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.

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

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