PLAYING 'HOUSE' WITH EMMA - a romantic story by WTSman

Some people go through life without ever finding that one special
person - or perhaps they find her too late. George actually found
her too early. Much too early. How can you 'do the right thing'
and still follow your heart? ______________________

I met Emma the summer before I started school. Actually, it was
her brother Jake I went to meet. We - my Mom my Dad and I - lived
in what I'm sure would be called a nice neighborhood. I
personally didn't think so as I was practically the only child
around - the area was what in my mother's home country is called
a 'silver wedding neighborhood' - meaning that everyone living
there is old (in the eyes of a 5 year old!!) and their kids have
long since left home. So when the house next door was put on the
market and bought by a family with kids (plural!) my excitement
was at fever pitch - and when Mom learned that one of said kids
was a boy my age, my happiness was complete.

In my mind it was a certainty that 'the boy' (name as yet
unknown) and I would be best friends forever. So it was with a
very positive attitude I went to meet him the day the family
moved in. Jake's attitude was markedly less positive. He came
from an area full of other kids and saying goodbye to all his
friends - just before they were going to start school together -
had been hard and he was grumpy. My appearance didn't please him
much either. He was into all-American sports like baseball and
'real football', as he called it - and had the physique for it,
while I was a scrawny kid that didn't care for sports much,
although I would kick a soccer-ball around if forced to do
something physical besides swimming.

In a non-too subtle way I was interrogated about which other
potential playmates were around. When I had earnestly assured him
that I represented the sum total of suitable kids, he reluctantly
agreed to play. He showed me round the house first - despite my
polite protests that I knew it very well, having been friendly
with the previous owners; an elderly couple who occasionally
baby-sat me. So round we went, and in the process we walked in on
his mother in the process of changing a toddler. I can't claim to
remember very much of the conversation verbatim this many years
later, but the gist of the exchange in his sister's room got
etched in my mind forever.

"Who's that?" I asked

"Oh, that. That's Emma, my sister. She poops and pisses her
pants," he declared, making no attempt to hide his disgust.

"All little kids do," I replied sagely, staring at the pink
marvel on the change table in deep fascination.

"Do you?" he asked - evidently equating the fact that I was half
a year younger (and nearly a head shorter) than him with the
possibility that I was a still piss-pants baby too.

"NO!" I exclaimed with some heat. Toilet training had actually
been a slow process for me but I had been out of diapers for a
long time that summer.

The exact wording of his final remark eludes me. It was something
along the lines of "Well, there you are. She is pretty useless!"
although I'm sure few 5 year olds, and certainly not Jake, would
express themselves precisely that way. Anyway, that was the
meaning of it and with that he walked out of the room again.

With considerable reluctance, I dragged myself away from the
wonder-of-wonders, a sibling, and completed the tour. As the Ward
family was just moving in and few of Jake's things had been
unpacked, we went next door to our place. Jake got a reciprocal
tour of our house and reluctantly agreed that my room was
'alright'. He was taken in by the fact we had a pool and pestered
his mother into finding his swim wear so we could try it out. He
tried to play down the fact that I was much better at swimming
than him, and later complained bitterly that the only football I
had was a soccer ball.

"At least you don't have a piss-pants sister!" was his parting
shot when he had summarized pros and cons of the neighborship.


No, I didn't have a sister. I had frequently plagued my parents
about siblings, but it never happened. Only later did I learn
why, but I am getting ahead of myself.


Jake and I played a lot that summer. As I said, there was no one
else, and the pool was a draw card. But I realized early on that
we weren't going to be the kind of friends had I had fantasized
about - to be honest, I didn't like him all that much. Again,
that is an analysis made looking back so many years. At the time
I noted that I didn't like the things he liked (physical sports
and violent games), and I was astonished that he disliked his
little sister so much - in my eyes she was his greatest asset.

When we started school Jake naturally took up with the other
'sporty' kids. It is amazing, really, that you can tell who will
be jock and who will be brain from the word go. It didn't worry
me all that much; there were other 'brains' and I think I was
pretty happy, all things considered.

Our school - unusual perhaps in that it went all the way from K
to 12 in one compound, was fairly large. It was set in very large
grounds with the various sections (primary, middle, high) having
their own buildings and vice principals but with extensive common
facilities. The school was called Evesham School - also unusual
in that it is not the name of the town but rather the name of
some settler who established the first school in the area. In
fact there is no Evesham in Iowa and people often asked our
sports teams if they were from New Jersey or Florida. But apart
from that, it was a pretty ordinary school with its usual razor
sharp separations between people of different financial
backgrounds on top of the jock/brain division. I was oblivious to
that and floated happily along.

Mrs. Ward - Jake and Emma's mother - had noted my interest in
Emma and I got invited to her second birthday in October. Jake
was again full of disdain, but my mother - in line with the
traditions in her home country - had bought a 'consolation gift'
that I could give Jake in addition to the present for Emma, and
that went down well. Possibly especially because there hadn't
been such a gift for Emma on Jake's birthday. Perhaps I am making
him worse than he was, but on subsequent birthdays of Jake's
(which fell in September) I would always have a small something
for Emma too and I remember him reacting badly to it.

As Emma grew she wanted to be in on the games Jake and I played
when we were together. I was happy with that and Jake hated it.
Emma loved playing 'house', but Jake refused. Not just because of
this, although it contributed, Jake and I played less and less
and as we went through second and third grade we were rarely
together. He would often go to sporting events with his dad (whom
I didn't like much either) and I started to go over only when I
had seen Jake and his dad drive off, innocently asking after Jake
and ending up, as was my plan, playing 'house' and similar games
with Emma. In the simple and angst-free world of an 8 year old
boy and 5 year old girl, we loved each other in an unconditional
and uncomplicated way.

When summer came I taught her to swim and we spent all day in the
pool for weeks. At first we were supervised closely by one or the
other mother, but soon - as it was obvious we were 'water safe',
we were left to our own devices. I had turned 9 and was deemed
'sensible' and 'responsible'.

Swim wear for both of us was the same - either a pair of
miniscule swim pants, or - if the weather was too hot and Jake
was not there - nothing. Again no angst and no hang-ups. Our
mothers may have tried to get us to cover up - I don't recall;
the pool was not visible from the road anyway and we were so
young. At that age we had no idea being together nude was
anything special. But Emma, nude as the day she was born, brown
as a nut and a head full of dark auburn curls was a sight to
behold. I also tan easily and my short blond hair went almost
white during summer.

Midway through the summer holidays, Jake went away on a camping
trip with his father. They never returned. I later learned that
the Wards had been having major marital troubles, but at 9 I
didn't understand what that meant, nor what on earth my dad was
talking about when I by accident overheard him say to Mom that
'the bastard couldn't keep it zipped up'. But I knew from
previous experience with classmates that 'divorce' sometimes
meant 'moving away' and while I wasn't going to miss Jake I went
in complete terror fearing that Emma and her mother would have to
move too. Luckily, that didn't happen. Although they had it tough
financially afterwards (I only learned that a lot later), Mrs.
Ward was able to keep the house - and I was able to keep Emma.

So in August Emma started kindergarten at Evesham School while I
started 4th grade - the last grade in primary school at Evesham
and thus the only time we have ever been in the same section. A
lot of kids got driven to school and there was also a school bus,
but my mother's background was one of 'Kids ride bikes!' and as
there are excellent bike paths from the school to most
residential areas of our town, I had been riding a bike to school
since the beginning of 3rd grade. At not even 6 Emma was
obviously too young to ride a bike and getting her to school was
complicated for Mrs. Ward due to her work and she didn't like the
idea of Emma going on the bus alone. My mother offered to help as
her work hours were better suited to delivering kids in the
morning, but I didn't want to stop riding my bike at least one
way and a brain wave hit me.

"I'll be happy to walk Emma to school," I said. It wasn't all
that far.

"That's really sweet of you George," her mother said, "but
remember it has to be every day."

"Well, I go to school every day too!" I retorted.

I cannot exactly remember the discussion which also included my
mother, but the outcome was that I would walk Emma to school
every day (except in the dead of winter) - wheeling my bike
alongside. Emma would go to an on-site, after-school daycare
program when her short school day ended and be picked up by her
mother at closing time, while I would ride my bike home
mid-afternoon at which time my mother was often home.

But in the morning I would knock on the door 20 minutes before
school started and walk along the path with Emma. She was not the
only kid being taken to school by an older child of course, but
in all other cases it was a sibling and generally it was on the
school bus. So it got noted - especially because we would
inevitably be holding hands.

"George's got a girlfriend!" - I remember the sing-song voice
vividly. I now know it was meant as a taunt, but I was remarkably
naïve and so it didn't register back then.

"Huh?" I asked the grinning class mate. He was called Paul - a
jock-in-the-making and one of Jake's former friends.

"Is she your girlfriend?" another kid asked.

Now, I know this sounds absurd - especially for a 'brainy' kid
with an astonishing vocabulary; at this stage I was a full 2
years ahead on many tests. But I had actually gotten to 4th grade
without ever knowing the concept 'girlfriend'. In my analytical
mind, 'girlfriend' was 'girl' plus 'friend'. Emma was certainly
both, so I simply replied "She sure is."

Emma - two weeks into kindergarten - apparently did know the
concept. The fact that I freely acknowledged her as mine made her
very happy. I had not let go of her little hand and she squeezed
it. I squeezed hers back, still looking - I am sure - completely
like a question mark over why it should be so extraordinary that
I had a friend who was a girl. The laughter that had followed my
reply sounded strained and hollow - confused even - and died out
quickly. There is not much fun in taunting somebody about
something they don't care about. So it was quickly an established
fact that George Waters, the weird brainy kid in 4th grade, had a
girlfriend in Kindy called Emma Ward.

As I said, I didn't find it remarkable, but Emma knew it was. She
told her mom who told mine, and so Mom explained to me about
girlfriends and boyfriends. Or tried to. It was in
age-appropriate terms, of course. And since 'someone special you
like very much - even love' fitted my relationship with Emma
perfectly, it didn't do anything to make me feel embarrassed or
indeed understand why it was something you could taunt and tease
about. Mom gave up and just smiled in the end. "I'm glad you have
Emma," she said. "And I'm sure Emma is glad she has you."

I was glad too. I got invited to Emma's sixth birthday as usual.
She had invited the girls from her class; I was the only boy
there but that didn't faze me. There was a lot of giggling, but I
think everyone enjoyed the day and I was included in the games
and much admired. When the girls were collected by their parents
at the end, more than one mother asked if I was Emma's brother -
not an unnatural question. When told that I was 'the boy next
door' and 'Emma's special friend', reactions like 'How cute!' or
simply 'Sweet!' were common. Again it complete escaped me that
there was anything unusual about it.
It was shortly after Christmas that year that Mom stopped
working. I didn't know why at the time - only that she was always
home which I thought was nice. It wasn't. It turned out she was
ill. As in very ill. I was too young to understand it or even to
notice the gradual change, but when summer came I was sent away
on camp. It was not something I wanted, or indeed enjoyed. I
would much rather have spent the summer in the pool with Emma.

When I came back even I noted that Mom had changed. She was very
very thin - her arms and legs barely thicker than mine and her
hair looked strange. She was wearing a wig because chemotherapy
had taken her own hair.

Three days before I started middle school, Mom died. Apparently
she had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer three years after
giving birth to me. It was only discovered because she went
through extensive checkups to determine why she didn't fall
pregnant again. Radical surgery to save her life had taken her
fertility - thus the lack of siblings. For about 6 years she had
been in remission and she and Dad assumed she was cured. But then
the cancer came back and it was everywhere. Despite the doctors'
best efforts, they couldn't save her.

I was too young to understand any of that - I was simply
shattered. Dad did his best, but he was completely devastated
too, of course. In reality what kept me going was Emma. A
first-grader, 2 months shy of seven - and she was my rock, my
comfort, my sweet companion. It was with Emma I could cry, with
Emma I could be angry and upset, with Emma I could be allowed to
be gloomy and distant. The first couple of months of 5th grade
were a blur, but eventually I emerged from the haze and life went
on.

Dad's employers hadn't been particularly understanding and in the
end he switched jobs, even if it cost him quite a bit, in order
to be able to be a single parent. I will say this for him; he has
been fantastic. The first Christmas was hard, but from then on we
didn't look back. Emma and I fantasized about her mom and my dad
getting married so we could be real siblings, but that was just
us dreaming. I've never seen an indication of anything beyond a
general liking between the two - and in fact Dad has never dated
since Mom died - at least not to a level where I noticed it.

The next couple of years were fairly uneventful. Emma and I spent
a lot of time together. She got a bike, I taught her to ride it
and we started riding to school; in winter we would go on the
school bus together and our respective peers decided to overlook
the anomaly and simply considered us siblings. We were, after
all, not of an age where the girlfriend/boyfriend concept had
sexual connotations. But of course our bodies changed. My major
growth spurt started in eighth grade. I never got overly tall -
my family isn't - but I certainly grew in various places and my
dick essentially went from nothing to male average in a span of
just months.

I started noticing girls with curves and my dick reacted
accordingly. About the same time, Emma - an early bloomer -
started developing the first signs that she was growing up too.
Her chest started puffing up a bit and she generally got more
rounded. We were still very close, also in a physical sense, and
I am sure she noted my erections, some of which were caused by
her. I know that sounds dubious, but it was completely
involuntary and completely innocent. Abusing Emma was never on my
mind.

When summer came it was obvious we couldn't frolic in the pool in
quite the same way we had been used to. Skinny dipping was right
out and Emma was made to wear a proper swim suit. It didn't stop
the physical proximity and she definitely saw my stiffy which
seemed to live a life of its own. I discovered masturbation and I
am sure most of that year was spent spanking the monkey. I did do
some school work too, of course. But since I was always way ahead
of my peers, I had time for other activities!

I entered high school at the same time Emma started middle
school. I was not the only junior boy with a 'grade school
girlfriend', although I'm sure that in Emma I had both the
youngest girlfriend and the longest term relationship. Of course,
said 'relationship' was also by far the tamest - it was not
sexual at all; we hadn't even progressed to kissing.

But Emma kept developing. On my 15th birthday in March, Emma - at
11 and nearly a half - got her first period. She was at our house
when it happened. Although her mom had prepared her for this
inevitable event, she still freaked out. And when Emma freaked
out, she sought me out for help and comfort. So I took her by the
hand, walked over to her house, found her mother and explained
that Emma needed a little help. That I was so calm about it
helped her, and half an hour later we were back at our house for
dinner. Dad - who was cooking - hadn't even noted we'd been gone,
so he was more than a little surprised when we walked in the door
just as he called out to say dinner was ready. "Where have you
been?" he asked.

"Over at Emma's for a moment," I replied. "I'll tell you later!"
I mouthed in response to his questioning eyes and Emma was spared
further embarrassment. Dad forgot about it and never asked.

Over the summer I got my Learners Permit, or Instruction Permit
as it is officially known, and during the beginning of 10th
grade, I got through the mandatory courses. Dad supervised me for
the driving hours required so on my 16th birthday I got my
Intermediate License - and the chance of driving alone outside
the night curfew. I also reached the age of consent and both
events gave rise to a Paternal Talk. Both seemed more than a
little academic to me; I had no car of my own - and no prospect
of getting one any time soon, and since I was not a tall popular
jock, chances of getting to use the other 'permit' seemed even
more remote, or so I thought.

That doesn't mean I wasn't interested. But for some reason my
fantasies - no matter how they started - always ended up centered
on Emma: Emma at 12½ was all girl. The promise of curves had
suddenly gone from promise to delivery and despite her small
physique, she sported quite a rack - by far one of the best in
6th grade. Boys closer to her in age discovered her and hit on
her; they got shot down in flames. We still spent nearly every
day together and I realized that my attraction wasn't so innocent
any more.

I was deeply ashamed by this.  Boobs not withstanding, Emma at
12½ was still a child and I felt like a pervert. My dick didn't
care; I was frequently aroused in her presence and when summer
came and I got to see just how well she filled out not only the
respectable swim suits but also the miniscule bikini she had
gotten, I was almost permanently hard. She noticed of course and
rather than being grossed out, she seemed to want us to go along
new paths. "If I'm your girlfriend, how come you never kiss me?"
she would say. And then looking very directly at my crotch - I
was now if possible even stiffer - she would add "I know you like
me!"

The campaign became even more overt. She would frequently
'accidentally' flash her boobs at me and on one occasion, on the
pretence of drying herself after a swim, she essentially
masturbated herself with the towel. I had been studiously not
looking at her, but the noises she made caught my attention and
when I looked at her and saw what she was doing, I completely
lost it. As in, I came in my swimming trunks. Oh, yeah and out of
my swimming trunks, shooting up my stomach. Mortified, I left to
clean up. Emma just giggled and kept up the banter.

I tried to explain to her that while she was free to do anything
she liked - including tormenting me, I was the one who would be
in the wrong. It didn't work all that well and during my junior
year our relationship slowly but surely deteriorated. I was
distressed, but in my heart I knew I was right. A boy of nearly
17 should stay away from a girl of just 13. Right? Age of consent
is 16 and that must be for a reason. Right? Sure. Sure! I felt
dreadful. It came to a head around my 17th birthday when Emma in
no uncertain terms let me know that she expected me to invite her
as my date to junior prom or else...

I was saved from making a decision by a bout of glandular fever -
I was ill in bed for over three weeks including my birthday and
the prom the following night (attendance was in fact decimated as
there was quite an epidemic). The only bright spot was that I got
my full unrestricted license a few days later. I had a spotless
driving record - chiefly because I had been driving so little.
But happy I wasn't. Emma was perfect: Perfectly beautiful,
perfectly wonderful, perfectly sweet. And perfectly out of
bounds.

I didn't see Emma much during the summer before my senior year.
Mr. Ward, her father, had suddenly expressed an interest in
seeing her and as Emma was now in a permanent state of conflict
with her mother, she (Emma) agreed to visit him and her brother
down south. I found out that the nature of the conflict with Mrs.
Ward was in some respect related to me. Emma wanted to date. She
was told there was only one person she would be allowed to date
this side her 16th birthday and that was me. That didn't exactly
help things. Nor the fact that Emma didn't have a good time with
her father and brother, to put it mildly. Much later I heard just
how bad; in fact they were drunk, abusive and she had feared for
her safety. She never went back. But at the time, she -
perversely - added this to the litany of my sins.

She returned just a day before school started. More beautiful
than ever and more unattainable. We barely spoke to one another
for the first many weeks. Hell bent on getting into trouble, she
took up hanging out with the rich football jocks. Led by Paul,
they privately called themselves 'The Pedo Boys' and their motto
was sickening - 'If she's old enough bleed, she's old enough to
breed.' They had left a trail of misery including pregnancies and
at least one suicide attempt and it was astonishing that they got
away with it. But their parents more or less owned the town and
there were always young girls swarming around them willing to try
their luck. That Emma should be one of them made me sick with
worry. I was petrified what might happen to her and so I tried to
spy on her. She discovered me of course, but as luck would have
it she overdid her disdain in actually deliberately making a date
with Paul for Friday - knowing I overheard it.

Inventing a completely fictitious date of my own, I pleaded with
Dad to have the car and he agreed. Knowing that Emma would
certainly not let Paul pick her up in view of her mother, I
staked them out from Paul's place hoping that he did not
recognize our plain ordinary car. He didn't; he drove off and I
followed him from a distance. He picked up Emma at the mall
parking lot and they headed more or less directly towards a
secluded area just outside town popular with teenagers for
exactly one purpose.

I really had no plan - what could I do? Phone the cops? Not
likely. It is not exactly illegal making out with someone young,
so unless they were caught in the act, that idea was hopeless. I
parked a little distance away and snuck up closer to the car,
doing everything I could not to be seen. I was helped by the
fading light. They had moved to the back of Paul's car and the
movements of the vehicle made me feel sick. I was crouching down
behind some low bushes nearby wondering what the hell I was up to
and debating with myself if I really wanted to be around
witnessing that the girl I had loved all my life was being fucked
by an asshole when I heard Emma scream "No Paul, NO! I don't want
to!"

Acting instinctively and on adrenalin alone, I leapt out of
cover, ran to the car and tore the back door open. Paul had Emma
pinned to the back seat. He had yanked her top up and her skirt
and panties down and was holding her down with one hand while
trying to get his jeans off with the other. The scene,
illuminated only by the lights in the car that came on when I
opened the door, still stands etched in my mind. Emma's bra was
open and her glorious boobs clear to see - as were her dark
auburn pubic hair. But what caught my attention and gave me
strength was the pure terror in her eyes.

Paul had swung his head around to discover who the intruder was
and he had the look of a wild animal in his eyes. It felt like
time was frozen, although I'm sure it was only a fraction of a
second before Emma - given the one chance the she needed -
slapped Paul’s face hard. It made him lose his grip on her and
slide down from the seat. I in turn grabbed Emma by the feet and
pulled her out of the car. I the slammed the door shut, got her
on her feet and got her panties and skirt pulled back up so she
could move. "Run!" I yelled and taking her roughly by the hand I
rushed us back to our car, almost threw her in the back seat and
drove off in a way that would have made my Dad furious and the
police tear up my license.

I had to concentrate on driving, so Emma got a chance to
rearrange her clothes in some privacy. When I finally looked up
and caught her eye in the rear view mirror, she had a face like a
mask. Recognizing the fragility of her defiance and sensing more
than knowing the risk that she could turn her anger against me, I
forced myself to say as neutrally as I could "What's your cover?
What did you tell your mom you were doing?"

"Going to the mall with friends," she replied in a strange voice.

"That's what you're doing then. When will she pick you up?"

"At eleven," she replied in the same toneless voice.

"Fine," I said. "That's what's happening then."

No more words were spoken until we came to the mall parking lot.
When I got out of the car too, Emma said in an unpleasant voice
"And what exactly are you doing?"

"Nothing," I replied once more forcing myself to sound neutral.
"I will stay around somewhere in the background until you have
been picked up by your mom."

"Do you think I need a nanny?" she asked sounding openly hostile.
I just looked at her, but said nothing.

True to my word, I stayed discreetly some distance from her. I
noted once or twice that Emma was checking to see where I was,
but I did not let her catch my eye. She ran into a group of
friends and joined up with them, blatantly flirting with some of
the boys, in, I am sure, an attempt to goad me. I ignored it. At
eleven most of the kids were being picked up which wasn't
surprising as everything in the mall had closed by then. So Emma
was standing with a group of age-appropriate friends when Mrs.
Ward turned up and everything looked normal.

I drove home too. "You're back early," my Dad said. "How was your
date"?

"Not good," I replied. "It had its moments - but some I would
actually rather forget."

He was kind enough not to inquire further.


I didn't see Emma on Saturday or Sunday. Only half a year ago
that would have been unheard of and I felt a dull ache, a sense
of loss. But it couldn't be helped. That I had saved her from
being raped was obvious, but she did not seem to appreciate my
effort, and besides I could not watch over her always. I
nevertheless made a point of being in evidence during all the
breaks on Monday. I was not the only high school boy in the
middle school area as that was also 'hunting ground' for the Pedo
Boys. At least Emma stayed away from them and when I saw Paul and
two of his cronies approach the bike yard after school, I neatly
cut in between them and Emma and asked loudly if we should ride
home together. Emma, torn between genuine fear of Paul and her
desire to be stand-offish with me, made some neutral reply. As
soon as we were away from the school I sped up and rode off alone
- I did not wish to impose myself on Emma, only to protect her.

During school Tuesday the pattern repeated, but in the afternoon
I hoped the danger was over. I had an errand in town for Dad; I
had to pick up a parcel for him. Paul's two henchmen were hanging
out near the bike yard when I left, but there was no sign of
Paul. Riding my bike towards town I suddenly realized I'd
forgotten band practice. I play drums and percussion in the
school orchestra and with a concert coming up, more practice had
been scheduled. Annoyed, I turned around and headed back to the
school.

The two heavies were gone from the entry to the bike yard, but
not far as it turned out. Riding in at top speed I heard a slap
followed by a piercing scream and Paul's menacing voice "Your
weedy boyfriend can't help you this time!" he taunted. "I'll
teach you a lesson you won't forget anytime soon. No bitch EVER
hits me."
Jumping off my bike I ran inside the yard. Paul was holding Emma
by the top of her dress with one hand and hitting her face with
the other. The two heavies were standing behind him urging him
on. In three strides I was upon them. I knew my chances were poor
- three footballers against one scrawny boy. But this was Emma!
And at least they had their backs turned, so I had an element of
surprise in my favor. Without thinking, I grabbed Paul's henchmen
from behind and smashed their heads together with as much force
as I could muster. It gave a sickening thud and they both fell to
the ground. One of them was out cold; the other tried to get back
up on his hands and knees but started vomiting over his friend
and rolled back on the ground with a groan. Paul head spun
around, hand still lifted for another strike. "You get your
filthy hands away from her NOW!" I yelled. Like Friday night,
Emma was quick on the uptake. This was all the distraction she
needed - she tore herself loose from Paul's grip, took one step
backwards and them hammered her shoe into his groin. Paul doubled
over, sank to his knees and started screaming.

Emma, with a soft cry, flew into my arms. "George! You came back
for me," she sobbed. "You came back to help me. Again."

"Are you OK?" I asked, but I could see she was not. An angry red
mark on her left cheek was oozing blood and her eye was rapidly
closing with the swelling. "I got to get you to a doctor," I
said, "or maybe the school nurse is still there."

I realized that Paul's rough treatment of Emma had ripped her
dress, exposing her bra. I took my jacket off and wrapped it
around her. "Come on," I said, "before those three recover," and
I walked her towards the school.

To my immense relief we walked straight into the middle school
vice principal, Ms. Vickers who had been alerted by Emma's
scream. "What's happened here," she barked. "Why is her face
covered in blood?"

'Covered' was perhaps an exaggeration, but I didn't argue. "Emma
was assaulted in the bike-yard," I said. "I want to take her over
to the school nurse is she's still there."

"Assaulted? Who assaulted her?" Ms. Vickers demanded.

"Paul Thompson and two of his thug friends."

There was a murderous glint in Ms. Vickers eyes. "And where are
they now?" she asked.

"I guess they are still in the bike yard," I said, "but please,
Ms. Vickers, I really need to get Emma to the nurse."

"By all means, go ahead boy. Tell Nurse Sanders I sent you. I
will investigate this further!" and she strode off. If you have
ever seen the film 'Matilda' you would know what Ms. Vickers
looks like - she is the spitting image of the Principal Ms.
Trunchbull - large, butch and intimidating. Most kids go in awe
of Ms. Vickers, but right at that moment I found her positively
charming and delightful. Paul and his cronies would be in so much
trouble.

Nurse Sanders is almost as much no-nonsense as Ms. Vickers. She
unceremoniously shooed out however was in her office when I
brought Emma in and within moments, Emma had a cold-pack on her
eye while the nurse was getting some disinfectant to clean up
Emma's wound. I briefly explained what had happened and made my
way to the door, but Emma cried out "Don't go!"

Nurse Sanders eyed me. "You stay here, boy. You cannot kiss this
better, but I'm sure your girlfriend needs you right now." She
then turned to Emma. "This will sting, I'm afraid. Hold your
boyfriend's hand while I wash it."

So I held Emma's hand while her poor battered face was attended
to. It did indeed sting. She sucked in breath and clung to my
hand. Neither of us said anything to correct Nurse Sander's
misconception of our relationship. If it indeed was a
misconception. Emma's one good eye was locked in mine.

"It is not so bad, my dear," the nurse said to Emma. "It is just
a graze and doesn't need stitches. I'll spray something on to
staunch the bleeding and you'll be fine. Keep the cold-pack on
and return it to me later."

She completed the job and was about to send us off when an
outside noise reached us. We heard the distinct wail of an
approaching ambulance. It got louder and louder, and then
stopped, but we could now see the flashing lights in the school
yard. "Humph" said Nurse Sanders "Who called an ambulance? Emma
doesn't need one."

The answer presented itself in the shape of Ms. Vickers. "Have
you finished with the girl Jane?" she demanded.

"Nearly Marge, nearly. What's up?" asked Nurse Sanders.

"It seems Emma's assailants are in more need of medical attention
than she is," she said, sending me a strange look of reluctant
admiration. I looked down.

"One of them is unconscious, so I called an ambulance. And the
other two are in a pretty bad shape too, so perhaps you would
come over to the bike yard?" she continued. The nurse grabbed a
bag and made her way across the yard in some haste.

The school janitor came running up from his basement hideout,
obviously alerted by the siren. Ms. Vickers was eyeing Emma's
torn dress and called him over. "Jim! Go and get a School Jumper
- size medium, if I am not mistaken - for Miss Ward, then take
her and her young man home. You can use my car."

"Right you are Ms. Vickers," said the janitor taking the
proffered keys and almost snapping to attention, "Right you are."

"Their school bags are with their bikes in the bike yard," said
Ms. Vickers. "Retrieve them first, but do not let the girl go
there."

"Certainly," said the janitor and ran off.

Ms. Vickers took me aside "Those three bastards are a mess. Well
done boy." She actually smiled! "You get your girl home, and I'll
deal with the rest." My respect and admiration for the vice
principal was certainly going up. I feared there would be hell to
pay, but she made me feel less apprehensive. No doubt Paul and
his friends, or rather their parents, would try to make a stink,
but at least I had the school on my side. Ms. Vickers then left,
following the nurse and the janitor towards the bike yard.

A little later Jim the janitor came back with a jumper for Emma
and our bags. "I'll put your bikes in the basement later," he
said. "Come along and I'll drive you home in style. Ms. Vickers'
got a nice set of wheels."

We shuffled after him to the staff car park. He pressed a button
on Ms. Vickers' key and the lights on a sleek European car
flashed at us. "You get in the back and take care of her," Jim
said and Emma and I sank into the softest leather seats I've ever
experienced.

"Where does the little lady live?" Jim asked.

I gave him the address.

"How about you, is it far from there?"

"No Mr. Johnson, we're neighbors," I said

"That's neat. Very practical," Jim said. "How long have you two
been together?"

Emma blushed and was about to say something.

"Eight years" I said quietly. "Just about eight years."

"Eight?" asked the janitor with genuine surprise in his voice.

"That's right Mr. Johnson," I replied. "Eight years."

Emma's good eye welled with tears. She didn't say anything after
all.

Since it was Tuesday, Emma's mother had the afternoon off. She'd
been shopping and was just parking her car when Jim pulled up.
She looked confused when she saw us in the back of the luxury car
and then in some alarm when Emma got out on the far side with a
cool pack on her eye and looking generally disheveled and dressed
in a jumper her mother didn't know.

Before she could ask anything and before I could start my poorly
rehearsed explanations, Jim stepped in. "Mrs. Ward? I am James
Johnson, janitor at Evesham School. Your daughter was assaulted
by three older students this afternoon." Emma's mother gasped.
"Most fortunately, Emma's friend stepped in and saved her from
serious harm. The Nurse assures me that the injuries are very
minor. Her eye itself is undamaged, but it is bruised and
swelling and she will get an old-fashioned black eye, even though
she got a cool pack on it very quickly - again thanks to this
fine young man's quick action."

I had no idea Jim could be that eloquent. At that moment I
forgave him all the times he had busted us for minor misdemeanors
and all the illicit balls and toys he had confiscated over the
years. "Emma needs to rest now," Jim continued, "and I must take
Ms. Vickers' car back. She will get in touch later. Good day to
you ma'am," he said, then turned to Emma. "I hope you feel better
soon Emma!" And finally he nodded at me: "Well done boy, well
done indeed!" and he drove off.

"I'll help you with your shopping," I said to Emma's mom and
grabbed her bags.

"Thanks George," she said and put an arm around Emma, leading her
up to the house. "Thanks. Thanks for everything."

"That's alright," I said a little lamely. "I'd better get home
and get on with my homework," I continued when I had set down
Mrs. Ward's shopping bags in their hall and turned to go.

"George!" said Emma with a constricted voice. I turned back and
she put her free arm around me and stood very still and very
close to me. It was so intense. My cock stirred. I knew I had to
break away soon, or Emma's mom would be scandalized. Emma turned
her battered but still beautiful face up to mine. I kissed her
ever so gently on the lips.

"You take care," I said in my best Tom Hanks impersonation and
walked off.


Homework went nowhere. I was sitting in a daze thinking of Emma.
Why did she have to be so young? Why would I have to wait over 2
years (TWO YEARS!) before we could... What was I thinking of? Do
what? What indication did I have that she felt anything for me
any more? I'd only ever had a kiss. One kiss. And that was just
an hour ago. But it had been wonderful. And she had looked at me
in the nicest way. And she hadn't protested when Ms. Vickers and
the nurse thought we were an item, or when I told Jim we'd been
together for 8 years. My head was spinning and the text in my
chemistry book made no sense.


Later I heard Dad come home. "George!" he called in his 'obey
now' voice. "Come down a minute."

I found him in the kitchen where he was busy putting away
shopping. "I met your band leader at the shops," he said without
turning round. "He was not very impressed with you."

Uh huh - band practice. I had completely forgotten. "Um,
something came up..." I faltered.

"Something came up, did it?" Dad said. "Something so important
that you couldn't even give Mr. Peters notice that you would be
away?"

"Well, it was really important and I..." I started, but he waved
me off and launched into a long tirade about the importance of
being trustworthy and sticking to promises and so on and so
forth. I've heard that one before. More than once. A lot of times
actually. Don't get me wrong; Dad is OK and I agree in principle
with everything he said, but we don't always see eye to eye on
the relative importance of things.

Apparently he was really worked up. It was shameful that I
couldn't be trusted. It was embarrassing that he should be
confronted that way in public. I was ungrateful when I was
allowed costly extracurricular activities and didn't attend.
Yeah, right, Dad's boss or some obnoxious customer must have been
extra annoying today and I was at the receiving end of his ire. I
unsuccessfully tried a few "Right, but," and "Yeah, but you see,"
and so on to no avail - and wondered how to get a word in at all
when the door bell rang.

'Saved by the bell' I thought to myself, but the respite was shot
lived. Outside were two police officers.

And not just any police officers. Ours is not a very big town so
everyone knows the police chief. My heart sank. The other cop - a
young and rather pretty female officer - was also well known. Her
hiring had caused a bit of a stir. We're conservative folks
around here and female police were not considered the done thing.
At least not out on the beat. But the Chief had insisted on
having her and another female cop - 'They are handy if anything
has happened to a young lady,' he had said. By and large people
now agreed. A couple of nasty rape cases had made them see he was
right.

"Mr. Waters?" the Chief inquired. Dad nodded. "And this would be
George Waters?" he said looking at me. Dad confirmed again. "May
we come in?" Dad opened the door fully, looking confused and
apprehensive in my direction. I avoided his eyes.

Inside the house, the Chief took off his hat and wasted no time.
"I've come directly from the hospital where three young men were
admitted this afternoon with serious injuries. They - or should I
say their parents' highly paid lawyers" - the last said under his
breath and with clear disdain in his voice - "want us to press
charges against George for assault causing serious bodily harm,
amounting to two cracked skulls and one young man whose chances
of becoming a father have been halved."

The policewoman suppressed a giggle. Gosh - had Paul lost one of
his balls?! Emma's Mary Jane must have hit perfectly. No wondered
he doubled over in pain. Dad looked thunderstruck. "George??!" he
exclaimed.

"Can you tell us anything about that George?" the Chief asked.

"George?" Dad spluttered again. "Sending three guys in
hospital??"

"I can sir," I started. "They attacked my, um, that's to say,
this girl and I..." I faltered

"And then you banged together the heads of two footballers twice
your size," the Chief concluded for me. "How come you're so
strong? You don't look it, and you're not overly tall, if you
don't mind me saying so."

"Um, I play drums and percussion in the school band," I said.

"Is that so? Playing the kettle drums must be a better work-out
than I knew!" There was a twinkle in the Chief's eye. "Anyway,
good for you! And good for the young lady. As far as I can make
out, your action distracted the main assailant enough for her to
break free and kick him in the balls."

"Ouch!" the policewoman mouthed silently at us with a grin.

"Emma only defended herself. If anyone's to blame for those
injuries, it's me!" I bristled, straightening myself to my full,
if modest 5'10". Dad looked at me approvingly.

The Chief held up a hand to stop me. "I might have deceived you
slightly, but I wanted so see what you're made of - and I like
what I see. The attacker's skulls were not exactly cracked,
although both have severe contusions and one of them was
unconscious for almost half an hour. And the bastard who beat up
a girl a third of his size, sadly, still has both his balls. They
are very sore but still there." The twinkle in his eye came back.
"Although actually I did overhear vice principal Vickers loudly
urging the doctors to remove them both as a precautionary measure
and 'a service to mankind', so who knows - she is a very
convincing woman, that one." The Chief chuckled and the
policewoman now giggled openly.

"Lorraine here has been next door," said the Chief, suddenly
serious again. "She said little Miss Ward looked awful, but she's
OK, isn't she?"

"She'll be alright," said the policewoman. "But when she saw the
police car, she was mostly concerned that George would be in
trouble for helping her."

"Not on my watch he won't!" said the Chief. "I will not have
anyone charged for coming to the aid of young woman being
assaulted. If they don't shut up and withdraw their complaints
I'll have all three charged with assault. It was mighty brave of
you son," he continued. "Those guys being so much bigger than
you, and still you came to help her. What's the nature of your
relationship? Is the little lady your girlfriend?"

"Um, sort of," I said looking down.

"Sort of?" asked Lorraine softly, almost drowned out by my dad's
astonished "Girlfriend?! Emma?!" and the Chief's brusque "Isn't
she a bit young for you?"

"That's why I said 'sort of'," I started. "I know she is much
younger than me and it is not like we're dating or making out."
Suddenly I blurted it all out: "I can wait, I can! But I love her
to bits!" There it was. Out in the open.

"Well, from what Lorraine tells me, it's mutual - and a girl
could do much worse than you. Much worse!" The Chief turned to my
dad. "You have a son to be proud of Mr. Waters, proud indeed.
I'll make sure nothing more comes of this." He put his hat back
on and turned to leave.

On the way out, Lorraine turned to me "I'm sure Emma would like a
visit. But let your dad tell her and her mom what the Chief just
said. Oh, and one more thing," she continued with a
conspiratorial wink, "The age of consent in this state may be 16,
but there is a 'close in age exemption' for those aged 14 and 15.
As long as the partner is less than 4 years older..." she left
that hanging in the air and then she was gone too.

Dad was very quiet after the door had closed. Not that I really
noticed. In less than two weeks Emma would be 14, and I wouldn't
turn 18 for another 6 months. My cock stirred again.

"Tell me about it," dad said in a voice I hadn't heard before.
"Tell me all about it." So I did. How Emma and I had always been
close. How I had been a better big brother to her than Jake. How
she had started to grow and develop. How I had been frightened
and ashamed by my feelings for her and had held back despite her
provocations.

"I must have been so blind," Dad said. "We have known Emma for a
long time and I know she was always the little sister Mom and I
couldn't give you. That she should grow into loving you - and be
loved back - is hardly surprising, I just didn't see it. It must
have been terrible for you wanting precisely the same thing she
wanted, and not being able to, not being allowed to."

I nodded and picked up on the story on how she'd decided to go
out with one of the self-styled Pedo Boys to make me jealous. I
confessed that the 'date' on Friday was a ploy for me to watch
over her. Dad chuckled, but when I told him how I had gotten her
away when Paul tried to rape her, his face changed.

"He tried to rape her?" he asked in a shocked voice.

"Uh huh," I nodded. "I heard her scream 'no' and rushed to drag
her half naked out of his car to stop it."

"But the police should be told!" Dad said.

"I agree," I said, "but Emma doesn't. Her mom doesn't know she
was out with Paul. She thinks Emma was at the mall with her
friends. And she was - after I got her back," I added - trying to
lighten the mood a little.

Dad would not be diverted. "George, wake up! We're talking
attempted rape. It's a serious crime. Date-rape is notoriously
difficult to prove, but there is a witness - you!"

"Yes, I know. But it's Emma's call," I said. "If I force her,
I'll loose her completely," I added miserably.

"I don't think there is any risk of that," Dad said with a small
smile. "Anyway, go on with the story."

"There isn't much more," I said and proceeded to tell him how I
had watched over Emma all day yesterday and today, even though
she didn't want me to. "I was actually on the way to town to pick
up that parcel for you when I remembered about the extra band
practice and turned back. Paul's friends were just outside the
bike yard on the path when I left - they must have been looking
out for me," I finished up.

"I'd forgotten about the parcel!" said Dad.

"That figures or you would have, um, brought it up before," I
said

"You mean in my 'catalogue of your sins'?" Dad chuckled. "You bet
I would have."

Dad was deep in thought for a moment. "I think we should go next
door, don't you?" he finally said.

I nodded - suddenly feeling shy. I tried to speak, but I
couldn't.

Dad could read my face. "I'll do the talking," Dad said. "And
Sharon is no fool."

No, Emma's mom is no fool. Besides, I was not the only one to
have had a long overdue conversation with a parent. When Dad had
given a glowing report of what the police chief had said - so
glowing I blushed - he ended up by saying "The Chief was right in
praising George. And he only knew the half of it."

"Yes," Mrs. Ward said flatly, "Emma tells me Friday night was not
quite the innocent trip to the mall with friends."

Although there was a long uncomfortable silence, I was glad Emma
had told her mother.

"I don't think the pig should get away with it," Dad eventually
said.

"Me neither," I added looking straight into Emma's one good eye.
"Remember Lisa?" Lisa was the girl who had tried to kill herself
after being date-raped and dumped by a Pedo Boy.

Emma didn't look away. "No, it has to stop," she said.  "But I
can't do it alone."

"Sweetheart," Dad said gently. "You won't have to. We're all
going to the police."

We did and the attempted rape was duly reported. That opened the
flood gates and several girls came forward. To our disgust,
Paul's family connections saved him - a cozy plea-bargain ensured
him a light suspended sentence, but he and the 3 others in the
gang were thrown out of school - and the coach of the football
team who had defended them, deriding and blaming the girls in
strong terms, was told his services would no longer be required.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. When we came home from the
police station many hours later there was a bit of a combined
family council. "I am still disappointed with you Emma," her mom
said, "for lying about the date on Friday. I think you have been
punished enough already, but the restriction on who you can date
before you're 16 still stands."

"It's funny how I don't see that as a restriction at all," Emma
said firming her grip on me - her hand had not left mine since we
set out for the police station. "I will never want to go out with
anyone but George anyway."

"That is the other thing we need to talk about," her mom said.
"While you two were making your statements, George's dad told me
what the police woman had said about the age of consent
exemption. In less than two weeks it will be perfectly legal for
the two of you to have sex." Emma looked both embarrassed and
stunned. I must have too. I had not seen this conversation
coming, and if Mrs. Ward's opening line to Emma was perplexing,
what followed really blew us away. "Tomorrow you and I are going
to see the doctor about having you go on the pill. If you can't
wait until they are effective then you must take other
precautions until they are. I've no doubt you two will end up
having children, but it should not be while you're still at
school."

"I agree with you Sharon," Dad said. "And I'll make sure George
has condoms and knows how to use them."

OK, 'weird' just went into overdrive. I felt like saying 'Who are
you two aliens and what have you done to our real parents' - but
I only nodded, feeling very warm in the face. Emma - still
pleasantly bronzed after the summer - had also assumed a facial
color closer to her auburn hair. I felt I had to say something
and improvised. "I promise we will be careful. I will never hurt
Emma. I want her to be deliriously happy the day she discovers
she is pregnant."

There was a short slightly embarrassed pause. "Right," Dad said.
"Emma needs her bed - alone! - and you and I actually never had
any dinner, so I'll go over and whip something up. I expect you
to be back in fifteen minutes sharp!"

"I'll see you out," Emma's mom said. I'm sure they had one or two
things to talk about just like Emma and me. Only we found it very
hard to get started.

She eventually said something, but it was barely over a whisper.
She repeated a little louder. "I said I feel such a fool!"

"Don't! Why should you?" I asked, although I am sure I knew what
she meant.

"It was so stupid off me to provoke you and get involved with
those swine. I was just so impatient," she said.

"Well, I'm a prized dork too, aren't I?" I shot back. "I thought
age of consent was age of consent and that we absolutely had to
wait two more years. I want you in the worst way. I have for a
long time - you know it! And I knew if I started anything -
anything, even just kissing, I wouldn't have been able to stop.
At least not for that long."

"You really want me?" she asked.

"And how!" I replied. "I have for ages, only I have tried to hide
it and deny it - thinking I was some kind of pervert."

"Well, you hid it well!" she said sadly - and that was perhaps a
compliment I would rather not have deserved. "I was convinced you
would only see me as a child," she added.

"Emma," I said. "Remember last summer? It was no child that made
me come in my swim trunks!"

She blushed and changed the subject. "It is kind of weird -
having more or less been given the 'go ahead' by our parents,"
she said with a funny little smile that was an adorable mixture
of Emma the child and Emma the young woman.

"Sweetheart, it's not like they'll know when we do it, will
they?" I said. "We decide when we are ready. You go on the pill.
As far as I know you have to go through two cycles before they
are completely safe. There‘s a heck of a lot of things we can do
before actually having real sex. I want to try them all!"

"Beginning when?" she said - her smile now all young woman -
blackish eye not withstanding.

"I was thinking Friday. Do you want to go out to the movies with
me?" I asked.

"I'd love to!" she said.

"It's a date then," I said just as Mrs. Ward came in to remind us
I had to leave.

And so I had my first French kiss in full view of my girlfriend's
mother. Oh well, there were going to be other 'firsts' that she
would most definitely not be witnessing!


I opened our front door exactly 15 minutes after Dad had left.
"Oh, you're back. Great - you can set the table," he yelled from
the kitchen. "I found something in the freezer we could
microwave. It'll be ready in a few minutes."

We sat down to eat and almost spoke at the same time. "Well?" Dad
said inquiringly just as I opened my mouth to speak.

"Very well," I said. "Very well indeed. Emma and I have a movie
date on Friday. Could I possibly borrow the car?"

"Happily," Dad said. "No problem. And - uh?" the question hung in
the air.

"Oh, don't worry," I said - understanding what he meant. "I will
be prepared for any eventuality. But listen, we're not going to
rush into anything."

Dad looked at me. There was both admiration and respect in the
look. I felt really good. "That's wise, George," he said. "There
are a lot of bases to cover. You may have the law on your side in
two weeks, but she is still so very young."

"I know. You don't think I'm wrong?" I asked.

"I'm not exactly the right person to pass judgment in that area,"
Dad said evasively.

I understood nothing. "How so?" I asked.

"Your Mom. She was also 3½ years younger than me," Dad said
heavily. "And thus barely 14 when I fell in love with her."

"14?" I asked. This was news to me. For some reason we had never
talked much about Mom. I realized I knew next to nothing about
her or her family. I had no idea how Dad had met a 14 year old
Danish girl. Iowa isn't exactly swarming with them.

"I'll tell you," Dad said. "It's about time."

We cleared away our impromptu dinner and decided to settle in the
den. Dad went to get a beer in the fridge. After a moment's
hesitation he got two and handed me one. "Nothing is quite the
usual tonight. I think you may need a beer."

And so he started telling. He had fallen into a bad crowd in
junior year. Not as bad as the Pedo Boys, but something that hat
required draconian parental intervention. He had narrowly escaped
juvenile court and my grandparents had decided to send him away
to break the influence. With short warning he had been put on a
high school exchange program 'to anywhere'. That had turned out
to be Denmark. And so in August Dad found himself in a smallish
provincial town of a far away country in a strange family. They
were nice enough, but Dad had no idea why they had signed up to
have a young American for a year, as they were not particular
international in their outlook - and neither the parents, nor the
boy Dad's age spoke much English.

But their much younger daughter did. She was nice and open and
fun - and she had a best friend, the girl next door. That was
Mom. Dad confessed he had fallen for her at once. "It was
genuinely love at first sight," he said. "She was mature beyond
her years - and very well developed for just 14. I knew she was
out of bounds. Age of consent in Denmark is 15 and I would be
home again by the time she had her next birthday. Besides the
exchange agency had a strict no sex, no alcohol, no drugs policy
- or you would be on the first plane home."

"That's tough," I said with sympathy.

"Yes and your mother couldn't care less about laws and rules. She
was very forward…" Dad said, letting it hang in the air what that
meant. I had a very good idea, though, given Emma's antics last
summer.

Dad continued. "She was genuinely heart broken when I left. She
said she would write, and true to her word there was a letter
from her in her childish rounded hand waiting for me when I got
back - all the exchange students had a week together in London
before flying home, so the letter came before I did and my mother
was intrigued."

"What did you tell her?" I asked.

"Everything," Dad said. "Well, nearly. I didn't tell her what
your mother had done to me the night before I left Denmark.
Suffice to say I needed dry underpants - and jeans - after that!"

"That's awkward," I commented almost without thinking. "At least
swim trunks are easier to rinse out."

Dad let out a laugh, and much to my amazement it didn't feel like
my face got warm. No indeed - this evening nothing was quite the
usual.

Dad took up the story. "Anyway, I re-entered high school. We kept
writing to each other. Your mother's spoken English had been
quite good - but her written was atrocious. That didn't stop her
and she improved rapidly. On her 15th birthday she wrote me a
detailed account of what she would have wanted us to do, had I
been there. Oh my…" Dad trailed off and had another swig of beer.
"Let me just say, had I had any intention of dropping her for a
local high school girl - and I didn't - well, then that letter
would have shown me the error of my ways!  I had only one
thought: Getting back to her."

"How did you manage?" I asked

"Well, I finished school and entered college, so for five endless
years we couldn't do anything except write. I tell you - those
letters could never be published!" Dad chuckled. "Not even
today."

My raised eyebrows must have looked like a question and Dad
answered it. "Yes, I have them all - both hers and mine. And no,
you can not see them - but I might spring them on my grand
children one day," he added in a teasing tone.

We laughed long and hard. I always liked my Dad, but I had never
felt so close to him before as I did now.

"Anyway, I graduated on time and my parents' graduation gift was
a trip to Europe," Dad said. "They drove me to the airport
straight from the ceremony. 24 hours after graduating I was
ringing the door bell at your mother's house"

"What did she say?" I asked.

"Only my name - very loudly. After that our mouths were not
available for talking for quite some time," Dad reminisced. "She
was home alone, getting ready for a private graduation party -
she had just finished senior high. She dragged me to her room and
we made love for the first time. Then she phoned whoever it was
hosting the party and said she would be bringing her American
boyfriend. That was cool with everyone and we had a blast,
although I must confess I was tired in the end."

"I can imagine," I said. "What happened next?"

"Well," Dad said, "we were back home around 4 AM. We made love
again and I gave her a ring I had bought and proposed. So when
her mom knocked on her door at 9 and asked if she wanted
breakfast she said 'Sure. My fiancé and I are starving'.'"

"How did her mother react to that?" I asked.

"She was remarkably cool," Dad said. "She said something along
the lines of 'Oh, I thought there was a strange jacket and shoes
in the hall' or words to that effect. And she was not at all
surprised that it was me. I think your mother had shared more of
my letters with her mom than I knew - probably just as well I
didn't know! But she was mainly admiring the ring. So there we
were, your mother and I, naked in bed, with my future mother in
law sitting on the edge of it - and all I had to cover my
nakedness was a thin sheet. Talk about embarrassing!"

"Did you get, you know, hard?" I asked.

"Did I ever - your mother sat up to show her mother the ring and
she was topless of course…" Dad trailed off with a chuckle.

"Did grandma, you know, notice?" I asked, trying to imagine the
situation.

"Not only did she notice; she commented!" Dad said. "I still had
enough Danish to know exactly what she meant - 'I see more than
one sign that he is committed to you' she said with a juicy
laugh."

"Was Mom embarrassed?" I asked in awe.

"Your Mom?" Dad intoned. "I can see you know far too little about
your Danish heritage! Your Mother grabbed my hard-on through the
sheet with her left hand - the one with ring on, you know - and
said 'Yes, I have all the proof I need' or something like that.
And then they both giggled."

I laughed out loud. "Grandma sounds cool - a pity I never knew
her."

Dad had been laughing too, but my comment made his face cloud
over. "Yes, she was lovely - and her husband too. Anyway, she got
up to walk out and called over her shoulder - in perfect English
- 'I'll leave you to take care of that. Breakfast when you're
ready!' - and closed the door with a chuckle."

"And?" I asked.

"And so we did, take care of things I mean. Morning sex is
wonderful. It is absolutely the only down-side of having
children. Once you have them you get less morning sex because of
the risk of them barging in,," Dad said. I wondered how many
teenagers had ever had such a conversation with a parent -
completely free of any embarrassment. Very few, I was sure. But
it was fantastic and I made a mental note to self that I should
work on being able to be as open with my own kids in the future.

He continued the story. "We finally got up, had showers and
joined the family in the kitchen/dining room. They had long
finished eating and where just having coffee and reading the
newspapers. It was Saturday so no one had to go to work and your
mother's brother was home from college. He and your mother's dad
were every bit as welcoming and cool about me being there. It
felt fantastic!"

"I didn't know Mom had a brother!" I exclaimed. "How come I don't
know him?"

Dad's face clouded over again. "He died. He was gay and very
openly and flamboyantly so. He contracted HIV and died from AIDS.
It was before there was any effective treatment. It was terrible
- he was such a gifted artist and an all around great guy."

"It must have killed grandma and grandpa losing him," I said -
trying to fathom the horror of having to bury your own child.

"It would have," Dad agreed, "except they were both dead before
it happened - so at least they didn't have to go through losing
both their children young."

We were both silent. "I realize I don't know what happened to my
grandparents either," I said after a while.

Dad drained his beer and looked at it. "Better have another one
of these. I'll be tired in the morning, but the next part of the
story is not so nice."

I fetched him another Bud from the fridge. I was only half way
through my own and truth be told not all too fond of the taste,
but the situation was unique and I feared I would never get
another chance to hear this much about my family again, so I
brought two.

Dad opened his, took a swig and continued the story. "I stayed in
Denmark for about two months. We debated where to settle; I had
my degree but very little Danish - and the Danish immigration
rules were pretty tough, although they have gotten even stricter
since. Your mother had a gift for languages and very high grades
on her high school certificate and in Denmark tertiary education
is free. Her parents argued that she should do a degree in
Denmark, but we had been apart for five years once and were
adamant we wouldn't do that again. My parents offered to help us
get your mother through college over here. We talked to the US
embassy and the message was clear - fiancées were much harder to
handle than wives, so the result was we went to the registrar's
office at the local town hall and were married."

"You weren't married in a church?" I asked - very surprised.

"No," Dad said. "Not in Denmark. Your mother's family wasn't
religious at all. My parents were, so we agreed to have a big
church wedding over here. We did - and your mother's parents and
brother flew over for the big event. Your uncle had to fly back
quickly and we never saw him again, but the two sets of parents
got on like a house on fire and while your mother and I went on
our honeymoon, your four grand parents set out on a road trip
together in a huge mobile home and had a ball. It was when they
drove back into town disaster struck." Dad stopped talking. His
eyes were moist.

"What happened?" I whispered.

"A drunk driver - a young man my age - attempted an insane
overtaking of a slow moving truck. He came straight onto the path
of Dad who pulled hard on the wheel to avoid him and ended up
slamming into the truck," Dad said tonelessly.

"And they were all killed?" I asked.

"My Mom was still alive when the ambulances and fire brigade
came," Dad said, "but she died before they managed to her cut
free." He shuddered. "The poor innocent truck driver was partly
burnt alive. He made it to hospital and died after 3 days of
unspeakable agony."

"And the drunk driver?" I asked.

"He totaled his car in a ditch while trying to flee the scene and
broke his collar bone." Dad said. "Afterward his father's lawyers
claimed that he was in shock and that the blood/alcohol reading
was obtained illegally. He even got a friend to testify that his
drinks had been spiked and that he had no idea they contained
alcohol. It was sickening."

"Who was he?" I asked.

"Paul Henry Thompson the second," Dad said looking me straight in
the eye.

"As in the father of Paul Henry Thompson the third who tried to
rape Emma?" I asked feeling sick at heart.

"The same - and son of my then employer," Dad said heavily. "The
Thompsons own this town."

"And nothing happened to him?" I asked.

"No, nothing. A suspended sentence and a fine. And I was
threatened not to file for compensation, or I would lose my job
and be unemployable," Dad said.

We were quiet for a while. "You said you never saw Mom's brother
again. Why wasn't he there for the funeral?" I asked.

"He got ill in the plane home - first signs of full blown AIDS,"
Dad said. "He was too ill to travel. Afterwards he had some
periods were he was reasonably well, but he couldn't get a visa -
the US barred HIV positive visitors. And by the time he died,
your Mom was too pregnant with you to travel so we didn't even
attend his funeral."

Dad looked pained. It seemed he had really liked his gay brother
in law. I opened my second beer after all. There was more to
come.

"We moved in to my parent's house - this house - and your Mom did
her degree. She was pregnant with you when she graduated - and
your uncle died. You are named after him," Dad said.

"We were doing OK," he continued. "Your Mom got an OK job when
you were big enough to go to day-care. There were no other kids
in this neighborhood at the time, so we wanted you to have some
siblings reasonably quickly, but nothing happened. It had been
easy enough to make you, so we worried and Mom went through a
range of checkups to find out why. That's when they discovered
she had ovarian cancer. It ought to have been lucky it was
discovered that way - it is a sneaky disease with very few
symptoms until it is too late, and while the surgery meant she
could have no more children, we thought it had saved her life.
Everyone did. When you have been in remission for 5 years, you
are technically 'cured'. Except it suddenly came back everywhere.
You may remember how quickly she died…"

"Yes," I said. "I do."

"I thought you might. I always thought it was wrong to send you
to camp while Mom had the experimental chemo, but we were advised
that the side effects were so terrible we wouldn't be able to
look after you - and that it might frighten you even more…" Dad
trailed off again, staring into space.

"Thanks for telling me all of this Dad," I said with a thick
voice - and kissed him gently.

He pulled himself back from wherever his mind had wandered.
"That's OK my boy. Anyway, now you know why I can't hold it
against you finding the one and only in the shape of a barely 14
year old girl. And while I obviously agree with Sharon that Emma
shouldn't have babies in high school, I shan't complain if we
have to rush her to the delivery room straight from her
graduation. OK? Any time after that is fine with me. I want to
know my grand children."


Next day in school was mayhem. It started already on the school
bus with stares and whispers. It is strange how supposedly
private information spreads like wildfire. Obviously Emma, Paul
and his gang and I were not the only students still at the school
when Emma was assaulted, but a remarkable number of students knew
about the attempted rape charge too. There was a partisan split
between the kids form the old wealthy families and assorted
footballers on one side and just about everyone else on the
other.

I stuck close to Emma during the breaks and today she didn't
mind. Some aspiring jock - and younger brother of one of Paul's
henchmen - threatened us. Luckily the dork did it while Ms.
Vickers heard it and he got a 4 week suspension on the spot. "Go,
go - piss off. NOW! And if I see you on school property for the
next 4 weeks I'll have you arrested and charged with
trespassing!" The shock of hearing a vice principal swear, even
mildly, was profound. The message got through.

After lunch there was a rare combined assembly for middle school
and high school. Ms. Vickers spoke first, then the Principal. The
message was clear - the school knew what had been going on and it
would not be tolerated. We were told that Paul and his henchmen
had been thrown out of school on the assault charge alone and
anyone who knew anything were urged to tell either their vice
principal or one of the school counselors.  Lisa wasn't mentioned
by name of course, but it was made clear that school knew about
her being raped and trying to kill herself afterwards. She
courageously reported it and her assailant was also thrown out
and charged. As I said earlier, they never got more than a rap
over the knuckles in court, but at least the curse of the Pedo
Boys ended.


Our first official date was fun. I presented myself at the Ward
door step at seven like it was the first time I had ever been
there. Mrs. Ward played along with the game and went to see if
Emma was ready. True to the established rules, she was slightly
late so I could converse with her mother while I waited. Emma was
well worth the wait, I tell you. She had a gorgeous dress on that
accentuated her curvy body, every hair was in place and she had
applied restrained but very becoming makeup which helped hide her
still darkened eye - and made her look 17, by the way. I felt the
space in my jeans getting restricted and prayed Mrs. Ward
wouldn't notice, suppressing a giggle when I recalled the story
of Dad's first morning in Mom's bed. Emma looked at me
inquiringly. "I'll tell you later," I mouthed. She nodded
imperceptibly and we took our leave with her mother after having
accepted an eleven thirty curfew - quite generous, I thought.

We saw some teen flick. Or rather, we attended some teen flick
but spent nearly two hours in the cozy darkness of the movie
theater kissing and touching and getting generally worked up.
Next we went to an ice cream parlor and kissed for another hour.
I also told her about my Dad's experience in my Mom's house. Emma
loved the story. When we had finished our ice creams we still had
time. "What do you want to do now?" I asked when Emma came back
from the rest rooms and we headed to the car.

"I want to go parking at Paterson's Lane," came Emma's prompt and
very surprising reply.

"Are you sure?" I asked - that was the place where Paul had tried
to rape her.

"Yup," she replied. "But promise me you'll lock the doors!"

We laughed so hard I could barely drive. It was great that Emma
was exorcising the ghosts in this way and we got to the lane
safely. We moved to the back of the car, did lock the doors and
in seconds we were in a tight embrace. As I ran my hand up her
leg I suddenly made contact with warm wet bare pussy - Emma had
removed her panties. She gasped in pleasure and that was nice to
hear, but my knowledge of female anatomy was based on biology
text books from school and Internet porn. "You got to tell me
what you like," I said. "I've never done this before."

"It feels wonderful already," she gasped again. "Just explore."

So I did, and she got wetter and wetter in the process and let
out little meowing sounds. I knew her clit had to be somewhere
and I had no doubt when I found it from the sound she made.
"Gently! Don't be too direct; it is very sensitive," she panted.

So I circled the little hard nub with two fingers. "Like this?" I
asked. But Emma was in no position to answer. At least not with
words. She let out a scream, her entire body stiffened, her legs
clamped tight over my hand and liquid gushed out of her pussy.

When her breathing had returned to normal, or nearly anyway, and
she finally stopped kissing me, she said "That was fantastic. So
much better than when I do it myself. I thought my head was going
to explode!"

"Happy to be of service," I said politely, and much less so
whispered in her ear "That was such a turn-on."

She looked at the boner that was trying to rip open my jeans. "I
can tell - what can I do for you?"

"Nothing for another week," I said with some reluctance. "I've
already overstepped the line - let's wait that little bit longer
and get everything right."

"You're amazing," she said and then kissed me, sucking my tongue
into her mouth.

"That was very suggestive!" I said when we finally broke the
kiss.

"Uh huh!" she said. "It was meant to be!"

Her curfew was approaching, so she retrieved her panties from her
hand bag, put them on - giving me a very good view of her charms
while doing so - and we returned to the front of the car. I had
her on her door step at eleven thirty sharp. The kiss I got -
again in full view of her mother - was not chaste. "Are you
coming for my birthday?" she asked, and I'm sure her mother
caught the innuendo.

"I certainly hope so," I replied and went home with a bad case of
blue balls.


Emma barged into my bedroom Saturday morning. Just like the old
days, except nothing was the same. I had serious morning wood and
it showed up like a tent in my covering which was still just a
sheet since the autumn was mild. "Good morning lover boy," Emma
said in a voice that - if possible - sent even more blood to my
engorged member. "Is that for me?" she asked - coyly licking her
lips.

"It is," I managed to croak, "but you can't unwrap it before your
birthday!"

"Thought not," she said. "You know, Mom actually scolded me last
night 'for leaving my man hanging'. She wouldn't believe me when
I said you wouldn't let me touch you."

I was about to say something when she added in a seductive voice.
"Come to think of it, I don't have to touch you to get you off,
do I?" and then she pulled up her short skirt, revealing that she
had no panties on. My eyes were locked to her groin, and when she
started to slowly play with herself, it didn't take many moments
before I erupted like a geyser - I was a seriously horny teenaged
boy after all. It felt fantastic finally getting the pressure
off, but privately I worried that if I came so easily - before
even being touched, for crying out loud! - then I would be
hopeless at having actual sex with Emma.

Almost like she could read my mind, she said "Mom gave me a few
hints and tips. She suggested that I get you off before we
actually do it. She said teenaged boys come quickly but also
recover quickly. A blowjob before the actual event is a good
idea!"

As if to prove the 'quick recovery' thing, my erection returned
at just the thought of a blowjob. "Your mother is a wise woman!"
I said.

"Yeah, I thought you would like that idea," she replied with a
grin. "Anyway, get up lazy bones. I'll fix us breakfast!" She
pulled the soggy sheet of me, made a very un-ladylike wolf
whistle and scampered down the stairs. I heard her say to my dad
"I got him up..." before I fled to the bathroom to have a shower.

When I got down in the kitchen, she was chatting happily with
Dad. "Oh, there you are," she said when she saw me. "I didn't
know you were down." She ran her hand over my crotch and added
"as in all down..."

Dad laughed. "Poor George if you've been at it like that for over
a year. It is a miracle you're not a mother yet; my son must be
more of a gentleman than I knew!"

I felt my face go warm, but I wasn't annoyed. I was much too
happy to be annoyed with anything. We spent Saturday - and Sunday
- together doing much of nothing. Just like the old days, except
we were constantly kissing and hugging and I was hard most of the
time - only now I didn't mind. When Emma left Sunday afternoon,
she said "Oh, by the way, Mom is cooking me a birthday dinner on
Friday and you are both invited. But I want to go out
afterwards!"

"That's fine," Dad and I said in one voice.


During the week Emma and I again rode our bikes together to
school and spent as much time together as possible. The school
acknowledges that big kids may fall in love but they have fairly
restrictive rules for personal conduct, especially physical
expressions of affection. Just about anything over and above
holding hands is frowned upon or out-right forbidden and although
the two of us could expect a fair amount of slack, they had to be
strict about high school boys and middle school girls for the
time being at least. So we were essentially sent 8 years back
with respect to innocence. On the school grounds, that is. The
kisses we exchanged just outside the perimeter in the morning,
and again in the afternoon, were sizzling and had my head
spinning and my jeans crotch tightening. But I was happy, happy,
happy and I felt Emma was too.

And so I had expected my wonderful Emma at her sunniest on Friday
morning - her 14th birthday. But she was all thunder when she
opened the door. Instead of the 'Happy Birthday!' that had been
on my lips, I only managed a "Honey, what's wrong?"

"I got my PERIOD!" she wailed. "The bloody thing is two days
EARLY!"

I couldn't help it. After a few seconds of stunned silence I
started laughing and I laughed so hard I could barely breathe. At
first Emma looked annoyed, even hurt, but soon she too saw the
supreme irony and after a little while she was as helpless with
laughter as I was. Her mother - who had discretely held back -
came to the door, wondering what was going on. "What's so funny?"
she asked.

In between hiccups of laughter, Emma explained. Her mother
laughed too, but then became practical. "Well, you can start on
the pill today then," she said. "And you won't have to worry
about getting pregnant. They are effective immediately. And just
remember what might have happened two weeks ago if it hadn't been
for George..."

That was a sobering thought. Had Paul actually raped Emma, she
would now in all likelihood be dealing with an unwanted
pregnancy, not an unwelcome early period.

"Happy Birthday sweetheart," I finally said and presented a small
box. It was a silver necklace and Emma loved it and flung her
arms around me.

"That is really pretty George," her mother said. "Anyway we'd
better get a move on or you two will be late for school and I
will be late for work. See you tonight."

Dinner was nice and the movie, what we saw of it, OK. But Emma
was in pain and after the movie she said "Take me home and give
me a back rub."

Her mother was OK with that when we got home. Emma stripped down
to her panties and lay down on her bed, on her stomach. "It is so
annoying I got my period early," she said again.

"Sweetheart, don't worry," I replied. "I feel sorry for you
because you're disappointed and in pain and discomfort on your
birthday. But we've waited this long, we can wait a few days
more." She still looked grumpy. "Besides we have a lifetime of
sex ahead of us!" I added. That brought a smile to her face.

I am not experienced with massages, but Emma liked what I was
doing - and I certainly did too. Touching her bare skin - even if
it was only her lower back (very lower back at times) was
wonderful and when she rolled round and asked me to just put my
hand on her stomach, I complied almost in a trance. "It feels so
nice just with a slight pressure," she said. I leaned in and
gently kissed her breasts. "Oh, that's nice too," she cooed.

"They aren't too tender?" I asked. She vigorously shook her head.

So I softly licked her hard nipples. She was squirming and making
almost purring noises. "George," she panted. "I want something
for my birthday!"

"You mean besides the silver necklace?" I asked in mock dismay.
Apart from her panties, the necklace was the only thing she was
wearing.

"Yes," she said with her sexiest smile. "I want a pearl one
too..."

It took a little while before that sank in. But when I worked it
out, my already very hard dick got even harder trying to break
out of my jeans. "Emma, you don't have to," I started, but she
cut me off.

"I know I don't have to," she said. "I want to!"

Her voice sounded convincing and her eyes were smoldering. I got
up and stripped out of my clothes in record time. I got down on
the bed, kneeling with one leg on each side of her slender frame
and with my straining dick resting in her generous cleavage.  She
pressed her breast together around my dick and I started a slow
rocking motion. It felt fantastic and I knew it was going to
bring me off quickly. "Come for me George," she chanted. "Come
for me. Shoot on me and dream of when you shoot in me!"

I came with a groan. I came so hard I nearly fainted as my sperm
shot out of me, splashing her neck and chin covering the top of
her chest. Some had even hit her nose and came to rest on her
upper lip. She licked it off experimentally. "Mmmm," she said.
"Not bad at all."

I rolled off, staying close to her in the narrow bed and
showering her with kisses. "Emma, that was fantastic," I said.
"Thank you thank you thank you. You are so generous!"

"It was fun and I love you!" she said. "It is a little messy, but
fun!"

I got out of bed, found some tissues and cleaned Emma up. I then
got dressed with some reluctance and took my leave with even more
reluctance. As I was walking out of her room she called me back.
"George," she said. "My period usually lasts 3 days and Monday
night I am at theater practice.  But don't make any plans for
Tuesday night. OK?"

That, predictably, sent blood back to my dick which made it
slightly awkward saying good night to Mrs. Ward. I noted her
significant glance. "Just something Emma said when I left," I
remarked as casually as I could. I don't know what devil
possessed me, but I added "Don't worry - she didn't leave her man
hanging tonight!"

Mrs. Ward had the good grace to blush.


Next morning Emma barged into my bedroom again. Just like last
Saturday I had massive morning wood and with nothing to restrain
us she leapt into bed with me. "Good morning lover boy," Emma
said in that voice again. Her small hand found my raging boner
and started to masturbate me. Inexpertly perhaps, but it felt
wonderful. Our lips locked and our tongues performed a primordial
dance. It didn't take her long to bring me off - I erupted
sending sperm in all directions.

"Oh God Emma, what a way to start the day!" I panted.

"Mmmmmmmm," Emma said - busy licking my sperm off of her hand.
"It's your turn to make breakfast - and I suppose you just did,
but I think I might need something slightly more substantial! See
you downstairs."

I got out of bed laughing and hit the shower while Emma went
downstairs to Dad in the kitchen. I joined them a little later
and the talk flowed freely. "I have a meeting Tuesday night," Dad
said. "You'll have to fend for yourself."

"Goody!" Emma said. Dad looked a little taken aback. "I'll come
over and feed him - and put him to bed."

Dad looked at me. "I'm not complaining!" I said slyly.

"No, I didn't hear howls of protests," Dad said and the
conversation changed to other subjects.

The weekend was much like the previous one except that physical
contact now included heavy mutual groping. The kiss I got Sunday
evening when Emma finally went home left me out of breath and her
grinding herself against me nearly made me come.


"What happened to the idea of a slow build-up?" Dad asked when
the door had closed behind Emma - amusement clear both in his
voice and his facial expression.

"I think that got cancelled, or at least accelerated," I replied.
"When Emma learned from her doctor that the two month waiting
time for the Pill to be effective is only a myth, she lost
interest in us 'taking our time'..." I trailed off.

Dad looked at me. "Do you think you're ready?" he asked.

I fidgeted a bit. "Emma is," I finally said. "I think she has
been for a year and a half."

"But you are not?" he asked - as much a statement as a question.

"I don't know, really. It's just..." I trailed off again.

"Time for a beer and another chat?" Dad asked.

I nodded and a few moments later we were seated in the den with a
Bud each. "You are corrupting me," I said, taking a swig of my
beer. "I am starting to like this stuff."

"I am corrupting you?" Dad asked - with genuine astonishment in
his voice. "What do you call what Emma is doing to you then?"

"Good point," I said. And it was as good an opening as any. "She
seems way ahead of me. She knows what she wants. And believe me,
I want her too. Too much, it seems. All she has to do is look at
me. Well, a little more perhaps, but she doesn't even have to
touch me and I, you know..." I made an expressive movement with
my hands in front of my crotch.

"Wow," Dad said. "That brings 'turned on' to a completely new
level."

I reluctantly smiled. "Yeah, only how on earth am I going to..."
No, I couldn't say it. This conversation was proving more
difficult than I thought.

But Dad helped me "How are you going to 'get it in before it
comes out', you mean?"

I nodded. He had understood me completely.

"Listen," Dad said. "That has been the Curse of Teenaged Boys
since the beginning of time. And the solution is embarrassingly
simple. For starters, no girl will be offended that she turns you
on so much you are on a knife edge. On the contrary. Feeling
wanted is the greatest feeling on earth."

I nodded again. That made sense.

Dad continued. "But as I said: The solution is simple. Get the
pressure off. Vaginal penetration does not have to be the first
thing you do! The sunny side to the problem is that the recovery
time is very short - and the second time around you last much
longer."

"Yeah," I said. "Emma's mom had told her something similar."

Dad smiled. "Well, she told the truth." He paused a little. "When
you're young you wish you were older and more experienced. And
when you get older, you miss the instant recovery of your youth.
But the point is that sex is, can be, should be, fantastic at all
ages."

I felt a lot better - far less apprehensive about Tuesday. We
were quietly drinking our beers when I tried to ask one more
question. "Did you, I mean, when you went over to Mom, as in..."
No, that one was too hard too.

But once more Dad got the drift of my mumblings. "Remember I was
quite a bit older than you when your Mom and I finally got
together. And I was somewhat tired after traveling for 24 hours
straight to get to her. And although I had fantasized about what
might happen, finding her home alone and being dragged off to her
bed was beyond my wildest imagination," he said. "So perhaps I
wasn't quite so much on a knife edge."

"But?" I hazarded.

"Well, this is pretty personal you understand," he started. I
nodded complete agreement. "But let's just say that we didn't
come at the same time the first time. One has to learn. But being
so completely in love is the best foundation for working these
things out. You are so happy about being with that other person
that getting it right is just fun. Fantastic and fun."

I finished my beer. "Thanks Dad," I said and went to bed.


Monday was like the days in the preceding week - even if the
atmosphere between us was a little tense, but Tuesday was
something else! For starters, Emma almost leapt in my arms when I
came in the morning to get her to ride to school. "It's
finished!" she exclaimed.

I didn't have to ask what 'it' was that had finished. Emma was
bubbly and affectionate. So affectionate Ms. Vickers had to
threaten us with detention if we didn't clean up our act. But her
threats were only half-hearted. For years she had hated Paul and
his family and everything they stand for with a vengeance and the
fact that Emma and I had enabled her to boot him and his cronies
out in disgrace was like Christmas and 4th of July and
Thanksgiving and her birthday rolled into one. But we promised to
be good. This resulted in a wink from Ms. Vickers. "I'm sure you
are. But please be good outside of the school!"

Did that make Emma blush? Nope. A giggle and a wink back was all.
"You're sure you're not of Danish descent?" I asked. But the
question was rhetorical. Emma was Emma and she just knew what she
wanted.

Well, she got it. But she had to wait a little. To her intense
annoyance I had band practice after school. She came along for
that. She even had the grace to apologize to Mr. Peters for
having 'caused me to be absent' that fateful Tuesday afternoon.
Mr. Peters - an old-fashioned gentleman not far from retirement -
was charmed. "My dear girl, I know. Of course he had to help you.
Every decent man would and George was brave beyond measure. It
makes me proud to have him in the band."

I blushed severely. Emma then kissed Mr. Peters on the cheek
which caused him to blush severely. "You don't happen to play a
musical instrument, do you Ms. Ward?" he asked hopefully.

"No I don't Mr. Peters," she replied sweetly. "I'm more into
theater. But I've heard there's a musical planned for next year."

"Yes there is!" he replied enthusiastically. "I hope you will
join the production." At this stage Emma had him eating off her
hand. Had she asked for the lead role in the musical she would
have gotten it on the spot even though he had no idea if she
could sing. She's a one that girl! And she is mine!


When we finally rode home Emma set an amazing pace. "Keen, are
we?" I asked in a teasing voice.

"And you aren't?" she asked back. Of course I was.

When we got back we went to Emma's house first so she could get a
few things. As we were leaving, her mother arrived home from
shopping. "Hi Mom," Emma called. "Don't expect so see any more of
me today. Mr. Waters is not going to be home. George and I will
do homework, then I'll cook us dinner - and then I'll put him to
bed."

Mrs. Ward just looked at her daughter. "And where were you
planning on eating breakfast?" she asked.

"With George," she said as if that was a completely ordinary
occurrence.

"All right then," Mrs. Ward said with a slight shake of her head.
"For this once. But don't make a habit of it during the week, OK?
Weekends are better for that."

"Sure Mom," Emma said. "But today is special."

"I know honey," Mrs. Ward said. "Have you got everything you
need?"

"Yup - school bag, clean clothes, toiletries, my pills" she said
completely matter of fact.

I found the entire exchange slightly surreal. Or perhaps
shockingly down to earth. Not only was the wait-a-while idea
dead, the concept of our parents not knowing when we did it was
completely discarded too. She might as well have included 'George
and me losing our virginities' in the list of the day's planned
activities.

I told her so when we got inside my house. Unfazed, she just
laughed and then said "But we can still decide when we do it. I
have next to no homework and am pretty sweaty after the bike
ride. How about a shower?"

About sixty seconds later we were both upstairs in my room
getting naked. "Let's see if your shower is big enough for two -
it will be useful to know for later!" she said and dragged me out
to the bathroom.

The shower was big enough for two and it was great fun washing
each other. Touching a girl is fun. Touching a naked girl more
so. Touching a naked, wet girl everywhere with soapy hands under
the pretext getting her clean is heaven.  And she reciprocated of
course and I nearly lost it, but only nearly. I think I was
calmer about it all - now that it was happening - than I had
feared.

Back in my room, she almost tackled me to the bed. Within
moments, her warm wet mouth had engulfed my straining dick. She
was bobbing her head up and down while humming. She - largely -
avoided touching me with her teeth. When her tongue started
tickling the stringy edge on the underside of my dick - frenulum,
I think the textbook calls it - I exploded in a massive orgasm.
Since I knew Emma wasn't adverse to sperm in her mouth, I didn't
warn her - and besides, it would have been too late.

And Emma didn't mind. She kept humming and sucking until I came
no more, then let go of my dick with an audible pop. "It sounded
like you liked that..." she said in a teasing voice, mischief
alight in her gorgeous eyes,

I didn't even realize that I had been loud. "Oh yes," I panted.
"I liked that a lot. And I'm told naughty little girls like the
equivalent action."

Demonstrating that she was not the only one to be keen - or
assertive, I swiftly rolled us over so she was on her back. She
squealed when I started kissing her from her forehead down. I
took a long time with her boobs, sucking and almost chewing on
her nipples. She was squirming and making excited noises and when
I moved the kissing and licking down her belly towards her
crotch, she was straining, lifting her hips off the mattress in
order to get my tongue where she wanted it faster.

But I took my time. And once I had gotten to her pubic mound and
she thought I would finally 'arrive', I teased her by skipping
her sex and instead licking her upper thighs. In frustration, she
grabbed my head and pulled me up to her dripping pussy.

The scent was intoxicating and I relented - noble of me, don't
you think? I ran my tongue the length of Emma's pussy, eliciting
another squeal and shudder from her and a loud yelp when I
reached her clit. I then 'set to work', methodically giving her
an oral workout. I alternated between licking along her pussy,
penetrating her as deeply as I could with my tongue and circling
her clit. She was getting louder and louder and wetter and wetter
and when I finally leaned in close and tried to squeeze her clit
between my lips, she came with a wail and gushed pussy juice down
over my chin.

At the same time she was pulling my head as closely as she could
while squeezing me with her remarkably strong thighs. In the
midst of the 'high' of giving Emma so much pleasure I fleetingly
wondered if she would choke me in the process! But when the last
spasm subsided, she flopped her arms and legs out to let me free.

"Again!" she panted, only I had other ideas. Moving back up, I
kissed her. "I can taste myself," she said, "and..."

What she wanted to say I never got to know, because at that exact
moment my once more very hard dick touched her pussy. "Yes, like
that. It's time!" she agreed and tilted her hips to give us a
better angle.

The head of my dick penetrated her pussy lips - we were at the
point of having real sex for the first time and I was suddenly
nervous of hurting her. "I hope this won't hurt," I said.

By way of answer she grabbed my ass and pulled hard, I slid into
her tight pussy. It felt fantastic, but honestly I couldn't tell
which part of the sensation was her hymen breaking. Emma could,
obviously. "Ifffff" she winced between her teeth, but that was
that. "Lie still for a moment," she said, "while I get used to
it. You feel so BIG inside me."

Now, that is nice to be told - even though I'm sure I'm fairly
average in size. But anyway, lying still for a moment seemed like
a good idea. Despite having come hard at the end of the blow-job,
being inside Emma at last was very very nice - almost too nice -
and I did want to last a while.

After a moment or two we both started moving - me withdrawing a
bit, then penetrating her completely again and Emma lifting her
hips to meet me at every stroke. This carried on for a long time
- much longer than I had dared hope. I looked at Emma's face -
her eyes were shut tightly and she had a very concentrated
expression. I could feel the familiar sensation in my dick and
balls starting to build but I could also hear Emma's groans and
heavy breathing starting to sound like they did just before she
came when I licked her.

When masturbating, sometime my orgasm comes as a surprise. At
other times I somehow know that in ten strokes or so I'll come.
My first sex with Emma was like that - I knew that unless I
stopped completely, I would be there in ten more thrusts.
Deciding to chance it, I continued - possibly even increasing the
speed and force. As the mental count-down to orgasm continued, I
could hear Emma getting loud. Then orgasm was over me and I
started pumping my sperm into her. I continued thrusting in and
out of her although the friction obviously lessened from the
combined liquids. But Emma was far enough gone to come over the
edge with me. At my final thrust, she let out a wail again and
clamped tightly around my dick with her pussy, around my back
with her arms and around my legs with her own.

Suddenly self-conscious of my size and weight - I may not be
overly tall or heavy, but I am a lot bigger than Emma, I rolled
us over again so I ended on my back. Emma still held on to me
tightly and my dick stayed in her pussy. When she finally came
down from her climax, she started crying and laughing and
showered me with kisses. "Yes, yes, yes," she cried. "So right,
so perfect! I've wanted to be your woman ever since we started
playing 'house' all those years ago. Now I have you and I will
never let you go!"

"I don't want you to let me go! Ever!" I said. "I've loved you
since the first time I saw you and I couldn't possibly love
anyone else." Emma rolled off of me. We were lying closely side
by side, gently touching and looking into each other eyes. I
pulled the sheet up over us and after some minutes we both
drifted off.

Hunger and the unfamiliar sensation of sleeping next to somebody
woke us up in the early evening. We started kissing again. I
fondled Emma's boobs and I felt my dick getting hard once more.
Emma noted it too. "Let's have some food," she said with a little
laugh, "and then we can go back to bed!"

I must have looked disappointed, but Emma just laughed again. "I
will be too sore if we do again it straight away. Give me a
little more time to recover." Reluctantly I agreed. When getting
up, I noted that she was walking in a slightly funny way.

"I hope I didn't hurt you," I said with concern.

"No, I'm fine," she replied, "- or I will be. You are plenty big
for me; I'm glad you're not bigger!" She suddenly laughed.

"What?" I said.

"I just thought that eventually, our babies will come out that
way," she mused. "Even the biggest dick is small compared to a
baby's head."

"That won't be for some time!" I said hastily.

"True," Emma agreed. "There is some 'delivery time'." She smiled
a funny little smile.

We just put on underwear and t-shirts and went down to the
kitchen 'to scare up some dinner', as Emma put it. Emma cooks
nearly as often as Mrs. Ward and is great at it. I am hopeless in
a kitchen which is stupid, really. Dad is very good and I ought
to have learned from him, but I never have.

While Emma was turning whatever she found in the fridge into
something that smelled really good, her bag suddenly started
emitting a loud repetitive noise. "Will you get my cell phone out
and silence it?" Emma said.

"Sure, but don't you want to answer it, and when did you get that
obnoxious ring-tone?" I asked.

"It's not my ring-tone, your dork," Emma said. "It's the alarm.
It is to remind me to take my pill."

"Smart," I said as I silenced the phone. "Where are your pills?"

"In the small Thai purse next to the phone," she replied. "Just
get it out and put it next to my glass on the dining table."

"And where is your glass?" I asked sarcastically - looking at the
completely blank dining table.

"Where you put it when you set the table!" she replied with a
significant look.

"Yes ma'am," I said with a chuckle and did her bidding.


Dinner was great and I told her so. Towards the end of the meal
she still hadn't taken her pill. I looked at the purse. "Aren't
you forgetting something?" I asked

"I suppose so," she said and got the blister pack out. The first
4 pills were missing and she was pushing out the fifth. She took
it into her hand, looked at it and then looked at me. "What would
you do if I didn't take them?"

"Do? I would find another solution. If you don't like taking them
then I could use condoms. It's entirely up to you," I said.

"But what if I didn't take them and didn't tell you?" she said.

I smiled. "In that case I would become a father at least four
years earlier than I planned on," I said. "It wouldn't be a great
idea. I really think we should wait. I want you to be the mother
of my children. I always have. But I want you to be able to do
other things too. Finishing high school - and most likely also
some college degree first - would be a good thing. We have time."

"But you're going away to college next year. Won't you forget me
when you see all those college girls?" she asked - suddenly
sounding very insecure, so unlike my assertive and confident
Emma.

I got up, walked over to her side of the table, squatted down
next to her. She was looking away, so I reached for her chin and
gently turned her face towards me. "Emma, look at me!" I said.
She finally did. There were tears in her eyes. "That will not, as
in never, happen," I said. "After you there can be no one else.
No one. Who could exceed - or even compete with - 12 years of
intimate, unconditional love?"

She snuffled, but looked a lot happier. "I've talked to Dad about
living at home while I do my degree." I continued. "I will apply
to a college that doesn't have a residency requirement and
commute; there are no colleges in this town, but it doesn't have
to be all that far away. We can't kiss during every break at
school, but we will see each other every day - and every weekend
we will go out on dates and go home to make love. Deal?"

"Deal," she cried - tears streaming down her cheeks, and then she
pulled me into a close embrace.

"Anyway," I said. "Let's get things cleaned up here. You promised
to put me to bed!"

We did the kitchen, but we were not very effective - stopping
constantly for kissing and touching and groping. When we finally
made it upstairs, Emma's panties were almost dripping and my
boxers were close to being ripped. We discarded them and got into
bed. "I want to be on top!" Emma said.

That was more than fine with me. It left my hands free to play
with her boobs - and besides, Emma could control speed and angle
and depth, thus limiting what lingering soreness she may have
felt. It can't have been much, though as she rode me with vigor.
She wasn't exactly silent either and I thanked my stars Dad
wasn't home. We would have to find a way of making less noise in
the future though. Or perhaps Dad and I would have to sleep on
different floors.

Anyway girl-on-top was every bit as wonderful as the missionary
position and once more I felt my balls getting ready for delivery
around the time Emma's groans and cries got more insistent. I
tried to hold back as much as I could while rolling and squeezing
Emma's nipples to bring her closer to climax too. It was almost
successful; there can't have been more than 3 or 4 thrusts
between my explosion and hers. With a bit of practice I'm sure we
will be able to get it in perfect sync. And anyway, it didn't
matter. From the sounds of it, Emma had liked it. A lot. Half the
neighborhood must have been able to hear it I thought and
chuckled.

"What?" Emma said when her breathing was back to normal.

"Oh, nothing," I said with a laugh.

"No, really! What?" she insisted.

"I just love playing 'house' with you," I said

We were still chuckling when we drifted off to sleep.

THE END