April 12, 2038 The New York Times Boston -- "Girls Who Don't Grow Up"
The
local office of the Centers For Disease Control announced today that
there are six girls in the Boston area displaying a new syndrome
associated with cessation of physical development. There have always
been a few boys and girls with hormonal imbalances who do not have the
growth spurt that precedes puberty. If the problem does not correct
itself, hormone treatments are used to induce the growth spurt. For a
number of girls in the Boston area, those treatments are not effective.
They develop a serious allergic reaction to all known standard
treatments.
January 3, 2039 The New York Times Boston -- "Mad Scientist Created Perpetual Girls"
As
of the end of 2038, 23 girls in the Boston area have been diagnosed
with what has now been named Treatment-Resistant Puberty Deficiency
(TRPD). All of the girls were conceived by in vitro fertilization
performed by the late Dr. Paul Schwartz, a noted fertility specialist.
Genetic analysis has revealed that all of these girls have an extra bit
of genetic material in their cells. "It sure looks like whatever these
girls have was deliberately engineered by Dr. Schwartz," said Dr. Frank
Wiesner of Mass General Hospital.
Dr. Schwartz committed suicide
two years ago after taking the unusual step of destroying all his
medical records and a previously unknown extensive laboratory he had
maintained in the basement of his home.
Given the finding,
doctors have been performing genetic analysis on all of the children
from in vitro fertilization where Dr. Schwartz was involved. About 90%
of the girls conceived since 2021 have the extra genetic material, and
none has entered the growth spurt that precedes puberty. "If we
extrapolate from available data, there are about 150 girls who will
develop this syndrome," said Dr. Wiesner. It is not yet detectable in
most girls because they are not old enough to have started their growth
spurts in any case.
None of the boys have shown any unusual
growth or puberty changes, nor have scientists detected any genetic
difference from normal boys.
August 22, 2039 The New York Times Boston -- "Perpetual Girls Need Sex"
Scientists
have now identified 123 confirmed cases in the greater Boston area of
girls containing the gene that causes Treatment-Resistant Puberty
Deficiency (TRPD), although most are still too young to manifest the
symptoms.
The syndrome has been tentatively associated with
severe clinical depression, but it has been impossible to separate a
direct effect of the disorder from unhappiness at having the disorder.
In a stunning new development, it appears that this depression can be
eliminated by regular sexual intercourse. This could have gone
undetected for some time, but hints came from two older girls who chose
to become sexually active and one younger girl who has been the victim
of sexual abuse. The names of the girls have not been released.
Fortunately
actual sexual intercourse is not required. Fresh semen deposited in the
vagina by any means is an effective treatment.
Efforts to find a
way to restore normal growth and subsequent puberty in these girls have
intensified, but to no avail. "We have a number of ways of stimulating
puberty, but the TRPD genetic code seems to have been modified so that
further growth and puberty are fatal. It is the outcome that seems to
be prohibited," said Dr. Stephanie Rasmussen.
August 23, 2039 The New York Times Boston -- "Who Was Dr. Schwartz?"
The
late Dr. Paul Schwartz is the man who genetically altered girl embryos
in his in vitro fertilization program so that the girls would later
develop Treatment-Resistant Puberty Deficiency (TRPD). Who was this man?
He
was a brilliant geneticist and endocrinologist -- no one disputes that.
"I'm not sure there is anyone else on earth who could have assembled
the mini-chromosome as Schwartz did," said Dr. Stephanie Rasmussen of
Beth Israel Deaconess hospital.
An only child, Schwartz grew up
in Manhattan. He excelled in school and graduated from Yale University
and Harvard Medical School.
He had few friends and is not known to have dated anyone of either gender at any point in his life.
Police
officers report that he was briefly questioned on two separate
occasions for suspicious behavior. He often parked his car by school
playgrounds for long periods of time, apparently watching the children
at play. Whenever anyone questioned him, he politely apologized for
arousing suspicion, drove off and never showed up at that school again.
Although
there is no smoking gun, there is a disturbing possibility that fits
all the facts. Dr. Schwartz was sexually attracted to small girls, and
he set about creating women who would look like small girls and be
sexually active, a pedophile's dream.
By requiring semen in
their vaginas to prevent depression, he was nudging them in the
direction of sexual activity. Their brains continue to develop
normally, including the development of interest in boys. There is one
other piece of tantalizing evidence, though only anecdotal. Several of
the girls who have been receiving regular intra-vaginal semen as a
depression treatment report that their vaginas are undergoing the
changes associated with puberty, including enlargement. They report
that no other part of their body has started maturing.
October 2, 2039 Magazine Section of The Boston Globe "Life with TRPD -- Women Who Look Like Girls"
There
are nearly 50 girls with TRPD, the syndrome where physical development
stops late in childhood while mental development proceeds normally.
What's their life like?
Dr. Jane Frazier is a psychologist
specializing in adolescents. "The first thing to realize is that these
girls look like ordinary girls. In a lot of unusual human conditions it
is immediately apparent that there is a problem. The blind, the
mentally disabled, and those who require wheelchairs all strike people
instantly as different. The TRPD girls are more like the deaf in this
regard.
"However, there is one important difference from any
other disorder. All societies are protective of their children, and
ours is more so than any in history. When a TRPD teenager goes out by
herself, what people see is a lost child, and they will often intervene.
"There
is a new symbol that has been devised for their condition, a female
symbol containing within it a smaller female symbol with its 'tail' at
an angle. It should tell grown-ups that this person is at least a
teenager and should be treated accordingly. Unfortunately few people
know the symbol, and few of the TRPD girls choose to wear it. They
would like to be able to wear whatever they like and not label
themselves to the world as freaks."
These girls are now often
known as "torps", especially among themselves. The TRPD acronym had to
be transformed into something more pronounceable, and "torpedo" was the
obvious and irresistible choice. It has been further shortened to
"torp".
We talked to Sasha, one of the oldest TRPD girls, now a
sophomore in college. "Everyone does a double take when I show up in
the Quantum Mechanics seminar looking like I am seven. They think maybe
the professor has done a 'Take Your Daughter To Work Day'. Or that I am
a big-time child prodigy. And it doesn't help that I have a little girl
voice. But people get used to it pretty quickly when they are in a
situation where they know me. I'm proud to be a torp," she says with a
smile and raised fist, but it doesn't sound too convincing.
Dr.
Frazier continued, "Most people with disabilities are faced with
wariness in those they encounter. The person meeting them doesn't
really know how to relate to a blind person or a person in a
wheelchair, so they are cautious and self-conscious. But people know
very well how to relate to an eight-year-old girl. Even when people
know that this cute little thing is actually 18 they still have a
tendency to talk louder and slower and avoid big words, slang and
double entendres."
When I asked Sasha about it, she said "Yeah,
it's a pain in the ass. I had my college roommate instinctively take my
hand when we were crossing the street once. It's hard to go anywhere by
myself. I can't whip out a Visa card to pay for something."
Are
there benefits? "Sure, especially if you're cute like me." Sasha does
look adorable, with her big blue eyes and long blond hair. She cocks
her head and gives a bashful smile before continuing. It is a perfect
illusion. "Most of us hang onto our eight-year-old personae because
they can come in handy. I can go out with my father and if I act like
I'm eight I get all these smiles and adoration. It's demeaning in a
way, but it sure is positive energy. Life was a lot simpler when I was
eight -- I mean, not just my own weird life, but everyone's life. If I
wore torn jeans and make-up then people would look at me like a freak."
February 13, 2040 Address to the "TRPD and Friends Support Group"
I'm
Jane, and I'm 19 years old. I am going to say lots of personal things
because I think we have a very personal condition, and to the extent we
are willing, I think we should all share -- but without anyone feeling
pressure. I share easily, and I hope it won't come across like I'm an
exhibitionist. But for some reason I also didn't want any parents here
with us today.
I'm allowing this to be recorded so others can
watch it later. We are the tip of an iceberg -- there are many more
girls out there who will gradually discover their torpdom. Hopefully it
will be easier for them if we can share what we are going through.
It's
weird because you all look like you're in elementary school! I feel a
little like a teenager addressing little kids on what it's like to grow
up -- or, actually, not grow up. [scattered laughter]. OK, getting
personal. I know a lot of girls with TRPD get tired of going to the
hospital twice a week and get the semen from their fathers instead. It
felt too much like incest to me. I mean, I would rather not think about
my father having a sex life at all, and it used to be like I knew he's
in the other room jerking off, but then when he shows up with the
little cup he is so trying not to think of incest he looks like an
undertaker [imitates his expressionless face; laughter].
So
anyway, I found someone else to do it, a friend of my brother. It
certainly was weird at first. When he got to the house the first time
he shook my hand. I tried to imagine what he would say if we were being
honest. "Nice to meet you miss. I will proceed to jerk off, then give
you my cum so you can shove it up your cunt [laughter]." But at least
it wasn't my dad's or my brother's. We got into a routine.
But I
didn't stop there. I want to have a normal life like any other girl. I
want a boyfriend... [nods of assent throughout]. I want to get laid...
[smiles, nervous laughter]. So I agonized and was really nervous and
though I thought I was going to die I finally had a conversation with
my brother. I asked him if he would ask his friend whether he would be
willing to do me. Take the cup and the syringe out of the loop
[laughter].
My brother has at least some clue about how people
work and he loves me, thank God, and although he turned red he got a
handle on himself and said he would do it. And because he loves me, I
knew that if his friend said "Are you out of your fuckin' mind!" he
would report back only a polite "Well, he'd really like to, but he just
doesn't feel right about it." [delivered with exaggerated tone of
compassion. laughter]. While I was at it and already feeling like I was
going to die I told my brother that while it was none of his fuckin'
business [laughter], he could tell his friend my pussy is actually big
enough and wet enough for a cock. For the benefit of you guys, I got so
I could put four fingers in it ...[giggles in the room]. What, I'm not
the only one who has been poking and prodding herself ever since she
got the Diagnosis?" [laughter]. Anyway, the web says that if four
fingers fit a cock should fit.
Well, the report came back that
his friend said he would be happy to try. Got that? "Try." How to make
a girl feel really special [laughter].
We arranged some things
in advance through email. I started with some small talk, but he was
obviously really nervous. I unbuttoned my shirt to show I had on a bra
stuffed with kleenex [uproarious laughter] and that broke the mood a
little. I said "I'm kind of shy about my boobs, so I'll leave this on,
OK?" [uproarious laughter]. It made him laugh too. I also dropped my
skirt to reveal my panties. I may not have any pubic hair -- no
stubble, either -- but at least he couldn't see what was missing as
long as I had the panties on.
Then I had him pull his dick out.
It was the first time I had ever touched a cock. Any of you ever seen a
man's cock? [one other hand goes up. Scattered applause from the room].
I started fondling it and it got a little hard. I knew what lots of
guys really like, so I asked if he'd like me to suck it, and he agreed,
a little sheepishly. Then it got hard pretty fast, and he started
moaning a little and said he was ready. He took the rest of his clothes
off, and I got to see my first pair of nuts too.
I lay back on
the bed and pulled my panties off. He started to fondle me, but I told
him to go ahead and stick it in. I had been fondling myself before he
came, so I was already wet. (Gee, I said I could say anything but this
really IS kind of embarrassing.) I told him to stick it in because his
dick is going to shrink if he's thinking about my little girl body,
right? It's not going to grow! So I held my pussy open and he slid in.
He looked at me and smiled, but I could tell it was an effort and he
felt self-conscious. So he closed his eyes, and I read on the web later
that that can be part of good sex, not just something guys do when
their girls are ugly [laughter].
Anyway, he pumped away, and I
told him he could come any time. And it was maybe three minutes before
he did; it was actually pretty amazing. So then he lay beside me and
smiled and cuddled me. I realized it was easy enough to do that once
his cock wasn't expected to be stiff. He can fake thinking I'm sexy,
but his cock can't fake it -- that's what they say. But I had the sense
he felt like he was with -- gasp -- a little girl! [laughter] not a
lover. So after a few minutes I thanked him, he thanked me and said it
had been great, then he got dressed and left. Neither of us has
suggested doing it again.
So that's "Jane loses her virginity." [laughter]
[Suddenly
serious] But you know, seeing that hard cock took my breath away.
Feeling it slide into me... Just having his whole maleness all over me
was incredible. Filling me up between my legs. His urgency and power --
amazing. Maybe we need to be coming up with some male prostitutes
[laughter] but I really hope you all get to feel that some day. Girls
are constantly complaining that guys only want one thing from them.
That's not our problem! [laughter].
So it was great. But you
know -- not that this is a big surprise -- I really don't want to be
just fucked, I want to be loved too.
April 3, 2040 From the TRPD online discussion forum "Torp Talk", by invitation only, restricted to TRPDs.
[The
actual posts were much more cryptic and full of web slang and
abbreviations. They have been expanded to real English for ease of
reading.]
StellaTorp: I finally did it. I went onto a pedo site. When I explained who I was it started lively discussion threads.
Of
course there were doubts about whether I was really a torp or just
someone pretending, but some of them decided to believe me.
I
said I'm interested in dating men and that I think they are the only
men who will really find me attractive. Then these guys engaged in
lively debates as to whether they would find me attractive or not. They
know that my body looks like what they're interested in, more or less.
They've all seen pictures of torps, of course. There are different
ideas as to whether they would be turned off. Some said knowing I was
18 would be a turn-off. Some said if I talked and acted like a grown
woman it would be a turn-of, but if I acted like I was eight it would
be OK. A lot of them weren't sure. None of these guys has ever been
romantic with a little girl -- thank God -- so they don't know how
their attractions would play out in reality. It's interesting to think
about.
Then the 'vagina question' came up. Most of them seem to
think it would be heaven on earth to actually be able to do it with a
little girl (yuck), so they were excited; a few say they think it would
turn them off knowing that I wasn't really a little girl between my
legs too. But I got the sense that on the whole they were very
interested, in theory.
When we talk even hypothetically about
actually meeting, they are very wary. They think it's pretty likely
it's a trap. And who can blame them? The Feds are pretty aggressive in
setting traps for child molesters.
Then someone said if the
official torp site stuck in some software and each of us real torps was
given a secret number, then it could get recoded every ten seconds or
something so they could be sure. I didn't follow -- well, heck, I'm
only eight, right? :-)
TorpNerd:
What do you think of "torpedo" as a word for us? It's warlike and
phallic, and that doesn't suit us at all well (hey, any of you guys
wanna join the Marines?). But it's active and strong and potent.
Dynamite? Explosive? But would we really have preferred "buttercup" or
"lassie" or "sweet peas"? (or "faux jailbait"?).
Also, did
anyone notice that what's left out when you shorten "torpedo" to "torp"
is "pedo"? Or almost. They can be joined by a "pp". This is getting too
weird.
Alice
in Wonderland: I've had to think hard about these guys. I mean, child
molesters are the scum of the earth, right? I imagine greasy guys with
wicked leering expressions. The guys assure me that they aren't. They
point out that the molesters who actually molest girls may fit the
stereotype to some extent because they either don't care about whether
it hurts the girls or they are too deluded or clueless to understand it
will actually hurt them.
They say for every actual molester
there are 20 who feel an attraction to girls but would never molest
anyone. (They admit they don't really know what the figures are.) It's
kind of like most guys aren't rapists, but if you read the news, you
never hear about sweet guys having sex, just rapists. Or something like
that. I think I'm coming to believe them, or at least I'm willing to
consider it.
So, part of me thinks any guy who wants to have sex
with a little girl is a sicko. But I look like a little girl. And I
think I deserve love, and I deserve a guy who finds me sexy. So do I
hate myself, thinking that my body ought to be disgusting as a sex
object? I'm trying to think maybe these guys aren't sick, they're just
different. I'm trying.
They say they don't want to just have
sex, their dream is to fall in love, to marry. Before we torps came
along, it was hard for them to even dream about that because there's
only so much meeting of the minds possible with a little kid. When they
think about me, they get all emotional about how great it would be.
Girl
Power: Alice in Wonderland wrote: *** So, part of me thinks any guy who
wants to have sex with a little girl is a sicko. But I look like a
little girl. And I think I deserve love, and I deserve a guy who finds
me sexy. So do I hate myself, thinking that my body ought to be
disgusting as a sex object? I'm trying to think maybe these guys aren't
sick, they're just different. I'm trying. ***
No one could have said it better, Alice. [16 people like this]
Maybe
I've got a unique perspective. I was abused when I really was still a
little girl. Before you get all upset, for me it wasn't too bad. When I
was four my uncle told me to pull my panties down, and he touched me
between my legs and told me how beautiful I was. He even opened my
labia for a few seconds but it didn't hurt. It felt bad to me then so
he stopped.
I told mom and I've never seen that uncle again
(until recently), though Aunt Judy and my cousins still visit. At least
my mom was good about it. She didn't freak out in my presence, and she
believed me. They say he didn't exactly admit it at first, but he
finally did.
When I was 14 I asked my mom what happened to Uncle
Michael? She first asked why I asked because she didn't want to bring
up that part of my past unless I did. I told her I remembered it.
She
said they didn't call the police but they made him go to therapy, and
he does, ever since. Aunt Judy nearly divorced him over it. They didn't
tell me any of this because they didn't want me to feel guilty. I
remember thinking when she told me all that that years in jail seemed a
little extreme. Maybe a few months. I mean, it's not like labia are
sacred or something. They're just folds of skin. He was saying nice
things, and I know he meant them even if they creeped me out a little.
I don't have nightmares, and I don't fear men. But I know it's worse
for some other girls.
He sent me a letter when I turned 16
apologizing. I sent him one back saying I forgave him if he was sure
he'd never do anything like that again with anybody.
So now I
think about a man opening my labia and telling me it looks beautiful,
and what do I think? (assuming it's the right man). I long for it. I
mean, not that specifically, but the man, and touching me, and most of
all telling me I'm beautiful.
So what exactly did Uncle Michael
do that was wrong? He should have known that girls have private parts
and he should have let them be private. I talked about it with my
therapist (who I see not because of the abuse but because of this
lovely torpdom we all share), and she was OK with my asking to see him,
and he agreed. The therapist would have preferred to be there, but I
said it should be just the two of us. It happened just last week.
It
took me half an hour to get him to stop apologizing and stammering. He
told me I still look pretty much like the girl he abused, which hadn't
occurred to me as a factor, but -- duh. What I finally got through his
thick head was that I wanted information: I wanted to know why he
didn't think what he was doing was wrong. I wasn't going to judge him;
I just wanted to understand.
What he said came out in a jumble,
but what it boiled down to was that he did know other people thought it
was wrong, and he did too, usually. But I was just standing there in my
room looking so beautiful, and he figured he was going to say things
that were positive and loving and supportive, maybe helping my body
image. Shouldn't we be open about our bodies and not ashamed of them?
And he told me what I never knew before, he was also kind of drunk, and
part of him told himself that since he was drunk it wasn't his fault so
much.
So I thanked him and went away. I went through a few waves
of feeling really furious at him, but they've passed. And I've been
thinking about what he actually told me.
What I've decided now
is that there was nothing wrong with his thinking I was beautiful, and
not just like most people think a kid is beautiful. Nothing wrong with
his wanting to see me naked or open my labia. That is just the way he
is built. It's no accident that I think that, maybe, because I'm a torp
and want men to think I'm sexy now. But I really have come to believe
it.
What we all know was wrong was that he didn't respect my
boundaries and privacy, and took advantage of the fact I was a little
kid and I trusted him. Are there men who think I am beautiful now but
who will respect my boundaries? I hope there are. I think there are. I
think there are probably lots of them.
Little
Amazon: Zach's coming over! Tonight! I'm scared out of my freakin'
mind. My brother is going to be here too, which is weird but Zach's OK
with it. He understands I just am not totally sure he's not a monster.
He LOLs when I say I feel like he could snuff me out like a bug, but
he's good, he says we've got to be patient with each other. He says he
hopes I realize how scary it was to give me his real name. If I'm not
dead I'll tell you all about it.
Rose.
Rose Farnham. She had sent me her pictures, of course, but I still
wasn't prepared for what she looked like. And how she dressed! A pink
flowery print dress, and her hair in pigtails! She had said she was
willing to act like a little girl as much as possible, when appropriate.
She
answered the door, all 4'1" and 51 pounds of her. But right behind her
was baby brother Dave, maybe 6'2" and 220. There was something in his
body language that told me he thought his size might be important. I
don't know if he knew how he was coming across or not. To them I'm a
child molester, so I have to be prepared for it.
So we all sat
in the living room. Rose and I cracked jokes and things seemed to go
OK. She said she had picked a video and that it was a surprise. It was
"Lolita" of all things, and that was worth a laugh. She told Dave he
could go, but not too far away. So he headed off to his room after
giving me a significant Look.
My heart was pounding, but I sat
close beside her and I offered her my hand, which she took freely. She
then snuggled up beside me, which was great. I put my arm around her,
slowly. I thought about it a little.
"When you snuggle up to me like that you get to take advantage of eight-year-old privilege."
She
immediately started laughing, and soon I joined her. She had gotten it
instantly, the dear thing. A girl can snuggle up to anyone, or sit in
his lap, and no one thinks anything of it. For a grown man to put his
arm around an eight-year-old? Whoa! Don't go there! We'd gone over this
before, but she repeated what we had worked out online:
"You can
do anything you want as long as you do it slowly. I might not let you,
but I won't think you're bad. And I won't slap you." She had been
talking kind of like a grown-up to that point, or the best imitation an
eight-year-old could make of a grown-up's voice. Then she switched to
her best little girl voice and added brightly, "At least not very hard."
"And
you can do anything you want with me, and I won't think you're a brazen
hussy." That was worth a laugh too. I then switched to my best evil
voice and said "or at least I won't tell you so bwahahaaaa."
Things
proceeded remarkably quickly. From tentative beginnings our faces came
together almost like magnets. Neither of us had kissed anyone before,
but we picked it up pretty quickly. At least it sure as hell felt good
to me. Her hands were all over my neck and hair and back. I was up and
down her arms and thighs.
There was one significant moment. I
slowly, very slowly, moved my hand towards her chest and very slowly
put my hand against her breast -- or where her breast would be, if she
had one. I looked into her eyes and she into mine. As I started moving
my hand around very gently on her chest, a few tears came to her eyes,
and they welled up in me too. Then we hugged each other tight. After a
moment I said, "Do you think we can shut Humbert Humbert up?"
"Yes!"
She found the remote and did that promptly, then got up and stood
before me, the dear sweet thing. She looked down shyly and said, "Would
you like to come see my bedroom?"
So it seemed only a moment
later that she closed the door behind us. She attacked my clothes and I
helped her strip me to my briefs. She looked at the bulge within with
serious respect.
And when I turned my attention to her body we
both slowed down. I slowly undid the buttons on her dress, very slowly,
then lifted it over her head. She had on pink cotton panties to match
her pink dress. She pulled my underpants down and my cock sprang free.
Then I very slowly pulled her panties down and we stood facing each
other. We both looked at our bodies but mostly at her body, a child's
body, the body of an eight-year-old girl.
The weight of society,
of history, and of our personal pasts did not stay away entirely. Her
instinct told her she did not look sexy, and if I thought she did then
I was sick. My instinct told me that I should feel very guilty about
thinking she looked sexy. But our instincts passed. Our hands were all
over each other, and we were soon sprawled on the sheet. Her one mature
part was her pussy, and I got very excited sliding my finger in and out
while massaging her clitoris. She had to help me a little, because I
didn't really know how to do it right without doing too much.
I seemed to have gotten the hang of it because she gave a little urgent cry. Not so little, actually.
We
heard footsteps as Dave approached the door. For the only time there in
the bedroom Rose put aside her happy girl's voice and said in the most
grown-up voice she could manage, loudly, "Thank you Dave, everything is
just fine."
"OK, OK," he muttered from the hall as we heard his steps retreating.
We
looked at each other and smiled, but soon my hand undulating between
her legs had her looking very hungry. I might have thought it was a
kindergartner who said, "I'm ready."
"Ready for what?" We both
laughed as I positioned myself above her and she guided my cock towards
her. It looked out of proportion to her body. I pressed my tip against
her lips, and they slid aside easily. With back and forth motions I
went in a little more each time, watching with joy and lust and
fascination. I'll remember that for the rest of my life. Then my whole
cock slid in all the way to the hilt and our pubic bones met, my hairy
mat on her smooth baby labia. We had decided against using a condom. We
were both virgins, she certainly was not going to get pregnant, and
besides she needed regular doses of semen anyway.
I was trying
to hold back, but she was just so sexy I came in under a minute. It
could have been ten seconds for all I know. I lunged deep, looking at
that eight-year-old face and lovely flat eight-year-old chest. She said
later she had never seen such sheer joy on a person's face in her life.
As I came down I said, "Sorry, sorry."
"No, no, thank you, don't worry. Thanks for the medicine, anyway." That was worth a chuckle.
We
had discussed the possibility of my not lasting so long and were
prepared for it. We snuggled together, and in a mere five minutes my
cock was fully hard again. Then I was back inside her, and that time we
made love at different speeds, side by side, with her on top, on and on
for maybe 45 minutes. The position that worked best for her was on top
with my hands fluttering against her clitoris, and at the 45-minute
mark she did a decent job of stifling her scream. Then I turned all 50
pounds of her over on her back and she smiled and hugged me as I pumped
her hard and fast and deep and came in her again.
We drifted off to sleep together, though we both woke up a lot. Every time I did I felt a surge of joy to feel her next to me.
I headed off to my place at 8am after some eggs and toast she made.
I can't believe it. I never thought life could be this good.
She
has a meeting tonight, so we were set to get together tomorrow. Then
she added a little sheepishly that she would be home by 10:30. I got
her drift at once and told her I would love to see her then. I think
this is getting very serious very fast.
I start crying just thinking about it.
It's still robbing the cradle, but it's not as bad as it looks. 31 with 23 is bad, but it's not as bad as 31 with eight.
July 7, 2043 The New York Times Boston -- "Thanks to Torps, 'Pedophile' Not Such a Dirty Word"
Most
torps and pedophiles have their dates in private places, most often
each other's homes. The torp doesn't want to be seen as a freak, and
the pedo doesn't want to be seen as a monster. Sometimes they can go
out, pretending to be a daughter out with father or brother. The torps
often have fun skipping, singing little songs to themselves, or even
having little temper tantrums. And the pedos often love it. But it
takes a lot of courage to try any little public displays of affection
that a man and a woman take for granted.
There are still strong
voices in society whose message, at its emotional core, is that they
wish torps would just disappear. They feel the danger of child
molestation is just so high that any hint of sexuality in what looks
like an immature girl should be suppressed. But polls show this view is
definitely losing favor.
There were pro-pedophile groups for
decades, but their stance was that age of consent laws needed to be
modified so they could actually consummate their desires. Those groups
were almost universally reviled.
Now there are some celibate
pedophilic pride groups that meet in the open instead of behind secret
online identities. This is a development that would have been
unthinkable before the TRPD syndrome was discovered.
I caught up with Jeremy. Jeremy Williams, he told me proudly, making a point of not being anonymous.
"I
hope to meet a torp some day." said Jeremy. "Of course I see little
girls every day and I'm attracted to them. But they're not torps."
"What do you think when you see little girls? That's what everyone's worried about."
"I'm
not attracted to all of them, but when I see one who is cute I say
'Aww, what a cute, hot little girl.' I make sure not to stare at her or
anything."
"Do you think about what you'd like to do with that cute little girl?"
"Rarely.
I mean, if you see a pretty girl, like a college-age girl, you might
think she's pretty, but do you think specifically about what you might
do with her? Some guys do, I guess, but most don't. Neither do I."
"But you do sometimes?"
"Yes, yes I do," he said with some measure of acceptance. He's not going to feel guilty about it.
"But
that's not what counts, right? What counts is what I do. I'm not going
to touch her. I don't even have an impulse to touch her. If you see a
pretty girl, do you say to yourself, 'Wow, she's so hot, I'd better not
rape her.'? No. It's just not a remote possibility, regardless of how
hot she is. If I touch a little girl in a bad way, that's in most ways
just like raping her. I know that. We all know that. It's just not a
possibility.
"But I can dream of meeting a torp. There's a
snowball's chance in hell I'll meet one out here in California, but
just the dream is inspiring."
He slowed his pace and looked at
me earnestly. "What I want you and all your readers to think about is
this: If I can't meet my torp, why can't you all just feel sorry for
me? Why do you have to hate me? Just because little girls look like
torps?"
Jill
is 22 and a torp. Her situation is unusual because she has a sister
Janice who is nine, and they look remarkably alike -- more alike than
most sisters. Mark is Jill's boyfriend, and he visits the family a lot.
He was with the family when I visited. They showed me a picture of Mark
on the couch with Jill on one side and Janice on the other, an arm
around each one. It's very hard to tell which girl is the torp if you
don't know them.
"My arm around Jill means one thing, and my arm
around Janice means another," he says. "They both sit on my lap
sometimes -- not at the same time any more, now that Janice is so big.
They can both lay their head on my shoulder. I can put my arms around
both of them, even squeeze a little, and they both like it. It's called
affection.
"With Jill, there are more possibilities. I might
kiss her, touch her, like, thighs, and of course many other things when
we're in private."
I had a long talk with Kayla, the girls'
mother. I asked her how she felt about the whole situation, especially
Mark. "I've been through many phases, of course. When we found out that
Jill was a torp we were devastated, but we got over it. When she got
interested in boys and none were interested in her we felt bad for her.
"If
your daughter was terribly fat, or in a wheelchair, or retarded, you
still see the beauty in her and wish and hope some boy or man would see
that beauty too, and see it in a way that would make him fall in love
with her. We saw a little girl, a gorgeous little girl, and no one
could miss her beauty. But was there a man who could really fall in
love with her? There was a word for the kind of man we were hoping
would love Jill: pedophile. And that takes a huge adjustment, since
we're used to thinking of pedophiles with disgust.
"So we went
through some consciousness raising. Here's what we came up with: Some
guys are creepy and most guys are OK. Some of the creepy guys are
pedophiles and most aren't. Some of the OK guys are pedophiles and most
aren't. What do creepy non-pedophiles do to women? They whistle, they
make rude remarks, they hit on them. Maybe they stalk them or
intimidate them. A few are rapists. We know that creepy pedophiles do
more or less the same things because they make the news all the time.
The tragedy is that the little girls often can't or don't tell the
creeps to bug off, and that's why we are so protective of them and so
angry at the creepy pedophiles, because they are exploiting innocence
and trust.
"The invisible category is the non-creepy pedophiles.
They may feel frustrated or lonely or sad, but they keep their hands
off the little girls. That's half. The other half is they keep their
mouths shut because everyone's going to hate them. Why announce to the
world that you feel attracted to little girls when you know you never
would do anything? Your only reward is to be shunned and despised.
They're the invisible pedophilic decent guys. And that's who torps are
looking for.
"That's who Mark is. A very sweet, loving man. A pedophilic good guy who loves my Jilly."
Kayla seemed to have the celibate pedophilic pride argument down pretty well. But I decided to press.
"How do you feel knowing Mark might really like to be kissing Janice and moving his hands up her thighs?"
"I
don't mind at all. The way you put it assumes Mark is a sex maniac.
Suppose you have daughters who are 15 and 18. A guy comes to date your
18-year-old. He probably finds your 15-year-old hot too, at some level.
Are you worried he's going to try to rape her? Not really."
"So would you hire Mark as a babysitter? To stay alone with Janice all evening?"
"Absolutely."
There was one more person I wanted to interview: Janice.
"Janice, what do you think of Mark?"
"I like him."
"What do you like about him?"
"He's funny, and he plays with me, reads me stories, and listens to me."
"Do you know he likes to get all kissy with your sister?"
"Sure."
"Would you like him to do that with you?"
"Eeeeww."
"Do you think he ever would?"
"No. He's nice."
"How
would you feel if you knew he really would kind of like to do that with
you?" Kayla was sitting with us, and now she shifted a little in her
chair.
Janice giggled a little. "He'd better not cuz Jilly would get mad at him. He's nice to me."
I decided to press a little more. "What if he did anyway?" Kayla gave a little exasperated sigh.
Janice
looked at me like I had a screw loose, but she considered. "I'd make
him stop and tell mom he was maybe getting sick." She wanted to leave.
Kayla called to Janice as she skipped out, "Don't worry, Janice. He's just being silly."
Kayla
had some words for me that I'm omitting, and I couldn't blame her,
really. But those words included a good question. "Why don't you ask
her what she would do if I started kissing her or running my hands up
her thighs? Her own mother? Or what about Jilly? You want her to start
wondering whether we'll start feeling her up?"
Mark is a big hit
in this family. Janice loves him because he's fun and affectionate,
Jill loves him because he loves her just the way she is, and Kayla
loves him because he's good to Janice but especially because he adores
her Jilly and treats her well.
I asked Kayla a few more questions.
"What do your friends think about Mark and Jill?"
"You
can see the wheels turn sometimes. They can understand that Jill wants
a boyfriend, and they understand that the boyfriend has to be a
pedophile, and they hear us say how great Mark is. But they then strain
to put it together emotionally. A good pedophile? It give them pause
for thought."
April 30, 2049. The New York Times "Torp-Maker Schwartz Speaks From the Past"
Within
hours of each other, venerable law firms in Boston, Zurich and
Stockholm released an identical text written by the late Paul Schwartz,
infamous creator of the TRPD syndrome which he caused by changing the
genetic code of 152 girls. April 29, 2049 would have been Schwartz's
80th birthday. The law firms report that they knew only that a man had
paid an appropriate fee for them to hold the letter sealed until the
date he requested. Below is the text of the main part of the letter:
"First,
I want to apologize to all the girls, now young women, who found out
they were never going to grow up. I had no right to do that to you. I
hope you are having decent lives. The world is richer for your
existence, but that does not excuse what I did to you.
"I never
even kissed a girl, because the only girls I wanted to kiss were the
little ones. Because I loved them I of course never approached one. In
my life I never could stand up and say out loud, 'I would love little
girls if the harmony of nature let them love me back.' I would have
been met with hatred and disgust, though I deserved compassion. I could
never even talk to another man and have him say 'I understand.'
"I
created women who look like the little girls I craved. Those girl-women
will have wanted men to love them. I hope that men like me have stepped
forth from the shadows to love them with all their hearts, and that the
girl-women and society have accepted them in that role. I hope the
existence of girl-women has shown the world the nature of honorable
pedophiles.
"I know there are boy lovers just as worthy of compassion, but I made the creatures that my passion craved.
"My
life after my deed was discovered would have been nothing but
questions, derision, hatred, and imprisonment. I didn't want to live
that life.
"I did what I thought was best. For the pain I have caused, I am sorry."
There
was also an appendix to the letter. Scientists report that Schwartz's
genetic engineering had not been fully decoded and that the information
he gives was not known to scientists:
"In case my genetic
engineering has not been decoded, I would like to describe how the
latter half of a girl-woman's life will develop. Around the age of 40
she will grow and undergo puberty. She will have on the order of 15
childbearing years, after which she will follow the course of menopause
as in any other woman. The girl-women should live a little longer than
normal.
"The daughters of girl-women will all be girl-women, but the sons will not transmit any genes for the condition."
July 12, 2049 The New York Times "Torps Ponder Schwartz, Action"
Moved by Paul Schwartz's letter, the TRPD women have been talking and thinking.
Lonely
voices inside and outside of the TRPD community have said for some time
that being a torp is not a handicap but just a difference, and that the
world should make more of them instead of letting them die out. When
science believed that the torps would never grow to adults and could
never have children, this seemed highly unethical.
Schwartz's
letter has cast the future of torps into an entirely new light. If
Schwartz is correct that they will eventually grow and can have
children, then we know vital facts about those children. All the
daughters will be torps and all the sons will be normal, as will all
the sons' daughters.
Now the big controversy surrounds
artificially creating more torps. There is no technical obstacle, as
the TRPD mini-chromosome can be cultured from many cell types of a TRPD
and injected into a fertilized egg. There are small groups throughout
the world who are interested. Even if overwhelming majorities find this
idea repugnant, it will probably happen since it only takes a few
people to carry out the plan.
Another theme, more shocking in
many ways, is that a few of the torps feel their life calling may be to
let more pedophiles experience their life's dream at least once. They
rightly spurn the "prostitute" label because they are not motivated by
personal gain and plan to donate any proceeds to charity. Initial
estimates are that if they did charge they could easily command a price
of $5,000 for a single trick, perhaps as high as $20,000.
But there is another word for what they propose to be: "sluts".
January 22, 2051 From the Executive Summary of the Report of the US Attorney General's Office. "The Influence of TRPD On Law Enforcement."
Some
TRPD women made themselves available for pornography shots. Their
bodies are virtually indistinguishable from those of girls between the
ages of six and twelve. Since a positive defense against pornography is
that the subject be 18 years of age, law enforcement was facing a legal
source of what was essentially child pornography. An executive order
banned this practice immediately and Congress followed with legislation
within three weeks. The Courts have struggled to find a consistent
definition of what constitutes images which appear to be depicting
children, but they have upheld the basic intent of the law.
Occasionally
accused child molesters have raised as a defense that they believed
they were engaging in sexual activity with an adult TRPD woman. The
courts have ruled that unless a female declares herself to be a TRPD,
no reasonable man would conclude she is. Even when she does claim to be
one, reasonable measures to verify her claim are required.
Two
TRPD women have volunteered to participate in undercover operations
against sex offenders. The police have benefited greatly by being able
to let a liaison proceed farther before intervening.
The TRPD
women who are making themselves available to men for sex have had an
interesting effect. It seems that a few of the men who approach them
admit having committed child sexual abuse, and the TRPD women have
cooperated in bringing them to justice.
The incidence of child
molestation has declined slightly since the TRPD condition became
widely known, though it is unclear whether there is a causal
relationship.
Draft of a story by George Plinkoff. [His other draft stories seem to have been autobiographical.]
After
a few false starts, Andrew drifted into consciousness. The gray of
early dawn was easing into the room. He turned to Emma, asleep beside
him on her back. They both slept in the nude. She really did look like
an eight-year-old, her compact body giving no sign of sexual
development. He adored her innocent little face, smooth chest, narrow
hips, and smooth labia just visible between her legs. He watched her
for a minute, then started stroking her hair very gently. After a few
seconds she shook him off and turned away from him. Now the part of her
he saw was her smooth back leading gracefully down to her little-girl
butt. He felt warmth as blood pumped to his loins. He snuggled against
her back and began breathing in her ear and nibbling it ever so gently.
It really was almost time to get up, so he didn't feel too bad about
waking her.
After a minute she yawned and stretched and turned
back towards him with a smile. They kissed gently. He moved his kisses
slowly down to her little breast bud where he licked gently. She sighed
happily, and soon she draped her leg over him and started gently
rocking her pussy against his leg. After a minute of that she lay on
her back again and his hand slid between her legs. He took a little
fluid from her dripping pussy and massaged her labia and clitoris in
the way she liked best. She started to glow, then nudged him to get on
top of her. He slid his cock in slowly and they were joined, man's body
to girl's body.
It was not frantic lovemaking. His strokes were
slow and gentle, and they both made little gasps and moans, not big
ones. As their moans got more intense he knew the moment was right to
lift himself away from her a little and slide his fingers down between
their bodies and quickly stroke his fingers against her clitoris. She
cried out and shuddered with orgasm. He let her relish the feeling from
beginning to end before removing his hand and pressing himself fully
against her again.
She spread her legs as wide apart as they
would go and slid her heels up on his back, while lifting her head to
whisper in his ear, which she knew he liked. Her little-girl voice
piped up with "Fuck me deep. Give me your sperm, I want it so bad,
shoot it into me, fuck just like that, mmmm," and variants, over and
over. Soon he spasmed out his cum inside of her with a great cry. When
his orgasm had died down he slid off of her, they kissed briefly, then
she turned away from him and he snuggled against her back.
After
they had rested a while she said, "I have that staff meeting at 10
today, and I need to go over the presentation we're going to make in
California. I think we need to include some detail on the costs of the
subassemblies, but Gina thinks we should leave that for later."
"Mmmhmmm,"
said Andrew. They both knew he didn't follow the details of her work so
well, but he did listen and offered useful opinions on the emotional
aspects of the situation sometimes.
"I'm afraid I'll have to stay over the weekend there."
Andrew groaned. "Again? They didn't say it was this kind of travel when you took the job."
"I know, I know, sweetie, I'm sorry."
Emma
was the one with the career. Andrew worked 9 to 5 in a call center, he
kept house, and he adored Emma. Emma adored him too, but affection is
rarely exactly equal in a marriage. He adored her more.
He was
42 and she was 28. Throughout his 20s he had lived his life with the
usual ups and downs we all face. But he could never quite resign
himself to the fact that he would never marry, never know that
closeness that he craved so much. He would never know love because the
only people who made his heart melt, who took his breath away, who he
wanted to hold and love and sleep with at night were girls between the
ages of about six and twelve.
Then the torps came along. He was
one of the first, the brave ones, to come out and say he was attracted
to them. He was reviled but not as badly as he feared, and he arranged
to meet one for a date. Despite the physical attraction he and Donna
just didn't hit it off. But he and Emma had taken to each other at once.
He
was luckier than her twice over. For one thing, there were at least
thirty pedophiles for every torp even in greater Boston, and she had
chosen him. And for another, it was wearisome for a full-grown woman to
navigate life -- especially the world of business -- looking exactly
like she was eight years old.
October 7, 2056 The New York Times Magazine "Torp Angels: Angels -- or Sluts?" by Frances Goodman
Sarah
is a woman of 32, though she looks just ten years old. She was the
first to use the term "Torp Angel". She is one of three at present but
she is the most active and most famous. She says she doesn't like the
term any more because it is pretentious.
This woman spends
several hours a day, six days a week, on her back while men have sex
with her. What they see is a girl of age ten. I'll admit that my
initial reaction, and my second, and my third, was revulsion.
I caught up with her after work in her office. A framed painting of Dr. Schwartz hung behind her desk.
I had never met a torp before, and like so many I could not believe the person before me was not a girl of ten.
"Why
do you do it, Sarah? You don't get any monetary benefit. No woman in
the world that we know of opens her body to a whole flood of men as you
do."
"First let me say that I believe there is a deep and
powerful aspect of a woman's nature that is profoundly unhappy about
having with sex with a great many different partners. I recognize that
in myself and I let myself feel it from time to time. But mostly I hug
that part of my nature, tell it I love it, and put it down for a long
nap.
"Next, I think there is a huge difference between my
situation and a woman who has sex with 'ordinary' men. If a man puts
his mind to it, he can find a woman of his own. There are as many women
as men. If men visit a prostitute, it is because they are lazy or not
very nice.
"Pedophiles have no such option. There are 120 or so
of us torps in the world, and most of us are married or committed. The
three of us are the only hope they have of ever fulfilling their
fantasies even once."
"But as you say, they are fantasies. Most of us don't get to fulfill our fantasies."
"It
is not just any fantasy for these men, it is the one dominant fantasy.
I think a sexual bond is a fantasy everyone is entitled to fulfill at
least once if it is possible.
"There's something more personal,
too. I spent my teens loathing my body and feeling I would never know
love. Pedophiles are the ones who changed all that. So many of my
fellow torps went from despair to happiness, and I did too. I feel
gratitude to pedophiles as a class on behalf of myself and my fellow
torps.
"I have my Jason I go home to every night, and he holds me and listens to me and sleeps beside me."
"How does he feel about your -- um -- infidelity?"
"He
has a mix of emotions, but remember he is one of the pedophiles, so he
knows how they feel. He is behind me all the way on this."
"How does it work?"
"It
may not sound romantic, but men apply. There are more of them than I
could ever have time for. Their applications are screened by a large
staff, and then they have to undergo interviews.
"They must meet
several criteria. One is that they are attracted exclusively to little
girls and have never had a love relationship with an ordinary mature
woman. Another is that they are kind and gentle and approach their time
with me with an appropriate attitude. And I only accept men who I find
somewhat attractive."
She paused for a moment and gave an impish smile. "I find a lot of men attractive."
"Do you enjoy your encounters?"
"I
almost always do. You cannot believe the looks of adoration and wonder
these men give me, of how thankful they are. I'm sure no one in the
world has been the recipient of so much profound gratitude, day in and
day out."
"What about your body? Do you enjoy it with your body?"
She laughed. "I usually find it at least pleasant. I confess I've always had a strong sexual appetite."
"There must be some scary moments. Despite all your screening, there surely is some danger."
She
grew quiet. "Yes, there is. I have been annoyed many times and
frightened a few times. I have several ways of protecting myself,
however."
"Do you have bouncers? Enforcers?"
"You can
call them that. Initially I invited pedophiles to serve that role, but
I stopped. Their reactions were too strong. When one of them saw how a
man was treating me he nearly killed the guy."
"How was the man treating you?"
"I would rather not say. But I will say it was more humiliation than true danger."
"I hear some men have died while visiting you, or shortly after."
"It's
true, some have. If a man has an underlying heart condition and then
puts himself in a situation where he feels strong emotions and then is
also putting his body through a cardiovascular workout, it's sometimes
too much."
"So do you screen men for fitness? Have them run a treadmill?"
"It's
a debate. Sometimes it's the men who are near the end of their lives
who I feel the most compassion for and are the most grateful of all.
Not all men have intercourse with me, you understand. Many never get
undressed. Some just look and do not touch."
"Before I get too far away from the subject, how does it feel when a man dies in your arms?"
Sarah
got quiet and I got the sense she was trying to fight back emotion. "It
doesn't feel good, no. Of course not. But I have never felt guilty."
She
was silent again. "Sometimes I find myself sobbing at night in Jason's
arms, but it's not for me and not for the men who die. It's for the
oceans of pain these men have in their lives."
"Do you encounter men who have abused little girls?"
"A
few have admitted it in their applications, a few in their interviews.
I never see them of course. Several have confessed after they have seen
me. And two told me while we were having sex."
"What did you do then?"
"I
insisted they stop immediately. I always report all these men to the
authorities. Some simply confess, and in other cases the police
investigate, and sometimes they even do undercover operations. We never
promise them confidentiality, though that and other serious crimes are
the only things I have reported. Along with some cases where we thought
someone might be in danger."
"Are you worried that because of
your availability, men think more about sex with girls and more men
abuse them? Some people have suggested that."
"The incidence of
abuse of girls has if anything gone down slightly since we torps came
along and since I started following my calling. I think the way it
works is that now a pedophile can say 'If I want to have sex, I'll have
to visit a torp angel. She is a grown woman and can consent. Girls
can't consent.' It sharpens that consent component, which is vital.
Many of them can never visit me, but at least in principle they could.
"As
it becomes more acceptable to admit to a pedophilic tendency, we draw
men into trusting society's rules. If a closeted pedophile feels bitter
and angry at the world, he is less inclined to follow the laws. A lot
of people follow laws not just because they might get caught but
because they figure maybe society knows what it's doing."
"What about money? Initially you charged thousands of dollars, even though you gave it to charity. Now you don't."
"It
was always a 'recommended donation' so we didn't run afoul of the
prostitution laws. For a while we had a 'recommended' application fee
of $50, but even that is gone now.
"Our operation is supported by donations. We actually receive far more money than we can use ourselves.
"I
also decided I wanted to take money out of our relationship. A few men
were resentful at having paid so much and it showed up when they were
with me, and this policy eliminates that.
"Men are of course free to give money to charities, and I even have listed some of my favorites, but it's totally up to them."
"They say you are fabulously wealthy."
She
laughed. "I would be. Incredible as it may sound, I have to work hard
to get rid of all the money people give me. Consider that these men
usually have never married and tend to be socially isolated. Many have
buried themselves in their careers. I am in a great many wills. One
bequest amounted to $7 billion.
"I encourage men to give to
charities of their own choice, not to me. And the amounts charities
report that are given in my name are astronomical."
"With all those billions you receive you are a very powerful person."
Sarah
paused a moment. "I try to get involved in the money as little as
possible. My gift is love, not money. I do keep $20 million for myself,
mostly so I can instantly give to a cause that needs my help without
having to run it by another soul. I avoid luxuries for myself."
She
astonished me at the end of the interview by jumping into my arms and
giving me a big squeeze and kissing me on the cheek. She played the
part of a young girl perfectly. When she had gotten off my lap she said
"I take advantage of my ten-year-old privilege sometimes. I like you."
I
just could not think of Sarah as a slut. She was a courageous woman, a
loving woman, and she seemed like a wise woman. I could not keep the
word "saint" from bouncing around in my mind. The idea of divinity even
occurred to me.
Bill
Weatherby was 82 and in poor health, and because of a turn for the
worse Sarah had made time for him. She met him at the door and gave him
a big hug. Taking him by the hand, she led him to the bed, then lay
back on it.
She encouraged him to look at and touch her as he
wished. With trembling hand Weatherby slid open Sarah's robe to reveal
her girl's body beneath. He stroked his hand all over her torso and
thighs. He bent down and licked on her nipple. And as she spread her
legs for him, he slid a finger up into her vagina and slid it back and
forth gently before just holding it inside. And he mumbled to himself,
"I can do this and I am not abusing a little girl."
Weatherby
himself decided it was time to stop rather than having Sarah tell him
his time was up, and for whatever reason she got up and gave him a
gentle kiss on his cheek and whispered, "I'm so sorry. You deserved
more in your life." He died three days later, but he thought of his
time with her constantly, and felt at peace as never before.