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Subject: {ASSM} Chemistry (Mf, ff, oral, anal) Chapters 4-5
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Date: Fri, 14 Dec 2012 06:10:05 -0500
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Please post.

-- 
  Scott St. Martz
  stmartz@fastmail.net

-- 
http://www.fastmail.fm - mmm... Fastmail...

<1st attachment, "Chemistry 4-5.doc" begin>

This is an erotic fantasy. The characters and the situation are
purely imaginary, and this story is *NOT* intended to be a guide
for actual behavior.  Any similarities between this story and
actual people or actual events you should be ashamed of are
purely coincidental.  If it is illegal in your part of the world
to access and read erotic fiction, or if you are underage, or if
you don't like underage sex stories, then stop now. 

This story was copyrighted in 2012 by Scott St. Martz.  Please do
not remove the author information or make any changes to this
story.  You may post freely to non-commercial (free) sites, or in
the "free" area of commercial sites.  That does NOT mean that
these stories are in the public domain, nor does it mean that I
give permission for you to use them in spam advertising.  I
reserve the right to determine what is "spam advertising" by MY
definition, not yours or anyone else's.

I wish to extend my sincerest thanks to Denny Wheeler for editing
this story. In addition to correcting my spelling and grammatical
errors and pointing out awkward passages, he prodded me along.
His repeated theme, although it was only expressed in these words
once, was, "Finish the damned story!" I'm an obsessive re-writer
who pushed the limits of his patience as the story evolved.
Without Denny's generous assistance, it wouldn't be the same
story. 
	
This is a story above all else. It is the tale of a typical
suburban middle class man's transition over time from "society
normal" into pedophile. It starts slowly, but there is plenty of
action once it gets going. Your patience will be rewarded. 

*****************************************************************
*

Chemistry   (Mf, ff, oral, anal)

By Scott St. Martz
 2012


Chapter 4   So Much for Prophecy

Over a year had passed since Chelsea's last tragedy, and I was
seldom thinking about her those days. My girls had been in town
since the previous Saturday for Thanksgiving week, and I had put
them on a plane just that morning. They couldn't stay for the
weekend because Rachel was playing in a piano recital the next
day. 

Back to my bachelor habits, I went out for an early dinner on my
own at a local restaurant that Friday evening so I wouldn't have
to cook and clean up. Afterwards, the walk home was only a couple
of blocks through a cold misty rain. I was looking forward to a
quiet evening   intending to call my daughters to make sure they
had arrived okay, rework the lyrics to a song I was writing and
maybe brush off a few covers to add to my repertoire before
starting the search for a gig. Climbing the steps to my building
entrance, I heard a familiar high pitched musical voice behind me
call out in an urgent tone, "Mr. Sean?" I turned, and it was
Chelsea! 
	
She ran up to me and, stunned, I said, "Hi, Chelsea! What are you
doing here, Sweetie?" 
	
"I need help, Mr. Sean," she replied rather self-consciously. 
	
"Oh? Come on in out of the weather and tell me about it." 

"Okay," she replied simply. 

She let me guide her through the door and lead her up the
elevator to my condo on the second floor. I questioned her some
along the way, but she wasn't saying much and she looked very
nervous, so I didn't push it. 

Chelsea had grown since I'd last seen her, appearing to be maybe
five-one or five-two, (which was about her mother's height and
probably about as tall as she would get). She was still slender -
weighing in at about eighty-five or ninety pounds. Although I'm
not large for a man at five-nine and one-hundred fifty-seven
pounds, I still dwarfed her. Her face was teen model perfect,
though her diminutive stature would preclude an adult career in
that field. Her beautiful almost white-blonde hair hadn't
changed, and it was splayed over her shoulders... wet, stringy
and a shade darker from the rain at the time. 

I took her small almost empty backpack and jacket and hung them
in the coat closet along with my trench coat. Seeing her standing
there in jeans and a t-shirt, it was evident that she was leaving
the straight lines of girlhood behind and was well into her
transition to womanhood. She had curves   not pronounced yet, but
curves   small defined breasts, a narrower waist, broadening hips
and a shapely little butt most girls would die for. 
	
I was anxious to find out what she had been doing and why she was
there, but she remained quiet and unsure of herself as she
checked out her surroundings and tried to gauge my reaction to
her surprise visit. I fetched her a towel from the kitchen to dry
off with and asked her to make herself comfortable while I made
some hot chocolate and cranked up the gas fireplace with its fake
logs and embers to warm her up. Then we sat on my beige leather
couch in front of the fire and turned towards each other for
conversation.
	
"How have you been, Chelsea? I heard about the accident with the
truck, and I'm so terribly sorry that happened to your family,
Sweetie - especially after the ordeal you went through in losing
your Mom. I thought you would be with relatives somewhere." 
	
"After Dad and the kids died, I was, like, taken in by Child
Protection Services. They call it "CPS", and I was sent to a
group home   Hope House - and then, um, to foster homes. It's
been horrible, Mr. Sean!" she exclaimed as she broke down and
cried. I drew her into my arms to try to comfort her with soft
words while she clung to me and got it out on my chest. Even
though she was hurting, I could feel the once familiar energy of
her presence.

When she was calm again, I decided to switch gears. "How did you
get here, Chelsea? How did you know where to find me?" 

She told me she had found my address on the internet at the
library a few days before. There wasn't a phone number listed. (I
just had a cell phone and a business line that was in my
corporate name). She printed out a map through Mapquest and hid
it until she left. Then she ran away from her foster home earlier
in the afternoon and walked two or three miles to get to my condo
  missing a turn along the way so she had to backtrack. When
there was no response at the intercom, she walked around the area
for an hour or so checking the intercom again as she passed. Then
the rain began and she sat in the bus stop shelter on the corner
to wait. I told her I didn't think that was a very safe plan, but
I didn't want to admonish her too much since she appeared to be
so vulnerable. I noted that her soft voice still carried those
sweet melodies of girlhood.
	
"Are you hungry, Sweetie?" 
	
"Yes", she replied weakly as if she didn't want to admit it. I
offered to throw together an omelet or some French toast for her
(my refrigerator wasn't very well stocked after my girls had
raided it). She opted for an omelet, and I asked if she would
like to get cleaned up while I cooked. She asked if she could
take a shower, so I directed her to the bathroom and told her
where to find clean towels and the girls' bathing supplies in the
cabinets under the counter. Her mood seemed to be picking up
some.
	
I prepared one of my fluffy ham and cheese omelets for her along
with seven grain toast, butter, jelly and a glass of milk. I also
poured myself a glass of some good Pinot Grigio I stocked. While
cooking, I called my ex, Terri, and learned the girls had arrived
on time and in good shape. They were with friends, so I didn't
get to speak with them. I didn't mention Chelsea, because the
situation was a bit awkward and I really didn't want to hear her
bitch.
	
Everything was on the table by the time Chelsea came out of the
shower. I heard her feet padding down the hall as I was preparing
to sit down. I turned to greet her just as she called out to me,
"Mr. Sean, do you think...?" 

She was wearing a towel wrapped around her torso and nothing
else. As she bounded into the living room, the bottom of the
towel caught on a waist high copper sculpture mounted in a
granite base I had filling a space against a wall near the
entrance to the hallway   one of those floral design things my
wife had bought and I wound up keeping. With her momentum, the
towel was ripped from her body before she realized it. 

There she stood   stunned and completely exposed in front of an
adult male she hadn't seen in a few years   in a strange condo.
She froze for a full second in shock and then shrieked and tried
to cover herself with her hands. A light shade of crimson
instantly washed over her entire body as she turned her back to
me and reached to grab her towel. In her haste, she failed to get
it on the first pull because it was entangled in the sculpture.
Then she lunged closer and bent over from the waist to free it
from a frilly copper flower. 

Meanwhile, I was too startled to recall my manners and simply
gawked at her for a few seconds before reacting. I quickly
apologized as I turned around.  I stood there reviewing a mental
video of her naked treasures while she composed herself. 
	
Isn't it amazing how the human brain has the capacity to capture
minute details in the span of only a few short seconds?  Her
porcelain white skin was still full with the fleshiness of
youth... and flawless from top to bottom with the exception of a
few light pink surface scars on her legs that were all temporary
marks. Her breasts had grown into cone shaped A-cups half the
size of a large lemon culminating in puffy light pink areolas
well over two inches wide that were capped by nipples about a
quarter of an inch thick. Her thighs hadn't filled out yet, so
there would be a space between them even if she were standing
straight with her knees together. Her pussy had a very sparse
downy sprinkling of short light blonde hair on its mons with
hairless pubescent labia below. Just the outer edges of thin
inner labia peeked out from her slit. Her hips had begun to
spread, and their bones formed barely visible ridges framing her
flat abdomen. Her little ass was simply gorgeous! That pair of
creamy smooth compact little orbs fit her stature perfectly.
	
"I'm sooo embarrassed!" she exclaimed to my back as she got
herself together.
	
"Don't worry about it, Sweetie. I've seen naked girls plenty of
times before. Embarrassing things like that happen sometimes in
life when you least expect them, and some day you'll probably
look back and laugh about this." All of this was said to the
picture on the wall in front of me as I tried to talk my dick out
of becoming a noticeable bulge   with minimal success.
	
"Okay, you can, uh, turn around now," she said meekly. I turned
to find her wrapped in her towel again - still flushed and
breathing heavily from the shock. Our eyes met, and that surge of
energy and understanding sparked between us like it had done so
often in the past. That much had not changed. 
	
"What I was going to ask," she said hesitantly, "is if, like,
Britney has any clothes here I can wear. I didn't want to put my,
um, wet ones back on."  
	
"I'm sure she does, Sweetie. She's still about your size. Body
wise, you two could almost be twins. Come on." I led her to
Britney's room where we found a robe and I pointed out where the
clothes were. I asked her to hurry so her omelet wouldn't get too
cold, and I went back out to the table to wait for her. 
	
A few seconds later she came out wearing the light peach
terrycloth robe we'd found. "I'm famished," she said. Over her
dinner, I brought her up to date on the girls - although they had
kept in touch on AIM now and then. She already knew about the
divorce and their move to California. I filled her in on their
recent visit and told her that I had just put them on a plane
that morning. Following a pause, I added, "Britney will be sorry
she missed you, Chelsea."

When she finished eating, we cleared the table together. Her mood
seemed to have lightened some and I witnessed more flashes of the
old Chelsea; the mental quickness, the bright smile, the easy
laugh and, of course, those deeply expressive aquamarine eyes.
Again I felt the palpable warmth of her presence and the blending
of our energies like well tuned instruments in resonant
harmony... 
	
We retired to the living room and sat together on the couch again
before I steered the conversation back to what she was doing
here. "You said you needed my help, Chelsea, why don't you tell
me about it?"
	
"I don't have, like, anybody left in the world," she said in a
bit of a twelve-year-old whine showing her pouty lips, "and
living in foster homes is just terrible!" I was taking this in as
she hit me with the whammy, "Mr. Sean, uh... do you think I can,
like, live here with you?" She looked at me with those puppy dog
eyes young girls are famous for and I hesitated.
	
Sidestepping her question for the moment, I replied, "Life hasn't
been fair to you, Chelsea, I know that. No child should have to
go through what you have. Don't you have an aunt out west
somewhere... your mother's sister?" 
	
"They can't find her. The last we heard, Aunt Joanie was in
Phoenix. CPS, um, said their investigators tried real hard, but
they still couldn't, like, find her. I knew my grandparents were
all dead; and my father was an only child. Nobody else in my
family is, uh, still alive."
	
"And you haven't had a good experience with your foster
parents?"
	
"I've been to a group home and two foster homes already. The
people are mostly nice and try to take care of me, but they're
kind of distant because, like, they know it's temporary or
something and they don't want to get too attached... I guess.
Some of the other kids are mean   and some foster parents, too.
Maybe they're used to bad kids. I've never felt good since I got
in the system but, uh, at the last house, there was this creepy
foster dad who always wanted to, like, touch me," she said with a
look of disgust. "I got scared so I had to run away to try to
find you. You're the only person I could think of to help me."
	
Somewhat alarmed, I asked, "Did he touch you or force you to do
anything... sexually, I mean?"
	
"No, it was just the, um, creepy way he looked at me, like he was
hungry or something. And he was, like, always touching me,
hugging me and, uh, running his hands over my arms, my legs, my
back... He totally freaked me out! He never touched, like, my
private parts, but I could tell he wanted to. I didn't want to
stay around to see what he would do when he got me alone. Can't I
live here with you, Mr. Sean, pleeease?"
	
"I don't know, Chelsea. Right now you are a runaway, and I bet
there are lots of worried people looking for you. I'm a divorced
man who is almost forty and doesn't have a wife or even a
girlfriend. I seriously doubt they would even consider letting me
adopt you." I couldn't stand to see the way her face fell, so I
added, "I'll tell you what, Sweetie. Can you give me a couple of
days to think about it? This is a complex situation, and I really
have to process it. I do want to find a way to help you." 
	
She sat there with a pensive expression for half a minute before
responding, "I guess... but can I, like, stay until you figure it
out? Pleeease, Mr. Sean."
	
I chose my words carefully. "If CPS knew you were here with me,
Chelsea, I would be in a lot of trouble. My obligation right now
is to call and tell them you are okay. I'll see if I can arrange
it so you don't have to go back to that same foster home."
	
"They won't have to know! If you let me stay for, like, the
weekend, you can call them on Monday morning and tell them I, um,
just showed up then. I won't tell. I promise! I'll make up a
story about where I was this weekend. I won't tell!" The pitch
and volume of her voice rose at the end to stress the urgency of
her plea and her eyes were blinking to hold back tears welling
again.
	
I thought about it before responding. My head was spinning, but I
didn't have the heart to send her back to her forlorn world that
night. "Chelsea, I don't know. I guess you can at least sleep in
Britney's room for the night, and we'll decide what to do in the
morning. Okay, Sweetie?"
	
She squealed, "Oh, thank you!" She flung herself at me to give me
a big hug. Then she held my head in her hands and locked eyes
with me to say, "Thank you sooo much, Mr. Sean!" before
surprising me with a quick peck on the lips. She had never done
that before. Her expression of joy was so spontaneous I couldn't
suppress a swelling of love for this little girl who had been
through so much horror in her young life.
	
"I'm still not sure this is right, Sweetie, but the decision is
made. So... what would you like to do tonight?"
	
She thought about it for a few seconds before answering. "How
about a video? Do you have any?" she asked excitedly.

"I have some; and I'm sure the girls have more in their rooms.
Why don't you check the cabinet under the TV first while I clean
up a bit here? If you don't find one you like there, you can
scout around their rooms... as long as you don't make a mess in
Rachel's room. She left it spotlessly organized and she's real
picky about that, as you probably remember. Meanwhile, I'll get
the kitchen cleaned up and make us some popcorn. How does that
sound?"
	
"Awesome! I'll see what I can find." 
	
She scrambled to the TV cabinet while I walked into the kitchen
and reflected on that brief kiss while rinsing the dishes and
putting them in the dishwasher. My convoluted thought stream went
something like this: "I haven't felt lips that soft ever. And
that energy! It was like a mild electrical current was sparking
between us. No, that can't be right about the softness. I had my
first kiss with Janie on my twelfth birthday and her lips must
have been equally as tender; and then my preschoolers each in
turn went through stages when they mimicked their mother kissing
me. Those full succulent lips fit Chelsea's pixie face perfectly
and just make her seem so kissable. Kissable? What the hell am I
thinking? You better get a handle on it, Sean! She's just a
child!" I broke that train of thought, finished the popcorn and
poured a soft drink for Chelsea and another glass of Pinot for
myself.
	
Chelsea had chosen "Annie", a musical I'd seen several times but
enjoyed enough to watch again. She still had the robe on so I
asked if she wanted to change into clothes or pajamas before we
started. She responded, "Britney must have taken her pj's, so I
might need to, like borrow one of your t-shirts later to sleep
in. I'm comfortable now. Do I have to change?"
	
"No, it's okay," I responded.
	
We watched the video, ate popcorn and chatted about the
characters, the music and the storyline as it progressed. A few
times she leaned over for some popcorn or a drink and I glimpsed
her cleavage or the upper curve of her young breast as the robe
gaped open at the top. After finishing the popcorn, we sat on
opposite ends of the couch. She had her legs crossed at the
ankles with her toes pointing at me, and I could see most of the
way up to her crotch through the separation in her robe   not
quite, but enough to see a lot of leg. I had to shake off those
thoughts again. I finished my wine, picked up the remote and
warned her of what I was about to do before pausing the movie. I
went to the kitchen for a refill and to compose myself while she
took a bathroom break. 
	
When we returned, she sat next to me and leaned in to cuddle, so
I wrapped my arm around her as she laid her head against my chest
with her arm across my lap. We resumed watching "Annie". From
that position, I noticed the swell of her right breast almost to
its nipple once when I looked down. I focused my attention on the
movie to try to take my mind off of the warm supple young body
next to me   made more difficult by the energy generated through
her mere presence and amplified by her touch. 

After a few minutes, she turned her cute small face up and asked
with those even cuter puppy dog eyes, "Can you scratch my back,
Mr. Sean?" She and Britney used to take turns getting me to
scratch their backs while watching TV when they were little. "Why
not?" I replied, thinking it was an innocent enough request for
familiar comfort. She laid her head on my lap and curled up on
her side while I scratched her back through the robe using nails
kept longer on my right hand for finger picking the guitar. We
returned our attention to the movie as she sighed in
appreciation.

With the feel of her warm presence coupled with her soft body
under my hand and her head in my lap, it didn't take long before
little Sean was reacting. I was concerned about alarming her and
figured she might feel it. I grabbed a small throw pillow and
asked her to raise her head so I could slide it under to make her
more comfortable (and to insulate her from my depravity). 
	
The movie ended and she looked pretty sleepy, so I suggested we
call it a night. Chelsea yawned and agreed, so I locked up the
condo and turned off lights. I found a spare toothbrush so she
could brush her teeth; and I gave her one of my old soft t-shirts
to sleep in. Then I retired to the master bath to get ready for
bed myself. Leaving the bathroom, I saw that Chelsea was waiting
for me in my room   wearing my t-shirt that hung past her knees.
The thought triggered a flashback to an earlier and happier time
for her.

"I just wanted to say goodnight," she said sweetly as she came to
me. I hugged her and kissed the top of her head wishing her a
good night before she returned Britney's room. Recalling again
that night in the music room years ago, I was left with the
impression she wasn't wearing anything under the t-shirt.
	
I was in the habit of sleeping in the nude, but I sleep under a
sheet. That night I had trouble drifting off. My mind was racing
about the young tender morsel across the hall whose naked image
was forever imprinted on my brain, getting to know "Bubba"
intimately in a prison cell if I did anything stupid, and her
tough situation and what might be done to help.  I woke up once
startled to full awareness by a vivid dream sequence of making
love to Chelsea. I chastised myself and put the dream out of my
mind before settling back down to sleep.

Chapter 5   Saturday

Around 7:30 in the morning, I awoke again sleeping on my back to
find Chelsea standing next to me. As the fog cleared in my brain,
I realized I had serious morning wood going and it was obviously
tenting the sheet. Chelsea seemed to be curiously studying it
from a distance, but she shifted her attention to my face when
she noticed I was awake and asked, "Can I, uh, have some cereal,
Mr. Sean?" 

I rolled towards her under the sheet to hide my hard-on and
responded, "Sure, sweetie, help yourself to anything you want.
I'll be out in a minute." I couldn't help but notice her slender
body was silhouetted through my t-shirt, backlit by the bright
light in the hall. She left the room and glanced back at the last
second to catch me looking. She paused to give me one of those
impish grins of hers with gleaming eyes I recalled so well. 
	
I joined her for breakfast after going through my morning
ablutions and donning some sweats and a t-shirt. Chelsea had
found the supplies and made a pot of coffee for me in addition to
fixing herself some cereal, a slice of toast and a glass of OJ. I
was impressed she remembered how much I enjoy my morning java and
that she thought of making it for me. I thanked her, poured
myself a cup and popped a bagel in the toaster. 

We sat at the table and ate while she happily chatted away about
a few friends she had met at school and her better experiences
since her family died. She seemed to have accepted the fact they
were gone, as the subject didn't depress her. 

During a lull, she looked at me and queried, "Can I ask you
something Mr. Sean?" 
	
"Sure," I replied.
	
"I noticed your sheet, like, sticking up this morning. Was that
your willy?"
	
I was taken back by her bold question but decided to be truthful,
"I'm not real comfortable talking about this with you, Sweetie
but... yes, it was."
	
"Why was it, uh, sticking up like that? I saw my brother's lots
of times and I saw, like, a few other willies when boys were
showing off how far they could pee or being naughty. But they
looked all soft and wiggly   except for sometimes when I, like,
was changing my little brother's diapers when his was hard."
	
You know the saying   "in for a penny". I replied, "Boys and men
are like that almost every morning, Sweetie. It's natural that a
man wakes up sexually aroused."
	
"Why does it get like that?"
	
"Didn't you have sex ed in school yet?"
	
"Sure, they told us how it all works, but they didn't really like
explain that part very good. How does it, like, happen... get
big?"
	
"I'm really not comfortable talking to you about this, Sweetie."
	
"Oh, come on, Mr. Sean! I know that boys get hard and girls,
like, get slippery to be ready for sex. And I learned how sex is
supposed to work, the sperm and the egg and all, and, uh, how
babies develop. But what I never understood is what makes a willy
get hard? How can it do that   go from soft to hard?" She looked
honestly puzzled.
	
"Well, as I always told my daughters, if you are interested
enough to ask, then you're probably ready for the subject matter
at hand. And it's better if you hear the truth from an adult than
half truths and lies from your peers. Can we keep this
conversation just between us, Sweetie?"
	 
"I'll never tell," Chelsea said. "I promise. I really want to
know. I haven't had anyone I could, like, really talk to about
stuff since Mom died and I didn't have many sexual questions
then. After that my Dad was too stressed out trying to work and
take care of us. He wasn't in a good mood much, um, but we never
did talk about personal things anyway. I could always talk to
you, Mr. Sean, like, easier than I could to anyone else -
including my Mom and my friends."

She looked so earnest in her desire to know, and she didn't seem
embarrassed by the topic, so I couldn't refuse. I decided to keep
it clinical, though. "Well... what happens is that blood flows
through the penis all of the time like any other body part. When
a male is excited, there are valves in veins of the penis
returning blood to the heart that are restricted   partially shut
off. So, blood goes in and not much gets out. This makes the
penis fill up with blood   like a balloon filling with air -
until it is full and hard." 
	
She processed that for a few seconds. "Okay, that makes sense.
And, like why does it happen? As she asked this, she put her left
foot on the chair leaning her knee akimbo against the arm of the
chair the way young folks are prone to do. I glanced down and
couldn't help but notice I was being treated to a view of her
bare pussy through the glass table top. I had been right. She
still didn't like to sleep in panties. 

It occurred to me that she didn't realize she was exposing
herself. Her lower angle of sight seated at the table, glare off
the glass from the kitchen light behind me and the place mats we
were using wouldn't clue her in. I avoided staring so she
wouldn't wonder and make the connection, but I couldn't make
myself stop admiring her genitals altogether...
	
I responded, (while my dick throbbed to attention), "I'm not sure
what causes "morning wood"   that's what those waking erections
are called sometimes. It could be from sexual dreams, although I
almost always wake up like that and I don't dream of sex often
these days. There are also what we call "piss hard-ons", that are
caused by an extreme need to urinate."

She had both hands in sight until then   right arm resting on the
table and her left hand on her knee. She dropped her left hand
casually to her lap area and looked away momentarily as if she
were absorbing what I had said. My eyes followed that hand
through the table top as it rested on her right thigh briefly and
then slid up to scratch an itch on her pussy, (driving me even
crazier!). A glance at her chest confirmed that her nipples were
hard, too, with their tips clearly outlined by the soft t-shirt.
I continued the discussion as a diversion while my dick reached
another level of throbbing... 

"How much sex drive people have varies with their age and
biology. If a person's hormone system sends almost constant
signals to stimulate the sex organs, he or she will seek sexual
relief more often. We call it being sexually aroused, or "horny",
when a body is ready for sex. If a person's natural sex drive is
lower   at any age - it can take more stimulation to get him or
her aroused. For guys, higher sex drives result in frequent
erections; for girls, it's the throbbing, itching and swelling...
heat and moisture in her vulva along with swollen nipples that
demand attention. Babies and young boys get erections fairly
often but that's just physical because they don't understand what
it's for and they haven't matured sexually."

After another moment spent checking out her pussy while
apparently contemplating the table top, I went on. "Most boys
have real high sex drives from puberty through their teens and
twenties because their hormones are raging   telling them it's
time to make a baby. A male's penis will respond to whatever the
guy perceives as being sexually stimulating. Of course, it
happens to most males when they are making out with a girl they
want to have sex with. But it could be just a sexy girl passing
by who gets his hormones going - or maybe a flash of panties or a
female body part he doesn't normally see that sparks the
reaction. (Speaking of which... I took another peek at her pretty
little pussy.) When a man's sex drive is low or slowing down it
may take more physical stimulation to get it hard." 
	
She interjected with a sideways look and that mischievous smile,
"Like jerking him off or a girl sucking on it?
	
"Oh, so you've heard about those things, huh?"
	
"Sure... kids talk."
	
I let the topic drop as she absorbed the new information. Another
gaze through the table top revealed that she was lightly cupping
her pussy and maybe stroking herself with a fingertip. Then she
brought her hand back into view and said, "Thanks, Mr. Sean. I
think I, uh, understand now." She dropped her knee as she sat up,
and my show was over.
	
After comfortable silence for a minute or more lost in our
separate thoughts, I changed the topic. "Chelsea, we have to talk
about what I need to do with you. I only agreed to let you stay
the night, Sweetie."
	
"Yeah... I know. But can't I stay until Monday? I swear I'll,
like, never get you in trouble. I haven't felt this good in sooo
long..."
	
"I'm glad you feel safe here, Sweetie. But I've been thinking
about it a lot, and it just wouldn't be proper. I already
stretched it by letting you stay the night. I really want to help
you, Chelsea, but I think it might be best to call them and get
things rolling so we can do it right. I promise to do everything
I can for you; and I won't give up until you're in a better
situation."
	
"I understand," she said dejectedly. Her sad expression and
reddening eyes as she placed her dishes in the sink and slowly
ambled to Britney's room tore my heart out. 
	
I thought, "I feel like such a jerk, but what else can I do? It's
the right thing... right? I'd really be sticking my neck out if I
let her stay..." 
	
I set about cleaning up from breakfast before making the call.
Then my conscience began working on me: "Yeah, Sean, just think
about yourself why don't you? That poor little kid has had her
life completely shredded. She has nobody left, and she's been
tossed around in the child welfare system adding insult to
injury. All she asks is to stay a couple of days with someone
from her sunnier past who makes her feel comfortable, happy and
secure   and reminds her of what it was like to feel that way.
You know she's sharp enough to cover her whereabouts this
weekend. That's not the issue - especially if you help coach her
on her story. This is the only opportunity you'll have to give
her that comfort, too. So, what do you do? You just think about
your risks and decide it's okay to break her heart so you don't
get into trouble. Good job, Bud..." I thought about it a few more
minutes before arriving at the point of taking action.
	
When I got to Britney's closed door I heard the feint sound of
sobbing coming from within. I gently knocked and asked if I could
come in. I listened closely before she weakly replied, "Yes."
	
As I opened the door, I began, "Chelsea, I..."
	
She interrupted through her sniffles, "It's okay, Mr. Sean,
you're right. I don't want to get you in trouble or anything, and
I know, like, you're going to try to help me. Did you call them?"
She was trying to pull herself together and be a good sport, but
she looked crushed, as evidenced by her moist and puffy eyes and
tear stained cheeks.
	
"No. Actually, I came to tell you that, against my better
judgment, I've reconsidered, Sweetie. I'll let you stay for the
weekend. But you'll have to let me help you come up with a story
for when you meet with your social worker and maybe the police on
Monday, okay? 
	
"Sure." Her eyes lit up like little spotlights, as she excitedly
added, "Really? I can stay?" 
	
"You'll need to be convincing on Monday, but I've seen you act
before in school plays, and I know you can do it. I'm still not
on solid ground at all here, Chelsea, and it's very important
that you stick to your story. You could get me into a lot of
trouble."
	
"I know; I won't... I promise! Thanks, Mr. Sean! Um, you won't
regret it!" she said as she jumped up and threw her arms around
my neck to give me a a kiss on the cheek while her firm little
breasts - bare under her t-shirt - burned holes into my chest.
She was hanging from my neck with my arms around her low back
supporting her when I glanced in the mirror behind her and saw a
few inches of her bare ass cheeks hanging below the hem of the
t-shirt. "This isn't going to be easy...What did I just commit
to?"
	
With a pulse of my hug, I shook it off, eased her down and asked,
"So, what do you want to do today, Sweetie?"
	
"Can we take a ride somewhere pretty, like a lake or a park?"
	
"Hmmm, we'll see... Let me check the newspaper. I haven't seen a
weather report lately and it's cloudy again this morning. I'll
need to run a few errands sometime today, too. How would you feel
about going out for a nice dinner tonight? "
	
"That would be sooo awesome! I can't wait! I'm going to get
dressed. Okay?"
	
"Sure, Sweetie." 

"Is it okay to, uh, wear some more of Britney's stuff?"
	
"Sure, anything you would like. It'll all be clean and back in
place long before she visits again."
	
She stayed to change while I walked out to get the morning paper.
I then warmed my coffee and relaxed in my favorite easy chair to
catch up on what was happening in the world. In the lower fold of
the front page, I was drawn to an Amber Alert article across the
bottom led by a picture of Chelsea! 

Out loud, I said, "Why hadn't I thought of that"? I knew about
Amber Alerts! The next stream of thought was: "Should I turn her
over? No... I can't bring myself to do that after changing my
mind once already this morning. She's way too excited about
staying, but I'm playing with a hot fire here. Did somebody see
her come in with me last night? Or waiting for me outside?" Upon
reflecting, I recalled that we hadn't run into any other tenants
when we met or came in. "I'd better be damned careful here...
This is getting scary!" 
	
I called out asking Chelsea to come see me. "I found something to
wear," she chirped as she skipped in beaming brightly. She had on
a pair of light khaki slacks and a long sleeved soft green
t-shirt of Britney's, and I could make out the outlines of a bra
and panties beneath as she spun around to show off. "I see that,
Sweetie. You look great! They fit you real well, too."
	
"They do. What did you want to see me about?" she asked
excitedly.
	
"Take a look at this article," I said - pointing to it as I
handed her the paper.
	
She saw the headline and the photo. Her face fell again and as
she whispered, "Uh-oh! What are we going to do now?"
	
I let her read through it before responding. "Well, I've already
agreed to let you stay, so I won't go back on my word. But we
can't take you out in public with the police and concerned people
searching for you and thinking you might have been kidnapped."
	
"I guess not," she said a bit dejectedly.
	
"You might get real bored cooped up in this condo all weekend,
Sweetie. Are you sure you don't want me to call them?"
	
"NO!" she answered a little too loudly. Then in a meeker voice
she added, "I mean... please don't, Mr. Sean. I'll be fine. I
love to, like, read, watch movies, play computer games... and
listen to music. I'll stay busy, and I won't be a pest. I
promise. Pleeease!"
	
It didn't take long for me to respond, "Okay, Sweetie, but that
means the ride to a park and dinner out are not going to work.
I'll need to run some errands after I finish my paper, and I'll
pick up some groceries for our meals and snacks while I'm out. Do
you need anything?"
	
"No, I don't think so. Wait... uh, could you pick up some
deodorant and a razor for me? Um, I might need some, like, pads,
too," she added with a little blush. Well, obviously she was
expecting her period soon. I didn't have a problem with buying
her supplies since I'd lived with three females for so long.
Rachel's periods had started long ago and Britney had reached
that stage well over a year ago. A father of girls gets past what
might embarrass a lot of guys.
	
"Sure. No problem, Sweetie. Just write down what kind you use and
anything else you need   include any fruit, snacks and drinks you
might like to have for this weekend. I'll finish my newspaper and
coffee before I get ready."
"Okay."
	
She came back with a list a few minutes later and asked if she
could use my computer. I cautioned her against contacting anyone
through instant messages or e-mail but said it would be okay if
she wanted to play a computer game, surf the net, or listen to my
daughters' music collection. She thanked me and strode into my
room to crank up the computer.
	
When I finished the paper, learning, among other things, that it
was going to be a stormy weekend, anyway, I showered, shaved and
dressed for the weather. Afterwards, I told Chelsea that, since
we couldn't go out to a fancy restaurant, I would make her a
gourmet dinner   or as close as I could get. When I asked what
she might like to eat, with a shrug of her slender shoulders, she
gave me the typical twelve-year-old reply, "I don't know." 

"Okay, Sweetie. Let's narrow it down some. Which you like best?
Beef, pork, poultry or seafood?"

"Hmm... seafood or chicken," she answered with a little
self-conscious smile.

"Great. Is there a style you prefer   like American, or Chinese,
or Italian or something?"

"I love Italian food!" she replied with more enthusiasm and
energy. I couldn't get anything more specific from her, but she
clarified that she liked all kinds of seafood. We settled on
Italian seafood.
	
I took a quick inventory and added to the shopping list I had
been preparing through the week. Then I added her items to the
list. Before leaving, I asked her not to answer the phone,
intercom or door. I had a few other quick stops to make, too, so
I ran those errands first. 
	
Throughout the light but steadily rainy trip, I couldn't get
Chelsea out of my mind. My first thoughts concerned what to do
about her situation. After brainstorming the problem for a while,
I came to the realization I needed to do some research. I just
didn't know enough about the child social system. 
	
Driving along familiar wet streets, images of her nakedness last
night and again this morning - along with our sexually charged
topic of conversation earlier - kept me hard much of the time. It
had been over a year and a half since I'd gotten laid, and
beating off was really getting old. I knew I could find a one
night stand if I wanted to... or get back in the swing of dating
women. So much had happened since my wife and I split up that I
just hadn't been in the mood to chase skirts. Now this little
girl had reignited my sex drive, and it was in a fully charged
mode. 

What is it about her that affects me so deeply? I wondered.
Sporadically through the drive my mind zeroed in on Chelsea as a
sexual being. I fought those lustful imaginings, but they leapt
into full consciousness during lulls in my thought train. First,
I found myself pondering what her tender pussy would taste like.
Several minutes later, I briefly fantasized about her tight
virginal sheath sucking the essence from my rod. During a short
wait at the dry cleaners dropping off some clothes, it occurred
to me that Chelsea is obviously in puberty with its hormonal
surges and awakening sexual awareness. "Maybe she would want..."
Whenever those thoughts arose, I cut them short: "How could I
molest sweet little Chelsea on top of everything else she's been
through? I'm no pedophile!"

Regardless of the potential legal nightmares, I knew I couldn't
bring myself to hurt her because I loved her and she was a child.
"But why am I being repeatedly exposed to her naked charms?"
Somehow, I managed to concentrate enough on the tasks at hand to
get them done. At one point, I considered picking up a hooker to
shortcut my desires, but calculated passionless sex as a business
transaction just wasn't appealing to me. I figured I would be
better off saving the money and masturbating at home later.

The evening's meal would be a special treat for her since we
couldn't go out and she didn't have many pleasures in her
turbulent life those days. Having decided on seafood pasta, I
picked up the ingredients for that as well as some calamari to
fry up as an appetizer. The menu included Caesar salad, garlic
bread and mini-chocolate clairs for dessert. While shopping I
found the other items already on our lists to complete the
essentials. I also bought a few snacks I like to keep around and
some adult beverages to restock my supplies. As afterthoughts, I
picked up a bouquet of fresh flowers to brighten the condo and
some Sour Skittles, which I recalled had been her favorite
candy.

Arriving home after a couple of hours, I found Chelsea had
changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt and was sprawled in front
of the TV watching the Disney channel. She had also done a great
job of cleaning my condo! She excitedly led me around to check it
out, and I was a bit shocked by her initiative and very
appreciative of her thoughtfulness and efforts. My girls almost
never did that much work without being ordered to do so and
hounded through it as they dragged their feet. Even though it was
obvious enough from my expression and comments, I gave her a big
smile and a hug saying, "Thank you so much, Sweetie! You really
didn't have to do all of that. The place looks great!" She beamed
as she told me she got used to doing more around the house after
her Mom died, and she always had chores to do in the group and
foster homes.

I returned to the car for more bags while she started putting
things away. When I brought the flowers in, she took them from me
with another big smile - eyes aglow, "You bought me flowers, Mr.
Sean! Thank you so much!" It hadn't occurred to me that she might
take it that way, but I couldn't bring myself to burst her
bubble. She gave me another quick hug before running to find a
vase, filling it with water, trimming the stems and low leaves,
and happily arranging them.

We pitched in to make lunch: ham and cheese sandwiches with
chips, pickles and soft drinks. Then we ate a few Oreo cookies to
top it off. Over lunch, she asked about my work and the music I'd
been writing, and we discussed things we might do to pass time
together while she was there. 

Afterwards we sat in the living room again with the TV on in the
background and she said, "Mr. Sean, I, uh, have a problem." 
	
"I know that, Sweetie, and I've been giving it a lot of
thought."
	
"I don't mean that problem... I have, like, an ingrown hair."
	
"Where is it?"
	
She blushed slightly before lowering her hand to her groin,
spreading her legs a little, pointing to the junction of her
thigh and vagina and saying, "It's right here between my, um,
coochie and my leg."
	
I paused for a second thinking, "What?" Then I responded, "How do
you know it's an ingrown hair and not a pimple, Sweetie? When did
you first notice it?" 
	
"It started yesterday. I've had one before   like, above my
coochie, but my foster mom helped with it. She had to bring it to
a head first. Then she used, like, a needle to open the head to
drain it and pull the hair out straight. I used a hot compress on
this one a lot while you were gone - and it has a head, but I
can't, um, stick myself with a needle." After a pause, she looked
at me and pleaded with a whiney girly voice, "I tried! I just
can't do it!" 

"I don't know, Sweetie. It wouldn't be right for me to touch you
down there... Can you hold out until Monday? We can't take you to
a clinic because they're searching for you."
	
"It hurts a lot..." Then she paused and looked at me. Her
expression changed to one of more confidence, and she opened with
that matter of fact mature tone of hers, "You've, like, already
seen everything I have, Mr. Sean, and I'm not worried about it.
Besides, you have, like, daughters and you were married. I'm sure
you've had to deal with problems, uh, down there on a girl
before, haven't you?"
	
"Sure I have, Chelsea, but you're not my daughter or my wife and
you are underage."
	
"Can you do it for me, please? It really hurts."
	
I considered the options, but our need for secrecy didn't leave
alternatives. In the end I conceded, "I guess I can, Sweetie.
Let's get it done." I thought for a few seconds and added, "I
think we'll need some Neosporin, a needle, tweezers... a few
cotton balls... and alcohol. I'm pretty sure we have all of that
stuff."
	
"I already found a needle. I'll get it... and cotton balls. I saw
some in the girls' bathroom."
	
"Okay. I think the other stuff is in my bathroom."
	
While she went to get the things she mentioned, I went to the
master bath and found alcohol, swabs and tweezers right away. The
Neosporin took a little more effort, but I located it, too. Then
I thoroughly washed my hands and dried them on a clean towel. 

When I came out, Chelsea was lying on her back on my bed with a
towel across her lap and her legs fairly close together. She was
still wearing the t-shirt, but I didn't see her sweat pants
around. I mused, "She must have taken them off in another room."
The cotton balls and needle were in her hand. As I approached,
she passed them to me and I laid everything out on the night
stand within reach. Then I began, "Okay, let's see what we're
dealing with here, Sweetie."
	
She hesitated for a second and then flipped the towel off of her
lap. As she did, she drew her knees up while cocking her legs -
flopping her knees out to the sides almost in a single motion. I
was stunned again by the beauty of her bare pussy   and more so
by the fact that she was nude below the waist. I looked at her
and saw just a trace of that familiar little smirk and gleam in
her eye before it faded as she read my reaction. 

I don't know why, but I had just assumed she would leave her
panties on; she had indicated that the ingrown hair was near the
leg hole, which could have easily been pushed aside. I guess it's
too late now. As I glanced at her face, it appeared that she
wasn't very embarrassed   only a light tinge of blush there. She
had apparently prepared herself for this, although she had never
really been a shy child, anyway. Recalling those sexual incidents
when she was younger, it also occurred to me that she might be
getting a kick out of exposing herself to me.

I studied the offending bump. It was about three-eighths of an
inch across at the base and rose to a small whitehead of pus. It
was on the pad of her left labia - about midway along her slit
nearer the crease of her thigh. With her legs cocked the way they
were, her inner lips were slightly open and I could barely make
out the tiny entrance to her vagina. Hers wasn't a meaty pussy,
but she did have a little padding there. 

I had a sudden urge to taste her but managed to rein myself in. 
My dick hardening didn't help, and I tried to think it down to no
avail. 

I doubted it was an ingrown hair because there wasn't another
pubic hair on those smooth labia anywhere. I got up to turn on
the overhead light and I pulled off the shade on the lamp
(shifting my dick when she wasn't looking) before sitting back
down on the bed next to her to examine it more closely. It
resembled an ingrown hair   or a pimple   hard to tell. She had
no other blemishes on her body that I had seen and I hadn't
noticed it when I briefly saw her pussy last night and through
the table top this morning. It was on the side that had been
partially blocked by her hand for much of the time that morning,
though. I briefly wondered if that is what she had been
scratching as I watched through the table top.

I looked at her and said, "It does look uncomfortable, Sweetie.
You know this will sting a little, don't you?"

"I know, but it's, like, better to get it over with." 
	
"You're right," I replied. I used a cotton swab dipped in alcohol
to cleanse the area around the pustule, causing her to cringe a
bit from the shock of the cooling liquid. Then I took one of the
cotton balls, soaked it in alcohol and swabbed the needle
thoroughly for thirty seconds or so to clean it. She was to my
left and I'm right handed. I rested my right palm on her inner
thigh and approached with the needle. She was watching intently
and, when I neared it, she flinched. "Wait, wait! I'm sorry...
Like, let me get myself ready, Mr. Sean... I'll tell you when,
okay?" 
	
"Okay. You'll have to be very still so I don't hurt you,
Sweetie."
	
"I know." After a half a minute or so to calm her nerves, she
said, "Okay. Go ahead."	
	
I attempted the same maneuver a second time and she flinched
again. I pulled back once more as she repeated her apology.
Thinking for a second I said, "Chelsea, I need you to close your
eyes, Sweetie, and I'll have to hold your, uh, coochie down kind
of firmly to keep you from flinching while I'm working on it. I
really don't want to stick you with the needle accidentally. I'll
be as gentle as I can, okay? I've had lots of practice with a
needle. Do you remember when I removed that splinter from your
finger when you were little? That didn't hurt too much, did it?"
	
She thought for a second, nodded and replied, "No, you did it
good... Okay, go ahead." She hesitantly laid her head back on a
pillow, closed her eyes and consciously relaxed. I couldn't see
any other way around it so I rested the heel of my left palm in
the crease of her right labia and thigh and laid my hand across
her pussy, pinching the bump gently between thumb and forefinger
while I approached with the needle in the other hand. I managed
to prick just the skin at the top of the whitehead from the side
and pull the thin skin up a little before she flinched again.
This time I was ready and exerted a little downward pressure on
her pelvis to hold her still while I pricked it again and pulled
the needle up through the skin to open it better. 

In a soothing tone, I told her that part was done. I put the
needle down and took over with my right hand gently massaging out
the pus with my forefinger and thumb. My left hand was still
resting on her pussy and I felt her strain a little and press
upward into it a couple of times. I continued lightly pinching
the bump until the pus was expelled and I could see a little
clear fluid mixed with blood surfacing. I swabbed it with a clean
cotton ball. "Okay, Sweetie, it's opened and drained but I still
need to locate the hair and pull it loose. Do you want to take a
break first?"
	
She looked at me and smiled a little before saying, "No, it's
okay. I'd like, rather get it over with. That part didn't hurt
much."
	
"Okay. That makes me feel better. You have to try to stay still,
okay?"
	
"I will."
	
She laid her head on the pillow and closed her eyes again while
wiped the needle again with the soaked cotton ball and then blew
on it to dry the alcohol. Her legs were still wide open and she
was nervously bouncing her knees with her eyes closed. I took
advantage of the moment to study her gaping pubescent pussy in
more detail. Moisture was surfacing, her labia had engorged and
spread; her clitoral hood was flared and the tip of her clit was
peeking from its orifice. I could clearly see the thin membrane
of her intact perforated hymen   less an inch into the throat of
her vagina, which was a little more open now but still tiny in my
eyes. Her pussy was sending out the delicious spicy aroma of a
horny young woman in heat. Her horniness was as obvious as mine,
but I braced myself and maintained control.

I briefly wondered if her arousal was from the realization of the
circumstances, the contact between her pussy and my left hand or
the pain. I immediately discounted the pain as sexual stimulation
theory because she had always had a pretty low pain threshold;
and she just didn't seem the type. 
	
I told her I was starting again. She tensed for a second as I got
my hands back into position with my left thumb and finger gently
squeezing the bump and the needle in my right hand. Then I felt
her relax. I could clearly discern a throbbing pulse from the
heated flesh of her pussy through my left palm. 

This time it went fairly quickly. While pinching a little harder,
a glint of light bouncing off a fine blonde hair through the
small opening identified the target. I probed and quickly dipped
the tip of the needle under it without pushing it in too deeply
and pulled a small loop of the offending hair through the opening
- drawing it out until the end popped free. I was a little
surprised to find that it was well over half an inch long. When
it came off the needle, it coiled tightly like a miniature
ringlet. 

I told Chelsea it was done but it would probably be better if I
pulled it out completely. She agreed, so I told her to hang on. I
caught it with the tweezers and popped it free along with its
follicle. She winced again but didn't cry out. I showed it to
her, and she was happy it was over. 

She began to get up, but I reactively pressed down on her pussy
with my left hand again (and why was it still there?) and told
her to stay put until I dressed the wound. 

I removed my hand to put fresh alcohol on the other cotton ball.
Then I gently cleaned the area again   being careful not to touch
the laceration so it wouldn't sting. I blew on it for a few
seconds to dry it while surreptitiously checking to find that her
clit was now standing out like a pink knob about the size of a
small end-strand pearl glistening with female secretions. A
single drop of her juices had spilled over and was trickling down
her perineum. Finished with cleaning the needle, I swabbed the
drip with the cotton ball in my left hand without even thinking
about it. She shied, closed her eyes and blushed deeply for the
first time since exposing herself to me. I decided it was best
left unmentioned.

I spread some Neosporin over the bump area and rubbed it in with
my fingertip. Then I asked her to hang on for a second while I
went to get a small circular Band-Aid from the bathroom, which I
put on it to keep it clean. A fight with my conscience had been
raging within, but I resisted making a move despite the
temptation. After all, she had trusted me. Circumstances were
breaking me down, though, as I would later reflect... little by
little.

When I was finished, she sat up, looked at it and thanked me  
giving me a hug while taking unspoken notice of the bulge in my
pants. Then she got up without the towel and casually walked out
of the room with a little swivel in her hips to get dressed  
glancing back with a quick smile as she turned into the hall to
see if I was watching her cute little bubble ass. Of course I
was. Busted... The slight sway and bounce of her ass as she left
was so smooth and natural it couldn't have been contrived.
	
I replaced the shade on the lamp, gathered the refuse and
disposed of it as I chastised myself once again for horny
thoughts of Chelsea. I took a quick cold shower to calm down -
replaying the latest scene with her in my mind in spite of the
reason for the shower in the first place. I resisted the urge to
masturbate as I had considered earlier because it just didn't
seem right to relieve myself to mental images of a naked child. 
	
Upon dressing in sweats and a t-shirt, I joined Chelsea in the
living room. She was back in sweats herself - watching another
teen sit-com on TV.  "Thanks again, Mr. Sean. It feels better
already." she said with a grateful smile. I acknowledged her
thanks and returned her smile. Then I picked up an Ian Rankin
mystery novel I was reading and settled in on the couch. I found
his settings and Scottish characters to be interesting, and this
one incorporated Bansky, the elusive graffiti artist of some fame
I had heard of in the past. The predicted rain began again,
pelting the windows as the wind howled. 
	
A while later during a commercial break, Chelsea went to the
kitchen for snacks and asked if I wanted something to drink. She
brought out some cheese and crackers on a plate and returned for
a couple of glasses of ginger ale. I checked out the teen sitcom
she was watching as we snacked. 

"What are we having for dinner tonight?" she queried. I ran down
the menu for her, and she sounded happy with what I had chosen.
Then she looked me in the eye and asked sweetly, "Mr. Sean, do
you think we could, like, get dressed up and do it? It would be
more like eating out in a fancy restaurant." I agreed that it
would be fun and I couldn't see a reason to deny her simple
request. She perked up. "I saw a pretty blue dress in Britney's
closet; can I wear it?"
	
"I don't think Britney would mind. She brought it along to wear
for Thanksgiving dinner. We went out to a restaurant so we
wouldn't have to spend so much of our last day together preparing
food and cleaning up. It must still be clean if she hung it back
up. I expected her to take it with her."
	
"It looks like it hasn't been worn," Chelsea replied.
	
"Okay, she must have forgotten it. It should work. We'll dress in
what they call dressy casual then. That dress fits the
description."
	
"Awesome!"
	
I added, "It's only 2:40 now, we have some time to kill before we
get ready for dinner. Is there anything else you'd like to do? If
you would rather keep watching TV, that's fine. I'm enjoying this
novel."
	
"I saw some board games in the hall closet. Can we play one after
this show is finished? It'll be over at 3:00."
	
"Sure. That would be fun. Which one would you like to play?"
	
She replied, "I saw Scrabble in there. Is that okay?"
	
"Sure, Scrabble is fine   as long as you don't beat me too
badly." I added with a smirk.
	
She giggled and went back to her show.  When it ended, she dug
out the Scrabble game. We set it up on the cocktail table and sat
on throw cushions on the floor. Of course, I was on the side with
my back to the couch for support. I owned the premier edition of
the game with a plastic board on a lazy Susan base, ridges on the
board to lock pieces in place and a draw bag for the letter
tiles. 
	
I shouldn't have been surprised, but Chelsea was a strong player
 especially for her age. She went first, and when I saw her first
word I realized the sexual undercurrents of her visit weren't yet
over. It was "breast", (could have been benign but her expression
said it wasn't), which scored her 22 points out of the chute. 

A few plays later she asked if we could use slang words even
though the rules didn't allow it. When I agreed, she played
"cock" with that mischievous grin of hers. It wasn't a slang word
if she had meant "rooster", but her question had made her
thinking clear. 

The game was staying close, but I pulled ahead again on a triple
word score for "nations" with the "s" on the red square at the
bottom center of the board that earned me 21 points. After a long
wait for her to play, she trumped me by using all seven of her
tiles and my ending "s" to spell "clitoris" across the bottom
from the left   stretching it to the triple word score block in
the left corner for 83 points! There was a proud gleam in her eye
when she saw my expression. I couldn't help congratulating her on
the word while an image of her glistening pink clit with its
flared hood flicked through my mind and I questioned, "Why me?" 

Within a few turns, the board was getting blocked and smaller
words would have to do. I fought back hard, but there wasn't the
time or opportunity to catch her. We played it out and I
congratulated her on her victory. She asked if we could play
again, but I postponed a rematch until later since it was time to
start getting ready for dinner. We packed it up and she put the
game away.
	
While I started the salad, Chelsea asked if she could set the
table. She wanted it to look fancy, so I showed her where the
linen tablecloths and napkins and better china and silver were
stored. She also found two leaded crystal candlesticks and cream
colored candles in the cabinet. She used the flowers and candles
to dress up the table - set off to one side so they wouldn't be
in the way of conversation. It looked great, and I complimented
her at length. 

I prepped the calamari, mussels, shrimp, and scallops before
rechecking to confirm everything else was ready to go. After a
short break, we decided to bathe and get dressed   in separate
baths, of course. 
	
I was out of the shower, shaved and dressed in less than half an
hour.  Knowing females take much longer to get ready, I decided
to have a cocktail, light the fire and relax for a while before
putting dinner together. I called my daughters and spoke with
each for a few minutes. Again I didn't mention Chelsea, because I
didn't know what to say and didn't want to get into long winded
explanations. 


<1st attachment end>


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