I think it's time he went to bed." "Aw, and just as we were getting to the juicy bits too." I complain to Jeremy with a grin. I cock my head as he blows another couple of blasts on the harmonica. "Really?" I look wide eyed at Dianne as she approaches. "Shocking, just shocking." I murmur, shaking my head and tutting loudly. Red faced, Dianne lifts Jeremy from my lap, pausing to allow him to deliver a sloppy kiss goodnight and to unwrap his arms from about my neck. Chuckling Tony allows himself to be hugged, kissed, and regaled with a one note tune. Then with a shocked glance at Dianne he says, "The gardener, AND the postman? At the same time?" Flushing a brilliant scarlet, Dianne turns from her husband with Jeremy on one hip. Then as her eyes pass over me, a wicked grin spreads across her face, and she says, "Damn found out, and just when I was thinking of adding another tutor to my collection too." Grinning at our red faces she asks, "Want to play some more boys?" "Uh, no." Tony stammers. "Uh, I really should be going." I say, "Thankyou for a delightful evening." "Spoilsport." Dianne says with a grin. "O.K. We'll see you on Wednesday." "I'll see you out." says Tony rising from his chair. Gathering my things from the floor, I follow Tony into the foyer, just as Dianne reaches the top of the stairs and sings out, "Greg's going now Jenny." "No wait." I hear Jenny yelp, "I gotta say goodbye first." Seconds later Jenny pelts into view on the landing and bounds down the stairs. Five steps from the bottom, she takes a flying leap, almost knocking me over as she crashes into me, her legs locking about my waist and her arms about my neck. "You were going to go without saying goodbye." she accuses me. "I thought you didn't like me any more." I reply, dropping my bag so that I can slip my hands beneath her buttocks and take some of the load off my neck. "I don't," she tells me, "but you can still be my boyfriend if you like." making both of her parents chuckle at this example of juvenile illogic. "Well in that case, I'd better apologise for teasing you." I say with a grin. "Yes you should." she tells me. Then after a few seconds, she prompts me impatiently, "Well hurry up, I'm waiting." Letting go of her bottom, I reach up and grasp her wrists. Pulling her arms from about my neck, I lower her to the floor and drop to one knee before her. Taking one small hand in both of mine, I look beseechingly into her eyes. "O sweet, fair maiden," I say, "I most humbly beg that you can find it in your heart bestow on this pitiful creature, who is your most unworthy servant, a single kind word of forgiveness." "I'll think about it." she says snatching her hand away, and assuming a pose with one hand cupping her elbow and the other her chin, her index finger tapping slowly on her cheek. Then as Tony chuckles: "Shut up Daddy, I'm thinking." As she thinks, I remain on bended knee, allowing my shoulders to droop in a show of abject dejection. Until, after an appropriately dramatic pause, Jenny says, "O.K. get up, I forgive you." Groaning theatrically, I press a hand to the small of my back as I lever myself upright. Then brace myself as Jenny leaps up to wrap her legs about my waist once more. Hanging from one arm about my neck, she leans back to repeatedly tap her finger on my nose. "Now let that be a lesson to you young man." she tells me sententiously. "Yes dear." I say in my most submissive tones. "He's silly." Jenny giggles, turning to look up the stairs at her smiling mother, "Can I keep him?" "Hey don't I get a say in this?" I protest, though not too strenuously. "Of course not male." Dianne tells me contemptuously. "Jenny, you'll have to train your man better than that if you want to let him in the house." "Oh goody!" Jenny cries joyfully, "That means I can keep you." Grabbing my ears, she plants a loud smacking kiss on my lips. Then before her parents can protest, she says, "That's for Jeremy." Slipping her arms about my neck she hugs me tightly, and whispers in my ear, "And me too. And I don't mind if you see my undies either." Blushing and giggling, she slips from my arms, deliberately (I'm sure) allowing het nightshirt to be pulled up to expose her white cotton knickers. "O.K. 'bye folks." I say as Jenny tugs her hem back into place. "See you Wednesday." "'Bye Greg." Tony says, "And thanks again for Jeremy." "'Goodbye Greg." Dianne calls, "And thanks." Blowing his harmonica, Jeremy waves wildly, his crabbed hand nearly clipping his mother's ear as she ducks. In deference to Dianne's continued good looks, I hastily grab my bag and with a final wave slip through the door and down the path. As I turn to close the gate, I glance up towards the front door. Jenny stands, silhouetted in the twilight, by the light streaming through the open doorway her arm upraised. As I wave back, I hear a startled squeak as she disappears abruptly and the door swings shut. Smiling to myself, I throw my bag into my car and slide behind the wheel. *********************************************************** Chapter 4 - More Lessons With thoughts of Jenny filling my mind, Wednesday afternoon comes both far to quickly and also with agonising slowness. Her infatuation with me is much more than I have ever had to deal with before. I find myself recalling every forbidden, stolen glimpse of her delightful young charms, looking forward to many more, knowing that I could use her crush on me to gain more, much more. Yet unlike Vanessa, who saw what we had done as deliciously forbidden, and a great deal of fun, but nothing more, I knew that as Jenny's passion faded, as it inevitably would, there was an incredible potential for danger for me, and enormous heartache for her. Several times on the Tuesday, I find myself reaching for the phone to tell them that I will not be able to continue, but I'm unable to find it in myself to cause pain to Jenny, nor to deny myself her company and the company of her delightful family. Finally, after an almost sleepless night, filled with a confused melange of images combining Jenny, Vanessa and my niece, I resolve to continue as we have begun, but never to let Jenny give me more than she is emotionally equipped to offer. Tired and wrestling with my conscience, my entire morning is wasted in restoring the user directory tree from backups after I wipe out almost every line of source written by the third year students instead of cleaning up old object files as I'd intended. After fending off twenty understandably irate students and repairing the results of my mistake, I feed my supervisor a load of bull about family problems and beg the rest of the day off. Left with over four hours to kill, I try to lose myself in a book, but after reading the same page for the umpteenth time, I give up and snarling at myself I return it to its place on the shelf. Staring sightlessly at the rows of spines arrayed before me, I alternately berate myself for the effect one small girl has on me, and wonder how I am to teach science to that same girl without access to the proper apparatus. Finally a partial answer becomes apparent amongst the army of volumes standing stiffly before my eyes. Running my fingers along the shelves that up until a few seconds previously had mocked my confusion with their rigid order, I swiftly select about half a dozen volumes. I glance through the tables of contents and after exchanging one book for another, I sit down and begin marking pages with yellow PostIt notes. Caught up in doing something for the girl I am already thinking of as 'my Jenny' I lose all track of the time and when I finally glance at my watch I realise that I have less than half an hour to gather everything together and to drive over to her house. I make it, just barely, arriving on their doorstep with less than a minute to spare. Jenny answers my knock at the door, throwing it open and greeting me with a big grin. "Mum's not here yet," she tells me as she pulls me inside, "she's still getting Jeremy from his school." "Maybe I'd better wait for her then." I say with a glance toward the closed door behind me. "O.K." Jenny agrees, "The longer I have to wait to do those stupid fractions the better. Let's watch TV." "That's not what I meant Jenny." I say, "I don't think it's a good idea, my being alone with you." "Why?" she asks with innocent curiosity. Not sure that I want to try and explain that to Jenny in my current state, I change my mind, saying, "It's a bit hard to explain, but since I am here, I think it best if we get right to work. So start marching." "Meanie." She tells me, and turning on her heel, she flounces up the stairs, the hem of her tunic swirling tantalisingly, but not quite revealing any more than it should. "O.K. then," I say as I sling my bag onto a chair and pull another out from under the table. Straddling it backwards, I cross my arms on the back and finish with a grin, "let's get these fractions out of the way." "Do I have to?" she moans, hanging back, "I can't even do ordinary dividing properly yet." "Yes you have to." I reply, "Now sit." With poor grace, Jenny slumps into a chair and shoves the waiting pad of paper towards me, "It's no use," she complains "I really can't do them." "You won't know until you've tried." I reply, thrusting the pad back at her. "Now since I'm feeling lazy today, you can start by writing one quarter divided by, hmm, let's make it eleven sixteenths." "I can't do that." she howls, "It's much too hard." "There's no such word as 'can't'." I tell her pointing at the pad, "Write!" Muttering under her breath she scrawls out the equation, and sits staring at it despairingly, "What do I do now?" she asks. Time to put her out of her misery. Grinning I ask, "Can you remember how to multiply fractions?" "Yeah that's easy." she says. "Well dividing is just multiplication turned on it's head, so turn that," I point to the paper in front of her, "into a multiplication." "How?" "Turn the second number upside down." I tell her. "That's it?" she asks incredulously. "That's it." I reply with a broad grin. With a screech of outrage, Jenny flies out of her chair, launching herself bodily at me. Her arm locked tight around my neck, she pulls sideways, tipping me onto the floor. Laughing hugely, I let her drop down onto my stomach and thump my chest a couple of times before catching her wrists in my hands. Then grasping both small wrists in one hand I use the other to threaten her ribs and exposed armpits, drawing involuntary laughing screeches from her without actually touching her. Jerking ineffectually against my grip, she thrashes about, her short tartan tunic rising higher and higher on her widespread thighs until it becomes little more than a belt about her waist. Today however, there is little to see. A pair of bottle green gym shorts cover her to just below her navel. However as we continue to struggle playfully the scent of fresh little girl sweat begins to fill my nostrils, and I recall that she has sports on Wednesday afternoons. In her bouncing about to escape my threatening fingers, she slides backwards a few inches to far, her little bottom coming down on my already half hard member. Seconds later her squirming finishes the job. At first she continues to jounce around, unaware of the effect she is having on me, then just as I prepare to push her off me she comes down a little harder than normal making me gasp at the discomfort. Concerned she ceases her own movements, her eyes widening as she realises what she is sitting on. Suddenly self-conscious she looks down at herself realising her own exposure, minimal as it is. As I move to push her off me, she throws herself away from me, landing with a solid thud, some distance further away than either of us had intended. "Well I see you've taught her division." Dianne observes laughingly from the doorway. "Uh yeah." I stammer as her sudden unexpected presence has the salutatory effect of immediately reducing my cock to a limp noodle. "Um sorry." "What for?" she asks with a grin, "I don't see any bloodstains on the carpet, and near as I can tell you were the victim of an unprovoked and unwarranted attack by my naughty daughter." "It wasn't unprovoked," Jenny protests loudly, "he tricked me." "Oh really?" Dianne asks with deceptive mildness, "How?" "He made me think dividing fractions was hard. They're easy." she says. Then catching the expression on her mother's face she accuses, "Hey you already knew. How come you didn't tell me?" "Because it was too much fun watching you squirm." Dianne chuckles. Turning to me she adds, "Jenny tried to tell me she was sick this morning." "I was sick." Jenny declares, "I had a temperature and everything." "Yes it was a little high, forty five degrees if I recall correctly." Dianne tells me. "Well since I didn't pass any hearses on the way here, I can only assume you used the thermometer to stir your mother's coffee." I say to Jenny. "How did you... I mean I didn't, it really was that high." Jenny stammers in protest. "Forget it kid, your busted." I grin, "If your temperature really was that high, you'd be a rotting corpse. Now if you really want to make yourself look sick," I continue, "don't let the temperature get above thirty eight or thirty nine and lick your hands and rub them on your forehead to make it clammy." "Greg!" Dianne chides me. Grinning back at Dianne, I say, "And since your mum now knows those dodges, you'll have to figure something else out. Now since we're both supposed to be working, how about you do that problem for me, to see if dividing is as easy as you said." Showing me her tongue, Jenny takes her seat and hunches over the table. A few seconds later she lifts her head to tell me, "It's sixteen, forty-fourths. Isn't it?" "I don't know." I reply with a grin, "I don't remember what the numbers were, I just picked them out of the air." "Well work it out and tell me." Jenny says shoving the pad across the table at me. I quickly glance at her working before announcing, "Yeah it looks about right, but it's not the simplest answer possible. Have another go." "What? how?" she asks pulling it back before her. "Well I'll leave you two to it." Dianne says from the doorway, "And Jenny." "Huh yeah Mum?" Jenny turns her head to look at her mother. "You know you're supposed to get out of your uniform when you get home." "Sorry Mum." Jenny says contritely to the closing door. Suddenly a wicked gleam enters her eyes, and she looks at me as she stands and strips her tunic off over her head. Tossing it over the back of her chair, she assumes a saucy pose as she begins to unbutton her blouse. As she reaches the bottom button I find my voice. "Uh Jenny, I don't think this was what your mum had in mind." "Oh it's all right." Jenny says blithely as she shrugs the blouse off and tosses it on top of her tunic. "These are my sports clothes." Grinning at my discomfiture, she poses for me in her skin tight, sulfur yellow, halter top and equally tight dark green gym shorts. "I've even got knickers on underneath. See?" Still grinning she pulls the waistband of her shorts down far enough to reveal a two inch strip of pale pink cotton. "Jenny!" I manage to choke out, while tearing my eyes away from the alluring outline the top of her pudenda makes in the stretched fabric. "I tod you I don't mind if you see my undies." she tells me with a giggle. Thankfully though she tugs the waistband back up to its accustomed position just below her navel. "Well I do." I mutter to myself. To her I say, "You realise that you're going to have to work real hard now." "Why?" she asks, eyeing me somewhat apprehensively. "Because they're prime tickling clothes." I reply with a grin, "Now hop to it." "Oops I forgot about that." she admits, hastily taking her seat and pouring over the problem. After half a minute of brow furrowing concentration, she looks up at me. "I can't see why it's wrong." "There's nothing wrong with your answer Jen, it's just that there's an even simpler one." I say, "Try to see if you can work out what you can do to both the top and the bottom numbers so that they're smaller." "I can divide them both by two, but won't that change the answer?" she asks after a few seconds of scrutiny. "No it won't." I reply, "Give it a try and I'll explain why in a second." "Eight twenty-seconds," she announces, "and I can do it again, so that's four elevenths. Is that right? How come it doesn't change the answer?" "Exactly right, and it doesn't change because you did nothing to it." "Huh?" she looks at me perplexedly. "Well not exactly nothing, you divided it by four quarters. Which is the same as?" I say. "A football match." she tells me with a perfectly straight face. "Well I see I get to try out those tickle clothes of yours." I say with a grin. Before she can retreat, I jab my fingers into the soft skin between her top and bottoms. "ONE!" she shrieks, "It's the same as one." "Isn't it amazing what you can do with the right incentive?" I ask with a grin, while feinting at her belly button. "NO!" she squeals, batting my hand away. When I withdraw it she asks more calmly, "But wouldn't that make the numbers even bigger." "No because turning the second number upside down is just a mathematical trick." I answer, "You can get the same answer by dividing the two top numbers and then the two bottom numbers like you do with multiplying, but because using the trick is usually easier we don't normally bother until right at the end when we want to simplify the answer." "I think I get it." she replies doubtfully. "Look, remember on Monday when you were working out what fractions were the same as other fractions. What's two eighths the same as?" "A quarter." "And four eighths?" "A half." "Now simplify them the same way you did this one." I tell her pointing at her original answer. Frowning with concentration she does so, the frown clearing as she gets the same answers as the ones she'd more or less memorized." "So do you get it now?" I ask. "Uh huh." she nods. "Good girl." I praise her, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. "Now how about you make up a few more and do them to get it properly fixed in your head and then we can start on adding and subtracting." Pouting, she shrugs my hand off so roughly, that I begin to worry that my touch had upset her. However, as I concentrate on writing out some addition problems, I see her reach up to touch the shoulder my hand had been on, out of the corner of my eye, and a secretive smile crosses her lips as she briefly hugs herself. Ten minutes or so later she pushes her equations across to me and takes mine from me. Grinning I let her go for it, while I quickly check her answers, finding them all correct. "Very good." I complement her. "These aren't." She bemoans, "I can't get any of them right." Looking over her shoulder, I quickly see that she has got herself into all sorts of strife by trying to do the problems the same way as she had been doing multiplication and division. A couple of the answers are right, but it's obvious from the wildly inaccurate values she's scratched out that she is drawing on her memory of Monday for them. "O.K. stop." I tell her, "When you add and subtract, you have to make the number on the bottom of both fractions the same first and then when you add them that number doesn't change." "How am I supposed do I do that?" she demands. "By multiplying both fractions by one." I say cryptically. "Huh?" she begins, then her face clears a little and she asks, "Like four quarters, you mean?" "That's right." I begin, intending to clarify the process of determining a common denominator further, but she snatches the problems back and starts on the first one. "They're already the same," she says, "so I just have to add the top two together. Right?" "That's right." I reply. She quickly works through the first few then gets to the first problem with differing denominators. Frowning she works at it for a few seconds then announces, "I timesed the first number by two halves, but I don't have to change the second one b'cause the bottom number's already the same." "One on one is still a fraction." I remind her. She thinks about this for a few seconds then grins, "Oh yeah, so it is." Obviously pleased with herself she continues to power through the problems until she reaches the first problem where the denominator of one is not a factor of the other. I let her flounder away at it for half a minute or so before stopping her. "How about if you use this number for the first fraction and this one for the second?" I ask, pointing at the two denominators in reverse order. "But they're diff..." she begins, then her eyes light up, "Oh yeah, they're both still one they're just different 'ones'. Hey couldn't I have done that to these other ones too?" She asks pointing at the earlier equations. "Yes, but then you'd have to simplify them later." I reply, "Besides you're less likely to make a silly mistake if you keep the numbers on top as small as possible." "Uh-huh." she nods as she applies herself to the remainder of the problems. Barely pausing when she gets to problems with three and then four terms, she correctly breaks them down into simpler equations and ploughs on. Only when she gets to the last two problems I'd set, which involved both multiplication and addition does she stop and look up at me. Even then, all it takes is my reminding her of the BODMAS rule for her finish the sheet of problems, and slap her pencil down with a triumphant, "There." Taking the pad from her, I pretend to check her work over, even though I'd been doing so all the time she'd been working. As she waits for my verdict, I can't help teasing her by frowning, and occasionally 'tut, tutting' and shaking my head. "Well!" I finally say, in tones of utmost disapproval, "After reading through this lot," I flick the paper contemptuously, "I don't know what to say." I pause for a few seconds watching her face fall, until I can no longer restrain my grin, "Except: You are absolutely brilliant." For a few seconds she stares at me, a picture of supreme dejection, before what I'd said filters through and her face lights up. "Really?" she squeals exultantly. "Not a single one wrong." I reply smugly, "Just goes to show what a brilliant teacher I am. Ouch! what was that for?" I ask as she thumps me solidly in the shoulder. "For teasing me like that." she tells me. "Now you've gotta pay for it." "Oh do I now?" I grin, "And what's it going to cost me?" "A kiss." she replies, blushing furiously at the audacity of her request. "Is that all." I say, leaning over to deposit a chaste peck on her forehead. "No a proper one." she demands, "On the lips." "I don't think that's a very good idea." I reply gently but firmly. "You've gotta." she insists, "You're my boyfriend and now you have to kiss me properly." "No Jenny." "Pleeeezzze?" she wheedles, "Pretty pleeeezzze? Pretty, pretty please?" As she gazes soulfully up at me, I find myself weakening, thinking that one little kiss won't hurt anything, and when she hugs my arm against her tiny marble sized breast, I hear myself say, "O.K., but just one and that's it." Beaming smugly, she pulls my head down level with hers, but when I make a move to cover the last few centimetres she stops me, "No, you gotta do it properly. Close your eyes and put your arms around me and everything." As I close my eyes and encircle her in my arms, she pulls my lips to hers, for a moist, close-mouthed kiss that lasts for about three seconds before it is heart-stoppingly interrupted by a voice from behind us. "Well, if I could have looked forward to that was the sort of reward in school I might have done a whole lot better." Dianne says as I jerk backwards guiltily. "Mummy!" Jenny squeals red faced, "How long have you been there?" "Long enough." she chuckles, waving me silent, "I came up to tell you that it's time for a break, but you were doing so well I didn't want to interrupt. Come on I've got some cakes and drinks waiting downstairs." As Jenny pushes her way past us and pelts at breakneck speed down the stairs, Dianne holds me back. 'Oh shit, this is it.' I think 'She wanted to get Jenny out of the way first.' Frantically trying to find a way to excuse the inexcusable, I miss her first words. "...sweet. Thankyou for not rejecting her." "Huh?" It was like taking on a step that wasn't there. "I know puppy love can be somewhat trying." she says, "God knows, I made a big enough nuisance of myself when I was a kid, but you treated it like it was real and something special instead of laughing at her." "I thought you'd be mad at me for taking advantage of Jenny." I say wonderingly. "I don't think you are capable of doing that." she says, her voice tinged with, unbelievably, respect. "I couldn't." I say simply. "I know," she replies, "each time she's given you an opportunity, just now, and on Saturday, your first thought has been to protect her." "What makes you think I wasn't just protecting myself?" I ask. "Because you took the time to teach the girls why their actions on Saturday were dangerous, when the safest course for you was to dob them in, or pack your bags and run." Dianne says, "And if it was your own hide that you were seeking to protect, you would never have given her that sweet kiss today." "You've got me dead to rights there." I say, venturing a small smile. "And don't you forget it." She grins waggling a finger under my nose, "Now come on, or there'll be nothing left of afternoon tea but the bare bleached bones." She leads me to the kitchen, where Jenny and Jeremy are busy stripping the carcass of a fair sized tea cake. As soon as he hears my voice Jeremy abandons his plate. With surprising agility, he avoids his mother's attempt to intercept him, and babbling joyfully, he wraps himself about my leg. "Sorry about that." Dianne apologises while snatching up a cloth and attempting to clean his sticky fingers and face in situ. "It's O.K." I grin, "At least this food is at the beginning of it's journey." "Huh? Oh." she giggles. "What about your pants?" "Why I do believe I possess a washing machine." I say as if surprised to recall such a thing, "And wonder or wonders, I might even be able to use it. Dianne, I've been snotted, peed, pooed, and chucked up on, I doubt very much that a few cake crumbs are going to worry me unduly." "Upsidaisy." I say to Jeremy, as Dianne decides that he is as clean as she can make him. Lifting him to my knee I take a seat beside Jenny. "Let's see what morsels of sustenance your greedy sister has left us." "Hey he ate as much as I did." Jenny protests loudly. "What vile untruths are these?" I say, "Why the very evidence is against you young miss, not a single crumb doth besmirch my client's fair countenance, yet your own bears ample witness to your consummate greed." "Oh woe betide me, I am undone." Jenny bemoans, "I beg your leniency kind sir, for I am young and have never before offended." "I have no mercy," I reply grimly, "I insist that the court impose the harshest sentence possible, three terms of periodic detention at hard labour, beginning with one hour of science." Throwing herself to her knees, she clutches my hand and begs, "Oh no kind sir! Won't you please reconsider, I have been deprived most all of my life." "Oh for Pete's sake buy her some frilly knickers!" I cry turning to Dianne, "She's getting my pants all soggy." A rosy flush creeps down to the neck of Jenny's skimpy top as Dianne lets out a tuneful laugh Sobering she replies, "Nay, I fear to reward her would hasten her decline into moral turpitude. I concur with your evaluation of the need for harsh treatment, three full terms shall she labour at your direction." Winking she, adds in a stage whisper to Jenny, "Maybe when we go shopping on Saturday." "Caught between blushing once more and bouncing with glee, Jenny goes for broke. "And a horse?" Laughing helplessly, Dianne turns to me. "See what I mean?" she asks, "Give an inch and they take a mile." "Well it was worth a try." Jenny says with a sheepish grin. Uh Jenny?" I ask quietly, "Would you mind letting me have my hand back?" Giggling, she releases me and returns to her seat. Loading up a plate with two generous slices of cake, she pushes it toward me, along with a glass of orange juice. Noting the swift passage of time, I, with the enthusiastic help of Jeremy, make short work of the cake set before me. However, when I attempt to set Jeremy down, he clings fiercely to my neck, refusing to let go, and when his mother attempts to take him from me, he tightens his arms and begins to whimper. Trying to make light of it, I comment to Dianne, "Well, it looks like he wants to learn some science too." "You can try," Dianne replies doubtfully. Jenny too, is suddenly sober, "Once he starts he usually gets a lot worse before he gets better." she tells me. "We can but try." I reply optimistically. At first, it seems that my optimism is justified, as Jeremy quietens down and loosens the tight hold he has on my neck. Not wanting a relapse, I settle him on my knee as Jenny brings out her science books and takes her own seat. All goes well for a few minutes as Jenny tells me what they hand been doing that day in school. However once it becomes apparent that my attention is on his sister and not him, Jeremy angrily pushes her books to the floor and twists to look up at me hopefully. "No Jeremy," I tell him firmly, "I have to help Jenny now." He listens with his head cocked to one side as I speak, but the moment Jenny lifts her books to the table, he lunges at them with a shriek of outrage. Then when Jenny blocks him and slides the books out of his reach he wildly hits out at her and lets out a scream that leaves him blue in the face. Catching his hands in mine to protect her only seems to make matters worse. With his face only inches from mine he draws breath and cuts loose with a shriek that sets my ears ringing. On and on it goes, his face turning a deep shade of purple that scares the hell out of me. Yelling to be heard above the noise, Dianne says, "I'm sorry Greg you'll have to go, he's not going to stop until you are gone." But what about my lessons?" Jenny objects as I hand Jeremy, kicking and screaming, to his mother. "I'm sorry honey, they'll just have to wait." Dianne says, "You know what he's like when he gets like this." "Can't we do them outside?" Jenny asks hopefully. "Do you think you can manage without any books and things, because if Jeremy sees you take anything it's going to take me a lot longer to calm him down." "Remind me to tell you of a famous Greek philosopher's definition of a university one day." I say in reply. "No paraphernalia is needed." "Good, "Dianne says as Jeremy winds himself up for another ear splitting shriek, 'Now get out of here before I go completely deaf." They accompany me to the front door, allowing Jeremy to see me leaving alone. "Wait out the side, I'll be there soon." Jenny says as she closes the door behind me. A couple of minutes later Jenny comes flying around the corner of the house, having escaped via the rear. In the two minutes or so that she has been out of sight, she has exchanged her gym clothes for a loose fitting white blouse and a short denim skirt. As she leads me toward a remote corner of the garden, I ask, "What did I do wrong?" "Nuthin'," Jenny replies, "He just decided that I'd had you for long enough and it was his turn. I knew it was going to happen as soon as he started getting grizzly." "That's good," I reply, "I'd hate to think I was responsible, even by accident. Now let's go find that university." "Huh?" "A very famous man in Ancient Greece once said a university was a log with a teacher on one end and a student on the other." I explain. "And that over there looks to be just the place, to start." Jenny looks to where I am pointing at a swing hanging from a branch high overhead. "That's not a log." "Well the log is optional," I grin, "all you really need are the teacher and the student. Sit." She does as I instruct, giggling as I get behind her and start the swing moving. "This is a funny way to teach me." "I have my methods." I tell her while continuing to push. "Now why do you think you have to do science in primary school?" "I dunno?" she replies. "Well," I ask, "do you think you are going to make any startling discoveries? Like making water run uphill or curing the common cold?' "No of course not silly." she giggles, "We just do stuff that people have done heaps of times before." "So why do it if it's already been done?" I ask. "Uh, is it because you have to know what's already been done so that you can recognize something new?" "That's a pretty good guess," I say encouragingly, "but it's not right. It's been something like two hundred years since it was possible for one person to learn everything that was known about science. Nowadays, a person can go to university for ten years and still not know everything there is to know about one tiny insect." "Why would they want to? I hate insects." Jenny declares. "Because they can learn a lot about people by studying those insects and they can do things to them that they can't do to people, like giving them two heads and no bum, or legs where their eyes should be and other stuff like that." "Gross!" "It might seem like that," I agree, "but they have their reasons. Do you know what genes are? And I don't mean blue pants either." She snorts at my spoiling her joke, but answers me, "Is that like what makes our eyes different colours and stuff like that?" "Exactly." I say, "Well what these scientists do with fruit flies is find out what different genes do by changing them around to see what happens. When they think they have one worked out they swap it with another one, and if they are right, they get a fruit fly with legs on their heads." "Or eyes on their bums." Jenny giggles. "Or eyes on their bums." I agree. "But what do tiny little bugs have to do with people?" "Quite a bit really." I reply, "Scientists studied fruit flies, because what they were interested in was just learning about the genetic code, and fruit flies only have about two thousand genes while people have about a hundred thousand or so. So they started breeding millions of fruit flies and every time a weird one appeared they could examine it's genes and say well that gene has something to do with growing legs. "But what was really amazing, was when they found a tiny group of genes all together that seemed to control how all of the other genes worked. They found that if they changed almost any other gene, it might do nothing at all or it would make only a single change to the way the fruit fly would develop. But if they changed one of the genes in this group, really big changes would occur all over the fruit fly, things like extra eyes or legs, or a head at each end, or two tails and no head at all. "And when they looked at other creatures, they found that they all had a group of genes that did the same things and these genes were almost exactly the same whether it was a tiny insect no bigger than a full stop or a whale thirty metres long. They weren't exactly the same and they found that higher animals had other special control genes as well, but they found that the ones I've been talking about are so similar that they can put ones from a frog into a fruit fly and they still work." "Can you imagine what would have happened if they did it the other way round?" Jenny giggles. "The frog would have kept on trying to eat itself." "Very funny." I chuckle. "Now how about you do a little science yourself. I see that you have a watch on, so why don't you see what it can tell you about how this swing is moving." I step back, letting the swing travel freely whilst she attempts to time the length of each swing. After a half dozen or so cycles she complains, "I think they all take the same time but I just cant tell properly." "Well try timing ten swings at a time." I reply. She does as I suggest, finally announcing a figure and asking, "But what's this got to do with science?" "On it's own nothing," I respond, "but the essence of science is trying out the same things under different conditions to see how things change. That time, you started out about level with the bottom of my ribs, lets see what happens when you start out higher." Taking hold of the swing, I raise it up level with my shoulders and cautioning her not to pump it, I let go. A short while later she announces, with no little surprise in her voice, "It's the same." "Are you sure?" I ask. "After all the sample's pretty small. Those scientists with the fruit files might examine a million insects just to find the one or two that are worth studying." "I've got to do this a million times?" she asks incredulously, "I'll be sick." "No I don't think we need to do it quite that many times," I chuckle, "but you do have to do it often enough that you're sure of your answers." We repeat the experiment a few more times, with the height of the swing ranging from below waist height, to well above my head, and to Jenny's delight, it turns out that the period of the swing does indeed remain constant. "What now?" she asks, leaping from the swing. She lands awkwardly, teetering for a couple of seconds before falling forward onto her hands and knees, and giving me a brief tantalising flash of her bottom encased in pink cotton. "Now you get to do it all over again." I grin, "You have to make sure that your discovery is not just a peculiarity of your swing." "How?" "How about that locket hanging around your neck." I suggest, "You can try different lengths with it to see what effect that has." After a couple of abortive attempts trying to read her watch and hold the top of the swinging chain steady, she gets me to hold the chain while she performs her measurements. She is ready to announce her findings after performing the experiment once with the chain folded in half and again with the clasp undone and the locket suspended from the full length of the chain. "What if you made some sort of silly mistake." I remind her, holding my hand up to prevent her speaking. "It's not enough to get some answers, you have to get answers that make sense, and you have to be able to reproduce those answers when you repeat an experiment, otherwise it's not science." "But we don't do things over and over again at school." "Don't you?" I ask quietly, "How many of you are there in your class?" "About twenty five." she replies. "So how many times does the experiment get done then?" "Oh yeah!" she mumbles sheepishly. "That's right," I say, "you might not have time to do something twenty five times in class but if twenty five of you all do the same thing, it works out the same. What would you do if twenty three of your classmates got one answer and you and someone else got a completely different one?" "Try again, 'cause we obviously did something wrong." "Well that's a good working hypothesis, but what happens if you keep on getting the same answer anyway?" "Ask for help 'cause we're probably still doing something wrong but we're too dumb to see it." "Also a good working hypothesis and ninety nine times out of a hundred it's the right one, but that one time out of a hundred is why scientists always keep very careful notes. Sometimes some very profound insights come from getting things wrong, or from data that doesn't fit in with the rest. Did you know that the Germans were the first to split the atom, but the scientists working with uranium were trying to do something else and when they got results that they didn't expect they decided that their sample was contaminated and threw everything away. It was one of their assistants, who was a lady by the way, who guessed what had really happened, and when her colleagues wouldn't listen to her, she told another colleague who did listen. Luckily for us he moved to America before the war, or things might have turned out a lot different." "But what about when you're writing a report like for school?" Jenny asks, "If you put in all of the results, even the wrong ones you'll get the wrong answer." "You're right, you would," I agree, "so you don't use those figures when you're making your conclusion, but even so, you still record, and report every single result and then explain why you aren't using some of them." "So that's why we have to do things that everybody already knows the answer to at school." Jenny says, "So we do things the right way when we do important experiments later." "That's right, good science is all about doing experiments over and over again to help eliminate errors. Like when you're timing a pendulum, if you just time one swing, any errors are a big part of your answer, but if you time ten swings then the error is a much smaller part of the result. And you do it several times just in case you loose count and only time nine swings one time. "And that brings us to another important part of doing good science; meticulous record keeping. So that the proper conclusions just about jumps up off the paper and bite you on the nose. It also means that when you do make a silly mistake, and believe me everyone does at one time or another, the mistake stands out too. Whatever you do, never, never try to hide those mistakes. You might get laughed at if it's a particularly stupid blooper, but if you ever get caught cooking the books, you might as well get a job washing car windscreens, because no one will ever trust you again." "Is that all you need to know to be a scientist?" "Well they are probably the two most important things you need to know. However, when you do an experiment you need to design your experiment in such a way as to get rid of as many errors as possible before you start. Often scientists will spend hours or even days to get everything just right, checking everything over and over again, when the actual experiment takes less than a millionth of a second to perform. "Like using a tape measure and a ruler in case you forget about the bit over on the ends of the ruler?" "That is a perfect example." I praise her, "Nearly everybody will tell you a ruler is thirty centimetres long, and probably keep on telling you that until they're blue in the face, at least until you get them to measure it. "Now there is one more thing that you need to be able to do to be a scientist, and that is to ask the right sort of questions and then design the experiments you need to do to answer them. But you don't need to worry about that quite yet as you need to know enough science first, so that you know what the right sort of question is in the first place." "Sounds boring." Jenny says, "You do the same things over and over again and write everything down, and hope you get lucky one day." "Well if you insist on putting it that way, yes it does sound boring." I agree, "Then again so does playing the piano if you put it like that. You spend hours and hours every day doing the same things over and over again and in the end you hope you're good enough that you get to play for a proper audience. Look at anything worthwhile in that light and it's boring, hours and hours of practice and not much chance of a result. Why do *you* do gymnastics, you'll probably never go to the Olympics." "Besides," I continue, "not everybody who learns science does so, so that they can make new discoveries and become famous. There are hundreds of jobs which need you to know about science so you can do them well, like making wine or beer, or mining for gold, or making strong metals for better car engines." Sitting up and hugging her knees to her chest, Jenny looks thoughtful, "I guess so, Daddy's a sort of scientist, but he never says his job is boring. But he doesn't have to do stuff heaps of times either." "Don't you believe it." I chide her, "If he's designing a new rocket motor, he might test dozens of different designs until he gets one that works the way he wants it to, and even then he will probably change it a little bit and do some more testing. And again, and again, and then probably a few more times for good measure, but when he finally does get what he wanted, he also gets the satisfaction of having done the best job he is capable of." Frowning in deep thought, Jenny rocks slowly back and forth, the motion drawing my attention to where her pink cotton knickers pouch loosely over her hidden vulva. A little lower, I can see where the fabric in back has crept up into the crack of her backside. Lost in thought, she absently reaches down and scratches at the inside of her leg, her fingers briefly dislodging the loose cloth and letting me glimpse a smooth plump pussy lip. A few seconds later she scratches herself more vigorously, once again accidentally showing me a portion of her hairless charms. This time though, she realises what she is doing and with a squeak of embarrassment she throws her legs out straight in front and pushes her short skirt down between her thighs. Chuckling softly I observe, "You're going to have to learn to sit more carefully than that after your mum gets you those sexy knickers on Saturday." "You didn't see?" she asks red faced. "See what?" I ask in reply. "Nothing." she mumbles, obviously relieved. I could have left it there but a wicked little devil prompts me to say, "Well I wouldn't call it nothing, you just need to give it a few more years." "Oh you did see." she squeaks, hiding her face in her hands. "Jenny," I say softly, "the Japanese, have a saying, 'Nakedness is often seen but never noticed.' I'm not some silly little boy from school who's going to run around telling everyone I saw your pussy, so lets forget about it O.K.?" "O.K." she mumbles, still tugging at her too short skirt. "Did you see much?" "Hardly anything at all." I reassure her. "Now do like I said and forget it." "Bet you wish you saw more." she suddenly giggles. "Jenny." I say warningly, "I'm nearly three times your age, and what I might wish is both irrelevant and none of your concern. Now we have half an hour left, so let's have a bit of a wander around and try out your powers of observation." "How?" "Well what about that rock over there." I point to a large flat rock at the edge of a garden bed. "What about it?" "What about it indeed." I half mock, "Have a good look at it and tell me everything you can think of." With a look as if to say I'm mad, she bends over the rock in question, "It's sandstone." She announces. "And?" I prompt. "I guess that means it's made of sand." "Very likely." I say, "Anything else?" "It's got a whole lot of different layers in it." "Why do you think that might be?" I ask. "I don't know." She says, sounding unhappy that she has to make that admission. "Hey Jen," I say, "there's nothing wrong with saying 'I don't know.', It's the first step in saying 'I want to know.' Now have a look at this layer here," I trace my finger along a dark red, almost black, streak within the stone. "What does it look like to you?" "Rust?" she asks uncertainly. "Close enough." I grin, "It's the same stuff that rust is made of, iron oxide, though this here probably hasn't been pure metal since the star it was made in blew up. It formed when water that was very rich in iron salts dried up completely and left this layer behind. Now what about this layer?" I point out an almost pure white layer of stone. "There wasn't any iron in the water when it was made. And that means there was a little bit when this one was made and a lot when this one was. Right?" "What do you need me for?" I grin ruffling her hair. She reddens, this time with pleasure, as she jerks her head out from under my hand. Squatting, she peers closely at the rock, unconcerned that once again her knickers are on display, this time so tightly stretched over her mound that the cleft separating her labia is clearly evident.. "Hey, there are little shells in it." she cries excitedly, "And this looks like a bit of a big one. Are they fossils?" "Yes they're fossils." I confirm, "Now what do they tell you about where this rock came from?" I ask. "It was in the sea once." "The sea's a long way away from here," I say with false scepticism, "so how would it get here?" "Someone must have put it here." "Are you sure?" I ask, "Have a good look around and think about it." "Um, there's lots of rocks like this one, so that means it must have always been here. 'Cause nobody would have brought all of them here. So that means this spot must have been under the sea once. But how come it's not any more?" "You're right this spot once was under water millions of years ago." I say, "As for how it became dry land, that's because the Earth isn't just a big ball of rock. Over millions of years the top layer moves about, and some of it rises up and other parts sink. "Uh-huh." she nods, "How come it's all stuck together? I mean sand sticks together when it's wet, but it just comes apart when it dries out." "Well, when sand gets washed down into the sea, or into a lake, it spreads out on the bottom, and more gets washed down on top of it, and then some more still. Now this keeps on happening over millions of years until its hundreds or thousands of metres thick and the grains of sand in the bottom layers get squeezed so tightly together that they stick to each other." "Jenny. Greg." Dianne's voice calls out to us from the house. "Yeah Mum?" Jenny shouts back, still intent on examining the rock. "It's time to come in now." Dianne yells. "O.K. Mum." Jenny calls and holds her hand out for me to pull her upright. "You have an interesting way of tutoring in science." Dianne greets me with a smile, "First you play with her on the swing and then you try to hypnotise her." "He was too teaching me science." Jenny cries leaping to my defence, "Did you know it takes the same time to swing from one side to the other when you go high as when you go low. If you want to make the swings go longer you have to change how long the chain or rope is. We tested it scientifically." "As a mater of fact I didn't, so I'll take your word for it." Dianne says with a smile. "And did you know our place used to be under the sea too?" Jenny says excitedly, "We've got fossils and everything." "Well I knew it had to have been under water at some time, because the rock around here is sandstone," Dianne says, "but where did you find the fossils?" In that rock we were looking at, there's hundreds of tiny little sea shells." Jenny says. "So you found your log." Dianne grins at me. "Yes I did." I grin back. "So did you learn anything else." Dianne asks of Jenny. "Uh-huh," Jenny nods, "I learnt that people and fruit flies have got the same genes and that you can put genes from a frog into a fruit fly and they work the same. And when you change those genes really weird things happen like making fruit flies with two bottoms and other weird stuff." "Well you seemed to have jumped all over the place this afternoon," Dianne comments with raised eyebrows, "but none of it seems to have much to do with what you're doing at school at the moment." "Oh it does." Jenny says earnestly, 'it was all about how scientists have to do experiments hundreds and hundreds of times to make sure they got them right, like did you know they have to look at millions of fruit flies just to find a few interesting ones? And they have to write down everything even the wrong answers." "It's the scientific method." I say, noticing that Dianne is still looking a little confused, "It's a bit difficult to conduct many of the experiments that they do at school here at home, but since most of those experiments are intended to teach the scientific method by example, we don't really need to do them. Instead we'll probably just talk about anything interesting that comes to mind and how the scientific method should be applied." "But exactly what is this scientific method?" Dianne asks. "Careful observation, and experimentation and meticulous record keeping." I reply, "We'll probably do a few minor experiments that can be done around the home, but I have a feeling that a great deal of our science, will be learning to think, and how to ask the right sort of questions. Unlike maths where, every new thing is built up from what came before, primary level science is mostly about building up the skills needed later on. Jenny could probably learn the outcome of every experiment she'll do for the next two or three years by rote in a week, but without knowing how to get those results, the knowledge would be almost completely worthless. "In fact Jenny, I want you to start keeping a journal and write down anything you think is interesting. And it's not enough to say something like, 'I saw a magpie today.' I want you to write down everything you observe about that magpie. To get you started, I want you to go back to that rock tomorrow and turn it over. Then you can write down as much as you can about what you see underneath." Jenny makes a face, knowing what she is likely to find, but nods her agreement. "Also, I brought a lot of books with me that I'd like you to read, because you'll learn a lot about the history of science that you'll never be taught at school." "Well, that just leaves us with the problem of Jeremy." Dianne says, "I wish I could say that today was an isolated incident, but I know it's not. The problem is that he just can't understand that there are things just for Jenny, in this case you, and when he gets thwarted he often breaks out in these rages. Since it's impossible to keep him apart while you're here and not fair to him to try, I'd like to change our arrangement if I could." "I take it you mean tutoring Jenny at my place instead of here?" I say. "Yes," Dianne replies, "if it's not to inconvenient." "Not at all." I reply, "I could pick her up from here on my way home from college on Mondays, and since I only live a couple of blocks from her school she could go straight there on Wednesdays and I can drive her home afterwards." "Oh you don't have to go to any trouble," Dianne protests, "I can pick he up." "It's no trouble," I say, "and it means that we can run a little overtime without making you wait, and conversely if we finish early, you don't have to drop whatever it is you're doing at the time." "Well at least let me pay for the extra fuel." "What extra," I say, "I drive here at the moment anyway, so unless you want to try any calculate the extra burden put on my car by Jenny's weight, there's nothing to pay." "At least you can let me invite you to dinner occasionally." "Dianne," I grin pretending shock, "what would Tony say?" "Oh you know what I mean." Dianne laughs, with a glare toward her giggling daughter. "Yes I do, and I would be very pleased to accept." I say. "Are you having dinner with us tonight?" Jenny asks hopefully. "Not tonight Jen, I've got some friends coming around and we're going to slay us some dragons." "You' don't play that silly game do you?" Dianne asks. "Of course." I grin, "It gives me an excuse to get p- ah drunk and talk in funny voices." "You were going to say something else then." Jenny giggles. "I don't know what you could possibly be talking about." I say loftily. "You were going to say-" "Jenny!" "Paralytic." Jenny finishes with a cheeky grin as she dodges her mother's hand. "That sounds like a good word to me." I say, "Now come and get those books." Half way up the stairs Jenny whispers, "'Pissed', that's what you was going to say." and charges up to the schoolroom. Following at a more sedate pace, I join her a few seconds later and motion that she should hold her arms out for me to load her up. I begin taking books from my bag and piling them in her arms, my grin broadening in direct proportion to her growing look of dismay. By the time I finish she can barely see over the stack of books in her arms and she groans under the weight. "Do I have to read all these?" she protests. 'By Monday," I say, barely managing to keep my face straight, "and I'm going to test you on them too." "I won't do it." she declares stamping her foot, and then staggering as her load almost collapses. "Won't do what?" Dianne ask entering the room. "He says I have to read all these by Monday." Jenny complains in much aggrieved tones. Dianne surveys the pile in her daughter's arms and then looks at me, "Don't you think that might be a bit much for somebody her age." Hook, line sinker, rod, arm, *and* copy of Angling Times." I say with a smirk as I take the pile of books from Jenny's arms and deposit them on the table. Jenny stares at me open mouthed for several seconds before uttering a squeal of outrage and throwing herself at me. Grinning, I sidestep and pluck her out of the air, folding her knees up under her chin and immobilising her arms. "What do you plan on doing about it now?" I ask, grinning into her glare. "This." she suddenly grins. Demonstrating a flexibility developed in her gymnastics training, she wriggles her arms free and pulls my face down to hers, whereupon she proceeds to give me a very loud smacking kiss. "I got you right where I want you." she declares. Dianne erupts into peals of laughter, while Jenny grins at me, and wriggles around In my suddenly powerless arms until she is able to wrap her legs around my waist. "You look like a stunned mullet." Dianne finally gasps. "I feel like one." I manage to say, "Do you think it's safe for me to be alone with her. She might brutally ravish poor defenceless li'l ol' me." "You have my full permission to apply buckets of ice water as necessary." Dianne laughs. "Hear that." I say to the not so little girl still in my arms. "If you don't behave I get to pour a bucket of water over your head." "Oh I'll be *real* good, I promise." Jenny says archly. Dianne and I look at each other over the top of Jenny's head and roll our eyes. "Do you think if I start running now I might escape?" I ask. "It's unlikely, but you can try." Dianne laughs. "No way!" Jenny cries, "I caught you and now I'm gonna keep you, even if you are the worst tease in the world." "Why thank you." I say, grinning evilly, "Want to know what else I'm good at?" "No!" she shrieks, suddenly trying to escape. "Tickle torture." I growl. Holding her tight with one arm, I dig the fingers of my free hand into her ribs. "No! Stop!" she shrieks through her laughter. "Will you behave?" I ask, briefly pausing in my assault on her ribs. "No!" she cries defiantly. "Wrong answer." I grin, attacking an armpit. "NOooo!" she squeals redoubling her efforts to escape. During her struggles, her shirt comes untucked, and when my fingers find bare skin her voice rises to a piercing shriek, "No, stop!" she cries, "I'm gonna wet myself." Hearing the real distress in her voice I cease my attack, holding her in my arms as she gasps her way to recovery. Suddenly I realise that my left hand is clutching the soft bare skin of her bottom, where her knickers have been pulled awry in her struggle. I must have involuntarily flexed my fingers, because her eyes widen almost comically. "You're holding my bottom." she giggles. "Oops sorry." I apologise, reddening with embarrassment. Relaxing my grip, I let her slide to the floor, unfortunately the stiffness of her brief denim skirt conspires against me, and when I step back it remains caught up around her waist, exposing her pink cotton knickers to my gaze. And if that weren't bad enough, the gusset in front has slipped to one side, exposing half of her hairless pussy. "Oh god," I gasp, "I'm sorry." as Jenny hastily tugs her skirt down with a squeal, and Dianne chuckles at our joint discomfiture. Her modesty partially restored, Jenny reaches under the hem of her skirt and with a bobbing twist, extracts her knickers from her butt crack. "You gave me a wedgie." she says accusingly. I'm so relieved that Dianne isn't mad, that I find myself unable to contain the laughter bubbling up inside me. Jenny glowers at me for several seconds, until a smirk finds its way to her lips and she starts giggling uncontrollably. Not long after it stops abruptly and with a muttered "'scuse me." she bolts from the room. Then just as I manage to get myself under control, the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing reaches my ears. Dianne and I exchange glances, and when Jenny re-enters the room a few moments later she finds us howling like hyenas. Ignoring us, she stamps over to the table and picks up the top book from the pile. "So how much am I supposed to read?" she asks. Waving helplessly at her, I struggle mightily to contain my laughter. Finally I am able to gasp, "Just the parts I've marked, and you can take as long as you like." "What about the test?" she asks warily. "No test." I say, "They're all essays about science, and the ones I picked, are the ones that I think tell the history of science best. Oh, and you can skip the maths too. I have enough trouble following some of it, so I don't even expect you to try. "On Monday," I continue, "I want you to bring your maths book and your exercise book, so that we can go over your work and start getting you up to speed on this year's work. "Now I really do have to go, or I'm not going to have time to get set up before my friends arrive." I say, "I'll be here to pick you up at quarter past five on Monday, so make sure you're ready." Before I can pick up my bag, Jenny grabs it and slings it over her shoulder, obviously intending to see me to my car. ******************************************************* Chapter 5 - Fun and Games. That evening, my mates have a good laugh at my expense, as I tell them of Jenny and her infatuation with me. Morrie, who is the Dungeon Master for the current portion of our campaign, introduces a ten year old street thief as an NPC, setting up a scenario in which I am forced to rescue her from one of the other party members. Before I know it, I've acquired a henchman who follows me about like a love sick puppy and, due to a highly inflated opinion of her abilities, is always placing herself in danger. Unfortunately, I risk an alignment check if I allow her to get herself killed, so I find myself taking on the unenviable role of 'Gully Dwarf trap detector' (Stamp, stamp 'There's not one there.') I also find myself the butt of every paedophile joke that five depraved minds can either remember or invent. Grinning, I cheerfully agree with everything they throw at me, figuring that absurdity is a better defence than denial. As the night wears on, the jokes get sicker and sicker. Then as the booze and pot kicks in they get sillier, though you couldn't tell by the level of laughter around the table. Finally somewhere around two in the morning, I ease the last of them out the door and ignoring the piles of empty wrappers and overflowing ashtrays scattered about the lounge, I pour myself into bed. Almost without thinking about it, my hand finds it's way to my cock as I recall Jenny's innocent exposure in the garden and how she looked with her skirt up around her waist and her knickers stuffed in her slit. The alcohol and ganga however, have taken their toll and I might as well be fondling an uncooked sausage for all the response that I get. *** The rest of the week is fairly uneventful, if you don't count the rabbit process that some idiot managed to set running on the third year unix box. I don't know exactly what he did, but somehow or other he locked up the system so badly that I had to pull the plug. Unfortunately for him, I was able to identify him from the logs and boot him from the system for a few weeks, so that he might have the leisure to contemplate the folly of his ways. As it turned out, that may not have been such a good idea, as it left him unable to complete his assignment and it looks like I'm going to have to put up with the stupid git for another year. However as Monday approaches, I find myself worrying about how I'm going to deal with Jenny without the restraining effect of having her mother nearby, limited as it may be. Almost from the moment she bounces out to my car, and throws her bag over the back of the seat and herself into the seat beside me, my fears prove justified. "I got some new knickers on Saturday," she announces, "but you can't see them. They're too *sex-eee*." Fearing the worst, I risk a quick glance to the side. She is wearing her pleated netball skirt and an oversized windcheater, and somewhat to my surprise she is sitting properly, with nothing more on display than should be. Though the grin she returns in response to my glance is as full of naughtiness as I have ever seen. "Are you trying to look at my undies?" she asks with an accusing smirk. "No," I reply, "I'm trying to work out why on earth I ever took this job." "B'cause my mum pays you way to much money." she says with a grin. "That could be it." I agree. Almost the moment I pull into my driveway and come to a halt I'm presented with the first trial as she climbs up onto the seat and leans over into the back to retrieve her bag. Predictably, the back of her skirt creeps up, revealing the lower half of her small athletic bottom and the knickers that are supposed to cover it. They are made from a pink satin like fabric, so pale as to be almost white, and tastefully trimmed with a quarter inch strip of plain lace around the leg openings. The cut is such that they leave almost half of each firm, round cheek bare, revealing a two inch wide strip of pristine white skin that has never known the touch of the sun. A little lower, the gusset moulds itself tightly to the contours of her sweet little pussy. I might have believed her exposure to be an innocent accident, except that it takes her an inordinately long time to collect he bag, and when I look back to see what she is doing, I catch her looking under her arm to see if I was peeking. Acting as if nothing untoward was happening, I make a long arm and grab her bag, saying, "Here let me get that for you." Her small moue of disappointment lets me know that she had failed to catch me peeking at her underwear, and I am already turning away when she drops back into the front seat, and causes her skirt to lift high enough to reveal that the sides of her knickers are nothing more than a half inch strip of elastic holding the front and back together. Maintaining my show of ignorance I complete my turn, grinning inwardly at the little noise of disgust that Jenny makes behind me. A few moments later she slams the door of the car with somewhat more force than is necessary, even for an old rust bucket, and follows me up to the front door of my house. Then as soon as I kick the door closed behind us, she asks, "Can I have a look around?" Without waiting for an answer, she takes off down the hall, opening doors and sticking her head into each room as she passes. The first, an empty bedroom I use for storing junk, barely rates a glance. The second fares no better as it contains nothing more than a bed with a bare mattress and an empty dresser. Across the hall she finds the bathroom and again quickly turns away. Finally she reaches the end of the hall and the room where I sleep. Her giggle reminds me that I had neglected to tidy it up that morning, leaving discarded clothing scattered all over the floor and the bed in a rumpled mess. I suddenly recall that, that wasn't all I'd left out in the open. Almost running, I reach the room just as she reaches for the corner of the magazine poking out from amongst the bedclothes, and making a long arm I reach over her shoulder and snatch it from between her fingers. Breathing an inward sigh of relief, I toss it up on top of the wardrobe, and out of her reach. "What's that?" she asks. "None of your business." I reply shortly, "Don't you know it's rude to go poking around in other peoples houses?" "I know," she says with a knowing giggle, "it was a dirty picture book wasn't it?" "If you're so smart you don't need me to tell you, do you?" I reply. "Anyway, you're supposed to be here to work, not stick your nose into other peoples business." Grinning maddeningly, she turns with an almost, but not quite, revealing flirt of her skirt and precedes me to the other end of the house. Giggling, she suddenly races ahead, and with a taunting look over her shoulder, she peeks into the remaining two rooms accessible from the hall. "Nice kitchen." she remarks over her shoulder as she turns towards the other door. *** I'm quite proud of my kitchen. My grandmother had prided herself on being a good cook - in my opinion she was a great cook - and about two years before she had died she'd had the whole room remodelled. Not for her the vinyl covered particle board that was all too common these days, everything in her kitchen was solid timber. All of the cupboards and the sideboard were of Norfolk pine and the bench tops were two inch thick slabs of river redgum. Only the splashback behind the sink was tiled, everywhere else the walls were panelled to shoulder height with more Norfolk pine. Two huge black beams traversed the vaulted ceiling, from which were hung a collection of cast iron and copper cooking pots. An enormous black cast iron combustion stove filled the fireplace. In winter it served to keep the whole house as warm as toast, even when the temperature outside dropped below freezing, In summer it was a nightmare. I don't know how my grandmother put up with it, but for myself, I purchased a portable cooktop and a microwave oven the first time the temperature climbed above thirty degrees. The furniture was my own addition. I'd been poking around at a garage sale looking for books, when I noticed this monstrosity piled up at the back of the shed. By the looks of it, it had been last painted in the seventies, and was finished in bright pink over purple, where most of the pink had been wiped away with a turps soaked rag before it had dried. Anyway it was hideous, but there was something about the form that caught my eye. Several of the chairs were coming apart, but a quick check revealed that all of the pieces were there. When I asked, the owner said that she had been going to cut it up for firewood, but someone had told her that the lead in the paint was dangerous and now she was waiting for the council pickup. Twenty dollars lighter in the pocket, I contemplated how I was to get it home. Three weeks and two kilos of caustic later, (A piece of advice: that is one time it is advisable to wash your hands *before* taking a piss.) I discovered that under about fifteen layers of paint, it was made out of black oak. Realising that putting a proper finish on it was beyond my ability, I splurged on hiring a professional French polisher. He arrived with a supercilious look on his face, obviously expecting some piece of junk that was beneath his dignity to touch, but that look faded when he saw what I had waiting. The look on his face told me that he was having what amounted to a religious experience as he ran his fingers lovingly over the bare timber. A few minutes later he almost had an apoplectic fit, when I told him I'd used ordinary wood glue to repair it. Recovering, he got a pot of what looked like dried varnish from his van and insisted that I fire up the stove, even though it was the height of summer and the temperature was in the high thirties. By the time he had broken the joints of the first chair, and carefully scraped away every scrap of inferior glue, the pot on the stove was bubbling and a peculiar organic smell filled my kitchen. Handling each piece as if it were made of finest china, he lovingly reassembled the chair, tapping tiny slivers of wood into place to pack any joints he considered less than perfect. All the while, he berated me for my ignorance and the rough and ready technique I'd used to strip away what was probably more than a century's worth of paint. Somewhat hesitantly, I brought up the subject of cost, as it was obvious that the job was going to take considerably longer that anticipated, but he waved it aside, telling me that he would only charge for the polishing as originally agreed. As for the rest, it was a once in a lifetime experience and a privilege to have a chance to work on something as rare as this. When I told him, I'd paid twenty dollars and rescued it from a council pickup, he looked as if he were ready to cry. "Boy," he said, "I don't know how this piece came to this country, and I *do not* want to know how it got into the condition that you found it in, but see this mark." He points to an almost obliterated mark, almost like a crest, burned into the underside of the seat. "This tells me that this set was made over four hundred years ago by a master craftsman. You say you paid twenty dollars for it, well you have struck a bargain that will bring tears to my father's eyes, for what you have here is worth every last penny of twenty five thousand dollars." Shocked beyond belief, I gape at him as a broad nicotine stained grin creeps across his wrinkled features. "Surprised young man?" he cackles, "You should be. Someone must have been watching over this, for all the abuse it's suffered, because every single stick here is original and you have a complete setting." That night, I seriously consider selling it, but in the end I decide to keep it, as there was really nothing that I needed, and rather than fritter away the money, I figured that I could always sell it later. The following day, saw father and son arrive to work on my table, and if anything the old man's manner was even more reverential than his son's. After enduring a diatribe of monumental proportions about my ham fisted efforts, I was sent out to collect, of all things, a bucket of horse piss, preferably from an 'in season' mare. This I was told would be used to restore the stain that my overzealous sanding had taken out of the wood. The very proper English lady, who ran the local riding stables, was more than a little surprised at my request, but she took it with the equanimity of her breeding and instructed one of the stable hands to assist me. An hour later, and having provided much entertainment to the covey of small to medium sized girls taking lessons, I had what I came for and a decidedly fragrant shirt. When I returned home the old man, peered into the bucket and pronounced my offering adequate and set me to the task of rubbing it into the wood of the four chairs that they had so far rebuilt. Over the following week and a half, I receive a basic education on caring for old furniture and how to maintain the glass like finish that these two old gentlemen impart to my table and chairs. *** "Cool!" Jenny's tone tells me that she likes my lounge too. In the lounge, comfort had been my only criteria when furnishing it, though a vaguely Central American theme has come to dominate. The only chairs in the room are at my desk. Everything else is at floor level. Two foam rubber mattresses with 'sun face' rugs over them and twenty or so similarly decorated cushions piled on top, provide seating. The TV and video rest on an old wooden crate which serves to house my collection of Red Dwarf and Star Trek videos. My bookshelves are concrete Besser blocks and planks. Like any child faced with such an enticing display, Jenny utters a whoop of joy and throws herself across the room onto the piled cushions, totally oblivious to the fact that her skirt has flipped up to completely expose her body from the waist down. An inch wide strip of tanned skin separates the waistband of her pleated skirt from the band of elastic at the top of her knickers. The front panel, unlike the back, is almost entirely covered with lace. In fact a second glance reveals that there is no fabric backing the floral design adorning her very sexy knickers, and as she writhes luxuriously in her nest, I glimpse a hint of her slit through the many holes piercing the lacework. I give her a few more seconds to enjoy herself, and for me to take in the eroticism of her unconscious display, then turning to seat myself at the desk I call out, "O.K. enough of that, you've got work to do." Grumbling, she makes her way over to the second chair and flops into it. Ignoring her dark mutterings, I hand her, her bag and wait patiently while she gets out her books and slaps them down on the table. Much to my surprise, I also glimpse two of the books I had lent her in the bottom of her bag. Starting at the very beginning of the book, we run over work that she had only partially understood due to the poor grounding brought about by the final term of the previous year. With one on one coaching and her quick mind, half an hour suffices to catch up over a week's work. The second half hour is devoted to helping her through her homework, so that she doesn't lose any more ground in her current work. At times during the evening, I notice her lifting her foot up onto the seat of the chair and hugging her knee as she worries at a particularly difficult problem. This lets me get a good view of her plump young labia, pouched in the soft shiny fabric of her gusset, and occasional partial glimpses of her hairless slit through the front of her knickers. At first I think that it's a purely innocent display, but as I'm going over a set of problems that she has finished, I catch her slyly looking at me to see if I'd noticed. Somehow or other, I managed to make it through the evening without her catching me looking, and by the time I call a halt to proceedings, her frustration is evident in the increasing outrageousness of her display. All of which I carefully ignore. Finally it becomes to much for her. As she is packing her bag, she asks me outright, "Do you like my new knickers?" "Uh what?" I ask looking up from her last set of problems, "Oh that's right you said you got some new undies didn't you?" "Didn't you see them?" she asks. "I've been giving you peeks all night." "Have you?" I ask mildly, as I turn away, "I can't say that I've noticed." Several seconds of silence follows this, suddenly broken by the r-i-i-i-i-p of parting velcro. "There," she cries, a note of defiance in her voice, "you can see them now." Since it's obvious that she's not going to let me alone until I look, I turn back towards her. She stands with one leg cocked, her skirt hooked defiantly over her shoulder. Unfortunately the effect she had hoped for is marred by her oversized windcheater, which covers her to mid thigh. "As a matter of fact I can't." I inform her, "Now put your skirt back on, we're late as it is." Looking down at herself, she giggles self-consciously. Also she seems to realise that the brazen approach is getting her nowhere, as her whole demeanour changes. "No please," she almost whispers as she lifts the bottom of her windcheater high enough to expose her belly button, "I really want your opinion. Do you think they're sexy?" Without the brazen attitude of a few moments before to buoy her up, she is flushing furiously, looking a little scared. Either fearing that I'll find her laughable, or that I'll be angry enough to tell her mother. Her vulnerability, also makes her more desirable than any amount of sluttish behaviour could achieve. Beneath her trim athlete's tummy, her skimpy knickers mould themselves over the rise of her juvenile pudenda like a second skin. The light beside my computer throwing shadows that bring the twin halves of her mound and the crease separating them into sharp relief. "Jenny honey, I think your undies are incredibly sexy, but remember what I told you the other day? If you were just a little bit older, I'd think you were offering something that you are just not ready to deliver." Speaking gently I add, "There's a lot of people out there who wouldn't care about your age, and if you did this in front of them, you'd be in more trouble than you could possibly imagine by now. Now please put your skirt back on and *never* pull a stunt like this again." Instead of obeying me, she takes a flying leap, forcing me to catch her, and hugs me tightly. "Thankyou," she whispers into my neck, "I was scared you'd laugh at me, because you'd think I was a little girl trying to pretend to be grown up." With a double handful of incredibly soft, yet firm, flesh, I pull my head back so that I can look into her face. "This isn't what I asked you to do." I say with a half smile. Giggling, she pulls her head back a little, letting me ease the strain in my neck. "Pooh, you won't hurt me, and I wanted to say thankyou." "Thinking like that will get you in a lot of trouble young lady." I growl, though my smile takes much of the sting out of it. "The only safe male is a dead one, and if he tries to show you his death certificate, don't you believe him." "If he tries to show it to me, he can't be dead." she giggles. "Exactly," I say, "that's what I've been trying to tell you, men only care about one thing when they see a pretty girl showing herself off, and they'll do almost anything to get it. So don't do it unless you mean to deliver." She considers this seriously for a few moments, then nods decisively. A moment later a wicked grin splits her face and she asks me, "Have you finished playing with my bottom?" "See what I mean." I say apologetically as I still the fingers with which I'd been unconsciously kneading her firm little bum and set her down. "You, can't trust anyone." "I don't mind." she tells me with a half smile, "It felt kind of nice." "Be that as it may." I reply severely, "If you don't have that skirt back where it belongs in ten seconds, then next thing I do won't." "Oh you're all bluster buster." she giggles, but the aclarity with which she picks up her skirt and wraps it around her waist tells me that she isn't as sure of her appraisal as she'd like me to believe. In the car, she places her hand over mine on the gear stick, preventing me from putting it into gear. "Are you going to tell Mummy?" she asks. "Is there any reason why I shouldn't?" I ask, "Remember what I said I'd do when you and Vanessa did this to me the other day?" "Oh god!" she gasps as the memory of my threat comes flooding back. "I'd just die if you made me walk up to the house in just my undies. And then Mummy'd make sure and kill me all over again." "Well apart from the fact I'd be out of a job, why shouldn't I?" I ask. "Because you're too nice." she answers matter of factly, "Besides, you wouldn't be able to peek at my undies any more. I know you liked it because your penis got all big and hard, I felt it." "Jenny!" I cry out in shock. "Ha." she giggles, "I knew you was peeking all the time." "So why that stunt at the end?" I ask. "B'cause I wanted to know if you thought I was sexy silly." she giggles. "Well having established that I do, don't ever do it again." "O.K. I won't show anyone else see my undies." she promises. I notice the glaring loophole in her promise, but decide to let her have her victory. Hell I wanted her show off for me, but there was no way I was going to come out and say it while her infatuation with me left her vulnerable to manipulation. Smugness colours her voice as she says, "O.K. you can take me home now." *** On Wednesday, Jenny announces her arrival with a thunderous knocking on my door as I'm going over some assignments, which should have included the work of the idiot with the rabbit program. A glance at the clock reveals that it is only a quarter to four and I wonder why she didn't use the time to play after school, but I obviously can't leave her cooling her heels on my porch for another quarter of an hour. Assuming of course that my door could take the punishment, something that I wasn't prepared to find out, as she repeated her assault, accompanied by her yelling my name at the top of her voice. "What on earth were you knocking with?" I ask as I let her in. "This." she replies brandishing a hockey stick. "We won, we beat Sacred Heart." "Good for you." I congratulate her, "But that's no reason to take the paint off my door." "Sorry," say says, sounding anything but, "I guess I was just excited." "Well O.K." I say partially mollified, "Just don't do it again." "Sure." she agrees cheerfully, "Can I change out of my uniform?" "Of course," I reply, "but why didn't you do it at school?" "Because there's a stupid rule that says we can't" she replies in tones of disgust. "Fair enough, you know where the spare... What do you think you're doing?" "Getting changed." she says calmly as she finishes pull her uniform dress off and prepares to skin out of her gym shorts. "I can see that, but what about what we talked about on Monday?" "I only promised not to show anyone *else* my knickers." she says, obviously pleased with herself. Stepping out of her gym shorts she poses for me. "What do you think of these?" Today's knickers are pale blue and very skimpy with a waistband that is little more than a string. Made from an opaque fabric, they would barely rate a second glance as bikini bottoms, but they're not, and the sheerness of the nylon from which they are made has not been helped not one whit by her hockey game. Rendered almost completely transparent by the sweat of her exertions, and clinging to her skin, they might as well not be there for all the good they do in hiding her sweet, hairless charms. "I think that you shouldn't be showing off like that, especially after a game of hockey." I reply through clenched teeth. "Why?" she asks, taking a look at herself. "Oh shit!" With that last exclamation she bolts from the room, chased by my helpless laughter. A few moments later she calls out, "Can you bring me my bag please?" Still chuckling, I scoop up her bag. I find her in the spare bedroom, her flushed face peeping around the doorframe. Hooking her bag over her extended hand I return to the lounge and await her return. Blushing from the roots of her hair, down to, and beyond the neckline of her t-shirt, she re-enters the room. "I didn't mean for you to see *that* much." she giggles shamefacedly. "I'm glad to hear it." I reply, "But since you shouldn't have even been showing me what you meant to, I don't think it's much of an excuse." "I know," she mumbles, "and now I feel all prickly too." "You'll get no sympathy from me." I say unfeelingly, "Hopefully that scared you enough that you'll think before you do anything that silly again." "I'll say." she giggles, recovering some of her spirit. "It's one think letting you see my undies when you can't really see anything anyway, that's fun, but it's completely different when you can see everything." "I'm still not sure that you've learnt your lesson," I sigh, "but you're not going to learn a thing if you spend the rest of the afternoon squirming in your seat and scratching itches, so go and take a shower." "Thanks." she says gratefully, almost bolting from the room in her haste to relieve the prickly sweat afflicting her. "And if you're wearing one stitch less when you come back, than you are right now, look out." I call after her retreating back. "Spoilsport." she grins, pausing in the doorway to show me her tongue. "Down boy." I mutter to my aching cock the moment she is out of hearing, "She's not ready for you yet." There, I'd admitted to myself that we would become lovers one day, but there was no way that it would occur until I felt that she was able to make the decision for herself, and with a mind unclouded by her thinking that she was in love. Listening to the sound of running water, I'm barely able to devote half my mind to the pile of assignments I'm supposed to be marking, but I don't get paid to daydream. So taking a deep breath, I thrust image of an all but naked Jenny to the back of my mind and concentrate on my task. Ten minutes later, Jenny stops in the doorway still towelling her hair, and says, "I hope you don't mind, but I used some of your shampoo." Wearing a plain white t-shirt, which clings wetly to a couple of poorly dried spots on her body, fortunately nowhere that would make my cock sit up and take notice, and a simple yellow skirt which stops just above her knees, she looks exactly what she is. A beautiful young schoolgirl, just beginning to mature. "Of course not." I grin, "I want you scratching your head because you're thinking, not because it's all sweaty and horrible." "I'm sorry I swore before." she apologises, "But it sort of just came out." "It's O.K.," I reply, "these things happen when you're a little bit scared." "And a whole lot embarrassed." she giggles, now fully recovered. "That too." I chuckle, "Now bring me your hairbrush and then we have to get to work." Tossing the third to last assignment on top of the pile, I pull a cushion between my legs and motion for Jenny to sit down. Setting the brush aside for the moment, I grab the towel and roughly dry Jenny's hair, earning a few half-hearted complaints for my trouble. Noticing the half circle of wet fabric clinging to her shoulders I comment, "Your t-shirt's soaked, next time grab another towel." "There were only two and I didn't want to use both." she replies. "How can you be so considerate and such a teasing little shit." I mutter as I wrap the towel around her shoulders and take up the brush. "Ooh I'm telling on you." she giggles, sounding for all the world like she was six years younger than her current age of ten. "You swore." "Ha." I scoff as I work the rest of the tangles from her hair, "You obviously know the word and you are one, you know." "Yep." she agrees smugly. "I'm a shit. Shit. Shit. Shit." "Hey enough of that." I say trying to sound outraged and failing miserably. "Faeces, shit. Penis, dick. Vagina, cunt." she chants. "Enough I said." This time I manage to give it the proper force, and she shuts up. "Once is a joke, after that all you're managing to do is demonstrate that you have a sewer for a mouth. You obviously know what the words mean, but there's no need to repeat them." "Sorry." she mumbles contritely. "O.K. enough said." I say, "There's a time and place for those words but this isn't it." "They're in the dictionary though." she giggles. "Won't work." I reply with a chuckle, "I looked them up the same as you did when I was a kid, but all I earned for my troubles was a mouthful of soap. Now hold still we've got work to do." Quickly working from then ends back up to her scalp, I work the tangles from her hair and fasten it in a loose ponytail so that it can dry. As she rolls onto her hands and knees to rise, I suddenly reach out and tap her on the bottom with the back of the hairbrush. "There," I say with a grin, "that's for being naughty." "Didn't hurt." she giggles, maintaining her position and waggling her bum. "Well we'll see about that." I mutter, landing another half dozen light taps on her upturned rear. "Still didn't hurt." she says merrily, "I've got my spank proof undies on. See?" With a naughty note in her giggle, she flips up the back of her skirt to reveal a trim little bottom completely encased in a pair of sensible, bottle green, cotton undies. Covered from waist to the creases joining her legs to her buttocks, not a hint of untanned flesh is visible, and the dark colour of the fabric hides all but the basic shape of her pouched pudenda. "You, my child, are incorrigible." I grin. "You betcha." she giggles, with an exaggerated waggle of her tail. "Well aren't you going to test them out?" Caught up in the semi-innocent game, I let her have another ten rapid smacks with the hairbrush, landing the last two, one on each cheek, with just enough force to make her squeak. "Ouch!" she giggles, reaching back to rub the offended area. "You're mean." "And you're a naughty little girl who deserves everything she gets and more besides." I reply mock severely, "Playtime's over, get over to that desk and get your books out." "Can't we work here on the floor?" she asks, turning over, her skirt thankfully falling down to hide her lower body. "You were. Please?" "Oh all right." I mutter with a pretended air of being hard put upon. Grinning at her victory, Jenny pulls her bag into her lap and pulls out, books and pencil case. "Oops." she giggles, as the undies, she'd been wearing earlier come out caught up on the corner of a book. Holding them up, with her fingers spread in the waistband, she asks, "So do you think these are sexy?" "I think they're very brief briefs, way too sexy, and I'll bet they aren't spank proof." "We could always try them out and see." she says archly. "Is that a skid mark?" I ask with a grin. Her reaction is everything I could have expected. "Where?" she shrieks, flushing with sudden embarrassment. Balling them up in her fist, she turns away to check. "You're a shit." she accuses me still blushing, "There's nothing there." "Guilty as charged." I grin, "But it sure shut you up in a hurry. Now put them away and work." "What are we doing today?" she asks, stuffing the undies back in her bag and turning to sit tailor fashion, facing me. "Well first, how did you do with your homework?" I ask with a grin. "I got them all right." she answers smugly, adding in an accusing tone, "But you already know that. Why didn't you tell me?" "Because I didn't set the work." I reply. "Now I think we might start with some revision on fractions to see what you've forgotten, and then we'll move on to adding up big numbers." She breezes through the fractions, indicating that my lessons have really stuck, at least for the moment. While she is working on them, I write up a graduated set of addition problems, being careful to make the columns obvious. "When I hand them to her, she asks, "I just add up the columns don't I?" "More or less." I reply, "See how you go." She quickly does the first problem and turns to me, "Is that right?" Checking her work, I answer, "Yes, now keep going." The next two are as easily disposed of. "These are easy?" she declares. "What ever you say." I reply, "Now shush, I've only got two more of these to do." A minute or so later she interrupts me again, "I can't do this one, I cant make it fit." "Really?" I ask mildly, "How so?" "This column adds up to thirteen." "Huh, that's not right." I say, knowing that the first carry should have been seventeen. "Yes it is." she says, thrusting the problem sheet under my nose, "See?" I look over her work and discover that she has been working from left to right. "That silly bitch should have been shot." I mutter. "What?" "Nothing." I quickly reply, then ask, "Didn't your teacher tell you that you had to work from right to left?" "I guess so," Jenny mumbles, "but what difference does it make?" "All the difference in the world." I reply, "Remember when I showed you how to multiply a big number?" "Uh-huh." she nods. "Well you get carries with addition too." I explain, "There is a way to do it left to right, but you end up doing twice as much work, and that means twice as many chances of making a silly mistake. So have another go, and this time try it from right to left." "O.K." A minute later, "Did I do it right?" I look, "Yep. Keep going." Taking back the work sheet, she throws herself face down over a cushion, in that way that only breastless young girls can manage and alternately sucking on the end of her pen and writing she works her way down the list. As I work on getting the last two assignments out of the way, I occasionally glance up at Jenny. While she works she sporadically kicks her heels up and bumps her bottom emitting a little grunt as she does so. Every now and then, she wriggles herself into a more comfortable position, and every time she does so, her skirt creeps an inch or so higher. Finally a narrow strip of green cloth comes into view. At the same time Jenny glances back over her shoulder and catches my eye. "You're peeking." she accuses with a giggle as she tugs her skirt back over her bottom, but only half way down the backs of her thighs, I notice. "And you're doing it deliberately." I toss back with a grin. "Never." she giggles, "That would be naughty." We each return to our respective tasks, and once again she squirms about until her bottom creeps into view. This time she fails to catch me looking, so the game goes on until over half of her cotton encased bum is on display. To me, it is too good an opportunity to waste. Waiting until her attention is fully on the problem in front of her, I reach out and snap the legband of her knickers. "Ouch!" she complains, rolling out of my reach, and incidentally showing me the front of her knickers, since her skirt is up around her waist. With all of her squirming about, Jenny has managed to disarrange even these solidly fitting underpants, and half a plump pussy lip peeks out at me from between her legs. "Well, well, well." I chuckle, "Now I know how to make your spank proof undies do the spanking for me." Meanie." she giggles, doing nothing to fix her dishabille. "Little troublemaker." I reply, "Don't you think you should fix your undies?" "Oops," she giggles looking down at herself and snapping her knees together, "did it again." "And you're still doing it." I say nodding towards where her half exposed labia peek from between her legs. "Double oops." she blushes, jamming her skirt down between her legs, and reaching beneath it, to straighten her undies. "Why on Earth do you persist on doing this, when I've told you how dangerous it is?" I ask in exasperation. "'B'cause it's not." she replies. "And just how do you figure that?" I ask. Ticking off her points on her fingers she tells me, "Well first, if you were going to do something to me, you would have done it by now. Two, you can't do anything anyway because everyone knows where I am and you'd be the first person the police would think of. And three, if you were the sort of man who hurts kids you wouldn't keep on telling me off. So I can practise on you all I like for when I get older. Besides it's fun watching you pretend not to peek." "Well I can't fault your logic." I reluctantly agree, "But do you know what logic is? It's a way of going wrong with confidence." "What do you mean?" "Well all it takes, is for you to start out with bad data and the whole thing come tumbling down like a house of cards. In your case you got two out of three things potentially wrong and you missed one very important fact." "Like what?" "First of all, people who attack kids are very good at waiting until they think they're safe. Secondly, There are sicko's out there who'd rape you and cheerfully stuff you head first down a rabbit hole, and only then worry about hiding the evidence." "I wouldn't fit." she giggles, "Besides how could *you* get away with it when everyone knows I'm here." "It's not a joke." I inform her darkly, "You'd fit. In pieces. As for getting away with it, that's easy, I just say you went down the shop and never came back. If they never find you, nobody can prove anything, no matter what they think they know. "And finally the most damning thing of all." I say, "What you missed. There are, broadly speaking, two types of people who rape children. One rapes you, sometimes kills you, and tries to cover it up, they're pretty rare and usually get caught the first or second time they do it. The second type is sneaky, they often convince you it's your own fault, that you wanted it, you made them do it. And in a lot of ways they're worse than the first type, because their victims almost never get help. They're too ashamed. They keep everything bottled up inside, and sometimes it gets too much for them and they kill themselves. Nobody knows why, and their rapist can do it all over again, and again, and again." "But how can he make the kid think it's their fault?" Jenny asks. "That's easy," I reply, "take you and me for an example. On Monday you jumped into my arms and I started squeezing your bottom. I wasn't thinking about it and it was an accident, but what if it wasn't? Either way, you would still have 'kind of liked it'. Next time, I squeeze a bit longer, and you 'kind of like' that too. The time after that, my fingers slip and I give something else a squeeze. Maybe you object, maybe you don't. If you do, I apologise and make a joke of it. "Afterwards you think about it, and you remember it wasn't so bad. In fact it felt 'kind of nice'. So the next time it happens you don't say anything." "Yes I would." she interrupts, "Mummy says, I decide who touches me there and if I don't want someone to, I should tell." "Good for you and your mum." I say approvingly, But we're being hypothetical here. So, there I am with my hand up your skirt, assuming of course that you're actually wearing one, <giggle> feeling you up. Next thing I do is compliment you on those two cute little bumps that are sprouting on your chest. You're shy, you're embarrassed, but you're also a little bit proud because a man likes your new boobies. So when I reach up and give one of them a little pinch, you just giggle. "The next time you show off your new undies, I compliment them too. I say they make you look grown up. Uh-oh, a man likes your boobies, *and* he's called you grown up. We're starting to get really proud now. You still haven't told anybody because you think it's fun. The next time you come around, you wear your sexiest undies and a really short skirt so you can show them off all the time, and you wear a blouse with the top two buttons undone so you can give me peeks at your cute little boobies. "This time I say I like these undies even better, because they show off the shape of your body so nicely. I haven't been rude, but you know exactly what I mean, and that's three things to be proud of. Feeling really daring, you bend over so I can see right down the front of your shirt, and it feels good just knowing I'm watching because you know I like them. "Now I don't just reach up and touch them, you might not like it, so I do something sneaky. I tickle you, but while I've got my fingers under your arms my thumbs are pressing into your boobs, and after a while I stop tickling but keep my thumbs where they are. And guess what that feels nice too, but I don't need to tell you that, you already know." Blushing a little, she asks, "How did you know?" "It's an open secret." I chuckle, "Girl starts growing boobs. Girl plays with boobs. Girl find out it's nice and does it every chance she gets. Anyway I've now touched you in three places I shouldn't, but I've done it through your clothes so you still feel safe, and you don't tell. "At this stage I could go for broke, and it might even work, but I'm smart, I still keep up the little touches, but I'm always careful to make a bit of a joke of it, do it playfully so it can be laughed off. I'm waiting for *you* to make the next move. And it doesn't take long. It feels nice when I touch you in these places, so you start trying to think of ways to make it happen, and the easiest way is for you to rub your boob on my arm while I'm explaining something to you. "It might not seem like much, but I've now got a hook into you, you're not just letting me do something to you any more. You've initiated something yourself. You've become an active participant." Her mouth falls open as a look of slightly horrified comprehension creeps over her features, and I bore onwards. "I smile to myself when you do it, but I don't say anything, the time's not right yet, instead I pretend I haven't noticed. 'Ah-ha' you think, you've gotten away with it, so you do it again. Maybe you even contrive to rub something else up against me, but I still don't notice. That's two hooks. At first it's enough just to use me to make yourself feel good, but I keep on pretending I haven't noticed, and you start to get mad. Eventually you get mad enough to do something to make me notice. Yet another hook, because now we both know that the other one knows. "However, I'm not quite ready to reel you in just yet, you might still slip off the hooks and tell on me. I've got to get those hooks set a little deeper. So the next time you show off your boobs to me, I reach up and tickle you in that special way, but the tickling only lasts a second, and what you're really thinking about is my thumbs, and what they are doing. This time you rub back, and since we both know what's really happening, you don't object when I start using my fingers as well. Hook number four, almost ready. "One day, while I'm playing with your boobs, I say it's a pity I can't see them better, and since you've been showing them to me for the last couple of weeks anyway, so you don't mind when I start to unbutton your blouse. Even if you do object, all I have to do is remind you that I've seen them anyway, I just want a better look. Now this is where I might start taking up the slack in the line. "If you still object, I say that you shouldn't have shown them to me if you didn't want me to look properly. There's the first step in making it your fault. Now what do you do?" "I tell Mum, but boy will she be mad at me." Jenny replies. "Good answer." I say approvingly, "But maybe you're feeling just scared enough, that you decide that it's only a little thing, and maybe you should just give in. So now I've got your shirt open, and I'm looking at your boobs. What comes next." "You touch them again?" "Uh-uh," I shake my head, "Those hooks are still pretty loosely set, so all I do is say how pretty they are and how they mean that you're becoming a woman. Guess what? That's another thing for you to be proud about. Now letting me see your boobs isn't too bad, so the next time I ask, you don't say a thing and just open your blouse, and pretty soon I've got you walking around like that all the time. Two hooks at once this time, you're really proud of your boobs, *and* you walking around like that, is something else that you don't want your mum to find out about. "Now at some stage you're probably going to rub your boob up against my arm again, and that's my signal. I can tickle you again, but this time my hands are inside your shirt, and pretty soon I'm playing with your bare titties. Oh boy does that feel good. Now every time you visit, I can slip my hand inside your shirt whenever I want. Sneaky time again. I stop doing it. By this time you've gotten used to it. You like it. So you ask me to do it." "Another hook." Jenny says. "And this time you've swallowed it, it's a big one and it's set good and solidly. Now I can start to make bargains with you. Because you want something from me, I can ask for something in return. I want to see your knickers, and I want to see them properly, so off comes the skirt. Since you've already done that before, you don't even murmur. But I make a fuss, you're shirt's in the way. So off it comes too. "So, now if you want me to play with your boobs, you have to strip down to your undies, and stay like that until it's time to go home. Another time and I ask you if you'd like to feel what it's like for a baby to suck milk. Maybe you're curious and you agree without any more prompting. If you don't agree, I can start tugging on some of those hooks I've got set in you, and I remind you that your mum wouldn't like to hear about the things you've been doing. And I make it very clear that it's been *you* that's done them. Either way, I've got a mouth full of titty, and you find out that if my bare fingers on your bare boobs felt great, then my tongue feels out of this world. "Do you see where this is going, I've got you walking around in nothing but your undies, I'm kissing your boobs, my hands aren't outside your undies any more when I squeeze your bum, and they're creeping around towards the front. You're starting to feel scared now, but you're even more scared of your mum, because every time you say no, I remind you that you started it, you wanted it. I don't quite say it outright, but everything I do say is intended to make you believe that it's *your* fault. "It's not really true, what you did was only a bit of fun, you were just being a little bit naughty showing of your new undies. It was me who kept on encouraging you to be a little bit naughtier, pushing you, but I did it so skilfully that you're half convinced that it *was* all your own idea and I've got you thinking it's your fault. You're scared and confused, and you can't tell anyone, because you're scared shitless that you are the one who's going to get the blame. Finally one day soon..." I leave it hanging, not quite willing to say what might come next. "I'm screwed." she finishes for me, trying to make a joke of it in order to cover her fear. "Literally," I agree, "but it's not a joke is it?" "I guess not." she murmurs. "And I haven't finished yet. I want Vanessa too, and this time it's easier, I've got you to help. I give you that magazine I tossed up on top of the wardrobe and tell you to show it to her. Get her curious. By this time you don't even think of objecting, even though you know it's wrong. I've got you too firmly in my grasp for that. You might even think that it will help, because you'll have someone to talk to, someone to share it with. "This time however, you know it's your fault. And a great part of it would be too, because you know you could have stopped it. At the same time Vanessa starts blaming you. So instead of having a someone to share your misery with, she hates you and you don't even have a best friend any more. What's worse, you don't dare make any new friends in case I get you to bring them to me too. "A year or so later, I decide that I don't want you any more, because all of those things that I praised about you, well I don't like them. I don't like big boobs. I don't like hair. And I especially don't want to risk you having a baby, because if that happens I might get found out. So I tell you I don't like you, and I do everything I can to make you feel like shit, because if I can make you feel like you deserved it, you won't ever tell on me. "So there you are. No friends. Feeling dirty. Used. You're hurt. Angry. You lash out at everyone around you. Nobody understands, and you can't tell them. Maybe you try drugs or alcohol because for a little while they help, and maybe some little kid will find you at the bottom of the observation tower on his way to school." "That's scary stuff." Jenny finally says after a long silence. "I meant it to be." I reply, "It's not always like that. What I just told you is a worst case scenario. A lot of the time, you'll get away with showing off your knickers, because the person you pick is responsible and caring. Even if he's not it often it stops with just touches; and sometimes, just sometimes, the kid even likes it from beginning to end and nothing bad comes of it, but none of those are anything to bank on. "Until you know exactly what you're getting into, and are ready to accept the consequences, don't play with fire." "For sure." Jenny says fervently. "Now let's take a little break, I think we need it." I say. "And then it's nose to the grindstone we have a lot of catching up to do." With a can of coke in her hand, Jenny returns to the last of her problems, finishing about the same time I toss the last of the assignments aside. While I correct her work, she sits back in the cushions looking thoughtful. Not surprisingly, the last few of the problems are full of errors, but that's understandable given the distraction of thinking over what I think is a much more important lesson. However up until that point, the errors are few and far between. "Well, I think we can safely say that you've learned this lesson." I congratulate her as I hand the sheet back. "But I got the last ones all wrong, I was thinking about what you said." she almost wails. "Well don't think about it too much, you just need to remember it and make sure that you don't ever let it happen to you." I tell her gently. "Now I think that's enough maths for today." I say, "What did you do in science today, and what did you find under that rock?" "Bugs." she informs me with a horrible grimace. "Both times." "Well we can strike entomologist from your list of career choices." I grin. "What's that?" "Ah-ha," I chuckle, "a word you don't know, but given your obvious distaste for the subject, it's fairly understandable. An entomologist is someone who studies bugs for a living." "Eew gross." Jenny says. "So what did you learn?" "Well, we learnt about larvae and pupae and metamorphosis and stuff at school. I guess butterflies are sort of O.K. at least they're pretty, but even they look gross close up." "O.K. we've established that insects are gross." I chuckle, "So what did you find out at home?" "That insects are gross." she replies. "O.K. I asked for that." I grin, "But what else did you discover." She digs in her bag and brings out a thick exercise book. Taking it from her I open it up to discover that, whatever else she might be, she's no shirker. Although it's obvious that she's no artist, she's done her best to capture with her pencil what she saw. Mostly slaters as I expected, a few grubs and some other less identifiable insects. Her father's influence is also evident. Carefully drawn scales have been added beside each drawing, along with a notation at the bottom of the first page. 'Dad said I needed to put in a scale.' Not surprisingly, the slaters get the biggest write up, since they are easiest to capture and study, and also the least icky. Her drawings show them both curled and uncurled, and she has speculated about them curling up to protect themselves. Following that, is a section copied from an encyclopaedia about their diet, complete with a note citing the source. The following pages contain drawings of different types of spider webs and their occupants. I have to grin at the final passage, 'Spiders are better than bugs, they still look gross, but they eat bugs. Some even eat birds and mice and things.' "Very good." I praise her, "Did you put the rock back when you finished." "Of course I did." she declares, "I may not like them very much, but they've got a right to live too, just not in my bedroom. Any bugs that come in there get thonged." "Fair enough." I chuckle. "How are you going with the books I gave you?" "Pretty good actually." she says, diving back into her bag, and handing me three of the books I'd lent her. "Here, I've finished these." "You've read the parts I wanted you to." I say, "Good." "No," she replies, "I finished them. Have you got any more, I like his stuff." "I haven't got any more of his science essays," I reply, "but I've got a couple that he wrote about history and things." "Can I have them?" she asks eagerly. "You can *borrow* them." I reply, "They're over there on the shelves." "Scrambling to her feet, she goes to my bookshelves and quickly picks out the books I'd indicated and then starts running her finger along the rest of the shelves. It briefly hovers over my Xanth books then moves on. "Can I borrow this one too? I haven't read it yet." A quick glance at the cover is enough for me to say, "Let's reserve judgment on that one until I can ask your mother. O.K.?" "Oh I've read 'Time Enough For Love and the others. Dad's got them." she informs me, "I just haven't read this one yet." Maybe you have, but he wrote this one just before he died, and it's a little more explicit, compared to the others. So let's wait and see. Even if your mum says it's O.K. I wouldn't take it to school. Some of the teachers mightn't appreciate it." "Really juicy huh?" she grins. "Not quite that bad." I grin back, "But it's still not something that they'd think girls your age should be reading." After stowing the books in her bag, we talk a little more about her science class work. Suddenly out of the blue she asks, "Can I still practice on you?" From, the way she is sitting with her knees hugged to her chest, and her feet far enough apart to call my attention to her knickers, it's pretty obvious what she is talking about. "Jenny." I say severely, "What did I just spend half an hour telling you?" "Before you say anything else, can I say something first?" she asks. "I'll probably regret this," I mutter, "but go ahead." "O.K. I really do know you won't do anything to hurt me, so I'm safe. I want to learn about boys and stuff, but the boys at school are just little kids who don't know anything and most of older boys who do know aren't safe. But you can teach me, and I'm safe." "What about the other girls?" I put in. "Forget it," Jenny tells me hotly, "most of the ones who know anything are sluts, and I don't know the ones who know stuff who aren't." "O.K. go on, have you got any more compelling arguments for me?" "I can't ask mum because she might get the wrong idea. I don't want to do anything yet, I just want to be ready for when I do. And finally," she says with a cheeky grin, "You like it and don't *really* mind." "O.K. this time your logic is impeccable." I accede, adding with a grin to match hers, "But I'll deny that last statement in a court of law." "It's still true." she giggles, waving her knees apart and back together, "See? You peeked." "Did not." I deny, "It was a reflex action brought about by the unexpected motion of your legs." "Ha." she scoffs, "Pull the other one, that one plays Jingle Bells. You peek every chance you get." "O.K. assuming I do peek, mind you I'm not admitting anything, but assuming I do, what's that got to do with it?" "Well if you didn't like peeking, there'd be no point in flashing, because you wouldn't be looking, and then it wouldn't be half as much fun." she says, "Since you do like peeking, but you won't touch me, I can do it all I like and still be safe." "That's enough of being safe I think." I tell her, "If you belabour a point too much it looses it's impact. O.K. we've established that I won't hurt you; that the boys who you can fight off don't know anything; the boy who do know, aren't safe; girls who know and advertise that they know are sluts; the other girls who know keep their traps shut and won't tell; Your mum can't help because she'd be afraid that you might try to put anything she tells you into practice; (I think you are wronging her there.) and maybe, just maybe, I like peeking up your skirt." "Well can I? Practice on you I mean." "I probably need my head examined," I mutter, "and *you* should have been drowned at birth, but since if I say no, you'll probably try elsewhere and get into trouble, I give up. O.K. you can practise on me." "Oh, I might practise elsewhere anyway." she giggles, holding up her hand to keep me quiet, "After all I need to make sure you know what you're talking about, but I'll make damned sure I'm safe first." "Haven't you got it through your thick head yet, there's no such thing as safe." I say with my face inches from hers, "Every heterosexual man has a breaking point, me, Mr Sampson, the pope, even your dad. We all have one, sometimes it just takes a flash of your knickers at the wrong time to set somebody off, and sometimes you have to practically rape him. And don't think you're safe just because a girl or a woman is around. Remember what I said about using you to get Vanessa? Well there are also some women who enjoy watching a little girl get it, and will hold them down to make sure she does. "You are never safe, safe. There are just varying degrees of danger." "It can't be that bad or you'd hear about it on the news all the time." "Bullshit." I bark, "There are about two hundred sexual assaults reported in this country every day, that's over seventy thousand every year." Grabbing a calculator, I go on, "Since there are about nine million women and girls in this country that means that you have just under a one in a hundred chance of being sexually assaulted every year. Average it out over a lifetime and it comes down to just under a fifty-fifty chance that *you* will be sexually assaulted at some time in your life. Oh, most probably it will be just a grab on your bum or something minor but it can still leave you feeling dirty and very, very scared. "And that's just the ones that get reported, a good guess is that only one in four such attacks get reported." I pause while I make some more calculations, and go on, "So every year, one in about thirty women and girls get attacked, and over a life time, it comes out to over nine chances in ten that it will happen to you." "Hey how come it actually happens to four time as many women and girls every year, but it's not even twice as many for a whole lifetime?" she asks, picking up on the apparent discrepancy, and thereby missing out on the significance of the numbers themselves. "I guess it seems a bit weird, but it works out that way because some times it happens to the same people more than once. You'll learn about it if you ever do statistics in college, and a little bit in HSC." "Is it *really* that hard?" she asks. "No I guess not, it is pretty basic statistics, it's just the numbers involved here get pretty big and very, very small." "Can you show me an easy example." "Hmm, let me think about it." I say, "Yes I can, and we can use your fractions as well. O.K. imagine a bag with three black marbles and one white one. Now what are your chances of reaching into the bag and getting the white one?" "One quarter." "And of not getting it?" "That means it's black, so three quarters." "O.K. put it back. Now what are the chances of not getting the white one a second time?" "Uh, one and a half." "Wrong, but I can see how you might think it is." I say, "No, the rules of the game are that all chances must be less than one. Now can you see a way to put three quarters and three quarters together and still come up with a number less than or equal to one?" She thinks about it for a while, then takes up pen and paper, and writes down three quarters twice. A fews seconds later she hesitantly says, "I could multiply them." "And that's the way you have to do it." I say, "What do you get?" "Nine sixteenths." "That's right." "But I don't see it." she complains. "O.K. I guess you'll have to see it laid out in front of you to get it. Write down 'B' twelve times. No, on separate lines. And now 'W' four times. Now next to them write 'B', 'B', 'B', 'W' and repeat it until you get to the bottom. O.K. now how many times do you get two 'B's, and how many different ways of picking out marbles are there all together." "Uh, nine 'BB's and sixteen ways, so that's the same as nine sixteenths," she replies, "but I still don't see why, aren't all the 'BB's the same?" "Well yes and no." I say, "Let's just for a second pretend all of the Black marbles are different. Here." taking pen and paper from her I name the three blacks 'B1', 'B2' and 'B3' so that she can clearly see the different combinations. "Oh I seen it now." she cries excitedly looking over my shoulder, "There really are sixteen ways of pulling the marbles out of the bag, but because you can't tell the difference between some of them it just seems like there aren't." "Exactly." I praise her, "Now put the marble back again and what are your chances of getting three black marbles in a row." "Um, twenty seven sixty fourths. That's less than half. And four in a row would be-" she scribbles on the paper for a few seconds, eighty-one, two hundred and fifty sixths. And-" "I think that's enough." I interrupt her, "Do you see what's happening?" "It's getting small pretty fast." "That's right, so what do you think you should do to find out your chances of getting at least one white marble in your four picks?" I ask. She goes for the obvious answer, multiplying one quarter by three quarters three times, replying "Nine, two hundred and fifty sixths." "Good try," I say, "but what you've got there is your chance of getting one white marble followed by three blacks. What you want are *all* of the times you don't get four black ones in a row. Try it with just two picks so you can use your table." I watch her as she moves her finger down the column, her lips moving as she counts. "Eight." she announces once she gets to the bottom. So all I have to do is take away all of the black, black combinations from sixteen, sixteenths. Which means for four it would be-" she scribbles down the numbers and ponders them for several seconds before finally admitting, "I can't do it." "That's because we haven't done that yet, you need to borrow from the next column." I explain, "Here watch. The first bit is easy, one from six is five, for the next column we need to borrow a one from the two so we can subtract eight from fifteen." "Seven." Jenny puts in. "That's right, and since we've already borrowed one from the two, there's only one left, so the answer is one hundred and seventy five." "But couldn't I just take eight from twenty five?" she asks. "You could, but what if you'd been taking away one hundred and eighty one?" I ask. "I know you can take eighteen from twenty five in your head, but the rule here is you do it one column at a time so that you don't make silly mistakes. Besides, what if it had been eighty seven you had been taking away, if you tried to do it your way, things would get muddled pretty fast." "I think I get it, can you show me some more?" she asks, "But first can you show me how the marble thing works with bigger numbers?" "You mean what I was doing before?" I ask. She nods silently. Maybe the numbers had registered after all. "O.K. for the purpose of this exercise we'll simplify things a bit and assume that every year the numbers are exactly one in a hundred, and one in twenty five. The other number we need is how long a woman can expect to live, which is about eighty-two years. "So it works out like this. ninety nine one hundredths, (Remember, if you want to know how likely something is to happen at least once, we start out with the chances of that event not happening.), so that's ninety-nine one hundredths raised to the power of eighty two. (That's the same as multiplying a number by itself eighty two times.) So your chances of it not happening, are about forty four in a hundred. Which means the chances of it happening are very nearly fifty six times out of a hundred. Which in turn means that fifty six out of a hundred women or girls will report an assault at some time in their life." "Hang on a sec." she objects, "if what you are saying is right, that means it happens to babies and old ladies too." "That's right." I say, "I've told you before, there are some very sick individuals out there." "Sick all right." She says "But it still can't be right because babies can't speak, so how can they tell somebody about it?" "True," I say, "but the assault might be seen by somebody else, or the baby is injured so that somebody can see that it's happened. Also older people are more likely to report an attack, so it evens things out. Now lets do it again and include all of the unreported attacks. Making the calculations in front of her, I say, "So the real chance of avoiding an assault each year is twenty four, twenty fifths, and in a lifetime that comes out to three and a half chances in one hundred. Or ninety six and a half chances of it happening out of a hundred that it will happen. Not good huh?" "I think I'm going to lock myself in my room and not come out." Jenny whispers. "Can't you do anything to make your chances better." "Plenty. But first remember, most of the assaults are fairly minor, and an even bigger proportion of the unreported ones are also minor. In all probability, it's only going to be some drunken idiot grabbing you on the boob or something similar. You're still going to be upset, and you'd have every right to be, but you can live with it, especially if it takes a heart surgeon to find his balls afterwards." She giggles at my joke as I go on, "O.K. avoiding the really bad ones. Never be alone on the streets at night. Don't get into a car with a stranger or anyone you don't trust. Don't flash your knickers or boobs unless you really want a guy's attention. Don't dress or act like a slut. When you do wear revealing clothes, like for a party when you're older, wear a coat over the top while your travelling. If it's dark outside and you're getting a taxi home, tell them you want the driver to come to the door. Share the taxi with friends, maybe even have all of you go to one person's place and have a parent drop off the rest, explain why and at least one person's parent will agree to do it. Never wear just your sport's gear home from school, alway put your dress on over the top, or put on a pair of trackie daks. "Think about the girls you see getting around in baggy clothes, they don't want just any guy's attention so they dress to avoid being noticed. Underneath they might look like Dolly Parton." "No way." Jenny giggles, "Their boobs would still stick out to here." "True," I smile back, "but put on a baggy enough tracksuit and she might be as fat as a hippo too. Why take the trouble to find out when there's easier prey out there. There are lots of little things you can do to make yourself safer, those are the one I thought of first, but since I'm a man they're probably the most important. "And finally, the one thing that is most likely to save you grief." I say, "If you ever feel the least bit uncomfortable in any situation, think quick, and get yourself some place safe. Bright lights and plenty of witnesses is best, but almost anywhere there's other people will do. Gangs of course are an exception. "You know what a safety house is, if you ever need to use one, do it, even if you're fifty years old. "If it ever does happen to you, the most important thing you can remember is that it's *not your fault*. Even if you did something silly, the other person is the one who made the choice to attack you. So long as you say 'no', all of the blame lies with the other person. Even if you say 'yes' and then change your mind, 'no' means 'no'. "And when it's over, report it immediately. The quicker you report it, the more likely it is your attacker will be caught. Also the quicker you get help, the better it is for you, because you don't have time to start blaming yourself for all of the things you might have done to avoid it. It doesn't matter how minor you think it is, and it doesn't matter what threat they might make. You can alway find somewhere else to live until the danger is past, but if you say nothing, then if someone else is hurt and you hear about it, it's just going to make you feel even shitier than you already do. "And enough." I sigh, "You're probably going to have nightmares for a week, after that." "Can I have some subtractions to do now?" "Kid you amaze me." I say wonderingly, "You're should to be hiding under a bed by now." "Can't," she giggles, demonstrating the resilience of youth, "Elwood would get me." "He's my monster under the bed." Jenny tells me, "Jake lives under Vanessa's." "Oh great," I groan, "Blues Brothers and Xanth. So what colour are her panties?" "Same as mine." she giggles, flipping up her skirt, "Green. Bet you asked that deliberately, so I'd show you." "Bet you did that deliberately so I'd look." I chuckle in return. "Of course." she informs me, "Problems please." "Here." I say after a couple of minutes of scribbling. She checks with me for the first couple of problems to make sure she has the borrows correct, then gaining confidence she works the next few on her own. At which point she reaches the first in which she has to subtract two numbers from a third. This time I'm almost certain that the slow but steady appearance of her undies is inadvertent. Stumped by the problem before her, she wriggles and squirms almost continuously, with the pen between her teeth. After watching several false starts, I'm just about to intervene when, she makes a happy little sound and with a flying pen breaks the problem down into two parts. I let her do a couple more in the same fashion, still totally unaware that three quarters of her cotton encased bottom is on display, then reach across and snap her legband to gain her attention. "Ouch!" she giggles reaching back to rub the affected part, suddenly she seems to realise her exposed state, and tugs her skirt back over her bum. "Hey, I didn't even know I did it that time." "Obviously." I remark dryly, "You weren't checking to see if I was looking." "So what do you want?" she asks, then suddenly she grins, "Was that sexual assault?" "Yes," I admit, "it could be counted as such. So you see, even I'm not totally safe." "So you've assaulted me three time today if you count the spanking. Or does each smack count separately?" she says with a smirk. "Nope." I grin back, "Besides you asked for it, so it doesn't count at all." "And since I didn't say no to the first one, I can't count this one, and I can't really count that one either because I didn't say no straight away. But don't do it again." she waggles her finger under my nose, adding with a giggle, "Too hard." "Incorrigible child." I mutter, "But what I wanted to say was, there's a trick to doing problems like that. If you cover up the top number, you can treat the rest as an addition and then you only have to subtract one number at the end." "Huh how does that work?" "Because subtracting is just adding in the other direction." I say, "Try it on the ones you've already done and see for yourself." She does as I ask, discovering for herself that I'm right. "Hey that's neat, and it makes it real easy when I've got to take away lots of numbers, because I only have to do two calculations instead of one for each." "And that means?" I ask expectantly. "Less silly mistakes." she supplies with a grin. "You can even do it in one step, but you want to be really confident before you try, because you'll probably have to borrow more than one, and sometimes you'll have borrow from way over on the left. This way you never have to borrow more than one. A few minutes later she asks, "What about these?" pointing to problems which are a mixture of addition and subtraction, "Is there a trick to make these easier too?" "Yes," I say, "but do a few the hard way first so you get a feel for them." Instead of doing as I say, she contemplates the problem with pen in her mouth, rhythmically flicking it from side to side with her tongue. A minute or so later she states, "I take out all the adding up first, that way I can use the subtraction trick and then all I have to do is add the rest together." "Try it and see," I tell her, "but you're still going to have to do it the hard way to check." Showing me her tongue she goes to work, coming up with the correct answer after a minute of diligent effort. She's not so lucky with the second answer though, as it turns out that her intermediate answer is going to be negative, something we have not covered yet. Turning to me with a look of utter frustration, she complains, "I can't make it work for this one." "That's because we haven't done negative numbers yet," I say, "and we're not going to start tonight. You almost had the trick right, but you should take out all of the subtractions and put them to one side, and since you have to have to do a separate sum for them anyway, it saves you a step at the same time. Your way works too, it's just a little bit more difficult." "And that means?" she giggles. "Silly mistakes." we finish together. "What are negative numbers?" she asks. "Numbers less than zero." I reply, "Eventually you're going to run into them no matter what tricks you use, but not tonight." "How can you have less than zero?" she asks curiously. "Well if you start out with nothing, borrow ten dollars from me and spend it, how much do you have left." "Nothing." she replies. "Really?" I ask, "Where's my ten dollars? I want it back." "Um, I'd get it off Dad." she says, brightly. "And now he's ten dollars out of pocket. So where does he get it from?" "He takes it out of my pocket money." she concludes. "You've missed the point." I say, "Between you spending the money and it coming out of your pocket money, you owe somebody ten dollars, and that means you have less than zero dollars, in fact you have negative ten dollars. You can't see it, but it's still a real number nonetheless." "So where do imaginary numbers come from?" she asks, in a way that tells me it's a set up. "No!" I cry in mock fear, "Not those, anything but those." "Why?" she asks, "They were in one of those books you lent me, but I skipped most of it like you said. And when you started talking about numbers less than zero, I sort of thought they might be them." "No negative numbers aren't imaginary." I say, "Let's go back to that ten dollars, because that way we're working with something concrete." "Concrete?" "Real, real." I explain, "What I mean, is that that ten dollars exists somewhere, in your case it means that you haven't got this week's pocket money yet. When you're older, it means that you haven't earned it. Imaginary numbers are a whole different kettle of fish, they're somewhere to the left of straight up." "That's not a real direction," Jenny giggles, "because it depends on which way you're facing." "Not even that," I chuckle, "because you can't really point to the left of straight up unless you're facing straight up, even then that's not enough because your feet have to be pointing in all directions at once. Then and only then can you point in the right direction." "But that's impossible." she objects. "Impossible to do, but not quite impossible to imagine," I grin, "which is where they get their name from." "Elucidate." she tells me. "Big word." I chuckle, "O.K. you know what a number line is right?" "Yeah." "Well if you put zero in the middle, all of the negative numbers are on the left and the positive ones are on the right." "So the imaginary ones are straight up and down. Right?" "Sorry, no prizes for guessing. Straight up and down is still real. You know how to find your street on a map?" "Like B6 you mean?" "Exactly, but we can also put numbers on the second line, and we're still describing something that's real." "I guess in front of and behind the line is out too, because you said my feet had to face every way at once?" "No guessing allowed," I grin, "but you still get a gold star for being right. If we go back to the map, that direction tells us how far above or below something we are, usually sea level. So what's left?" "Nowhere." she replies perplexedly. "Yes there is, but you have to *imagine* it." I tell her. Frowning cutely, she ponders the imponderable for several minutes, before finally admitting defeat, "I can't see it." "I'll let you in on a little secret," I chuckle, "almost nobody can, so we cheat." "How?" "By throwing away one of the real directions and putting the imaginary one in its place. We put a little 'i' next to it to remind us that it's imaginary, but apart from that we just pretend it's real, and we can use the same sort of equations to calculate with them, with only a few tiny changes to the rules. Now get back to your problems and stop trying to sidetrack me." "Yes sir." she giggles, throwing me a salute. When she has about three to go the phone rings. "Hello?" I answer it. "Greg, what on earth have you two been doing?" It's Dianne, "It's nearly half past seven." "What?" I ask incredulously, "Oh, my, God, I'm sorry, we got sidetracked and lost track of the time. I'll have her home in ten minutes. Bye." Hanging up, I turn to Jenny, "Quick Jenny pack your stuff, we're later than late." Smart kid that she is, she's already packing, and less than a minute later we're in the car. Fortunately Morrie knows to get the key from Danny next door if I'm not there so I don't have to waste time with a note. ******************************************************* Chapter 6 - Repercussions. Dianne greets us at the door looking less than happy, "What on earth were you doing that made you three quarters of an hour late?" she asks. Slipping her hand into mine, Jenny gazes up at me with a look that is half questioning and half fearful, I return a slight nod, and she turns to her mother. In a very small voice she asks, "Mummy can we talk?" Realising that this is serious, Dianne's features slip from anger to concern, "Of course honey, you know you can always talk to me. Do you need to talk now, or can it wait until after tea?" "Now I think Mummy." "Sorry for being mad at you Greg, but you can understand my concern." Dianne apologises, "Does this need your presence?" "That's up to Jenny," I reply, "but I think so." "Greg's got to be there Mummy," Jenny says, "or I'll say it all wrong and get him into trouble when it's really my fault." "One of those." Dianne says to me, once again looking less than pleased. "Come in." Once we're in the bright lights of the foyer, Dianne looks at Jenny and asks, "Jenny why is your hair wet." Touching the still damp hair around Jenny's scrunchie, Dianne looks at me, her frown deepening by the second. "I had her take a shower." I answer for Jenny, "She was prickly with sweat and wouldn't have been able to concentrate on her work." "So it's got nothing to do with this?" Dianne asks. "Not directly." I answer, relieved when, Dianne's expression lightens. "Well let's get this over with, it's obviously not going to get any sweeter for the waiting." "Can I use your phone first?" I ask "There's something I need to sort out." "Oh that's right this is your games night." Dianne says, "Go ahead." While I call Morrie and tell him to get someone else to play my character until I get back, Dianne tells Tony to feed Jeremy and put him to bed. Deciding on the schoolroom in order to keep Jeremy from interrupting us, Dianne leads us up the stairs. She frowns slightly when Jenny pushes me into an armchair and climbs into my lap, but recognising that Jenny is doing it for security, says nothing about it. "O.K. who want's to go first." "I will Mummy," Jenny says, puling my arms even tighter around her, "it's my fault, and you're going to be real mad." "That bad is it?" Dianne sighs, "If it'll make it any easier, I'll reserve judgment until, you've both had your say, because I'm sure Greg will do his best to plead your case." "Thanks Mummy," Jenny says, "but you still aren't going to like it. Remember what Vanessa and I did when Greg was here the first time. Well I sort of did it again, except worse. I tried to show off my new undies by making him peek at me." Smart move, I'm not sure that Dianne would sit still through the rest of this if Jenny told her exactly how she tried to show them to me. It might have got me off the hook, but I felt that Dianne needed to know what I told Jenny, even if I lost my job as a result. "Anyway they were all sweaty, and he saw right through them." "That's why I packed your other undies with your sports gear, maybe next time, you'll wear them." Dianne says with a frown for Jenny. "Go on." "Well that's when I got all prickly and Greg made me take a shower." "Cold sweats are never fun." I put in. "I hope it scared you good." Dianne tells her daughter. "A bit." Jenny admits, "but not enough I guess, because I did it again. With my other undies." She hastily adds. "I don't care what you're wearing don't do it it's dangerous." Dianne tells her daughter severely. "I know Greg told me that too," Jenny mumbles, "But I guess I didn't care, and besides you knew where I was, so I thought he couldn't hurt me and I did it again." "Jenny!" Dianne cries out in mixed fright and anger, "Have you any idea what could happen to you if you keep up that sort of behaviour?" "I do now." Jenny says almost inaudibly. "My turn." I say. Taking a deep breath, I continue, "You're probably going to throw me out on my ear when you hear this, but I did it for Jenny's sake. Her behaviour was scaring me almost as badly as it's scared you, and I wanted her to be very sure of the possible consequences of her actions." "You obviously said more than you think you should have." Dianne says to me, "Tell me the worst." "Well there's no pretty way to say this, so I'll tell it bluntly. I took her step by step through exactly how I or anyone else, could seduce her." "WHAT?" Dianne yells, half rising from her chair, "You told her what?" "He told me what happens to girls who do stupid things Mummy." Jenny replies, "Please let him finish, he didn't do anything bad, I did." "Sorry," Dianne apologises sinking back into her seat, "I did say I would hear you out." "I said you wouldn't like it, but Jenny was trolling for sharks, using herself as bait, and I wanted to scare her as badly as I could. So step by step, I showed her exactly how easily a whole lot of innocent little things could end up putting her in a position of being too scared to tell anyone about what was happening, because her own actions had become entangled in the situation. "I will say this in her defence, she was adamant she'd tell you no matter how much her own actions had contributed to her predicament. However, I played hypothetical, and took it right to its grisly conclusion, including dragging Vanessa into it and how she would probably feel as a result of everything that happened. I don't think I told her anything about sex itself that she didn't already know." "You didn't." Jenny interrupts. "But I was more concerned with making Jenny understand just how badly she could be burnt." I finish. "Grim stuff," Dianne frowns, "but I can see your reasoning. Any more?" "A little, but first I like to say this. On the down side, Jenny is quite a bit less innocent than she was this morning, but the positive result is that I doubt even Brad Pitt would be able to seduce her now. "The other thing I told her was just how easy it was for some of the less savoury members of our community to misinterpret the signals she was sending, and the sort of situation she might find herself in as a result." "That was real scary." Jenny puts in, "Mummy, did you know more than nine out of ten women or girls will get hurt before they die?" "No I didn't." Dianne says in surprise. Of me she asks, "Is it really that bad?" "Yes and no." I reply, "I was still intent on scaring Jenny, so I lumped every kind of sexual assault in together, from a drunken groping at the pub, right up to outright rape. Using the official figures it comes out to about fifty-fifty, but if you use the estimate that only about one in four sexual assaults get reported, then it works out that about ninety three percent of women and girls will suffer some sort of sexual assault in their lifetime. Actually it would be somewhat less, because I made the assumption that the chances remain constant throughout a woman's life, when in truth, they're a bit lower for girls under sixteen and considerably lower for women over about fifty. But I'd figure that it would still be somewhere in the low to mid eighties. "I don't have my calculator handy, so I can't give you the figures for actual rape, but at a rough guess I'd figure it to be around five percent based on the raw data, in truth a bit less, and considerably less if you take the proper precautions." "He told me how to do that." Jenny says. "Well I hope he put not flashing your knickers high on the list of priorities." Dianne says. "Yep." Jenny giggles, recovering her spirit now that the worst has been told. "I wouldn't laugh if I was you." Dianne informs her daughter darkly, "There's still the matter of your punishment to be dealt with." Gulping Jenny subsides. "Is that the end of the confessions?" Dianne asks, "Or is this going to turn into a Demtel commercial?" "No that's it." I chuckle, starting to feel that, I might make it out of this with my balls intact, "No steak knives.' "You needn't laugh either. I haven't finished with you yet." Dianne informs me, "Jenny go to your room and stay there until I tell you to come out." "Please don't be mad at him Mummy, he was scared I'd do something stupid and get hurt." Jenny pleads on my behalf. "No promises, but I'll give him a fair hearing." Dianne says, "Now go, there are some things I need to hear that you don't." 'Uh-oh," I think, 'here's where I get my marching orders.' Dianne waits with her head cocked to the side for the sound of Jenny's bedroom door closing and then turns to me. "First of all tell me how you know so much about seducing little girls that you can give a step by step account." Since telling her about frequenting Mr Double's site on the Internet, is a sure ticket to Hell, I say, "Accounts in the papers, a good dose of imagination, and sheer inspiration. I think even you could come up with a believable scenario, with the wellbeing of someone you care for deeply at stake." "More easily than you can imagine." Dianne says, "I spent two years of my life with our minister's hand, and worse, up my skirt." "I'm sorry." I say. "Thankyou." she says, "*He* convinced me I wanted it, so I know what that's like. Fortunately I managed to work up the courage to tell my mother and we dealt with it very effectively. We drove him out of town, and a series of anonymous letters to various women's groups followed him around the country until he finally committed suicide. And you know what, I'm not the least bit sorry, he used his position as a man of God to take advantage of me and a lot of other girls, and once he was dead he lost the power to hurt me or anyone else ever again." "I wouldn't be sorry either, I would have nailed his gonads to the church door." "Dad wanted to kill him, but Mum wouldn't let him, because there was no point in going to jail over the likes of him. Instead she came up with a campaign to get rid of him. There was a certain justice to it too. She used the same sort of techniques that he'd used to seduce me, to let the whole town know just what he was. One tiny step at a time. And the whole time he could see what was coming, but couldn't do a thing about it without admitting the truth. "My mother was a master manipulator, the first thing she did was change the sermon on the church notice board to 'Lot's Daughters.' for five weeks running. Next it was changing all of the hymn numbers to 'God bless the little children'. One insidious step at a time, she exposed that monster to the community. Somewhere about the fourth week of her campaign, other women, mothers of girls he'd touched, came forward to offer their help, somehow they knew my mother was behind it, though to this day almost nobody else does. It was a club where only his victims families were accepted. "Everywhere he went women would huddle together, and he'd hear the word child above their whispers. Groups of girls that he'd touched would lie in wait for him and the moment he came near they would hurry away. Younger children, his victim's brothers and sisters were taught to sing 'Georgie Porgie' whenever they saw him. That one was probably the most effective thing my mother thought of, as within days nearly every child in town was doing it. "Finally the synod was forced to take notice and he was transferred away. I wish we could have taken them on too, for covering up their mistake in accepting him in the first place, and secondly for not admitting it and defrocking him when they had the chance, but they were untouchable. So I've had to be satisfied with out living most of them. "As for him. A letter would go to enough members of the church social club in the town where he was placed, that there would always be at least one or two women who'd been victims themselves. Since they often couldn't strike back at their own attackers, they fastened on him as a substitute. Some of those women were vicious, but one thing remained constant. Everywhere he went, he was followed by 'Lot's Daughters', 'God Bless The Little Children', and 'Georgie Porgie'" "Brilliant just brilliant." I congratulate her, "It should happen more often, at the same time I wish it never had to happen." "Amen to that." Dianne replies feelingly, "Do you know just how many girls it does happen to?" "I don't know what the official figures are," I reply, "but since 'under sixteens' is probably the most under-reported age group, the official figures'd be damned near useless anyway. However, I believe that the best estimates put it at some where between twenty and twenty five percent of girls being technically molested by their sixteenth birthday." "Technically?" Dianne queries, "That's a rather cold way of putting it, don't you think?" "Sorry I didn't mean it like that." I reply, "What I meant is that since all sexual contact with a child under sixteen is defined as molestation, even when it is another child, a lot of otherwise harmless incidents are included in the figures." "I see what you mean." Dianne replies, mollified. "*Technically* I'm a dangerous sex offender who shouldn't be allowed anywhere near children, because my brother and I played doctor with the little girl next door. Although I know it wasn't really right, and even then, we were aware of that fact. (At least we were always careful not to get caught.) However, I don't consider it to be something that brands me as someone who should be registered as a sex offender, but the law as it stands says exactly that. "For crying out loud, Tracy was no innocent even before we began our games. I've got a photograph of my brother and I showing off our Christmas presents in the driveway, and back in the background, sitting on her front porch, is Tracy wearing nothing but a pair of knickers, a dreamy smile and some very busy fingers. *Technically* I guess that opens me up to a child pornography charge as well." "Don't you think she might have been molested?" Dianne asks. "I doubt it." I laugh, "This was the seventies remember, when the entire fabric of sexuality was being rewoven, I think she was just the child of the times. I think Tracy discovered what felt good entirely on her own, and was simply never discouraged from doing it, in and around her own home, elsewhere she was a perfect little lady. At least until we got the wardrobe door closed and the torch lit." Dianne chuckles at this, saying, "I remember that, though in my case it was the linen press and the game was one minute of heaven. Not that it was, heaven I mean, mostly it was some very noisy giggles and a lot of clumsy groping." With a reminiscent chuckle, she adds, "And the last time finished with a lot of angry yelling and me eating my dinner standing up." "Ouch." I grin. "In a way, I think that was what made me vulnerable to the minister too." she says sadly. "You can't blame yourself for that." I say, "He was the one who forced himself on you." "Oh he never used anything so crude as force." Dianne replies, "No, I meant the spanking. Like you told Jenny, he built things up one tiny step at a time, until by the time I realised what was happening, I was more afraid of the spanking I'd get from my father than anything else. It was only when one of the older girls turned up pregnant that I finally said anything. I saw how she was treated by the whole town and suddenly, I was a whole lot more scared of that, than anything my father might do." "How is Jenny's father going to react?" I ask. "Hopefully not as badly as mine did," Dianne replies, "though I think I'll keep your part in this limited to having scared Jenny badly enough to be good, without going too deeply into the specifics of how you did it. "Now I think it's time to go and get our little exhibitionist and pass sentence." She says rising from her seat. "And me?" I ask. "You, I sentence you to having to put up with my troublesome daughter, at least until she's able to keep up at school on her own." "Thanks. I think?" I say with a mock grimace. "You didn't think you were going to get away that easily did you." Dianne chuckles, "You have Jenny really thinking, which is something that Julie never could quite manage. I watched her spend two hours out there at that rock, writing up her journal for you, and I know how much she dislikes creepy crawlies. And you went above and beyond the call of duty in order to keep her safe, where many other men would have said nothing for fear of being blamed. And that in turn would have given her a green light to try out her tricks elsewhere. No, you're in it for the duration." "Do I get time off for good behaviour?" I ask mournfully. "There is no leniency in this court." she says mock severely, "The full sentence will be served." "I shall attempt to bear my burden with fortitude." I say with a grin. "You do that." she says with a backward grin as she passes through the door. She returns alone a minute or so later, saying with a grin that Jenny will be along shortly. When Jenny does appear, she is carrying a double handful of frilly, filmy nothings. "Is that all of them?" Dianne asks. "There's still the ones in my bag." Jenny admits. "Well give me those, and you can put the dirty ones in the laundry when, we're finished here." Dianne says grimly. "Thank you Jenny," she says taking the knickers from her daughter, "now sit over there." To me she says, "That's the first part of her punishment, it's back to her old undies for a month." "Good choice." I nod approvingly, "May I add something to whatever else you've got in store for her?" "'What is it first?" Dianne asks. "A birth control device." I reply. "A WHAT?" Dianne asks incredulously. "This." I say holding up a five cent piece. My grin mollifies her somewhat and she asks, "How does that work?" "Like this." I say, moving over to Jenny and fitting it between her knees. Pushing them together, I step back, instructing her to "Keep it there." "I've said it before." Dianne chuckles in realisation, "You're a cruel man Greg Parry." Finishing with a peal of laughter, she says, "I love it." Jenny's dark expression and uncomfortable looking posture however, tell me that she is not at all thrilled. Schooling her features into proper disapproval, Dianne turns to her daughter and says, "Jenny, you are also grounded for two weeks with no visitors, the only place you will go apart from school and here, is Greg's house for your lessons, everything else is stopped. You will also receive no pocket money for the same period, and I will cut all of your lunches. I am also withdrawing my permission for your excursion to the zoo. And since I like it so much, every time you sit down in this house, you will wear your birth control device. That," she nods significantly toward Jenny's knees, "is the only money you will see for the next two weeks. "And now that that part's out of the way, it's time to go and tell your father why he's going to be seeing so much of you for the next two weeks." Dianne finishes off. The prospect of this makes Jenny shudder, a soft thud announcing that she has let her knees come apart. Before her mother can speak, she picks it up and returns it to its place while apologising, "Sorry mummy, it slipped." "Well I can't expect you to learn in five minutes, come on and lets get this over with." Dianne says. Fortunately, Jeremy is in bed by this time, and Tony waits alone in the family room. Knowing that Jenny has done something to disrupt the routine of dinner, he doesn't look pleased, and when Jenny enters the room looking scared, he looks even less pleased. "What has she done?" he asks darkly. Dianne waits until everybody is seated before speaking, and then it is to quietly rebuke Jenny. "Haven't you forgotten something Jenny?" "Sorry Mummy." Jenny replies quickly fitting the small coin between her knees. "What's that?" Tony asks curiously. "Her birth control device." Dianne replies, keeping her expression as straight as possible. "Her what?" Tony cries out in shock. "Don't you love it?" Dianne chuckles, "It was Greg's idea, It's one hundred percent effective, and just so deliciously appropriate to her crime too." "Which is?" "In effect gross stupidity," Dianne replies, "but the actual particulars, are that she tried to show off her new knickers to Greg. Repeatedly." "Is this true?" He turns an angry glare on his daughter. "Yes Daddy." Jenny replies in a small voice. "And why are you here?" He asks me. "I would have though your part would have ended with dumping her at the door." "He's here because he came down on her like a ton of bricks and he wasn't sure that we'd approve of his methods." Dianne answers for me. "However, I've approved them, and I especially like his last touch." She waves at where Jenny is uncomfortably perched on her chair. "I sort of like it too." He chuckles, "But what did he do that he thought was so terrible. He didn't hit her did he?" The look that Tony gives me, makes me very glad that I hadn't. Very glad." "No nothing like that." Dianne is quick to reply, "He only did what he threatened me with during our interview a couple of weeks ago. He gave her the naked truth and pointed out just how bad her chances of getting through life without being assaulted were already. *Without* her asking for trouble on top. How did you put it? 'Trolling for sharks using herself as bait.' Wasn't it?" "Pretty much." I reply. "I learned something from it though Daddy." Jenny puts in. "I should bloody well hope so." He replies. "Uh huh, it really scared me," Jenny nods fervently, "but I mean maths stuff too." "An obvious attempt to change the subject," he grimaces, "but I'll bite. What did you learn." "Statistics like they do in college." Jenny replies proudly. "I thought I was bad when it comes to being sidetracked." he says looking at me, "How did that come about." "Well, when I was trying to get her to realise what sort of trouble she was asking for, I used both the official crime statistics, and also the estimate that only one in four such crimes got reported. And it confused her that while the annual chance was four times as high, her lifetime chance was only a bit less than twice as bad. So I explained how it works with the marbles in a bag example, and how to calculate that an event will happen at least once and why multiple occurrences of the event meant that you couldn't just add the numbers together." "There's no way I'd use the word 'only' about ninety three percent." Dianne mutters. "Ninety three percent?" Tony says incredulously, "You're kidding me." "No he's not." Dianne says, "It shocked me too. But that figure does include everything from lewd suggestions, right up to the worst, so you can breath a little bit easier." "I'm still seriously considering locking her in her room until her eighteenth birthday." he mutters. "That was Jenny's first reaction too." I say with a smile. "Except she was going to spend the rest of her life there." "But he told me how to make it better by doing sensible stuff." Jenny says. "Such as?" Tony asks. "Well I guess this is one of them," Jenny says with a grimace, pointing to where her knees still keep the coin trapped. "because I can't flash my undies if I can't move. But mostly it was stuff about not being alone at night, and not getting in cars with strangers, and wearing sensible clothes on the street, and things like that." "In other words, being careful and not acting like you were asking for trouble." Dianne supplies. "Uh-huh." Jenny nods. So apart from having to sit like my grandmother's maiden aunt, what's the damage?" "No pretty knickers for a month, two week total grounding, except for her tutoring sessions, no pocket money for two weeks, I've cut her excursion, and she brown bags it as well. Oh, and no TV. You can read in your room or sulk. Your choice." Dianne says. "That reminds me," I say, "Jenny wants to borrow a book of mine and I think it needs your approval first." "What is it?" Dianne asks. "To Sail Beyond The Sunset, by Heinlein." I reply, "She says she's read some of the other books that link with it, but this one goes quite a bit further, and I wanted to make sure that you were aware of that before I handed it over." "Just how bad do you think it is?" Tony asks. "Well there's nothing terribly graphic from what I recall, but it does touch a little more heavily on subjects that not everybody considers appropriate for someone of Jenny's age." I say. "I think I understand what you mean, but could you be a bit more specific?" he asks. "Well I guess the thing that worries me most is that there's a fair bit of 'the game the whole family can play'." There, there's no way Jenny's going to look that one up in the dictionary. "Uh-huh." he says slowly, "Maybe I should read it first, and then I'll be in a better position to judge." "That's not fair Daddy I wanted to read it first, and you'll take forever." Jenny moans, more or less back to her usual self now that her fate has been decided. "No it's not." Tony tells her, more than a trifle angrily, "What would be fair, is you not needing that 'birth control device' because you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week. Now go to your room and, I don't want to see you until the morning." "But I haven't had anything to eat." she cries. "I doubt you'll starve to death between now and breakfast." Tony replies unsympathetically, finishing with a sudden roar, "GO!" "Crying in earnest." Jenny flees from the room, and I hear the sound of her stumbling up the stairs, followed by the angry slamming of her door. Still angry, Tony half rises from his seat, only to be pushed back by his wife. "Leave it." she says, "She's a very, very frightened little girl right now, and as angry as you are right now, you'll just make it worse." "Don't I have every right to be angry." He says, "I'm scared shitless that the next time it won't be someone with Greg's strength of character? What if someone like that bastard in Castlemaine got to her?" Dianne looks over at me, almost apologetically, as she says, "I wasn't going to tell you this, but Greg also told her just how easy it would be for him to do to her, what that minister did to me. She *is not* going to be prey for the likes of him." "Why on Earth would you use yourself as an example." he asks me. "Because I wanted to make it as immediate and as close to home as possible. 'I would', has a heck of a lot more impact than 'he could'." I reply. "Especially since she seemed to be so intent on laying the groundwork for me." "You mean you didn't just talk about it in general terms?" Tony asks. "He means, he told her exactly what, and how little, it would take to turn her into his own personal sex toy." "Everything?" "I didn't go into graphic detail about the sex, but I did tell her just how easy it would be for me to touch her in various places while doing something else, like tickling her, and how from there, with a little less tickle and a little more touch each time, it would eventually lead to all touch and no tickle. I hope I'm not spilling any secrets here, but I got the distinct impression that she is fully aware of just how good touching various parts of her body can feel." Nods from Dianne and Tony confirm my supposition. "We never discouraged her, just made sure she knew that it was something private." Dianne tells me. "Anyway, she was able to see how she could be lead to the point where she would be the one doing the asking. At which point of course she is all but lost. "In the end though, I couldn't quite bring myself to say what the logical conclusion was, but she tried to make a joke that told me she'd figured it out for herself." "Well I can't say I'm happy you told her all that," Tony says, "but compared to her actually experiencing it... Well all I can say is that I'm grateful, that you did." "I'm not happy that I said it either," I say, "but there's no way I could have lived with myself if I'd said nothing and something happened to her." "Why didn't you just tell us and let us deal with it?" he asks. "A couple of reasons." I say, "Partly, I didn't want her dismissing it as parental alarmism. She already knew that it was wrong and possibly dangerous, but she kept on persisting in the belief that I was safe, so it was obvious that she hadn't taken the warnings that you'd already given her seriously enough. Mostly though, I was scared juiceless and I just wanted to stop her in her tracks. "I may be safer than most, but I'm not completely safe, no one is. We all have a breaking point beyond which we'll do something unthinkable, and my destroying a child's life is definitely not the way that I want to find out what mine is." "I doubt any child could make you reach your breaking point," Tony says, with Dianne nodding her agreement, "but I understand what you mean." "Oh I don't know," I say with a slight smile, "there's one or two I could cheerfully strangle on occasions." "With mine first and foremost at the moment I think." Tony chuckles. "What could possibly make you think such a thing?" I ask in mock surprise, "Jeremy's a lovely child." "Yes he is, but my other child needs to be nailed into a barrel and fed through the bunghole." he says with a dark laugh. "I thought that only applied to teenage boys." I say with a smile, nodding towards the book on the arm of his chair to indicate I'd gotten the reference. "So you've read Space Family Stone too." He chuckles. "If it's got his name on it," I say, "I've read it. I was most upset when he karked it." "Me to." Tony replies. "Well," I say, "I think I'd better be going, if I don't get home soon I won't have a house to go back to, and I'm sure Dianne would like to get something to eat." "I don't think I could eat anything tonight." she says, adding, "You don't mean to say you host these games? I only thought you were be ringing to tell them you couldn't make it." "It doesn't matter," I say, 'I considered Jenny to be much more important." "Well, you've done your duty and more, get out of here before they wreck the joint." Tony says. With a final goodbye at the door, I head for my car and the probable disaster waiting for me at home. *** "What took you?" Dave quips as I come into my lounge, "Girlfriend troubles?" "Big ones." I reply, "And the next one of you who makes a smart arsed crack can leave." "Bad huh?" Morrie asks seriously, "Shall I kill off Kitty Kat?" "No just tone her down a little O.K.?" "So what happened?" Nothing you bastards need to know about." I say, "Suffice it to say, she's one very scared and sorry kid right now. Now give me a pipe or ten and tell me what's happened, and whether I'm still alive." "'Nuff said." Morrie says, and goes on to bring me up to date on the campaign. *** The following Monday, Dianne is waiting with Jenny when I arrive to pick her up, Dianne obviously dressed to go out, Jenny in jeans and a flannelette shirt. After exchanging greetings, Dianne tells me. "Tony and I discussed things a little more after you left, and decided that you may tell Jenny anything that you feel she needs to hear without fear of repercussions. And we'll leave it up to you as to whether you tell us or not. "Now since I have an appointment with the doctor this evening, you needn't drop Jenny off tonight, I'll pick her up on my way home." "O.K. thanks." I say as Jenny gets in beside me. "See you then." "So how goes it?" I ask, as I pull out from the kerb. "Awful." she mutters, "I can't do anything. They won't even let me watch the news. As soon as Dad turns the TV on, I've got to go upstairs." "Well look on the bright side," I say, "you'll soon finish those books I lent you." "I guess so," she grumbles, "but Dad hasn't even started that other one yet." "Let me put on my prophet's hat for a second." I say with a grin, "I bet he starts it just before your two weeks is up." "Probably." she half smiles back, "I can't even 'practice' 'cause Mum made me wear these stupid jeans." "Well since you won't be 'practicing' for another two weeks anyway, it doesn't matter." "Two weeks?" she exclaims. "Well your punishment isn't over until Thursday week, and then I won't see you until the Monday, so that's two weeks." "Mumble, mumble, sassafras'n, mumble." "Yes Muttly?" I inquire sweetly. She giggles. "Nothing." "I thought as much." She remains silent for the remainder of the trip, her arms crossed and her bottom lip pushed outwards, though it is fairly obvious that here heart isn't really in her sulk. As I slow down to pull into my drive, I see my neighbour Angela looking over the fence to where I usually park my car. She has her baby Sandy in her arms and a bag over her shoulder. She smiles and waves when she sees me pulling in, but the smile fades when she sees Jenny beside me. "Hi Angela." I smile, as I climb out of the car. "Were you looking for me?" "Well I was going to ask you to look after Sandy for me, but I see that you're busy." she replies looking unhappy. "Never too busy for my little munchkin." I smile, "I assume Danny's out of his tree again." "Totalled." she grimaces, "It's only bingo so it's all right." "So chuck us the rug rat and go and have some fun. I can still keep an eye on her while I tutor Jenny here. Oh yeah, Jenny this is my neighbour Angela, and Angela, this is Jenny, who I'm tutoring in maths, science, and most recently, feminine deportment." "You're what?" she laughs. "He has to try and turn me into a lady." Jenny giggles, while blushing hotly. "I don't think I'll ask why." Angela smiles while handing me a sleeping Sandy, and the bag. "She's already filled a nappy for today, so you should be right there. I'll see you about ten. Bye." "Bye." Jenny and I wave. "Can I hold her?" Jenny asks eagerly, "What's her name?" "No you can't, you can take my keys and open the door for me." I reply, "And her name's Sandy." Pouting, Jenny does as I ask, holding the door while I bring in Sandy and the half ton of junk needed to care for her. Inside Jenny repeats her request to hold Sandy, which I again refuse. She becomes even less happy, when I indicate that she will be working at the desk. At least she remembers to be quiet as she takes her seat and gets her things ready. Ignoring Jenny's obvious, and this time more genuine, sulk, I build a nest of cushions and carefully deposit Sandy in the middle, covering her with a bunny rug from the bag. I then place a fireguard, bought specifically for this purpose, in front of my TV and video. The coffee table on edge serves to protect the bottom few rows of books. Bottle in the fridge, and doors closed, I turn to where Jenny is sitting watching my precautions with interest. "Haven't you forgotten something?" I ask with a significant nod downwards. "Do I have to?" she moans, "Mummy only said I had to do it at home. Besides I'm wearing jeans." As if to illustrate her point, she moves her knees about eighteen inches apart and back together." "Since it was my idea, you can do it here too." I inform her with a smirk. "Now put it in and let's get going." Grimacing, she digs in her pocket and pulls out the coin. And almost immediately discovers how much harder it is to keep it in place when sitting in a swivel chair. Over the next ten minutes or so it hits the floor with sufficient regularity that I decide to give her a break and relent. However, by this time there is a such a set look of determination on her face that I continue the session without saying anything further. Suddenly a funny look enters her eye, part glee and part something that seems almost self mocking. Catching the coin out of the air as it falls for the umpteenth time, she looks at me and asks, "Does it matter what part of my knees I keep it between?" "Well it took you long enough?" I chuckle. "The only rule is that it remain between your knees, how you keep it there is entirely up to you." Slapping the coin down on top of her right knee, she crosses the left over the top and swings her foot back and forth a few times. "There," she declares with finality, "the bloody thing can't go anywhere now." "Spot on." I chuckle. "Well why did you make me do it the other way?" she asks accusingly. "Well it is good for your posture." I say in my best stiff upper lip accent. Giggling she thumps my arm, and says, "No the real reason." "To make it clear to you, just how important keeping your legs together is." I reply, "Flashing your knickers is an art that I'm not going to teach you until your two weeks is up, but I will say this much. Anything straight up between the knees carries only a single message, and that message is: 'Here it is boys, come and get it.'" "So what was it when I bent over to show you my bum?" she giggles. "It depends on how much you show off, I say, "It varies from: 'Have a good look boys, and if you're real lucky I might let one of you touch.'; to 'Grab a handful of this and hang on for the ride of your life.' But unless you're an expert it's still a slut signal so don't use it. "What about when I took my skirt off?" "Depends on the circumstances, but it's usually: 'Come and get it *now*. Throw me over the coffee table, and root me ragged.'" Almost screaming with laughter she slides from her chair to land on the floor with a thump. Rising with a rueful rubbing of her tail bone, she eases herself back into her chair. "Definitely a slut signal." she giggles. "Very definitely." I chuckle. "Now enough of that, find your 'birth control device' and back to work." A few minutes later, Sandy announces that she's had enough of sleep, with a happy gurgle. Even as I turn, she is already bumping her way out of her nest, intent on exploring her surroundings. At nine months old, she's a perfect little demon. Very mobile, and interested in anything and everything, seemingly most interested in those things that are fragile, expensive, or dangerous, and if it's all three, well that just makes it all the more attractive. I quickly scan the room to make sure that I haven't left anything like that within her reach, then turn back to Jenny. As can be expected, her eyes are on Sandy. "Oi, back to work, I'll let you know when you can stop." With a filthy look for me, she turns back to her books, while I rush to prise a scrap of paper out of Sandy's hand before it goes in her mouth. She looks at me as if she might howl for a couple of seconds, then deciding it's not worth the effort, she scuttles of to the next destination in her journey through life. From her bag, I scatter a few toys about in the faint hope that they might distract her from *more interesting* things. Temporarily at least, it works, a plush cube with a chime in it catches her attention, and as she bats it around the floor, I return with a sigh of relief to where Jenny is making a mess of her latest problem. By the time that's sorted out, I have to rescue a slightly chewed magazine from Sandy's clutches. The next thing is a whimper of discomfort from Sandy, which when investigated is due to a saturated nappy. Before she can exercise her lungs properly, I roll her onto her back and divest her of fluffies and nappy, dropping both into a plastic bag. She coos happily at the cool soothing touch of a 'wet one' and I notice a slight rash, so I decide to let her air dry for a while. "Aren't you going to put a nappy on her? Won't she wet on the floor?" Jenny's questions, indicates that she has once again, become distracted from her work by the baby. No, she's got a bit of a rash and leaving the nappy off is good for it." I tell her, "And if she makes a mess, I, or if you're not back at work in three seconds, you, will clean it up." "That's not much of a threat," she giggles while nevertheless turning her eyes back to the desk, "I have to change Jeremy's dirty nappies sometimes and they're awful sometimes. What if she poops?" "There's not much chance of that, since she's already done one today, but since you're an expert, if she does, I'll let you have the honours." "Thanks, I don't think." Jenny mutters as she continues with the current problem before her. "O.K. take a break." I say a few minutes later, "Keep an eye on Sandy while I get some drinks." I return a couple of minutes later with a pair of Cokes and a couple of inches of juice in a bottle for Sandy, to find Jenny on the floor hopping a fluffy bunny across in front of Sandy. With gurgles of joy she chases it back and her tiny pussy winking at me from between chubby thighs. "She was touching her vagina so I distracted her." Jenny tells me. "Why?" I ask as I pass out the drinks. Sandy accepts hers with a squeal of joy, rolling onto her bottom and sitting with her legs stretched out in a vee. "Because I don't want her to get hurt." Jenny informs me seriously. "I don't think that's a problem quite yet." I chuckle, "She's just a baby." "Don't laugh," Jenny cries, "you said it happens to babies too." "Sorry." I say, "I said that to scare you. Actually it hardly ever happens to babies, and in the few unfortunate cases when it does, whether they're touching themselves or not, makes absolutely no difference to the situation." "See, she's at it again." I grin, waving to where Sandy, with her bottle in one hand, is happily probing at the plump crease between her legs with the fingers of other. Jenny glances toward Sandy and then looks away with an embarrassed giggle. "All she knows at the moment is that it feels nice." I explain, "Later on when she's able to understand, it will be explained to her that it's something to do in private." Suddenly a wicked demon prompts me to ask, "How long have you been doing it?" "I can't tell you that!" Jenny exclaims with a rosy blush. "Actually you don't need to." I chuckle evilly, "Your mum told me you've always done it, and you were encouraged to keep it private, just like Sandy will be when she's old enough to understand." Completely crimson now, Jenny gasps incredulously, "She told you?" "Oh I'd already guessed." I tell her, "She only confirmed it." "My, life, is, over." Jenny groans biting off each word as it emerges. "Why on Earth for?" I ask ,"Almost everybody does it." "I know that stupid, it's in all the books." she tells me, "But it's still bloody embarrassing." "If it's any comfort to you," I say, "I still do it once or twice a day." "Me too." she admits, then slaps her hand over her mouth as she colours yet again. "Oh shit!" "I think the word you're looking for is 'oops'." I chuckle. "You won't tell anyone will you?" she pleads. "Well that depends," I prevaricate, "what's in it for me? Seriously though, who would I tell, I'm sure your mum already knows, and if I tell anyone else my ten year old student tosses off three times a day, I'd probably end up trying to explain it to the boys in blue." Suddenly I notice Sandy's eyes begin to defocus, and I make a dive for her bag. Just in time to catch all but the first dribbles, I get a folded nappy beneath Sandy as she cuts loose with a healthy stream of urine. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Jenny looking on with interest as it arches from between her chubby labia. As the flow becomes a dribble, Jenny glances my way and realises that I'm watching her. "I was... I mean..." she stammers. "You've never really seen how a girl pees before?" I guess. Crimson with embarrassment, Jenny nods jerkily. "It's O.K." chuckle, "I doubt very much whether Sandy minds, and it is a bit difficult to watch yourself." "How..." Jenny begins, then answers her own question with a self-conscious grin, "I know, you guessed." "How did you guess?" I say with mock astonishment. While I finish mopping up a squirming Sandy, Jenny asks, "How come you always know all this embarrassing stuff about me?" "Well it's nothing sinister if that's what you're worried about." I say with a grin, "I've got a seven year old niece, and I've either caught her at it, or heard my sister tell me all sorts of things that she's done. Let's see among other things, I've caught her using her electric toothbrush in the most interesting way." From the violent shade of red that suddenly suffuses Jenny's face, it's obvious that I've inadvertently scored yet another direct hit. One that embarrasses her so much that she burries her face in a cushion. "Now my life really is over." she wails, her voice muffled by the cushion. I can't help laughing, as I say, "Oops sorry. I didn't know you had one or I would have picked another example." "Well don't!" she orders me, "I've probably done it too." "More than likely, since there's only so many ways to get your jollies, and most kids try most of them before settling down on what works best for them." I chuckle. "But it really was the funniest thing. I'd just arrived at my sisters place, and since I thought Christine was only brushing her teeth, I didn't bother knocking, and I don't know who was more surprised when I walked in to say hello. Would you like to know what she said?" "What?" "She said, 'This is private Uncle Greg. Go away, I haven't finished yet.' and the whole time she kept that toothbrush right where it would do the most good." Actually what she'd said was, 'Oh pooh it was nearly happening. Now you'll have to do it with your mouth.' However, there was no way I was going to tell Jenny that. Forgetting her embarrassment, Jenny rolls about on the floor howling with laughter. A few seconds later she grunts as Sandy thinking that it's a game, flops onto her stomach and bounces up and down. Still chortling madly, Jenny rolls Sandy back onto the floor and kneels over her. "Did you hear that Sandy?" she giggles, "I bet you'll have a lot of fun with this," Jenny gives Sandy's fat little pussy a light rub, much to the chortling infant's delight, "when you get older too." Suddenly realising what she has done, Jenny sits back, "Oh wow, sorry, I didn't really mean to do it." "It's O.K., there's no harm done." I reassure Jenny, "She's still a baby so she's used to being touched there. Just be a bit more careful in the future." I go on, "However, I think it's time you got back to work while I get a nappy on the pee factory." <giggle> After laying out everything I need, I capture one squirming infant and plonk her down on top of her nappy. Looking up, I notice that Jenny is still there, so I say, "Since you aren't working, hold her down while I get some zinc cream." When I turn back, I find Jenny looking on while Sandy slides a chubby finger up and down the crease between her legs. She blushes when she realises that I've caught her again, but continues to look on while I gently move Sandy's hand aside and apply the ointment. Not caring whether it's my fingers or her own on her pussy, Sandy coos contentedly as I spread the protective cream over her tiny vulva. "She really likes it doesn't she?" Jenny asks me as I pull Sandy's fluffies into place and send her off on her explorations with a pat on her thickly padded bottom. "Why I do believe she does." I say in mock surprise. "Stop being silly." she rebukes me, asking, "How come it's wrong? I mean touching her there when you don't need to?" "Two reasons:" I say, "first, she might come to think that it's O.K. for anyone to do it. But most importantly, she can't say no, and because it feels good whether you like it or not and she's going to make all those happy little noises no matter what, I might think she wants me to do it, when what she really wants to do is go over there and stuff toast in my video recorder." Jenny giggles, "She can't, but I see what you mean. It's like when you tickle me, you wait until I really mean it when I say stop, but when you tickle a baby you give her lots of little ones so she can roll away if she wants too." "Exactly," I say, "though I will admit that her mum and I sometimes give her a bit of a rub when she's really cranky and nothing else works." "But that's all right," Jenny says, "because it's like when you put that cream on. It's to make her better." "That's a very grey area, though I guess that most mums or dads have done it at one time or another. Still, a lot of people might think otherwise, especially if the baby's not your own, so it's probably best not to talk about it, and to think long and hard before you ever do it. O.K.?" "O.K." she nods, and then a little gleam enters her eyes. "How do you do it for boys?" she asks. "You don't need to know that right now," I tell her, "and when you do, I'm sure your boyfriend will be more than happy to tell you. Now stop trying to distract me and get back to work." Showing me her tongue, and then her naughtily waggling backside, Jenny giggles, and returns to the desk. A couple of minutes later, she calls me over to help with a problem. Taking her cue from the previous week, she has gotten out her homework and is now mired down in a problem that she doesn't quite understand. For the remainder of the session, I divide my attention between her and Sandy, who shows her usual amazing penchant for finding things that I'd lost, sometimes months before. A die from the previous Wednesday's game session, an old cigarette lighter, a floppy disk, a bit of tinsel, Jenny's bag, into which she almost completely disappears, in her attempt to get a shiny scrap of foil from a chocolate bar. With a baby in the house, Jenny keeps one eye on the clock. Though I will say this to her credit, she keeps the remainder of her attention solely on her work, but the moment six thirty rocks around, she puts down her pen and announces that she is done for the day. Knowing that it's useless to argue, I agree, and bare seconds later, Sandy is once again chasing the rabbit across the floor, while the contents of Jenny's jeans moves in the most interesting ways as she struggles to keep ahead of one, who's usual means of locomotion is crawling. Puffed well before Sandy, Jenny grabs a ball and rolls it across the floor towards me, and since that which moves, must be chased, a new, but just as hilarious game ensues. A few minutes later someone knocks at the door, and leaving the two girls to play, I rise to answer it. "Sorry, I'm late." Dianne apologises to me, "However, from the sound of it, I don't think I was missed." Standing in the doorway she watches her daughter rolling about on her back, with Sandy clasped in her arms. "Some punishment." she observes dryly. Sounding disappointed, Jenny says, "Oh you're here Mum. This is Sandy, she comes from the lady next door." "Amazing," Dianne says facetiously, "and I always thought it was the stork who delivered babies." Ignoring her mother, she addresses Sandy, "She's silly, everyone knows that your daddy put you in your mummy's tummy." Deciding that it's best to ignore it, Dianne just rolls her eyes at me. Jenny, however catches it and with a wicked glint in her eye, she says, "I can tell you how if you like." "I think that it might be her point." I chuckle at Dianne's look of discomfiture. "Oh indubitably my dear fellow." she grins, "So how much time did you lose today?" she asks with a nod towards Sandy. "Actually, she was pretty good," I say, "I only needed to reminder her that she was here to work about a hundred times." "Gre-eg!" Jenny cries stretching my name to two syllables in her outrage. "O.K." I laugh, "Really she was quite good, she got through everything I had planned and most of her homework. I'd like to bet, that she sees little clocks every time she blinks though." "I do not!" Jenny yelps indignantly. Sinking gracefully onto one of the many cushions now scattered about the floor, Dianne reaches out to tickle Sandy and make the appropriate noises. "See?" I observe to Jenny, "That's how a lady sits on the floor. Not like this." I mime the spreadeagled backwards leap that she'd used on first observing my lounge room. "Ha-ha." Jenny says sarcastically, while her mother chuckles. Forgetting that she's tarred with the same brush she continues, "At least I'm not like your niece." "On the contrary," I say significantly, "you're just the same. You just haven't been caught yet." "What naughty little secret's this?" Dianne asks, observing Jenny's crimson features with interest. "No don't tell her!" Jenny shrieks in real mortification, all but throwing Sandy at Dianne in her haste to get to me and shut me up. "Mrr rrr mmff." I mumble through the hand violently slapped over my mouth. "Oh this is too rich." Dianne giggles, absently setting Sandy on the floor. "You must have struck a real beauty this time." Just as absently as she'd set Sandy down, she now plucks her hand bag from between the curious infant's clutching fingers. Foiled, Sandy scuttles off after her ball, chortling madly and chasing after it when it skids from beneath her hands and skitters across the floor. "You're not going to tell her are you?" Jenny states, her fingers thoroughly twisted in my beard to ensure that I give the correct answer. Not trusting me to accede, she uses it as a convenient handle to jerk my head from side to side. "No? Good. You won't tell anyone will you?" Another violent jerking on my beard forced my head to make the appropriate motions. "You realise that a promise made under duress has no legal standing." I observe once she's released me. "Please don't tell." Jenny pleads, "I'll do anything you want." 'Really?" I ask with excessive interest. "Oh!" she squeaks as realises what she's potentially promised. "Exactly. 'Oh!'" I say, "be very careful what you promise, one day somebody's going to ask you to deliver. And you don't have to worry about me telling either," I continue, "I told your mother that I wouldn't break a confidence, and I won't." "Oh thankyou!" Jenny cries happily, "I'd just die if Mum found out." "Promise?" I chuckle. "Since you can't tell, you'll never know." she giggles, rolling off my stomach, "No Sandy, you can't eat my pencils." As Jenny rushes to rescue her pencils, I sit up and grimace as I tug a few loose hairs out of my beard and smooth it down. "Damn I wish I knew what that was about." Dianne giggles. "Let's just say she's found a bathroom buddy and leave it at that." I chuckle. "Oh!" she murmurs, then again on a rising note of comprehension, "Oh!" Keeping her voice low, she chuckles, "I think I know exactly what you mean. Who do you think buys the batteries?" "Well don't let on that you know." I say, "She'd be sure I told you outright." "How on earth did you manage to hit on that?" Dianne asks curiously. I look around to make sure that Jenny is fully occupied with amusing Sandy before beginning," Sandy has a bit of a rash, so I left her nappy off for a little while, and while I was getting some drinks she started to play with herself. Jenny, with what I told her last week still very much on her mind, stopped her and told me about it when I came back. "Well in the process of explaining why it was all right for babies to do it, I managed to score quite a few hits, and Jenny wanted to know how I knew so many embarrassing things about girls. I explained to her that I had a niece and between what I'd seen, and what my sister had told me, I just about knew it all. "I thought I'd try to mollify Jenny by recounting an embarrassing incident of Christine's, never even dreaming that Jenny had done it too, until she very nearly spontaneously combusted with embarrassment." Dianne's ringing peals of laughter attract the attention of Jenny who looks over at me. You'd better not be telling her." she informs me darkly. "No this isn't about you." Dianne replies. "Actually," I continue, once Jenny has returned to her game with Sandy, "Christine was more miffed that I'd interrupted her, than embarrassed." "I can understand why." Dianne chuckles. "How old is Christine anyway, maybe you could introduce her to Jenny." "Only seven," I reply, "so apart from a predilection for wearing out batteries in a hurry, I doubt they'd have very much in common." "Seven?" Dianne gasps incredulously, fortunately keeping her voice down, "Where on earth did she learn that at seven." "Actually, she was only six when I caught her and apparently it'd been going on for quite a while before that. You see my sister has lived alone for quite some time and she's probably not as careful as she might be." Dianne nods her understanding as I go on, "Anyway to my niece at that time, one buzzing thing was pretty much like any other buzzing thing. So she tried it for herself, and by the time I finally caught her, all we could do was persuade her not to pass the information on to her friends at school." "And wouldn't that have opened a can of worms if she had." Dianne chuckles. "Just a small one." I grin. "I guess we'd better get going, before my husband either expires of starvation or orders Chinese." Dianne says to me. "Jenny pack your bag, we're going." "Do I have to?" Jenny complains. "Well unless you plan on spending the night," Dianne replies, "yes you do." "Can I?" Jenny asks brightly. "No you can't, now get moving." Waiting until her mother turns back toward me, Jenny puts on a lingual display of monumental proportions before doing as she was asked. Tucking Sandy under one arm, I escort Jenny and her mother to the door. As we say our goodbyes, I remind Jenny that grounded or not, I still expect a journal entry on Wednesday. Grimacing, she agrees and after kissing Sandy goodbye she skips of to the car while Dianne has a final word with me. "Well it's obvious that she's quite practiced when it comes to herself, but what are you going to do if she asks how boys do it?" Dianne ask, "Adding with a smile, "I figure you have about a week before she asks." "Too late, she already did." I grin, "I told her, her boyfriend would be more than happy to tell her when the time came." "So you're not above a little embarrassment yourself." Dianne chuckles. "No, I just didn't want her to ask me to demonstrate." I grin back. "I bet she would have too." Dianne chuckles, "At least before your little talk last week." "I wouldn't be too sure that she wouldn't still." I say more seriously, "The down side of my being so vehemently protective, is that she *knows* that I'm safe and nothing short of my actually attacking her is likely to convince her otherwise." "Well it's always nice to have a few safe males around so, don't try to hard to disabuse her of notion." Dianne says. Suddenly she seems to think of something. "I hope you don't mind my asking." she says, "You're not gay are you?" "No I don't mind, and no I'm not." I reply, "I just had a big sister with a mean right hook, so I learnt to treat girls properly. Or else." "I remember now." Dianne says, "You told us about her right hook the night you did Jenny's hair." "So I did." I recall. "Well I really must be going." she says, "Thankyou for all you've done and I'll see you Wednesday." "Bye." "Bye." "Bye Greg, bye Sandy." Jenny yells from the car, waving furiously. Sandy and I watch them drive off, then return inside to await Angela. *********************************************************** Chapter 7 - Practising. On the final day of Jenny's punishment, she arrives at her usual time a trifle damp from the rain, but otherwise unmussed by her usual exertions. "We had a film today." she announces by way of explanation. "Good, you can get straight to work and work up a little credit for the next time I have Sandy." I say. "Pooh to you too." she grins, but sets too with aclarity, realising that my words make sense. About half an hour or so before we're due to finish up, the phone rings. "Hello?" "Greg, it's Dianne." the worried sounding voice on the other end tells me. "Dianne, is there anything wrong?" Jenny perks up at the sound of her mother's name. "Jeremy's had an accident." she tells me, "The doctors think he's broken his wrist and he bumped his head." "Is he all right?" I ask anxiously. "What's wrong?" Jenny asks, "Who's hurt?" "Shush." I say waving at Jenny, "No not you Dianne." "Because of his CP. they've had to give him a general, and that means he has to stay in overnight. Could you please..." Jenny worriedly tugs on my arm hard enough that I miss what Dianne has to say, "Tell me what's wrong." Cupping my hand over the mouthpiece, I say, "It's your brother, he's broken his wrist, but he's fine. Now would you please let me hear what your mother has to say, and I'll tell you all about it when she's finished. Or more likely she'll tell her yourself." Uncovering the mouthpiece, I say, "I'm sorry Dianne, could you repeat that, I had to calm Jenny down." "I said, Tony's at a conference in Sydney. Would you mind keeping Jenny there for another hour or so, until my mother can get there to pick her up. I want to stay here to be with Jeremy tonight." "Of course I don't mind." I say, "Would you prefer if she stayed here for the night." Jenny's face lights up at the prospect. "That way she won't miss school in the morning." It falls. "Oh would you?" Dianne breaths, "That would be even better, my mother doesn't like driving at night, but what about clothes." "Not a problem, they watched a film in phys-ed today, so I figure she's still got a clean pair of undies, and her dress looks fine too. As for tonight, I'll find an old t-shirt or something for her to wear." "What about your friends and your game?" Dianne suddenly asks, "I understand it can get a bit rowdy." "Not tonight it won't," I reassure her, "they can moderate themselves for one evening at least." "Well that's that then." Dianne says, sounding a little more relieved now that the problem of Jenny is out of the way. "Can I speak to Jenny now, so I can put her mind at rest?" "Sure." I say, "Here Jenny, she wants to speak to you." "Hi Mummy," Jenny says, "is he all right?" <...> "Uh-huh, that's good." <...> "I will." <...> "Yeah, it was about circulation and respiration and stuff." <...> "Oh wow thanks Mum." <...> "I promise." <...> "O.K." She holds the receiver out to me, "She wants to speak to you again." "Yes Dianne?" "I just wanted to tell you, I've let Jenny off the last bit of her punishment, so she can watch TV tonight and stay out of your hair." 'Oh shit. Fat chance of that happening.' A sideways glance confirms my fears, Jenny is scratching at her hip beneath he dress and when she takes her hand away, she leaves it rucked up to reveal a narrow strip of white cotton crossing her hip. "Sorry I missed that bit." I say to Dianne, "Jenny bumped my elbow. "I just said, she's been told to do as you say, and be good. Bed time is no later than ten o'clock, and you can finish early if you like." Dianne repeats, "Oh and one other thing, could you lend her five dollars for lunch tomorrow, I'll fix you up later, when we work out what I owe you for tonight." "Not a problem." I say, "And as for what you owe me, forget it, what I save in beer will more than cover what she eats tonight." "I've got to do something." Dianne protests. "O.K. do you like roast pork?" I ask. "Yes, why." "Well that's my price, one roast pork dinner with crackling." I say, "I love the stuff, but it's a waste for me to cook it, because most of it goes soggy before I can eat it. Alternatively I have to starve myself for the next two days to make up for it." "Done." Dianne laughs, "How does Saturday night sound?" "Like 'Saturday night'." I chuckle. "What time should I be there?" "Six thirtyish, we'll eat at seven." Dianne replies. "Oh and bring some bathers, you can sweat some of it off in the sauna and spa." "I'll do that." I say, "Thanks. I'll let you go now, and you can get back to Jeremy." "Thankyou again Greg, you don't know how grateful I am. I'll call about eight thirty in the morning, so Jenny won't be totally useless at school tomorrow. Bye for now." "Bye." "Are you having dinner with us on Saturday?" Jenny asks as I hang up and turn away from the phone. "Yes, and apparently a sauna and spa afterwards." "Oh good." she says, adding with a naughty giggle, "I can show off to you in my bathers." "We'll see what your father has to say about that." I say, "Well it looks like I'm stuck with you for the night." "I know that silly," she giggles, "and since my punishment's over, I can start practicing on you now." "I see that you've already started," I say nodding towards her partially exposed knickers, "and not very subtly either. Well since you're punishments over I guess I can begin, giving you lessons, but I hope your dad never finds out." "The real secret of showing off your knickers is not to do it at all." I begin. "Huh, how does that work?" "Like this." I say, "If you keep on giving a bloke almost peeks, he's going to keep looking in the hope that the next time you move, he might actually see something. You might just let him see a tiny flash of white to get his attention in the first place, but once you've got him on the hook you want to play your fish and make him sweat a bit. So that when you do land him, he's ready to do what you want. "It also gives you time to look him over and decide if you want to keep him. If you don't, all you have to do is tug your skirt down tight, and that tells him that you're not interested. It's also when, you watch for the warning signs that might indicate that's he's trouble. Like if he looks a little bit too eager, or he looks interested, but you get the feeling that you're going to have to let him see some more before he'll bite. If he doesn't look interested at all, don't even bother continuing the game, either he really isn't interested, and you're wasting your time, or he's a shark. "If you show off too much at once and he is interested, you'll get one of three basic responses, either he'll say something like: 'Hey babe, wanna come up to my place?'; or even worse, 'How much?' The third thing that might happen is he's the sort of bloke who doesn't like sluts and bang you've chased away the sort of fish that might be worth hanging onto. "Huh, what do you mean 'How much?'?" "Some women and older girls sell sex." I explain, "They're called prostitutes or hookers, and if you send the wrong signals that's what blokes will think you are." "Do they really do that?" Jenny asks curiously. "Yes they do." I reply, "And for the most part, they are not very well regarded, so I'd steer clear of being thought one." "It's a lot more complicated than I thought." Jenny says. "And it's even more complicated than that." I say, "That's why all of this is for informational purposes only, if I ever catch you using it before you're quite a bit older than you are now, I'll beat your bum to a rosy blister and worry about your dad killing me later. Got it?" "Got it." she nods, "What about here though?" "Well I'm still not sure if I'm happy about it," I say, "but since I know what you're doing, I guess it's O.K." "O.K." she agrees. "How much older?" "Well you can begin with some of the more basic stuff when you're twelve or thirteen, but only on boys you're own age, or maybe up to a year or two older. But you don't bring out the big guns or work on men until you're at least eighteen. And speaking of such I've got some friends coming over for a game of D&D in about an hour so, we'd better pack up here and start thinking about making your bed and dinner." "Do I keep my credit since we finished early?" she asks. "Yes you can keep your credit." I tell her, neglecting to mention that her mother has already given permission for an early finish. "Now get packing." Leaving her to her packing, I get sheets and pillow cases from the linen press and set out to make her bed. As I flick the top sheet across the mattress, she follows me into the room and starts helping me. "Can I have my bath now?" she asks as she tucks in her side. The sound of running water, indicates that's she takes my answer as a foregone conclusion. "Yes." I say, "Pillows and blankets are in the wardrobe." After we finish the bed, Jenny picks up her bag and heads for the bathroom while I make my way towards the kitchen. Five minutes later she sings out, "Greg there aren't any towels." Sighing, I grab a couple of towels on my way past the linen press and prepare to toss them through the bathroom door. "No don't throw them," Jenny cries, "they'll get wet." "You're pushing the friendship kid." I mutter as I back through the door. "Oh don't be silly?" she giggles, "You can't see anything, and you're going to fall over my bag if you aren't careful." "You better be right." I mutter as I turn around. Sure enough, my feet are only inches from where her bag sits in the middle of the floor. Carefully laid out next to it are a pair of plain white knickers, probably the ones she's worn all day since her bag is still closed. Her school dress hangs neatly over the empty towel rail. And true to her word, Jenny is sitting in the bath with her hands cupped over her chest and the washcloth tucked between her legs. "See." she grins, "You can't see a thing that you wouldn't see at the beach anyway." "So I noticed," I say as I hang up the towels, "but I doubt that would carry much weight if your dad knew I was in here with you right now." "So don't tell him." she says reasonably. "Don't worry I won't." I grin with a mock shudder. As I leave, I remember that I'm supposed to be supplying nightwear. "Hold that pose," I tell her, "I'll be right back with something for you to wear tonight." When I return with an oversized t-shirt that will hopefully cover her to her knees, I pause at the door and knock, saying, "O.K. coming through." before I enter. This time the cheeky little shit, has got her tits on display as she casually, way too casually, soaps her arms. However the cloth at least remains tucked between her legs. Deciding to say nothing and just get out of there, I hang the t-shirt over the top of her dress, and turn to leave. "Well?" Jenny asks significantly, making me pause in the doorway. "What?" I ask sharply. "What do you think?" "I think you're asking for trouble." I say to the empty hallway. "Not with you I'm not." she says, "What do you think of my boobs?" "If I answer truthfully will you stop this silly game?" I ask. "O.K. but you've got to look at them properly." Sighing, I turn back to face her. Tiny barely protuberant cones of fat, push out beneath three quarter inch diameter brown-pink circles. Surmounting them are two very tasty looking nipples about the size of peas. From the way they stand out, it is obvious that Jenny has been playing with them just prior to my entrance, and probably while my back was turned as well. "Jenny," I say, "they are very nice boobs for a girl your age and if you're mother is anything to judge by you'll make some fellow very happy when you get older." "But mum's only got tiny little boobs." Jenny replies, "I want big ones." "What on earth for?" I ask. "Because boys like big boobs." she says. "And if that's all they can see in you, you don't want them." I reply, "That sort of boy thinks that big boobs equals no brains, or he doesn't care if you do have any, or more correctly he doesn't want you to have any. The sort of bloke I'd hope you were looking for should be a bit smarter than that. Besides, your boobs will still be where they belong when you're forty or fifty, and the girls with the big boobs will have them hanging around their belly buttons when they take their bras off. Again the bloke you're looking for will know that too, so it's more likely he'll stick with you when you're older, rather than chasing his twenty one year old, pneumatic blonde sexretary around the desk." "What's pneumatic?" she asks, giggling. "And what's a sexretary?" "Filled with air." I explain, "In other words big boobs and no brains. And I think you can figure out the other one for yourself. I'll give you a hint, her office skills are irrelevant to her job." "But I bet her orifice skills aren't." Jenny giggles wickedly. I can't help it, I slide to the floor, helpless with laughter. When I recover, I notice that Jenny has turned over and is looking at me over the end of the tub, around the end of the screen separating it from the shower, and she's still giggling wickedly. "Shit Jenny, where did you come up with that?" I gasp. "I thought of it myself," she chortles, "but I'm right aren't I, if she doesn't use her hole she doesn't get the job." "You're perfectly correct and, a little gutter brain for thinking of it." I laugh, leaning back against the door frame. "Why thank you sir." she giggles, "Pass the shampoo please." Somehow or other it transpires that I return to my seat in the doorway, and remain for the remainder of her bath. Answering her questions, I tell her a little about what it's like at college, correcting some of the many misconceptions that movies like 'Frat House' have given her. I wonder out loud where she's seen it, given it's age. As it turns out her father owns it. "You better go now," she giggles, "I'm getting out now." Grinning wickedly, she doesn't wait for me to get up before she begins to rise. However, she stops on her knees, pressed up against the side of the bath, with the rim cutting across her pelvis, just above the level of her hips. "You are a little tease." I inform her with a chuckle as I finish getting up, "And you're going to come to a bad end." "Very bad I hope." Her laughter chases me as I close the door. "Oh by the way, nice bum." I call out through the wood. Even though the door is closed and I can no longer see it, she still squeaks, and I hear the splash of her dropping back into the water. "Bugger it," I mutter as I re-enter the kitchen and start putting things away. "Pizza." By the time I finish hanging up from placing the order, Jenny is waiting for me with her hairbrush in her hand, a towel wrapped like a turban on her head. She is also holding the t-shirt she is supposed to be wearing, and instead, she has the towel, wrapped around her shoulders, her other hand holding it closed in front, providing adequate, if minimal decency. In response to, my questioning look, she replies, "Oh it's all right I've got my undies on." Smirking she pulls a dangling corner of the towel to one side to reveal a pair of white knickers. A repeated motif of Sylvester chasing Tweety pie runs around the waistband, with the same picture repeated, enlarged, on the front panel. though all I can see is Tweety and a part of Sylvester's foot. "Why do you keep asking for trouble?" I mutter, "If I was a child molester trying to seduce you, I'd be saying, 'That's a nice picture.' and 'What a pity I cant see more of it.'" "O.K." she giggles, releasing the grip that has been keeping the towel closed. It falls open enough to show me the entire picture, while still barely covering her tiny boobs. Shit, who was trying to seduce whom. As for the picture, Sylvester's outstretched grasping hand, lies at the top of the slight indentation marking her slit, just about where her clit should be. "Jesus Christ child, just which end of your body do you want me to apply that hairbrush to?" I ask ominously. "Your choice." she giggles, pulling the front of the towel closed. Pulling some cushions together, I sit down with my leg spread out in a vee, and growl, "Sit down and give me that brush." "Damn, wrong end." she giggles, as she does as I ask. "The night's still young." I tell her as I begin the task of drying and brushing her hair. "Oh goody, I need a good spanking." she giggles. "How right you are." I mutter. "I think I'll tell your dad to give you one the next time I see him." "Oooh, that's no fun." she complains, "Besides, he wouldn't do it, I haven't had a spanking since I was a little kid." "So why all the threats?" I ask. "That just tells me I better not do anything else or I have to pay a fine or something." she says. In sudden reflection she adds, "I think I nearly got a spanking the other night though." "I think you did too. And a good one at that." I chuckle, "What's this about a fine?" "Dad gives me my pocket money, and then I have to give some of it back if I'm naughty." she explains, "He says it makes me more aware than if he just takes it out himself." "I like it." I say. "You would." she mutters darkly. We both fall silent as I continue to work on her hair, and since we have plenty of time, I continue past the point where I could stop, working towards brushing her hair dry. As I work, I notice a dreamy little half smile flickering across her lips, and her eyes are half-lidded in contentment. At least that's what I think at first. A suspicious motion beneath the towel leads me to think otherwise, and a minute or so later my suspicions are confirmed. Released from her grip the towel falls open far enough for me to see that both of her hands are now busy, gently pinching and rubbing at the tiny nipples surmounting her brand new breasts. Seeking both a better look, (dirty boy) and to embarrass her, I allow the bristles of the brush to catch in the looped threads of the towel on the next downstroke, fully exposing what she is doing. With a sudden shriek, she covers her breasts with her hands. "I wasn't.. I didn't..." she stutters, her blush spreading from beneath her cupped hands to the roots of her hair. "No, I can see you weren't playing with your tits." I chuckle. "You did that deliberately." she accuses. "You should have been holding onto your towel and it wouldn't have happened." I counter. "But then I can only do one at... a... time." she trails off as she realises her admission. "Well since you shouldn't be doing it at all." I grimace. "It just felt nice when you were doing my hair," she says, "and I guess I just started doing it with one hand." "And that felt even better, so you forgot about the towel and started using both hands." I finish for her, "See how easy it is for you to get into trouble?" "I guess." she admits. "No guessing allowed." I tell her, "Think back to what I said last week. Now here you are in my house with nothing but a pair of knickers on, and I can just bet how anxious you are that your mother, or even worse, your dad, doesn't find out about it, since it's been your own idea all along and I haven't had to do even one single thing that I told you about to get you to this state. Jesus, you might as well have jumped into my tackle box and started stuffing the hooks into your mouth." "You're the only person I know, that I would do it with." she says earnestly. "Why, because you think you're in love with me?" I ask deliberately harsh. "Well I guess so at first," she admits candidly, "but now I think it's because I know you love me and won't hurt me." 'Bingo.' shouts that less than principled brain residing between my legs. 'Bingo, bingo, bingo.' Ignoring these thoughts, I make one last try. "I love you?" I ask softly. "Oh I don't think you're *in love* with me." she says, "But, I think it's like 'agape' in that book "Time Enough For Love." and what he said about one person having to be happy to make the other one happy." "Shit kid you don't pull any punches." I gasp, "I guess I do love you like that because, I don't want anything to happen that would make you really unhappy." "No guessing allowed." she giggles, "Can I take my hands away?" Still reeling from shock, I absently say, "Go ahead." Her hands come away from her chest to reveal her tiny boobs. During our discussion, the engorging blood has drained away from her nipples, leaving her breasts as two semi-conical domes capped by tiny chocolate chip buttons of pink-brown flesh. Caught up in thought, my hands automatically take up where they've left off, pulling the brush through Jenny's hair until the last of the moisture is gone and it crackles with static electricity. When I finally lay the brush aside, Jenny snuggles back against my chest and pulls my arms about her waist. "Mmmm, that was nice." she murmurs, twisting slightly in order to find the most comfortable position. Almost of their own accord, my hands begin to lightly brush the skin of her flanks. "Mmmm that's nice too." she sigh's contentedly. "Is it true what you said the other day about it being nicer when somebody else does something?" Two little voices within my cry out. 'Uh-oh', says the more responsible, the other 'Party time.' "Sometimes." I admit slowly. "Could you..." she begins hesitantly, "Could you touch my boobs?" "Yes I could." I agree. "Would you? Please?" "And what comes next?" I ask softly, "What it feels like when I use my mouth? And after that? My hands somewhere else? My tongue? More? No I don't think it's a very good idea." "Just this." she whispers, "Please?" "Are you sure?" I ask, my resistance crumbling. "Please." her hands cover mine and push them up to cover her small chest. With the small chocolate bud mounds of her proto-pubescent breasts cupped in the palms of my hands, I surrender myself to her pleasure. Folding my hands sideways, I briefly capture her tiny breasts in their entirety between the two pads of flesh on either side of my palms, allowing them to slip free as I finish the motion. "Nice." she murmurs, her hands on mine, encouraging them to repeat their actions. By the fourth or fifth time that my hands open and close on her chest, two firm nubbins press into my palms. Shifting my hands slightly, I now capture these between my thumb and forefinger, and tug gently outwards. Once again she murmurs contentedly, her hands laxly griping my wrists. A feathery brush, with the pads of my thumbs brings an involuntary shudder to her slight frame, and an almost silent outcry from her throat. Catching her now fully engorged nipples between each adjacent pair of fingers in turn, I bring a series of surprised 'Ohs' to her lips. Then taking my hands away one at a time, I wet the tips of my thumbs and forefingers in my mouth, transporting the slippery saliva to her turgid nipples. Now as I squeeze my fingers together, the tiny knobs atop her Lilliputian breasts pop free, like the seeds of a watermelon. Now her fingers tighten convulsively on my wrists, holding my hands to her breasts as if she were afraid that I would deprive her of the pleasure that she is so obviously feeling. A gust of air from my lip, passes her shoulder, evaporates the moisture coating her nipple, forcing a shrill outcry from her slightly parted lips, as her back arches and pushes the blood engorged bulbs of her nipples back between my fingers. Another shift of my hands, and I am now rapidly flicking my thumbs back and forth, alternately striking the sensitised flesh of her tumescent nipples with the hard keratin of my thumbnail and then the soft fleshy pad beneath. Lost in the sensations I am bringing to her for the first time, she gasps out, "Oh, oh, oh, oh." in time with my practiced manipulations. Reclining into the cushions behind me, I ease her backwards, her head lolling like a newborn's as I begin a chaotic mix of all the touches, pinches and rubs that I have subjected her to up till now. Always different, one sensation follows another until she suddenly digs her fingers into my wrists and screams softly with orgasmic release. Gently, slowly, using only the pads of my thumbs, I bring her back to earth, finishing with a final gentle pinch to the firm, erect pinnacles of flesh atop her tiny breasts. "Ohmigod," she mumbles once she is again capable of coherent speech, "I didn't know *that* could happen just from touching my boobs." "Well now you do." I say, "Can you see just how easily one thing follows another?" I ask. "What would you have done, if I'd started to move my hands lower?" "Probably ripped my knickers off to get them out of your way." she giggles. "Oh boy, I didn't know it could happen like that." "*Now* do you appreciate what I've been saying for the last month?" I ask, "How easy was it for you to lose control, and give yourself up to anything that I might have wanted to do to you?" "Too easy." she says with a shiver. "I just didn't know it could happen like that." She looks to be deep in thought for a few moments, then says, "But I *think* I would have still told Mummy afterwards if you'd touched me anywhere else." Picking her up, I turn her around in my lap until she is facing me. "Jenny," I say, "I hope you would have too. And I think that is one of the bravest things that you have said. I know how angry she'd be to hear it, but I also know just how much more grieved she would be if you didn't and something terrible happened as a result. "Your mother loves you more than you can possibly imagine, and when she's angry it's because she's scared that might get hurt. I'm going to tell you something now that I never want you to repeat to another living soul. Your mother was molested when she was a girl about your age, and it lasted for two years, because she was afraid of what her father would do if he ever found out. "Never be afraid to tell somebody about anything that happens to you, because of anything that you have done that might have encouraged it. They might be angry at what you've done, and they have every right to be, but they will be devastated if you say nothing and something terrible happens. "Like in 'Time Enough For Love', when you love somebody you will do almost anything to make them happy, but when they're unhappy, you feel it too, and even when it's not your fault you still wonder what you could have done to make it different. So when you get hurt, all of the people who love you, blame themselves for not doing something to stop it from happening." "Is it always like that when somebody else touches you?" she asks sombrely. "I mean you get so you can't stop them." "Fortunately no." I tell her, "It happened this time, party because you trusted me so much that you couldn't comprehend that I might do anything to hurt you, and also because what you were feeling was so new that there wasn't room in your mind for anything else. As you get more experienced, you'll become better able to deal with it, and you'll be able to keep some control right up to the end. "There is something I should say about those feelings. If something bad ever does happen to you, and I hope it never does. But if it does, you might experience a lot of those feelings even though you are scared out of your wits and hating every single second. It's not because there is anything wrong with you, it's because the parts of your body where you experience them are hooked up to a part of your brain that you don't have very much control over. "Those feelings are part of what makes the mating urge so strong, and they help to ensure that there will be a new generation. Don't ever think that because your vagina gets wet and slippery, that parts of what was happening felt good, it's because some part of you must have liked what was happeneing, wanted it to happen. It happened because if it didn't, sex would be so painful that it would almost never happen and no babies would be born. "There are some incredibly powerful feelings associated with sex, because it is an incredibly powerful thing, it is the most central thing there is to life. Eating, sleeping, shitting, they're nothing compared to sex. Those things may help to keep you alive, but sex is about making life itself. "This is something else I don't want you to think about, and I hope you never have to remember, but if you ever do, it might help to make things just a little easier to bear, and help you to recover a little bit faster." "It would have been a lot easier if we were like other animals and only had sex to have babies like they do." Jenny comments. "True." I say with a nod. Then add with a big grin, "But think of all the fun you'd miss out on practicing." "Yeah." she giggles, "Wanna practice on my boobs some more?" You, are a terrible child." I chuckle, giving the aforementioned articles a tweak. "Bet I'd be good at something else though." she says challengingly. I just bet you would." I say making a teasing foray out onto the flat expanse of her bare midriff. Giggling she captures my hand and puts it back on her chest. "Don't be naughty, I didn't say you could go down there." As I treat her small breasts to a nice, but not earth shattering massage, she asks me, "Can I play with you tonight?" "What?" I ask with a teasing tug on her right nipple. "I mean can I play with you and your friends?" "Oh, I'm not enough for you now, is that it?" I say as if hurt, and take my hands away from her boobs. "Stop it." she giggles, "You know what I mean. Can I play D&D, whatever that is, with you?" "It's Dungeons and Dragons, and I don't see why not, at least until ten o'clock," I reply, "but I'll have to ask the rest of the blokes about it first." "O.K." she agrees, "Now play with my boobs some more." Just then there is a knock at the door. "Ah saved by the bell." I chuckle, unceremoniously pushing her aside and rising to my feet. "Better put your shirt on now." "What if I don't?" she giggles. "Well in that case," I chuckle evilly, "I send you to get the pizza." "I dare you to dare me." she says naughtily. "No dare." I say, as a second knock sound, "Put it on and stop being stupid." Smirking she begins to do as I ask, as I go to answer the door. When I return with the pizza, I find that the shirt comes within two inches of my expectations, finishing just above her knees. The neck opening however, is so large that her right shoulder and the top several inches of her chest are visible, and on that side the sleeve covers her arm to well below the elbow. Only one thing remains to complete the ensemble, even if it shouldn't be seen during the evening. "Good." I nod, "Now since they're clean, go and put your gym shorts on." "Why?" she asks un-comprehendingly. "Because I don't trust you, that's why." "Why?" she giggles, "Do you think I might try to show off these?" she lifts the bottom of the shirt to display her cartoon adorned knickers. "Or these?" She pulls it up under her chin, looking for all the world like a two or three year old proudly showing off that she doesn't need a nappy any longer. On the other hand she also looks like a proto-pubescent preteen, a slight narrowing of her waist and flaring of her hips, showing that it is only a matter of months before she reaches the first major milestone of her rapidly approaching womanhood. "If I told you what you looked like, you'd hit me." I chuckle. "What's that?" she giggles, thankfully allowing the t-shirt to drop back down over her somewhat distracting, if admittedly sweet charms. "Well I doubt if you'd remember," I say, "but I bet you did something just like that, the first time you wore *big girl* knickers instead of a nappy, and your parents had visitors." "Didn't I look sexy?" she giggles. "Well a little bit I guess, because I could see the beginnings of the changes that show that you are growing up. But mostly it went so far beyond 'slut' that it was actually funny. Now go and do as I asked, and then we'll eat." With one final flirt of her tail, she leaves the room, returning a minute later wearing her gym shorts, but with the shirt tucked into them, and looking as if she had swallowed an inner tube. "Satisfied." she smirks. "Almost." I say with an outright laugh, "Now untuck that shirt, you look grotesque." Giggling, she pulls the shirt out and throws herself down beside me, to reach into the open pizza box for a slice. About three quarters of the way through the pizza, a knock at the door announces the arrival of the first of the gamers. Morrie, Dave and Vaughan follow me into the lounge and are brought up short by the sight of a ten year old girl obviously dressed for bed, calmly munching on a slice of pizza. "Is *this* the girlfriend?" Dave asks, ducking as I take a swing at his head. "Hi I'm Jenny." she giggles, looking pleased at being called my girlfriend. "What's she doing here?" Morrie asks. "Her brother had an accident and since her dad's out of town, I got stuck with her for the night." I say, trying to sound as if it were an arduous chore. Arduous? Maybe. Sometimes frightening? Certainly. A chore? Never. "So what about tonight?" "You stay sober." I tell them with a grin. "So I guess an orgy's out of the question." he says, in crude reference to that earlier session when they'd had so much fun tormenting me. "Shit sorry." he mutters, when Jenny snorts and utters a half shocked, and very naughty titter. "I'd watch what you say around her if I were you." I warn, "She could beat you to death with the words she eats for breakfast. Jenny what's 'apposite'?" "The opposite of opposite." she says as if it's a word everybody should know. "Shit I've never even heard the word and I'm and English lit. major." Vaughan gasps, "What did she do swallow a dictionary?" "And a thesaurus and probably half the Britanica." I laugh, "And you can watch your language too." "Sorry." "It means faecal matter." Jenny giggles. "Actually apposite means 'very appropriate', but I like the other way of putting it better and it's close enough." To me she says, "Now are you going to tell me who these gentlemen of the collegial persuasion are?" "Stop doing that!" Vaughan cries, "You sound like my lit. lecturer. Besides I'm starting to feel inadequate." "Inadequate:" Jenny begins sententiously, "less than adequate; not up to the task; unable to perform." "She's got you there." Dave chuckles, "At least after our usual nights." "But not tonight." I say, "Which should make you happy. Jenny, this is Dave, he doesn't drink, smoke, or pass wind," I joke, "but apart from that we hate him. The fat bloke over there," "I'm not fat, just well padded." he protests good naturedly. "setting things up," I continue as if he hadn't spoken, "is Morrie, and the one you so effectively and accurately put down is Vaughan, but more usually Vague since it's so apposite." "And that," I say as there is another knock at the door, "is probably Joseph and Matt, we call him Speed, since it only takes about a minute for him to decide which hand to scratch his head with." "Unlike the rest of you where it takes about half an hour." she grins, ducking the swipe that I aim at her head. "Be polite to your elders and betters." I chide her as I got to let Joseph and Speed in. "Morrie says I can play." Jenny announces, as I return, "He says the rest of you don't count since he's the Dungeon Master." To the new arrivals she says brightly, "Hi, I'm Kitty Kat." Five pairs of eyes fasten on me and the room breaks up into uncontrollable laughter. For once Matt isn't slow on the uptake and within a second, Jenny and I are the only ones left standing. Jenny looking completely bewildered, and me heartily embarrassed. "What's so funny?" she demands once the others begin to recover and she can be heard above the noise. "I'll explain it to you later." I tell her with a chuckle, "Probably when you're about twenty one or so." "I'll bet it's dirty then." she sniggers, igniting another round of laughter. "Go away, gutter brain." I tell her, with a swipe of my hand, "Go and bother somebody else." Since she knows nothing about the game, Morrie is the obvious target, and once she is gone, Vaughan asks me, "What about?" He cocks his thumb and little finger in a fashion similar to the universal sign for a telephone, but brings his thumb to his lips instead of his ear. "I got some wicked skunk tonight. Can we use the kitchen?" "I guess so," I agree reluctantly, knowing full well that, if I didn't he'd just use the spare room instead. Being the way he is, he'd probably just kick Jenny's bag under the bed and not even think about why it was there. At least there's an exhaust fan in the kitchen. "But make sure you keep it out of sight." "Right you are." he says. "Well come on you bastards, We've only got a couple of hours tonight." Morrie yells. "I'll get the drinks." Vaughan offers. "What do all these numbers mean?" Jenny asks me as she pulls up a cushion beside me. "Jeez Morrie what did you tell her?" I ask. "Cripes mate, I barely had time to tell her about her character." he replies. "Censored I hope?" I say darkly. "He said I was a young thief who you rescued and that I'm in love with you, but you think I'm a little pest." she tells me, "Just like me," she giggles brightly, "except I'm not a thief." "Well he's certainly right about the pest part." I grimace, as the others start laughing. "So what do they mean?" "Well they describe the characteristics of you're character that are important to the game." I explain, "That's how strong you are, which is pretty low since your character is a kid. The next one is how smart you are, which isn't too bad but it's nothing to write home about. It's most important to mages, and apart from the fact that you are able to learn a couple of extra languages it doesn't matter much too you. Wisdom, again not to bad, your character has been around and unlike Speed over there she knows it's a good idea to duck when chairs start flying. This one is your prime stat. dexterity, it's how good you are with your fingers, and an eighteen means that you can just about take out my false teeth while I'm talking. Your constitution affects your hit points which is how often somebody can stick a sword into you before you fall over, and it's also how often you can be killed and brought back to life. And the last one is a measure of how likely people are to like you. Pretty useless in a dungeon, since just about anything you meet thinks of you as lunch, but from now on you're doing all the shopping for us." "That's because I'm so cute and irresistible." she skites. "What's this one? T H A C 0" "Thack-oh." I say giving it it's usual pronunciation, "That's how likely you are to hit enemies. And this one, armour class, is how well armoured you are, the lower it is the better. Yours isn't too bad, but I wouldn't get into the middle of a fight either. You'll do better waiting on the edge for a chance to stick a knife between somebody's shoulder blades. These numbers are how likely you are to survive different things that might happen to you. They're not too good yet, so I'd let "Lightfingers over there" I wave towards Speed, "poke around for traps. "And these numbers here are, how good you are at the sort of things thieves do, not the best yet, but you're still a useful backup in case Lightfingers makes a mess of things, and they'll get better as your character's experience increases. If Morrie hasn't told you already, the unfortunate thing for the rest of us, is that you think that you are a hell of a lot better than you are." "Is this one my experience?" she asks pointing to a figure near the middle of her character sheet. "Yes but it's actually your level which is important." I reply, "You're a level four thief, which is pretty low compared to the rest of us, but since you need more and more experience points to go up each level, you'll catch up fairly quick, and thieves advance pretty quickly anyway. I'll explain the rest to you as we go along." I finish as Vaughan finally enters the room, carrying a six-pack, a can of Coke, and a half glass of 'Jack in the black' for me. Eager to try out her abilities and get a feel for the game, and incidentally remain within character, Jenny or I should say Kitty Kat, goes to work on the rest of the party and to a slightly lesser extent the wagon drivers. She even makes one abortive attempt to rob the caravan master. In fact she indulges in a veritable orgy of note passing with Morrie, and by the second day of the trip, it becomes something of a joke to pick her up and shake her to see what falls out of her pockets. She also turns out to be quite a hustler in her own right, and even when caught, she shows quite a talent for talking her way out of trouble, or failing that, buying her way out. Usually with money taken from my character, Grul. All the while she maintains that other facet of her character that amuses the others so greatly. She quickly realises this fact, and much to my embarrassment, plays up to it, snuggling into my shoulder and purring. Since the party is in the middle of escorting a caravan from one city to another, it's not hard for Morrie to work in a little side trip by having a marauding band of orcs attack us. In they fray Lightfingers, as well as a rich merchant's daughter who was travelling with the caravan, get captured, and it is now incumbent upon us to rescue them before they become the main course. Suddenly Kitty Kat is all that stands between us and every nasty trap that Morrie's devious mind has devised. Because Lightfingers was captured while in camp, Morrie rules that Kitty Kat has access to most of his equipment, so things aren't quite as bad as they might have been. As play continues, my decision to make Jenny wear her gym shorts proves justified, though not for the reason I gave her. Her continuous rocking back and forth to retrieve and throw dice, coupled with her sitting tailor fashion, means that for a good part of the evening, her shirt sits at or near the tops of her thighs. On the other hand, my choice of t-shirts could have been better. On more than one occasion, I notice the eyes of those sitting most closely opposite her, widening, as she leans forwards to pick something up, or hand a note to Morrie. A sideways glance confirms my fears, through the gapping neck opening of the t-shirt, I can see all of her left breast, and in all probability those opposite, are treated to the sight of both. However, it appears that for once, Jenny is unaware of what she is doing. At least I see no evidence of secret smiles. Nor do I notice her moving with untoward lack of speed or excessive haste, just her usual gymnasts grace as she sweeps up the dice or passes a note across the floor. From time to time during the evening, each of us, except Dave and, much to his disgust, Morrie, head for the kitchen for another drink, and at the same time take the opportunity to smoke a couple of quick cones. Then about three quarters of an hour into the game, Jenny gets up to refresh her own drink. Just as I'm thinking that she's taken enough time to grab a couple of pipes for herself, I hear a triumphant cry, followed by a giggle that continues as she brings bong and mixbowl back into the lounge. "I *thought* you were doing something naughty," she giggles, taking in our looks of shock and panic with glee, "but you don't have to hide it, Mum and Dad smoke it too sometimes." Being at least partially used to her, I recover first. "Well now you can put it right back where you found it." I tell her, "The other reason it's out there is that I don't want you sniffing the fumes." "Spoilsport." she giggles, turning to return to the kitchen. "Well at least we don't have to hide it any more." I say with a grimace. "Do you think she'll tell anyone?" Vaughan asks me. "Depends." comes a voice from the doorway, "What's in it for me?" "What do you want?" Vaughan groans. "Don't even think about it." I say warningly as she opens her mouth to speak. "And you." I address Vaughan, "Don't try make any bargains with her unless you own a stable." "Coises foiled again." Jenny giggles. Morrie, go get yourself a couple of pipes." I say, "Jenny and I are going to have a little session of our own." "I wasn't really going to tell." Jenny hastily reassures us. "I know." I reply, "But we're still going to talk. Park it!" Startled into compliance, she drops to her cushion like a stone. "O.K.," I say, "We all know you were joking, but blackmail is not a very nice thing, somebody always gets hurt, and in the long run it usually gets found out anyway. So if you know something either tell, or keep your mouth shut, and on the flip side, if somebody tells *you*, that they'll keep quiet about something you've done if you do something for them, or give them something, dob yourself in, or there's a damned good chance that they'll keep coming back for more, and more, and more." "What if you've both done something wrong?" she asks, "Neither one of you can say anything then." "What if they get caught?" I ask, "Can you trust them not to spill their guts, if it means that they'll get off easier? Think back to what got you grounded. What if it had been both you *and* Vanessa? All it would take is for her to accidentally says something that means that it gets found out, and if she's scared enough she might say it was all your idea. Actually knowing what I do of the pair of you, that's what everybody would think anyway." Jenny lets out a nervous giggle, as I finish off with, "So what do you think you'd get if your mum found out about it from Vanessa's mum?" "About a year." she says with a shudder. "So in the long run you're almost always better off confessing your part in anything immediately, even if you decide to keep quiet about what others have done." I conclude. "Not only that," Dave says, putting in his own two cents worth, "but if you always do confess, and something happens that you didn't do, but it looks like you did, you're more likely to be believed." "So is she properly chastised?" Morrie asks as he resumes his seat. "You can bet your gluteus maximal." she giggles. "Hey that's not right!" exclaims Speed, quick on the uptake but slow of understanding. "Isn't it supposed to..." "Oh I understood what she said," Morrie cuts him off, "and I *know* that I've been insulted." He then adds with a nasty grin, "I think it's time for Tucker's kobolds." "What are Tucker's kobolds?" she asks curiously, while the rest of us groan with dismay. "You don't want to know." I tell her, "I would suggest that you see just how good you can be with apologies." "O.K.," she says naughtily, "I'm sorry I said you had a fat arse." "With refinements." he adds ominously. "Well at least we can console ourselves that she's got the least number of hit points." Joseph observes. "But not by much," Dave, our magic user complains, "and with all of Lightfingers' stuff, she's got a hell of a lot better armour class than I do." "This sounds like fun." Jenny giggles. "I hope you think so afterwards." Vaughan laughs, safely out of this part of the proceedings. "Well let's get it over with." I mutter. At first things go pretty easily, our party meets a few sentries and dispatches all but one who wriggles into a small hole in the wall and disappears. "That's it," Orac the Magnificent mutters, "now the fun starts." "I could go after it." Jenny says in her role as Kitty Kat, "I'd fit." "Much as I would like to stuff you headfirst down that hole," Corin Silverhair (Joseph) says, "I advise you to think about it for a moment. Yes you'll fit, but only just and I doubt very much you would like what you would find at the other end. It would be large, heavy and it would have your brains on it." "Oh." "O.K. form up." I order in my role as leader of the fighting members of the party, "Non-combatants, that's you, to the middle." As we continue, we encounter another twenty or so of the diminutive dog faced creatures, killing all but a couple who escape down side tunnels too small to take anyone but Kitty Kat, and taking no damage ourselves. "This is easy," Jenny declares after observing the dice rolls for a while, "even I could kill them." "Jeezuss," Joseph groans loudly, "why don't you just say, 'Can anyone smell naphtha.'" "Oh good idea." Morrie chuckles, and rolls a die a few times as he says, "Grul, Kitty Kat, and oh damn, Friar Tuck, a stinking, slimy, brown liquid pours over your heads. Save vs. Deathray please." "What's that?" Jenny asks. "Roll a twenty sided die and pray for a high number." I tell her as I roll for both me, and Morrie's character, Friar Tuck. "Will a twenty do?" Jenny asks brightly. "Well I made it." I tell him with a grin. "Shit. A lit torch is thrown from a hole in the roof igniting the oil covering Friar Tuck. Roll for my backpack." he tells me, rolling a pair of dice. "And take off eight hit points." "O.K. you lost two healing potions and your net of entanglement." I tell him. "Me and my big mouth." Joseph mutters once the carnage is over. Next a hail of fist sized stones falls from the ceiling, they only inflict a few hit points of damage, but we know that there is a lot more to come. With shields held high, we advance and are immediately peppered with darts from a number of small holes in the walls. More hit points lost. As we run through this section of the tunnel and almost straight into a net as it opens out into a chamber. Chastened we slow our advance, every one of us looking for any sign of irregularities in the walls and ceiling. Kitty Kat announces that she sees hole in the roof of the tunnel and we raise our shields once more. This time however, it's a half dozen or so ripe puffball fungi, and the shields are useless. Then while half of us are coughing and sneezing from the spores, more oil follows. This time, Morrie declares that the incapacitated are to save at a disadvantage, and while the physical damage is minor, we lose still more equipment. A little at a time, Morrie wears us down, until by the time we finally clear the kobold's territory, most of us have taken about twenty-five percent damage, and every single one of us has lost at least one useful magic item. However, the luck of the Irish must have been with Kitty Kat, as she is the one who gets off lightest, having only taken two minor hits and loosing Lightfingers' rope of climbing. "Well do you still think it was fun?" Joseph asks darkly, mourning the loss of one of his spellbooks. "Yeah," she giggles, "but I think I'll pass on a repeat performance." "In that case you'd better start working on a proper apology," he tells her, "you've still got to get out." "Actually," I say looking at my watch, "you're right about that. She's got to go to bed." "Do I *have* to?" is the inevitable complaint. "No you don't *have* to." I tell her, "but I'll leave it up to you to explain to your mother why you fell asleep at school tomorrow. And it won't gain you anything not to, because whatever you decide, the game's over as far as you're concerned." Giving in to the inevitable, she says goodnight, if not cheerfully, at least pleasantly, and thanks everybody for a great time. A minute or so later, after visiting the toilet, she closes her door with excessive force, as a final protest against mean and unfair tutors. "Quite a kid." Dave says admiringly. "But not for much longer, I'd say." Vaughan mutters, indicating that, he at least, had been presented with a view down her top. "You've got a filthy mind." Morrie tells him, "I think most of us saw, but you didn't have to say anything." To me he adds, "Maybe you should ask her mother, to say something, before she runs into someone with more than just a dirty mind." "It's already been said." I tell him, "I just don't think she realised what she was doing." 'This time.' I add silently, "Besides it was partly my fault, she wasn't supposed to spend the night, and I just grabbed the first t-shirt in the drawer for her." "Well I guess we better head off." Morrie says a few minutes later, once the last of the mix has been consumed. "We got through most of what we'd normally manage since we didn't need to keep asking Dave to tell us what we'd just done, and If we stay here drinking, she's not going to get any sleep anyway." The others agree, and for once even tidy up their own mess before heading for the door. "Thanks guys," I say as I see them out, "I'll catch you at college." Closing the door, I head for the bathroom and a quick shower before going to bed. Noticing that the light is still on in Jenny's room, I tap lightly at the door. I then hear the sound of sheets rustling for a few seconds, before she says, "come in." "Why's the light still on?" I ask, "You're supposed to be sleeping." "I was just reading," she says, holding the last of the books that I'd originally lent her, "I always read before I go to sleep." "O.K., half an hour," I agree, "but you'd better not be sleepy in the morning." "Oh I won't be." she assures me, "I sometimes read until eleven o'clock." "Not tonight." I tell her, turning away, "Now goodnight." "Greg?" she asks quietly, as I reach the doorway. "Yes?" "Come here, I want to ask you something." Settling on the edge of the bed, I say, "O.K. let's hear it." "I think Vaughan was looking down my top." she tells me. Well that's not news to me, but I still ask, "What makes you think that?" "Well every time I leant forwards he'd move his head a little bit." she replies. "See?" Pushing the bedclothes aside, she kneels on the mattress and leans towards me, presenting me with a perfect view of both tiny boobs. "Well I can certainly see something." I say, "But they might just be mosquito bites." "Nope they're the real thing." she giggles. "Do you think he *was* peeking?" "I know he was." I say, "But if you thought he was, why did you keep on giving him looks?" "Well I didn't notice until nearly then end, and I thought that if I just kept on pretending I didn't know, *he'd" just think I was a little kid and really didn't know. Was that wrong?" She sounds so worried that I hasten to reassure her, "In this case you did exactly right. Everybody sitting opposite you saw very early in the piece and so did I, however it looks like Vaughan was going out of his way to look. Then again, I think that Vaughan would go out of his way to look under a cow." She giggles at this, but quickly sobers, "Well why didn't you stop me?" "Because for once, I could see that you weren't doing it deliberately, and if I called attention to it, you would either become so self-conscious that you'd have a terrible time, or knowing you, more likely started doing it deliberately. "Actually, I'm rather proud that you managed to carry it off like that, because when accidents happen, it's often a good idea, to just not notice, however if you can you should do something casual to stop them happening again." "I though of that," she says, "but I couldn't because this neck is just too big." She hooks a finger in it and pulls it completely below her right tit to illustrate. "Now that's deliberate." I chuckle. "And so was your staying leant forwards while we talked. Now while they are admittedly very pretty boobies, I've seen enough and you can put them away now." Giggling, she lies back in bed, deliberately wriggling downwards until, it is her undies that I can see. "I hope you gave yourself a wedgie." I tell her, as I pull the blankets up to her chin and briefly pin her down with them. "I did." she admits ruefully as I let go and sit back. Then after a short commotion beneath the blankets, the offending article of clothing is produced and tossed to the floor. "There it can't happen again." "You are completely beyond help." I laugh. "You could help me by rubbing my boobies again." she giggles. "Now *that* we are *not* going to make a habit of doing." I tell her, "It's too bloody dangerous for both of us." "But I know you won't do anything I don't want you too." she says, "And I'm not going to tell, are you?" "No." I reply, "But that's not the problem. The problem lies with what you might *want* me to do next." "I think I see what you mean." she admits. Blushing she goes on, "It's always felt nice when I touched my boobs, at least since they started to grow, but what you did is like the difference between dry bread and chocolate cake. I can make it feel that good though, if I rub my clitoris. Especially with my toothbrush." she giggles, "And I guess I'm already beginning to wonder a bit, if it would be that much better if you or somebody else did it." "Well wonder away." I say with a grin, "One day you'll find a boyfriend you trust enough to let him show you." "I trust you." she says quietly. "But I'm a lot older than you and that causes some very big problems. "I know." she says a trifle sadly. Suddenly she giggles, "I bet you'd be good though." "Who would you get to take that bet?" I chuckle back, "If it was me, I'd be lousy just so I could take your money." "No you wouldn't." she says quietly, "Because then I wouldn't be happy. *If*" she carefully emphasises the word, "you did do it, you'd do the very best you could." "Well it looks like you managed to win the bet without even testing the hypothesis." I laugh while reaching for my wallet, and handing her five dollars. "But we didn't have a bet." she protests, holding the money out to me. "Actually," I grin, "that's the lunch money your mother asked me to lend you." "Thanks." she says, "And may the fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits for teasing me." "And thank you." I grimace. "Not." "Can I play again next week?" she asks hopefully. "I doubt very much whether your mother would agree to me bringing you home at this time of night." I say, "Tonight's was a special case because of your brother's accident." "I guess so." she says regretfully, "But it was fun." "Yes it was." I agree. "Now it really is time you got some sleep." "Can I ask one more thing?" she asks. "One." "How come everybody laughed when I said I was Kitty Kat?" "I'd hoped you'd forgotten about that." I grimace, "I told you, I'd tell you when you were twenty one." "Oh come on?" she urges me. "Well it started when I stupidly told those degenerates about you having a bit of a crush on me. They said a lot of pretty crude things that I'm not going to repeat to you, and Morrie invented Kitty Kat to tease me with. So when you said 'I'm Kitty Kat.' they remembered that and laughed." Her naughty giggle tells me that she understands all to well. "O.K. Goodnight." I say, "I'll see you in the morning." "Goodnight." she giggles. "Hey don't I get a kiss goodnight?" she asks as I rise and turn to leave. "You're asking for it." I growl. "I know." she giggles, "So you'd better give it to me." Placing my hands to either side of her shoulders, I lean down to give her a quick kiss. Jenny however, has different ideas. Wriggling her arms free of the bedclothes, she encircles my neck and holds me in place while delivering a soft, lingering, toe curling kiss to my lips. Extricating myself, I murmur, "Goodnight." and once again turn to leave. "Goodnight." she says, "Oops, almost forgot to feed the monster." Wondering what she is talking about, I turn back just in time to see her, wriggle from beneath the bedclothes. Lying on her stomach she leans over the edge of the bed, and with her untanned, creamy white bottom pointing ceilingward, she squeals into the space beneath. "What was that about?" I ask, reaching out to pull down her t-shirt. "Oops sorry, that was an accident." she blushes as she pulls the bedclothes over herself, before getting herself straight in bed. "I was feeding your monster under the bed. You see they eat squeals, so if you give them one, they won't grab your ankle." Grinning wickedly, she adds, "Maybe I should give him a few more. He must be pretty hungry because hardly anyone ever sleeps here." "Well wait until I'm gone then." I chuckle, "Good. Night." "G'nite." she giggles. At the door I pause, but just in case, I don't look back. "Turn off the light." "But if I turn off the light I won't be able to see, and that means he can grab my nose." "We can't have that." I chuckle. "So feed him and *then* turn off the light." Closing the door I make my way to my bedroom, followed by a volley of shrill shrieks that must have the neighbours wondering, if they hear them. The next disturbance occurs as I'm lying back in my bed slowly fisting my cock, while recalling how Jenny's tiny boobs looked and more importantly, felt, in my hands. With only a thin wall separating us, I soon become aware of a rising series of soft, muffled squeals that have nothing to do with feeding any monsters under the bed. Unconsciously my hand takes up the rhythm of those soft cries, and within a minute I bite back a groan, as wave after wave of white hot pleasure surges through my loins. Spattering wetly on my chest and stomach. A minute later Jenny's cries reach a yelping climax, suddenly cutting off midstream. Endless moments later, a long shuddering sigh signals the ebbing of her orgasm. Suppressing an urge to join Jenny, and offer her a chance to make a direct comparison, I take up the towel in which I usually catch my emissions, and scrub the worst of the slimy and now rapidly cooling mess from my front. *** Due to my early night, and the relative paucity of mind altering chemicals consumed, I wake quite early the next morning, and for a pleasant change clear headed. Pulling on my robe, I head for the toilet to dispose of what's left of the little booze that I had drunk, and then the rare luxury of a long, leisurely morning shower. On my way back to my room, I recall that I have a house guest. A gentle knock at the door brings no response, so I quietly open the door to look in. Sleeping in that boneless manner that only kids can manage, Jenny occupies most of the double bed, lying diagonally across the upper third. One arm dangles limply over the edge, while her cheek rests on the hand of the other. A narrow shaft of sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains, falling across the upper part of her body, even as I watch it clears her shoulder and strikes her nose, which wrinkles slightly in response. Second by second, it creeps slowly up her face until it reaches her eyelids. Squeezing them tightly shut, she turns her face toward the mattress then a moment later lifts her free hand to scrub sleepily at her eyes. Grimacing she rolls to her back and stares blankly at the ceiling for a few seconds while she tries to sort out where she is. As she does so, she absently slips a hand beneath the blankets and I watch it disappear towards the lower half of her body. Deciding to announce my presence before she does something embarrassing, I clear my throat and say, "Good morning." As if scalded her hand jerks out from under the sheet and she mumbles sleepily, "G'morning. What are you doing here." "Watching the sun wake you up." I chuckle. "How do you feel? Not too tired I hope." I'm all right." she says sitting up, "What time is it?" "About seven." I reply, "Do you want to get a bit more sleep?" "No, I slept like a log." she says, "I think I'm going to ask for a double bed, you can really spread out in it." "So I noticed." I chuckle. "Yeah I did make a bit of a mess." she giggles while surveying the rumpled and twisted bedclothes. "Well if you're not going back to sleep," I say, "I'll go start breakfast." "Do I get a kiss first?" "Oh I guess so." I grumble loudly as I approach. Grinning, she tosses the bedclothes back and throws her legs over the edge of the bed, unveiling her legs all the way up to her belly button. As her legs part and come back together, I'm treated to the cock twitching sight of her hairless slit opening to reveal two pale pink strips of flesh and a small dark hole at the base. All to quickly, and not quickly enough by far, the display is over she brings her legs together, dangling over the side of the bed. "But not like that." I continue, with a significant glance towards the small exposed slit at the juncture of her muscular thighs. With an incoherent squeal of embarrassment, that tells me that she had completely forgotten her knickerless state, she blushes a fiery red and jerks the hem of her t-shirt down over her knees with enough force to pop threads. "Ohmigod, I didn't mean it?" she apologises, once her flush has dimmed to a pink glow, and she has recovered the power of speech. "I know." I say gently, reaching down to recover her knickers. Holding them out her, I say, "Better put these on so it doesn't happen again." Giggling shamefacedly, she accepts them and drops to the floor with a thud. Before I can move, she bends and steps into them, working them up over her hips under the cover of her T-shirt. "There, you can't see anything now." she says with a grin as she lifts the shirt to show off Tweety and Sylvester in their endless chase around her waist. "I can still see way too much." I growl good-naturedly, "And a very juicy target, right where they're tightest." Showing me her tongue, she lets the hem drop back into place and then with a suddenly ingenuous air, she holds her arms out. "Kiss me Uncle Greg." Shaking my head and smiling, I bring myself close enough for her to pull my face down to hers. Her kiss this morning is every bit as good as the kiss of the night, before, her lips moulding themselves softly to mine. A sudden tightening signals imminent mischief, but before I can escape, her lips part, and her tongue flickers briefly along my lips. "Phew, not bad," I chuckle as she releases me, "but next time I'll bite it." She giggles naughtily, and then gasps, her eyes widening as they fasten on a point a few inches below my waist. Looking down, I realise that when I'd bent to kiss her, the front of my robe had parted sufficiently to allow the head of my half hard cock to peep through, and it had elected not to withdraw when I straightened. Hastily rearranging things, I apologise profusely while she giggles uproariously. "Maybe *you* should put some undies on too." she sniggers. "I think you're right." I chuckle ruefully, "While I'm doing that could you get some bacon and eggs out of the fridge and put the kettle on." When I join her in the kitchen a couple of minute later, I find that she has done not only that but has also started a pat of butter melting in one of my cast iron pans. Taking over, I instruct her to get out some plates and to set the table. "How many eggs?" I ask as the butter begins to sizzle. "Two." she replies, as she readies two cups of instant coffee. A couple of minute later she looks past my shoulder, into the pan, and starts preparing the toast. A few minutes later we sit down to our breakfast. "I like your table." Jenny observes tracing a finger around a knot in the polished wood. "Yeah, it's not bad for twenty bucks and a bit of work." I reply casually. "No way," she exclaims, "it's got to be worth at least a thousand dollars." "Try again." I smile. "Five?" she asks incredulously. "Try nearly half as much as this house." I tell her, grinning at her shocked look of amazement. "Are you joking?" she asks sounding more than a bit sceptical. "Nope." I say, enjoying her gaping stare. "If you offered me twenty five grand you wouldn't be getting any change." "Twe-twenty five thousand?" She looks at me with her chin nearly on her chest. "And only you paid twenty dollars?" "Pretty good bargain don't you think?" I chuckle. "No way." she breathes, "You've got to be pulling my leg." "Well it didn't look quite like this when I bought it." I admit, "There was about a hundred years worth of paint on it, and it was starting to come to pieces. Then again, what can you expect after more than four hundred years." Having known nothing but the throwaway society that we have become since the war, Jenny finds this figure even more impressive than the value. "That's longer than people have been in Australia." "Not even close," I remind her, "but it is about twice as long as *white* people have been here." "Oh yeah I forgot." she mumbles. "Well don't," I say, "Coories are very much people too. Now hurry up and eat." "We've got ages." she says. Then remembering something I'd said nearly a month before, she asks, "Have you got time to do a beaver tail?" "If you hurry." Hurry she does, wolfing down her food and then bouncing impatiently in her chair as I finish mine. "You better have a quick shower and wet your hair." I tell her as I gulp the last of my coffee. "Remember to grab a towel this time." While she is in the shower I quickly dress. In the lounge, I grab some rubber bands, bobby pins, and a can of hair spray from the kit I keep ready for the occasions my sister and more occasionally her friends go out. I also shove a Red Dwarf tape in the VCR for a bit of background. Just as I put the chairs ready, she enters, towelling her hair, and wearing nothing but her undies and a grin. Shaking my head, I instruct her to sit backwards on the higher of the two chairs, and set to work, brushing out the tangles. Once that is done, I pull it into a pony tail at the back of her neck, and repeatedly halving the strands, I separate it into sixteen equal parts, tying them off with small rubber bands. Then slowly and methodically, I start working it into a broad, flat paddle. Every now and then her giggles make me look up to the TV, to see what she has found amusing this time, and since I've watched the tapes so many times, I am usually able to work back to the joke from what comes after. "Oh that's really good." she says giggling almost hard enough to collapse. "What's that?" I ask. "Goalpost Head, said something about putting your penis in a lions mouth and flicking him with a towel." "Oh that one," I chuckle. "It is a pretty good one, Now forget you ever heard it." "You've got a big penis." Jenny suddenly comments, almost making me drop her hair. "What makes you say that?" I ask carefully. "Well it is." she persists, "I've seen Jeremy's lots of time, and my dad's and I've even seen them in a few <giggle> dirty books." "Well, I don't know about your dad," I say, 'but your brother's a very little boy." "What about in the magazines?" she asks. "Do you know what they were called?" I ask, "Because the only ones I can think of, tend to go quite a bit in the other direction." "Um Fiesta or something like that I think." she tells me. "Mostly they were really little. Yours had a big red knob on it." Light dawns. "Well that explains it." I chuckle, "I remember those magazines now, god I haven't seen one in years, and unlike most, the publishers seem to go out of their way to put in pictures of below average penises. As for mine having a big red knob... Why am I telling you this?" "I don't know," she giggles, "but keep going." "O.K. I assume that you know how a man's penis has to fill with blood and get hard before he can have sex." she nods slightly, "Well with me it starts with the head filling up first, and that's what you saw. You only think that it's big because all of the other ones you have seen were completely limp." "Was it like that because you saw my... Can I say fanny? [Author's note: don't tell an Aussie girl she's got a nice fanny unless you can duck fast.] The proper words are so doctorish." "That's because for so long, it was something that only ever got talked about by doctors, so the only acceptable words were medical terms. Go ahead and use whatever you are comfortable with, but don't be a gutter mouth just to try and shock me. O.K.?" "Uh-huh." she nods, "*Was* it because you saw my fanny?" "Yes it was." I admit. "Even though it's little and hasn't got any hair on it yet?" She asks, "Most of the ones in those magazines were all big and puffy and the insides were pink too." "Well not everybody likes big and puffy." I say, "Besides when was the last time you had a look at yourself down there in the mirror?" "How... I know, all girls do it." she giggles, "I dunno, ages I guess." "Well I think if you looked now, you'd notice things are starting to a change a bit." I say, adding wickedly, "And if you'd looked a few minutes after I kissed you goodnight, I'd confidently say that it would have been plenty pink enough too. About as pink as your face is right now." I finish with a chuckle. "Are you guessing?" she mumbles hopefully. "Nope," I grin, "think about where my bed is in relation to yours." "Oh!" she says, turning an even deeper shade of crimson. "Was it a good one?" I ask, "It certainly sounded like it." "Um yeah." she admits, then almost pulls her hair out of my hands as she turns to look directly at me. "Was yours?" "Not bad." I casually reply, pushing her head around and smoothing out her half completed hairdo. "Did you do it at the same time?" "What do you think?" I ask. "I bet you did." she giggles, "Did listening to me make it better?" 'Unimaginably kid. Unimaginably.' I think, but all I own up to, is, "A bit." "Were you thinking about me?" 'Oh shit!' Damning question, 'What do I say now?' "I was thinking about how much fun you were having." I admit. "Lot's." she giggles, "I was thinking about how good it felt when you touched my boobs. How come it feels better when somebody else does it?" "For the same reason you can't tickle yourself." I say, "You already know what you are going to do, it's just that there are a lot more nerves in your pussy and boobs, and your lips for that matter, so some of the feeling gets through anyway. When I did it, you never knew what was going to happen next." "I'll say." she giggles, "You never did the same thing twice in a row." "Of course not." I say as if horrified at the thought, "I'd be a pretty lousy boob polisher if I did." "Well you can polish my boobs any time that you like." she says. "I thought we already covered why that's not going to happen, last night." I say. "I know." she says with regret in her voice, "I wish I was older so it didn't matter so much." "Unfortunately you're not, and we have to deal with what is." I reply softly. "Now pass me a bobby pin, we're nearly done." As she hands me bobby pins, I begin rounding off the end of my creation, tucking the ends under and fastening them into place. A few minutes later I pin the last strands into place and give it a good dose of hair spray, especially at the end, as I tease it into its final shape. "There done." I announce. "Go get your uniform and I'll help you into it." "Can I see it?" she asks. "Sure. Come with me." I instruct, and lead her into my bedroom, stopping along the way for her school frock. Standing her in front of the full length mirror, I survey her slender frame. From her muscular shoulders and chocolate kiss boobs, past her trim flat stomach and oval belly button, to where her rounded, slightly out thrust mound pushes Tweety and Sylvester into the third dimension. A moment later it becomes apparent that she has been following the direction of my eyes, as she assumes a more aggressively sexy stance, lifting her right heel from the floor and bending her knee. "You're looking at me, aren't you?" she accuses merrily. "Just a little bit." I admit with a sheepish grin, "I think that you're going have your mother's build, but quite a bit of your father's height. So these," I tell her, giving the whole of her small boobs a light pinch, "will be quite big enough in the end." "Oooh you touched my boobs." she says, "I'm telling on you. Unless..." "Unless what?" I ask, already anticipating the answer. "Unless you do it again." she giggles. "Well we don't have time now." I tell her, leaving the matter open, but not making any promises either. Gathering her dress up in my hands, I say, "Arms up." and carefully work it down over her head, and onto her shoulders. After lifting her hair over the collar, I reach around the front to fasten her buttons, ignoring it when she takes the opportunity to briefly rub her nipples against the insides of my wrists. "Now to show mademoiselle, what zee Great Gregori, he has created." I say in a cheesy French accent, taking down a smaller mirror hanging on the wall. Standing behind her, I angle the second mirror so that she can see the back of her head, and the four inch wide oval that hangs down to between her shoulder blades. "Voila." "WOW!" she yelps, "It' makes me look heaps older." "Hmm, maybe I better take it out then." I tease. "Don't you dare." she says threateningly. "Mademoiselle likes?" "Mademoiselle loves it." she declares, turning around and hugging me fiercely. "Glad to oblige." I say, briefly returning the hug, "Now we better get a move on, or we're going to be late. At least I will be. Go get your stuff." As I pack my own backpack in the lounge, Jenny comes in asking, "Can you help me put my jumper on?" I carefully work the neck opening down over her head, lifting her now stiff hair through and holding it out of the way as she works her arms down the sleeves. "There." I say giving it a final check and pushing a loose bobby pin back into place, "Let's go." *** "Hi Jenny, Hi Greg." Vanessa waves approaching the car, her bus having arrived at the same time as us. "Why's he here?" she asks of Jenny. "Because I stayed at his house last night." Jenny answers. "You did?" Vanessa squeals, "Why?" "Wouldn't you like to know." Jenny giggles teasingly. I watch Vanessa put one and one together to come up with three, her eyes widening comically as she stares at me. "Jeremy had an accident," I hastily put in, "and I looked after her so her mum could stay with Jeremy in the hospital." "Oh." Vanessa says looking slightly disappointed. "Excuse me a sec Vanessa." I say winding up the window, and turning to Jenny, "What sort of trouble are you trying to get me into?" I ask harshly. "I was only joking." Jenny giggles, "I was going to tell her. Didn't she look funny?" "She looked hilarious," I reply, "and she also looked like she was about to run off before you would have had a chance to explain. Next time think before you open your mouth, now get out of here before I'm late for class." "Still giggling, Jenny scoots out of the car and the joins Vanessa, making sure that her friend gets a good look at her hair. "Oh wow, who did that?" Vanessa yelps enviously. "Oh he did." Jenny replies offhandedly, "Do you like it?" "I love it, I wish I had long enough hair to do something like that." Vanessa says wistfully. "Here let's have a look?" I say. I survey her beautiful red gold hair for a moment. No fringe, which is good, since it gives me a bit more hair to work with. Recalling a photo I'd seen In a magazine once, I say, "I could try to make a hat brim, but I've never done it before, so it mightn't work. Give me a call the next time the two of you are going to a party and I'll see what I can do." "Oh wow would you?" Vanessa squeals with delight, "Thanks." "You're welcome." I reply, "Now I've got to go or I'll be late. See you later." The two girls make their way to the gate, their heads close together as they talk. Turning they smile and wave. Waving back I pull out into the traffic. *************************************************** Chapter 8 - Hot Tub Hoydens. "You were right," Jenny says apologetically when I arrive for dinner on Saturday night, "Mr Sampson saw you drop me off and he asked me all these questions about you." "What's this?" Dianne asks, coming up behind her daughter. "Come in Greg." "I said something to Vanessa that made her get the wrong idea, and Mr Sampson saw Greg tell me off." Jenny admits with a red face. "Oh Jenny!" her mother exclaims, "What happened?" "Well first he wanted to know who Greg was, so I told him Greg was my tutor, and he was looking after me because Jeremy broke his wrist and you had to stay in hospital with him." "Did he asks why Greg told you off?" "I told him the truth, just not all of it." Jenny says, "I said, 'I said something silly to Vanessa and got told off for it.'" "Anything else?" "Well I think he was trying to find out if Greg was doing stuff to me, because he asked if Greg touched me, so I acted a little dumb and said, 'Yeah when he does my hair.' and then I waved it around and asked if he liked it." "Well it must have worked, since I haven't had any phone calls." Dianne says, "Just be more careful in future. You could have gotten Greg into a lot of trouble." "As for you and that hairdo." she says severely, softening her tone with a smile, "Don't you think it was a bit much for school." "Well, maybe a little." I admit, "I'll bet it was a hit though." "I believe *green* was the colour of the day." Dianne chuckles. "Yeah," Jenny giggles, "even the girls in grade six were jealous. Some of them even wanted to know where you lived." "I hope you didn't tell them." I say, "That'd be all I need, a whole bunch of ten and eleven year olds trooping through my door, it'd really give your Mr Sampson something to wonder about." "Of course I didn't tell them." she says, and grabs my arm possessively "You belong to me, and I ain't sharing you with anyone, except maybe Vanessa sometimes." "Why me oh Lord? Why me?" I ask of the heavens. Then with a grin into Jenny's soulfully, gooey eyes, I suddenly pull my arm hard against my side, trapping her hands. "Then again, it does give me somebody to tickle." Shrieking wildly, Jenny struggles to pull away as I make brief darting stabs towards her armpits and lower ribs. Waiting until she is close to the floor, I suddenly release her, and with a shriek that outdoes anything that had come before, she falls the final six inches to land with a soft thud on the carpet. "I think he needs a bit more training Jenny." Dianne observes with a chuckle, "He's still a bit unruly." "I like him like that," Jenny giggles with a look towards me, "I never know what he's going to do next." Fortunately for my peace of mind, Dianne misses the existence of the hidden double meaning, simply saying with a grin, "Yes it does keep you on your toes." "Not this time." I say with a nod to indicate Jenny's inelegant sprawl. Giggling, but eyeing me suspiciously, Jenny resumes her seat beside me on the couch, though this time she maintains a wary distance, much to her mother's amusement. Noticing the continued absence of the male members of the household, I ask, "Where are Tony and Jeremy." "Tony's still at his conference, and I took Jeremy to my mother's since he's already managed to ruin one cast by taking the plastic bag off it in the spa." "So it's just you and two beeyootiful ladies tonight." Jenny giggles. "What?" I ask looking about in feigned surprise, "I only see one *lady* here." "Maybe just a little more training is needed here." Jenny says mock severely, "You never tell a lady she's not a lady, especially when she's not." "I'm glad you admit it." I say with an absent pat on her head. "You should have told me Dianne, any night would have been fine by me." "What don't you trust me?" Dianne chuckles, ganging up against me with her now glaring daughter. "Two?" I ask, looking helplessly upwards. "Don't worry I'll be *good*." Dianne says with a full blown giggle. "You're right Jenny, teasing him *is* fun." "Nooooo!" I wail, burying my face in my hands. "We're going to have lots of fun tonight," Jenny joins in, patting me gentlingly on the back, "aren't we Mummy?" Fortunately, I'm saved by the bell, literally, as a timer goes off in the kitchen. "Excuse me, I have to put the vegies on," Dianne says rising from her seat, "Jenny why don't you show Greg where he can put his bag and wash up." Jenny leads me to a downstairs bathroom, bumping me to one side to make a place for herself at the sink. Continuing the bumps in time with her words, she teases me, "Greg and Mummy sitting in the tree, K I S S I N G." A few seconds thought allows me to counter with, "Greg with Jenny lying in his lap, B E A T I N G." "First comes love, and then comes marriage, now here they come with a baby carriage." "Hmm." I muse, "Here's my hand, there's your seat. Why is Jenny eating on her feet?" "O.K. I'll let you win." she giggles, "This time." "Want to tease your mother with it." I ask. "Oooh yeah!" she squeals. We repeat our lines to make sure that we get them right, and with a minor change on my part to improve there meter, we prepare to make our entrance. "So Greg are you ready to play some more?" Dianne asks archly, as we return to the lounge. Well you couldn't ask for a better opening than that. "Greg and Mummy sitting in the tree, K I S S I N G." Dianne gives her daughter a piercing look, then smiles, as she realises that this is a put up job. "Greg with Jenny lying 'cross his lap, B E A T I N G." She giggles. "First comes love, and then comes marriage, now here they come with a baby carriage." Dianne's smile is directed at me as she waits for my response. "Here is my hand, there is your seat. Why is Jenny eating on her feet?" "I like it." she giggles. "And I think I can safely take it that she tried to do a bit of unauthorised teasing." To her daughter she says mock severely, "Jenny, when will you learn? Never try to take them on alone if you can avoid it. Sometime they prove smart enough to manage an *occasional* victory. If you gang up on them they can never win." "Sorry Mummy." Jenny says contritely. "Well there's no real harm done, and we've still got the rest of the evening to show him his proper place." Dianne says with a grin towards me. "Men do have a few minor uses though. How are you at carving Greg?" "A bit ragged, but I get the job done." I reply. "Good because, I'm terrible. It's about the only thing that I trust Tony to do in the kitchen." she admits. "Jenny, you can come and set the table." "Jenny tells me you've got a nice little table." Dianne says offhandedly a few minutes later as we sit down to eat. "Well it keeps the food off the floor." I reply in the same manner while trying to cut a piece of perfectly cooked crackling. "Uses your fingers." Dianne tells me, suiting her own actions to her words, and crunching off a piece. After crunching for several seconds, she swallows and continues, "She tells me you got quite a bargain." "Fair." I say with a side to side flutter of my hand. "I think I'd call a thousand to one decidedly unfair, especially if I was the person that sold it to you." she chuckles. "Well it did end up costing me quite a bit more than that in the end." I say. "Though right from the beginning I knew that there was something good underneath all that paint, but even when I got it back to bare timber I still had no idea of just how good. All I knew was that it deserved something better than a coat of varnish. "I was still thinking in terms of three or four thousand at the time and since I was trying to save for a new computer, I thought I could hurry things along by using that money to restore the table and chairs and then sell them. So I found a French polisher and got him to come and take a look. He was the one who told me what I'd found." "So if you wanted a new computer, why did you end up hanging on to it?" Dianne asks curiously. "Well I didn't need that good a computer, and if I'd sold it I would have wasted the money. This way, it's always there if ever I do need that sort of money, and it's not like I'd be tempted to chop off a leg when I need a quick couple of hundred." "I hope you've got it insured." "I might be male but I'm not stupid." I chuckle. The conversation turns to my games club and how much Jenny had enjoyed Wednesday evening, while we finish our meal, but as I'd expected, there was no way that her mother was going to accept her staying out that late. Desert turns out to be a home baked cherry pie served with ice cream. The moment she has scraped the last of the ice cream from her bowl Jenny bounces up and heads for her room to get changed, leaving Dianne and me to finish at a slightly more leisurely pace. A thud at the bottom of the stairs announces her return via, the forbidden route of the banister. The towel in her hand explaining her un-scorched backside. Assuming a comically exaggerated pose in the doorway, she asks silently for my opinion. While still acceptable in polite society, her florescent green bikini is beginning to show signs of becoming too small. On top there is nothing amiss, but the straps of the bottom cut into her hips slightly and the outline of her mound is clearly visible. A narrow quarter inch strip of untanned skin, running around the curve of her behind, indicates that it has filled out a little since the last time she has worn the suit in the sun. Dianne too notices the changes, commenting, "I think it's about time you got a new suit young lady." "Can I have one like yours?" Jenny asks eagerly. "I was thinking of something more along the lines of those new neck to knee outfits." Dianne teases, "We don't want you getting skin cancer." "Well it would certainly stop that happening." Jenny giggles, "I wouldn't be caught dead outside in one of those things." "Sounds like just the thing." I chuckle, "It would certainly make showing off a little difficult." "Indubitably." "Hey!" Jenny protests, "We're supposed to be picking on *him*." "That comes later dear," Dianne says as if I'm not in the room, "I'm lulling him into a false sense of security right now." "Oh that's all right then." Jenny giggles. "Are you coming now?" "Oh all right." Dianne chuckles, "But you can wait for Greg and show him where to go." As Dianne heads up the stairs, Jenny dogs my heels forcing me to pointedly close the bathroom door in her giggling face. Figuring that Jenny was going to give me as hard a time as she thought she could get away with in front of her mother, and probably more besides, I'd packed board shorts to go over my usual Speedos. Her slightly disappointed look at my nearly knee length pants when I emerge confirms my guess. As she turns her back and leads the way out onto a rear deck, I notice that the strips of untanned skin on either side of her too tight bathing suit have widened to nearly half an inch. And by the time we actually reach the deck, that milestone has been reached and surpassed. Jenny too notices the uncomfortable packing of her butt crack and with a backwards glance, and a naughty giggle, she finishes the job by drawing the back of her suit up into a wedgie. Ah-ha a target!" I cry while advancing menacingly. Shrieking, but doing nothing to cover herself, she skips out of my reach and plunges into the fizzing waters of the eight foot diameter cedar hot tub set into the deck. Following at a more sedate pace, I take in the matching cedar lodge nearby, before stepping down into the warm waters just as Jenny sets the blower going. As I lower myself into the seat, I continue my look around the trellised and vine covered pergola. About half the area of my entire house, there is ample room for the half dozen lounges and outdoor dining setting that occupy the central area of the deck. In one corner a fenced off play area is obviously set up for Jeremy. Except for a small area closest to the steps leading out into the rear garden, the entire deck is completely private, screened from the outside by the vine covered trellis. A sudden splash of water in my face reminds me that there is an unchastised child occupying the water with me. Giving her no time to dodge, I duck beneath the surface and with a sweep of my arm, find and grasp a slim leg, just below the knee, and with a quick jerk, pull her under. A giggling fury erupts from the water moments after I rise, and even before I can shake the water from my eyes, she leaps on me and wraps her arms and legs around me. Throwing herself repeatedly backwards, she strives to pull me under. I allow her several futile attempts, then timing my move carefully I jab a pair of fingers into her sides, just below her ribs. Her look of sudden horror is priceless to behold as she turns almost a complete somersault while flying backwards into the water. A few seconds later a small fist, thankfully slowed by the water, thumps me in the stomach. "I thought I told you to wait until we could gang up on him." Dianne laughs from the doorway as Jenny's wrathful features emerge from the water. "What a little bitty thing like you?" I chuckle, holding Jenny off by the simple expedient of placing a palm on her forehead. "You'll pay." I'm told ominously as she sets down a crystal decanter of aqua vitae, a bucket of ice and two tumblers. "Oh I hope so." I say, suddenly taking my hand away from Jenny's forehead and adding an optimistic, "Whips *and* chains?" once the water closes over head. "You're as bad as she is." Dianne chuckles as she shucks her robe. "Worse." I grin, "I've had more practice." Free of her robe, Dianne teasingly poses for me. Though technically modest by today's standards, her flesh tone bikini is fashioned in such a way as to accentuate her salient features to their best advantage. The top is cut to fit her lemon sized breasts like a second skin, leaving them as if bare, yet covering all but the upper slopes. "The bottoms, trace the creases beside her legs with micrometric exactitude, cupping her mound with wrinkle free perfection, and rising high over her hips to disappear behind her back. The top edge dips in a broad vee deep enough to reveal that at least a portion of her pubic hair has been removed. "Her body would be the envy of women (girls) more than ten years her junior. While as athletically trim as her daughter's, its flared hips and narrow waist attest to her greater maturity. Only two tiny stretch marks on her flat belly bear witness to the two children she has carried, yet even they are flaws which enhance, rather than detract. In fact, given her slightly undersized breasts, she could pass for a girl in her early teens from the waist down." "Got your eyes back in yet?" she chuckles a few seconds later. "Isn't she sexy?" Jenny asks. "Jenny!" Dianne scolds, laughingly, a faint blush colouring her features. Well you are." Jenny protests. "'Cept for her boobs." she gigglingly adds, quietly enough for only me to hear it above the noise of the roiling water. "Jenny!" I bark, unsuccessfully, choking back my laughter. "You do *not* want to know." I chuckle in response to Dianne's questioning look. Adding, "But I hope you plan on giving that body back to the kid you took it from." Her colour deepens as she smiles her pleasure at my compliment. With a direct look at Jenny, she says, "I'm quite sure I don't." Still glaring at her daughter, who places her hands on my hips and hides behind me, Dianne steps gracefully down into the water. With her feet on the bottom, the almost four foot deep water bisects her small breasts. Giggling, Jenny keeps me between herself and her mother, as Dianne playfully lunges at her. I allow myself to be used as a human shield for a few seconds, then reach down to grab a small wrist and haul Jenny out in front of me. Quickly securing the other wrist, I hold Jenny suspended chest deep in the water, her feet ineffectually kicking six inches clear of the bottom. Taking advantage of her daughter's defenceless state, Dianne, advances with her fingers reaching for Jenny's completely exposed armpits. Shrieking helplessly, Jenny twists and wriggles to no avail as her mother's fingers make contact with her sensitive skin. Then having reduced Jenny to an impotently quivering and gasping condition, Dianne calmly takes a seat, and prepares drinks for herself and me. "Leave that," she tells me, "and come and get a drink." Towing Jenny to where she can grasp the lip of the tub for support, I take my drink from Dianne and take a seat far enough around the tub that I don't have to crane my neck to talk to her. As Dianne and I talk, Jenny glowers at us from the far side of the tub, and in all probability plots her revenge. A few minutes later, she surprises me by fitting herself into my lap with a smile that bears not a single hint of mischief. Leaning back against my chest, she pulls my arm across her stomach, and settles my hand on her hip. "Jenny!" Dianne scolds as a matter of form, though it is obvious that she doesn't really mind too much. "Well his lap's softer than that stupid brick." Jenny says, and then her naughtiness comes to the fore as she wriggles and adds, "Mostly." "Jenny!" This time Dianne's censure is sincere. However it has no effect on Jenny, who continues to twist her backside back and forth in my lap. The look Dianne turns on me is tinged with a mixture of embarrassment and worry. "It's not is it?" she asks. "No." I reply a trifle tightly. Taking hold of the naughtily giggling ten year old around the waist, I deposit her on the seat beside me, a process which leaves her submerged to just below the hairline. Adding tightly, as I briefly hold her there, "But I couldn't answer for the consequences if she'd kept that up much longer." Sputtering, Jenny pops up and still giggling naughtily, retreats to her brick on the far side of the tub. "I wouldn't expect you too." Dianne reassures me. To Jenny she says, "Pull a stunt like that again, and you won't have to worry about how hard that brick is, because your mattress will be plenty soft enough for the rest of the evening." "Sorry," Jenny says, not really sounding it. "But it was funny and I got you both." "O.K. I'll admit it was funny." Dianne chuckles. Then adds severely, "Once. The next time will cost you a night in your room." "Can I come back now?" Jenny asks, "I promise I'll be good." "Define good." I say, learning to anticipate her facility with words. "Spoilsport." she giggles, "I won't be naughty." "Fair enough." I say, "Now ask your mother's permission to sit in a strange man's lap." "Very strange." Dianne chuckles, not waiting for her daughter to speak. "Go ahead Jenny," she gives her permission, "just keep still, men can't help reacting if you don't." Smiling triumphantly, Jenny returns to my lap, and with admirable restraint, limits herself to a single squirm, before leaning back and pulling my hand into place above her hip. "How come you can't help it?" Jenny asks me, stretching her definition of 'good' to the breaking point, as evidenced by her slightly wicked smile. "Ah," I say to Dianne, "Do you want to field that?" "No go ahead." she chuckles, "So far I've only heard about your explanations second hand, I want to hear one for myself." "Uh, thanks. I don't think." I mutter. "We'll since your mother has decided to drop me in it." I say to Jenny, who giggles in response. (Damn that's almost as bad as her squirming.) "Let's see what I can do. O.K. I've already told you how dangerous certain types of men can be, and what they can do to you, but I haven't really said much about the reasons that this is so. "There are two major reasons, one biological and the other social. Now the biological part, which you very nearly demonstrated a couple of minutes ago, <giggle> is that all creatures have a very strong mating urge. With most creatures the urge is triggered by certain scents that a female excretes when she is ready to have a baby. Now scientists think that the sense of smell is actually the oldest sense there is, and the nose is certainly connected to one of the most primitive parts of the brain." "But wouldn't touch be the oldest?" Jenny asks curiously. "No it's not because we smell by sensing different chemicals in the environment around us, and every single creature there is, can do it. Even bacteria which are like the first creatures that ever existed will move away from a poison like lactic acid and towards food like sugar." "But we *taste* sugar." Jenny objects. "Ah-ha," I say, "that's because smell and taste are in a lot of ways like two sides of the same sense, and not two different senses at all. I'm sure that you've noticed that things taste different if you have a blocked nose, and that there are some smells that are so strong that you feel like you can taste them." "Yeah dad's farts." Jenny giggles. "Jenny!" Dianne says resignedly. To me she says, "This seems to be getting a little off track." "That happens." I chuckle, "But unfortunately never far enough yet, Jenny alway put me back on track eventually." "So where were we?" I ask myself, going on, "Now since smell is connected to the most primitive part of the brain, when a male smells that a female is ready to mate he is forced do almost anything he can to mate with her. In fact a number of primitive creatures don't even care if they die, so long as the job gets done first. "As we go from the lowest to the higher creatures, other senses become more and involved in the mating process. Sound comes next, but usually it's just the male telling the female where he is and vice versa. Then there's sight, where one creature, usually the male, tries to put on an impressive display to show how healthy he is and what healthy offspring they would have together. Peacocks are prime example there. "However, all these higher senses do is help one creature, usually the female, decide which one of those proudly strutting cocks, <giggle> -Gutter brain- flashing his tail, <another giggle> would be the best mate. Underneath it all there is still this incredibly powerful smell which is saying 'time to mate, time to mate' and all those silly males can do is strut around looking good until he gets chosen or that smell goes away. "Even when one male fights off all the other males in the area so he can keep all the females for himself, like horses, and deer do, the other males are still there, hovering around the edges. They're sniffing the air and sorting like crazy, just waiting for a chance that they might get lucky." "O.K. that takes care of just about every creature in existence except the primates: that's monkeys, apes and of course us humans." "I already knew that." she interrupts. "However," I go on, "since primates have hands with thumbs that take quite a lot of brain power to use effectively, and also have quite a delicate sense of touch, something had to give and what gave was smell. All of us monkey creatures have a very poor sense of smell." "But I can smell things O.K." Jenny says. "Not compared to a dog." I say "If your sense of smell was as sensitive as a dog's, opening the toilet door after your father had been in there, (to use your own example) <giggle> would be like stepping out in front of a Mack truck doing a hundred kilometres an hour." Even Dianne has to giggle at this. "Actually it wouldn't really be like that, because having a sensitive sense of smell means that a creature is able to detect incredibly tiny amounts of a particular chemical, but once it reaches a certain level it doesn't matter how much more you add after that. But you should still see get what I'm getting at." "Yeah." "And dogs are nothing compared to moths. Some of them are able to smell a female from miles away. If it was you looking for something, it would be like being able to look and instantly see one tiny grain of sand somewhere in the middle of a football field." "Really?" she asks incredulously. "Really." I nod, "Anyway since primates can't smell very well, they have to rely on their other senses, primarily sight, to know when a female is ready. And it is the male who has to see that the female is ready. Now with all of the primates except humans, mating still only occurs when a female is ready, which is usually signalled by her bottom and the area around her sex organs swelling up and turning a bright colour." "But what's this got to do with me rubbing against you?" Jenny asks. "We're getting there." I reassure her, "But I want to make sure we cover everything. So finally we come to those most troublesome creatures call humans, of which you are a prime example." I say, causing Dianne to laugh and Jenny to look pleased after a brief second of indignation. "Humans can mate at anytime that it pleases them, and it pleases them a lot. <giggle> (We'll get to that part in a minute gutter brain.) And they're pretty smart too, so with them the visual signals can be just about anything at all. Like flashing your knickers, <giggle> or very carefully *not* flashing them. <louder giggle> it can even be something like whether you wear an ankle bracelet on the left or the right. "However because in our society, sex is considered naughty, our sexual signals tend to be considered naughty too. A hundred years ago, seeing a woman's ankles was enough to make a mans heart thump. Today a girl can walk down the street with her bum hanging out of her shorts and most men just look and say, 'Hmm not bad.' and go on their way. "For men, and boys, it's that hint of the forbidden which gets them going. Which is why, your mother can walk around on the beach with that bathing suit on and not have a problem. However if she was to wear a sports bra and a pair of undies that covered her belly button, and in total covered about six times as much as her bikini, every single eye would be looking at her. All because undies aren't supposed to be seen. "Once something becomes common, it looses it's power to excite a response, which is why every man on a nudist beach, doesn't spend the whole time he's there, in the ready position. <giggle> It's not like that because it's something that is common place and in that particular location at least, not forbidden. In fact that's how you tell the new bloke on the beach, he's the one carrying around the two cups of coffee and half a dozen donuts." "Greg! That's terrible." Dianne cries, while laughing helplessly, and Jenny has to be rescued, coughing and spluttering, from the bottom of the tub, when she slips from beneath my loosely encircling arm. "I can't help it if you two have gutter minds." I chuckle, "I can carry two coffee cups in one hand and I can even manage a bag of donuts in the other, despite the fact that I'm a mere male." "Jenny," Dianne says soberly, but with a twinkle in her eye, "you have just witnessed a male defeat two females at once, this man is dangerous, and it is quite possible that he should not be allowed to live." "Let's see how good he is at back rubs first." Jenny giggles, "We can always kill him later." "I think that means that it's time to adjourn to the sauna, but you can finish your explanation in there because I'm starting to become curious about exactly how touching fit's into this." Dianne says. Once we are in the dimly lighted, steamy heat of the sauna, I go on. "We're nearly up to touch, but first I'd like to go back to what we talked about a couple of weeks ago, since Jenny might begin wondering about why we made a big song and dance about it, when men can ignore what happens around them, or even look and be excited but choose not to do anything about it. "This is true, and it's true because our primary sexual signalling sense sight, is processed by a fairly advanced part of our brain and a lot of it gets filtered through the parts we think with too. Hence we can learn to ignore, or at least reclassify the things we see, and even when we don't we can choose to allow it to affect us without responding. But there's the rub, it is also possible to *choose* to react, and there are enough men out there like that, that you have to be careful to keep the accidental exposures to a minimum, and be very, very careful about the deliberate ones. "And finally we get to the touching part. Since sight is a higher function, and can be ignored, or simply not noticed, mother nature has very sneakily made touching, feel especially good to primates. It feels good to most creatures, but to primates, it's a bit like the sense of smell example in the other direction. You know how horses bite and nip each other." "Yes." they both reply. "Well to them, that's about the same as me doing this." I say, cupping my hand under Jenny's chin and gently brushing her cheek with the ball of my thumb. "Primates love to touch. They do it all the time, but one thing feels so incredibly good that it's almost a hunger, and that thing is sex. So now they have a reason to be watching very carefully for a visual signal, and a reason to act when they do see it. And very sneakily, mother nature made it possible to achieve arousal and even climax entirely through touch, so that they would have a reminder of what sex is like between one time and the next." "And that is especially true for humans, because we are capable of sex at any time and our visual signals are so ambiguous, touch is almost the only way for mother nature to force us to have sex and make babies for her. And even though it might never lead to sex, touching feels so good that when we first discover it, we do it at every opportunity, like little Sandy, though it does taper off once the novelty has worn off. "However, almost everyone eventually discovers that if we touch ourselves the right way, it gos from just feeling pretty nice, to ohmigod I'm in love with my fingers. I know you're still at the two or three times a day stage Jenny," I say, adding with a chuckle, "and probably more when you get the chance. Now I'm not going to embarrass your mother by asking her how often she does it..." "Quite a bit more than usual in the last week." she admits with a chuckle, much to her daughter's delighted amusement. "But I will ask her something else," I go on once Jenny has subsided, "since your mother was probably brought up a little differently to you." Turning to Dianne I ask, When did you first discover just how good touching yourself could be?" "I assume you mean 'going pop' as I called it in those days." she says self-consciously. "I guess I was about twelve or thereabouts." "And once you started, what was the longest you managed to go without?" "About a week, but that was a special circumstance, since I was stuck in a caravan with my parents, and nowhere private. Even then I eventually managed to find somewhere, because I was absolutely desperate by that time, and we still had another two weeks of holiday to go. Normally though, I'd say about three days." "So for the first twelve years of your life, except for whatever it was that lead you to this great discovery, and a few times when you were very young, which were very quickly stopped by your parents, you never touched yourself sexually, now we'll pick on Jenny. "Jenny, you were brought up differently to your mother, at least as far as sexual matters are concerned, you've always know that it was all right to touch yourself, just to do it in private. So when did you make the momentous discovery, that it wasn't just pleasant to give yourself a little rub every now and again, but something to do at every opportunity? "About two weeks before you started teaching me." she giggles. "Well that partially excuses some of your silliness." I say, making a few educated guesses, "You'd just found this great new toy, and you knew that it had something to do with the things you'd read about but still weren't quite sure because the books were a bit vague. However you did know that boys were definitely a part of it. "So When I came along at exactly the right time after you'd just gotten over how scary it seemed at first, I seemed pretty safe, and you were going to have lots of time alone with me. So you decided that I would be just right to practice on, and to help you learn some more about something that seemed to be such a secret that even the book that told you exactly how to make a baby, appeared to make no mention of it." "What do you mean?" Dianne asks me. Though her eyes remain locked on Jenny, having witnessed each guilty nod of Jenny's that had signalled the accuracy of my guesses. "All of the books we gave her talked about masturbation." "Yes I know, but in what terms, I've probably read most of those books, and while most of them are quite good, and certainly a lot better than an embarrassed talk, behind the woodshed. Which is what I got, and only lasted five minutes at that. All of the books I have seen however, have one fatal flaw. "They are written with the fear that a child might use them as a manual of discovery. Even the ones that go into the mechanics of sex, generally start out with some thing like 'When a man and a woman love each other very much.' "I have to wonder, how many girls have ended up either totally alienated from their fathers because he's now too scared to even hug her any more, or worse still, molested by them. All because of that stupid phrase." Looking horrified, Dianne murmurs, "I never thought about it like that." "I did," I say darkly, "because I'd just read about a particularly nasty case, which I won't go into right now, just before I picked up one of those books. And once I came up with that one, I started to look for other potential traps. And the other big one was bit Jenny. "Her case, and almost certainly a lot more like it, revolves around the word 'good'. Those books say masturbation feels good, and they might even mention sex feels good too. As far as those books are concerned an orgasm feels good. Maybe even 'very good' if the author is feeling daring. For crying out loud, scratching yourself when you have an itch can feel very good, an orgasm feels bloody fantastic. Excuse the French. "Now even though things have advanced a long way since we first learnt about it, sex still carries quite a bit of it's original baggage of fear, naughtiness and secrecy, and children know this. So when they discover something like this, they might easily think, as Jenny did, that this must be a real humdinger of a secret. Boys at least have the advantage of an easily recognisable sign which *is* mentioned in the books, that they have reached orgasm. "What about the poor girl, what is she to think?. Her orgasm isn't properly described. From everything that I've seen and heard, a girl's orgasm is a considerably more intense experience when compared to a boys, at least I never make anything like the commotion my girlfriends do, oh and one small girl on the other side of my bedroom wall last Wednesday." "GREG!" Jenny shrieks. While Dianne lets out a slightly hysterical chuckle of release. "Sorry Jenny," I apologise sincerely, "but your mum was looking a bit distressed and I felt she needed something to make her feel better." "I think I *did* need it." Dianne says. "Well I guess it's O.K." Jenny mumbles. Though it is obvious that she's still mightily embarrassed. Then suddenly brightening, Jenny lifts her head and looks directly at her mother, saying, "What else was it you were going to pick on Mummy about.?" "Oh yes." I chuckle, "Well it's not really picking on her, just a final observation that applies to the both of you, me, and just about everybody else on this planet. Which is, once you've discovered just how good sexual feelings can be, it's almost impossible to do without them. Which is Mother Nature's way of making sure that people want to do the things that make new babies." "And that terrible child is why you shouldn't wriggle your bottom in men's laps. It's not because you're sexy, though I must admit that you're shaping up pretty nicely in that direction, <pleased grin> but because certain physical sensations will cause a man's, or boy's, body to get ready for sex, and it doesn't matter how those sensations are induced." So don't do it unless you're ready to deal with anything that might pop up." "Greg!" Dianne remonstrates laughingly, and after a few seconds of confusion, Jenny too giggles naughtily. "Well it is a classic pick up line," I grin unrepentantly, "and if she hasn't heard it already, it won't be all that long before she does. But, I'd like to bet that when Jenny does hear it, she's more likely to think about what I've just been saying, instead of giggling like an idiot." Good point." Dianne concedes. "It's actually interesting to note that the average age of first sex has started to climb again, since sex education became more open. Yet we still have idiots who insist that it something that should be left entirely up to the parents. The same sort of idiot who, when it comes time to actually educate his or her kids on the subject, will mumble 'Sex is how you make babies. You do it when you get married.' "We have to start trusting our kids enough to tell them enough of the truth, including the juicy bits, to enable them to make an informed decision as to whether to have sex or not. Instead we leave all the juicy bits to other kids, who are often wrong and sometimes very, very persuasive. "For crying out loud up until less than a hundred years ago, most kids grew up with sex all but shoved in their faces, Even today there are parts of the world where things haven't changed. Society has advanced so much in nearly every way imaginable, but in something as fundamental as sex... -I can't even call it backsliding, because it's not- we try to sweep the whole subject under a rug." "Well Jenny's certainly getting an earful of the juicy bits tonight." Dianne says with a smile. "Has it made you any the wiser?" "Well I know that my books are, aren't wrong, they're..." she says searching for a word, "misleading, That's it. They're misleading. And I know that's *why* I've been teasing Greg." She giggles. "I'm still thinking about whether I should stop though." "Oh Jenny!" Dianne chuckles. "And I'm going to think some more about having sex too, because it seems like if I do it once, I'm going to keep on doing it afterwards." "That's a very good reason, to wait," I say seriously, adding with a grin, "though it's not quite that bad since you've always got the Yellow Pages option." "Huh?" both of them say with a blank look. "Let your fingers do the walking." I grin. <groan> <giggle> "Jenny," I ask, "could you please get me a cold drink? I'm starting to feel a bit thirsty." "You just want to talk to Mummy about something." she says with an accurate guess. "Git." I chuckle, "And knock when you get back." Giggling, she scoots, pausing in the doorway to readjust her suit at me. "That suit really is getting a bit small." Dianne comments, not even bothering to call out the obligatory 'Jenny!' after her daughter's retreating back. "I noticed that on the way out here," I chuckle, "I figure that it would have just about disappeared by the time she walked around the block." "You are terrible." She chuckles, "Now what is it you wanted to say that you didn't want my daughter to hear." "Well I didn't want her getting any ideas, because while the average age at which kids are first having sex is on the way up. The lower ages are coming down." "And you're wondering about Jenny?" "No, I don't really need to wonder." I reply, "But at least I'm nowhere near as worried as I was a couple of weeks ago. She's got her head screwed on reasonably tight, and now that she has some accurate data to work with, she's not likely to actually make the sort of mistakes that she nearly did. But she is a very curious child and..." "You think she's going to do something soon, no matter what we say?" "Not immediately, she's got a lot to digest." I say, "But almost certainly in the next year or two." "I can't exactly say I'm thrilled, but nor am I really surprised." Dianne replies, "She's done everything else way ahead of schedule, she was walking at just over nine months, and while we thought she was slow to talk she certainly made up for it in a hurry when she decided to. "Do you know what her first words were? No of course you don't. She was about two, and I was trying to get her to eat some beans, when she very distinctly said, 'No 'sank 'oo Mummy, don' like 'em.' Seven words at once and an almost perfectly grammatically correct sentence. Tony wouldn't believe me at first, I guess I did sound a little hysterical on the phone, but he made some sort of excuse and came home. Probably to separate his precious offspring from her obviously deranged mother, but you could have knocked him over with a feather, when she greeted him at the door with, 'Did 'oo have a good day Daddy?' "Flabbergasted?" I grin. "Completely, and proud enough to burst if you stuck him with a pin." Dianne giggles, "I think he drove the entire office mad with tape recordings of his precocious little girl." "You already know about her reading, and you know that the first week of school is orientation and settling in? Well she told her teacher that she could play with toys at home, and he could either teach her, or she would go home and come back when he was ready to do so." "So why not this too?" she concludes with a sigh, "Now all I've got to do is figure out how to break the news to Tony." "I know it isn't too much consolation, but I've noticed that so long as the decision is actually the child's, and not the result of the sort of manipulation you suffered, no long term harm is done. At least by the actual act, it's the way people react that causes problems, and unfortunately girls bear the brunt." "The biggest cause of complications arising from consensual underage sex, is the screaming and hollering that often comes about when it's discovered. On the one hand, you've got sexual dysfunction.. On the other this sort of irrational response is just going to be ignored, with all sorts of possible consequences, most of them bad. "Then what happens? The all too common reactions to a pregnant daughter, is to either cut her off from the outside world, or to throw her out of the house. In either case, it comes as no surprise that she probably ends up poorly educated and a permanent drain on the welfare system. Not many young girls set out to become pregnant, but since society labels girls who are prepared for sex in a negative manner, and declares that the only truly acceptable avenue to avoid pregnancy is abstinence, it continues to happen to way too many girls. "Jenny for example would have great difficulty in obtaining birth control pills. One, because the only legal way a girl under fourteen can be prescribed them is to control cramping from conditions like endometriosis; and two, because the drug companies don't produce a pill that is suitable for pubescent girls. Most likely out of fear that they would be thought to be encouraging underage sex. "And for the same sort of thinking applies to barrier methods. When was the last time you went down the chemist and saw a packet of Checkmate Juniors? One size fits all is a bit of a joke when you consider that it's not unusual these days for a ten or eleven year old boy to speak the same sentence in three separate registers. Yet the best that we as a society can offer is to say 'don't do it' in the face of overwhelming evidence that kids, will, and do, 'do it'. "Instead of accepting the truth and dealing with reality, we offer up a couple of tired old platitudes and a bit of moralising, and then shake our heads sadly and say 'Well we did all we could.' when the inevitable happens." "What's worse, is that a concerned adult who actually tries to help kids out by supplying them with condoms, because they were too embarrassed to buy them for themselves, or were scared that the chemist would turn around and phone their parents, can get into nearly as much trouble as if they'd had sex with the children themselves." "That's absurd, the police would never try to prosecute me if I gave Jenny some." Dianne says. "No they wouldn't. But if Jenny were to come home one day with a really cute boy who was 'the one', and you being the enlightened parent that you are, were to give the condoms to him, then *you* could be charged with procuring a minor for sex." "That's insane." Dianne ejaculates, "It would never stand up in court." "Probably not, but if the boy's parents were to insist on kicking up a big enough stink over it, it would almost certainly end up in court nonetheless. And if *I* were the one to supply the condoms, the odds are good that at least some of it would stick, especially if I were to also provide a safe haven for the activity to take place." "The law couldn't possibly be that stupid." Dianne says. "Couldn't it?" I ask softly, "Consider this: The sex laws here and in almost every country in the world were *not* drafted to protect individuals." "Now you're the one being ridiculous, of course they were." Dianne replies. "No they're weren't. They're property laws, intended to protect a man's property and nothing more." I say harshly. "Oh, western society has evolved to the point where an individual *can* use them to seek justice for themselves, but fundamentally sex laws are property laws. You only have to look at Muslim countries to see it as plain as day, and you don't have to scratch the surface very hard to see it here as well. Dianne looks thoughtful as she mulls over what I have said, seeming ready to speak several times and each time lapsing back into a meditative silence Finally she slowly says, "I see what you mean. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about it, and when you consider that most men seem to feel they have a right to sex, and support that right where others are concerned, it explains a hell of a lot about why it's so hard to make charges stick." "Especially since you women got uppity and refused to be owned by us obviously superior males." I say with a grin. "If you weren't joking, I'd rip your balls off and feed them to you for saying that." she says. "If I weren't joking, I'd deserve it." I say soberly, "But it illustrates the point that I made about sex laws being formulated for the benefit of men, and not the actual victims. Not so much today, since society is slowly reforming itself, but even as few as ten years ago, I could have robbed you at knife point and even though you might have handed over your valuables without a protest, the odds would be good that on your say so alone I could have been convicted. Yet if I were to have raped you at knife point and you failed to struggle, my lawyer could have agued tacit consent on your part, and I would have had a fair chance of walking. Thirty or forty years earlier, and any outcome would have depended on what your husband chose to do: and in all too many cases that would have been to use your adultery to secure a divorce. "Sad as it is that it took so long for society to recognise that women have sexual rights of their own, what saddens me more is that where children are concerned, the old idea of protecting them as property seems to more important than protecting them as individuals. In fact once they've lost their value as *property* by having sex, it almost seems like society places more importance on holding them up as examples, than in actively helping them to safely deal with being sexually active. And anyone who tries to do so runs the risk of being punished themselves." Assuming an exaggerated moralistic tone, I say, "Children shouldn't have sex. See what happens to children who have sex." "It sounds like you're speaking from experience." Dianne says. "Not quite, but I did ask a law student friend about something after I'd done it and he told me I was better off hand feeding sharks than sticking my nose into the sex lives of other peoples children. He then said he was as dumb as I was, since he'd probably do the same thing under the circumstances." I reply. "Remember the girl I told you about who had it backwards about her periods. I didn't tell you at the time because you didn't need to know, but the reason she came to me was that she was scared stiff that she was pregnant." I grin, saying, "I don't supposed you've noticed, but girls and women don't seem to have any trouble talking to me." "Oh, I've noticed." she chuckles, "Go on." "Well since her parents were very straight laced, I became the logical choice to run to when she bled from her vagina at exactly the same time that she had sex. Of course it was only her hymen breaking, but since her mother had exhausted her courage in her decision to *prepare* her daughter for *the curse*, this seemed to be exactly that to the poor kid. "I could cheerfully strangle that woman, since as far as I could tell her entire explanation consisted, of: 'Soon you will start getting the curse. You will bleed from between your legs every four weeks. There are sanitary napkins in the bathroom. You can get pregnant by having sex once it starts.' Cripes! What use was that? The poor kid didn't even know how long a period lasted. "The only fortunate thing in the whole mess was that when it happened, she ran straight to me, instead of her mother, who would have probably screamed so long and loud about the sex part of things that by the time she got down to actually finding out whether the poor kid was pregnant or not, the whole thing would be academic. As by the time the girl got herself straightened out, menopause would have been and gone. And she would have destroyed another family in the process." A knock at the door signals the return of Jenny. "Go soak." Dianne tells her, accepting our drinks. One look at her mother's face suffices to, tell her that a protest would not be well met. So with a mumbled O.K. she lets the door swing shut. "What did you do?" Dianne asks, once the door closes. "Well to tell you that, I'm going to have to tell you something that you might find a bit distasteful, but in my opinion is a reasonable solution to many of the problems associated with early sexual awakening." "Go on." "Well it started when I came home and found her at my front door bawling her eyes out. I got her inside, and once I got her calmed down enough to speak, she tells me that she thinks she's pregnant and promptly starts bawling again. In fact she was so bad that I did something that I am not at all proud of, but I didn't know what else to do, short of handing her over to her mother, and god knows what, or trusting a social worker not to do the same thing. And that would have opened a real can of worms, even, or especially, if she or he had taken the time to get an explanation. So I gave her a quarter tablet of Serapax." I wait for Dianne's recrimination, but she simply nods for me to continue. "Well, once that had taken hold, I was able to talk to her a bit better and the whole story came out. Actually I got most of the details during her tutoring sessions afterwards but I got enough that afternoon to sort out what the problem was and to convince her that she wasn't pregnant. "Part of it was of course her stupid mother's fault, but at the time I thought it was a simple misunderstanding, so I gave her a quick but accurate explanation of periods, and went on to what was potentially a much bigger problem. "She'd gone to spend the night with a friend, and while her friend was off doing something, she heard a noise that made her think somebody was hurt and went to investigate. What she found was her friend's twin brother and sister, shall we say, stress testing a bed." "Well that's an interesting way of putting it." Dianne chuckles, "And I'm not too shocked. I know it happens, especially with mixed twins, but why would you think it was such a good solution, wouldn't it just create more problems." "Yes, and no, but can I leave it for a moment?" I say. She nods her permission, and I resume, "Well these two were so involved with what they were doing, that they had no idea they had an audience. So that was where her friend found her a couple of minutes later, watching her older brother and sister enjoying the hell out of each other. "Apparently the twins had been at it for a couple of years and when they were found out by their little sister, she just joined in the fun and games. So when they were found out yet again, they offered to let her join in as well. "They warned her about the pain to expect, but forgot to mention the blood, and asked her if she knew about periods and stuff. Of course she thought she did, so off came the clothes, and all three of the other kids proceeded to show her just what they'd learned from each other. "That at least was a consolation, since she had three experienced, uninhibited and very enthusiastic partners, she had the sort of first time that most girls can only dream about. The trauma didn't come until afterwards when she saw the blood. Unfortunately it upset her so much that, she was unable to hear the other kids trying to tell her it was all right. She put her clothes back on and ran all the way to my place. "And that was where I found her an hour or so later. I was able to reassure her enough, that she was able to go back to her friend's place, minus a rather incriminating pair of knickers, and fortunately before the parents got home from work. Over the next few weeks I got the whole story and at the same time, I gave her advice, on how to better hide their activities, and birth control, and such, to pass on. And as far as I know, all four are still quite happily stress testing mattresses to destruction." "Well what was I supposed to do?" I ask in response to Dianne's questioning look, "If I told anybody, four kids would, at the very least, be very unhappy, and the most likely outcome would be for two, if not three, of them to be separated from each other and their parents, and put into foster care. It's even possible that the twins might have been incarcerated as a *dangerous sex offenders* because they were nearly three years older than the younger two. "Not because these kids parents would have done any such thing if they'd found out, but because another child's parent would have been wanting to blame somebody so much that she would have called in the authorities without stopping to think, and would probably not have cared, even if she had realised the sort of damage that it could do to the other family. "Oh I wasn't exactly questioning what you did." Dianne replies, "I was just a little surprised at the risks you will take on behalf of children that you don't even know." "Truthfully there wasn't much risk. The kids were already pretty good at keeping things in the dark, and were fanatically careful about birth control. About all I did, was tell her to tell them to make sure that there was never anybody else in the house. Which hopefully would prevent any new additions to their little soiree, to always keep one of them on lookout if there was any chance that somebody might enter unexpectedly, and to *never* have sex anywhere that wasn't as close to perfectly safe as they could possibly make it." "In other words basic common sense." Dianne says, "Now why do you consider incest to be a solution?" "Well I think about it like this. The kids are most unlikely to brag about it, which indirectly disposes of the most dangerous way of being found out, ie. another parent outraged at their tattle tale, little darling being exposed to such 'filth'. The environment in which they carry out their activities is much safer than the bush or the abandoned building that too many kids feel they have to use in order to avoid detection. They aren't going to be looking for sex elsewhere, which almost completely cuts out the risks of disease, and also the chance of them coming into contact with the sort of person who causes most of the real problems in the first place. "The biggest risk is that they'll be discovered by their parents, and since kids are fiendishly clever at hiding things from their parents, that risk remains acceptably small. Especially since that, the worse the expected reaction, the better they are hiding something. Even if it does get found out, it is very unlikely that anyone outside the family will ever know, and the actual reaction will be generally be little worse than it would have been if the kids had been caught having sex with anybody else." "What about the risk of pregnancy?" "Well considering that most kids do know about how it occurs these days, and the precautions that need to be taken, the risks are no greater than if they had been having sex with anyone else. In fact probably less, because if they are aware, they will be a lot more careful than they might otherwise be." "No I mean genetic risk." Dianne corrects me. "Actually unless there is a known pre-existing genetic condition in the family, the risk is very little greater than the risk in the general community as a whole. It takes several generations for the risk to build up to an appreciable level. Most genetic abnormalities are very minor and on their own don't cause any problems, it's when a large number of them accumulate that the risks begin to arise. Like in a small town where cousins marry, and then their children do the same." "Well you've certainly made a reasonable argument for incest." Dianne says thoughtfully, "The risks that remain, aren't appreciably different to what they would be in any case, and I can certainly see that it almost completely eliminates a number of very real and dangerous risks as well. But what happens when they grow up?" "I have no real idea," I admit, 'because I haven't seen any statistics to cover it. In fact I had to guess about it being kept within the family, based on the fact that the estimates for the actual incidence of incest, bear absolutely no relationship to the number of reported cases. However, I doubt that anything really terrible is likely to happen when they grow up, simply because there *is* so little information about it. I think they just join the community just like anybody else." "And probably a lot more relaxed than most." Dianne concludes. "Come on, I think it's time to cool down." "Finished?" Jenny asks when we emerge to plunge into the comparatively chilly waters of the hot tub. "Yes we're finished." Dianne chuckles, moving to pour another whisky for each of us. However she stops with the stopper in her hand, saying, "I think we need a bit more than this. Do you smoke?" She cocks her thumb to her mouth. "Occasionally." I admit. "See." blurts Jenny. "Oops." "Do you often smoke dope in front of other peoples kids?" asks Dianne disapprovingly. "Not unless their parents are doing it too." I reply, adding with a mock dark look at Jenny, "Somebody got suspicious of how long it was taking us to find the fridge the other night and went poking around where she shouldn't have." "You know better than that." Dianne says, turning her disapproval on her daughter. "I guess so." Jenny grudgingly admits, "But they sure looked funny when I showed them the pipe." "Funny or not, you shouldn't have done it." Dianne scolds, "How would you like it if I went poking around in your room for no good reason? And another thing, what makes you think that you have the right to tell other people about what we do at home?" "Sorry Mummy, that sort of slipped." Jenny says, "I'll try not to do it again." "Fair enough." Dianne says, and climbs out of the water and slips on her robe. As soon as her mother leaves, Jenny occupies my lap and asks, "What did you talk about?" "What did your mother just say about sticking your nose where it didn't belong?" I ask reprovingly, "It applies to conversations quite as much as it does to my cupboards." "Sorry." "You're forgiven." I say, "Just think about things a little bit more before you open your mouth or act." "I always do for the important stuff." She informs me. "Well mostly." "Do it for the little things too." I tell her, "It helps keeps the peace, and keeps you out of trouble." "Makes sense to me." she giggles. "'Cept trouble can be fun sometimes." "Not when it upsets other people." I reply, adding with a chuckle, "But you're right, it can be. Like right now." Straightening my legs, I give her a quick shove, and she slides below the surface with a squeal. "I'm gonna get you for that." she declares with a giggle. "Oh goody," I squeak, clapping my hands delightedly, "that must mean I'm in trouble." Reaching out with my leg, I snag an ankle and she goes under again. Surfacing with a vengeful gleam in her eye, she treads water to prevent a recurrence of my previous attack. Suddenly she disappears and I feel her hands close about one of my ankle, a second later I find myself beneath the surface with no clear idea of how I got there. When I surface my antagonist is nowhere in sight, and when I turn it is just in time to see her leap from one of the seats with enough force to knock me off my feet and put me under again. But before I can grab her she is gone, kicking off with a foot in my stomach perilously close to the family jewels. Feeling for a bench, I get my back to it before I lift my head above the surface. Opposite me, Jenny looks on with a grin. "Two all." she declares. On my knees, I am much the same height as her and since it will make for a fairer final point, I remain that way. Giggling madly, we circle like a pair of wrestlers, and eye each other warily, neither one of us willing to make the first move. A moment latter, my opening appears as a bubble bursts directly under her nose. While she is blinking and snorting, I close with her and with my hands encircling her waist, I lift her into the air. Pausing with my lips just millimetres from her belly button, I look up into her face. Realising my intention she lets out a long despairing "Nooooo!" "Oh yes." I chuckle evilly, and closing the distance, I blow long and hard, as she convulses and shrieks loudly enough to wake the dead. Then with my breath exhausted, I finish by jamming my tongue as hard and deep as possible into her navel. The squeal that ensues, is fit to lift paint. "What on earth are you doing to my daughter?" Dianne asks with mock disapproval. "Just blowing into her belly button." I grin, lowering Jenny into the water and supporting her with a hand beneath her arm. "I could see that." Dianne chuckles, "But what on earth did you do at the end? She all but shattered the windows." "He stuck his tongue in it." Jenny glowers, adding with a naughty giggle, "You can take your hand off my boob now, I can stand up on my own." "Oh shoot!" I mutter snatching my hand away as my ears begin to burn. "It's all right." Jenny says as her mother carefully sets bong, bowl and cigarette lighter on the table, while laughing uproariously. "I don't mind." She pauses, and I cringe knowing what is coming next. "So long as you do it again." Dianne hits the deck with a crash that rattles the glasses beside the tub, for a second it looks like she is throwing a fit, but then I realise that she is laughing so hard that she is completely unable to catch her breath. Beside me Jenny musingly asks, "I wonder if that counts as a point against her or against you." "Both I think." I chuckle, adding with a significant nod towards the table, "But you almost needed your MacGuffy's Reader." "That's why I waited till she put it down." "Jennifer Rosalie Gormley!" Dianne sounds more than a little out of breath as her voice rings out, as angry as I'd ever heard it. Jenny, and for that matter I, flinch as if we'd been slapped. "That has got to be the absolutely" suddenly her voice changes, "best laugh I've had in a long, long time." "Looks like you lost that point." I murmur, "She countered." "I guess so." Jenny giggles. "But I still got you." "As a matter of fact you didn't." I grin. "I knew it was coming." Displaying her tongue, Jenny herds me into my seat and occupies my lap. "Oh no you don't." Dianne says setting down the smoking paraphernalia, and handing me a towel. "It's the brick for you, and I'm half tempted to put you under it. It was a funny thing to say, but you still shouldn't have said it." "Why not?" Jenny giggles, "It's not like he'd do it or anything." "But the next bloke might." Dianne warns. "Hah. The next bloke better be wearing a box when he tries it in the first place." Jenny proclaims fiercely. "Ouch!" I wince. "I think she means it." "Good!" Dianne says. Three -or was it four- cones of very good gear later, Dianne decides that it's again time to bake ourselves in the sauna. A decision with which Jenny heartily agrees. "Good I can get my back rub now." she declares. "Can I put some water on the rocks Mummy?" Jenny asks, "I want to be nice and slippery." "O.K.," Dianne agrees, "but be careful, remember what happened last time." "What was that?" I ask with a smile. "The bucket slipped, and I nearly cooked us, and then the fuse blew." Jenny giggles. "But we've got a dipper now." Jenny carefully ladles a dipper full of water into the heater and skips back out of the billowing cloud of steam. Almost instantly the resinous scent pervading the small, dim lodge becomes stronger, and the suddenly moisture laden air snatches my breath away. Within seconds the sweat begins to bead on our bodies. A minute or so later, Jenny jumps down from her seat on the upper bench. She, grabs a handle to what I had thought was a hatch in the back wall and pulls, revealing it to be a massage table. Folded in the cavity behind it is a vinyl covered foam pad, which she lays out on top of the table and covers with a towel. "O.K. lift me up." she directs. Taking what I believe is a secure grip around her waist I try to lift her onto the table. An instant later, her feet are still on the floor, and my hands are in her armpits, along with her bikini top. Between my hands her tiny boobs stand revealed, while my thumbs now occupy the recently vacated garment. "Oops sorry." I chuckle. Since her back is to Dianne, I allow the pads of my thumbs to brush over the small resilient mounds as I pull my hands away. Earning myself a look that is quite naughty and all pleased. "I bet you're not." Jenny giggles, tugging the two small triangles back over her chest. Pausing with her thumbs still hooked in it, she asks her chortling mother, "Can I take it off Mummy? It's just going to get in the way." "I bet *you* just want to show off." Dianne laughs, adding with mild exasperation, "Go on." Grinning wickedly up at me, Jenny unfastens the small catch between her breasts, and naughtily flashes first one side and then the other, much to her mother's amusement, before shrugging it off and tossing it up on a bench. For the sake of verisimilitude, Jenny gives me what passes for a nervous giggle, and asks, "What do you think?" Ignoring the question, I look over Jenny's head to Dianne, commenting, "Must be pretty big mosquitos around here." "Terrible," Dianne replies with a straight face, "one of them carried off the cat last week." "Oh, it must have been a couple of the little ones who got Jenny then." I murmur, looking her in the eye and then allowing my gaze to drop a little. I grin at her open mouthed gape, then look down to Jenny, inquiring mildly, "My point?" "I think that's a *two* pointer." she giggles naughtily, turning to lean her elbows on the table, and stare at her stunned looking mother. "Are you saying my boobs are too small?" Dianne asks ominously, several seconds later, though a softening twinkle gleams in her eyes. "Did I say that?" I ask Jenny. "Of course not." Jenny replies, "That would be rude." And then after a short pause, "You implied it." "Ouch," I grin, "I am stung by your accusation. Truthfully," I add to Dianne, "I'm not that fond of massive mammaries, but you do have a problem." "Oh, and what might that be?" she asks with deliberately deceptive mildness. "How are you going to keep your lap warm when you're old and grey?" "You," she chuckles, raising her voice over Jenny's delighted giggles, "are a terrible man, and a corrupting influence." "Oh I hope so." Jenny says eagerly, grabbing my hand and pulling it around he shoulder, dangerously near her small right breast. "And *you*, are a terrible little girl, who doesn't need corrupting, because she already is." Dianne continues. "Oh I hope so." I leer. "I think I walked into that one." Dianne laughs ruefully. "Now get her up on the table before I spank the pair of you." "Promith." I lisp. "You better be dammed good at back rubs," Dianne warns, "or you might not make it out of here alive." "Better see what I can do then." I chuckle. Taking hold of Jenny, under the arms this time, I lift her to sit on the edge of the table. Twisting onto her hands and knees, Jenny crawls up the table a little and stretches out on her stomach, pillowing her head on her hands. "Uh-uh," I grin, pulling her hands from beneath her head and putting them down by her side. "I need those arms. You're getting the works." Turning Jenny's head to face her mother, I walk to the foot of the table and pull her down until her toes extend just beyond the end. Picking up Jenny's left foot I press my thumbs into the fleshy pad just behind her toes, and work them back to her heel, making her toes curl and a shudder pass through her body. I repeat the move half a dozen more times until the shudder becomes a slight tremor, then take up her right foot, this time it only takes three firm passes of my thumbs for the shudders to subside. Moving back to the left leg, I encircle her ankle with both hands, then pressing firmly with the ball and pad of my thumbs, I push my hands up to the back of her knee, sliding smoothly over the film of sweat coating her soft flawless skin. Moving back to her ankle I slide my hands upwards, repeating the action, until my skin begins to grab, and then move across to give the right leg the same treatment. Taking a leg in each hand, I push my thumbs into the hollows at the backs of her knees, pushing upwards a half dozen or so times. As I move around to the left side of the table, I am peripherally aware of Dianne shifting to look past me. Encircling the bottom of her daughter's thigh with my hands, I dig my thumbs in, pushing upwards until the side of my hand is within a few millimetres of her cloth covered pussy. In passing I note that a good inch of untanned skin is visible on either side of Jenny's too small suit. Then having moved around to the far side of the table and working my way up Jenny's right leg, I move back to the foot. Leaning forwards, I encircle the top of Jenny's right thigh, and in a single smooth motion, I pull my hands all of the way to the bottom, letting her toes slip from between my fingers at the end. Twice more, and I move on to the right leg. Once again interposing myself between Dianne and her daughter, I pick up Jenny's left hand and massage her palm with my thumbs. Moving an inch or so at a time, I work past the inside of her wrist, up her forearms to her elbows and onward to her shoulder. Then closing my hands around her upper arm, I pull downwards to her fingertips a few times. When I have finished with the right arm, I pause with my hands hovering a little below Jenny's waist and look questioningly towards her mother. Receiving a nod, I allow my fingers to touch Jenny's hips, but keep my thumbs clear of her skin while I gauge her reaction. In an unequivocal invitation to go ahead, Jenny reaches back and pulls the back of her suit upwards, exposing her buttock in their entirety. Another look towards Dianne is greeted with an amused smile, but no indication that I shouldn't continue. Pushing my thumbs into the crease at the tops of her thighs, I work from the inside out, moving upwards in smooth arcs until I reach the bunched up fabric encircling Jenny's waist. Then with the palms of my hands almost completely covering Jenny's small buttocks, I push firmly outwards several times with the heels of my hands. Pausing to pull the fabric of her bikini bottoms back into place, I roll the waistband downwards just enough to reveal the very beginning of the crease at the base of her spine. Then after a brief search with the balls of my thumbs, I press down hard, bringing a sharp gasp to Jenny's lips, as her head lifts into the air, and a ripple of muscular contractions walks up her spine. "That looked interesting." Dianne murmurs curiously, as Jenny's head subsides with a soft moan. "Shhh." I hush her while sliding my fingers to Jenny's flanks and drawing the heels of my hands outwards. Beginning with my thumbs one vertebra higher each time, I work my way upwards until my fingers slide over Jenny's shoulders and my thumbs press into the base of her skull. "O.K. roll over." I instruct Jenny, as I place my hands on her hip and shoulder to pull her towards me. Almost groaning, she moves with me, until she lies on her back, her shoulder projecting beyond the edge of the pad. Slipping my arms beneath her, I gently lift her back to the centre and move down to her feet. Using a sense that I possess but can not explain, I gauge the pressure of my thumbs to that point just below the threshold of pain, as I begin to work on the bony upper side of Jenny's foot. Moving from left to right leg and back again, I work upwards. My thumbs either side of the bony ridge of her shin. Thumbs and fingertips digging in around her kneecaps. Then a series of gentle horse-bites up each of her thighs, again stopping within millimetres of forbidden territory. At the tops of her thighs, I press my thumbs into the muscle just to the outside of the crease separating the base of her mons from the tops of her legs, and push up and out. With my hands so close to her pussy it is easy for my eyes to fasten on her barely covered mound, where a shallow vertical depression delineates her hairless slit. As my thumbs draw her flesh away from the centre, a thin strip of white skin appears to either side of her bathers, and when I loosen my grip, her slit becomes more pronounced as the fabric settles into the cleft of her mound. My prick lengthens within my Speedos, nestling undetectably into the hollow of my right hip as I slide my thumbs to within a quarter of an inch of her small pussy, and again push up and out. More white skin appears, and as her labia separate beneath the florescent cloth, I'm almost certain that I can see a tiny bump nestled between them up near the top. This time when I let go, her thick pussy lips actually close around the fabric of her bikini. The third time my thumbs push outwards, there is no doubt, her clit forms a small but clearly discernible peak beneath the bright green cloth, and a subtly different note has crept into the soft moans of contented pleasure that she has been uttering, almost since I first laid hands on her. Realising that a fourth pass, would be unwise, I slide my thumbs between Jenny's thighs and with a leg in each hand, I pull smoothly downwards to her feet, and whether the moan that escapes her lips is of disappointment or contentment is impossible to detect. Though I would lay my money on it being the former. Moving back past her now almost obscenely defined mound, I lower my hands to her hips, and pressing just firmly enough to avoid tickling, I draw my thumbs out past her sharp hipbones, tracing the waistband of her bikini. I then use the heels of my hands to knead her stomach, while my fingers press in on her flanks. Bringing my thumbs together on her sternum, I trace each rib in turn, though I skip the two ribs passing beneath her small chocolate bud breasts. Once past her collar bones, I lift her shoulders with my fingers, allowing her head to loll backwards as I gently work over her throat and the sides of her neck with my thumbs. Then gently lowering her back to the mat, I bring my thumbs to the point of he chin and trace her jaw line back to her ears. With my fingertips I gently caress her cheeks and eyelids, finishing with a firmer touch as I draw my thumbs outwards from the centre of her forehead to her temples. "You didn't do all my front." Jenny says, as I take my hands from her body, sounding only disappointed, without a hint of her usual naughtiness. Just as I'm about to tell Jenny that I can't touch her boobs, Dianne gives her permission. "Go ahead and give her what she wants, just don't make a production of it." I start again at the bottom of Jenny breastbone, but this time I use the heels of my hands to firmly massage her narrow chest, moving up one rib at a time until her tiny boobs nestle into the vee formed by my thumb and forefinger. As I bring them together, lightly pinching the whole of her small breasts, her back arches slightly, and she exhales with a sharp gasp, when I finish by pushing the small mound flat with the heel of my hand as I pass over it. Two more like passes suffice to make her nipples pop up, and there is no disguising her disappointment when I take my hands away to lift her arms and fold them above her head. Curling my hands around her ribs, just beneath her arms, I conclude by drawing my hands down the full length of her body, the waist band of her bikini rolling slightly beneath my palms as I pass over her hips, while my thumbs pass just to the east and west of the forbidden zone. "More?" Jenny pleads wistfully, when I finish with a light slap on the sole of her foot. "Not likely." Dianne chuckles, "I think you've had quite enough. How do you feel?" "Fantastic mummy." Jenny murmurs, "I'm so relaxed, I can hardly move." To me Dianne says, "Give her a couple of minutes, then toss her in the tub. I'll get us something to drink." A rush of cool air causes Jenny to shiver slightly, as she opens the door and leaves. "So you liked it." I say as I sit down on the bench vacated by Dianne. "Oh yeah!" she breathes, adding with a soft giggle, "I think if you did it here a few more times," She pokes top of her leg next to her vulva. "I would have 'gone pop'. I nearly screamed when you stopped." "It's a good thing you didn't." I chuckle, "Better fix your suit too." "You do it." she challenges mischievously. "Not bloody likely." I grin. "I think I better get you cooled off." Groaning theatrically, Jenny twists onto her side, putting her still less than properly covered mound less than a foot from my face, as I rear back, she pushes herself up onto her elbow and then swinging her legs over the edge sits up. Resting her elbows on her knees, she allows her head to drop forward. "Oops!" she giggles as her eyes fall on where the fabric of her suit is still stuffing her little slit. "You can see my crack." "So fix it." I tell her. "You did it." she giggles naughtily, "*You* fix it." "Like I said 'not bloody likely'." I chuckle, "You've got ten seconds and then I'll do as your mother suggested, and toss you in the water." "Can you help me down first?" she asks. "Oh all right." I say, standing up. Hands under her arms, I heave and guide her to the floor, beside the table. She wobbles a little on unsteady feet, steadying herself with a hand on the pad that she had just vacated. As I step back her other hand reaches downward, my eyes following it of their own accord. Teasingly, she slides a finger under the leg band and tugs a good deal harder than necessary, causing the elastic rimming the left leg hole to disappear into the crease separating her labia, revealing a plump, white, hairless pillow of flesh. "Oops!" she says insincerely, moving her hand across and doing exactly the same thing on the other side. "Damn." she giggles, "I can't get it right. You better help me." Forcing my eyes away, I look her in the eye and growl, "Oh I'll help you all right. Straight up to the bedroom you'll occupy for a month if I tell your mother." Finishing sweetly, I ask, "Do you think you can remember how to dress yourself now?" This time her "Oops." is sincere, and when I look down a moment later, she is correctly covered. "Come on," I say, "lets get you cooled off, before we both end up in hot water." Herding her giggling body ahead of me, I gently shove her to the door, and out onto the deck. Just as we emerge, Dianne steps out of the tub and reaches for her robe. "How do you feel now?" she asks her daughter. "Good." Jenny replies, "Real good." As Dianne disappears to collect the drinks, Jenny and I jump into the centre of the fizzing hot tub, plunging ourselves beneath the surface and rising with whooshing exhalations at the chill shock. "No, let's just soak." I say when Jenny reaches to reactivate the blower. "O.K." The moment I sit, Jenny squirms into my lap, pulling my arm about her waist and snuggling back against my shoulder with a sigh, and when Dianne returns a few minutes later, we haven't moved a muscle. A condition which changes rapidly when Dianne shucks out of her robe to reveal that she has removed the top half of her bikini. For myself, self induced whiplash is enough, but Jenny twists wholly around in my lap and rises to her knees. A process that leaves me with my eyes watering as she cries out, "Mummy! You're showing your boobs!" "Your knee Jenny." I gasp feebly, barely noticing the small mound against my lips, "Move your knee." "Oops sorry." she says contritely, as she hurriedly moves herself to the submerged bench beside me. "How come you took your top off Mummy?" "How come you didn't put yours back on?" Dianne retorts, mimicking her daughter's bad grammar. "I forgot." Jenny giggles, "Besides he's seen them now so who cares. He even *touched* them." she adds placing a naughty emphasis on the word 'touched'. Having recovered enough to blink away the tears, my eyes avidly follow Dianne's jiggling torso as she brings three tall, beaded glasses of orange juice to the rim of the tub. Her small, lemon sized breasts bobble nicely, but otherwise retain almost all of the shape that they had possessed, when encased within her top. Small button like nipples are centred in the dark, chocolate brown areolae, no larger than bottle tops, which cap the small quivering mounds. The most surprising thing though, is that there is not the slightest hint of a tan line. Her eyes meet mine as she bends to set down drinks for me and Jenny, but apart from a wink, she does nothing to acknowledge my obvious stare. Retaining her own drink, she steps down into the water and sits, giggling almost as naughtily as her daughter, at the look of disappointment that crosses my face when her delectable looking breasts disappear beneath the surface. "You still haven't told us why you took your top off." Jenny persists. "I didn't want to be the only one wearing one?" Dianne proffers as a possible solution. "Come on!" Jenny cries, "You only ever take it off when there's only Daddy and me and Jeremy." "That shows what you know." Dianne tells her daughter. "Truthfully though, I just didn't see the point of keeping it on any longer. It'll be coming off soon enough anyway, and I can tease Greg a bit in the meantime. Did you know you look funny when your eyes bug out." "That was Jenny." I chuckle. "I can see where having a boob shoved in your mouth could do that." Dianne smirks. "More like a knee in the genitals." Jenny giggles, "Did I really shove my boob in his mouth?" "Yes you did." Dianne chuckles, "Wasted an opportunity didn't you?" "Mummy!" Jenny cries out sounding shocked, "How could you even consider that I would even think of doing a thing like that?" "Because I know my daughter." Dianne says, "I hope you apologised to Greg, you can really do some serious damage if you're not careful." "Uh-huh." Jenny nods, "Is it really that bad?" "Worse." I tell her, "I've seen grown men faint, just from *seeing* it happen. So don't ever do it unless you mean it, and if you do, make sure it's a good one, because you want to be a long way away before he gets up. If he's just being obnoxious, you're much better off just belting him on the snout and getting the hell out of his way before he can see again." "O.K." she nods. "Can I get back in your lap now?" "Yes but be careful." I reply with a smile. "What was that thing you did with your thumbs on her back?" Dianne asks as Jenny settles herself into her accustomed position. "Actually it's a way to look for knotted muscles and slightly misaligned vertebrae, but it sure feels good. My sister reckons it's just about the best thing since the big 'O'." "It felt good Mummy." "I bet it did." Dianne smiles. "Can you show me how to do it to Tony?" "Sure." I grin. "Are you going to tell him who told you?" "If you can do to me what you did to Jenny, I'm going to have him take lessons." Dianne chuckles. "Can't we just sell Daddy, and keep him instead?" Jenny giggles. "That's a thought." Dianne says mock seriously, "Are you interested?" "What move in with you two?" I ask as if horrified, "I think I'd rather put my wedding tackle in a lions mouth while flicking his love spuds with a wet towel." "Greg!" Dianne shrieks, shaking with suppressed laughter, as Jenny leaves a trail of bubbles to the bottom. "Good one isn't it?" I ask. "Don't worry, she's already heard it. I put a tape on to watch while I was doing her hair, and I forgot that was in it." "What else was in it?" She asks, as Jenny surfaces. Who after taking a breath, shrieks with laughter. "That's it." I say, "Apart from a continuous barrage of fairly innocuous insults, and some less graphic similes, that is probably the worst, or possibly the best, in thirty six episodes, of Red Dwarf." "Oh is that all, Tony watches those on TV sometimes, obviously I missed that one." "Why can't I watch them?" Jenny asks, reoccupying my lap, "They really are funny." "Because they're on well after you should be asleep." "Can I borrow your tapes?" Jenny asks me. I look at Dianne, who nods, and agree. A few minutes later, Dianne lifts herself out of the water, waving me back as I rise, saying, "No I'm coming back." As my eyes follow Dianne's small bobbling breasts, my prick, which except for the few moments of agony that immediately followed my first sighting of these delights, had been half hard since I'd reached the tops of Jenny's legs, twitches against her bottom, making her gasp softly, and giggle naughtily, as she deliberately squirms against it. "Don't." I whisper forcefully enough for her to take notice. But just to make sure, I take hold of her waist and push her bottom a couple of inches clear. While I had been dealing with her naughty daughter, Dianne has collected bong and mix from the table and is returning. Seeing what is coming, Jenny pushes off from my lap, managing one last naughty bottom squirm as she leaves, and moves into exile on the far side of the tub. With the mixbowl beside her, Dianne kneels sideways on the bench, placing her breasts at level, which action brings her small nipples, barely larger than her daughters, just clear of the water. Across the tub, Jenny's knowing giggles draw nothing more than a withering glance from her mother. Not that it has much effect. Each time Dianne passes the bong to me, she rises right up on to her knees, placing her handful sized breasts, exactly on a level with my eyes, and she remains in that position the whole time I am drawing the sweet intoxicating smoke into my lungs, waiting until I pass the bong back, before she subsides to her heels. Except for a brief shocked silence the first time, this too earns a naughty giggle from a delighted Jenny each time it happens. The moment the bong is set aside, Jenny shoots across the water, and moulds her buttocks to my groin so firmly that you could take a plaster cast of the impression I left there. Smirking knowingly, she lets me push her away. "Well? Did you find out what you wanted to know?" Dianne asks her suddenly blushing daughter dryly, seemingly too stoned to be that worried any more. "Yeah!" the naughty ten year old all but filling my lap giggles while my ears burn. "Good. Let me catch you doing that again, and you'll wish I'd sent you to your room for a month." Dianne tells Jenny firmly enough to leave no doubt in her mind. Fortunately it seems that while she is quite stoned enough to see most things as a joke, she isn't so far gone as to have completely lost her sense of perspective. "O.K. Mummy." Jenny says, "I won't let you catch me." "I give up." Dianne laughs, "Do you want her? She's going cheap." "No thankyou," I chuckle, "three hours a week is too much already. However if *I* catch her, she might just wish you'd gotten hold of her first." "Well, how do you plan to weasel out of that?" Dianne asks. "I guess I'll just have to find someone else." Jenny giggles, obviously not meaning it. "Do *that* and you'll wish your father had gotten hold of you first." Dianne chuckles, "And since I know you'll keep on doing it anyway, please do confine your teasing to Greg until you're a bit older." "Oh thanks!" I cry my voice heavy with sarcasm, while Jenny shakes with laughter, "That I did *not* need. She was more than bad enough already." "You'll survive." Dianne grins, adding more seriously, "And I think you can live with it better than the possible alternatives." "That's a low down dirty trick." I chuckle. "I knew you'd appreciate it." Dianne replies mirthfully, "Now how about that rub down?" "I don't know if I want to any more." I say, "What's in it for me?" "How would you like for us to return the favour?" she asks. "I guess that will do for a down payment." I grin, "We'll talk about the rest once little big ears has gone to bed." "Greg!" Dianne scolds laughingly. "You're naughty." Jenny giggles, "I'm telling Daddy." "Not if I drown you first." I chuckle, giving her just enough time to appreciate my words and try to escape, before rolling under the surface and taking her with me. Leaving her gasping in the middle of the tub, I step up onto the deck and hold out my hand to Dianne, "Shall we go?" "Why not?" she grins, accepting my proffered hand, and allowing me to haul her up onto the deck. "Let's just get this out of harms way." She picks up the smoking paraphernalia and puts it on the table. "Are you coming?" I ask of a still glaring Jenny. Switching to a grin, she replies. "Of course, I've got to make sure you don't molest my mummy." From near the table Dianne adds a mirthful, "Much." "I think I might just start running now." I say, "Tony can bring my stuff around when he gets back." "Chicken." Dianne giggles. "Brrrk, buk-buk, brrrrrrk." is Jenny's mirthful contribution, as she skips out of range. When Dianne climbs up onto the massage table a few minutes later, she makes it pretty clear that she expects the same treatment as Jenny, not even waiting for me to begin, before she compresses the already narrow back of her suit into her butt crack. (Interesting still no sign of a tan line.) However, I still ask, "The works?" just to be sure. "Hold the anchovies." she says in a crude but oblique reference to the only prohibition. Jenny's naughty giggle indicates that it hadn't been oblique enough. "Children these days." Dianne sighs. Within a few seconds of my going to work on her legs, Dianne begins making little noises of contentment, occasionally grunting softly when I find a hard knot and dig it out with my thumbs. Then when I strip my hands down her leg, she lets out a surprised, "Ohhhh!" of pleasure. Apart from a tiny snort, Jenny manages to contain her amusement. A snigger however, does escape when I trace the well-defined crease running across the tops of her mother's thighs. And another when I allow my hands to travel up over the twin, milk coffee toned globes of her behind. As my thumbs dig into the soft resilient, I strike a larger than usual hardish lump, and Dianne hisses with pain. "Ouch, that's where I hit the deck out there." "Do you want me to skip it, it or try to work some of it out?" I ask. Noticing for the first time the slight discolouration blooming beneath her tan. "Oh work on it please, or I'll hardly be able to walk by the morning." As I go to work with my thumbs, working out from the centre with smooth, firm strokes, Dianne releases occasional hisses of pain, but otherwise makes no complaint, and within a minute or so, even these fade as the clots forming beneath her skin break up. By the time I finish, the flesh immediately beneath her skin has taken on a slightly mushy texture, but the hard underlying muscular knot is gone. And while her bruise might a shade or two darker for my efforts, she will be able to get around with considerably less discomfort. Interrupted by dealing with her bruise, I start again at the bottom with my massage of her delightful arse. At the top, I have to fold down the waistband of her bikini in order to get at the two pressure points at the top of her buttocks, and when I dig my thumbs into the nerves, I notice that there is a slight catch in the muscular ripple that travels up on either side of her spine. Though her pleased cry of "Oh!" is evidence that it was still enjoyable. "Lift your head and look straight ahead." I instruct her. "I need to check something." While she does so, I tuck my thumbs beneath my hand and run the sides of my forefingers down her spine, detecting a minute displacement to the left, just where the glitch had occurred. Placing the outside of the heel of my right hand to the left of the affected vertebrae, I strike firmly against my thumb and forefinger with the heel of the other hand, feeling rather than hearing the slight click that follows. "Oh!" Dianne gasps, "Ohhh! That's been niggling at me for days. Thankyou." "You're welcome." I say as I search out the nerve points and press to check that everything is as it should be. "Oh wow!" she cries happily, "I'll give you half an hour to quit that you masher." "I wouldn't recommend it." I chuckle, "At least not in present company. I did that to my sister once and the result was, shall we say, very interesting to watch, and quite noisy." "Did she hit you or kiss you?" Dianne asks, sounding merry. Jenny just sounds plain naughty. "Both." I chuckle, "I got belted for laughing, and kissed for the other." "You *really* are going to have to give Tony some lessons." she says. "I'd be happy to." I reply, adding with a grin as look at her still exposed bottom. "Is there any part of your exterior anatomy that isn't tanned?" "Wouldn't you like to know?" she giggles. "I know." puts in Jenny mischievously. "Don't you dare." Dianne threatens laughingly, while at the same time I say, "So tell me." "O.K. mummy." Jenny agrees dutifully, while shaking her head in answer for me. "You'll pay for that." Dianne says menacingly, having seen her daughter's naughty head shake. To me she says, "My gymnasium has private tanning booths, and with this suit, if any thing slipped I'd look striped." "O.K., roll over." I instruct when I finish her neck and shoulders a few minutes later.o Chuckling, "You just want to look at my boobs." she rolls onto her back. The aforementioned appurtenances, surprise me slightly by remaining firm, rounded chocolate capped domes, even under the full influence of gravity. A few seconds later, Dianne giggles naughtily, "See Jenny, he's staring at my boobs." Rather than giving her the satisfaction of hearing a basically insincere apology, I simply say, "See Jenny, if this were your average *pneumatic* blonde, her boobs would be spread all over her chest by the time she was your mother's age." "And her *orifice* days would be over." Jenny say lewdly. Dianne gives me a long hard look, after an initial bark of laughter, but I can truthfully say, "Don't look at me, she came up with that one all on her own." Shaking her head, Dianne subsides back to the pad. As I close on the tops of her thighs, it becomes apparent to me that the only hair beneath her bikini might be a stray one from her head. Between her slightly parted thighs, Dianne's mature labia fill her flesh coloured suit so exactly that it is obvious that it was professionally fitted. Toward the front where the cloth smoothly covers the remainder of her pussy, a slight indentation runs unbroken to within two inches of her waistband. As I go to work at the very tops of her thighs, my prick stirs once again, lengthening to point towards my right hip. This time however, Dianne's better fitted suit remains firmly in place as I pull up and out, and when I pass onwards there is little to show beyond a very slight deepening of the shadow marking her bare cleft. And she gives me a strange look, which passes on to Jenny, as I look up. When I reach her chest, I note with some amusement, that her nipples already stand partially erect in anticipation of what is to come. Nor does this observation escape Jenny, who mischievously whispers, "Mummy's feeling sexy." "The correct word is horny." I chuckle much to Dianne's embarrassment. "And don't bother saying it." I continue as she opens her mouth to speak. Modifying my technique to suit her larger, though still small, breasts, I circle them with my hands, and gently squeeze as I draw upwards, trapping only her nipples between thumbs and forefingers. And when I do it again, I discover that her nipples have stiffened fully. Giving her lovely breasts just one more kneading squeeze to match what I'd done to Jenny, I pass on to her shoulders and face, and finish with a long drawing pass down the full length of her body. "Please sir, may I have some more?" Dianne asks piteously when I finish. "I'll assume that means I get to live." I chuckle while lowering myself to a seat. "For now." she allows. "I still reckon we should sell Daddy and keep him." Jenny giggles, "Even if he does win sometimes." "No I've invested too much time and effort in your father. But if you can hang on to him until you're sixteen you can keep him." "That's easy." Jenny brags, "Let's get his pants off and I'll show you how." "Jenny!" Dianne and I both gasp simultaneously. "Who's got the gutter minds now, huh?" she giggles. "So what was it you had in mind?" Dianne asks a trifle warily. "I was just going to give him his back rub." Jenny says, "He's got to have something on underneath. Otherwise we could use him for a sundial." "Jenny!" Dianne laughs. "I'd concede the point if I were you." I chuckle, as once again I feel my ears burn. "I do." she chuckles, "Now did she make a fair guess, and if so, is it safe to liberate you from those monstrosities?" "Depends on what you mean by safe." I grin, "But if you mean opaque, then yes." "In that case, get your gear off and we'll show you what we can do." "Promith?" "More like a threat if you don't behave." "Yeth mithtreth." I grin, pulling out the drawstring of my shorts and loosening it, to let them fall with a wet splat to the floor. Jenny's eyes fix hungrily on my groin, but without the tactile stimulation of touching female flesh to keep me up, the heat has done its work and beyond the usual bulge seen on the beach throughout the summer, there is nothing to be seen. And a few seconds later, nothing, as I climb up onto the table and lie down. Did I say nothing? Two small hands grip the back of my suit and with considerably more force than necessary, give me a wedgie. "Oooh," she giggles, "it really is a hairy bum." Jenny pulls the lower bench toward the centre of the sauna, and climbs up onto it, making it possible for her to get properly above my body. A moment later two pretty ladies go to work on my body. As they work I occasionally give them a little advice or tell them to dig a little harder at a particularly troublesome spot. Maybe it was a stern look from her mother, but Jenny fails to giggle as expected, when she begins to mould the flesh of my right buttock. Then when it comes time to 'ripple' my back, I instruct them on how to locate the small depression in the underlying bone which indicates where to push. It takes Dianne a couple of one sided attempts to get it right. Jenny however, solves the symmetry problem by climbing up onto the table and straddling my legs, getting it right on her first attempt, and then just to prove that it wasn't a fluke, she sends a few more pleasurable ripples up my spine. And one or two also, elsewhere. Fearing a mess, (Which in truth is highly unlikely. After all my sister's fingers had been rather busy at the same time.) Dianne restrains her naughtily giggling daughter and they resume their slow progress up my back. By the time it is time to turn over, my prick has made a half-hearted attempt at rising and I hesitate for a few seconds before deciding what the hell. Of course Jenny's eyes are immediately drawn to the slight ridge that has begun to form. "I think we're doing a good job Mummy." she giggles. "And the fun is just beginning." Dianne chuckles, instead of scolding. Jenny's work on the front of my legs is a little perfunctory to begin with, her hands moving ahead of her mothers in her eagerness to get to the good bits, and her Dianne has to restrain her with a quick word of caution. Giggling Jenny subsides. When a minute later their fingers reach the tops of my legs, it is Dianne's thumb which accidentally(?) caresses my balls, causing an involuntary twitch and a slight tightening of my garment. A turn of events which delights Jenny no end. By the time they leave the area and move onto my stomach, there is no doubt there is something stirring within my speedos, and Jenny is continuously glancing backwards for another peek, an ailment to which her mother is not entirely immune. Then when my nipples erect, when they copy the technique I'd used on Jenny, she becomes surprised enough to forget, at least temporarily, about my prick. "Wow," she giggles, "I didn't know boy's boobs did that." "Well now you do." Dianne chuckles. A couple of minutes later, they finish with my face, and I feel them position their hands for the final run down my body. Naughtily Jenny tries to take my speedos with her as she passes over them, but fortunately is defeated by the drawstring, holding them in place. The only reward for her efforts being a small tuft of hair. "Good try but no cigar." I grin at her slightly disappointed expression. "Well it was worth a shot." she giggles." "Would it be worth a month in solitary, if you'd succeeded?" Dianne chuckles. "Won't know till I do." Jenny replies mischievously. "I think it's past your bedtime young lady." Dianne says, lifting my hand to check my watch. "Sugar, eleven o'clock. Way past your bedtime! It's a quick soak and off you go." "But I'm not tired." Jenny objects, "Can't I stay up a bit longer please?" She turns her eyes on me in an eloquent appeal for my intervention. "I think it's probably time we all packed it in." I say instead. "But if you're quick I *might* stick around long enough to do your hair." Seeing that this is the best she'll get from me, she turns to her mother, "Is that all right?" "Well since he's not going anywhere anyway," Dianne says, "I guess I can stretch a point and let you stay up long enough for that." Huh?" I ask. "He's staying here?" is Jenny's excited response. "You've had too much of a good thing for me to let you drive home, so you can stay in the spare room." Dianne says, "Besides, we haven't finished the mix yet." After a quick soak in the hot tub, we each separate to various bathrooms, Dianne telling me that I can use one of the robes in the downstairs bathroom, to save having to dress. Being both male and closest, I'm the first to enter the family room. Strangely Dianne is the next to enter. She is wearing a silk happy coat, which gapes open enough to reveal the matching silk button down pyjamas beneath. She also surprises me by handing me a hairbrush and sitting herself on the floor between my feet. And when Jenny enters a few minutes later, wearing nothing but a pair of plain white undies and a naughty smile, she finds her mother occupying the place she'd considered her own. "And just where is your nightie?" Dianne asks, not really pleased, but neither does she seem too concerned. "Under my pillow." the naughty girl giggles, "I'm treating him like he belongs here too." "Point taken." Dianne chuckles resignedly, "Now go get the bong and stuff from outside and bring them here." Pleased her victory, hollow as it is considering fact that she is now more completely covered than she has been for most of the evening, Jenny dashes from the room, returning to announce, "I locked up and turned the lights and stuff off too." as she hands over the objects she'd been sent to collect. Then selecting a book to read, Jenny parks herself directly opposite us, and crossing her legs tailor fashion, settles down to wait her turn. "Do you think that might be deliberate?" Dianne asks in a soft whisper, drawing my attention what I'm trying to ignore. Seated like this, the fabric of her daughter's knickers, is stretched so tightly as to reveal in almost complete detail every nook, fold and crease of her hairless, juvenile pudenda. "I don't want to know." I chuckle softly, adding a little more loudly, "But from the smirk, I'm afraid that it is." "I'm afraid you're right." Dianne agrees in a tone intended to carry just far enough, "What do you think I should do about it." "Oh creative application of a hairbrush might do the trick." I suggest. "Can't they're spank proof." Jenny says, looking up from her book just long enough to speak. "Well since they might as well not be there anyway, I don't see any problems with removing them." Dianne says, adding as she twists to look up at me, "Do you?" "None whatsoever." I grin. "But then again she might just be subscribing to the notion that little girls should be obscene, but not heard." "I don't know whether to groan or bust you one that crack." She says, once she has recovered her voice enough to speak, and is able to be heard above the noise of the giggling hyena rolling about opposite. "Well she certainly crack up over it." I murmur sotto voce. This time she does groan. "That is not punny." "Oh you're a pundit now." I reply. "What are you going to do *pun*ish me?" "Worse." She replies, "I won't." "Well now." I murmur, "That sounds interesting." "Shut up and smoke your pipe." As I hasten to comply, Jenny takes up station opposite us once again, but this time, perched on a footstool, with her knees primly pressed together. The contrast between her stiff, maiden great aunt posture, and her almost complete lack of attire, proves too much for Dianne who rolls to the floor helpless with laughter, narrowly avoiding the not quite empty mixbowl by her hip. As I bend to rescue it, I make the interesting discovery that her short pyjama pants conceal nothing but herself, and at this point in time fail miserably at even that task. With a perfect view up the inside of her leg, I briefly glimpse a pair of nicely formed pussy lips. Tanned hairless lips that almost completely close over her inner labia, leaving visible only two finely scalloped ridges. Even the colour would do credit to a teenager, barely darker than the tan of her outer lips, with a hair-thin light coral pink seam between them. As she rolls to her side, I tear my eyes away, Lifting them to find Jenny watching me with a naughty half smile on her lips. "I think she crack up this time." Jenny says loudly enough to cut through her mother's laughter. Suddenly made aware of her somewhat inadequate attire, Dianne rockets upright, throwing me a half hopeful, half embarrassed glance. "Definitely stolen." I grin, shifting the balance to the red faced side of the equation, "You do realise that body snatching is a serious offence?" Crimson featured, but also looking very pleased, Dianne giggles like a schoolgirl as she carefully tucks her happy coat back around her body and leans back between my knees. "Have you finished with that pipe yet?" she asks severely. "No, sorry," I say, handing her the mixbowl, "I was too busy rescuing this." "Too busy picking your eyeballs up off the floor's more like it." Jenny giggles. "Now hurry up I want my turn." By the time, I finish Dianne's hair a few minutes later, the mix is finished, and Jenny shows the first sign of tiredness, yawning hugely, as she tugs the footstool into place between my knees. And by the time I finish with her, about the only thing keeping her upright is those knees. "She's been out like a light for the last ten minutes or so." Dianne chuckles, "If you'll bring her, I get her bed ready." Now about the only thing harder than picking up a sleeping child, is doing the same to a sleeping cat, and the difference is too small to be worth mentioning. Dianne looks on with amusement, as I fumble around with Jenny's boneless body for several seconds, before finally getting her settled on my hip with, one hand supporting her shoulders, the other cupped under her bottom. "Wa's happnin'?" she whispers muzzily into my neck as I mount the first of the stairs. "You're going to bed." I reply. Even in her half somnolent state, she can't resist, "You too?" "Let's ask your mother and see." I tease. "O.K." she giggles softly. "Forget it kid." I grin, "We're both sleeping alone tonight." "Meanie." she pouts, "My bed gets cold at night." "Privation is good for the soul." I reply sententiously. "Besides, the way you thrash around, I'd probably wake up on the floor with a black eye. No thanks." "Do not." she giggles. Do to." I retort. "I see, she's recovered enough to tease you." Dianne chuckles, stepping back from the bed, after turning down the sheets. "I think she'd figure out a way to do it three days dead." I grin, bending over and allowing her to fall with a squeal to the mattress. "Tuck me in pwease Greg." she pleads, her little girl voice at complete odds, to the deliberately provocative way in which she lifts one leg at a time, and slowly slides them under the sheets. Chuckling softly, I draw the sheets and doona up under her chin and holding them tight across her shoulders, I give her a little shake. "There. Happy?" I ask. "Don't I get a kiss?" she simpers, and not waiting for me to answer, nor get out of reach, she lifts her arms from beneath the bed clothes, pushing them down to below her chest, and pulls me down to her waiting face. The kiss I receive is, soft, sweet, and lingering, and also entirely inappropriate for a girl of her age. When finally released a few seconds later, I find myself staring at two tiny, stiff nippled boobs. Shaking my head to clear the cobwebs, I turn a slightly shamefaced glance toward an amused Dianne. "Goodnight." Jenny says. All sweetly innocent, as she rolls onto her side and pulls the bedclothes under her chin as she snuggles into the pillow. "Go to sleep." I growl. "Goodnight Honey." Dianne replies. "Well that certainly looked interesting." Dianne chuckles, as she pulls the door to, "Are you giving her lessons in that too?" "I don't need to." I mutter darkly, "She has entirely too much natural talent as it is." "Oh poor man." she grins, "Is a little, ten year old girl too much for you?" "Way too much sometimes." I chuckle. "What about her mother?" Dianne asks, with just a hint of suggestiveness, "Would I be too much for ou?" "Oh entirely." I joke, trying to dispel the suddenly charged atmosphere. "You're entirely too principled for your own good." she mutters softly. As we part at the door to the room I will be using, Dianne asks softly, "What would you have done, if I'd actually invited you to my room?" "Asked you to repeat the invitation in the morning, when you weren't recreationally enhanced." "You are too much of a bloody gentleman, do you know that?" She says, half admiringly, half exasperated, "You know damned well I wouldn't even consider it then." "I know." I reply softly. "Goodnight." "Goodnight. And thankyou." *** Always a light sleeper when in a strange bed, I'm woken by the sensation of my bedclothes creeping stealthily downwards. Running a quick catalogue of what I am wearing, I recall that I'd climbed into bed with both my jocks and footy knicks on. So maintaining my pretence of sleep I wait. "Oh damn!" she mutters when she finally discovers that all her efforts had been for naught. "Disappointed?" I ask mildly, allowing my eyes to open. Uttering a small squeal of shock she lets my blankets fall across the tops of my legs as she jumps guiltily backwards. I am however pleased to note that she has slipped on a nightie, even if it is a little on the filmy side, and only just covers the tops of her thighs. "Don't do that!" she squeaks. "Well you shouldn't have done what you did." I reply, "It's a major invasion of privacy and in its own way, nearly as bad as many of the things I've told you about." "I'm sorry." she mumbles contritely, "I didn't think." "Oh well. There's no harm done. So we'll say no more about it." I say sitting up and leaning back against a pillow against the headboard. "That's a nice nightie you've got on." "Do you like it?" she squeaks happily, "Mummy got it for me when we got my new undies." "It's very sexy." I say, telling her what she wants to hear. It's got sexy knickers with it too." she says naughtily, "See?" She lifts the frilly hem of her misty blue nightie to reveal a pair of matching, all but transparent knickers. Not quite form fitting, they still give tantalising shadowy hints of the sweet little mound that is barely hidden beneath them. As she performs a slow pirouette, her bottom comes into view, fully clad and not at all hidden." "Yes I see." I chuckle, "Why didn't you hand them in with the rest?" "'Cause they're not really undies." she giggles. "I think you might have been stretching a point keeping them *unde*clared, since they're *unde*niably sexy." "Ouch, and double ouch." She giggles, "You got me right here, and here." She raises the hem of her nightie to her chin. "I think that'll do," I chuckle, "I can see more than enough." Giggling, she lets her nightie fall and jumps up onto the bed, positioning herself cross legged at my feet. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, the fabric of her knickers remains loose enough to provide nothing more than hints as to what delights are hidden, if barely, beneath. Even so, I comment, "I'll bet those aren't spank proof." "Want to try and see?" she giggles, putting one hand down as if in preparation to turn. "I think I'll pass." I chuckle, and asking, "What time is it?" "A bit after seven." Jenny says, as I at the same time lift my watch to look. Then just as I look away, I catch sight of the date, and a quick count back by sevens confirms my first thought. With my own mother dead of cancer for nearly fifteen years, it hadn't really crossed my mind that I'd been accepting a dinner invitation on the eve of Mother's Day, even though I help my niece celebrate with her mother. "Jenny," I ask, "do you know what day this is?" "Oh, it's Mother's Day!" she exclaims, "I almost forgot." "You've remembered now and that's all that matters." I say, "What time does she usually get up on a Sunday?" "'Bout eight thirty, but she might get up a bit earlier since you're here." "In that case, we've got about three quarters of an hour to make her breakfast in bed." I say swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, "Pass me that robe and lets get moving." Jenny hands me the robe hanging on the bedpost, and we go to investigate the kitchen. "So what does she like?" I ask. "Oh anything." Jenny replies, "We gave her eggs on toast last year. She really likes pancakes though." "O.K. Pancakes it is." I say, "We need flour, milk, and an egg. Oh, and some vinegar, since we should have started last night." As Jenny looks out the ingredients, I poke around for the necessary utensils. Then after helping her to mix up the batter, and splashing in a little vinegar, I say, "We need to leave that stand a bit for the milk to sour. So let's see what flowers we can find while we wait. And You'd better get something to put on, or the neighbours will be complaining." "Yuck sour milk." Jenny says with a grimace. "Not like in off." I reassure her, "Just a bit sour, so they come out nice and fluffy." Reassured, Jenny disappears and returns a few moments later wearing a terry robe that matches mine, though better suited to her size. Out in the garden I allow Jenny to make the selections, only intervening to ensure that she cuts the stems long enough and doesn't damage the plants. I also leave her to arrange them in a vase while I heat a pan and warm the oven. However once that is done, I step back to allow her to do the cooking. Though I do step in when she seems to consider trying the approved method for turning pancakes. "Uh-uh, use the egg lifter. The idea is to make things easier for your mother on mother's day, not leave her with a kitchen to clean." Giggling her agreement, Jenny flips the pancake manually, and a little later, slides it onto the plate warming in the oven. Keeping an eye on Jenny, I begin making up the tray, with two varieties of jam in small crystal pots, a couple of lemon wedges, and some sugar. I also warm a small teapot, and boil the kettle as eight o'clock approaches. At five past eight Jenny finishes arranging the tray to her satisfaction, and it plus a lap table are carried up the stairs. Then once Jenny has collected her gift, I put everything in her hands, and reach over her shoulder to knock at the door. Once the direction to "Come in." is given I open the door and step back. "Happy Mother's Day Mummy." Jenny says. "Darling, thankyou." Dianne replies, "I'd forgotten all about it. And what's this? Pancakes. How lovely." "I made them myself." Jenny declares proudly, "And picked the flowers. Greg just told me what to do." "Greg." she calls, "Come in here. I want to thank you too." I enter to find Dianne sitting up in bed, the lap table already across her knees, and Jenny perched on the edge of the bed beside her. "This really is thoughtful." she says, "Thankyou very much." "That's O.K." I say depreciatingly, "Apart from the tea, my role was almost entirely supervisory." "You still helped Jenny do something she couldn't do on her own. For that I thank you." she says, "Now come here so I can thank you properly." Phew!" I say, stepping back from a soft, lingering, prick twitching kiss, complete with a naughty tracing of my lips with her tongue. "Now I know where, Jenny gets it from. I should warn you though, I bite unauthorised tongues." "She hasn't?" Dianne asks, half shocked, half amused. There no need for me to answer the question however, as Jenny's red faced giggle tells all. "Terrible child." Dianne chuckles, "You're lucky you're in my good books right now. Now go put some clothes on, and let me eat my breakfast in peace." "You've got to open your present first." Jenny cries. "Of course how thoughtless of me." Dianne apologises, picking up the card and reading it. "That is lovely." she says sincerely, "Now I think that deserves another kiss." Having delivered said reward. she takes up the parcel, and does a creditable imitation of an eager young child at Christmas, tearing away the wrapping paper to get at the plain unadorned box beneath. Lifting the lid she look inside, and cries out in shocked surprise, "Oh Honey, you shouldn't have!" as she lifts out a gossamer thin, pale blue, silk negligee. "I wanted to get you something sexy, instead of stupid chocolates like I always do." Jenny says. "Which you then eat anyway." Dianne chuckles. "But Honey this is way too much." "It's from Daddy too, because he's sorry he couldn't be here today, and he picked it out for me, but I still paid for half of it." "And just how did you manage that since you haven't had any money for two weeks?" Dianne asks. "I got lots of negative dollars." Jenny giggles, making me chuckle as well. "Ah it's a maths thing." I reply in answer to Dianne's questioning look. "Tony obviously loaned her the money, hence the negative dollars." "Are you going to put it on Mummy?" Jenny asks eagerly. "Ah, I think we might wait until I can model it for your father darling." Dianne says with a blushing chuckle, "After all it's his present too." "Too chicken to let Greg see it huh?" Jenny giggles. "That too." Dianne admits laughingly. "Now I think I should eat this lovely breakfast before it goes cold." Kiss first." Jenny grins. "O.K." Dianne agrees. "Whew!" she giggles a few seconds later, "That is quite some talent, and definitely not the way to kiss your mother. Now git." We git. Instead of allowing me to turn off at the top of the stairs to collect my bag and clothes from the downstairs bathroom, Jenny tows me the rest of the way down the hall to her bedroom, and shuts the door with me on the inside. "Somehow or other, I don't think this was what your mother had in mind." I say firmly. "Chicken." she giggles, opening the door for me to escape into the hall beyond, "Wait out there while I put some undies on then, and then you can help me choose what to wear to Gran and Grandad's." As on the first day, the door fails to close leaving me with a two inch gap, that with the aid of the mirror, allows me to see almost a third of the room, just by moving my head a few inches. And although I know that I shouldn't do it, I remain in place, waiting for any glimpses that might eventuate. As I watch, Jenny passes out of sight and a moment later the room floods with light as she opens the curtains. A moment later she reappears in the gap, and rummages through her dresser drawer for a few seconds before tossing a pair of pair of knickers on the end of the bed. Once more she disappears, this time behind the door, and a number of different garments are tossed beside the knickers. A moment later her nightie, and then the pants follow. Then just as I decide that I'll see nothing beyond her hand as she reaches for the knickers, Jenny walks back to the dresser, and completely naked, begins to brush out her long, lustrous hair. With just a slight tilt of my head, I can either look at her pert, white buttocks directly, or more interestingly, almost her entire her front from the knees up, with only her left arm and a portion of her hip cut off by the edge of the mirror. What draws my gaze though, is the small, cleft mound that, up until now, I have seen only in brief flashes. Seemingly about two inches high, from the base to the top of her slit, twin completely hairless lips, press firmly together, forming an upside down triangular mound. As I continue to watch, Jenny sets her brush down, and lifts her hands to the tiny hillocks on her chest. At first she seems much like my sister had been at that stage in her development, cupping them as well as is possible given their size, then pinching her nipples to erection, and turning sideways to look at them in profile. Suddenly though, I realise that her eyes are not directed at her chest, where they should be, but directly toward the reflection of the gap in the door, and therefore at me. While I guiltily debate, moving and confirming my presence, Jenny turns and picks up the knickers she'd tossed on the bed earlier, and pulls them on. "O.K., you can come in now." she giggles. I take a couple of seconds to compose myself, then push the door open, and leaving it open, perch on the end of her bed. "You were peeking." she accuses me merrily. "Was I?" "I saw you in the mirror." she giggles. "I think you meant me to see you in the mirror." I retort, and her sudden blush indicates that I am right on the mark. "I s'pose I did." she admits naughtily, "So how come you went outside in the first place?" "Mainly because I didn't want to take the chance of being caught in here with you when you didn't have any clothes on." I reply, "Which is why your door is wide open right now." "Even though you saw me with only my undies on last night, and Mummy didn't care?" "Even so." I reply, "Parent's of young girls do *not* like closed doors, especially bedroom ones, when there is a boy involved." "There's another reason too." I add with a naughty chuckle of my own, "Peeking's a lot more fun than just looking. However, you should only do it when you know the other person doesn't mind." "I think it was more fun letting you peek too." she giggles, "'Cause I don't think I would have played with my boobs like that if you were in here with me." "I'm sure you wouldn't have." I reply, "You can do a lot that you wouldn't normally do if you can pretend that nobody's watching, that's why you stopped once you knew, that I knew, that you knew." "I guess so." she nods, "I could have kept going, but it wouldn't have been the same." "And there's the real secret to being sexy, instead of looking like a slut." I say, "So long as both of you can pretend that the other one doesn't know, it's sexy." "What about when, you know? You're getting ready to do stuff?" she asks. "And what about last night?" "Let's take last night first." I say, "I suppose you mean what your mother did in the spa?" She nods. "Well since we all knew that it was just teasing, your mother could pretend to act like a bit of a slut. As for the other, well let's just say that the only rule apart from not hurting other people, is that there are no rules." "I guess that means that it's really the pretending that's important." Jenny says after a short pause, "So long as you're pretending, It's sexy, but when you stop it's serious." "Yes, that's a pretty good approximation." I agree, "But you still have to be careful, because not everybody agrees on where the pretending begins and stops, and that's where you can get into trouble. And you don't have to stop pretending, just because it's become serious - seriously fun that is - in fact pretending can make it a lot more fun." "Now let's get you dressed, before your mother finishes her breakfast." "Oh yeah." she giggles, "I want you to make me look sexy." "With you that's easy." I chuckle, "I think the hard trick would be to do the opposite. Now what kind of zeggzy would zee mademoiselle require? A little bit zeggzy, quite zeggzy, or busted zippers." "That last one sounds like fun," she giggles, "but Mummy would chuck a fit. How about quite sexy, but like I didn't know it." "Ah-ha, zee zexpot innozent." I say, "Zat iz in this year, and vary you. Well if first zee mademoiselle she would ztand and let me look at her zen zee Great Gregori would know what he should do." Giggling, Jenny stands before me and slowly turns. Her hands on her hips, which in turn are slightly thrust forward. "Non, non zat will not do." I cry in mock horror, "Zee armz zey muzt be loose, and you should stand straight, since you know not what you are. Zere Zat is much bettair." I continue as she adjusts her stance. "Now zince zee weathair she is cool, I zink we should covair almost everything, while yet we ensure that much iz vizible. First zee legs, I zink zee tights zey are in order, and zince zee knickairs zey are dark, zen zee tights zey should be white." "I got some of those," Jenny giggles, "really thin ones." "Zat would be pairfect." I say, "If zee mademoiselle, she would get zem, we will begin." Jenny rummages in a draw for a few seconds, and produces a balled handful of fine white cloth. "Here." she holds them out to me. "Non, non." I cry, "Zee Great Gregori, he iz no ladiez maid, he is an artiste. If zee mademoiselle, she would don her garment, zen zee Great Gregori, he will conzider the next ztage in hiz creation. By now Jenny is giggling almost too hard to get her foot into her tights, and it takes her several seconds to calm down enough to stand and pull them up to her hips. "Ah zat is pairfect, for if zee mademoiselle were zo unfortunate az to allow an eye to alight where it should not, zen zee colour of her undergarment, would be most apparent. Next zee Great Gregori, he believez zee t-shirt blanche is bezt, but he should be fitting like a zecond zkin." Jenny quickly retrieves a plain white t-shirt and slips it on over her head, and indeed it does fit her like a second skin, making the budding hillocks of her tiny breasts very apparent. "Ah, zee Great Gregori, he is a genius, his evairy creation a work of art. Now iz zee time to hide zat which should be hidden, for zis zee short zkirt du blue jeanz." A blue denim almost mini-skirt is quickly produced and snugged into place on her hips. "Zee hair, she iz next, for zat is zee firzt zat many will zee, and zat, zat will eztablish zee appearanze of innozenze. For zis zee Great Gregori he will do zee work zat iz required." Taking up her hairbrush, I pull her hair back into a pony tail setting it fairly high on the back of her head, and fastening it in place with a plain white scrunchie from the top of her dresser. "And finally zee ovaircoat, have we a zippair jacket zat covairs zee hipz but not zee thighz?" Since I can see exactly what I am referring to in her wardrobe, the question is required only to remain in character. As Jenny slips on the two tone grey jacket, we are both surprised by Dianne's voice ringing out from the doorway. "Bravo." she cries clapping her hands, "Bravo." "Mummy!" Jenny squeaks, blushing bright crimson, "How long have you been there?" "Since he told you to put on your own tights." Dianne chuckles, "That was quite a performance Greg." Dianne's apparent good humour notwithstanding, I decide that if I am to go, I will do so with style. "Zee madam iz too kind," I say taking her hand and bowing low over it, zee Gregori, he iz but a poor craftsman, blezzed with zuch exquizite material, zat even he can do no wrong." "What happened to the *great* Gregori?" she chuckles, retrieving her hand. "Ah zat would be prezumptuouz when he iz trying to imprezz you wiz hiz humble nature." "Enough." she giggles, "I'm going to need hip boots and a shovel if you keep that up much longer. How on earth did you manage to keep zat, (Now you've got me doing it.) that accent up for so long?" "Practice." I chuckle, "Lot's of practice. My niece loves it, and insists that I do it whenever I do hers or her mother's hair, and also when I dressed her, when she was younger." "I'm not quite sure that this was what I had in mind when I said she could practice on you. I mean putting up with her shenanigans is one thing, but instructing her in how to best go about it. Well I ask you." "Well since I have to put up with her *shenanigans*, the sooner they are over the better." I say, adding with a grin, "Is that a sufficiently facile rationalisation to get me off the hook?" "You are a terrible person, Greg Parry." she chuckles. "I think you've told me that before." I grin. "Hey I just look like a little girl." Jenny bewails, having taken a proper look at herself in the mirror. "Sorry." I say with a glance towards Dianne, continuing with my very fake French accent, "If zee mademoiselle would care to put her handz in her pocketz, and to part zee front of her ovaircoat." "Oh I see." she giggles, turning and thrusting out her chest, to admire herself in profile. "Non, Non." I cry, "Zee mademoiselle, she can not call zee attention to zee boobies like zat, zee mademoiselle, she muzt not know she have zee boobiez." "I think I'm getting it," Jenny says, "I want to make it look like I don't know that I'm sexy, and that makes me look even sexier. That's why you made me put on different coloured tights to my undies, so that when I sit on the floor with my legs crossed, people just think that I don't know they should be the same colour." "Zee mademoiselle, she should not zit in zuch a fashion," I cry in horror, "but yez, if zuch and unfortunate event came to pazz, zat iz zee effect zee Great Gregori wishez to create." She looks down at her feet, and asks, "What shoes should I put on?" "Mademoiselle may chooze from zee shiny black or zee zandshoez. But zee Great Gregori, he recomendz zee zandshoez, zee shiny black, he zay 'I am too innozent.'" "That would just spoil it." Jenny says in understanding, "I want to look like I just put on my normal clothes and I didn't know they made me look sexy." "Exactly like I explained with the makeup." I say dropping the accent, "The best makeup is the makeup that you can not see." "Have you quite finished?" Dianne says with a laugh, "She was quite corrupt enough without your help." "Madam you wrong me," I say with mock hurt, "for behold, a daughter as innocent as any you could hope to see." "Who leaves a trail of zipper shrapnel behind her everywhere she goes." Dianne chuckles, and also pleasing her daughter greatly. "Hey I got both my choices." Jenny giggles. "Innocent sexpot, *and* busted zippers." "That's good," I say, "because if you dress and act like a slut, you have the boys thinking about what they would like to do *to* you, and if you're sexy, they think about what they'd like to do *with* you. It might not seem like much of a distinction, but it's a very real one." "Uh-huh." Jenny nods in understanding, idly swinging her hands back and forth in her pockets. Suddenly the corners of her lips curl up in a mischievous smile. "Hey watch what happens when I do this." she cries, exaggerating the motions of her hands. "It makes my boobs pop up and that makes me even sexier." Indeed the friction of the jacket's zipper brushing over her nipples has caused the small buds beneath her taut t-shirt to fill with blood and make noticeable lumps atop the already obvious rise of her budding breasts. Chuckling, Dianne asks me, "Was that a part of Zee Great Gregori's design when creating the ensemble?" "Mai non madame," I protest, "for he iz not one to encourahge zuch wanton behaviour." In my normal tones I continue laughingly, "I never thought of that, I just figured the cool air outside and an open jacket would do the job nicely." To Jenny I add, "Watch it Jen. You don't want to get caught doing that." "Because then I'd be a slut." She grins, fanning the front of her jacket in great sweeping arcs. "Whilst zee effect Zee Great Gregori, he wishes to create is for the -damn- zee innozent zeggspot." In a sudden transformation, her grin becomes a cute little half smile, she stills her swinging arms, and her entire posture undergoes a radical, if subtle, alteration. Gone is the naughty little girl trying to get a rise of us, replaced by a sexy, blossoming young woman who is getting a rise of an altogether different kind out of me. Tearing my eyes from the magnetic little tits still just visible through the open front of Jenny's jacket, I'm surprised to see that Dianne's more mature nipples are prominently erect beneath the thin silk of her PJ's, and a fine sheen of moisture beads her upper lip. Seeming to feel my eyes on her, she turns her head towards me, and wryly comments, "I think she just graduated with honours from Zee Great Gregori's course in advanced boy baiting." Beneath her words, I detect a carefully hidden hint that *boys* might not be the only ones taking the bait. Jenny's gaze passes from her mother to me as her face splits with the sort of cheeky grin that only a ten year old who realises that she has succeeded big time, can generate. "Was I really sexy?" she cries excitedly, leaping up to wrap her arms around my neck and her legs about my hips. Caught by surprise, I'm too slow to catch her before she slips a little and her thinly encased crotch presses against the rock solid swelling beneath my jeans. For a few seconds she waits, grinning, for an answer that I am suddenly too breathless to supply, while Dianne looks on with barely suppressed mirth. Suddenly Jenny's open comically wide, and her jaw drops as her lips form an 'O' of utter surprise. Dropping abruptly to the floor, she staggers back a step and mutters, "Oh boy was I ever." Then since she's very carefully looking at her mother, and *not* at me, she suddenly notices that I wasn't the only one affected. The look on her face when she realised that her pussy had been pressing on my hardon, was nothing to the gobstopped expression she was now wearing as she takes in the prominences distorting the sheer fabric of her mother's pyjama top. "Oh!" she squeaks, her eyes riveted to her mother's swollen nipples. Now equally red faced, Dianne and I maintain eye contact until we suddenly crack up with slightly hysterical laughter. It only lasts a few seconds before we recover and Dianne mutter's, uh-, um-, I better go and get dressed. "Uh me too." I mumble. "And then Jenny, you and I have a kitchen to clean, while your mother gets to do what she wants to for a change." "We've got to have our breakfast first." Jenny reminds me. "O.K. but then I think I should go since you've already told me that you're making the pilgrimage to your mother's, mother's later today." "What are you doing today?" Dianne asks, "Is your mother expecting you?" "I hope not, she died almost fifteen years ago." I say, "No, I'll go around to my sister's when I finish here and help Christine to do her bit by getting her out of the way for a little while. With a bit of luck though, I won't have to clean up half a box of Corn Flakes, and small lake of milk when I get there this time." "Breakfast in bed?" Dianne asks with a smile. "Literally, and just about everywhere else too." I chuckle reminiscently. "What a mess." "Well it's the thought that counts." "I know, but it still doesn't make it any easier to clean up." I grin. "O.K. sexy kid, let's go." As Dianne returns to her bedroom to dress for the day, I head downstairs to where I'd left my things the night before. Jenny of course dogs my heels, and looks very surprised when I don't object to her following me into the bathroom. "Oh dear two disappointments in one day." I chuckle, when her eyes fall on the all concealing burgundy jocks that I am wearing beneath my footy knicks. "How will she ever survive?" Giggling, Jenny perches on the edge of the shower bath, while I quickly dress, wash my face and do my hair. A few minutes later, Dianne brings her tray into the kitchen, as Jenny pours some batter into the reheated pan. Almost automatically, she begins to stack the dishes in the dishwasher, and I have to chase her out of the room, playfully cracking a tea towel at her behind. Three quarters and hour after that, Jenny and I step out into the garden, where Dianne is surveying the carnage we'd created in her autumn flower beds. "Well it's not as bad as it could have been," she chuckles as we stop beside her, "but did you have to take all the best flowers?" "But you're the *best* Mummy in the world." Jenny protests. "And that's the way I think about my mother too, you little horror." Dianne smiles, "Why couldn't you be contented with a handful of daisies like you usually give me." "Because I'm older now." Jenny replies. "Oh well," Dianne sighs, "Mum will just have to make do with second best this year." "Somehow or other I don't think she will mind," I say, "considering the reason. In fact why don't you do something symbolic and give *her* the handful of daisies." "Greg, I could kiss you!" she cries, "That's exactly what I'll do. Now what do I put on the card?" "How about: 'From your little girl who grew up.'?" Jenny suggests. "You, I can kiss." Dianne says, "Come here." How come you can't kiss Greg?" Jenny asks curiously, once she has been released from a fierce and noisy embrace. "Because Mrs Grundy over there would enjoy it way too much." Dianne chuckles softly. "That's not Mrs Grundy." Jenny says a bit too loudly, "That's Mrs Leitch." "Oops. I think she heard." I whisper, noting the sudden frown on the old lady's face as she abandons her unnecessary hedge trimming and stalks off. "Good." Dianne giggles, "She might tend to her own knitting for a while." "But why did you call her Mrs Grundy?" Jenny persists. "Do you remember in that book 'Time Enough For Love, something that said: 'Happiness begins with telling Mrs Grundy to go fly a kite.'? Well, 'Mrs Grundy' is just a polite way of saying, 'that meddling old gossip next door'. And what the book meant was, that so long as you aren't doing anything terribly wrong, which shouldn't make you happy in the first place, you shouldn't care about what she says about you to other people." "I think I'll call her Mrs Grundy from now on." Jenny giggles. "Don't." I say at the same time, Dianne cries, "No you won't" "That would be rude and let her talk about what lousy parents you had." I finish. "But you just said..." Jenny says. "I know what I said," I reply, "but that just applies to getting on with your life and ignoring her. If you do want to do anything, say, 'Yes Mrs Leitch.', 'No Mrs Leitch.', 'Of course Mrs Leitch.' in all the right places if she talks to you. Be as sickeningly, sweetly polite as you possibly can be. It will make her madder than hell, because she'll know exactly what you are doing, and won't be able to say a blessed thing about it without looking like an idiot." Mimicking a gossipy old hen I say, "What do you mean Edna? She was too polite? Well, I always say that the youth of today are not polite enough by half. I think I'd like to meet this darling child. Why don't you introduce me too her when I pop around next week." "And then," I say in my normal voice, "The two of you would have a great deal of fun being polite to each other at Mrs Leitch's expense, because there is nothing a gossip likes more than being able to score off another gossip. No, Mrs Leitch will seethe like a volcano, and will very quickly remember that she's put the kettle on." "You are a most terrible person Greg Parry." Dianne giggles. "I know." I grin, "Don't you just love me anyway?" "Well I don't know if I'd go so far as to say that," she grins, "but you do have your good points." "Like he gives good back and boob rubs." Jenny giggles naughtily. "Jenny!" Dianne giggles, "You don't have to actually say it, but you're right he does give good chest rubs." "And on that note," I chuckle, "I think I'll go rescue my sister from a too loving daughter. Thankyou for a lovely meal and a very pleasant evening." "And thank you again for helping Jenny this morning." "Yeah, thanks for teaching me how to be sexy by not being sexy." Jenny giggles. "Well that wasn't exactly what I had in mind," Dianne chuckles, "but you did a good job there too." "Zee mozt Humble Gregori," I say with a deep bow, "he zank you for your mozt undezerved praize." "Go on, get out of here." Dianne giggles, "Go and annoy your sister for a while." Escorted by a merry ten year old and her mother, I make my way to my car and head off for a change of clothes and then to see what sort of mayhem my niece has managed to create. [Well I did say 'hoydens' not 'harlots'. But there's plenty of juicy stuff in the next chapter. Should be out in mid January, in the mean time Merry X-mas and a Happy New Year to all.] ******************************************* Note by MrJenkins I have never found any more of this story. Should anyone reading this know of more chapters, I would be most grateful for a copy or a pointer. I have several copies of Clayton's Children-Babysitter, set in a time a year or so after this tale, and featuring a different batch of girls. It's a different story even if it does references this one in places. Thanks in advance. ************************************************* LocalWords: illogic pleeeezzze labour YESSSS blonde sexretary ganga eee splashback thonged HSC LocalWords: trackie daks Demtel defocus