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From: Saynesberry@aol.com
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Subject: {ASSM} On the Beam (adult M - young teen F)
Date: Tue, 15 Feb 2000 02:10:02 -0500
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ON THE BEAM
(adult male - young teen female)
by
Saynesberry
"I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice, Doctor. I would have
waited for our next consulation, but I've got a problem that's about to pitch
me off the deep end, and I need to talk it out. Yes, I've been taking my
medication. Yes, I've been sleeping just fine - - - up until about a week
ago, that is. I haven't slept much since I met Clare!
"That's right, her name is Clare, and she's the problem. No, wait! She's
not the problem at all! Ummm......look, just for my peace of mind: these
consultations of ours are privileged, right? I mean, since you're my doctor,
you couldn't testify against me in court, could you? No, I didn't think so,
but thanks for reassuring me! See, Doctor, the real problem is my age, or
maybe Clare's age. You know that I'm 35; well, Clare's only 13! And....oh,
man, am I really saying this?.....I think we're in love.
"It's been about two years since Mona was killed in that plane crash. And I
haven't really made any effort to find somebody to replace her. Well, yes,
now that you mention it, getting involved again *has* been the farthest thing
from my mind! And of course, that's what caused this horrible depression to
begin with. And you've sure helped, Doctor, and the Prozac has helped, but
sometimes at night, when I'm alone, or when I read something funny, and don't
have anyone to share it with, all the Prozac in the world doesn't make things
better.
"Thank God for the team. I guess if I didn't have my work, I'd have really
gotten suicidal. But the school held my job for me when I had that
breakdown, and this year we've had a championship season! I never would have
thought that coaching a bunch of sweaty high-school wrestlers would be my
salvation, but it has. And they seem to know how important they are to me
(Hell, they're the only *kids* I have!), and they work their asses off. Just
a great bunch of guys.
"But I'll brag on the team some other time. Anyway, a few weeks back, one
day I wandered over to the girl's gym on my free period to chat with Ronnie,
the girls' coach, and the freshman gymnastic team was working out. Yes,
Doctor, the girl's gymnastic team! The boys' team wouldn't have been in the
girls' gym! Well, when you deal with awkward teenaged bodies every day, you
sort of take 'em for granted. And I'm not a dirty old man, or a perv; I
never spent much time peeking at the kids. I just enjoyed talking to Ronnie;
she's a nice woman. But on this particular day, there was a new girl, who
had just transferred from a school up in Alabama somewhere. She stood out
from the others because she hadn't gotten her team leotard yet, and she was
wearing some sort of a glittery gold 'tard that she'd worn at some other
school. She wasn't the smallest of the girls, but she wasn't the biggest,
either. I'd have guessed her age to be about 11 or 12, but she was 13, and
just as cute as could be. Of course, they all are. But she had this serious
look on her face, and she was really concentrating on her moves; Ronnie told
me that she joked around with the other girls in the locker room, but that
she was dead serious during practice or competition. Well, as a coach, I had
to admire that. And I had to admire her form: she'd get up on those bars, or
that balance beam, and she'd strike a pose like a little queen, and her
little naked feet would never (well, hardly ever) miss a step. Once in a
while her dismounts got a little sloppy, but she nailed most of 'em right on
the head. I could tell this kid was a real comer. Oh, shit, that's a bad
choice of words....
"Anyway, her name was Clare. I might have been able to put her out of my
mind, but after practice, when the girls were heading back to the locker
room, my friend Ronnie called her over to where we'd been standing. 'Clare,
I'd like you to meet Coach Watkins. He's in charge of the wrestling team,
and he's very impressed with your style!' I wanted to slug the woman. Why
was she embarrassing me in front of this tiny girl? So I played it as a pro,
and simply said, 'Yes, Clare, you've got great moves. I expect you'll be
going places!' But instead of acting sheepish or blushing, the kid looked
me right in the eyes and said, 'Thanks, Coach Watson. I'll do my best!'
Coach Watson? I fought to keep from laughing. So much class, so much
adolescent dignity, and she mispronounced my name! So she *did* have
vulnerabilities! Before I could respond, she turned and walked back to the
showers, her back straight, her hair bobbing gently on her nearly-naked
shoulders, her tiny ass bisected by a line of sweat from between her little
muffin buttocks.
"Yes, Doctor, in just a few seconds, I went from a disinterested boys' coach
to a smitten, horny male! It was the crazy combination of self-assurance,
raw talent, and that skinny, undeveloped little body that set off a fire in
my guts that I hadn't felt since my wife burned to death in that jumbo jet.
"What's that you say, doctor? 'Almost like a boy's body?' Oh, bullshit!
Please don't go there, Doc, I'm 'way ahead of you! Nobody who ever saw Clare
would mistake her for a boy, even if she were wearing a hockey uniform! This
kid was...oh, it's so corny, but she was a baby, and yet she was the soul of
womanhood. You're smiling, but it's true! You could see it in her eyes, on
the ironic twist of her lips, and on the unmistakable bulge between her
thighs, under the flimsy leotard. I thought I even saw a few bashful auburn
public hairs peeking out, and Ronnie must have read my mind, because she
sighed, 'That kid's mother is a real case. She wants Clare to be a winner,
but she won't allow her to shave her snatch, and she even got mad when she
heard that I tweak the girls' nipples before a competition!'
I stared at Ronnie, horrified. 'Ronnie!' I cried. 'You don't either!
You're not that kind of woman!'
"'You bet your ass I'm not, Sam, and anytime you want to prove it, I'll give
that cock of yours a workout it never got in gym! And I don't touch 'em
during practice. But you gotta understand, girls' sports aren't like guys'
sports. In gymnastics, a point or two makes all the difference, and not all
the judges are fags; sometimes a flash of pussy or a pair of erect nipples
can be good for an extra point!' I shook my head silently, taking it all in.
What if my wrestlers ever had a fag referee or judge? Would I have to grope
'em 'til they got an erection? Fuck no! This was a world I was glad to be
ignorant of.
"Except for Clare. Just a couple of days later, as I was leaving school on a
rainy afternoon, I happened to see her sitting all alone, huddled up in her
wind suit, hugging her gym bag, at a covered bus stop. I pulled over and
asked her if she needed a ride home. She looked around nervously for a
moment, but then said, 'Well, yes, Coach! It's a long way home, and I missed
my ride.' So I opened the door and she slipped in to the car with me. She
smiled at me, and the scent of her girl-sweat and muscle oitnment wafted into
my nostrils like the aroma of a hundred yellow roses. Oh, man, I was losing
it!
"'Where do your folks live, Clare?' I asked, trying to get my thoughts safely
back into my skull. 'Oh, I'm not staying there tonight, Coach,' she
answered, 'My dad's having one of his business parties, and I'm staying at my
sister's apartment.' She mentioned the address, and, recognizing the area, I
turned in the appropriate direction.
"Yes, Doctor, I knew very well what was about to happen. And my head was
screaming to put the child out on the side of the road, to turn around and go
home, to avoid any involvement. But my heart was feeling things that it
hadn't felt since that Goddamned airplane fell out of the sky. For the first
time in many months, I was feeling like a *male*, not merely a man. And it
was a hard feeling to resist. Oh, you understand? Well, thank you. I'm not
sure I do! All I knew for certain was that Clare was a serious, intelligent
little person, and I was a lonely, depressed big person, and maybe we needed
each other. I'd heard rumors about her home life, but I'm not gonna repeat
'em.
'When we got to the sister's apartment complex, we saw that all the lights
were out in the apartment. 'I guess she has a date, or had to pull another
double shift at the office,' Clare said. 'But I've got a key.' She paused
for a moment. "Coach, I don't think she'd mind if you came inside foe
awhile, and I know you don't have anybody to go home to - - - omigod, Coach,
I'm so sorry, I never meant to say that! I just meant....'
After a flash of pain, I smiled. 'It's okay, champ. There's nothing wrong
with the truth. And if I wouldn't bore you to death, I'd love to come in
for a minute or two!' She smiled through a deep blush and her little white
teeth shone in the twilight. 'Okay, neat! C'mon in!" She hoisted her gym
bag, hopped out of the car, and, taking my hand, led me to the apartment
door. What's that, Doctor? Did I think she had any ulterior motives? No,
not really; I was trying very hard not to think about that! I thought she
was entirely innocent and naive, so help me Carrie Strug!
"Once we were in the apartment, Clare acted as though she were perfectly at
home. Well, if the rumors were true, her sister's place probably *was* a
second home to her; she probably needed a hideout. Pardon me, doctor? No, I
don't think her parents abused her; I've just heard that they're kind
of....offbeat, let's say, and not always sympathetic to the sensitivities of
a child. But that's none of my business. Anyway, Clare flipped on a table
lamp (it was getting dark outside), then she quickly shucked off her sneakers
and wind pants and windbreaker, and once again she was standing there in her
little leotard, just like in the gym. No, she wasn't wearing any socks.
What on earth makes you ask that question, Doctor? I guess she had some of
those footsies, or whatever the girls call 'em, in her gym bag.
"'Have a seat, Coach,' she said brightly, gesturing toward a sofa; so I sat
down. Well, Doctor, since you asked, it was a black leather sofa, probably
very expensive, probably a rental. Boy, you're a stickler for details,
aren't you? What's that? Oh, you're just trying to 'get a sense of the
ambiance.' Well, I'll just tell you that the situation was getting more
ambient by the minute!
""I'm gonna get a Coke,' Clare said, "Can I get you one, or maybe a beer? I
think my sister's boyfriend keeps beer in the fridge....' I told her that I
don't drink, and her eyes got wide. 'You don't?' she said, like it was the
most amazing thing she'd ever heard. 'I thought all men drank!' I told her
that I'd done my share at one time, but that I was trying to set an example
for my team. (Yes, Doctor, I know that it wouldn't mix with the Prozac! But
I wasn't gonna discuss that with this child!) Anyway, that may have sounded
hokey, but not to Clare. Her voice lowered with respect. 'I think that's
wonderful,' she said. 'I'll get you a Coke!' And with that, she was gone,
only to return a moment later with two Cokes, in those old-fashioned glass
bottles, but no glasses! Yup, I thought, this is a teenager, all right! Who
needs glasses? This ain't no cocktail party.....I appreciated the fact that
she wasn't putting on airs.
"So, anyway, she sat down on the sofa with me and started slurping her Coke.
I sipped at mine, and we made small talk about her team's upcoming
competition, and my team's chances for next year, and then, naturally enough,
she started talking about her own future. 'I hope I can compete next year,'
she said. 'Why shouldn't you?' I asked. 'You're certainly talented enough;
even I can see that!' But instead of blushing or protesting, like so many
kids would do, she just furrowed her brow and glanced downward at herself.
'Thanks,' she began, 'and Coach Ronnie says I've got talent, too, but she's
worried that I'll be too big next year. I've been doing this for six years,
and she says I'm starting to get boobs, and once that happens, it's just a
matter of time!' She said this without self-consciousness or embarrassment;
such matter-of-fact calculations were a part of her world, as they were for
my wrestlers, and she knew I'd understand. But, Doctor, if she was *starting
to get boobs,* you couldn't prove it by me! Her torso was flatter than most
of my boys, with their pumped-up pecs! Even without Ronnie's slightly
unethical tweaking, the child's nipples stood out clearly under the leotard,
but it would be awhile before anyone complimented her on her *breasts!*
"'It's so unfair,' Clare continued. 'Boys can work out and bulk up and do
whatever they want with their bodies, but if girls don't look *just right,*
the damn judges, excuse me, Coach, just won't even consider us. And what's
s-o-o-o-o unfair is that I'm so good at what I do!' Her little chin was
trembling now. Despite her *sophisticated* posture, this was still a little
girl, with a child's resentment of this unjust world.
"'I know it's not fair, Clare,' I said, 'but look at it this way. Women's
sports are getting more popular, and not all of them impose these stupid
rules. The Women's Soccer Team did pretty good last year, and none of them
were built like Tinkerbell!' She smiled at that, but quickly returned to a
really adorable pout. 'Yeah, Coach, but even when I get boobs, I'll be too
small for that stuff. I'll never play soccer or basketball.' She studied
the top of her Coke bottle, then, apparently having made a decision, abruptly
set it down on the coffee table. She stood up and turned to face me.
"'Look, Coach, you know all about this stuff, right?' I wasn't sure what was
coming next, but said, 'Clare, you don't have to call me *Coach.* You're not
on the wrestling team! Why not just call me Rich? That's my name!' 'Okay,
Rich,' she smiled, quickly returning to her subject. 'Anyway, you know all
about this stuff. Do you think I'm getting too big?' And, with that, she
slipped out of the shoulder-straps and pulled her leotard down to her waist.
"Listen, Doctor, I just don't think you can imagine what a glorious sight
this was. Oh, really? Well, I'm sorry, but I just don't think you can! You
see, every four years, when the Olympics roll around, there are men and boys
all over this country - - - Hell, all over the world! - - - who are
masturbating nonstop while the Women's Gymnastics are on. Even guys who
think women's sports are a big joke still tune in to ogle those little girls.
They, or I should say we, just salivate over those slim little forms in
their tight little leotards, and I guess my friend Ronnie was right, because
our interest sure does perk up when we get a glimpse of some little gymnast's
nipples through her leotard. And when they do those splits on the balance
beam, or even the mat, every man alive wants to be underneath 'em with their
cocks sticking up! I'm not trying to be crude, Doctor, but....I beg your
pardon? You say you've had similar thoughts? Well, that surprises me. I
didn't think....
"Well, anyhow, here stood precious Clare, in her gold 'tard, now bunched up
around her waist, stark naked from the hips up. She stood very straight and
eased up on her naked tiptoes, like she was gonna do a routine, then said,
'Well, Rich? Do you think I'm getting too big? I mean, you understand how
bodies develop and stuff....'
"I certainly understood how a certain part of my own body was developing!
'Uh, listen, Clare,' I said, 'You might want to pull up your bodice, there,
'cause your sister might be home any minute now, and - - - '
'Oh, I didn't tell you,' she laughed, relaxing her pose. 'While I was
getting our Cokes, I checked her answering machine, and she'd left me a
message that she wouldn't be home until reeaaall late!' Oh, terrific. Even
if my good sense was screaming at me to get out of there, circumstance was
handing me this beautiful girl on a silver platter! Well, I guess my
loneliness got the best of me.....
"'Come over here and let me see,' I said, in as normal a tone of voice as I
could manage. She stepped around the coffe table and stood in the lamplight,
not two feet from my face. Her skin was completely pale, except for a faint
pinkish hue, from her waist to the top of her chest; onbviously, last
summer's swimsuit had been cut exactly like her leotard. She had no breasts
at all, and yet, there was a subtle difference in the flesh tones between her
tummy and her upper torso. I was captivated by the sight of her tiny belly
button and her unusually dark nipples; I guess they were each about the size
of a nickle - - - no, Doctor, her nipples, not her navel! It was more like a
dime, if that big! But the aureoles, instead of lying flat on her chest,
jutted upwards, two perfect, tiny cones, topped by hard, rubbery tips.
"Well, doctor, those nipples were enough for me, even without a lot of
mammary tissue flopping around underneath! I guess she expected me to
comment on her suitability for another year of gymnastics, but I was no
longer a coach, and she was no longer a child. 'Clare, I want to see all of
you,' I heard myself say huskily. After only a flicker of surprise, she
favored me with a glorious smile and hooked her thumbs into her half-removed
leotard. 'No, honey, please let me do it,' I said, gently taking her hands
and moving them away. She smiled again, softly now, and said, 'Okay, Rich,
go ahead.'
"I slipped my fingers into the jumbled-up waistband, while sliding my thumbs
up inside the leg-holes. The sides of my thumbs brushed over the very
faintest layer of fuzz, softer than a ball of cotton, and when my fingers and
thumbs met I tugged the leotard and panties slowly down her legs, all the way
to the floor, and she daintily stepped her bare feet free. I hadn't noticed
before, but she was wearing a soft purple polish on her toenails, if you can
imagine purple being soft!
"And there she stood, about five-two, in absolutely perfect condition: long
legs, a pronounced swell to her hips, those lovely little nipples, which were
completely erect now, and just the smallest patch of soft light-brown hair
which did nothing to conceal her rapidly-maturing labia. (I hate to talk in
these clinical terms, Doctor, but you *are* a doctor, and you're also - - -
beg pardon? Don't worry about that? Okay, I won't. I could see every
centimeter of her little pink pussy, and my heart groaned inside my chest.
'You're a beautiful young woman, Clare,' I said. I reached out and cupped
the soft cheeks of her ass in my hands, instantly feeling the rippling hard
muscles extending up from her thighs. Pulling her to me, I buried my face in
her tummy, pausing only to softly kiss her bellybutton. I held her that way
for a long time, it seemed; and after a moment, she gently began to run her
fingers through my hair. When my fingertips slipped between her buttocks and
came to rest on her asshole, she gasped slightly and grabbed my hair in her
suddenly-clenched fists. I moaned and began to slowly caress her anus with
my fingertips, not penetrating, just touching and rubbing in little circular
motions. 'Mmmmmm, that feels good, Rich! But I don't know why - - - oh!'
"She yelped as my two little fingers slid up to her pussy, tickling the downy
little hairs and stroking softly against her outer lips. Without even
looking, I pushed the coffee table away with my foot, and, wrapping my arms
around her waist, pulled her down on the leather coach beside me. I was
completely dressed, but even my angry, eager cock couldn't distract me from
this child's body. I lay her down on the sofa, her head resting on the
leather pillow at the far end, her calves and feet hanging over my lap. She
looked up at me with a mixture of curiosity and contentment that I had not
seen for a long, long time. After a long moment, she smiled a sort of timid
smile, and as natural as can be, she relaxed her legs and allowed her thighs
to fall wide open. She was totally exposed to my eyes; what's even more
magical is that she had chosen to be that way. She wanted to be inspected,
to be gazed at, to be.....worshipped? Well, maybe that's a little strong.
But certainly adored; and I adored her.
"At first, I contented myself with running my hands over her strong young
calves, the tendons straining beneath the skin, and her square little knees,
and I even took a minute to massage her precious, talented little feet, which
made her wiggle her toes! But then, inevitably, my fingers moved up past her
knees, over her soft, smooth thighs, and soon my fingers were ever-so-lightly
tugging apart the lips of her reddening pussy. As she began to gasp, I
carefully, lovingly layed her open, like unfolding the petals of a flower,
until her bright red channel and her twitching, erect little clit were fully
exposed, bedecked by little droplets of sweat and girl-juice.....what? I
sound like a *poet?* Oh, c'mon, Doctor. Even a wrestling coach can sound
like a poet when he's describing Clare....yes, I guess I've got it pretty
bad! But that's what I told you at the beginning!
"I slipped the fingertips of both hands inside her little slit. Just barely,
mind you; she was much too small, or rather inexperienced, to just ram 'em in
like a butter churn! I just wiggled my fingertips inside her lips until they
were wet, then began to draw long, loopy designs on her groin and belly with
the wetness. She was writhing now, almost imperceptibly, but writhing, and
her little ass was smearing the black leather with the juices running down
from her pussy....and she began to make little sobbing sounds in her throat,
but she wasn't crying: it's as if she was trying to talk, but didn't know the
words to use. Finally, without any big ceremony, I leaned over and sucked
her entire pussy into my mouth, my tongue instantly zeroing in on the clit,
which it tickled and teased while I huffed and puffed and stretched her pussy
lips as far as they could go, pulling my head back slowly, as if to rip the
flesh from her body. But I wasn't ripping it; like I say, I was adoring it.
And soon her hips were rising and falling to meet my sucks and kisses, and
then they were bucking, maybe out of control, and then she came.
"But when she came, Doctor, she didn't squeal or cry out or even moan! She
just took a deep gasp through her mouth, and her beautiful gymnast's body
stiffened until she was supported only by her feet, her elbows, and the back
of her neck; every other inch of her body was suspended a few inches above
the leather cushions. It was like one of those grand mal seizures, but it
was a seizure of pure pleasure. And it was not the reaction of a teenager or
a little girl to her first orgasm, either: it was simply Clare being Clare,
individual in every way, even in her sexual responses.
"Of course, after perhaps 30 seconds, she relaxed, and with heavy eyes,
looked intently at me. What would he do next? was undoubtedly her question.
And it was mine, too. I wanted to rape this child, but my greater desire was
to show her love, and gentleness. Anyway, I stood up, and undid my pants,
and let them fall to the floor; my cock sprung from its confinement like a
bull from a chute. I wasted no time, but stretched out on top of her,
kissing her mouth with passion, and running my hands up and down her sides,
from armpit to thigh, stopping only to knead and rub her nipples. In a
moment, she turned her head away and whispered sadly, 'Oh, Rich! I want you
inside me right now! But I really, really want to be a virgin! I know you
wouldn't lie, Rich. If you fuck me, can I still be a virgin?' As she spoke,
her thighs parted wider; my cock was nestled in her pubic hair, my balls
slapping against her pussy.
"I reached down and ran my cock over her sopping little cunt, covering it
with her juices, then moved up slightly, and began to pump against the soft,
warm skin of her belly. Her navel tickled the loose skin at the base of my
cock head, and as I smeared her with her own juices, I breathed in reply,
'No, Clare. No, you can't.' And when she saw what I was doing, she threw
her arms around my neck and plunged her tongue into my mouth, while her
little hands reached down and began to squeeze my balls. And a moment later,
when the flat chest that was so important to her was covered with my semen,
she sobbed into my ear, 'Oh, God, Rich, thank you. Oh, God, you're so
sweet!' And then I began to cry myself, just a little, and we lay in each
others arms for hours....
"And now we're planning to go away, Doctor, to someplace where we can be
together, as we know we were meant to be. And nobody will understand, I know
that. But I understand Clare, and Clare understands me.
"Do *you* understand, Doctor? What's that? Oh, yes, I guess you're right.
You *were* a girl once, yourself, weren't you?"
***************************
If you enjoyed this story, write to me!
Saynesberry@hushmail.com
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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