The first time I fucked Piper, my first penetration of her beautiful, blossoming body, she was eleven-years old and I was twenty-five. She was beyond tight. Very excited. A little wet. She was the best lay I'd ever had, and it only got better from there.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Better that I explain how Piper had arrived in my life a few months earlier, unexpected and not without serious reservations. Piper changed my world forever.

- - -

I knew Piper's mother in high school. Veronica and I dated a few weeks. Neither she nor I were virgins when we first has sex, so we both seemed to know enough about it to rather enjoy it. The first time we fucked, in the back seat of her car, she screamed, "Fuck my wet cunt, Patrick! Fuck me raw!" It both turned me on and scared the shit out of me at the same time.

We were both rather wild, often going to college parties even though we were teenagers. We'd usually fuck before and after, sometimes during.

We broke up when her parents moved away and took her with them. I wasn't exactly crushed, though I missed her. By that point, we both sort of drifted a little bit, wanting to date other people. It was high school, after all, and we'd somehow grown bored with our relationship.

I didn't see Veronica or hear from her again until I was twenty-five. I'll get to that shortly. I'd been out of college a couple of years by that point, majoring in digital arts, specializing in photography. I'd gotten a gig right after graduation doing basic shoots at a popular pizza place which featured games and entertainment aimed at children. There were regular birthday parties, and I was the one who put together the basic sets with a backdrop or arranged for one of the store's entertainers, such as the woman who wore the big, smiling bear suit, to drop in for a shot. I took a few photographs which went to the shop's server, and parents could buy copies when paying for their meals.

It was an alright gig, I suppose. Kids were not my thing in any sense. They were noisy, nosy, usually spoiled to the point of disgusting me. Some were fine, of course, but it seemed that the majority of parents who wanted to have me take photos of their brats were affluent snobs.

But I needed the cash and kept the job a few months until an amazing opportunity came my way. A college professor of mine was a major shareholder in a marketing and event services company which operated all over the world, doing any sort of thing you could imagine, including photo shoots. Runway and magazine models. Staged products for advertisements. Weddings and galas and conferences. If someone had ever thought to take a photo of something, chances were good we could be paid to do it for you.

The first couple of months had me working near my home well outside Los Angeles. I rented a small, somewhat-dilapidated apartment in a low-income building and drove dozens of miles around the area to photograph a bar mitzvah, a corporate shareholder's meeting, and the celebration of some rich widow's dead husband.

My range increased, the company soon sending me to Seattle or Toronto, then to Hamburg and Moscow and Mumbai. It was a whirlwind for a guy who spoke only English and had never been further away from home than Las Vegas in his entire life.

But I took to it immediately. I loved the travel and the chance to meet new people. I was largely an introvert all my life, but being in Hong Kong one night and Sydney two days later woke something in me and made me eager to go out and do things around other people. I photographed extravagant weddings on Thai beaches, the opening of a hip new wine bar in Johannesburg, and an international clown convention in Prague. I even got to do a private shoot for a wealthy couple, near my age, who wanted a sensual reminder of their second anniversary. The couple were in various stages of dress, down to him in boxers, her in only a thin pair of sheer panties, her lovely small breasts left bared even to my eyes. It was tough to not be distracted by their intimate poses and appearance, but I thought of myself as a real professional by then, and I delivered them a set of photographs which they assured me had captured their intent perfectly.

I traveled to Tokyo, arriving the night before my next job. It was a modeling convention, and I was supposed to do three phases of shoots. One would be before the models took the stage as they waited in a hallway in the half-hour or so until the competition began. The second phase would be of the performances, the models walking the runway and holding a few poses. The last part of my assignment was to take photos of the models in the dressing area as they were interviewed by industry media. I wondered why I would be allowed in the dressing room portion. Wouldn't they be, well, dressing?

I'd gone to sleep the night before with no idea that the next day would twist my view of the world and set me on a path which would lead me to accepting what Piper would offer in my future.

- - -

The convention center was small by the standards I'd been accustomed to over my weeks traveling the world. Sure, it had a large room with a stage and sound system, but it was a much smaller space than I usually encountered. There were seats for maybe a hundred people around a low stage. The chairs were not on rising levels, instead in rows on the floor, leaving space to walk in front of the stage and near the dividers which had been pulled around to simulate an even smaller room.

A few people milled about. I'd gotten there rather early, something I always did, and I talked briefly with a couple of men I thought were industry journalists.

"First time in Tokyo?" a Japanese man asked me. I'd already made it clear I only spoke English, but thankfully, he assured me that the organization which ran that day's competition was based in South Africa and many attending would speak English.

"First time. Just came in from my third trip to Moscow. Cold there right now, this is a pleasant change. I'd expected cold here, too."

"Ah, yes, it has been warm this week. So, what all have you photographed?"

I told the men about some of my assignments, adding, "I've done three modeling competitions or events, so I've gotten pretty good at finding my way around these things. This is a rather small setup, though. Why so few expected?"

The men exchanged a strange glance. The Japanese man asked, "Have you not done work for ModelLight events before?"

"Never. Not even heard of them before I got the assignment a couple of days ago. Why?"

"Ah," he said, "so when you say you've done modeling jobs, you mean standard modeling."

"Hmm?"

He smiled at me, "These are not adults or even teens, these are preteens, as young as six or seven, up to twelve, thirteen."

I narrowed my eyes, "Oh. I... I had no idea. Does that really matter, though? A gig's a gig."

The man shrugged, "You'll see, I suppose. It might not be quite what you expect. But," he said as if dismissing me, "I'm sure you'll do just fine. Excuse me."

I shrugged, thinking it an odd conversation, but nothing really concerning to deal with. I shouldered my heavy bag and held my favorite tripod in my hand as I walked back behind the stage and found the same pseudo-walls formed from dividers attached to the ceiling. I heard a few voices up ahead, and rounded the corner, into a good-sized makeshift room, to see about a dozen young girls in various states of dress, two times that many adults bustling around them.

I saw young girls of many races and skin colors, almost all very thin, many wearing only panties, and some of the girls were not even that covered. It took me some moments to register the hairless, puffy mounds with narrow clefts running back between slender thighs. I don't know that I was particularly aroused by what I saw, but it certainly caught my attention.

One of the adults spotted me. I'd probably only been standing there three or four seconds, but it felt much longer with naked little girls all around. I took a step back, apologizing, "Ah, sorry, I... I didn't realize... uh..."

The Asian woman smiled at me, "Photographer?" Her English was heavily accented.

"Oh, yes. Photographer."

"Good. Come."

I hesitated but eventually took a few steps forward, pausing again when I was just five or six feet from a pale girl to my right, perhaps eight or nine, bending away from me, her thin panties sliding down her ass and leaving much of her rear cleft easily visible. My eyes lingered much too long for comfort on her subtle young curves.

"You take, erm... photographers?" The woman distracted me at last.

"Take photographs?" I asked.

"Erm, yes. Photographs. My daughter."

She swept her hand towards a young Asian girl, perhaps ten, who was seated on a bench, one heel up on the seat, the other on the floor, loose and thin white cotton panties flared out from her body, leaving a direct view into the shadowy private flesh below. I looked away as quickly as possible. "Sorry, um... you want me to take photos of your daughter. Right now?"

The woman nodded slowly, "Err. Photograph my daughter. Yes, erm. Now. Yes."

I looked around the room, fully expecting to see angry or outraged expressions, figuring I was about to be run out of town for just being in the same room with their naked and half-naked little girls. Instead, none of them even noticed me. A couple of the girls looked my way, but they showed no concern at my presence. I shrugged, stomach flipping a bit. "Okay..." I took out my handheld, not wanting to set up the tripod with so many people moving around. "What, uh... what do you want her to do in the photographs?"

The woman didn't understand me.

"Uh. Do you just want me to take pictures of her face?" I felt sure that's what she meant. She couldn't possibly want me to photograph her nearly-naked little girl.

The woman stood and spoke to the child in what sounded like Japanese. The girl nodded then dropped her leg down to the floor, drawing her knees together and placing her hands on her lap. It still left a visible white vee where her panties covered the upper part of her crotch. The girl's nipples were tiny, dark reddish-brown, and quite erect. She smiled at me as if this was all both normal and exciting for her.

I shrugged, unable to shake the sense that this all seemed rather odd, but I brought the camera to my eye and snapped a few shots of the pretty, smiling child. Her mother gave her commands, and the girl shifted so that her head had rolled back, causing her flat chest to push out. A few more shots later, the girl brought one leg up, heel on the bench, opening the gap between her thighs. The white panties didn't flare this time, but they were obviously half-stuck, wedged up against the girl's little slit.

She moved again and I snapped more photos, both of her face and her body. I ignored the way my cock was growing hard for some strange reason. The girl grinned the whole time, bright teeth shining, eyes dancing. Even when she drew her other leg up, knees beside and under her chin, thighs spread slightly, the girl's face showed only enjoyment. I took a couple of shots before I realized that the girl's panties were indeed stuck in folds, half of the girl's swollen, hairless pussy quite visibly hanging out one side. My finger froze on the button. I could see reddish-brown down there, the child's exposed labia just a sliver of soft-looking flesh.

"Uh..." I said, "you, uh... want to... uh... adjust her?"

The woman looked at me and then her daughter, then back at me, "No, erm... what?"

"Her... her panties... She's... exposed... Showing herself... um..."

The woman looked back at her daughter, the girl still beaming. The mother shrugged then nearly obscenely pressed her hand right against her daughter's crotch, pulling the panties out of the child's vulva and settling the fabric so that the girl's private parts were full covered. "Okay now?"

"B-better... uh... thank you."

I took a few more photographs, already deciding that I would delete them as soon as I got away from the room. There was no way I was going to prison for practically taking pictures of a little girl's genitals.

I made the woman understand that I thought we were done and she had her daughter relax. The girl's smile faded only a little as she dropped her feet to the floor and sat quietly. The mother said, "I pay now."

"Hmm?"

"Pay now. Give... erm... pictures?"

I shook my head, "No, uh... I take photos and give them to the event organizers. I work for them, basically."

"Erm... No, I want... erm... pictures?"

"I can't give them to you, uh... I turn them in to the company," I pointed to the event organization's big banner hanging on one of the false walls. "They will give you the pictures. They will."

She shook her head at me, "No, erm..."

A white woman with long blonde hair walked up, "Everything okay?" She was tall, a Scandinavian accent in her words, dressed as if she was going to be modeling fashion herself that day, a slick, tight white blouse with fitting, bright-red slacks drawing my eyes to her lovely curves.

"I'm having trouble making myself understood," I explained. "I took photos of her daughter for her. I work for a company hired by ModelLight. The photos I take go to them. I can't sell them to her. I don't own them."

The woman looked down at the Japanese woman a moment, then back at me, "Ah, so there has been a misunderstanding. She must have thought you were the... private... photographer..."

"No, sorry, I was assigned to do event photography for ModelLight. I misunderstood her, too, it seems."

"No harm, I suppose," the woman said, "I'm sure the private photographer will be here soon. You're rather early for the event, though. No wonder she was confused."

"Apologies," I directed to both women.

"No harm," the tall blonde replied, "may I speak to you alone a moment?"

"Sure, sure," I said as she walked out of the room and down a different passage than I'd come in.

She stopped us well outside of earshot of the model room. "First time doing this sort of event, I assume?"

"Child models? For sure, the first time."

"No wonder you looked so shocked in there. Naked little girls and all."

"Exactly," I replied, nervous and starting to feel the weight of what I'd just seen in front of my eyes, "are you a parent of one of the models?"

"Yes, and I work for ModelLight, as well. A sort of talent scout."

"Is... is what that woman wanted, like, normal? Maybe it's just that I'm from the US and taking pictures of girls... you know... naked or nearly so... that's pretty frowned upon."

"Normal, yes," the woman mused, "but I suppose never having worked with my company, you wouldn't understand... everything."

I got the sense that this woman was testing me in some way. I couldn't be sure how. "Yeah, suppose that's true. I'm sure sorry I came in there early. Hope no one thought I was, uh," I chuckled nervously, "a pedo or something. I swear it was just a mistake."

She eyed me with a measured look. "You're no pedo, I can tell that."

"Ummm... Thanks." I paused, curious, "Er... how can you be sure?"

"Because a pedo would have taken every opportunity to look at Mitsuki's little pussy when she was so obviously showing it to you. You had your eyes closed half the time. No pedo would have done that, I think."

"Oh, errr..." The way she phrased her thought threw all kinds of red flags. Who talked about an immature little girl's private parts as the child's pussy? And she said enough to suggest she'd met more than a few pedophiles who had been backstage. Why wasn't she angry at me? "Yeah, not me. Not a pedo."

She waved her hand dismissively then, "Well, I must return and start getting my daughter into her outfit. It takes a couple of hours, you know. Anyway, I'd advise that if you're not a pedo, you won't want to be hanging around backstage until we've lined up for the stage. Otherwise, you might accidentally see more little girl pussies. Take care... ummm... your name is...?"

"Patrick."

The woman stuck out her hand and I took it while she told me, "I'm Yrsa. Enjoy the competition, Patrick."

She left and returned to the models' room, and I stood shaking lightly, feeling more than a little bit dirty.

- - -

I deleted the photos of the child after connecting the camera to my laptop, though not before looking at several to make sure I hadn't imagined the things I saw. Sure enough, several of the photos showed the little girl's half-exposed genitals, easily seen in the hi-resolution images. I told myself the child's mother couldn't possibly have noticed. But then I recalled the way she'd patted her daughter's crotch and drew the panties out of the little girl's slit. She had to have known. The woman just hadn't cared that I, and any who saw those photos, could see her daughter's vulva.

Photos deleted, I settled into a chair near the back of the show room, trying to calm my nerves. I didn't talk to anyone else, feeling more than a little off balance. I had seen naked or nearly naked models a couple of times during shoots, but they had all been adult women, or at least older teens who generally were indistinguishable from their early-twenties compatriots.

Little girls was something new for me, and I couldn't shake the idea that there was more going on in this organization's event than I could have believed.

My phone beeped to let me know it was forty-five minutes before the scheduled start time. A crowd had gathered, most still milling around, probably over a hundred people packing densely in the room. Loud conversations and laughter began to echo in the enclosed space, and I could detect several non-English languages being spoken.

There was a mix of people around me as I began to make my way back to the hallway to start taking the phase one photographs. I saw men in suits, and women in professional skirts and dresses. There were also more casually-dressed people, though all looking well-attired. A few teens and children were in the mix, each of them dressed to the level of whatever adults they seemed to follow around. Many of the young girls wore a great deal of makeup.

In the hallway, the young models had started to gather along with their parents and other tenders. Many wore flamboyant and rather revealing outfits. Some were stretched and tight like gymnasts, others had dresses as if for dance, still others wore traditional, showy outfits from cultures across the world. There must have been three dozen girls total and fifty or more adults bustling around them.

I was shocked at the makeup the girls wore. It aged them dramatically. The pale girl who I'd seen earlier, no more than eight or nine, could have easily passed for a fifteen or sixteen-year old if not for her stature and soft, childlike features. The Japanese girl was not far behind her, and I flashed to an image of the girl's vulva as I saw that she now wore a tight, white, form-fitting leotard with a couple of small flared folds hanging down her outer thighs. Her makeup took her from nine or ten to a high schooler in appearance. I couldn't believe the differences. It was like these girls were being intentionally sexualized. Obviously so. I saw small, budding breasts pushing out thin fabric, one tall girl's nipples almost visible beneath one form-fitting top. Another's leotard was bright red and showed what I could only imagine was an indentation from where it was pulled tightly up into her genitals. If these overt signs of sexuality were not intentional, then these girls' parents were incredibly naive.

What would men think if they saw such things? I'd looked away, as best I could, in the model room, but it was harder to do so now that each girl had been painted to look older and placed in outfits designed to draw eyes to pubescent breasts, if she had them, to rounding hips and curved bottoms, and many of them would surely draw eyes right down between their legs where clear textures of immature genitals were pressing out the fabric.

I got about my business as best I could. Using my handheld and a voice recorder, I asked for each girl's name, then took about two dozen shots of each girl, ten from the front or from a slight angle, four-to-six closeups of her face, two from each side, and four or so from the back with the girl turning her head to smile for the shot. Each one of them seemed pleased to be photographed and if any were overly nervous or feeling ashamed to be seen in such revealing outfits, none showed it to me.

I'd worked my way down the line until there were just three or four girls left.

"Patrick?" I heard a female voice gasp.

I looked up to see my former high school girlfriend, Veronica, with a look of shock on her face. She looked older, a little weathered, but still beautiful. Her black hair had been cut short, spiky around her crown, a little longer down to her ears. She'd always looked a little Southern European. Maybe Greek or Balkan ancestors. Age had enhanced those features by adding weight and color to her face.

"It is you!" she shouted.

"Veronica? Holy cow!" I barely corrected the word 'shit' just in time to keep from cursing in front of the young girls. "What are you doing here?"

"My daughter's in the competition! You're the event photographer?"

I nodded, utterly shocked to see Veronica again. "How... how have you been? You, uh, have a daughter, huh?"

Veronica's smile wavered just a second before returning, then she said, "Yeah! Patrick, this is my daughter, Piper."

I looked down to see a girl of about ten staring back at me. I hadn't seen her in the modeling room earlier. Though obviously only a child, she looked a lot like her mother, raven-black hair twisted in braids behind her head, Northern Mediterranean features, blue-green eyes like calm Pacific waters on a sunny day, a nose which turned up just slightly at the tip, lips which were, even in her otherwise youthful face, full and warm. Some of that might have been the lipstick and gloss. She had much less cosmetic enhancement slathered on her face than the other girls, I thought. She didn't really need it. Piper was quite striking without all the paint smeared on. "H-hello," I squeaked, still in a bit of shock from seeing Veronica again.

"Hi!" she smiled at me. A perfect smile, at that. Not the glued-on, overly-sincere ones most of the other girls plastered on while I took their photos. Piper's smile was warm and friendly, as if she was actually happy to meet me and not just trying to score points with judges or competitors or their parents. "My turn then?" the girl asked.

"S-sure, sure, uh, one sec." I turned back to her mother and said, "Listen, Veronica, I'd love to catch up if you have time later. I'll be around for the after-photos."

"I'd like that, Patrick. Here," she reached into a slender purse hung under her arm, twisted a catch, then pulled out a card, "that's my number. Goes to my cell which I've got in here. If we don't see each other, call me and maybe we can go get some dinner."

"Great!" I stuck the card in my back left pocket then turned back to Piper, "Ready?"

The girl's face lit up when it was her turn to be photographed, and as her earlier smile showed, she seemed genuinely excited to the object of my camera's attention. Piper wore a white, tight-fitting and stretched top and bottom suit with flared material at her ankles. The top left a tilting slash of her upper and mid-chest exposed, curling down over her right side as it tapered and closed. An orange and red swirl rose from the left side to wrap a partial circle around her neck. The lower part of the suit was as tight as the top, and I hastily looked away when I realized Piper's vulva was clearly visible through the material.

I don't mean the impression of her vulva. Her actual vulva. Dark-red flesh, thin and just slightly parted, was easily seen between Piper's legs. It wasn't a trick of the material or of shadows playing there. Her honest-to-God genitals could be seen through her outfit. I nearly choked on the sight.

Somehow I managed to get through taking her photos, but I knew I snapped about twice as many as the other girls because I had trouble holding steady after seeing the forbidden flesh between her legs, just barely covered by thin, sheer white fabric.

As if she wanted me to know she'd enjoyed posing for me, Piper blew me a kiss when I took the last couple of photos from behind with her head turned back. The girl's rounded, bubble-shaped bottom pushed out the fabric, the material running high and tight between her buttocks, stretched taut around her hips and waist.

I moved on as quickly as I could, almost losing my ability to take a steady photo. I hoped the shots of the last girls in line were decent enough for the client's use.

I went back to my seat and plugged the camera into the laptop, uploading and tagging all the photos, then storing them on the cloud server the client would use to access them later. I did something I'd never done before, not even when I'd taken private, sensual photos of women and couples. I copied all the pictures of Piper into a personal virtual drive. For whatever reason, I really wanted to keep those for me to look at another time. I don't think it was necessarily really sexual thoughts brewing in my head, more that I knew I'd taken photos of a beautiful girl worth savoring in some way.

- - -

The competition itself was rather typical of other such events I'd worked. The girls paraded out as a group, then one at a time did a runway walk, stopping regularly in fairly standard poses. Then they reformed again and were asked questions by three judges. The final part of the competition involved each girl performing a talent of some sort. Most of them danced or twirled or performed somersault routines with the help of cushioned mats. A few sang.

Piper did something completely different. One of the hands brought onto the stage a heavy platform with a silver pole attached in the middle, rising up, stiff but swaying just a little with nothing holding it at the top. Piper stepped up to it, her vulva on clear display through the fabric. I found myself gulping often and trying to ignore her swollen genitals. That would become much harder once she wrapped a leg around the slim column and began to spin.

It was like watching a sensual dancer work a pole. Not the sexual, sometimes frantic routines I'd often seen in strip clubs the world over, nor was it the seductive, playful erotic slow dance I'd seen at other times. Piper's routine was sensual, yes, but it was exquisitely deliberate. She moved as if willing each muscle to work within the greater routine as part of a whole. Her legs wrapped and slithered, she braced herself against nothing, holding her body out from the pole, then Piper took hold, climbing, sliding down with her crotch pressed firmly against the solid metal.

Up and down she moved, flipping over, rolling as if in a fall before catching herself, spinning upwards again, holding on with only her ankles, and then the young girl finally leapt backwards and landed on her feet, sliding into a split to mark the end of her routine.

The crowd went nuts. I'd snapped photos the whole way, and with my hands full, I couldn't bear not rewarding Piper's performance, so I whooped and yelled my appreciation along with everyone else in the crowd. I'd never seen anything like it.

A few more girls went after Piper, and then it was time to announce the winners. A dark-skinned girl won third, and the pale girl I'd noticed earlier took second. I felt certain Piper had won. No one had topped her talent. Instead, a brown-skinned girl of maybe ten took the top prize. I felt very disappointed for Piper.

I took photos of the awards handed out, then headed back with the three winners to the room set aside for the models' interviews. Inside were a handful of journalists and photographers, nearly all men, as well as the winners and their parents or tenders. One by one, each girl sat down in front of a promotional banner to answer questions. I didn't pay much attention to the questions asked, they appeared to be the standard little girl questions about what she wanted to be when she grew up, and any special toys, and whether she dreamed of getting married one day. The same old silly shit little girls everywhere got asked.

But the winner was asked different questions, and they were phrased something like, "Will you be attending the private show taking place that evening?" and then, "Is your outfit for sale right now?" and "Would you let me take a photo with you privately?"

I knew something was odd about those questions, but I finished snapping my photos as the girl answered through a translator and then I left the room, soon uploading the final photos to my company's server and sending my supervisor an email saying I had finished my assignment. She called me on my cell immediately.

"Patrick? What are you doing in Tokyo?" Marilyn asked with more than a little surprise in her voice.

"Hmm? That's where the assignment took me..."

"That was, uh, supposed to be Milton's job..."

"Milton?" The man she referenced was a colleague, much older, a little decrepit, to the point where I half expected him to kick the bucket every time he had to climb more than a dozen stairs in one go.

"Yeah, um... he's not there, is he?"

"No... haven't seen him. What's going on?"

"Oh, uh... must have been a mixup... Milton gets the ModelLight assignments. Not sure how you... ummm... did... uh... did everything go smoothly?"

I replied, "Suppose, yeah. All the photos are already set for review."

"Good, uh, good. Listen. Just, uh... forget this one okay? I'll send you your next assignment in the morning. Hang tight in Tokyo for now."

I said I would and the call went dark. I'd never had such a mixup before, being sent on someone else's assignment. Clearly, Marilyn was not happy that I'd been the one going to the ModelLight competition. I wondered if maybe, because of the way the girls dressed, they did extra vetting of the photographers sent to handle the job. Maybe ModelLight wished to ensure only established professionals came in. Given how much of their bodies were being flaunted, there was a real risk of men, including those taking photographs, pushing things too far or doing something worse to the girls. I thought, briefly, of how I'd saved the photos of Piper for myself and considered deleting them to avoid trouble, but I just couldn't do it in that moment, images of the pretty girl too interesting to not see at least once more.

After packing my gear, I wandered around backstage a bit looking for Veronica. When I didn't find her, I called the number on her card. She answered after several rings. "Hello? Who's this?"

"It's Patrick," I replied.

"Ah, right. Hi," the woman said, "listen... something came up. I can't meet for dinner tonight. We're flying out first thing in the morning. Sorry about that..."

"That's fine," I assured her, not letting my disappointment come through in my words, "another time, maybe."

"Sure, sure," Veronica told me, "I've got your number now. I'll give you a ring soon. Maybe, back in the States, we can get together for lunch."

I agreed I'd like that and she ended the call.

I caught a cab back to my hotel.

- - -

It was three months before I heard from Veronica again. I was back in Los Angeles on a week-long break. I'd just come back from a three-country swing through Brazil, Peru, and Colombia, fairly exhausted and rather enjoying the second day of my stay-at-home vacation. I was lounging in my boxers on my couch, watching the movie Super Troopers for the twentieth time, smoking a little pot through a small glass pipe, when my cell rang and I saw the woman's name show up on the screen.

"Hey, Veronica!"

She sounded rushed, "Patrick, hi. Got a minute?"

"Sure."

"Listen..." she paused so long I thought the call had dropped.

"Veronica?"

"I'm here, sorry. I... I have a huge, huge favor to ask, Patrick."

I hated conversations which started like that. Usually, it involved me having to go well out of my way to do something I'd really rather not do. "Okay..."

"I'm in Dallas with my daughter and... Something big came up for me. I've... I've got to leave for a while."

"Huh?" She wasn't getting to the point and she sounded more desperate the longer she stalled. "What's going on?"

"I need a huge, huge favor," Veronica repeated, "I don't really have anyone else I can turn to... No one else who I can trust right now..."

I had no idea why I was on such a short list. Other than the brief moments in Tokyo, I'd not been involved in Veronica's life since we were both teenagers. Red flags were flying all around.

She continued, "I've gotten into some... trouble... And... well, I won't say any more... Listen... is there any way, any way at all, that you can come get Piper and look after her a while?"

"What?"

"Please... She can't come with me, and I really need to be on a flight out of here in about an hour..."

"What's going on, Veronica? What sort of trouble?"

"Best not to say, Patrick. Best you don't know... I just need to leave the US a while. Piper can't come. Please. I'm begging you. I know this is sudden and weird, but... she needs someone to look after her..."

"What about your parents?" I'd known her mom and dad when we'd been dating. They seemed like nice enough people.

"They... died... a couple of years ago... car crash..."

"God, I'm so sorry..."

"It's fine," she muttered, then rushed her words again, "Please, Patrick. Please. I'm begging you. Please help me. I promise I'll make it up to you somehow."

I shook my head, unsure whether I should help the woman or just call the cops. I decided that I'd at least see that Piper was safe before doing anything terribly drastic. "Okay. You're leaving in an hour? What do you want me to do?"

"Come to Dallas, today if you can. I've got a room for Piper at the Hilton by DFW. She's there now. I'll leave your name with the desk so they know you're expected. Piper will meet you in the lobby as soon as you get here. Can you come now? I've only got the room for her until tomorrow morning..."

"Jesus, Veronica," I muttered, "short notice, really..."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"I'll get dressed and see if I can get a flight out. Does Piper have a cell I can use to contact her?"

Veronica gave me her daughter's number, then said, "I'm gonna be late... thank you, Patrick. Thank you. I promise it will all be fine. I just need to get out of here right now. Sorry to drop this on you, but you're the only one I trust with my daughter..."

She hung up soon after and I sat on my couch, my head swimming. I had no idea what sort of trouble Veronica had gotten herself into, but it was clear it was bad enough that she had to leave the country without her daughter. I worried that I'd just agreed to get involved in something deep, maybe even organized crime or worse. But I motivated myself by remembering there was a ten-year old girl alone in a hotel room, probably scared, and in need of someone to look after her. Muttering about the timing and how I'd much rather just watch Super Troopers, I managed to get dressed, book myself a one-way ticket to Dallas a little later that day, and packed my overnight bag with some clothes, a couple of cameras, and my laptop before calling a cab and heading to LAX.

- - -

The flight down to Dallas was easy enough. I'd been stuck in a middle seat, something I loathed, but thankfully there had been slender young boys on either side of me, leaving some decent room to stretch out a bit. I called Piper's cell once I'd landed.

"Hello?" the girl answered.

"Piper, it's Patrick."

"Oh. Hi." She didn't exactly sound enthused to hear my voice.

"Listen, I just landed in Dallas. You still at the hotel? The Hilton?"

"Uh-huh..."

"I'll be over as soon as I can. You need anything?"

"Not really..."

"Hang in there, I'll be there as soon as possible. Meet me in the lobby in, say, twenty minutes or so."

"Okay."

- - -

The hotel lobby was rather small and I didn't see Piper anywhere. I checked in at the desk, letting them know my name and showing my identification. They had my name on file and asked if I needed a room key. I told them I did and asked if Piper had been seen in the lobby recently. "I thought she was coming down to meet me here," I told the clerk.

The woman shook her head. "Saw her last night, I think, when they checked in. Haven't seen her since, but I just came on shift a couple of hours ago."

"Okay, just checking. I'll head up. Thanks."

I slung my bag over my shoulder and caught the elevator to the eighth floor, turning right and following the hallway until I came to room eight-three-two. I knocked, not wanting to just walk in on the girl. "Piper? It's Patrick," I called through the door.

I heard a click and then another, then the door swung open. Piper was dressed in a long grey t-shirt and what seemed to be pink and white pajama bottoms. Her raven-black hair was a mess. Piper's eyes were red and puffy. She'd clearly been crying.

"Hey, uh... can I come in?"

She nodded slowly, then stepped back into the room, plopping down on the queen-sized bed. The room was basic and small, an economy-type meant for little more than sleeping. There was no couch, a single chair, and a slender desk. Little else. I saw a suitcase on top of the low dresser, another along the far wall near the air conditioner. A bottle of water on the bedside table was half-empty, a bag of potato chips open nearby.

I sat my bag down and asked, "You doing okay?"

Piper shrugged but didn't otherwise respond.

"What's going on, Piper?" I said gently, sitting on the corner of the bed, the girl on her back in the middle, head on a thick pillow. "Why did you mom have to rush off?"

Piper shrugged again, "I dunno. She didn't tell me..."

"Jesus," I muttered, "well... I'm sure sorry. I'm... I'm not really sure what your mom wants me to do... Did she give you any idea how long she might be gone... or when she might send for you to join her?"

The girl shook her head, "Not really. All I know is... yesterday... some guy called her and she freaked... Like... really freaked... She scared me cause she was scared, a lot. That's all I know..."

I probed for answers as carefully as I could, "Has she, you know, been involved with... criminals? Like... people she knows stealing things, or doing bad things to people?"

"I know what criminals are!" she snapped, turning onto her side away from me. Piper continued after a moment. "I dunno. Maybe. I don't know anything."

"Alright," I replied, up against a wall for the moment. "So, it sounds like she'll be gone at least a few days... and she's not coming back here, right?"

Piper shrugged.

"Then there's no point staying in Dallas, I think. I guess I can take you back to my apartment in LA until we hear from your mom. That sound okay?"

"If I have to..."

"What would you prefer?"

"To follow my mom."

"I know, Piper," I replied, "but do you even know where she went?"

She shook her head into the pillow and started crying.

"Shhh... okay... I know this sucks. What can I do for you right now?"

Piper just kept crying.

I felt more than a little awkward. If she'd been my daughter, or someone I knew better, I'd have offered Piper a shoulder to cry on, a hug to comfort her. Since I'd never met the girl but one time before that evening, and we were alone together in a hotel room, I tried to stay as far away from any unnecessary contact with her as possible. Too many misunderstandings could have come about, and if I was already at risk by being involved in whatever Veronica was caught up in, I sure as hell wasn't going to add scrutiny over inappropriate physical contact to the bill.

So I sat on the bed and listened to her crying a few minutes, feeling terrible for the girl. I tried hard to find a way to cheer her up. "Hey, um... have you been to Los Angeles before?"

Slowly, Piper nodded, "Once."

"Did you go to Universal Studios? I hear it's a lot of fun."

"No..."

"Wanna go with me when we get back to LA, then? I've been wanting to go, just not by myself."

She shrugged which I guessed was as good an answer as I was going to get.

"Hungry?" I asked after she'd calmed down a bit.

Piper nodded against the pillow.

"How about we get dressed and go find something to eat?"

She rolled over, eyes red and puffy, "I suppose..."

I turned my back as soon as she started to pull the old t-shirt from her body. The last thing she needed was some strange guy she barely knew to start watching her undress. I heard her shuffling through one of the suitcases, then she said, "This one okay?"

I turned and my eyes froze.

Piper was completely naked.

She held out a pair of black and gold leggings and a top which matched. "Uh..." I squeaked, "Sure... uh... sure..."

"Mommy likes me to dress up, usually... but I don't really wanna right now..."

"Oh, uh," I looked away quickly from where Piper's immature slit was easily seen below her hairless Mons just a few feet from where I stood, her tiny nipples hard on her flat chest, "sure... that's fine. No need to dress up," I told her, turning to keep from staring.

More shuffling and then she sighed, "Ready, I guess..."

She wore the outfit now, to my relief. I grabbed my cell and headed out the door, Piper in tow.

- - -

The girl had little to say until we were seated in the burger joint not far from the hotel, menus in hand. To say I felt awkward would have been an understatement. I'd never been around kids much. I had no siblings, no cousins I'd spent time with near my age when I was a child. Though my parents had taken in a roommate or two when I was younger, they were always single women with no children. Even then, as a twenty-five year old man, I'd had no interest in spending time around kids. I didn't understand them at all, felt uncomfortable being around them, and usually was looking to extricate myself from whatever conversation included anyone under sixteen or so.

And never, aside from the minutes spent in the ModelLight back room, had I ever seen a naked female child before. I really wanted to flush those images from my head. Then I recalled that I still possessed copies of the photos I took of Piper a few months earlier. I'd not looked at them since. They'd been forgotten as I stayed busy traveling and working assignments in South America and Western Europe.

But I was stuck with Piper, it seemed, and, it was clear, she felt rather unfortunately stuck with me, too. The girl was sad and withdrawn, barely grunting in reply to my gentle questions, her eyes glazed over as they passed up and down the menu. "See anything that looks good?" I asked.

She shrugged, "Burger."

"Just a burger? They have a bunch of them."

"I just want a burger," Piper said with frustration.

"Okay... anything on it?"

"No."

The waiter came by to take our order. I got a grilled chicken sandwich with fries and ordered Piper a plain hamburger.

I continued, despite my misgivings, to engage Piper in conversation. "So... uh... how did you get involved in modeling?"

She shrugged, almost appearing to perk up a little at the topic. "I dunno. When I was young, I guess."

"Your mom took you to a competition?"

Piper nodded. "Yeah."

"Your, uh, your routine on the pole, in Tokyo... that was really impressive, Piper."

The child offered a thin smile, "Thanks. I like that one."

"Where'd you learn to do those tricks? I've seen women much older than you who were pretty good who couldn't do that."

"What, like strippers?"

"Uh," I narrowed my eyes, "yeah. How'd you know?"

She shrugged, "Mommy said strippers perform on poles."

"Oh. Yeah. That's what I meant..."

"So you like strippers?"

"Huh?"

Piper looked me in the eyes for the first time all night, "You like watching strippers dance on poles?"

"Umm... Not really, no. Uh... I just... I get invited, you know, after I finish a gig... So I've seen a few, not really something I go to see, though."

"Oh," I thought Piper sounded a little disappointed. Then she asked, "Do you have a pole I can practice on? I'm going to a competition in two weeks in... umm... Berlin... I think..."

"Berlin? Piper... if you're mom's not around... I... I don't know how your going to get there..."

"Why can't you take me?" she said, a touch of pleading anger in her tone.

"I have to work," I protested a little too strongly, and I felt guilty for my tone immediately. "Sorry. This is new to me, too. We'll figure something out, okay? Let's just get you back to LA with me and we'll figure it out."

"Fine," Piper replied, "but I'm gonna go to my competition anyway."

I let the matter drop, not really wanting to argue with an emotionally-overwhelmed ten-year old. Not then, not ever.

- - -

The situation in the hotel room was not really optimal. "I'll just take the chair," I told her when we returned from dinner, "I'll have the desk send up an extra blanket and pillow."

"Why?" Piper asked as she sat on the end of the bed. "There's room for both of us. My mom and I just share the bed."

"Well," I tried to explain gently, "I'm not your mom... and you're a little girl... and... it isn't right for me to sleep in the same bed with you, Piper. I feel kinda strange about just sharing a room with you."

"Why? What's wrong with me?" she said defensively. "You think I'm ugly or something?"

"What? No, not that. I mean... you know... I'm sure your mom warned you about... men... what they might want to do with you..."

"Yeah, I know all that," Piper replied, "but you're not going to do anything to me, right? You came to help me?"

"Right, yeah. I'm not doing anything but helping you. I promise. But... I think I'd rather let you have the bed."

She looked at me with an expression only a young girl could display, some mix of humor and stubbornness and spite. "Suit yourself. I'll just be comfy in here, then."

With that statement, Piper proceeded to shuck off her shirt, leaving the upper-half of her body exposed, then yanked down her leggings, wearing only a pair of very skimpy white panties covering her genitals. I looked away as she got on her hands and knees to crawl up the bed, soon under the covers. I noticed that she'd deliberately taken a spot on the far side of the bed from my chair, as if leaving open the opportunity to climb in despite my protests.

- - -

While Piper snored lightly on the bed, I booked us tickets from Dallas to LAX the following morning. Thankfully, my job paid rather well and, being a single guy living far enough from LA to get a decent price on my shitty apartment, I'd managed to save up enough cash to have a decent reserve for emergencies. The tickets cost a small fortune, but aside from a small groan when I saw the total, I didn't worry too much about the price.

I'd called down to the desk and an attendant brought up my requested blanket and pillow. For an hour, I shuffled uncomfortably from position to position, completely unable to sleep. I suppose my mind wouldn't shut down easily, far too many concerns and strange events that day to process and let fall away from my consciousness. The discomfort of the chair only made it more pronounced.

Sure I had to get at least some sleep to deal with having now taken in a stray, I made a weary decision to take a small sliver of the bed. Gently, I stepped over and pulled back the sheets just enough to get in. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I felt Piper turn over to face me. She said in a whisper, "Told you it was more comfy."

"You're right," I replied, "I'll just sleep right here. The rest is yours. Thanks for sharing, Piper."

"I don't take much space, that's what Mommy says, anyway."

"I'll try to keep over here," I reiterated.

"Suit yourself," Piper replied, a phrase I was already becoming tired of hearing from her.

- - -

My mind had fought sleep a while before it finally gave up. I don't recall my dreams, but I woke a few hours later with the sense that they had been frantic and confusing. On my back, I was sweating, the heavy comforter too much for me. I swept it back and realized I was not as alone on my side of the bed as I had been when getting in.

Piper's body was stretched, now mostly in the middle of the bed, one knee cocked against my thigh, one of her arms pressed against mine. I tried to move away but I was on the edge of the mattress already. I exhaled deeply, frustrated but not willing to go back to trying the chair again. I managed to close my eyes and drift off despite the ever-present warmth from the young girl's body next to me under the covers.

Patrick, Male, 25

	- Narrator, professional photographer

	- 5'9, beige skin, 165lbs, muted-brown bangs

Piper, Female, 10

	- Child model

	- 4'7, tanned beige skin, 90lbs, blue-green eyes, straight raven-black hair

Veronica Oliver, Female, 27

	- Mother of Piper, former high school girlfriend of Patrick

	- 5'8, pale beige skin, 140lbs, blue-green eyes, straight raven-black hair