"So are we agreed, then?" I asked my wife and eight-year-old daughter. "Seven guests for the party, no more?"

"Daddy, how can I invite just seven best friends?" Gaby asked.

"I don't know," I laughed, "but your room is too small to have any more than that over, and besides it would cost too much money if there were more than eight of you."

Thus the preparations for Gaby's ninth birthday party began. We prepared several games and rented a couple of movies. My wife Terri and I bought Gaby's presents, including a new pair of pajamas so she could show off to her friends. We prepared eight party favors, so that each girl would get one.

The evening of the party, as our guests arrived, Mrs. Johansson said, "I brought Angela's cousin along; she's staying with us for a while. I hope you don't mind. Carla, this is Gaby, the birthday girl, and her parents."

Carla was a whole head taller than Gaby or any of the other girls, and her breasts were small but substantially more developed. She seemed like a nice enough girl, but she was undoubtedly a bit older, and she seemed rather out-of-place. We had taken care to plan the party, and having an unexpected guest was like throwing a monkey wrench into the entire thing. Terri and I grinned and we acted as if we were not upset with the Johanssons. I certainly did not want my anger taken out on this innocent child.

The party started out well enough, but by the time the pizzas arrived and we were having dinner, it was obvious that Carla was uncomfortable. She happened to be sitting next to me, so I decided to find out more about this mystery girl.

"What did you say your name was?"

"Carla."

"Carla... that's right," I said. "So I take it you're Cynthia's cousin, is that right?"

"Yes."

"And do you know Gaby?"

"No; I'm from St. Louis; I don't know anybody here," Carla explained.

"Oh... well, are you and your cousin close?"

"No; she's only eight, and I'm eleven, so we don't really have anything in common," the girl replied. She's just a little kid, but I'm more into adult stuff. What do you think about what the president did?"

I had no idea what she was talking about. Foreign or domestic policy? Job creation and infrastructure, or budget cuts? Was she talking about the latest scandal or his golf game? I suspected that despite Carla's bravado, she had no idea what she was talking about, but that she wanted to impress me as a grown-up. I decided to change the subject.

"Well, I really like the president, but in this case I'm not sure he's doing the right thing," I said. "But let's not get into politics. Tell me about yourself. What's St. Louis like, and why are you here?"

Carla began to open up. She did not tell me anything about St. Louis I did not already know, but I found out that she liked playing volleyball, basketball, and video games. She told me that she was an only child, and that her parents had recently gotten divorced, with her mother retaining sole custody - her father did not even have visitation rights. And that she was bitter about this.

We had the girls put their pajamas on at 9:00. A few seemed unabashed and changed in Gaby's room, and one or two changed in Terri and my room. We worry about Gaby's scalding herself in the shower, so she never showers without supervision, and doesn't bother to shower at all when she stays overnight with a friend, so I was surprised when I heard the shower running a couple of times. Later, as the evening wore on, it seemed that Carla was flirting with me: she rubbed against me so that I could feel her soft breasts, and I caught a glimpse of her light-blue panties as she ran up the stairs when we packed the girls off at 10:30.

Once the girls were packed off to bed, Terri and I cleaned up the kitchen and went upstairs to get some shut-eye. On the floor of our bathroom I found a pair of pink-and-white heart panties, which I took to Gaby's room. I knocked on the door.

"I found these on the floor in our bathroom; do they belong to anyone here?" I asked, holding the panties up with both hands. An Asian girl named Ming Li, who was sitting on Gaby's bed, blushed and stood up. "They're mine," she admitted.

As Ming Li went to stand up, her legs spread out, and I had the answer to the eternal riddle: Do Asian girls have slanted pussies as well as eyes?

Terri and I had just gotten into our pajamas when the phone rang. Terri is a safety engineer at a power plant: could she go and check on an emergency?

"I hate to leave you with all those girls by yourself - what'll I do?" she asked.

"Don't worry about it-the girls are in bed, and I'm sure I can handle whatever comes up;" I assured her. "What time do you think you'll be back?"

"From the description, I don't think it's anything really serious," she informed me. "Nevertheless, I will probably have to stay all night to monitor the situation. I promise I'll be back for breakfast at 9:00."

"Okay... good luck," I said. I gave her a peck on the cheek. "Good night."

I connected my laptop to the television screen and went to Netflix, where I found a movie I had not seen. The story had just started when the door to my room opened; in walked Carla without knocking.

"Hi, Gaby's father," she said. "Is Gaby's mother here?"

"No, I'm afraid she had to go to work for an emergency," I answered. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"So we did hear a car leave," she confirmed. "When will she back?"

"Not 'til 8 or 9 in the morning," I said. "Are you sure I can't help in the meantime?"

"Those girls!" she exclaimed. "They're all so... childish! No offense, because your daughter is one of them, and I know I wasn't really invited, but I can't stand another minute with them. And Cynthia is the worst!"

"Do you want me to call your aunt and have her pick you up?"

"Umm... hey, they're speaking French, aren't they?" she replied, and added. "Je parle français. Est-c'est ce peu voir le film? Can I watch the movie with you?"

I hesitated: we were both wearing pajamas, and it was an "R" rated movie. Sitting in my bedroom with an eleven-year-old girl to watch a movie probably wasn't the wisest thing to do. "Just this one movie," she insisted. "After that, you can make up a bed on the couch in the living room, and I'll sleep there the rest of the night. Okay? No one will ever guess that I wasn't there the entire night."

"D'accord," I replied, showing off that I, too, understood basic French. "But I'm leaving the subtitles, okay? And then you have to sleep downstairs, and you can't tell anyone you stayed and watched the entire movie with me."

"Oui," she said. "What's it about?"

"It's just started," I say. "It's called 'L'Amante,' and it's about a fifteen-year-old French girl in Vietnam during the 1930s. She has to take the bus to go to her boarding school in Saigon, what we call Ho Chi Mihn Ville today, and this rich Chinese guy offers her a ride. He's 32. Look how he's moving his hand closer to her. He's definitely interested."

"Uh-huh," she giggled. "Did I tell you that you remind me of my dad?"

"No, I don't think so," I said.

"Well, you do," she said. "How old are you?"

"Me? I'm 36."

"My dad's 39, and you both have dark hair and glasses," she said. "When was the last time you had sex with Gaby's mom?"

"What kind of a question is that?" I asked, more than a bit upset. "None of your business!"

"Well, did you have sex with her last night?"

I did not dignify her with an answer. "How about the night before?" she insisted. When I didn't respond, she asked, "Wednesday?"

"Last Friday," I replied. "We generally have sex once a week, on Friday night. Is that okay with you?"

"And tonight is Friday, but she isn't here!" Carla exclaimed. "Do you know what my dad says? He says that a man has to have sex at least three times a week, and if his wife doesn't service him, he has a perfectly valid excuse to look elsewhere."

"Is that why your mom divorced him?" I asked. "Did he find someone else to service him, as you put it?"

"Well, sort of," the girl replied. "Actually, Mom caught him with me."

I had been trying to keep my eyes directly on the screen throughout the entire conversation, but now I looked directly at the girl. I could not believe she had just told me how her old man was screwing her. As if that weren't direct enough, she pulled her top over her head.

"Daddy says my breasts are small, but cute," she announced. "What do you think?"

"Lovely," I said as I stood up to lock the door to the room. "Just lovely."

Carla's tits were perfectly round and stood out firmly from her chest. Her skin was light, almost pink in color, and her aureoles were a light brown. Small nipples stood out from the middle of the aureoles.

We lay on the bed and made out; she had obviously kissed a man before, and I had not felt so joyful at simple kissing since before my daughter was born. I caressed her breasts, and she unsnapped my pajama pants and grabbed my cock.

"Wow, this is one way you're different from my dad," she declared. "You're a lot bigger than he is!"

Either she was B-S-ing, or her old man has an unusually small cock. Terri once measured me at 5 ½ inches in length and 3 ½ inches in circumference, so I know my dick is about average or possibly a bit smaller than average. But who does not love flattery? I did not say a word, but let her stroke away.

"Let's do this right," I said, indicating she should stand up while I pulled the bedspread and sheets down. My pajama bottoms fell to the floor, and I unbuttoned my shirt. "Are you going to take off your bottoms?" I asked.

"No; you do it," she giggled.

I have always found undressing erotic, but my wife did not share the same idea, and it had been years since I had undressed a woman (my daughter, who was about four the last time I undressed her, does not count - it was not a sexual act). Carla was wearing baby-blue panties with the figure of a bunny outlined in white, and her sparse pussy hair was the same light brown as that which crowned her head.

"My dad likes to lick my vagina... but he calls it a pussy," declared Carla, "and I really like it when he does it too. Would you please do that?"

"With pleasure," I agreed. Terri has said that I am very good at cunnilingus, and she has even mentioned the possibility of lending me out to her younger sister, although she has never actually done it. My own skill notwithstanding, the quickness and ease at which I brought her to a climax clearly indicated she had been along this path before.

"Oh, Mister Gaby's father," she began, at which time I realized I had not told her my name. So much the better. "Mister Gaby's father, my dad likes to fuck me. Would you fuck me, please?"

I had come this far, so I was not about to deny this request - especially since she was so polite about it. She spread her legs, and I climbed on top of her. She was still wet from her orgasm, so my dick slid in easily, even if she was even tighter than expected. Perhaps she had not been flattering me earlier at all, but her old man really did have a miniature prick.

Carla winced but did not cry out as I shoved my dick between her labia and withdrew slowly. She moaned audibly and asked me to do it harder and faster; her moans became louder, although they still did not drown out the sounds of the movie, which I had not turned off. It was not until that moment of bliss, after ejaculation but before my penis actually softened and slipped out of Carla's vagina that I realized she had been a virgin.

"Why did you tell me your dad and you had sex, when it wasn't true?" I asked.

"I... I did have sex with my dad," she stammered. ""He likes to lick my pussy, and he squirts his you-know-what all over it. I... I just never... he never actually fucked me, but we've had sex."

"Yeah, well that may be true, but you led me to believe that he had actually screwed you."

"Would you have screwed me if I you thought I was a virgin?" she asked.

I did not have a response to that, so I changed the subject and suggested we should take a shower to clean up. She seemed to agree, and we went into the bathroom, when she asked, "What did you mean when you said 'we' should take a shower; like together?"

For the first time I had the opportunity to see Carla naked in the full light of the bathroom. She was certainly tall for a girl of eleven-a good 5'6" and well-built. Her long, light brown hair was tied into a single braid in the back of her head; she had two, discreet silver earrings in her ears, high cheek bones, a nose that could almost be described as 'pug.' She had the prettiest little smile with pearly-white teeth and the sweetest voice I've ever heard.

I have already described Carla's lovely breasts; her tummy was flat, and her legs magnificent. Her pussy was sparsely covered with slightly curlier hair than that on her head, but just as light in color; while presently matted with blood, her large but tight labia were clearly visible. As for her legs themselves, they looked strong and seemed to go on forever.

"Why, haven't you ever taken a shower with your dad?" I asked.

"With my... no, not exactly," she replied. "He used to come into the bathroom sometimes when I was taking a shower, and I think he liked to watch me, but we never actually took a shower together! I'm not sure..."

"Well, you're right, I had suggested we could shower together, which I think is the most fun, but if you're not comfortable with that, I can simply stay here and watch," I suggested, adding, "or not watch, if that's what you prefer. I just think you'll be more comfortable if you take a shower."

"Taking a shower together sounds like fun!" she said. "And that way, you can wash my back."

"Right... or your front."

We had a delightful shower, and it lasted so long that I was glad we had installed the large-capacity water heater instead of the smaller, energy-saving model. After our shower, I grabbed a dry towel and placed it on the bed. Carla and I made love a second time, and I think it is fair to say it was even better than the first time. I held her in my arms and we "spooned" all night.

I awoke at 6:30 or so, and my movements must have woken Carla. We had some fabulous foreplay, and then she acceded to my suggestion that we try "doggy style." Using my forefinger I found her G-spot, and soon she was groaning and moaning loudly. At that precise moment, the alarm from my cell phone inconveniently went off. I decided to ignore it.

"Oh... oh... oh, that feels good, yes, yes... oh my god!" she cried. "Oh my god! Harder! Faster! Yes! Yes! Come in me! Fill me with your come! Yes! Yes! More, more! Oh god, oh god, oh, oh, ohhhhh!"

Carla paused for a few seconds, but I kept stimulating her with my finger. Before I knew it she was moaning from a second orgasm, and then it happened with a third. No longer able to resist, I slipped my cock into her twittering twat. She cried out in joy as her vaginal muscles clamped onto my cock. Quickly I found and matched her rhythm, and oblivious to the obvious danger that we might wake up the entire household, I pounded away quickly and hard. This went on for about three minutes, and just as I began to shoot my wad into her vagina, my alarm clock went off.

I ignored the alarm until I was spent, when I discretely turned off the alarm and rolled over next to my young lover. We were both blissfully exhausted and we lay together for a few minutes, but then I remembered why I had set the alarm. "Time to get up, Carla," I said. "I'll make up the couch in the living room, and as far as any knows, you spent the entire night there. Okay?"

"Yes of course, Gaby's dad," she laughed. "Do you realize I don't even know your name? I've had orgasms before, but nothing like this - I even heard bells ringing when you put it in me. But I have to call you Gaby's dad because I don't know your name?"

"Bells? You heard bells?"

"Yeah, like a clarion-you know how sometimes bells can be made to play songs," she reiterated. "It was wonderful!"

I did not have the heart to tell the little girl that what she had actually heard was my alarm. And I liked the idea of being called "Gaby's dad." I love my daughter very much, so the term is quite enduring. Equally important, I did not expect Carla to accuse me of raping her, but if someone were to learn of our affair, the fact that she did not know my name would increase the plausibility of a denial. If she did not push me on the name thing, I would be glad to let it go.

Carla and I put our pajamas on and we went downstairs. I made up a bed for her on the couch in the living room, gave her one last, but brief kiss on the lips, and went back upstairs. I shaved and got dressed, and then I removed the sheets from the bed to wash them. Carla's virginal blood had even seeped through to the mattress pad, so I stripped that off too. Fortunately, the mattress itself had not been stained.

Down in the laundry room, I filled the washing machine with cold water to soak the linens, and then I made myself a cup of coffee. By time that was done, I added detergent to the machine and washed the linens, along with the towels Carla and I had used after our shower.

Returning upstairs, I had just finished making up the bed when I heard Terri's car pull in. Suddenly I caught a glance of a light blue something on the floor, under the bed and almost hidden from view. Carla's panties! I gave them a quick (almost compulsory) sniff (no erotic scents to report) and then I stuffed them under my pillow for safe-keeping until I could decide what to do with them.

Terri walked in. "How are you?" I asked. "What happened at the plant?"

"The plant's okay-one of the scrubbers wasn't working right, but we managed to get it fixed," she replied. "The hardest part will be doing all the paperwork the EPA insists on for such a case. I'm tired - didn't sleep all night; after we get breakfast for the girls, I'm going to take a long nap. But what's with you - making the bed? You never do that, even though we've agreed to share household duties."

"I know you always change the sheets on Saturday, and I figured you'd be too tired to do it, so I thought I'd do it as a favor," I bluffed. "The dirty ones are in the washer. By the way, one of the girls - I think her name is Carla or something - complained that she couldn't sleep with all the yacking going on last night. I set her up on the couch."

We walked downstairs. Two of the girls were watching Boomerang Channel even as Carla slept on, oblivious. Terri and I greeted them and went to the kitchen, where I was assigned the task of squeezing two dozen oranges for fresh juice while Terri whipped up a batch of pancakes. One-by-one, our daughter Gaby, Carla, and the other girls came downstairs.

"Did everyone sleep well last night?" asked Terri.

"Yeah!" "Sorta." "I guess so." "Like an innocent baby."

That last was from Carla, which brought a retort from a girl named Rachel. "I got up to go to the bathroom at about 12:30, and you weren't even in the room. Where did you sleep?"

"In the living room!" she replied. "Just ask Gaby's mom or dad. They both saw me."

"That's right; I saw her on the living room couch this morning," said Terri. "Now, who wants chocolate chips in her pancakes?"

The girls got their orders in, and Terri returned to the kitchen.

"Carla wasn't in the living room at 12:30," insisted Rachel. "I went to the kitchen to get some juice, and I looked in the living room. I even turned on the light. I would have seen her if she was there."

"I was watching a movie," she said calmly.

"Uh, yeah, that's right," I said. "She came to my room complaining because you girls were chattering so much and she couldn't sleep. I let her watch a movie with me - a movie about Vietnam."

"Why would anyone want to watch that?" asked chubby Joanna.

Ignoring this latest question, I asked Carla, "What was the name of the city where the movie took place?"

"I think it was Saigon or something like that."

"That's right. And what was the name of the river?"

She thought for a moment and replied, "I don't remember the name of the river. Why do you want to know? Did you have a wet dream after I went to sleep?"

There was a good chance that none of the nine-year-olds understood that question, and Terri was out of earshot, so I ignored it. "Well, the river was the Mekong, but that isn't really important," I said. "You girls are probably too young to have studied this in history class, but the capital of South Vietnam was Saigon. Saigon became Ho Chi Mihn City when the war ended, which happened to be the very day I was born. But how could Carla have known the answer if she hadn't watched the movie?"

It was a persuasive argument, although it was not entirely true - the movie did not take place during the Vietnam War, but before World War II. Furthermore, Terri and Carla's mother might have some objections to a young girl in her pajamas sitting alone in a bedroom to watch a movie late at night. Even if that was all they did.

Terri called us for breakfast; I felt both flattered and a bit concerned when Carla sat next to me. I was taken aback when she squealed, "Oh, little breakfast sausages! They're like fingers-please, Gaby's dad, would you give me two fingers? Or how about a big, fat sausage? I'd really like you to give me your big, fat sausage. How about you, Gaby's mom? Would you rather have a finger or a big, fat sausage?"

"Today we have the little ones, honey," my wife said sweetly.

I felt my pulse going up and was afraid that my face would turn red. Carla's sexual innuendos threatened to give me away, so I leaned over and whispered to her that she should cut it out. In return, I found myself promising to drive to the store to get some other sausages. Neither Gaby nor Terri was pleased when I said I wanted to run to the 7-Eleven for sausages, but I pointed out that we really did not have enough sausages for everyone, and that milk was in short supply. Besides, we had only maple-flavored syrup, and no doubt some of the girls would prefer blueberry.

Carla made a move to go along with me and I was tempted to take her along, hoping she might give me a blow job or something on the way. But my big head overruled my little one, and I drove off alone. I found the sausages, milk, and blueberry and strawberry flavored syrup; and I drove home.

I had not been gone long, but the girls were almost finished with breakfast; only Carla had waited for me. "You can cook those sausages and some pancakes for yourself and your little girlfriend; I'm done cooking," Terri said irritably.

On second thought, I should have taken Carla to the store.

Terri apparently was not all that angry with; she said, "I appreciate your changing the linens on the bed, but why did you change the mattress pad?"

"I figured it was dirty - why not?"

"Well, it doesn't really get dirty when it's on the bed, since it is covered by sheets, and we don't have an extra one," she replied. "I hadn't washed it in months - not since my period came along unexpectedly, and it got all bloody."

Like I said - I figured it was dirty, and I was glad I had washed it. I said, "I'll remember that."

I served Carla her sausage and pancakes, but we ate nearly in silence. She had seemed witty the night before, but since sex and the R-rated movie we had seen together were both unbreachable topics, there was little to talk about. I managed to get her to promise never to reveal what had happened that night, but I felt no more confident about her keeping that promise than I do at winning blackjack in Vegas. And I can't count cards.

Terri said she was exhausted and went upstairs to take a nap. It was up to me to clean up the remnants of the party and to wash the breakfast dishes (little more than putting them in the dishwasher). The girls got dressed, and their parents came to pick them off. Her aunt laughed when Carla gave me a kiss good-bye and said, "Au revoir, père du Gaby." "Au revoir, ma cher," I replied.

Gaby went to the living room to watch TV, and I went upstairs. Terri greeted me with a pair of light blue panties in her hand and asking, "Would you mind explaining how these found their way under your pillow?"

Literally, this is the end.