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From: "Switchable Yento of Seattle" <switchable-yento@affection.com>
Subject: Daddy, will you read me a real bedtime story about when I meet my beloved...
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"Daddy, will you read me a bedtime story?"

Copyright 1997 (c) by Switchable Yento of Seattle
switchable-yento@affection.com All rights reserved.

Slumped in my easychair, trying to concentrate on reading the New York
Times, I knew the end was near when Isabella slowly pulled herself out of
her Quickie (TM) wheelchair, spread her "eight" year old legs, and slowly
sat on my left thigh facing me before asking, "Daddy, will you read me a
bedtime story?"

"Sure," I said, looking down at her bald head, remembering her long gone red
hair and energy. "What story would you like to hear? Mulan? Cinderella?
Beauty and the Beast? Esther and Mordecai?"

"None of them," she said, shaking her Deltan head defiantly but throwing her
arms around me. "This time, I want the story to be about me. About when I
fall in love and meet my beloved. That will happen, won't it?" she asks
hesitantly. I look into her pale almond eyes and realize she knows.

"Yes, Isabella, it happens to all of us. We all meet our beloved at some
time in our life." I find myself reluctantly saying, "Even you."

"Promise?" Eyes wide as saucers of spilled coffee.

"Yes, I promise to make sure it happens, one way or another."

"Good," she sighs, letting the gravity press her little bottom against my
thunder thigh, feeling my arms caress her like ivy surrounding a tree,
resting her head in the dark forest of fur on my chest. I hear her breath
deeply in contentment.

"Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a man and a woman..." I
paused. "Do you want it to be two women, Isabella?"

"No, let's be traditional this time." she whispers, digging her small hands
into my chest, pressing her growing nips against me. Bringing back memories
when the slapping sounds had awakened me and discovering her and a tied up
nude female playmate pretending they were doctor and a naughty patient.

"OK. Who had never met. And the women had been raised by her father, a
carpenter after her mother had died when she was eight. But now, the woman
was of merging age but no man (or woman) would want her. Although she
dressed conservatively for a women,  she had learned the male trades as well
as the female ones. They were all scared of her. Afraid she would want all
of the power of the relationship." I pause.

"OK," I query as my hand drifts down to massage her belly, the way I used to
massage her many months ago when she was healthier, feeling her right
developing breast brush slightly against my arm, the nip probing like a
plant pushing through the snow in spring.

"Hmmm," she murmurs in agreement, turning around to throw her head into my
chest, faintly smelling my after-shave "Different Loving", unbuttoning my
shirt as if were August and not January, shivering from the cold encircling
her while letting my hands fall to caress her rounded peach cheeks straining
to escape from her jeans.

My cock begins to stir with attention as I try not to kiss her and pull my
hands upward, trying to defy the natural laws to massage her lower back. It
has been a while. I never though I would have the opportunity. I feel her
nips stabbing at me, hands running through my forest, body trying to arouse
me while her smell began to develop like ash from a smoldering volcano.
Reluctantly turning her around, hearing her protest, agreeing to let her sit
on my lap, legs wrapped around my thighs as she watches the two dying
candles from Friday night dinner, resting against my still growing penis.
Feeling her hands brush lightly against it and the my stiffening response as
she remembers what she learned in school.

"And so, the woman, whose name was the same as yours, Isabella felt that no
one would want her and went for long walks in the woods. One day, while
walking by the river, now raging from the Spring floods, she saw a stranger,
Ferdinand..."

"Daddy, that's your name!"

"Well, I couldn't think of anyone else," I stammer. "It's your story, may I
use my name?"

"All right," she sighs as if her hand has been between her legs all this
time, fingering and rubbing her clit, seeing if her pussy would get moist if
she played with it the way she would let the flow of warm water from a
faucet fall against it.

"OK," I return to the story. "Isabella try to straddle the river only to
fall in. Expecting him to rise to the surface, she leaped in when he didn't
surface and pulled him, resisting the strong pull of the water's flow. When
he awoke, his head hurting from the fall against the unyielding rocks, he
thanked her and asked how she was able to do what most could not. She told
him of her upbringing but hid the fact that none of the men in her village
had asked for her hand in marriage. Ferdinand settled in the village and
courted Isabella telling her that he wasn't courting her because she had
saved him but because she interested him. Within a year, the were married
and lived happily after." I quickly added looking at my watch. The arms read
11:30 PM.

"Mmmm," I heard Isabella moan and turn herself around, using my neck to
anchor her arms. "That was a good story. Much better than all the others.
But did they kiss and make love, daddy?"

"I'm sure they did, darling."

"Show me, daddy. Kiss me. Pretend you're Ferdinand." I heard her whisper in
my ear, feeling her suddenly cooling breath against my neck. Looking into
her wet eyes as Isabella threw herself against me and begged me to make love
to her the way her story characters did. "I know," she sobbed, "that I'm not
going to grow up. But, daddy, before I go, let me experience it," she
pleaded. "Please, Daddy, please."

I didn't know what to do. None of the training had prepared me for this
possibility. It seemed the only thing I could do was hold her and hope the
passing would happen tonight. It didn't seem like she was capable of consent
and yet she knew what was happening. I was aroused, wanting to be her
Ferdinand, wanting to drag her in lust and love, take her in the snow on the
riverbank on the outskirts of our small village, probing her mouth with
mine, playing with her tits, ass, skin, whispering sweet words into her
ears, anointing her with oils, cuddling with her and starting the next day
with a rise. I tried to resist the river of lust ready to burst within me.

Our tongues met. Tasting her saltiness from the medication. Finding it to be
an aphrodisiac, I plunged my tongue deep in her mouth as she imprisoned my
neck and responded. I found one hand begin to caress her behind, slipping my
hands into her jeans, fondling the soft cotton panties before penetrating to
her bare skin, fingering the crack of her ass. The other slowly unbuttoned
her shirt, exposing the training bra, moving to the her back to remove it
and release her tits from bondage as my cock strained to have a dream to be
free.

"OOOOHHH, daddy," I heard her cry as one hand began to fondle my now rising
cock, stirring up my volcanic desires, forbidden desires. Her tongue fucked
my ears making them moist like a cave. "Take me to your's and mommy's bed.
Fuck me hard," she exclaimed as memories returned and I could smell her
hornyness.

I picked her up, all emaciated 70 pounds she was and carried her, using my
cock as an anchor pushing hard against her and laid her down in our bed.
Finished undressing her, letting her undress me, feeling her mouth around
me, tasting her muskiness, impaling her on top of me and then straddling her
as we both quickly exploded in love. "That's what daddys are for, Isabella,"
I whispered afterwards as my arms tried to caress and protect her. "Thank
you," she replied as the redness began to fade from her chest.

A few minutes later, as the clock struck midnight, I felt her stiffen then
begin to cool beside me. I held her for a few moments and kissed her for the
last time.

Her illness, the curse we call it on the planet Haman is a strange disease.
Two years ago, she was a vibrant women and wife and PhD candidate through
the University of Washington. In the last 24 months, she had de-aged one
year for every month both physically and mentally to the point where up
until the end, she didn't know that I was the man she had pulled from the
river rushing by our house. And who would stand by her when she finally went
on the ice.

But I think, in the end Isabella did know who I was and that's why she
demanded that our last act together be something special, making love.

And it didn't feel like making love to a child because she knew and could
therefore consent. I don't know if it was the right thing to do what she
asked but you know, sometimes love is a little kinky.





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