41-year-old businessman, Robert Saint, had been cruising the Riverside Industrial Estate in his blue Peugeot for the best part of an hour. It had been a long working day and, as had become his habit for the last 6 weeks, he had taken this detour on his 2-hour drive home from the office. His insipid 14-year marriage had a sex-sized hole in it these days, and it was here that he endeavoured to fill it. The novelty had been invigorating at first - seeing those loitering female forms offering their wares - but now this little 'hobby' was starting to feel equally as stale as his marriage. His experiences with these ladies of business had, by and large, been disappointing. They were clinical at best or embarrassingly 'unsuccessful' at worst. Furthermore, the wenches tended to look Ok from a distance but bordering on positively scabby up close, and this even if they were under 25.

On this late September Friday evening, Robert was on the verge of giving up and going home, having seen nothing worth chancing his hard-earned wages on. With a sigh, he turned the corner and emerged onto the Quayside road. He then saw a figure, about 200 metres ahead, who had not been there on his previous pass nor any other night. It was immediately obvious the figure hit the two basic criteria of 'female' and 'working'. Her hair looked brunette and sleek and in the dusk, hanging to half way down her back, and her clothing of very short blue shorts and skimpy whit T-shirt was a bit too scanty for an innocent stroll in such cool air. There could be no doubt of her activities when she glanced around on hearing Robert's car, and she slowed almost to a standstill. This one looked more edgy than most, though, but that was not all: on drawing closer and getting a better sense of perspective against the old factory walls and doorways, this one was not just nice and slim, but really short too. Hell, 'very' short, Robert mused, as he slowly cruised past.

'Fuck me!!' he thought to himself, as she turned to look. 'That's a fucking CHILD!'

He felt his heart speed up, and he instinctively put his foot on the accelerator. She looked about TEN, or ELEVEN!! It was a mistake, it had to be, a trick of the light. But Robert absorbed the image of the smooth, young and round face with that 'sweet' aura that even an elder teen did not have. At the very, very most, she was a young-looking 16 - which would be legal - with an unusually underdeveloped and stunted physique. But that was stretching it, frankly, and she even seemed to have a cartoon-type design on her T-shirt. A little jerkily, he slowed down again and glanced in the mirror to try to believe what he'd seen. The girl had stopped altogether, and gave a weak little flap of a wave, without seeming to alter the bland expression on her face, not at all like the blustery signal these whores tended to give. But it was unmistakable, nevertheless.

'Fuck me,' he thought to himself, again. Then, conscious decision-making took over: he simply had to take a closer look.

Robert swung the car around, making sure there were no other vehicles to see him - especially the flashing light type - and headed back down the quay. Straight away he saw that the girl, who had herself turned round and was walking the other way, glanced over her shoulder again at the sound of his engine. This time he was on the wrong side of the road to her, so a real close-up was elusive, but he slowed to a crawl as he drew level with her. She, in turn, slowed almost to a standstill and stared across at him. This time he could see that her face was pre-teen beyond reasonable doubt, and extremely pretty, and distinctly tense as opposed to the blase whores in his experience so far. It was an almost unconscious, awe-struck part of him that steered the car carefully across the road to her. At this point, he told himself - maybe even believed - that all he was doing was taking a closer look for fascination's sake. He smiled nicely at her through the window, surprising himself with his calmness, as he leaned over to wind it down. She returned the smile, in a hesitant sort of way, and seemed to be casting a nervous glance along the factory wall.

"Hi,' said Robert.

"Hello," said she. Her face bore the innocence of childhood, yet had something carnal about it. Something like a kiddie version of Sharon Stone.

"What you doing?" he asked, trying to sound chirpy and non-seeking.

Again the edgy little glance around. "Business," she said, terseness in her juvenile eyes and face.

"Oh, I see." Robert's heart palpitated, and he looked hastily all around. "What kind of business, sweetie?"

"Um, sex business," she said.

Well, that was fucking clear enough. That 3-letter word sounded terrifying but beautiful on her thin, reedy voice. He could not help but glance her over, taking in the simple sleek flow of her hair over her small shoulders, the thin flat torso and the heavenly soft and smooth legs. He found himself simultaneously contemplating the hint of lipstick on her thin, pretty mouth, and envisaging the hairless little vagina. He also spared a thought for the small child-bum he had so far only seen at a distance.

"Oh, really? Well, sweetie, I'd quite like to 'do' business with you." Robert smiled, friendly and calmer. Calmer than he was feeling.

The girl did not reply, except to utter, "Uh, right." She then turned to a doorway a few metres away, shuffling restlessly on her feet, and held up her hand kind of like in a classroom.

Robert was alarmed to see a man step out from the shadows and approach them.

The End