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Subject: Dakota Summer (Mg, ped)
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Dakota Summer (Mg, ped)
By Inno Cencelost
I was 21 in the summer of 1972 as I prepared to enter my final year of college,
and I was working for the summer on an intensive geological survey in Utah.
The days were long and the work was hard.
Most of my co-workers were living in run-down roadside motels, but luck was
with me and I managed to find accommodation on an equally run-down, sprawling
ranch in the foothills.
The dilapidated old ranch was owned by a friend-of-a-friend from school but
he was never there.
I guess you'd call it a commune of sorts - home to an eclectic mix of folks
hanging onto the hippie culture, college dropouts, struggling musicians and
assorted potheads.
There were 15 or so semi-permanent residents, but the numbers changed all
the time as people dropped in, hung out and then moved on.
There were two young boys in the mix, 11 or 12 years old, but I never knew
who they belonged to. I've often wondered where they are today and how that
experience shaped their lives.
There was also one little girl on the ranch - 7 years old. Her name was Dakota.
This story is about my friendship with her.
As I understand it, Dakota's parents left her there for the summer in the
care of a couple of the ranch's more permanent residents, but truth be told,
she was really cared for by everyone, and too often by no one.
Every night was party-night at the ranch. It would start under the stars
about 9 pm with a bonfire and passing of the pipe, then moved inside around
midnight. It was often as late as 4 or 5 am when the albums stopped spinning
on the record player and folks paired off for sex or simply slept where they
lay. And it was typically mid-afternoon before people awoke to start their
day.
My work did not allow me to take part in these hedonistic rites of summer,
but I was free to come and go as I pleased, and my room at the very back
of the large main house allowed me to sleep soundly amid the mayhem.
As I mentioned, my work on the survey was long and hard but my weekends were
mine, and one lazy Saturday morning about two weeks into my stay at the ranch,
I pulled myself out of bed about 8:30 am, slipped into a pair of jeans and
meandered out to the kitchen to boil up some tea.
On my way past the living room, I noticed the TV was on and peeked in.
Dakota was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the old black and
white television watching Heckle and Jeckle on the Saturday morning cartoons.
She looked up and smiled at me.
Her hair was dishevelled. She was wearing a flimsy little sleeveless nightie.
And she had a bowl of Cheerios on the floor in front of her, and a big spoon
in her hand.
"Hi Dakota," I said, smiling back.
"Hi," she replied.
It was a pitiful picture actually. I scanned the room. There were record
albums and beer bottles strewn everywhere. In plain view on the rickety coffee
table in front of the threadbare sofa, a big, wide-open bag of leafy pot
sat between two ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts and roaches.
As my eyes circled back to the neglected little 7-year-old, I felt sorry
for her, and maybe she sensed that.
Dakota reached around for something on the floor beside her, and as she did
that her lower body twisted a little. My eyes were drawn curiously to that
space between her young legs, where I could clearly see the loose material
of her underwear. As I watched, the crotch pulled a little to one side, and
I found myself looking at one of her hairless little lips.
It was a completely unintentional exposure and I shouldn't have looked.
Dakota lifted her rag doll off the floor and turned back to show it to me.
"See my doll," she said softly.
"Ya, that's a nice one," I replied.
We both smiled.
"Listen Dakota," I said. "I'm going to make some toast. Do you want some?"
"Sure," she said quickly, her eyes sparkling.
Dakota left the TV and joined me in the kitchen, clearly pleased to have
someone to talk to.
She was bubbling with curiosity, and hit me with a barrage of questions -
where was I from, why was I here, why didn't I party with the others, what
was my job, how long was I going to stay?
She interspersed her questions with little offerings about herself - that
she was only there for the summer, that her mom and dad were coming back
to get her, that she used to live in San Francisco, and that her dad played
in a band.
When the toast popped we buttered it up, and then I sat with her in front
of the TV, sipping my tea and watching cartoons for an hour or so. I guess
we became friends in that moment.
I didn't think it was right that a 7-year-old girl was pretty much left to
fend for herself on the big ranch. It wasn't that she was in any danger,
but a kid that age should be taken care of, you know.
And I think she was attracted to me because I was different from the rest.
She seemed to latch onto me as if she was trying to latch onto sanity in
a place where sanity didn't always prevail.
A week later, I was doing my laundry in a washtub out back when Dakota showed
up.
"Hi Roger," she squealed, giving me a big smile.
"Hi Dakota," I smiled back.
"Whatcha doin?" she asked.
"Oh just washing some clothes," I answered back.
She looked at me, and looked at the washtub, then blurted out a question.
"Can I wash my clothes too?" she asked.
"Well sure," I replied.
She was gone in a flash and returned a few minutes later with an armload
of her clothes - jeans and shorts and t-shirts mostly, along with the little
nightie I'd seen her in, and few pairs of underwear.
Her clothes were filthy, and once again I felt a lingering pity for her,
and a rising anger at the people who should have been taking care of her.
But we had fun, washing all our clothes and hanging them on the line to dry
in the hot afternoon sun, cementing our friendship.
That night, curled up under the covers on my big double bed in the back room,
I was gently tugged from sleep by a soft voice and the touch of a young hand
on my shoulder.
"Roger," the voice whispered softly. "Are you asleep?"
Well, I was, until she woke me.
I turned to the sound of her voice. The moonlit sky was throwing a soft grey
light through the window beside my bed. I could see her standing there in
her nightie.
"I can't sleep," she complained. "They're making too much noise."
I could hear the faint sounds of a late-night party on the other side of
the house. I glanced at the luminescent dial on my alarm clock - 2 am.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.
"Can I sleep with you?" her soft voice whispered.
I was barely awake, certainly not conscious enough to assess the question
properly. This is pretty much how I processed it - "What is she asking? I
don't know. If I say yes, will I be able to go back to sleep? - Yes."
"Sure, sure," I blurted, lifting the covers for her. "Jump in."
As the 7-year-old climbed into bed with me, I rolled over to face the wall
and quickly dropped back into a deep sleep.
I'm one of those people who can sleep anywhere, and almost any time, and
once asleep, I seldom wake. But on this night I was prodded from sleep twice
- once by a 7-year-old girl pleading for a quiet resting place, and then
a second time by a raging hardon.
I felt it pulling me, opening up a dream, a nice dream full of the faint
memories of a girl I knew in college, a girl who side-stepped every advance
I made on her. But not that night - she was with me in my dream, working
on me, whispering to me, slender fingers tickling my cock, teasing it, gripping
it gently, moving up and down the shaft, coaxing it to full arousal.
As the moon might slip behind a cloud, the dream was suddenly gone and I
found myself laying on my back, looking up at the rough wooden ceiling of
my bedroom in the old ranch.
The college girl was gone. But of course my boner wasn't, and...
I startled momentarily and snapped completely out of sleep. Something wasn't
quire right. I cleared my head trying to confirm that my dream was gone.
Then what was I feeling?
There was a hand tucked down inside my underwear. There were slender feminine
fingers wrapped around my stiff cock, massaging it gently. I became aware
of the body next to mine, a small body. Then I remembered the 7-year-old
girl slipping into bed with me.
Dakota was playing with my cock.
I murmured nervously and turned away from her, reaching down to pluck her
hand from inside my underwear. Then I rolled over face-down, trapping my
stiff cock underneath me, feeling completely uncomfortable, and guilty.
Dakota sighed softly, snuggled up against me, slipped her arm over my back,
and seemed to drift off to sleep.
I wish I could say the same for me. Sleep did not come easy or quickly. For
obvious reasons, I was troubled. I may have been many things at that time
in my life, but I was not a child molester, and I did not want to become
one, or be thought of as one.
When I woke in the morning, she was gone. I sat on the side of my bed with
my head in my hands, worrying about what had transpired the night before,
feeling guilty about it, and decided that whatever happened, I could no longer
share my bed with Dakota.
Well, the best laid plans of mice and men, so often go astray. As it turned
out, I wasn't in control of that piece of the puzzle. Dakota was. And I guess
she figured my letting her in my bed once, represented an open invitation.
A couple of nights later, I woke at some point to discover the 7-year-old
curled up next to me. I didn't have the heart to ask her to leave so I just
rolled over and tried to keep my distance.
Over the next couple of weeks Dakota spent the night in my bed more often
than not, as she sought refuge from the late-night parties. But thankfully
the hand-in-my-underwear incident was not repeated, and I began to feel more
comfortable about her presence.
Then one Friday night, I had a few puffs on a joint with the party-gang,
and followed that up with a couple of beers. Sometime close to midnight I
excused myself from the party, avoiding the barely coherent advances of a
very stoned young woman in a tie-dye t-shirt, and slipped into bed - alone.
Maybe sensing my mild inebriation and my vulnerability, Dakota came for me
that night, tugging me gently from sleep. Reaching through the foggy remnants
of the booze and smoke, finding me, touching me.
I knew what was happening even before I woke, as the fear, discomfort, and
guilt crept over me.
We were facing each other under the covers. I could feel her presence. And
I could feel her little hand stroking my cock. She'd somehow managed to pull
it out through the access flap on the front of my underwear. The little vixen
had me bone hard, and she was working me, gripping me tightly in her little
hand, stroking me slowly up and down.
I should have made her stop. I should have lectured her and sent her back
to her own bed. My mind whirled as I tried to find the willpower to do it
- to do anything. The seconds slipped by as her fingers continued to work
me, coaxing fresh blood into my already stiff cock.
I stirred nervously, preparing to reach down and pull her hand off me.
But then my cock swelled, responding immediately to a new soft, warm sensation.
I hesitated, trying to interpret it, trying to read the signals flirting
through my body.
The head of my cock was touching something - something soft and warm.
Dakata's body moved slightly, inching closer to me. She murmured softly as
she pressed her young hips forward.
She had the head of my cock pressed up between her legs. She was naked down
there. She was rubbing her little cunt on the head of my cock. She was masturbating.
It floored me. I had no idea that 7-year-old girl might be capable of such
a profoundly sexual act. Hell, at that stage in my life, I wasn't even sure
that grown women actually masturbated.
I was incredibly nervous. My brain was numbed by booze, smoke and sleep,
and by the growing physical pleasure I was experiencing.
I guess I'm going to hell. I should have stopped her but I didn't. I let
it happen. I just lay there and let a 7-year-old girl play with my cock.
She was so determined, rubbing the swollen head on her hairless little cunt,
stopping occasionally to stroke the shaft gently, pumping me, keeping me
hard.
I feigned sleep for as long as humanly possible, but as I'm sure you can
imagine, that had to come to an end at some point, and for me the end came
as I felt the tip of my cock drag over the stiff little bump of Dakota's
tiny clit.
I grunted and felt my hips move, pressing forward, seeking sensation, pushing
the head of my cock down over her clit, down between her lips, sliding it
along her 7-year-old slit.
Dakota responded immediately, murmuring softly, squeezing my cock in her
little hand, moving her own hips in time with mine, in a lewd fucking motion,
welcoming my involvement.
I reached out for her, slipping my hand up onto the side of her chest, inching
my fingers downward over the thin material of her nightie, down onto her
hip, and onto the soft naked skin of her bum, touching it, fanning out, squeezing
it lightly.
Holding her bum in my hand, I gently pumped my hips, rubbing the head of
my cock over the soft hairless lips of her little cunt.
It was incredibly erotic, having a willing female in my bed, under the sheets
with me, feeling her hand on me, feeling my cock touching her, feeling our
bodies working together - holding nothing back, enjoying each other.
For the record, I knew what I was doing. I suppose I could have lay there
pretending my partner was one of the young women from the party on the other
side of the house, but I didn't. I was in bed with a cute little 7-year-old
girl. I was having sex with her. And I liked it.
"Unnngh, uuunnggh," I grunted loudly as my orgasm crashed over me like a
rogue wave.
My cum exploded out of me, spraying her little lips, coating her young cunt
with warm, milky fluid.
It was wild. It was wicked. It was one of the most powerful orgasms I'd ever
experienced. And when it was over I wrapped my arms around her and pulled
young body up against me, pushing my pelvis up against hers, feeling the
head of my cock poke out below the cheeks of her bum.
"Oh man, that was good," I whispered softly, touching my lips on the top
of her head, giving her a tender kiss.
Dakota murmured softly and wrapped her arms around me, squeezing me gently.
Then she tilted her head back, looking up at me in the darkness.
My lips came down and touched hers, kissing her.
"Mmmmn," I murmured softly. "You are beautiful."
I know how corny that sounds, but it was the only thing I could think of
saying
We kissed and hugged for a few moments, then snuggled in, wrapped in each
others arms, my cock still tucked between her thighs, her cute little cunt
still slippery with cum.
I felt wonderful. I felt fulfilled.
Then a deep, post-orgasmic sleep began to creep up on me, and just as I was
about to succumb to it, I heard her voice speaking to me.
"Roger," she whispered.
"ya," I replied.
"You have a big cock," she said.
It was so strange, to hear those lewd words spoken by 7-year-old, plainly,
innocently, without fear or guilt, almost as if she was commenting on the
weather.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"Well, it's bigger than my dad's," she replied.
I squeezed her gently in my arms, letting her feel my strength, and my love
for her.
"Go to sleep sweetie," I whispered.
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