I kept leaning on my elbows, watching the sun radiate her little Irish-looking face. We looked into eachother's eyes and I think she actually knew how badly I wanted her to be my life partner. She loved me and needed me and wanted me just as bad. I took off my shirt, just because I wanted her to see my hairy chest. I mean, she was my girlfriend from now on, after all. She occupied her mother's space on our bed perfectly.., as though she had always been there and belonged there.  It was like God or the forces of nature were telling me, "This is where this little girl belongs. Take care of her".  It was her space now, even if her mom came back and slept in it.
  I had one irrational fear, though: That she would take an interest in boys once she started first grade.  I  said to her, gently, "When we were talking about boys and girls, sweetheart..." I stumbled in my speech, hesitating. "I just want you to know that if..." She rocked her eyes side to side, scanning my face, and reached up with all her might and hugged my shoulders and I lowered myself to her. I could not believe the amount of respect I had for that little girl. She knew herself  better than I knew myself. I placed my palm on her flat chest and we both looked at it.  It nearly covered her beautiful, flat chest with my fingers open wide. "When do you think mommy's coming back?" I asked her.  I kept peering down at her peach-colored thin, cotton button-up shirt.  I softly un-buttoned the top button, and then another. She bolted up. "I'll open this window so we can hear her pull up, if she does." she said, opened the living room window a bit, and vaulted back into bed. I un-buttoned the last three mother-of-pearl buttons on her shirt. After four months of knowing that I was the love of her life, she had no inhibitions with me whatsoever.
  Those four months were a lot of fun for me and Becka, despite my wife's paranoid nagging. The arguments actually erupted over my "strange behavior".  My wife actually was able to guess that I was seeing someone else, but was never able to prove it or figure out who it was. She followed me to work, to the flea markets.., she even tried to tail me when I took casual bicycle rides.  She could never pinpoint "that other woman" though.  She would say to me, "I know you're seeing someone...I know what a girl smells like and that's what you smell like! Who is she? Some 16-year-old floozie?" Four-year-old Becka and I could hardly contain our laughter when we heard that kind of ranting and raving from a woman young Becka was soon to replace. and then some.
   One night, while the three of us were having dinner (candlelight, no less), my wife said to me, "I know you love whoever it is you're seeing.  Do you want to know how I know you are in love with her?" Just then, in a perfect stroke of shrouded disrespect, Becka asked, "Daddy? Can you pass the mustard?" "Of course, sweetheart." I said, and gently put it in front of her, lifting the cap off, too.  I almost laughed, but I could tell from the poker face on Becka that she was dead-serious about taking me away from her mother.  I did not reply to my wife's question, so she said, "Because for at least four months, you are acting the same way, exactly, as when we first met. You're happy, Donald. I've never seen you so happy. Whoever she is, you should go to her. " We all finished our dinner in silence. Becka knew she (and I) were winning.
  As Becka finished her dinner, she thought of us French kissing on the sofa and wondered how I would react if she bit my tongue a little. Maybe not too hard, she figured. She then imagined I would react by picking her up in a hurry and rushing her into the bedroom, throwing her on the bed, and after pulling her nightie panties down, tenderly and expertly licking her pussy while pulling her 6T panties down her legs to the floor, 4-year-old Becka assisting by kicking them off. She always found it so relaxing and romantic when I ate her pussy. She didn't remember me "eating" her when she was a newborn, but I had, whenever mom was out. In fact, I had had plans on my little girl even before she was born. Becka knew that cunnilingus would not feel quite as good to her now as when she entered puberty, around age 11, when her hormones kicked in. I had explained that all to her, and we still talked about it a lot. She actually had a special diary where she marked off the days and numbered them till her 11th birthday. She sometimes cried at night because she had seven years to go before she could completely feel the magic of our love. She actually slapped her pussy sometimes, in tears, punishing it, trying desparately to wake it up.
  It was 8:20 a.m. so I still had a few minutes before I had to leave for work, so I slowly...pulled..her... dainty...shirt...to...the... side..,past...her...left...flat...nipple. I immediately dropped my head on it and licked it so gently and lovingly that I felt her hand on the back of my head almost immediately. She probably didn't know that all I could think of was getting her pregnant and her being the mother of my children. I fully intended for this to happen. I was going to take her away soon, and with any luck she'd be giving birth at age 12, even if it had to be caesarian at 7 months. I knew she would do this for me, but we would have to talk about it first.