I'd just finished my rounds for the day and was heading to the sandwich shop for lunch when I saw a girl sitting on a bench in the middle of the room. The girl looked lost, or at least extremely out of place, trying to be as small as she possibly could in the black vinyl and aluminum seat, avoiding eye contact with passersby, most of whom like me were looking at her out of a similar curiosity to mine. She wore a white teeshirt, jeans jacket, some sort of bandanna covering most of her sandy hair, just a few wisps falling out around her face. She had jeans on, which appeared to be fairly tight, but oddly ill-fitting, like they'd been bought second-hand. On the other hand, her knock-off tennis shoes looked new. She held in her lap--hugged, really--what I can only describe as a "rucksack." You know, one of those old leather duffle bags like you see soldiers from World War One carrying.

Interested in what her story might be, I sat down on the bench across the aisle from her. She raised her eyes--pretty light brown eyes--and gave me a little smile. I could see some concern on her face.

"Everything alright?" I asked her.

She took a deep breath, the rucksack lifting. "Yeah..." A very unconvincing response, delivered too slow to be believable.

"Well, I'm just about to go on my lunch break. You want me to grab you a sandwich or something?"

She pursed her lips tightly. I could tell she wanted to say yes.

"Come on, my treat. Why don't we go sit at the counter? That way I won't slop mayo on the front of my shirt."

This brought a smile! Progress!

I stood up and offered to carry her bag, and she handed it to me, and stood up herself. She pushed as much of the wayward hair back under her bandanna and buttoned up her jeans jacket, then without saying a word, followed me to the little sandwich shop.

It was one of those sandwich shops that bus depots have, the kind of place that made you hope that nothing they were serving was outright spoiled. But as long as the meat was fresh, the lettuce wasn't too wilty, and the bread wasn't moldy, the sandwiches were at least passable, if not actually good. I told the guy working the counter what I wanted, and when it was the girl's turn to order, she simply said. "I'll have what he's having."

I paused for a moment when I heard her speak. What is that accent? Is she European? German? Nah, not nearly as pronounced as a German accent. It was a fairly subtle accent, at least judging from the four seconds I had heard--the Ls had an interesting lilt to them; the vowels were long with a little bit of the tongue at the roof of the mouth. Dutch, maybe?

We carried our trays, me with her rucksack over my shoulder, to the counter and sat down on a couple of their wobbly stools. I slipped the bag off my shoulder and gently set it on the seat next to me.

"So where you from?" I asked the girl. "It sounds like you have an accent. Are you European?"

She shook her head, lifting her hand to her mouth to indicate that she couldn't answer because she'd just taken a bite of her sandwich. This caused her to smile again, a little embarrassed. The smile made me realize that despite the odd bandanna and her complete lack of make-up, she was actually a pretty girl, freckles on the top of her cheekbones, a bit of acne on her forehead, but otherwise smooth-skinned with pretty pink lips, a cute little nose, and shining bright eyes.

I tried to guess how old she was. Fifteen? Nah, didn't seem like she was that old. What's a girl her age, thirteen years old, or fourteen, maybe, what was she doing sitting in this dump all by herself? I guess it's not like you don't see thirteen year old girls here by themselves sometimes, but they usually have lots of make-up on and a pimp somewhere nearby. At that thought, I looked around. The place was pretty much deserted. Either there was no pimp, or he was doing a good job of staying in the shadows.

"No, I'm not European," she said with that same odd accent, having cleared the bite of sandwich from her mouth. "I'm from Pennsylvania."

"Really?" I said, genuinely surprised.

She nodded, taking another big bite.

"Watcha doing in Michigan then?"

She wiped some food off the side of her mouth. "I go to stay with my sister."

"Cool..." I responded, wanting more.

"But..." she paused. "My bus was late..."

"Oh, yeah. You were on the bus from Akron. Fuel line leak."

She nodded.

"So you missed your connection?"

She nodded again, eating more.

"What's your ultimate destination?"

"Illinois."

Now I nodded. "And you gotta wait until tomorrow for that." I knew the bus schedules like the back of my hand.

She nodded some more, eating down her sandwich.

"Do you have a hotel room then?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I sleep here."

Now I shook my head. "No, they won't let you do that. They'll kick you out after the last bus."

She looked concerned.

"Can you call your sister? She ought to be able to wire you some money." I looked over at the little convenience shop, with a Western Union sign in the window.

She shook her head. "She has no money."

"Then your parents?"

"They haven't a phone."

Well, that seemed damned unlikely. I was a bit annoyed, I wanted to help this girl as best I could, and here she was, lying to me. God knows what else she was lying about with this story she was spinning--does the sister even exist? Well, runaways usually lie about their past, and she probably has good reason to not want to contact her parents. I thought about the meager amount of money in my bank account, and the even meagerer amount in my wallet. Payday was four days away. Being a safety inspector at the bus depot paid better than any other job at this rathole, but it sure as shit wasn't going to get you rich. I felt bad for the girl, I really did, but if she wasn't going to call her parents, there wasn't anything I could do to help her. She's going to be sleeping on the streets by 2 AM. She might not have a pimp now, but she sure as hell is gonna have one by tomorrow morning.

I could see from the look on her face that she could read my thoughts. I guess she'd decided to try to get me to help her, give her some money out of the kindness of my heart. Not gonna happen.

"I..." she stammered, at the same time digging in the front pocket of her jacket. "Do you have a sofa? I could give you this," she handed a crumpled five dollar bill to me, "if..."

I closed her fingers around the bill. "I'm not taking your money."

She looked like she was about to cry.

"I don't want money, sweetheart. I just want the truth. Why won't you call your parents?"

"I told you," she said, her voice cracking. "They haven't a phone."

"Don't be ridiculous," I said in a supremely scolding tone.

This solicited a reaction I hadn't expected. She smiled. "Ah," she said, "you don't understand. They haven't a phone, because we're Amish."

"Amish?" That was an unexpected turn in this girl's tale of lies.

"Yes." She was still smiling. "You wonder why I dress like the English."

"Um..."

"It is because I am on Rumspringa."

"'Rum...?'"

"Rumspringa. 'The running around.'"

"Okay...?"

"I am to stay with my sister and her husband for my Rumspringa. She says there are many boys where she lives who will take me to the movies, to parties, out on dates."

"I'm confused," I said, quite truthfully.

"The Rumspringa is when Amish children, Amish teenagers, behave like the English. We go and find if we prefer the English ways, or if we wish to stay with the Amish. My sister met her husband on Rumspringa, and they chose to stay with the Amish and be married and now they have a little farm and a little family."

"Are you serious? You're not bullshitting me?"

She smiled again. "I shit you not."

Now I smiled. She thrust the crumpled fiver in my direction again. "Now will you let me sleep on your sofa tonight?"

And I again closed her fingers around the bill. "I'm serious, I'm not going to take your money. And I don't want you sleeping on my sofa." Her face fell momentarily, but I plowed on, with a little smile. "I'll sleep on the sofa, and you can sleep in my bed for the night." And her face lit with another smile. Jesus, I liked this girl's smile! "But, now seriously, you promise me you're telling the truth about this "Rum-whatever?"

"Rumspringa. Yes, I tell you the truth."

"Okay, then, Amish girl whose name I don't know..."

"Abigail."

I nodded. "Abby?"

"Everyone--all the Amish--call me Abigail. But I'd like it if you call me Abby. That can be my Rumspringa name!"

"Abby it is then. Abby Rumspringa." We both laughed. "And I am Neal," I introduced myself, "Neal Phillips." I extended my hand to her; she quickly stuffed the crumpled bill back in her jacket pocket and reached back out and shook my hand.

"Wow!" Abby said with her little lilt, looking out the window of my car as we drove down I-75. "This city is so big!"

"Yeah, pretty big," I concurred.

"What do you do for fun?" she asked.

"Fun? Well, let's see... I like to see live bands at the bar, and hang out with my friends..."

"That sounds like fun. Do you go on dates?" She turned away from the car window and looked at me as she asked the question.

"Dates?" I replied, not sure what I should say by way of an answer. I mean, of course I go on dates, but...

"Yes. Do you have a girlfriend?" She was reaching up behind her head to untie her bandanna scarf.

"Well..." The answer was complicated, as it usually is.

"I haven't ever been on a date," she said, the bandanna now removed and revealing a large bun of hair. She began plucking hairpins from the bun.

"No?"

"No. But that is what Rumspringa is for." She smiled. "Do you go to movies?"

"Sometimes," I answered, "sure, if there's anything good showing."

"I wouldn't care what is showing. I haven't ever been to a movie."

"Well, we could go to a movie tonight, if you want to."

"Like, a date?" she said.

"Um..." I stammered.

She laughed, and as she did, she freed her pinned up hair, gave a shake of her head, and an amazing amount of straw-colored silken hair cascaded around her shoulders and down her back. The transformation of the girl was amazing; with her hair down, and with the pure lilt of her laugh--the first time I'd heard her laugh--she looked gorgeous, a completely different girl from the one I'd seen sitting so timidly on the bench back at that god-forsaken bus station.

She was turned towards me now, smiling. "What else do you do, when you go on a date?"

"Um..." I stammered again. "Dinner? And a walk?"

"Sounds romantic!"

"I can see if I can get us a table at a restaurant downtown, if you want."

"You'd do that? For me?"

"Sure," I said, having recovered something of my wits by now. "Your first night on Rumwhatever should be a good one, don't you think?"

"Yes!" She had the biggest, most beautiful smile.

Quite against my will, and my better judgment, I was becoming enamored with this girl.

When she emerged from the bathroom at my apartment, her transformation from timid Amish girl to beautiful young teen was now complete. She was wearing a light blue dress that, unlike her previous clothing, fit her exquisitely. It wasn't an immodest dress at all, the collar buttoned high, the skirt to her knees, but the way it clung to her body left nothing to the imagination, and for the first time, I could see the shape of her bosom: firm, petite, altogether admirable.

She held her arms out to her sides and twirled, the skirt lifting, showing long, thin, bare legs. "Do you like the dress?" she asked when the twirl was complete

"It's beautiful," I answered, reverentially.

"It's my Rumspringa dress! I made it myself!"

"You did?!? Wow!"

"Yes! Well, with the help of my mother."

"It's really beautiful."

And she did look beautiful, exquisite, when we took our table a Le Riv. In truth she was the prettiest girl there, turning every head. Our obviously gay waiter had a lengthy conversation with her about her dress, "Where did you get this material?" he asked, rubbing the collar between his fingers. "And these stitches are so fine, you did this all by hand? The whole dress?" Abby had so much fun at that dinner that I didn't even sweat the final price tag. Well, I didn't sweat it much at least--all I can say is, thank god for credit cards and minimum monthly payments, though I regretted for a moment that I didn't just hand her the card when we first met and tell her to book a night at the Ritz. It wouldn't have been a whole lot more money.

After dinner we walked down to Patterson Park. It was a gorgeous evening, a big orange sun lighting up all the glass buildings downtown, which rose like torches into the sky. The lake was calm, reflecting the beauty of the scene.

"This is so romantic!" my now-enthusiastic "date" exclaimed, and as she did, she reached over and took my hand. We held hands like a couple of "English" schoolkids for the rest of the walk.

Eventually we made our way back to the car, then onto the freeway and to a multiplex, where we watched the latest Sci-Fi blockbuster. The name of the movie escapes me; I thought it was a little dumb, and it takes more than some CGI eye candy to keep my attention. But Abby sat mesmerized, enthralled, never once looking away from the screen as she slowly lifted kernels of popcorn to her mouth. I might not have liked the movie, but I could have watched her for hours, lit up by the screen, wincing expressively at the more exciting moments, laughing out loud at the stupid jokes.

"Oh my god that was such a great date!" she exclaimed upon our arrival back at my flat, pushing midnight now. She twirled with excitement, the dress lifting quite provocatively, then collapsed on to the couch. "So what's next?!?"

I pretty much just laughed. I hadn't expect there to be any "next."

"I know it's late," she said, "but I'm not at all tired!"

"We could watch some TV, if you want," I suggested.

"Okay!"

"And how about a daiquiri?"

"A daiquiri?" she repeated.

"Yeah, you know, a drink. I was thinking of making us a couple daiquiris. But I can make something else if you want."

"A drink? Like, alcohol?"

"Yeah, rum, and..."

"I haven't ever had alcohol before," she said.

"Oh. I suppose not. Well, I could make yours a virgin."

"A virgin?"

I laughed. "Yeah, it means a cocktail--a drink--with no alcohol."

"No!" she answered emphatically. "I don't want to be a virgin! This is my Rumspringa, fuck that! Give me the alcohol!"

We both laughed pretty hard at that, and I blended us up some frozen daiquiris. Abby liked hers quite a lot; it was gone before we'd even picked a show to watch, and I made her a second.

When I sat down next to her after making round two, I pulled a pipe and a tray out from under the couch. "Would you want to smoke some bud?"

"Bud?"

"Marijuana," I replied.

"Oh!" she said. "Yes, please!"

I filled the bowl, sparked the grass, and took a hit. Abby watched me with curiosity, then mimicked what I'd done when I handed the pipe to her. A minute later, we were pleasantly stoned--although it seems likely that she was high as a kite, given the quality of the pot and the fact that she'd never smoked before. Once we were finished, we settled down onto the couch to watch our show. I put my arm around the back of the cushion, feeling a bit like an anxious teenage boy when I did, but she responded just like the teenage girl in this scene is supposed to--she leaned her head against my shoulder. My hand slipped down from the couch cushion onto her arm and my other hand reached out to her bare knee. She looked up at me, I looked down at her. Her smiled said "kiss me," and so I did.

Netflix and daiquiris were forgotten completely. My hand on her shoulder pulled her tight to me; my hand on her knee moved up her leg; our tongues savored each other inside her mouth. She gave no objection to my fingers walking quickly, with obvious intent, up under her skirt, up the soft, virginal flesh of her thin young thigh. Indeed she gave no objection, and beyond--as my fingers ventured higher, her legs parted, spreading open. Emboldened, my fingers found their mark, gliding gently up the center of her panties, up, up to the waistband, slipping under, slipping down, eventually finding a little batch of girlish pubic hair. As my hand slipped further down, she lifted her hips, and my fingers found a set of soaking lips, dripping with girlcum, and she pushed her hips forward, grinding. Holy shit, Abby Rumspringa, my virgin Amish girl, was hot and ready!

I rubbed her clitty for a bit while she ground against my hand, until I couldn't take another second of her soft moaning in my mouth and I pulled my hand out and stood up, offering her my hand to help her stand as well. Though she had a nervous look, one might even think an apprehensive or at least uncertain look, she nevertheless took my hand without encouragement and let me pull her to the bedroom. As gently as could be expected from a man in my current state--extreme sexual excitement--I pushed her down on her back onto the bed, lifted her dress above her waist, and yanked her panties off. With no hesitation at all, she spread her legs quite wide, providing me with a glorious vision of a little first-hair cunt, pink silken lips opening with her legs to show the glistening crimson flesh inside.

My pants were off in a heartbeat and I was kneeling between her legs, gripping my swollen cock. Her face was bright red as she looked up at me with that same nervous, uncertain smile. The smile a virgin giving herself to a man.

My head parted her dripping lips and I pushed in. She arched her back in response, whether because my initial attempt at entry caused her pain, or to grind against my cock like she had ground against my fingers before, I could not tell, and did not particularly care. All I wanted was to be inside. Alas, her hymen was a stout defender, unwilling to easily give way to rude intrusion. But a thirteen year old hymen is no match for a grown man's cock, and the only real effect of its resistance was to cause the girl unnecessary pain as I hammered at it with my cockhead. Every hymen, not matter how bold, must necessarily yield to a man at some point, and Abby Rumspringa's eventually accepted the inevitable, parted aside, and let me in.

Now my head burrowed into her unconquered depths, deeper with each forward thrust until the full length of my cock was inside her, and I lay down on her completely, smothering her beneath me. And then I fucked her. Little virgin Abby Rumspringa, giving her pussy to a man while she's on her "run-about."

And what a fine pussy it was! Tight as a form-fit glove, the silky flesh deep inside clung to me, gripping, squeezing, milking. And it was hot, and it was wet, and it was fully willing, now that its prudish hymen was gone. Pussy was glad to have been conquered, and she welcomed her victor inside, giving my cock endless, full-length, sopping wet kisses and spouting her cum out onto my balls.

Lying fully on top of the young girl, I fucked her long and hard, until finally that exquisite pussy brought me to orgasm and with my head buried deep, I came, shooting, pulling back, shooting again, until Abby Rumspringa was overflowing with semen and I was finally satiated. I did not, however, climb off of her, nor did I pull out, because I could feel that my cock stayed hard, at least at first, only beginning to soften after being lodged in her for another minute or two past my ejaculation. But her pussy was even more open, now that I'd dumped my load, and still so wet, that I had no intention of leaving her. So rather than allowing myself to soften further and ending the carnal act, I began pumping my hips, sliding in the soft wet mess, and shortly I was hard again.

I heard her grunt underneath me as I began round two. No doubt she'd hoped that it was over. Oh well, welcome to life with the "English," sweetheart. Rumspringa's just stared, Abigail.

Once I was confident that my erection was solid enough, I pulled out. Time to finally get the young girl naked, don't you think? I pulled her dress up and off--she didn't exactly help me do it, but she offered up no resistance, either, and shortly she was wearing nothing but a little bra. I pulled that up as well, baring a delightful little pair of still-growing breasts with sweet delicate bluish-pink nipples mounding upwards into tiny pale nubs. I pulled the bra over her head, roughly grabbed those little tits with my much larger hands, and slid back in her puss.

I kissed her, and she kissed back with what almost seemed like enthusiasm. Maybe she liked this after all, or at least was resigned to it now. Then, slowly fucking her, I moved down, kissing her chin, then her neck, then settling at her breasts and sucking each nipple, nibbling, licking, teasing her tiny nubs with the tip of my tongue. Her moans were sweet. This, I could tell, she liked.

Eventually I pulled out of her again and gruffly grabbed her hips and flipped her over onto her stomach. I lifted her ass into the air, pushed her knees up under her and open, and mounted her from behind.

Once again, she gushed. Once again, I fucked her hard. Once again, her pussy gripped me like a glove, sopping cum onto my swinging balls which slapped against her clit in a steady solid rhythm. She was moaning continuously now, one unbroken sound but with a steady breathy accent in tandem with my plunging cock, an accent that gradually increased until it was quite loud and turned from a moan into a voiced "Ohh! Ohh! Ohh!" Realizing that Abby was cumming, I reached under her belly to her clit and began twirling a finger over it and the Ohhs turned into Oh my gods! and the girl came, and came hard, and my steady pace turned frenzied. Pussy was so wet now, so wide open, that I could have my will with her, and so I did, slamming, slamming, slamming, until my orgasm matched hers and the two of us came together and I dumped my second load into her.

This time, my cock soften more quickly--thoroughly satisfied, balls thoroughly drained--and I dismounted. She collapsed onto the bed, then turned her head to look at me, long beautiful locks of her blond hair matted with sweat against her bright red face. And then, there was that beautiful smile once again.

What a charmer Abby Rumspringa was.

We both slept in well passed sunrise, and then climbed out of bed, tossed on some clothes, and trekked down to the neighborhood cafe for a little breakfast. Once again, Abby was the cutest girl in the place--except for now, she had the added benefit of a certain "glow." The glow of a girl who'd lost her virginity the night before. The glow of girl who'd been ridden hard by a man twice her age, and whose cunt was still dripping with the proof of it.

Back home after breakfast, we showered together, hands all over each other. Abby sure learned a lot about cock during that shower, and even more afterwards when she was down on her knees, learning how to suck, and then with the expert guidance of an experienced man, learning how to get him off, taking a mouthful of his cum, and swallowing it all on down.

Then we we put on our clothes again, and she packed her dress back in her rucksack, and I took her back to the bus station to begin the last leg of her trip. She stood up on her tip-toes and we kissed goodbye when her bus arrived, although since we were in a public place, and my employer, it was not much more than friendly little peck on the cheek.

"Thanks for a wonderful first day of my Rumspringa, Neal," she said, smiling coyly. "I don't think any of the guys in my sister's community are going to make me forget last night!"

"I know I'll never forget it!" I responded.

And as I watched her climb into the bus, her cute ass quite nicely revealed through the backside of her tight jeans, I couldn't help but wonder if she might not have a reminder of me even now, a very lasting reminder, growing in her belly. And I wondered if I'd ever find out.

She reached the top of the bus's stairs, turned to look at me one last time, gave a little wave, and the little Amish girl, Abby Rumspringa, was gone.