Chapter 1: Meeting Ginny

I'm not a religious man. I don't believe in Heaven and Hell or the power of prayer. The idea that heaven-sent angels that can enter our lives and provide help when we most need it I consider to be superstition. At least I did, until I found myself at a very dark time in my life, and a young Korean girl became my very unlikely savior. She was unlike any angel envisioned in a Sunday sermon, and what she did for me would not be thought of by most as angelic. Here is my story. I will let you judge for yourself if these were the acts of an angel.

I met my wife in Korea twenty-five years ago. I fell in love with her the moment we met, and after several months she finally started to feel the same way about me. We overcame our language and cultural barriers and two years later we were married. During the early years of our marriage my wife made two trips back to Korea. I did not go with her either time. I had not met any of her family while I was in Korea, which was probably a good thing. She told me there were some members of her family who were not happy about her decision to leave Korea and marry a foreigner.

A few years ago my wife got news that her mother was very ill. Her dad had passed away a few years earlier, and she felt bad that she missed seeing him one last time, so she decided she needed to make an effort to see her mother again before it was too late. She told me that she could really use my support this time, so I reluctantly agreed to go with her. The timing of our trip was fortuitous. Three days after we got to Korea, her mother died. I at least had a chance to meet her, and even though we couldn't really communicate very well due to our language differences, there was something comforting about the way she hugged me just before she died. I like to think it was her way of saying that after she how how happy and successful her daughter was, everything was okay between us.

Over the next several days I met the rest of my wife's family. My wife had three brothers and two sisters. All of them were married and had kids. I met so many people with hard-to-remember names in a short period of time that I had a hard time keeping up with who belonged to who. When the whole group got together it was overwhelming. The language gap was an issue too. I did a lot of smiling and nodding at people who were happily chatting away in Korean, seemingly unaware that I could not understand them.

The only members of my wife's family that made much of a lasting impression on me were the three kids of her youngest sister, two boys, fourteen and twelve, and a thirteen-year-old girl. I joked to my wife that her sister must have gone about having a family in the same very determined and purposeful way that Koreans seem to do everything. She got married, had three kids in three years, then shut the baby factory down and went on with the rest of her life.

When I first met them I was convinced that all three were hyperactive, and hadn't taken their meds lately. They bounced around their parents' apartment like butterflies on speed. They were learning English in school and wanted to practice with a real American, so every time one of them flitted by me, we would exchange some variation of a 'Hello, how are you' routine. The girl seemed to be the most stable of the three, and she was the one who ended up spending the most time with me.

Her name was Gin Nae (or at least, that's the closest I can come to spelling it in English). She was cute in the way that most young Asian girls are. To a certain degree they all look alike, with their short-cut ebony hair, round faces, and their school-girl uniforms. You either like that type or you don't, and I certainly do. My wife interpreted for us, and through her I asked if she would mind if I called her Ginny. That would be at least one name I could remember. It turned out she was delighted to have an American nickname. From then on she was Ginny and I was Uncle Jim, and we had the beginnings of a tenuous friendship.

Later that evening we all sat down for a traditional Korean meal. The low table was filled with an array of small bowls holding a bewildering variety of pungent dishes. I have some experience with Korean food, of course, so I was able to pick out those things that I knew I liked. My new friend Ginny had seated herself next to me, and kept asking me, through gestures, to try some of the stranger looking offerings. It became kind of a game, she would grab a bite with her chopsticks and hold it up to my mouth until I finally gave in and tried it. My wife was watching all this with great amusement. She had been trying for years to get me to eat some of those delicacies, but I had resisted. Now, with her whole family watching, I had to smile and try everything.

After supper Ginny wanted to show me how well she was doing with her English by reading to me. When I agreed, she ran down the hall and quickly returned holding a book of stories. It wasn't quite a 'See Jane run' level reader, but I guessed it to be equivalent to what a fourth-grade book would be in an American school. Ginny sat down next to me and opened the book. When I say she sat down next to me, I mean RIGHT next to me. Her body was pressed up against me and she was leaning on my shoulder as she got ready to read. The only way I could get comfortable was by putting my arm over the back of the sofa. That soon grew uncomfortable also, so I ended up with my arm around her shoulders. I'm not a touchy-feely kind of person, and I was a little uncomfortable with having her that close to me. But I soon realized that it was a perfectly natural thing for her, so I relaxed and got ready to be read to.

She plopped the book down in my lap and began reading. I soon learned that my job was not just to listen, but to help her with words she did not know or did not pronounce correctly. By the time she finished the second story, we were exchanging smiles every time I helped her with a word. I enjoyed being her teacher for the evening. She was a very confident, outgoing young lady, without any of the shyness that kids sometimes show around strangers. She exhibited a lot of the same characteristics that had attracted me to my wife when I first met her; a bubbly personality, good sense of humor, and didn't let the language gap get in the way of our quickly developing a friendship.

By the time my wife and I left Korea a few days later Ginny and I had exchanged email addresses, and I promised her I would stay in touch. I knew that would probably not happen, and did not really expect to ever see or hear from her again.

During the flight home my wife confided that her sister had been talking about the possibility of her kids coming to stay with us for awhile. The idea was that it would be a great way for them to improve their English skills. Apparently this was a common thing for Koreans who had family in America. My first reaction was panic. The idea of three live-wire teenagers descending on our quiet household was scary. Fortunately, my wife felt the same way. She told me that probably nothing would happen, and she just wanted to let me know that it had been discussed.

Later on during that seemingly endless flight across the Pacific, my wife also disclosed some other things about her sister's family that she had kept secret before. Her sister and her husband were having marital difficulties. Ginny's father was a philanderer, and the only reason her mother had not left him was because of the kids. The strangest thing my wife told me was that all five of them, parents and three teenage kids, all slept in the same room on mats thrown on the floor, mom on one side, dad on the other, and the kids in the middle. It might have been a normal thing for Korean families when the kids were younger, but at their age it sounded very strange to me. Good method of birth control, though.

I thought the whole visiting idea had died, but about six months after we got back my wife got a call from her sister. They talked for a long time, and after they finished my wife came up to me with one of those "honey, please" smiles on her face. You married guys know what I mean; it's that look you get when your lovely spouse wants to ask you a question, and she already knows the only answer she will accept.

"Yobo, remember when we talked about Myung Suk's kids coming to live with us?"

Of course I did. My heart was beginning to beat faster from panic already. "Uh, I thought we agreed that wasn't a very good idea."

She smiled at me. "We did. But how would you feel about having just one of them stay with us?"

"One?" That seemed feasible. It still wouldn't be easy, given the language gap and all, but since it was my wife's family, I knew I really didn't have a choice anyway.

My wife went on, "It turns out that her sons don't want to come live with us, but her daughter is still interested."

"Ginny?"

"Yes, Ginny. You remember her? I talked to her and she told me she really wants to visit her Aunt Sue and Uncle Jim. I noticed when I was talking with her that her English has gotten better, so I think it might work. What do you think?"

Our daughter had gone off to college a year earlier, and we were still suffering a little bit from empty-nest syndrome. It was just too quiet in our house. The idea of having a vivacious young girl in our home again sounded good to me. After a brief discussion, it was a done deal. My wife called her sister back the next day, and we started working on 'Project Ginny'.

It took several months of planning and preparation before she came to stay with us. While her family was getting all the arrangements made in Korea, my wife and I found a school for her. We felt that a small, private school would be best, and we found one not too far from where we lived. An added bonus was that they specialized in kids whose first language is not English. They even had a couple of Korean students already there.

By the time Ginny finally made it to the U.S. it had been over a year since we I had first met her. When we picked her up at the airport, I almost didn't recognize my wife's niece. She had grown a lot during that year. She was now fourteen, and looked quite a bit older and more mature than when I had first met her. She was an inch or so taller, and had ditched the 'bowl cut with bangs' Asian schoolgirl look. Now her hair was long enough for her to have a ponytail. Somehow in my mind I had expected the same kid that I had met in Korea to step off the plane, but the Ginny who arrived that day was more of a typical teenager.

Ginny's mom came with her and stayed for a week to help her get settled in. When she went back to Korea, we prepared to deal with Ginny's inevitable homesickness. The first few days after her mom left were a little tough, but Ginny turned out to be a strong, resilient young lady, and soon she was bouncing around our house in that almost manic style I remembered from Korea. She began absorbing everything she could about American culture as fast as she could, and seemed to have an endless supply of questions. Most of the time, she still spoke Korean and used my wife as an interpreter, but whenever possible she would try to have a conversation in English with me. Her accent was still strong, but her vocabulary was much better than I remembered.

After Ginny had been with us for a couple of weeks my wife decided it was safe to leave us home together and went back to work. She worked nights, so Ginny and I found ourselves spending time together in the evenings. That was when she asked if she could start reading to me again. As we had done in Korea, she would sit next to me, with her book in my lap while she read. At first that was a little uncomfortable for me, because Ginny wasn't a little kid anymore. Like I said, I've never been big on casual physical contact, especially between a budding teenage girl and an older guy like me.

Gradually I began looking forward to those reading sessions, not just because I felt I was being helpful, but also because the was a lecherous side of my personality was taking over my initial shyness. I was reluctant to admit it, but I found myself enjoying the feeling of having a young girl pressed up tightly against me.

We soon fell into a routine of watching TV after she read, with me trying to explain any words that she did not understand. During that time, she liked to stay cuddled up next to me on the sofa. When she got sleepy she would lie down with her head in my lap, and would usually fall asleep a few minutes later. I would let her lie there for awhile before sending her to bed. One night I found myself gently stroking her hair while she slept in my lap, something I sometimes do with my wife. After a few seconds, I realized that what I was doing was inappropriate, and I quickly pulled my hand away.

A few days later our innocent evenings took an even more inappropriate turn. She was sleeping in my lap, wearing her nightshirt, which was really just an extra-large T-shirt. As she moved restlessly in her sleep, the hem of the shirt crept upward, gradually exposing more and more of her thin, brown legs. Without even thinking about it I put my hand on her knee. A moment later my hand was lightly rubbing the smooth skin of her thigh. It started as a gentle caress, like you might give a pet lying in your lap, but as my fingers moved closer and closer to the white panties I could now see peeking out from under her shirt, I knew that I was letting myself get into dangerous territory. I felt myself becoming aroused as her head rested in my lap. I quickly woke her up and told her it was time to go to bed. She staggered sleepily to her room without saying anything. I don't know if she had felt me caressing her legs, or the lump in my pants under her face. If so, she never gave any indication. After that I started sitting in my recliner more than the sofa, to avoid getting into another uncomfortable situation. Ginny asked me a couple times to sit with her, but I kept finding excuses to avoid getting close to her again.

Ginny started school a few days later. She quickly became busy with homework every evening, and our reading lessons stopped. She was already ahead of her classmates in math and science, so she could concentrate most of her time on improving her English. She was one of those typical Asian kids, brought up to take school very seriously. We never had to reminder her to do homework. She was also developing a small circle of friends, some from school and a couple from the Korean church that she and my wife attended. She seemed to be moving well along toward becoming a typical American teenager. The night when I had allowed my hand to wander into forbidden territory seemed to be nothing more than just a troublesome memory.

Chapter 2: Crisis

Everything was going along fine for us, until the night the world as I knew it ended. The manger of the restaurant where my wife worked called. He told me that she had suddenly collapsed in the kitchen and was being rushed to the hospital, unconscious. By the time Ginny and I got to the emergency room, she was gone. The doctors told me it was a stroke. She probably never felt a thing, they said, as if that made it better. In a matter of a few horrible minutes I had lost my first and only true love, the mother of my children, my best friend, and my moral compass. It was a few months before I realized the full impact of that.

As soon as Ginny's mother heard what had happened, she called and said she would come and take Ginny home. Most people would assume that the last thing I needed at that point in my life was the care and feeding of a teenager, but I truly didn't want Ginny to leave. The idea of coming home each evening to an empty house was unacceptable. I felt that I needed Ginny's energy and vitality to keep me going. We talked about it, and Ginny told me that she would stay if that was what I wanted.

"You and Aunt Sue have been very good to me. Now I would like to return your kindness. I would like to stay here and take care of you. You need someone," she told me. It was a very mature and perceptive observation from one so young, but that was Ginny, already a very mature and loving person. Ginny called her mom back, and told her that she was staying.

It was difficult for us at first. Even though Ginny's English was improving daily, neither of us had realized how much we relied on my wife to be our translator. My wife's friends from her Korean church were always available when we needed help, and with their assistance we managed to get along. I don't think Ginny totally realized what she had gotten herself into when she volunteered to stay with me. During those first few months, there were moments when I would suddenly be overcome with grief. I could tell that Ginny wanted to help me during those dark times, but she was uncertain what to do. At first, she would just leave me alone when I was blue, but gradually she started giving me hugs when she felt I needed them. Ginny's smiling face and upbeat attitude acted like a beacon of white light shining into the dark cavern that I seemed to be slipping into.

She decided that one of the ways she could best help was by taking over most of the cooking duties. I'm not totally helpless in a kitchen, but I had relied upon my wife's professional skills as a chef during our marraige. She had taught Ginny a few things, and between the two of us we managed to keep ourselves from starving. On weekends we would experiment in the kitchen together. Those were good times. We had a lot of fun working on new recipes together, and even got into a couple of food fights when things didn't go right.

Ginny's fifteenth birthday came a few months after my wife died. I wasn't really up to organizing a party for her, but the parents of her best friend from school came up with a good idea. They own a condo on the beach about fifty miles from where we live. Diane invited Ginny and three of her friends to go with her parents for a weekend, and arranged a little birthday party as part of the trip.

A few days before they left, Ginny went to the mall with her friends to buy some new clothes. When she returned, she bounced into the house and threw her shopping bags on the sofa, as excited as I had seen her in months. She insisted on showing me her new swimsuit. I thought she was just going to pull it out of the bag and hold it up. Instead, she grabbed the bags and ran into her room to change. A few moments later she sashayed back into the living room. It was quite a shock for me to see her standing there, her young body covered only by a couple of small pieces of material. Until now, she had been very modest about what she wore around me. When she saw the expression on my face, she realized that in her enthusiasm to show me her new bikini she had unintentionally shocked me. "I am sorry," she said, almost bursting into tears. "I should not have been so immodest. I should have worn a robe. I have embarrassed you."

"No, Ginny," I reassured her. "Don't be silly. You're going to wear that this weekend right? A lot of people are going to see you on the beach, so why is this any different?"

"Because, Uncle Jim, you are special to me, and I should treat you with respect."

"It's okay, really. You have a beautiful body, and should be proud to show it." Actually I was feeling a little paternal, and I was not entirely comfortable with the idea of her wearing that skimpy thing in public. And 'beautiful body' was not exactly what I had intended to say either.

"How can you say that?" she complained. "I hate my body. My boobs are too small, I have no waist, and my ass is too big."

I didn't know whether to tackle the language issue first, or her insecurities. This was the first time I had heard her use words like 'boobs' and 'ass', so I decided to start there. "Ginny, you shouldn't use words like that around me or any other adult. That's OK when you are talking with your friends, but not when you are talking to adults. You should say 'breasts' and 'butt' or 'behind'." God, I sounded like my grandmother.

She grinned at me. "Kyle says that chickens have breasts, girls have tits, and women have boobs," she smiled. Kyle was a boy at school that had been calling her lately, and apparently giving her his form of English lessons. "So I guess I should say I have small tits."

OK, I gave up that argument. I tried another angle. "Every girl your age has insecurities about their appearance."

"Insec....," she struggled to repeat the word. That one was probably not in her vocabulary yet.

"What I mean is that it's normal to have doubts about how you look, and to compare yourself to unrealistic ideals." I still sounded like a preacher or psychologist. I needed to simplify my message a little more. "Look, your boo...breasts are still developing. And even if they never get any bigger, it doesn't mean anything is wrong with you. Not everything has to be big to be good. Do you know the 'Mona Lisa'?"

"Yes, DaVinci," she nodded.

"Right. That is considered one of the most beautiful works of art in the world, but did you know that it is only 30 inches tall and 20 inches wide?"

She did a quick conversion to the metric values she was still more familiar with. "So, 80 and 50 centimeters, that is all?"

"That's all. And that's my point. Size isn't everything."

"So you are saying my ti...my breasts are small, but beautiful, like the Mona Lisa," she grinned at me. Now it seemed like she was enjoying my embarrassment. "But what about my butt? It barely fits in my suit." She spun around to show me.

Actually it didn't fit in her bikini bottom at all. There was a healthy amount of light-brown butt cheek hanging out on both sides. It wasn't anything unusual by modern standards, but I still felt uncomfortable seeing her like that.

"There's not anything wrong with you. That's just how swimsuits are made now. All the girls have their as...rear ends hanging out. And yours isn't too big, it's very nice." By that point I was hoping for a bolt of lightning to strike me before I made a total fool of myself.

She didn't move for a moment, and I gradually began to catch on that she was putting on a show on purpose. She wanted me to see her body, and I didn't know why. I didn't know what she had in mind. I found out a few nights later, after she came back from her weekend at the beach.

Chapter 3: We Share a Bed

On her first night back from the beach she cooked me a special supper, one that she knew I would like. She said it was her way of letting me share in her birthday celebration, and to thank me for letting her go with her friends. When I complimented her cooking skills she said "See, I can be like a wife to you. I can cook, do laundry, and clean the house. I will do anything to help you get over your sorrow and make your life better." There was an invitation in the word 'anything', but I did not recognize it until later.

I told her that I appreciated everything she was doing for me, and gave her a big hug. One thing being around Ginny had done for me was to get rid of my unease with physical contact. I was at last becoming the warm, feeling kind of person my wife had always wanted me to be, at least when I was around Ginny. We stood there with arms around one another for several seconds. I closed my eyes, and for a moment it was my wife that I was holding in my arms once again. I started to rub her back in that familiar way, until I realized who I was holding. I quickly let her go, and we started clearing the table.

That night I went to bed after the eleven o'clock news, as I usually did. Ginny had gone to bed an hour or so earlier. I was lying in bed watching a late night talk show, when Ginny knocked on my bedroom door. I threw a sheet over myself, because I usually sleep in my underwear, and told her to come in.

She walked over and stood beside the bed. She hesitated, and I could tell she had something serious on her mind. "May I ask you something, Uncle Jim?"

"Of course, honey, what's the matter?" Honey? Where had that come from?

"Can I sleep with you?"

I wasn't as shocked at that question as you might think. When Ginny had first come to live with us, my wife had slept with her a few times while she was getting over her homesickness. Ginny had said that she was used to sleeping with her whole family, and it was hard for her to adjust to sleeping alone. But she had soon adapted. I didn't know what had brought on this relapse.

"I can put a blanket on the floor next to the bed, and sleep Korean style," she went on. "I am feeling lonely. Just one night, please?"

I started to tell her no, but she was giving me that hurt puppy-dog look, a trick she is very good at. "OK," I said, "but you don't have to sleep on the floor. This is a king-sized bed, so there will be plenty of room for both of us."

She told me she wanted to get her favorite pillow, and ran back to her room to get it. While she was gone I quickly pulled on a pair of sweatpants. When she came back she climbed into bed, and carefully curled up in a ball under the blanket on the far side of the bed. I had moved as close to the edge on my side as I could without falling off. So there we were, using about a quarter of the mattress, with a big gap between us. I was almost afraid to move and my body soon grew stiff and uncomfortable. I thought I might not be able to sleep but when I at last heard her breathing become slow and shallow, I let myself relax and drop into unconsciousness.

I awoke in the middle of the night with a full bladder and the erection that usually goes with that condition. I felt the familiar sensation of an arm across my chest and a leg across my thighs. With a sharp pang of loss, I quickly realized that it wasn't Sue, it was Ginny. Apparently she was a restless sleeper and during the night had found her way across the bed, crowding into the small space I had squeezed myself into. I slipped out from under her as smoothly and quietly as I could and went to the bathroom. By the time I returned she had moved back to the far side of the bed.

I tried to go back to sleep, but my mind was in turmoil, still full of doubt about my decision to let a young girl share my bed. I knew how wrong it would seem to anyone else. Guys who sleep with their fifteen-year-old nieces usually are not accepted by society, and often end up posing for a mug shot. I finally decided that because it was a one-time event, like when a child is frightened by a storm and wants to sleep with her parents, I shouldn't worry about it anymore. It was already done, and I was sure that we would resume our normal dependent-guardian roles the next day.

The next evening passed without any mention about the previous night. At eleven, she was still doing homework when I told her I was going to bed. "Uncle Jim," she said, looking at me with those doe-eyes again, "last night...I sleep good...first time in long time. Can I sleep with you again?"

I hesitated before answering. I had been given another opportunity to put an end to my moral dilemma, but I was weak. I rationalized that nothing really improper had occurred, and told her it would be all right. I wasn't stupid, I knew that by giving her permission for a second night, I was also opening the door to my bedroom for more than just one more night. Welcoming her into my bed had somehow become a normal activity. She beamed at me with one of her special Ginny smiles.

We quickly settled into our new routine. Ginny would go to bed a half-hour or so earlier than I did. When I went to bed she was usually already asleep. I would slide into bed as gently as I could, trying not to disturb her. As I had found out the first night, she was a restless sleeper, and I frequently awoke in the middle of the night to find myself under her arm or leg. I gradually became more relaxed about our bodies touching. The naturalness that Ginny had about such inadvertent contact was rubbing off on me. Sometimes I would wake up a little before the alarm went off in the morning, and lie there watching Ginny sleep in the dim pre-dawn light. It was during those times that I began to realize how much she resembled my wife when I had first met her. Sue had been seventeen then, only two years older than Ginny.

---

A few weeks after we started our platonic sleeping arrangement, the illusion of innocence in our relationship was shattered. It was a Saturday night and we were watching a movie in bed. I was just about to doze off when Ginny said, "Uncle Jim, may I ask you something?"

"Sure, Ginny. What is it?"

"I told you I wanted to stay with you so I could take care of you, right?"

"Yes, and you have been a great help to me."

"So, I am doing the cooking and the cleaning okay?"

"Yes, you do wonderfully, especially for someone your age."

"And am I doing a good job with the laundry too?"

It seemed like a strange time and place for her to be fishing for compliments, and I suspected that there was more at work than just a search for reassurance. "Ginny, what's up with all the questions? Do you think I'm unhappy with you for some reason?"

She ignored my question. "So, I am doing everything for you that a good wife should do, except for one thing."

That was a statement, not a question. I was afraid of where it was leading, but I had to ask, "What are you talking about?"

Ginny hesitated, still looking at the TV as if she was still interested in the movie, then finally got to what was really on her mind. "There is still one thing I could be doing for you. I am not taking care of your sexual needs like a good wife should. I can tell, sometimes when I touch you at night, your dic...penis is very hard. I think that part of your body still misses Aunt Sue."

OK, there it was, and now I had to deal with it. "Ginny, you are not my wife. And just because we are sleeping together doesn't mean that I expect sex from you. I'm supposed to be taking care of you, not taking advantage of your kindness. That would be a very, very wrong thing to do."

"Do you not like me?"

"No, Ginny, I like you a lot, but like a father likes his daughter, not like a man likes his wife. You are only fifteen. In this country, a man my age having sex with a girl your age is considered a criminal. If anyone found out, I could go to jail, and you would have to go back to Korea. You don't want that, do you?"

She was silent for a few moments, but I knew the discussion wasn't over. One thing I had learned during my years of marriage to Sue was that Korean women can be very stubborn and determined. When they get an idea in their head, it is very difficult to dissuade them from whatever course of action they have decided on. Ginny sat up in bed and turned to me. "You don't like my body, do you? I am like...a little girl to you?"

"No, Ginny. Like I told you before, your body is fine for someone your age. You're turning into a beautiful young woman, and you will soon have a lot of boyfriends."

"Do you think I am still a child and that I do not know about sex? Do you think I am a virgin?"

"Well, yes."

"I am not!" She acted like I had insulted her.

"What...who...when?" I hadn't expected that answer. I was sure that something had happened right under my nose. "Was it Kyle? Has he been teaching you more than just dirty words? Or was it someone you met at the beach? I knew I shouldn't have let you go....."

She put a finger on my lips. "No, Uncle Jim, it happened before I came to America. It was with my brothers," she whispered.

I hadn't seen that coming. "Did they...rape you?"

"Rape! No, of course not," she laughed, as if the idea of her brothers raping her was ridiculous. "After school each day we had a couple of hours of free time before our parents got home," she explained. "We watched TV or played video games, but sometimes when we got bored we would start tickling each other, or wrestling. One day my brothers ganged up on me and pinned me to the floor. My oldest brother was on top of me, and I felt something hard in his pants. I touched it, and he asked if I wanted to see it. Soon, all three of us were in the bedroom, with our clothes off. Their little things were sticking out like carrots on a snowman, and I got the strange feeling that I wanted to feel them inside me. So I let Kwang Jo put his...carrot in me. It hurt a little bit, but he liked it so much that I let Chin do it too."

"When did this happen?"

"First time, about two years ago."

"You did it more than once?"

"Oh yes, many times. I like it. I am missing it now, I think."

"Weren't you worried about getting pregnant?"

"Oh, no," Ginny smiled. "I started taking birth control pills a few months before we started our new game. It was my mom's idea." She said that very nonchalantly, as if it was a normal thing for Korean mothers to do.

Ginny had one more point to make in pleading her case. "Do you remember when we were watching the basketball game the other night? I asked you how the players could knock each other around and not get called for a foul. You said 'it's only a foul if the referee blows his whistle.' So, if we have sex, and only you and I know about it, how can you get in trouble? No whistle, no foul, right?" Sometimes she could be a very clever young lady.

I think it would have been easier for me to refute her arguments if we had been having this conversation over dinner, or in the living room. But having Ginny's ripening young body lying just a few inches away seemed to rob me of my common sense. I started to get angry, probably because I felt myself losing the struggle with my conscience, and knew I might not be able to resist her temptation much longer. I lashed out at her. "Look, I said no, and no it is. Now, why don't you go sleep in your bed tonight. I think I've been too nice to you lately." That was the first time I had spoken to her that harshly, but it was the only thing I knew to do to stop us from making a big mistake.

She burst into tears. "No, please!" She reacted like forcing her to sleep alone was worse than giving her a beating. For once, I stayed resolute and kicked her out of my bedroom.

Chapter 4: Experimentation

The next few days were difficult for both of us. For the first time, she was acting like a classic American teenager, with a sullen attitude. She gave me the silent treatment, and I didn't try too hard to force her to talk to me. There wasn't a lot more to be said. I had said no, and I meant it. At least I thought I did.

Fortunately we got a well-needed break from each other just when we needed it. Ginny had been invited to spend another weekend at the beach with her friend Diane. While she was gone, I spent a lot of time thinking about our relationship. I came close to calling her parents and telling them I was sending Ginny home. Then I realized how difficult it would be to explain to them, and everyone else, why I had suddenly changed my mind about her staying with me. I was also afraid that Ginny, still being a somewhat impetuous young girl, might get mad and tell everyone that we had been sleeping together as a way of getting even with me. I decided that sending her back to Korea was not a good idea. I was hopeful that maybe things would settle down, and we could just go back to the way it had been before.

As the weekend went on, darker thoughts started creeping into my head. The more I thought about Ginny, the more I missed her. I began to realize that she was filling a large void in my life, and it was more than just companionship. It was only one small step from that point to rationalizing that having sex with her might be acceptable. After all, she had been the one who had suggested it, she was already sexually active, and she understood why we would have to be discreet.

By the time she came home Sunday night, I had decided to let her back into my bed. I would not try to seduce her, but if she offered herself to me again, I was ready to accept her invitation. When I told her she was delighted. She gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. Then she kissed me on the lips, not at all like a father-daughter kiss. She was trying to push her tongue between my tightly clasped lips. Already, things were moving faster than I wanted them to.

When I went to bed that night, she was there already, but not asleep. I could tell she was waiting for me. "Do I have to stay on my side of the bed?" she asked.

"Yes, Ginny. Let's just go to sleep, okay?"

"Okay," she grinned.

For the next few nights she was careful to stay as far away from me as she could without falling out of bed. She didn't want to be banished to her lonely bed again. She was happy again, but I was growing very frustrated. For the first few months after Sue's death, my sadness had suppressed my libido. Sex had been the last thing on my mind. Now I was feeling hornier every day, and Ginny was obviously the object of my desire. I waited, restlessly, for Ginny to break my own rule and move over to my side of the bed again. I wanted her, but I was not capable of admitting it to her.

The problem resolved itself a few nights later. Ginny was sleeping soundly when I went to bed. I crawled into bed and soon fell asleep. I awoke some time later, vaguely aware that I was having an erotic dream. It had been a long time since that had happened. As I slowly returned to a state of semi-consciousness, I realized that I was totally aroused, and that it was not entirely due to my dream. Ginny was snuggled up next to me, and her hand had slipped into my pajamas and was firmly grasping my erection. This time it was no accidental contact between two restless sleepers. I opened my eyes and saw her watching me. I reached out to push her hand away, but she resisted.

"Please, let me help you," she whispered.

The last of my resistance melted away under the warm touch of her soft hands. I just lay there as she began stroking my hardness. Apparently she had practiced hand jobs with her brothers, because she knew what to do with a cock in her hand. It was also apparent that her dirty little brothers must have liked it fast and rough. She was gripping and pulling my phallus like she was milking a cow and it wasn't that enjoyable. I reached down and held her wrist. "Gently, and slowly," I told her.

"Yes," she smiled at me. "Gentle. Slow. I am sorry."

While she was apologizing I took the opportunity to slip out of my pajama pants and underwear, and threw back the covers so that I was now exposed from the waist down. I felt a little foolish, but when she started stroking me again, I quickly got over that. Now she was using both hands, cupping my balls in one while massaging my shaft with the other, gently and slowly as instructed. I wasn't sure how much experience she had with testicles, so I was a little apprehensive about what she was doing with the hand she had wrapped around the family jewels. When she started to squeeze a little too hard, I knew it was time for more instruction. "Ginny, that is a very sensitive area. You need to handle that like...raw eggs."

She looked at me very seriously. "Raw eggs? Would you like them scrambled?" She started laughing, but she got the point. Now she was caressing me with the utmost care.

It had been a long time since I had had an orgasm, and it wasn't long before I began to feel my excitement rising. I wanted to warn her, but it was too late. Before I could say anything my seed was spurting on her hands and my stomach. It didn't seem to bother her, she kept pumping me until nothing was left, and my erection began to deflate. Then she looked up at me, with a worried look on her face. "Are you okay? Did I do it right?"

"Yes, Ginny. It was wonderful. Now, go clean yourself up." Before she did, she put her hand to her mouth and licked some of my semen off her finger. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"I just wanted to see how it tastes. Some of my friends say it is salty, and some say sour. I wanted to see which you are."

Great, now I knew that some of her 'nice' friends were into oral sex, and openly talked about it. I was way behind the times.

We went about our normal activities the next morning as if nothing had happened. While we were eating breakfast I found myself staring at her in wonder, still amazed by what that innocent looking girl had been willing to do for me. I didn't feel at all guilty. As I had wanted, I hadn't seduced her, she had been the very willing initiator of all that had happened. My only regret was that the previous night had been all about me and my needs; not for a minute had I thought about Ginny and what she might have felt or needed. I promised myself that I would not let that happen again. In making that pledge I was also acknowledging the fact that last night wasn't going to be a one-time adventure. There were almost certainly going to be more erotic encounters in our future.

Somewhat to my surprise, nothing happened during the next few nights. We just went to bed and fell asleep on our separate sides of the big mattress as usual. The only real difference was that I no longer bothered to wear pajama pants. I was back to my normal boxers and T-shirt sleeping apparel. I didn't sleep very well during those nights, torn between my guilt at everything I had allowed to happen, and my desire for further sexual contact. Eventually, my dark side won out.

It was a Friday night, and again we were lying in bed watching a movie. I had let her pick the channel, and she had selected a soft-core porn flick on a movie channel that I didn't even realize we got. I started to object when I saw naked breasts on the screen, but decided to see where it led. Ginny lay there quietly during the movie, but I could tell that she was watching it intently. There was one particularly erotic scene, where a young couple ended up having sex after bathing together. As the girl on the screen lowered her head toward the man's lap and began a simulation of oral sex, Ginny broke her silence and asked, "Can I try that?"

I swallowed my excitement and replied as calmly as I could, "What do you mean?"

"You know, I want to put your pr...thing in my mouth."

"Have you ever done that?"

She sat up and looked at me like I had accused her of murder. "Don't be ridiculous," she exclaimed. That had lately become one of her favorite expressions. "But I would like for you to teach me how to do it right. All American women seem to know how, and I want to be like them." I didn't try to correct that misconception, but I was beginning to wonder more and more about her friends. Did they all have experience with oral sex, or was it just teenage bragging?

I managed to convince myself that teaching her myself really would be a good idea. My rationale was that it would be better if she did her experimentation with a gentle, compassionate man before she attempted anything like that on a horny, overeager teenager. I admit, my judgment was seriously out of whack. I tried weakly to dissuade her. "I don't want you to do something that you really don't want to do, Ginny. Are you sure?"

She didn't say anything, but her wide grin indicated that she was not forcing herself to do something just for my benefit. She burrowed under the covers like a kitten chasing a mouse, and I felt her hands pushing my shorts down. I threw the blankets back to make it more comfortable for her, and so I could watch what she was doing. For me, watching a woman perform oral sex is a major part of the enjoyment. Fellatio is one sex act that should not be performed in the dark.

I was already half-aroused from watching the movie. She played with my semi-hard prick for a moment, then quickly put her mouth over the head and took me between her lips. Since I was still not fully erect, she was soon able to slide her mouth down almost to my pubic hairs. She didn't seem to know what to do next. She just lay there with my penis in her mouth. It was almost funny, seeing her looking at me, with her mouth full of my cock, uncertainty about what to do next. Apparently her horny little friends hadn't given her the complete instruction manual.

Even without any movement, it didn't take long for my shaft to swell to full attention within her warm mouth. A few seconds later she pulled her mouth off and sat up. "It got bigger," she said, as if she had never seen that happen before. "Did I do that?"

"Yes, my body is responding to what you are doing. It feels good."

"But now it is too big. I can not get it all in my mouth," she complained.

"You don't have to get all of it in. The most sensitive part is at the end anyway. You don't try to eat all of an ice cream cone in one bite, do you?"

She giggled. "Not like ice cream. Ice cream gets softer and melts when I put it in my mouth. You get harder."

"What I meant was, take your time, and don't try to swallow the whole thing at once."

"Okay," she said, grinning. "Like an ice cream cone. So I should start by licking the drips off the top? She giggled at her little joke about my precum.

"Yes, try that," I said.

Instinctively she seemed to know to keep her teeth away from the sensitive skin. After licking her way all around the top, she began working her lips up and down over the purple head of my swollen dick. I used my hands to guide her head and show that I wanted her to slide her mouth a little further down onto my shaft. She quickly caught on and her head began bobbing slowly up and down. A few seconds later I gave her a gentle push on the back of the head to indicate that I wanted her to take me a little more deeply in her mouth, and she responded eagerly. Soon I felt my climax building, and I pulled her mouth away from my cock.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked, alarmed.

"No, no, not at all. Do you remember what happened to your hands the other night?"

"I got your cum all over them?"

That was another word that I didn't know she had learned. "Yes...well, that's about to happen again, and I didn't want it to go into your mouth."

"Why not? Is it poison? Will it make me sick?" She was grinning at me, and I knew she was teasing, but I played along.

"No, it's just that some women don't like he way it feels or tastes, at least not the first time."

"Well," she said slowly, "if I never try it, how will I know if I like it or not? Besides, I know what it tastes like, remember? I kind of liked it."

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"Who would I say it to?" she asked as she lowered her head back onto my lap. Sometimes she still took English expressions too literally.

Our conversation had caused my excitement to diminish somewhat, but Ginny set to work like most Korean women, determined to finish her task. Using both mouth and hands now, she soon had me hard again, and shortly after that I felt myself nearing my climax again. When I felt the semen pushing up my shaft, I gave her one last warning, "It's happening, Ginny...here it is."

She never flinched. She kept her lips firmly attached to the head of my shaft until the last spasm. Only then did she raise her head and smile at me. There were a few drops trickling out of one side of her mouth, but other than that she had swallowed everything. A moment later she went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth, so maybe she didn't enjoy the taste as much as she let on.

By the time she came back to bed, I was prepared to honor my promise to not forget her needs. Before she got back in bed, I asked her to take off her panties. I could see her almond eyes get as round as they could. "Are you going to..." she asked with a tremble in her voice.

She thought I was going to make love to her, not realizing that a man my age can't recover that quickly. "Just lie down here and relax," I reassured her. "Let me make you feel good like you did me."

I could feel her tensing up as I slid down the bed, and she almost jumped out of the bed when I suddenly kissed her pussy lips. "What are you doing?"

"Shhh...just relax. Trust me, you'll like this." As I gently licked her nether lips she gradually relaxed. A few moments later I felt her getting moist. I used some of her own secretions to wet my thumb, and used it to massage her little clit while I continued my oral massage. It took some time, but eventually she started moaning and moving her hips instinctively in response to my attentions. I started working harder, determined to bring her to orgasm, and was rewarded a few moments later when she pushed my head hard against her mound and said "Don't stop, yobo, please don't stop."

I kept going until her hands dropped away and she emitted a long sigh. My joy was tempered by the way she had called me 'yobo'. I knew that word was not used casually, and realized that her feelings toward me were growing into something more than just wanting to tend to my needs. Our relationship was growing more complex, and of course I had no one but myself to blame.

Chapter 5: Ginny Becomes a Woman

After our night of oral sex we once again went back to a routine of just sleeping together, as if nothing unusual had happened between us. We were just two people who shared a bed. These starts and stops in the course of our erotic relationship were beginning to wear on me. Of course I wanted to have further sex with her, but what little bit of my conscience I had left kept me from bringing it up. Several times I woke up in the middle of the night to find her curled up against me. Holding her as she slept was enjoyable, even though it usually left me with a raging erection.

Finally I couldn't resist any more. Ginny had made it clear that she was not only willing to serve as my surrogate wife in all ways, but she welcomed it. I decided that if sex was a pleasurable experience for both of us, there was no point in avoiding it. It was a little late to close that moral door anyway; the cows were far away by now. Still, it made me feel better when it was Ginny who made the first move toward taking our relationship to the next level.

I was watching TV in the living room one night. She had finished her homework a few minutes earlier and was taking a shower before going to bed. After she finished she came back into the living room. She had her robe on, as usual, and I assumed that under it she was wearing what she normally wore to bed; a large T-shirt and white, cotton panties. Instead of sitting on the sofa as she normally did, she plopped herself down in my lap. She had never done that before, so I knew something was up. She didn't say anything, but took my face in her hands and gave me a soft, romantic kiss. Her robe had dropped open, and I saw that she was naked underneath it. Even though we had been sleeping together for awhile, getting a peek at her nude body was still a unique and exciting experience. My prick quickly began swelling. She took my hand and put in on her small breast. I started massaging it while she nibbled at my ear. I felt her tiny nipple harden, matching my increasing excitement. This was the first time we had actually "made out". Before, our sexual interludes had been more like training session. Now she was treating me like her lover. "Make love to me, please yobo," she whispered in my ear.

Hearing that phrase still made me feel a little uneasy. It was obvious that Ginny was developing serious feelings for me, feelings that I honestly didn't feel toward her. For me, our relationship was nothing more than a series of awkward sexual encounters between an adolescent young girl and an older man taking advantage of her kind nature. This was dangerous emotional territory we were getting into, and I didn't know how to deal with it. As the saying goes, a stiff prick has no conscience and apparently no common sense either.

I didn't respond to her request verbally. I just kept gently rubbing her breasts while my other hand held her head against my chest. She looked up at me, then pushed my exploring hand further down into her lap. I followed her lead and began running my fingers over the outside of her damp pussy lips. We began kissing again, more passionately now. I slid one finger between her labia, and felt her natural wetness. My finger partially entered her vagina, and she moaned softly in response. I briefly tickled her clitoris as she lay back across my lap, opening herself up to me in all ways, physically and emotionally.

I managed to stand up while still holding her, not a bad trick for an old guy, and carried her into the bedroom. I set her down on the bed with her hips on the edge and her legs hanging down to the floor. She had gone limp, letting me control everything that happened now. I pushed her knees up, spread her legs, and put her feet on the edge of the bed next to her hips. She was wide open to my attentions now as I knelt on the floor in front of her.

For the next few minutes I tried to give her the best oral sex I knew how to give. I used every trick that had seemed to elicit positive responses from my partners in the past. I think Ginny had at least one orgasm, but it was hard to tell because her state of arousal was so high that she was squirming and moaning from the moment my tongue first lapped against her clit. I was enjoying giving her so much pleasure and could have gone on like that until my tongue cramped, but she let me know that she was ready to move on by taking my head in her hands and pulling me gently away from her mound. I stood up, leaned over her, and we shared another long kiss, with her essence still slick on my lips. I don't know if she had ever tasted herself before, but she seemed to be fascinated by it. She kept running her tongue over my lips, as if to savor every drop of her lubrication.

I straightened up and stepped out of my clothes. She slowly drew her knees up toward her chest, and held them there with her hands. Now she was even more open to me than she had been before. She was not at all shy about letting me see her in such a vulnerable position. I stood between her legs and pressed my penis against her slick labia. Entry was a little more difficult than I had expected. She was very wet, but her vagina was still tight. I wondered if she had lied to me about her experiences with her brothers in an effort to convince me that she wasn't a virgin. But she pushed her hips up toward me as if to assure me that she was ready to be penetrated. I rubbed my shaft up and down her crack until at last I felt myself beginning to slide into her opening. It was more like she had somehow pulled me inside of her than I had penetrated her. There was no barrier, she hadn't lied about not being a virgin, but her inner lips were still clinging very tightly around my shaft. I stopped for a moment to let her get used to the feeling of my manhood inside her.

"Please, yobo," she whispered, "go slow. My brothers...they are little boys. You are my first man."

When I heard that I felt my erection begin to wilt slightly. I was afraid of hurting her. She put her hands on my hips, encouraging me to continue. I slowly pushed further into her. Looking down, I saw that I was about halfway in, but it felt like I was pressing against the back of her pussy already. I was forced again to face the fact that she was still a young girl, not yet a mature woman. But I could not stop myself now. I began stroking in and out slowly, trying to be careful to not push all the way in. It felt like she was opening up more, and without realizing it I soon felt my whole length sliding into her soft, warm cocoon. When I had first entered her she had kept her eyes tightly shut like a patient awaiting an unpleasant medical procedure, but now, her eyes were wide open and she gave me a big smile. Whatever worries I might have had about hurting her vanished.

I pulled out and motioned for her to slide back to the center of the bed. I positioned myself on my knees between her thighs and we resumed fucking, this time in a more traditional missionary style. I was raining little kisses all over her face as I continued to fuck her with smooth, slow strokes. This was not just having sex, we were doing what Ginny had requested; we were making love. As I neared my climax I felt myself thrusting into her with more force. Her eyes were shut tight again and her expression indicated that I might be hurting her. I pulled out, lay down next to her, and motioned that she should get on top.

She looked at me with a puzzled expression. I don't think she had any idea what I was suggesting. Finally she got the idea and threw a leg over me. She squatted over my hips, and carefully positioned herself atop my twitching cock. Slowly she settled herself down as I guided the head into her with my hand. After she had taken all of my length into her again, apparently without pain, she started bouncing up and down on my shaft while she supported herself with her arms on either side of my chest. She did not seem to be feeling any discomfort now, judging from the grin on her face. A few seconds later, she opened her eyes, and as I watched they rolled back in her head like she was losing consciousness. That was just the beginning of a very vocal orgasm. She surprised me by shouting out her delight. I hadn't expected her to be a screamer.

After that she relaxed and slid down on my chest. The top of her head was resting under my chin as she caught her breath. She got very quiet, and I almost thought she had fallen asleep when she picked her head up, looked at me, and smiled. "I am a woman now, no? I have made love to a man."

I didn't say anything, I just smiled at her. I had not come yet and was still hard. I rolled her back into a missionary position, and began slowly moving again into her now sopping wet pussy. She brought her legs up and wrapped her ankles behind my legs, holding me in her while I brought myself to the point of release. As often happens when an orgasm is suppressed, my climax was long and intense. My balls kept pumping while she clamped her legs around me even tighter. I think she came again also, but this one was a lot quieter.

We lay next to each other for a few moments, lost in our own thoughts. When I suggested that we take a shower together she eagerly agreed. "My brothers and I used to take baths together when we were younger, but this is more fun," she laughed as we lathered each other. I started to feel myself swelling again as I rubbed soap all over her body. She noticed, and grasped me with her slippery hands, giving me a vigorous hand job. Much to my astonishment, in a few minutes she brought me to another orgasm. It had been decades since I had had two orgasms that close together. Such is the power of youth, I thought to myself. I felt like I was going to collapse, but we made it out of the shower, quickly dried off, and tumbled back into bed. She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, and I wasn't far behind. It had been quite a night.

---

Now that we had taken the final step in our affair Ginny became even more convinced that we were actually lovers. If I could have gotten over the age barrier, I would have probably admitted that I at last was beginning to feel the same way about her, but I knew how foolish it would be for a man my age to fall in love with a fifteen-year-old girl. She starting to call me 'yobo' more and more often. I was worried that she would forget herself and use that term around some of my wife's Korean friends. Some of them still came around occasionally to offer their help, or to take Ginny to church. I sat her down one evening and we had a long talk about our relationship. I tried to emphasize that even though we both enjoyed the sex, what we were doing was considered very wrong by the rest of society, and we would have to end it some day soon. Still, I couldn't bring myself to declare when that day would be.

Ginny was beginning to date a little now, group dates to the movies or to a dance. She told me in that very open, honest way she had that she was not interested in having sex with boys her age, they were just fun to hang out with. She kept saying that they were too immature; too much like her brothers and that she really preferred older men like myself. That was when the alarm bells really went off, and I finally had to face the reality that what I was doing was harmful to Ginny's emotional and psychological development.

A few weeks later, after the school year ended, Ginny went back to Korea to see her family. She was gone for six weeks, and it was during that separation that I was able to break the spell that she had over me, and get back to reality. I had not realized how focused I had become on Ginny since my wife's death. While Ginny was gone I had a couple of dates with a lady I knew from work. No sparks went off, but it was nice to talk to an adult again.

By the time Ginny came back, I knew that it was time for us to go back to a more normal, healthier relationship. I dreaded breaking the news to her, but it turned out I didn't have to worry about it. During her time back home, she had apparently reached the same conclusion. On her first night back, she asked if she could begin sleeping in her room again, and I of course agreed. She never called me 'yobo' again, and we had no further sexual experiences.

When the new school year started, Ginny began dating for real. I now had to take on the role of concerned father again, but secretly I was very happy to see her developing a social life with people her own age.

Ginny gave me a great gift, in a most unusual way. Her love and devotion during those critical months when I could have easily fallen into depression and despair, made it a lot easier for me to carry on with the rest of my life. Yes, I know what we did was wrong, and it was my fault, but I still think of Ginny as my special Asian angel.