Observe the Sabbath

It was Sunday. I came downstairs wearing my suit and saw Karen wearing a light blue cardigan with a black dress. She was trying to put a necktie on little Timmy.

During the ten-minute trip to church, I sat in the passenger seat and didn’t speak a word to Karen as she drove. The kids in the back were also silent, perhaps because they were sleepy. Ten minutes later, we arrived at the church car park.

The seats in the church were uncomfortable. As the pastor spoke, I fell asleep and dreamed about how lovely it would be to live by myself on an island. My dream was rudely interrupted when my wife woke me up and told me to concentrate on what the pastor was saying.

Suddenly my kidney felt heavy and I had to go urinate. I excused myself and went to the toilet. After urinating, I decided not to head straight back into the church but instead I walked outside and strolled through the church garden on this warm and sunny day.

I thought I was alone but a moment later I heard quiet sobbing noises. Walking towards the noise, I finally found where it came from. A little girl about five or six years old was lying on the grass. She wore a plain white dress. Her little hands were all over her eyes, and she was crying.

I walked up to the little girl and sat down on the grass near her.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She took her hands away from her eyes and looked at me. My eyes looked back at her face. She was a lovely little girl. Her green eyes were moist. Her wavy blonde hair looked soft and it flowed over her shoulders like smooth silk.

I spoke. “Where’s your dad?”

She pointed to the church.

I looked at the church for a moment before turning my head back to her. “Why are you out here?”

She didn’t answer.

I spoke. “What’s your name?”

“Abigail.”

I remembered her. “Abby! Your dad’s the pastor. How old are you?”

“Five.”

I nodded. “I have a son who’s five. My daughter is eleven.”

The little girl smiled only slightly.

“My name’s Keith,” I said.

“Keef,” she said.

“Keith.” I more clearly pronounced the th sound.

“Keith,” she said, learning from her mistake.

I spoke. “Do you have a brother?”

She nodded. “Yes, his name is Daniel.”

“Where is he?”

“Inside.”

“Let’s go back inside then.”

She scrunched her face and spoke loudly. “No!”

I sat back down on the grass and looked at her. “You know, I don’t want to go back in there either.”

The little girl stood up. “Do you want to see my house?”

“Your house?”

“My house,” said the little girl. “My cubby house.”

“Is it close?”

“Yes.”

“Does your mom and dad know you’re out here by yourself?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I always go to my house and I don’t tell anyone.”

I was going to ask more questions, but the little girl was already walking away, so I stood up and followed her.

Right next to the church was a large park with hills, lakes, and dense vegetation. I didn’t know whether the place was public or private property. Abigail certainly knew the place very well. She ducked under branches and climbed over rocks as if she had been here all her life. I cringed when I saw her white dress getting dirty. Her parents were not going to be happy and maybe they’d hate me if they thought I encouraged her.

Abigail arrived at a rivulet (a water stream) that was about three meters wide. It was a shallow rivulet with clear water about half a meter deep. I could easily see the floor of the rivulet from where I stood and it was pure white sand. The current was weak.

Abigail took off her shoes and dumped them on the ground. She stuffed her socks in her shoes. Her little legs were very pale. She walked into the rivulet and got her dress wet. The water went up to her waist. Alarmed that maybe she might drown, I stepped in without taking off my shoes, and the water went up to my knees. I grabbed the little girl by her armpits and pulled her out.

“Your dress is very dirty,” I said, “and now it’s really wet.”

I carried the little girl across the rivulet and after reaching the other side I put her down and took off my shoes and socks till I was barefoot. The sand on the ground stuck to the moist soles of my feet.

Abigail walked up to a shrub of vegetation and said, “This is my house!”

I looked more closely. Camouflaged among the vegetation was what looked like a small cubby house with vines growing on it. Because of the vines and plants growing all over the house, it was difficult to notice that a house was even there. I was standing right next to it but still couldn’t see it until Abigail pointed to it.

“Did you make this yourself?”

The little girl shook her head. “I found it.”

“Does this cubby house belong to you?”

She said yes sternly and opened the door to walk inside. She told me to come in and close the door on my way in.

The cubby house looked like a perfect cube. The cube was one meter in width, height, and length. Each face of the cube was made of wooden planks. On one face of the house was a window. This window was not made of glass but was a square hole in the wall. It allowed the house’s occupants to see the calm rivulet that we had just crossed. The window also allowed in enough sunlight for occupants to see inside. Near this window was the door, which was almost as high as the cubby house itself. Since I was 1.83 meters tall and since this house was just one meter in height, I had to kneel down and squish myself in. The little girl looked scared as I entered, probably afraid I might break her house.

I finally fitted myself inside. My back was against one wall and the soles of my feet were against the wall opposite the wall that supported my back. My two knees touched the walls adjacent to me and the top of my head touched the ceiling. The little girl sat between my legs. Her legs were sprawled out. Her left foot was underneath my right knee and her right foot was underneath my left knee. She stared forward and looked at my waist before looking up to my face.

“Boy, you’re really big,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I'm an adult. Do you want me to get out?”

Abigail looked out the window. We were both silent. I could feel the warm sunlight on my left hand. My eyes picked up the sound of birds outside. The rivulet made a continuous trickling noise.

The little girl fidgeted with a section of the wall and to my surprise she managed to open a small secret compartment. She reached her hand into the compartment and pulled out not one but three glass bottles, each of which was filled with a yellow-brown mixture. Two of the bottles were completely filled but the third bottle was only filled halfway.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s porridge,” she said. “The plants eats it.” She pointed outside the window.

I looked outside the window and saw on the ground near the cubby house a pot plant. A green plant about ten centimeters tall grew from the dirt in the terracotta pot.

“Did you get that plant from a shop?” I asked.

The little girl shook her head. “I make it.”

I took the half-filled bottle and opened it. As I did, the smell of fertilizer hit my nose. I almost vomited but tried to hold it in. The little girl saw my face scrunched up and started giggling.

“Is it fertilizer?” I asked.

Abigail stopped giggling but kept smiling. She remained silent, probably not knowing what fertilizer was.

Abigail spoke. “It has poo-poo and wee-wee and…”

I interrupted. “Your poo!”

“Yes, my poo-poo!”

I quickly closed the bottle. “Abigail, I don’t think…”

“Abby,” she interrupted.

“Pardon?”

“Call me Abby,” she said.

“Abby?”

“You called me Abby before,” she said. “Why did you stop?”

“Okay, Abby,” I said. “I don’t think you should do poos in a bottle like that.”

“Why?”

“It’s messy and you might get germs.”

The little girl didn’t even listen to what I said because she was too busy taking the smelly bottle away from my hands. Abigail’s throat started moving. She held the bottle up underneath her chin and a moment later a large blob of saliva escaped from between her lips and fell into the bottle.

“Sometimes,” she said, “I eat so much food and it comes back up my tummy and comes out my mouth and I put it in the porridge.”

“You mean you vomit in there?”

“Aha.”

Abigail stood up. She was able to stand up without her head hitting the ceiling but only just. Even though she stood while I sat, her face was level with mine. The little girl put the bottle on the floor. I was afraid it was going to spill. To my horror, Abigail lifted her white dress up with both her hands till her light pink cotton panties were exposed to me. With her left hand keeping her dress up, he pulled down her panties with her right hand.

I saw the smooth hairless folds of her vagina lips between her legs. She kneeled down and picked up the bottle with her right hand and placed the opening right under her vagina and urethra. A second later I saw bright yellow urine escaping from between her legs. The contents of the bottle mixed vigorously as she urinated. I had an uncomfortable erection.

Abigail finished and screwed the cap back on the bottle. She put her panties back on and methodically placed the bottles back in the secret compartment. She reached in again and took out an empty bottle.

She held the empty glass bottle out in my direction. “I want you to make porridge, Keef.”

“Why do you want that?”

“I want my plant to eat your porridge. Please?”

I grabbed the bottle. “Do you want me to spit in it?”

“Yes,” she said, “and poo-poo and wee-wee in it.”

“But I don’t need to poo or wee now.”

She had a disappointed look on her face as she looked at me, like she was halfway to crying. She leaned forward and took the bottle away from my hands.

Abigail put the empty bottle back in the secret compartment and told me politely to get out.

After getting out, my mobile began to ring, so I answered.

“Hello?”

Karen spoke. “Honey…uh, where are you?”

“I’m, um, I’m just in the park. I’m taking a walk.”

“Whereabouts in the park are you?”

I ignored her question. “Has the Pastor finished already?” I looked at my watch and noticed it was twelve noon.

“Pastor Adams organized an outdoor barbecue. You’re missing out on food.”

“I’ll be back there soon, okay.”

“Alright, hurry up. I love you.”

I hung up the phone.

Abigail looked like she was trying to rip apart some of the vines near the left side of her cubby house. Out from somewhere in these tangled vines, the little girl took out more pots. She held two pots, one in each hand, and put them on the ground. The plants in these pots looked taller. Each was about a foot tall with big lush green leaves.

“Are they plants you grew earlier?” I asked.

The little girl nodded. “Aha, and I use my porridge.”

“Why do you do that?”

“My poo-poo and wee-wee…the plant eats everything from me.” She pointed to one of the plants.

I looked at the little girl, confused with what she was saying. “You feed the plant nothing but whatever comes out from your body?”

“Aha.”

“I am in the plant,” she said.

I nodded slowly. “Why do you want my porridge as well?”

She looked up at me. “You can be in a plant with me.”

I paused for a few seconds. “Do you do this with your mom and dad?”

She faced the ground and stopped looking at me. “I don’t have a mommy and I don’t like my daddy.”

I kneeled down till my face was level with the little girl’s. “What about your friends at school?”

She looked at me again but this time stared at my chin. “I don’t go to school,” she said, lowering her voice, “and I don’t have any friends.”

I tried to look at her eyes but she was now looking at the water stream. Even though I couldn't see her face directly I knew she was sad.

“I’m your friend,” I said.

Abigail spoke. “Except you and maybe my brother.”

“Let’s go back to church now,” I said.

I tried to grab her but she squirmed and pushed my hands away. “No, I don’t want to go!”

“There’s a barbecue. Aren’t you hungry? You can’t poo or wee if you don’t eat. How do you eat out here?”

Abigail paused for a few seconds. “Can you go to church and bring food back here for me?”

“Why don’t you want to go back?”

“I don’t like my daddy.”

“How will you eat if you don’t see your dad?”

A tear escaped from the little girl’s left eye.

“Why are you crying? Why don’t you like your dad?”

“He hits me.” Abigail rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands.

“I’m sorry, Abby.” I placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly on her soft flesh. “I’ll go to church and come back with food for you. Stay here, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

----

I arrived back at the church. Two large tables were set up underneath a giant tree. I heard a portable stove sizzling sausages. Pastor Adams was at the barbecue with tongs in his right hand and a can of beer in his left hand. He was talking to someone. On the table were bread, tomato sauce, and a plate with piles of cooked sausages. The thirty or so churchgoers were scattered throughout the garden. They organized in small clusters and were busily talking to each other while eating.

From the table I grabbed a disposable plate and put six slices of bread on the plate. Before grabbing some sausages with the tongs I heard Karen behind me.

“Keith, you’re finally here!”

I turned around.

“Just eat one hot dog,” said Karen. “Jessica and Tim are in the car. We’ve got to go now. You can eat in the car. I’ll drive.”

“Why the rush? Where are we going?”

“Jessica and Tim’s Judo lessons, remember?” She grabbed my shirt and pulled me towards the car park. “They have a tournament today. You’ve got to be there to see them.”

As much as I wanted to be a spectator at my children’s Judo tournament, I didn’t want little Abigail to go hungry.

“How long is the tournament?” I asked.

“I don’t know, Keith. Come on, let’s go.”

I hesitated but finally followed my wife back to the car park. As I stepped into the passenger side of the car, I thought frantically about my predicament.

As I stared at the road ahead of me, millions of thoughts collided in my mind. Although my children made lots of noise in the back, I was silent the whole time.

----

I went along to Jessica and Tim’s Judo tournament, which went on for about three hours. Neither Jessica nor Tim won. Afterwards we came home. Karen drove all the time while I was in the passenger seat. We arrived home at five in the afternoon.

Searching through the refrigerator, I pulled out ten cans of food and stored them in a thick polyester bag. I remembered to bring a can opener as well.

Karen was in the living room reading the Bible. I quickly walked towards the front door.

“Karen, I think I left my wristwatch at the church,” I shouted. “I’m just going to go there to find it. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

Luckily, Karen simply said goodbye without any attempt to come along with me.

I drove to the church in ten minutes. My car was one of only two cars in the car park. The other was the pastor's car.

I took off my wristwatch and put it in my pocket. In my hand was the polyester bag filled with ten cans of food.

I walked towards the park and started walking along the path that I knew led to Abigail’s cubby house. I began to have doubts. What if Abigail had returned to the church?

To my dismay, the afternoon cloud started to turn gray. Bits of water started spitting from the sky. The wind too was starting to gain strength. The trees were swaying slightly. I arrived at the shallow rivulet and noticed the current was stronger than before. When I stepped into the stream of water, it went up to my knees. The coldness instantly numbed my shins and feet. When I came here earlier it was warm and sunny.

The rain started to come down, and ten seconds later not only were my pants drenched but so too was my top. I was still wearing the same black suit that I wore to church earlier in the day.

I came expecting disappointment, but when I looked inside the window of the cubby house I saw little Abigail inside. She was lying on the floor and it looked like she was sleeping. Being so pessimistic, I immediately began to fear that maybe she had starved to death.

I literally jumped inside the cubby house. My entrance was violent. My limbs must have hit bits of wood because I heard timber snapping. When I entered, I almost sat on Abigail. My bottom landed on the ground near the little girl’s head. Abigail immediately got up and screamed when she saw a flurry of movement all around her.

When I calmed down and sat quietly, Abigail adjusted her sitting position and turned around to face me.

“You’re back!” she said.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes!”

I took out a can of tuna and showed it to her. The enthusiasm was immediately wiped off her face when she saw the can. She stared at me with a blank look on her face.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“It’s tuna.” I looked at her. “You don’t like tuna?”

The little girl shrugged.

“Have a try,” I said, taking out the can opener. “I forgot the spoon so you’ll have to use your fingers. I got canned food so you can store it for a long time.”

The weather outside only worsened. It was pouring with rain and there was lightning as well. Because the window and door on the cubby house were just holes in the wall, rain flew in and soaked the left side of my body. The whole floor of the cubby house was wet. I was sitting in about half an inch of water. Abigail was starting to get wet as well but she didn’t seem to mind.

As I opened the can of tuna, my hands shook because of the cold. I almost dropped the can and can opener.

Abigail put her palm on my right cheek. It felt strange having such a small hand on my cheek.

“You’re really cold,” she said.

I finished opening the can and offered Abigail the food. She took her left hand off my cheek and grabbed the can. With her right hand she grabbed some tuna from the can and moved it towards her mouth. She took a bite and started munching. Lots of residual tuna were all over her hands and lips. She made a look of disgust.

“Not good?” I asked.

She shook her head.

I was disappointed, but I didn’t blame her. “What do you normally eat?”

“I want a hot dog,” she said.

“Does your dad always make hot dogs for you?”

She nodded. “Daddy likes hot dogs.”

I lowered my voice and moved my face closer to hers because of the noise from the rain. “Why don’t you like to be with your dad? Does he hit you hard?”

Abigail looked down at the floor and stayed silent for a moment. “Sometimes he ties me on my bed and he smacks me.”

I started to get worried, thinking that maybe I should contact the police. “What else does your dad do to you?”

Abigail looked at me.

“Does he put anything in your…” I pointed between her legs. “…in your wee-wee hole?”

She kept looking at my face. “No.”

"Oh, okay." I felt embarrassed asking her such a question. "That’s good."

“But sometimes,” said the little girl, “he puts his sperms on my face.”

“Oh dear,” I said with dread. “Pastor Adams?”

The little girl nodded. “I want you to put your sperms in the porridge.” She pointed to the bulge between my legs.

I noticed my penis was involuntarily erect, and the wet pants only made the erection more obvious.

I spoke. “I shouldn’t. Not in front of you.”

“You have to make the porridge!”

I stayed silent. I don’t normally grow erect in front of little girls. After all, I had a daughter and this never happened before.

She made a pleading face. “Pleease!”

I reluctantly nodded.

The little girl quickly moved towards me. Her hands were all over my pants. She was fiddling with my belt and zipper. Her hands and fingers moved all over the place like she was playing piano, but her attempts to take off my pants were unsuccessful, so I helped her.

I unzipped my pants, and Abigail looked at the penis between my legs as if she was just looking at another one of her plants. The little girl reached inside the secret compartment and pulled out the empty bottle. This time I noticed the bottle had my name written on it with black marker, spelled KIF in wobbly letters.

“You have to rub it,” said Abigail. “Don’t you know how to make sperms?”

With my right hand I started rubbing. “What else do you know about sperms?” I asked. “What else did your dad teach you?”

“Daddy said the stick goes hard when you see little girls like me.” She smiled at me.

I smiled back at her but only momentarily.

The little girl cupped both her hands and bought them together. She positioned her cupped hands near the opening of my penis, where she thought the semen would fall after ejaculation.

My arousal intensified when the tip of my penis accidentally pressed against the surface of the skin on her fingers. Her warm baby-smooth little fingers on my penis almost instantly induced ejaculation.

I looked at the little girl as I pumped my penis with my right hand. I pressed my left palm on the floor and pushed myself forward towards the little girl. When Abigail saw me moving towards her she seemed frightened. Behind her was a wall. To her left and right were my legs and right in front of her was me, and there was only about a foot of space separating her from me.

I didn’t want to scare the little girl, but I wanted to be close to her. With my left hand I touched her. I touched her face. My fingers brushed her ears, her temple, and her hair while my thumb lightly traced the shape of her lips. On my palm I felt her soft left cheek. She stared into my eyes. My right hand kept pumping my penis. Her cupped hand lowered. It seemed like she was tired of holding her hands up, and it seemed like she was starting to wonder why I was touching her face.

I ejaculated. The first rope of semen shot far forward and landed right on her face. I kept pumping. The little girl’s reflexes kicked in and she closed her eyes and turned her face away from me, which moved her body and thus her hands. With my left hand I grabbed her right wrists and directed her cupped hands towards my penis so that the semen that now dribbled from my urethral opening accumulated in the palm of her hands.

When it was all finished, the little girl poured the semen from her hands into the empty bottle. About six cubic centimeters of my semen was in the glass bottle. She wiped her semen-stained hands against her dress, which scared me because she could be leaving behind DNA evidence. The little girl then wiped away the semen from her face.

“Do you need to wee-wee or poo-poo?” asked the little girl.

Now that she mentioned it, I did feel a need to urinate, so I told her so and she seemed happy.

My penis was no longer stiff, but a second later the little girl’s fingers wrapped around my penis and it became semi-erect. With her other hand she positioned the bottle so that the tip of my penis entered the bottle. She was milking me for urine like a farmer milked a cow.

I urinated in the bottle. Because my urine was so warm compared to the frosty cold air, I could see smoke ascending from the bright yellow urine. When I finished, the bottle was filled about halfway with a mixture of my urine and semen. In a way I was proud of the result and I was delighted at the thought that my bodily fluids would work together with Abigail’s bodily fluids to help a plant grow. Abigail too seemed very happy as she screwed the lid on the bottle and started shaking it in an attempt to dissolve the semen into the urine.