

                       MERRILL, CASTLE & GRAY (uk)


                       Adult Books On The Internet 



         A  non-profit making organisation.    Subscriptions  and 
         purchases  only finance and maintain our FREE  and  ever 
                          increasing archive.
         

         Completely  free  and  currently  containing  some  7000 
         stories,  the  GENERAL SECTION of our  Archive  aims  to 
         gather together the best of erotic material available.
          

         To have "ELECTRA MAGAZINE" delivered on a regular basis, 
         ensuring  all Subscribers are over the age of 18  years, 
         upon receipt of credit card details, (or other  evidence 
         of  age) the first TWO issues are FREE.  Forward  Credit 
         Card no. etc. or other verification to: 


                       `sub-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'


         for  further details.   Perfected over months, a  `safe' 
         monetary transaction.


         Three    consecutive   months   subscription    entitles 
         Subscribers  to  access  to `The  Zoo'  section  of  the 
         Archive.


         Through  freely  obtaining unpublished sections  of  our 
         publications, subscription charges are recovered  within 
         six months.  


         Save   for   hitherto  unpublished   sections   of   our 
         publications,   copies  of  all  stories  and   articles 
         contained in "ELECTRA MAGAZINE"  can be freely  obtained 
         by list-server.


         Mail  `list-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'  for  an  up-to-date 
         list.


         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+


                               EDITORIAL

                               ~~~~~~~~~


           Granted  the  current problems with  pedophiles  being 
         experienced  in  Belgium and  the  conference  regarding 
         child-prostitution  recently  taking  place  in  Sweden, 
         Governments  are attempting to radically alter  outlooks 
         and  attitudes  on  all sorts of sexual  practice  on  a 
         world-wide  scale.    Whilst this  will  obviously  make 
         itself  felt in the months and years ahead,  because  of 
         all  the regional variations of law and practice on  the 
         subject  of tolerance of sex, whilst rewarding  for  the 
         individual  politician  or  institution,  inception   of 
         suppressive  change is likely to prove an  embarrassment 
         for concerted, organised and co-ordinated assault.


           By the very nature of the Internet, interpretation  by 
         various  servers  of what is legal,  moral  and  ethical 
         clashes frequently with the mandate of such governments, 
         and  it  is our opinion that, given  time,  apathy  will 
         return and things will carry on as normal.


           Hideous  though  the thought may  be,  an  interrupted 
         freedom  of  speech and expression is likely to  be  the 
         outcome in the short-term and for that matter, a  lively 
         discussion  will replace the displaying of binaries  and 
         many stories on newsgroups.


           Albeit  that the intention of authority is  right  and 
         noble, its attitude of persecution will do untold damage 
         and cause great hindrance to its own operations, and  in 
         the  meantime,  we  will continue  to  publish  "ELECTRA 
         MAGAZINE"   magazine and our archive -  although  behind 
         schedule - will open during the Autumn months.


           We trust you will make use of it. 


           Merrill Castle and Gray


           September 1996


         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+
         

           Each  month,  we publish one or two stories  from  our 
         Archive.    Whilst we hope you will enjoy it, as it  can 
         involve  any sex-related matter, we cannot guarantee  it 
         will be to your liking or taste.

           Therefore, we give a formal disclaimer:


           THE  FOLLOWING MATERIAL CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF  SEX-
         RELATED TOPICS.   DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU ARE PREPARED TO 
         BE OFFENDED OR SHOCKED.  


           MERRILL, CASTLE AND GRAY (UK) ACCEPT NO RESPONSIBILITY 
         WHATSOEVER FOR ANY EFFECT WHICH THE STORY MAY HAVE.


           DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18 YEARS OF 
         AGE.


         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+


                             "VOLUNTEER"


                                Anon 

                                ~~~~



           Men often complain that their wives aren't  interested 
         in sex, but my husband doesn't complain at all- I'm  the 
         one with the complaint! 


           From early morning to late at night, my husband  works 
         as  a heavy equipment salesman. He makes tons of  money, 
         but he never makes love to me except for a  half-hearted 
         effort on some weekends. 


           What's  even  worse,  when he gets home  at  night  he 
         usually falls asleep on the couch. We never see a movie, 
         go out to dinner, or even just go to the mall to get out 
         of  the  house. Yes, if it wasn't for the fact  that  he 
         gives me and the kids all the money we need, life  would 
         be unbearable. 


           The  worst thing, though, is that I really  loved  him 
         before he began to think of nothing but work. I still do 
         love him, and that's why for 15 years I never thought of 
         cheating on him. 


           I always thought everything would be all right if he'd 
         just   think  of  me  sometimes  instead  of  how   many 
         bulldozers  he  can sell to the big  account  in  Idaho! 
         Anyway,  when I told him I was getting bored and  needed 
         something  to do during the day (he doesn't want  me  to 
         work;  he  says he makes more money than we  could  ever 
         spend,  and he might be right!), he said "Why don't  you 
         go  volunteer to work at the hospital. That should  keep 
         you busy!" 


           Although I don't like the sight of blood, I  responded 
         to  an ad in the paper looking for hospital  volunteers. 
         As I was given a tour of the hospital, the volunteer co-
         ordinator  explained  that I would  basically  help  the 
         nurses--make sure ice water bottles in rooms are filled, 
         maybe  push  a  patient  around  in  a  wheelchair,  get 
         newspapers for the patients, and so on. It didn't  sound 
         too difficult, so I told them I would begin on Monday. 


           Since I'm just 36, I was easily the youngest volunteer 
         in  the hospital. Most of the daytime help consisted  of 
         retired  gents,  or  elderly widows  after  the  retired 
         gents.  Still, everyone pitched in and  made  themselves 
         useful.  After  the first week, I was finding  the  work 
         very  rewarding  and I looked forward  to  my  four-hour 
         shift  three days a week! I was still frustrated  by  my 
         husband's  lack  of attention, but  the  volunteer  work 
         provided  some  outlet  and  relief  from  my   physical 
         cravings for sex.


           After  about  three weeks on the job, the  head  nurse 
         assigned me the job of filling up the ice water  bottles 
         in  each  room.  The wing I was working  on  was  mostly 
         orthopaedic  patients.  It  wasn't  very  crowded,   and 
         several of the rooms only had one patient in them. As  I 
         pushed  my  cart along, I reached the last room  in  the 
         corridor,  took  a  bottle  off  the  car  and   breezed 
         unannounced  into a room. I didn't think before  pushing 
         aside  the privacy curtains around the bed, and  I  soon 
         learned  why  they  were closed! The  patient,  a  good-
         looking  male around my age, was sitting up in  the  bed 
         masturbating  himself  while looking at  a  pornographic 
         magazine! While my sudden entrance briefly startled him, 
         his reaction startled me. 


           "Well,"  he said, "did you come to just watch, or  did 
         you  want  to  give me a hand!"  I  then  realized  that 
         instead  of putting the ice bottle down and  leaving,  I 
         had just stood there staring at his huge prick. Maybe it 
         was because I hadn't seen an erect cock at home in a few 
         weeks,  or  maybe I was just in shock  at  finding  this 
         patient  jerking  himself off. Whatever  the  reason,  I 
         finally responded by blushing, mumbling "excuse me," and 
         rushing out of the room. 


           Soon  it was time to go home, but that night  I  could 
         hardly sleep. And, when I did, all I did was dream about 
         that  man holding his huge cock and pumping his hand  up 
         and  down the shaft. I soon woke up and, with  fantasies 
         of  that big cock floating through my head, I  began  to 
         caress  my clit with my fingers, moving slowly  until  I 
         felt a wetness between my legs. My clit was now  swollen 
         and  responding  to the least bit of pressure, so  as  I 
         rubbed it around and round, I inserted two fingers  into 
         my cunt. Imagining they were the patient's huge cock,  I 
         felt  my body began to respond. But, I knew  my  fingers 
         were no match for his huge prick. I began to rub my clit 
         and cunt faster and faster, and a quickening arose in my 
         twat.  Faster  and faster I moved my hands, but  my  own 
         hands could not provide the satisfaction I needed! 

           
           Reaching  over  I tried to arouse my  husband,  and  I 
         started rubbing my hands up and down his flaccid  shaft. 
         But, there was no response, either from him, or his limp 
         prick. He was deep in sleep, probably dreaming about the 
         fuel-saving benefits of a 18,000 horsepower diesel earth 
         mover!  It was no use! I rolled over, and with my  juicy 
         cunt longing for a good fucking, cried myself to sleep. 


           The next day was Tuesday, and because I didn't have  a 
         shift  at  the hospital until Wednesday, I went  to  the 
         hairdresser, got my nails done, bought some make-up, and 
         finished my food shopping. Oddly enough, I didn't  think 
         about the patient, or his huge cock, all day or night. I 
         didn't even think about him when I reported for duty the 
         next  day!  But, it wasn't long before  I  was  thinking 
         about him. When the nurse told me to take the  newspaper 
         down to Room 101, I felt my heart jump. 


           As I walked down the hall with the paper in my hand, I 
         didn't  know if the lump in my throat was from  fear  or 
         anticipation.  It wasn't long before I found  out!  This 
         time,  I knocked at the door and heard the man say  come 
         in. His privacy curtains were open, so I mustered up  my 
         courage  and  walked over to the bed and  held  out  the 
         paper  to him. He just sat there and smiled, and it  was 
         almost  like  he was reading my mind.  "Please  put  the 
         paper on the table," he said. "I'll read it later." 


           I  was  just getting ready to turn and leave,  when  I 
         heard  him  push  the switch  that  closes  the  privacy 
         curtains.  As  the curtains closed around  us,  he  said 
         "There's something I want you to see." 


           With that, he pulled the waistband of his pajamas down 
         to  reveal his huge cock. I realized then that I  wanted 
         to  see  it as much as he wanted me to see  it.  It  was 
         beautiful,  and he must have seen my appreciation of  it 
         in my face. "Would you like to hold it?" he asked. 


           Instead  of  answering, I reached over  and  took  his 
         organ in my hand. As I began to move my hand up and down 
         the  shaft, I could see and feel it gorging with  blood, 
         growing longer and thicker with each caress of my  hand. 
         "That's  nice," he said. "Your hands feel much nicer  on 
         my cock than my own hands. 
           Pump a little faster if you want to!" 


           My  hand  started sliding up and down his shaft  in  a 
         fast rhythm, but I soon realized his prick was too  much 
         for  one  hand. One hand grabbed the base of  his  cock, 
         while the other massaged the meaty head of his shaft. He 
         started to move his hips in tandem with my grasps  along 
         the  length of his shaft, and soon I saw the  glistening 
         of  semen  that dribbles out when excitement  starts  to 
         build. 


           Having been without sex for several weeks, I  couldn't 
         control  myself  any  longer. Leaning over  the  bed,  I 
         sucked his cock deep into my mouth, and began to run  my 
         mouth  up and down the shaft so that his tip  must  have 
         went halfway down my throat. It was only seconds  before 
         I felt his hot cum squirting in torrents down my throat, 
         into  my  mouth,  and dribbling out onto  my  cheeks.  I 
         sucked and sucked on his prick until every last drop  of 
         cum  was gone. As I did, I felt my juices dripping  down 
         my  thighs  as a wave of satisfaction swept  through  my 
         body. 


           Suddenly,  we  heard steps in the hallway,  and  as  I 
         quickly  composed  myself, he covered  himself  up  like 
         nothing happened. A few seconds later the nurse came  in 
         and sent me on some errands. 


           When  I came back to work on Friday, the patient  with 
         the  big cock was gone. I never saw him again, but  from 
         that day on my sex life got better and better. You  see, 
         the  nurse  wasn't coming down to the room that  day  to 
         send me on an errand. She had been blowing the guy  ever 
         since he was in the hospital (I don't think anything was 
         wrong  with  him---he  just liked to spend  a  few  days 
         getting sucked!), and he told her I gave head almost  as 
         good as the head nurse! 


           Well,  she  spread the word around the  hospital,  and 
         soon  I  was  spreading my legs, my  cunt,  my  ass  and 
         everything  else  for doctors, interns,  orderlies!  You 
         name  it, I fucked it! It's a little easier  putting  up 
         with my husband's lack of interest in sex now. I get all 
         the  money I want at home, and all the sex (and more)  I 
         need at the hospital. 


           And,  just yesterday the staff named me "Volunteer  of 
         the Year!" 


         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+




                    JULIA'S 10 MOST ASKED QUESTIONS


                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           (`Julia' (not her real name) is the sister whose story 
         is  related  in  `Consequences'.    The  mother  of  her 
         brother's  Tom's two children, Shonagh and William,  for 
         some  time,  she  had  assisted in  the  writing  of  an 
         syndicated  `agony' column for a well- known  syndicated 
         newspaper group.   Here, exploding a number of paradigms 
         and misconceptions as she goes, she replies to an often-
         asked  question:  `in  incest, what  are  the  ten  most 
         prevalent questions?')



                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


         Why do people do it?



           I'd don't know about everyone else, but as far as I am 
           concerned,  it was for the same reason as  ever  other 
           woman  wants to live with a man.    Without  realising 
           it,  I  fell in love with my brother at a  very  early 
           age, and how it grew out of that is a very long story, 
           but  suffice it to say that by the age of 24,  because 
           of   a   sudden  shift  in  my   matrimonial   status, 
           circumstances  threw  us together. Obviously,  it  had 
           been  laying  under  the surface all  that  time,  and 
           `bang!' everything happened in about five minutes.

           No   matter   who   is   involved;    father/daughter, 
           mother/son,  sister/brother, the thing everyone  seems 
           happy to forget is that in incest, `love' is  involved 
           in  it  somewhere!   The sooner people  take  that  on 
           board and stop trying to legislate for other  people's 
           emotions, the quicker all the subsidiary problems will 
           be resolved.


         What are the risks to progeny?


           Genetics  are more a question for medical people,  but 
           for  `first-generation'  children from incest,  it  is 
           much  less  riskier  than  people  generally  believe.   
           Elsewhere  in  the animal world, incest  is  part  and 
           parcel  of  the  natural life-cycle  and  deformed  or 
           otherwise deprived off-spring are very rare.

           A  bigger  risk  to incestuous progeny  is  that  they 
           usually  get spoilt to death.   Except in cases  where 
           sexual attention has been forced on a relative  (which 
           has everything to do with rape and nothing to do  with 
           incest), in the majority of cases, children are  borne 
           through  loving conception; if they  weren't  `special 
           children' before, after birth, they certainly are, and 
           it  is very difficult for the parents not to  enshrine 
           the  children  as virtual `living-gods'.    Keeping  a 
           sense  of  perspective and raising  them  as  `normal' 
           children can be very difficult.   There are a thousand 
           reasons for it, which would fill many books, time  and 
           again.


         When you found you were pregnant, what did you do?


           Personally, I jumped for joy.   I'd been wanting Tom's 
           baby  for a couple of years, it is just one  of  those 
           `loving'  things which, because of  our  relationship, 
           was probably very much stronger in me than other women 
           in  `normal' relationships.   When the  pregnancy  was 
           confirmed,  I realised I'd been wanting it  since  the 
           age of puberty, so all told I was very happy.

           Initially,  there  often were times  when  the  little 
           insidious voice of doubt got to me, and to Tom, but we 
           supported  each  other and with some  positive  mental 
           effort,  were able to push the problems to  one  side.   
           In  the  event, both children were  perfectly  normal, 
           (except  they  are much  more  mentally-brighter  than 
           their parents, but we do not know whether that is just 
           evolution or because they are the results of incest).


         Have you no shame?


           To  people who ask this, I always feel  like  bursting 
           out  laughing!   My `husband' is extremely  happy,  as 
           are our children; we live a very honest life together, 
           there are no secrets and we have never lied, misled or 
           deceived each other in any way at all.   

           Within  my  sphere of influence, my son  is  extremely 
           confident, calm, a natural gentleman who treats  other 
           people (particularly women) with respect, and who  has 
           learnt the virtues of loving, and - we think - has got 
           his priorities in the right order, i.e. is exactly how 
           most other people would be happy to see their children 
           develop.   In all areas of his life, including sexual, 
           exactly  the same as any other parent, I have done  my 
           absolute  best for his happiness in the short,  medium 
           and  kong-term future, and although  through  people's 
           questions,  I often think about it, I'm sorry,  but  I 
           have  absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.   But by  a 
           similar token, should I have fallen short of doing  my 
           best for him by denying him something which was in  my 
           power  to give, including myself and my body,  I  most 
           certainly would feel ashamed.


         What trauma is caused to the children?


           By  dictionary  definition, `trauma' means  injury  by 
           shock,  and in that context, we'd defy anyone  to  see 
           where  our  children have ever  been  `shocked'.    As 
           doors   have  opened  to  them  in  life,   with   our 
           encouragement,  they  have gone  through  those  doors 
           which have appealed to them.   That on the other  side 
           of  the door lay an emotional and  physical  love-life 
           involving  their  relatives is a  `by-the-way'  thing; 
           there  are many more events in day-to-day  life  which 
           cause  untold harm and trauma, but people very  rarely 
           become concerned about that.   Tom and I consider  the 
           art  of  the  exercise lays in  letting  things  occur 
           naturally  to children as they go through life; it  is 
           only  when the `shock', `horror',  `tragedy'  syndrome 
           comes  into people's lives that they  become  shocked, 
           horrified and tragic.

           If  there  was any `trauma' involved,  in  my  earlier 
           life, it came about by my desperately trying to  force 
           myself away from what was, to me, a very natural  path 
           of loving my family members!

           What  we  are talking about, I  suppose,  is  teaching 
           children  how  to  cope  calmly  and  not  only   with 
           `ordinary life', our children were also taught how  to 
           cope  with sex, their bodies and those of  the  people 
           around them.   


         At what age did you become involved in incest?


           Theoretically,  when I was 24 and Tom was 26,  but  it 
           actually  started  when I was 4 and he was  6.    From 
           unwitting  actions and the social environment  of  the 
           time,  fuel  was very gradually added  to  the  flames 
           until  one day, as I said, circumstances  changed  and 
           within  us both was a raging, forest fire.   But  from 
           the  tiniest  events,  it was like  a  chain  reaction 
           spread  over  the  next  twenty  years.    `For  every 
           action,  there  is an equal  and  opposite  reaction',  
           which is why we called our story `Consequences!' 


         How did you become involved?


           People  have hypothesised that it was  through  child-
           curiosity, which seems to be a `knee-jerk' answer  for 
           things they are happy children cannot experience,  but 
           I  remember the day in the most intimate detail,  even 
           to  how I felt.   Probably because I was too young  to 
           have  attracted  the sophistication  and  cynicism  of 
           adulthood,  when  it  was  happening  to  me,  I  felt 
           completely  innocent,  extremely happy and  loved  the 
           person  who  was doing it to me very, very  much.    A 
           bond  formed, and being the character he is, he  never 
           naturally did the things people do to each other which 
           destroys  the  bond; if anything  over  the  following 
           years,  by and large, everything he did added  to  it.  
           That he was my brother was just one of those things. 


           When  it  came to making love to him and  living  with 
           him, I certainly experienced no hang-ups; what we  had 
           for each other burnt away any other consideration.


         Did your parents ever find out?


           As  we  relate in our story, although  Mum  was  never 
           officially  told - in our family, we  never  discussed 
           ANYTHING - we believe she eventually guessed.   To the 
           day  he  died, Dad never caught on,  it  would  simply 
           never have occurred to him. 


         When  it comes to loving your son, how do you deal  with 
         the guilt?


           The  short  answer is, what guilt?   We are  open  and 
           honest  together, we do everything to keep each  other 
           happy, we put effort into each other's lives, so where 
           can guilt come from?   I'd feel guilty if any of those 
           things were missing, not because they are there!


         If your `husband' ever left you, what would you do?


           This  always  implies that because of  our  `illegal', 
           `immoral'  life-style,  I have a `hold' over  him,  or 
           would   feel  differently  to  any  other  woman.    A 
           difficult  question to answer, it seems  well  outside 
           the  province of our life-style and into the world  of 
           any loving-relationship.

           If  any  person is well-loved, well-wanted  and  well-
           needed,  and  their love-life is happy,  they  do  not 
           wander away.   If Tom REALLY wanted `out', then I love 
           him  enough  to want him to be free, even of  me,  but 
           really,  granted the state of his home-life,  I  don't 
           think  such a proposition ever crosses anyone's  mind.   
           With  two very-loving `wives', a young  grand-daughter 
           and  freedom to do as you wish, whenever  you  wished, 
           would YOU leave?


         (To  obtain  a free copy of the first parts  of  Julia's 
         life-story with her brother, `Tom', email:

                      `CQ1-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'

         One of our "Case-Book" series.


         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+


                       "ELECTRA AND HER DAUGHTERS" 



                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


           Both Doctors of Philosophy,, the verified work of  two 
         American   researchers,  `Electra  And  Her   Daughters' 
         relates  11  true accounts of  incestuous  relationships 
         started  and  maintained by the female  of  the  specie.   
         The  distaff  side  of the Oedipus Complex,  a  term  in 
         psychiatry,  `Electra'  was  a  Greek  goddess  desiring 
         sexual-relations  with her father.   Taken from  written 
         accounts   supplied   by  the   person   involved,   the 
         authenticity  of  which  has been  verified  as  far  as 
         possible, the following is the story of:   





           Edward: "A daughter ought to be a comfort..." 
 

           [When  we  began our search for participants  in  non-
         traumatic  incestuous  relationships,  our  expectations 
         were if we received any responses at all, they would  be 
         from  women.     At least physically,  whilst  most  men 
         would  undoubtedly  enjoy such a relationship,  we  were 
         almost  totally  certain they would not respond  to  our 
         appeal,  either because their consciences would not  let 
         them  and/or because they were sure in their  own  minds 
         their  partners in incest did not share their  feelings. 
         So, the following letter from `Edward' came as  somewhat 
         of a surprise to us, as anticipated by its writer. FB.] 



           Dear Dr. VB: 


           I  imagine  that you will be surprised to  be  hearing 
         from  a  man;  everything  I  have  read  lately   about 
         incestuous  relations between fathers and daughters  has 
         been  written  by  women, for whom  the  experience  was 
         traumatic. No doubt their fathers did not find what they 
         were  doing traumatic, or they would not have  done  it, 
         but you won't be getting any letters from them! But, let 
         me introduce myself: 


           I  am forty years old, an attorney - who  should  (and 
         does) know what he is doing is against the law.


           An  avid tennis player, I am physically very fit.    I 
         have  also been called handsome but however, my wife  of 
         eighteen  years  apparently  didn't  find  me   handsome 
         enough,  because  she left me a little over a year  ago, 
         running  off with my partner, Richard, and most  of  the 
         negotiables,   leaving  me  with  our   fifteen-year-old 
         daughter, Roberta. 


           Needless to say, `Bobbie,' as everyone calls her,  and 
         I  were  devastated  by my  wife's  abandonment  of  her 
         family,  and  even moreso by the discovery  that  before 
         leaving  town,  she  had `slept  around'  with,  I  must 
         assume, her `favourite' corespondent. 


           For  the first few months after my  wife's  departure, 
         I'm afraid I wasn't a very good father to our daughter - 
         as  though  I am, now! At any rate, I did not  take  the 
         interest a parent should in the life of a teenage  girl. 
         In other words, my supervision of her was quite cursory.  
         Of  course,  I knew she was dating, but so long  as  her 
         dates were from `our set', I didn't object. 


           Then, late one Sunday afternoon, Bobbie came home from 
         a  supervised swimming party at a boy's house  and  went 
         straight  to  her room. She was wearing a  long,  floppy 
         sweat-shirt  which came down barely far enough to  cover 
           her well-rounded bottom. There was something I  wanted 
           to  ask her, so I rose from where I had been  watching 
           TV and followed her. 


           Although  I always knocked before entering  her  room, 
         since  it had hardly been more than five  seconds  since 
         she  had entered it, that day I opened her door  without 
         knocking and walked in a step or so. 


           Bobbie is sixteen years old, about five foot three and 
         a  hundred and five pounds.   With  medium-length  dark-
         blonde  hair and hazel eyes, her breasts are  about  the 
         size  of oranges, her waist is slim, and her  bottom  is 
         like  two halves of a small, round water-melon.    As  I 
         entered, she was standing by her bed, half-facing in  my 
         direction and in the process of removing it, had  pulled 
         her floppy top up  so that her head was engulfed in  it. 
         Below,  she  was  wearing the bottom  of  her  two-piece 
         swimsuit  but  her  breasts  were  completely  bare.   I 
         couldn't keep myself from audibly gasping at the sight. 


            When she heard my intake of breath, Bobbie pulled her 
         top  down  so  she could see over  its  folds,  but  her 
         jutting of her breasts prevented it from coming down far 
         enough  to hide them completely.    Naturally,  since  I 
         did  always knock before entering, her eyes showed  some 
         surprise and she said, "Daddy?" 


           I  tried - God, how I tried! - to divert my gaze  from 
         her  half-nude body, but for a long moment I could  only 
         stare  at  her. Then I said, "I'm sorry,  Dear,"  and  I 
         turned toward the door. 


           Before  I  could  go  through  it  though,  she  said, 
         "Daddy,"  again,  and I turned back toward  her.     Not 
         very  diligently, I'm afraid, Bobbie was now  trying  to 
         pull  her  top down farther, but her bare  breasts  were 
         still  nearly completely visible to me. Keeping my  eyes 
         away  from  those luscious mounds exposed before  me,  I 
         tried  hard to look into her eyes and she  was  blushing 
         profusely. "The catch on the bra of my swimsuit  broke," 
         she  explained. "That's why I don't have it on under  my 
         pullover." 


           "I  see,"  I  said,  and  then  saw  her  eyes   flick 
         downwards.  At the sight of those lovely little breasts, 
         I could feel my penis rapidly growing hard and realizing 
         there  was  no way I could hide my  condition  from  her 
         gaze, I turned again to the door. 


           "Daddy," Bobbie said again, and I turned back to  her. 
         She  had abandoned her top, leaving her breasts in  full 
         view.  "Do you think my breasts are pretty?" she  asked, 
         and   pulled  her  shoulders  back  to   enhance   their 
         appearance.  Not knowing what to say, I  gulped  deeply. 
         "You  haven't  seen them since they developed.  I  mean, 
         uncovered,"  she  went on.   "Well," she  insisted,  "do 
         you?" 


           "Do I what?" I asked, my mind in a complete dither. 


           "Think  my  breasts  are  pretty,  silly,"  she  said, 
         smiling at me. 


           "They're-beautiful,  Sweetheart,"  Glancing  at   them 
         again in spite of myself, to my dismay, I noticed  their 
         nipples were now erect. 


           "Daddy,"  said  Bobbie in her gentlest  voice,  "Am  I 
         giving you a problem?" 


           "Why,  no," I lied, but saw her eyes were fastened  on 
         the  unmistakable bulge profiled in my shorts. Her  eyes 
         rose to meet mine as she said, 


           "Are you sure?" 


           After the break-up of my marriage I had not engaged in 
         sex  with  anyone, getting a job with a large  law  firm 
         where the only women were either elderly secretaries  or 
         the masculine-looking, hard-as-nails type with about  as 
         much  sex appeal as a book of statutes.   Fear  of  AIDS 
         prevented  me from even thinking of seeking relief  from 
         anyone  else I came into contact with and  the sight  of 
         the  half-nude body of my sixteen-year-old daughter  was 
         reminding  me just how deprived I had been.   "Well,  of 
         course  you are!" I almost shouted at her. "I am  human, 
         you know, even if I am your father!"  


           My  daughter  smiled  at me  in  apparent  sympathetic 
         understanding.  In hardly more than a whisper, she asked 
         "Have  you   had sex with anybody since Mom  left?"  she 
         asked. 


           I shook my head. "The AIDS thing has . . ." 


           Bobbie  cut  off  my  stumbling  words.  Stating   the 
         obvious, she observed, "Then you must be feeling awfully 
         horny," and I wondered where she had learned that word. 


           Somewhat defensively, I said, "Well, of course I  miss 
         sex. I'm just not cut out for celibacy." 


           A  very serious look came over Bobbie's  lovely  face. 
         "Do you want to do it to me?" she asked. 


           Interpreting  her question to mean she was  astounded, 
         even horrified, that I was obviously sexually aroused at 
         the  sight of my own daughter's body, I said,  "Darling, 
         I'm  sorry.   Whether he wanted it to or not, the  sight 
         of a beautiful young nearly-naked body like yours  would 
         stimulate any man." 


           Understanding my disavowal, Bobbie shook her head.  "I 
         wasn't condemning you," she said. "I was inviting you." 


           Unable   to  believe  my  ears,  I  stared   at   her, 
         speechless. 


           Her voice soft, Bobbie went one. "Did you know, before 
         she went away,  Mom got me a prescription for the pill?" 
         and  surprised,  I shook my head.  "Uh-huh,"  she  said, 
         nodding  her head. "When I started dating and having  my 
         periods.  Mom said they would help my  complexion."  She 
         laughed.   "But  I knew she thought I'd probably  do  it 
         with somebody before long.   I guess she thought I might 
         have inherited her `hot pants' and she didn't want me to 
         get pregnant. 


           "So,  I don't see why I can't help you  sometimes.  It 
         isn't as though you're going to knock me up and have  to 
         pay for an abortion." 


           I  was  aghast  at her suggestion.    "But  you're  my 
         daughter." 


           As  though that were hardly worth considering,  Bobbie 
         shrugged her shoulders.   Pointedly looking again toward 
         my  crotch,  she  said, "And a daughter ought  to  be  a 
         comfort to her father.   Not a problem! 


           Bobbie  looked at me very seriously. "I  know   you've 
         had a pretty rough time of it since Mother ran off.    I 
         know knew men needed sex every so often, so wouldn't  it 
         be better for you to do it with me than take the  chance 
         of catching `some horrible disease' from someone else?" 


           When  I didn't respond, Bobbie was  insistent.  "Well, 
         wouldn't it? You mentioned the AIDS thing, yourself." 


           Vehemently shaking my head, I said, "I'm not going  to 
         take your virginity." 


           Staring  at me for a moment as though I  were  someone 
         from an earlier century, Bobbie threw her head back  and 
         laughed  lightly. "That's already been taken  care  of!" 
         she said. 


           My  jaw  dropped open. I had not wanted  to  think  my 
         beautiful  young  daughter might have already  lost  her 
         virginity,  but  with  a  face and  body  like  hers,  I 
         shouldn't  have been surprised. And I  certainly  didn't 
         want to think she might have inherited her mother's `hot 
         pants!' 


           Frowning  at my stunned look, Bobbie said, "Well,  I'm 
         not a tramp! I've only done it three times, and with the 
         same  boy. And if you're wondering," she went  on,  "I'm 
         the first and only girl he's done it with. So you  don't 
         have  to worry about me having caught some disease  from 
         him." 


           My mind in a turmoil, I was still speechless and stood 
         staring at he. After a moment or two, Bobbie reached  up 
         and,  finishing pulling her top off over her  head,  she 
         slipped   the  skimpy  bottom  of  her  suit  over   her 
         beautifully-rounded  bottom,  letting  it  drop  to  the 
         floor. Stepping out of it, she turned to face me. At the 
         top  of  her slit, the tuft of hair was  the  same  dark 
         blonde as the hair on her head, but there was so  little 
         of it I could see her genital lips disappearing  between 
         her thighs. I groaned! She smiled sympathetically at  my 
         discomfort - what an inadequate word! - and sat down  on 
         the edge of her bed. Holding her arms out toward me, she 
         said, "Daddy, I love you. Let me help you." 


           Now, Dr. VB, if there is a man alive who can walk away 
         from  an  invitation like that from  such  a  delectable 
         example  of female youth, I will eat his hat, his  coat, 
         and his trousers! Yes, I succumbed, and daughter or not, 
         I defy any man to say he wouldn't have done likewise!  I 
         walked  -  no, staggered - to Bobbie and  kneeling  down 
         before her, put my arms around her waist and my head  on 
         those  luscious,  soft young breasts. Putting  her  arms 
         around  my neck and pressing my cheek to her bosom,   as 
         though  I were a baby in her arms, she rocked  back  and 
         forth. Then putting her hands on my biceps, she urged me 
         to rise. 


           Standing  me before her, Bobbie unfastened my  shorts, 
         pulling  them  down so they dropped  around  my  ankles. 
         Causing  my erection to spring upright not over  a  foot 
         from  her  face,  grasping the waistband  of  my  jockey 
         shorts, she pulled them down too. 


           Smiling  grimly  at her look of surprise,  I  thought, 
         `Not the half-grown cock of some pimply-faced  teenager, 
         is it, my sweet?' 


           Gingerly,  Bobby  took  my  penis  in  her  hand   and 
         examining  it closely, moved it this way and  that.  "So 
         that's where I came from," she said. And then she looked 
         up at me and said, "Daddy?" 


           Thinking my cock being larger than she'd expected, she 
         was  having second thoughts - and, if she did, I  didn't 
         know if I could prevent myself from raping her!, I asked 
         "What?" 


           "I  really am doing this just to help you," she  said. 
         Bobbie lay back on the bed, her thighs spread  slightly, 
         and smiled up at me. 


           "I  know,  Honey," I said.   Climbing in  between  her 
         legs, which she opened wider to receive me, I removed my 
         shirt and laid myself between them. 


           "What  I mean is, when you are feeling  really  horny, 
         you  can come to me," Bobbie said. "But I don't want  to 
         do it, like every night, just for your pleasure." 


           "I understand, Sweetheart," I said, and a smile on her 
         lips,  Bobbie  lay back and waited for  my  penetration.    
         Arms  up, hands beside her head on the pillow, her  body 
         totally  relaxed, it was almost as if she were simply  a 
         little  girl  again,  waiting for Daddy to  read  her  a 
         story.  


           Approaching  her gingerly and placing the head  of  my 
         penis  into  her slit, to my  surprise,  it  encountered 
         dampness.  Bobbie's  juices were flowing, and  with  the 
         lubricant  seeping from the end of my cock, I  was  sure 
         entry  would  be no problem. Pushing forward,  my  penis 
         slid in to about half its length and Oh, God! she was so 
         tight!     Retreating an inch and pushed again,  it  was 
         all  the  way  in her.  Probably because  my  penis  was 
         larger than the other one she had experienced, there was 
         a  flickering  of  her eyelids and  a  quick  intake  of 
         breath, but then she smiled again. 


           Positioning  myself over her, I began  the  in-and-out 
         movements.   Looking down her flat tummy and watching my 
         cock, shiny with our juices, disappear into her and then 
         reappear was the most fascinating sight of my life! 


           No  matter how urgent my need for relief, I make  sure 
         my  partner enjoys her own orgasm, and  even  though  it 
         had  been a `long time between drinks', I didn't  intend 
         for  this time to be an exception.    Making long,  slow 
         insertions  and withdrawals, moving a little from  side-
         to-side  to stimulate the nerve-endings in the walls  of 
         her  vagina,  I  made my  pubic  bone  massage  Bobbie's 
         clitoris  when I was completely within her.    Realizing 
         later  I was taking substantially longer than any  self-
         serving  teenage  boy was likely to, I did  this  for  a 
         considerable  time and then the expression on  her  face 
         began  to change. A very thoughtful look appearing,  and  
         clutching at the pillow slip on either side of her head, 
         Bobbie  didn't seem to know what to do with  her  hands.   
         Until  now, she had been lying perfectly still, but  her 
         bottom  began  making  small,  jerky  moves  against  my 
         middle.  Looking  at  me  with  half-closed  eyes,   she 
         suddenly said, "Daddy?" 


           "What, Sweetheart?" I said, not slowing my pace. 


           In a high, quavering voice, she said, "Can girls  c-c-
         come?". 


           Surprised, I stopped all movement and said, "Of course 
         they can." I looked down into her face, and asked,  "You 
         haven't had an orgasm when you've done this before?" 


           Closing  her  eyes, Bobbie shook her  head.  "I  don't 
         know," she said. 


           "Oh  darling,  when  you have one,  you'll  know  it!" 
         Resuming  my  in-and-out motions, in  a  still-quavering 
         voice and almost as if she hadn't even heard my comment, 
         Bobbie  continued, "But I'm feeling funnier and  funnier 
         down there. 


           "Oh,  boy! Oh-h-h, bo-o-y!"   Bobbie's  arms  suddenly 
         went around my neck, and she pushed her buttocks  upward 
         in short, sharp jabs. "Oh, Daddeee!" she cried and as  I 
         felt the muscles of her tight little pussy clamp  around 
         my  turgid  cock,  I hit the  high-spot.  Cum  exploding 
         through my shaft like bullets from a machine-gun barrel, 
         Bobbie  clutched me to her breasts, her body shaking  so 
         hard I was afraid for her. 


           And then she fell back, and I collapsed on top of her. 


           After  a few moments' rest, I rolled over  and  pulled 
         her  head onto my shoulder. I kissed her cheek,  and  my 
         lips  tasted a salty tear.   Truly concerned,  I  asked,  
         "I didn't hurt you, did I, Precious?" 


           Bobbie  shook  her head and peeped at me  out  of  the 
         corner of her wet eyes. "No, Daddy. It was -  beautiful! 
         I  didn't  know  it could be  like  that."  Her  breasts 
         rubbing  against  my ribs, she snuggled up  to  me,  and 
         after a moment, put her lips to my ear. 


           "You  know  what  I  said?"  she  asked,  in  a  voice 
         surprisingly  husky  for  her age, "I  mean,  about  you 
         coming to me just when you were really horny?" I nodded, 
         yes. "Well, you can forget that," she said. Then  Bobbie 
         chuckled, almost to herself. "You can do that to me  any 
         time you want!" 


           Figuring  they were just showing their ignorance,  she 
         later  told  me she'd heard girls talk  about  `coming'.   
         How  could a girl come, she'd wondered, if  she  doesn't 
         ejaculate  semen?    Knowing it felt pretty good  to  do 
         it,  Bobbie said, "But I hadn't expected  anything  like 
         that!" 


           Having experienced her first orgasm, she has not  been 
         shy about seeking repetitions. The `anytime you want to' 
         has  become  anytime  she  wants  to,  and  that  is   - 
         frequently! 


           What her former boy-friend thinks, I don't know  since 
         she tells me that she has `cut him off' entirely. And  I 
         don't  know  what is going to happen in  the  future.  I 
         suppose  she'll  get married one of these  days,  and  I 
         probably  will, too. But, for now, I just have to  admit 
         that I'm not strong enough to resist Bobbie's youth  and 
         beauty.  And enthusiasm! 

           Sincerely yours, 

           Edward 


           P.S.  So you won't think I have made all this  up,  or 
         that  my daughter might have a different story to  tell, 
         I'm going to show this letter to Bobbie and tell her she 
         can add her own comments if she wants to, so - 


           Dear Dr. VB: I love my Daddy, and I am so glad that he 
         gave  me my very first orgasm because I might  not  have 
         ever  had  one if he hadn't. Well, I  guess  I  probably 
         would  have,  sooner or later. Anyhow, I love  doing  it 
         with  him!  And I really love it when he brings  me  off 
         with  his tongue in my pussy! (I see he didn't tell  you 
         about that, though! Ha, ha!) Yours truly, Bobbie 


           P.P.S. I promised her that I wouldn't change  anything 
         she  wanted  to  add to the letter, so I  won't.  But  I 
         notice that she didn't tell you how she can suck my very 
         soul  out of me through my penis with her  sweet,  young 
         mouth. (So there, my love!) 


           Edward 


           P.P.P.S. Daddy! Bobbie    


         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+


                             CAROL AND TOM 


                            by `Nom de Plume'     
          

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



           We  were dirt poor, as it was called then. There  were 
         many poor families in the Depression, and we were  among 
         the  poorest.  Our  father  did  what  he  could:   auto 
         mechanic,  home  handyman,  occasional  logger,  but  we 
         sometimes  didn't have enough to eat - my  twin  sister, 
         Carol and I. We were 15 and had not known any other way. 
         We had always been poor, but happy. 


           At  least as I look back on it now, I realize we  were 
         happy.  We weren't comfortable and our daily lives  were 
         filled  with  the chores one must do when  there  is  no 
         central heat, no plumbing, and very little money to  buy 
         food.  We  lived  in  western  Virginia,  in  the   Blue 
         Mountains.  Carol did the cooking and house-cleaning.  I 
         chopped  wood in the fall and winter, tried to stop  the 
         roof  from  leaking, slaughtered the  chickens  and  the 
         other  man-chores around the house. We attended  a  one-
         room school that we walked to. We were the oldest in the 
         class  since our father was not a farmer. We  had  never 
         been  farther  than our local town,  Thompsonville,  and 
         that only on special occasions or on Sunday. 


           Our  cabin  was  tiny,  just  three  rooms  -  a  main 
         living/dining/kitchen  with  one  wood  stove  and   two 
         bedrooms.  Our  father  had a bedroom and  Carol  and  I 
         shared  one.  Back  then this  was  acceptable,  out  of 
         necessity.  Boys and girls frequently shared  a  bedroom 
         with several siblings. We had small beds not quite  long 
         enough for our lanky teenaged bodies, and we each had  a 
         home-made  dresser.  Our headboards butted  in  opposite 
         directions  so  we couldn't see each  other  when  lying 
         down. We had no closet and hung coats and things on pegs 
         along  one wall. There was a window on the outside  wall 
         through which the virgin forest dominated the view. 


           I  had  reached puberty - that is, I had  grown  pubic 
         hair - a little after my 14th birthday. My knowledge  of 
         sex  was limited to barnyard observances. I had no  idea 
         how humans did it. I started masturbating in the  spring 
         following  my 15th birthday. Our little cabin  and  tiny 
         bedroom afforded little privacy so I got into the  habit 
         of waking up in the middle of the night, when I knew  my 
         sister   would   be  asleep,  to  masturbate.   It   was 
         impossible,  what  with  the rusty  springs  and  wooden 
         floor,  to  be  entirely silent about it  but  I  tried. 
         Having  to  go  slowly  and the  fear  of  being  caught 
         heightened the experience and I did it almost nightly. 


           One night as I was almost silently stroking and  ready 
         to come, I thought I heard an unusual sound from in back 
         of  me. I froze immediately and waited. And waited.  The 
         sound did not recur and my cock was ready to burst, so I 
         gave  it some quick strokes and shot a very  large  load 
         all  over my pajamas. There it was, that sound again!  I 
         couldn't place it but it almost sounded like water, like 
         the creek in the hollow, like a slurping sound. 


           A  few  nights later, as I was stroking  away  in  the 
         middle  of the night, I heard the sound. I froze, but  - 
         being bolder now - started up again soon. This time  the 
         sound was louder and I didn't stop and the sound  didn't 
         stop.  This went on for a few weeks. I supposed she  was 
         masturbating,  but - remember this was the Thirties  and 
         before widely available pornography - I didn't know  how 
         girls masturbated. The possibility that she was doing to 
         herself  something like what I was doing  was  extremely 
         exciting for me and I looked forward to hearing her.  We 
         each tried to be quiet but I think each of us knew  that 
         the other knew. 


           Sharing a bedroom meant that, no matter how  carefully 
         we planned it, accidents of overly exposed skin happened 
         all  too frequently. I had seen my sister's  naked  body 
         often  enough to watch it change. Her hips widened,  her 
         nipples and then her breasts swelled, and although I saw 
         it  less frequently, she started growing hair in  the  V 
         where  her legs met. She had seen me naked also  and  we 
         had  both  been  secretly  curious  about  each  other's 
         bodies.  Lately  though, I noticed Carol  trying  harder 
         than  normal  to catch me. Once I saw  her  watching  me 
         bathe in the creek. 


           One morning I awoke sleepily and in desperate need  of 
         a  good  long piss. As I stumbled to the door  my  erect 
         cock slipped out of the slit in the front of my pajamas. 
         I  heard a gasp from her and quickly tucked it back  in. 
         That  night I masturbated twice while  remembering  that 
         gasp. Both times I heard the slurping again. 


           Partly due to my nightly pleasure sessions I was,  and 
         still  am, a light sleeper. One night I awoke gently  to 
         hear the floor creeping. I opened my eyes just barely to 
         see  my  sister,  in  her  pajamas,  oh-  so-slowly  and 
         gingerly tiptoeing toward my bed. She was looking at  my 
         crotch,  and  seeing  my  erection  bobbing  out  of  my 
         pajamas. I pretended to be asleep as she crept closer. I 
         was  scared, to tell you the truth. What  was  happening 
         was new, taboo, and exciting. She knelt down next to  my 
         bed and watched it for the longest time. Needless to say 
         this  was very stimulating to me and my cock bobbed  for 
         attention. After a while, she crept back to her bed  and 
         I heard the slurping sound again. 


           This continued for some time, this nightly  inspection 
         at  attention and became the fantasy I thought  of  when 
         masturbating.  One  night  I just got so  turned  on  by 
         exposing  myself  to her that I had to touch  myself.  I 
         figured I had to pretend I was doing it in my sleep  and 
         almost  casually  jerked my hand across my cock.  I  saw 
         Carol jump but she dared not move suddenly or the  floor 
         would make a definite and loud noise. I decided that the 
         most  I could do was one more brush of my hand  over  my 
         hard-on. This time I squeezed it between two fingers  as 
         my hand went over it. In spite of herself, she gasped. 


           Well, this was getting interesting. Carol didn't  show 
         up   at  my  bedside  for  several  nights  and  I   was 
         disappointed. I thought I had scared her away. One night 
         I  became  aware of her presence and,  still  pretending 
         sleep,  stroked  my  cock casually  several  times.  She 
         stayed. After a little while, I stroked it several  more 
         times,  then  waited, then several more times.  All  the 
         while my movements were slow and awkward enough so  that 
         I could claim sleep if questioned. Well, this  situation 
         and slow stroking was getting to me and, without trying, 
         I  came.  Carol audibly groaned. I was  embarrassed  and 
         stayed  quite still for the rest of the night.  I  vowed 
         never to do that again. 


           A few nights later I became aware of my sister  beside 
         me. My cock was hard and peeking through my pajamas,  as 
         usual.  I  determined  not to stroke  myself  and  Carol 
         stayed  for  a very long time waiting for me to  do  so. 
         Suddenly  but  gently I felt her fingers on my  cock.  I 
         couldn't  believe it. I didn't know anything could  feel 
         so  good. Her touch was light and yet at just the  right 
         spot.  Her hand wasn't moving but it didn't need  to.  I 
         couldn't  help  myself and came spontaneously.  My  jism 
         went  all over her hand. She gently took her  hand  away 
         and wiped it on her pajamas. 


           As  I  thought back on it later, that night  marked  a 
         turning  point in our relationship. Always friendly  and 
         co-operative, we now treated each other with some warmth 
         and tenderness. Carol was much freer with showing me her 
         body  now and made no pretence of modesty. We  undressed 
         in front of each other, if it didn't seem too forced  to 
         do  so, and swam naked together in the  creek.  However, 
         months had gone by and she had not visited my bedside. I 
         was disappointed and desperately clung to every  instant 
         of   the  last  time  she  did.  It  was   my   constant 
         masturbation fantasy. 


           One night I heard her masturbating and decided to  see 
         just exactly what she was doing. It was a moonless night 
         so  the room was almost pitch black. I carefully  lifted 
         myself  from  my  bed and started  to  cross  the  room, 
         stepping only where I knew the boards did not creak. She 
         must have heard me anyway because she suddenly  stopped. 
         I froze. After what seemed like an eternity she  started 
         again.  I  could  see movement, but  couldn't  make  out 
         exactly   what  was  moving.  I  stepped   closer,   the 
         floorboard  made  a sound, but Carol did not  stop  this 
         time. 


           Finally,  I was within three feet of her bed  and  sat 
         down.  My cock was absolutely rigid and ready  to  burst 
         from  the tension of the scene. I could barely make  out 
         my  sister's  arm across her waist and her hand  in  her 
         crotch.  It  was moving up and down and making  quite  a 
         slurping  sound  now.  Carol  was  moaning  and  quietly 
         grunting.  Well,  this  was too  much  and  I  carefully 
         lowered myself so I was flat on my back on the floor and 
         began  to stroke myself. I could tell she was  going  to 
         come soon and so was I. I decided to time myself so that 
         we  came together. When we did, we dropped all  pretence 
         of  being quiet and grunted quite audibly.  Hers  lasted 
         longer than mine. I lay there for quite awhile and  then 
         snuck back to bed. 


           The next morning my sister and I looked at each  other 
         and acknowledged with our eyes the secret we shared.  It 
         was a further deepening of our relationship. A few  days 
         later  I was bathing in the creek and was really  turned 
         on.  Naked,  I lay down on the plush grass  and  started 
         stroking myself. It was such a turn-on to feel the sun's 
         warmth  on  my balls and to be doing this in  the  open. 
         Suddenly  I heard a noise in the bush in back of me  and 
         turned around to see Carol emerging and heading straight 
         for me. I was paralysed. 


           She gently knelt beside me and without saying a  word, 
         put  her hand on my cock, which had started to  go  soft 
         from the fright. She stroked it slowly and it sprang  to 
         attention. It felt so good that I lay back and closed my 
         eyes. It didn't take long for her ministrations to  have 
         the desired result and I came great globs of semen.  She 
         continued  to  hold my cock until I  calmed  down  some. 
         Then,  without  saying  a word she got  up  and  started 
         taking  off her clothes. Naked, she lay down  beside  me 
         and proceeded to gently pinch her nipples and stroke her 
         stomach. 


           I  got  up on my elbow to watch. She parted  her  legs 
         and,  for the first time I got a clear view of a  girl's 
         pussy.  What  a sight! She had bushy sandy  brown  pubic 
         hair, very plush pussy lips, a large and erect clit  and 
         she  was very wet. Her hand stroked the lips, oh  how  I 
         longed to do so, and rubbed up and down on her clit.  It 
         didn't  take very long for her to come and as  she  did, 
         her  whole  body  tensed and her  hips  lifted  off  the 
         ground.  She gradually came down but kept rubbing.  Soon 
         the   tension  built  to  another  orgasm,   then   soon 
         afterward, another. This was incredibly exciting for  me 
         and  I was stroking my cock again. About Carol's  fourth 
         orgasm I had my second. We were wild. 


           That  night, as soon as we went to bed, she came  over 
         and knelt beside my bed. She reached into my pajamas and 
         softly  and  tentatively  held  my  cock.  It  got  hard 
         immediately and she started stroking. It felt so good in 
         spite of my having come twice already today. Before long 
         I came once again, this time more vehemently than I ever 
         had before. Afterward, Carol just grazed the head of  my 
         cock  with  her lips, as if to kiss  it  goodnight.  She 
         stood and went back to her bed. Before long I heard  her 
         masturbating and went over to her bedside. 


           I  lightly placed my hand on top of hers  between  her 
         legs and our hands moved in unison for a while. I wanted 
         to feel her wetness and so took my hand away and  stoked 
         her  inner  thigh up to her pussy. My, was she  wet  and 
         messy.  I  explored  the many folds of  her  pussy.  She 
         withdrew her hand and I found her clit and rubbed it the 
         way  I'd seen her do it by the creek. After a  while,  I 
         got the hang of it and felt her body tensing for climax. 
         Her  peak  was  extremely violent also,  with  her  body 
         arching, teeth clenching, and fists white. When she came 
         down,  I slowly withdrew my hand and silently went  back 
         to bed. This day would be a favourite fantasy for  years 
         to come. 


           Our  sexual relationship continued like this for  many 
         months. Many times we would mutually masturbate down  by 
         the creek or would make each other come at night in  our 
         beds,  or just listen to the other masturbate. We  knew, 
         of  course,  living in the country, that cocks  go  into 
         vaginas.  We were afraid to try that though for fear  of 
         Carol getting pregnant. My sister was increasingly using 
         her fingers inside her pussy when she masturbated though 
         and I longed to put my dick in there. One night, as  she 
         was  sitting on my bed stroking my cock she seemed  more 
         turned on than unusual. She stood up and pulled down her 
         pajamas  and  said  to me, "I just want to  try  this  a 
         little." 


           She straddled me with her pussy just above my cock.  I 
         could  hardly bare it, waiting for the first feel  of  a 
         pussy  on  my  cock. Slowly,  too  slowly,  she  lowered 
         herself  and holding my cock, let it just graze her  wet 
         and dripping pussy lips. It felt so good, her hand,  her 
         wetness, her warmth so close to me. She poised there for 
         what seemed like an eternity, just stroking herself with 
         my  cock. Finally she lowered herself a little  and  the 
         head  of my cock went inside. I thought I was  going  to 
         explode. Carol sensed that and said that I mustn't come. 
         We  remained  motionless for a long time.  Finally,  she 
         took  my cock out and lay down beside me. She  proceeded 
         to  stroke  herself  and  I  stroked  myself.  We   came 
         together. 


           A few days later my sister and I decided to picnic  on 
         top of Thompson's Hill, about a three mile walk from our 
         cabin.  Along the way was a small waterfall and we  went 
         skinny-dipping.  The cold water felt good. I was  amazed 
         at  how fast Carol's body had changed. Her breasts  were 
         now  more  than mounds. They actually sagged  a  little, 
         although the cold tightened them up and made her nipples 
         very  prominent.  She had an explosive  growth  of  hair 
         between  her  legs yet her pronounced  pussy  lips  were 
         clearly  visible.  We hugged and I gently  squeezed  her 
         nipples. They were so cute. We got dressed and proceeded 
         on our hike. Soon we reached our destination, a clearing 
         in  a  dense virgin timber forest on top  of  Thompson's 
         Hill. We spread our blanket and ate our lunch. 


           Afterward,  Carol  lay with her head in my  lap  as  I 
         played  with  her breasts. I said,  "Let's  get  naked," 
         which we did with deliberate speed. It was a chilly  day 
         and the sun felt good on our bodies. I rolled on my side 
         and  traced circles on my sister's breast, just  outside 
         the areola. Her nipples were already hard and I  lightly 
         grazed  them with my finger tips. I kept doing this  for 
         quite  a while, first one nipple, then the other. I  was 
         fascinated  with  these. They were so  responsive.  Soon 
         Carol  was moaning almost under her breath.  She  gently 
         tugged  my hand down over her stomach to the top of  her 
         pubic hair and then to her pussy, which was  deliciously 
         wet.  As I ran my finger delicately up the folds of  her 
         pussy and nudged her clitoris she let out a squeak I had 
         never heard before. Needless to say, I had been hard all 
         this  time and had been against her leg, getting it  wet 
         with my pre-cum. 


           I  made several more strokes up her vagina. She  said, 
         "I  can't take it anymore. Come inside me."  She  opened 
         her  legs more and I got over her and positioned  myself 
         with  my cock-head against her pussy. I had  never  done 
         this  before and my actions were tentative. My cock  was 
         right at her pussy lips and I stayed that way for a long 
         time. Slowly, an inch at a time I moved forward until my 
         cock-head  was  just inside. I moved deeper  and  slowly 
         deeper. It was tight but it felt so good. Suddenly I ran 
         into a wall. I said, "It won't go in anymore." She said, 
         "Yes, it will. You just have to try harder." This was  a 
         challenge  so  I thrust with some force  now  and  Carol 
         cried out in pain. I said, "What happened?" She said, "I 
         don't know, but don't take it out." We remained in  that 
         position  for  a  long time until  I  couldn't  take  it 
         anymore  and  started stroking. I was in  deep  now  and 
         noticed that whenever I thrust all the way in she seemed 
         to  like it. I got in the rhythm of going very  deep.  I 
         tried   to  hold  my  climax  but  couldn't   and   came 
         explosively. 


           We  stayed locked together for a long time and then  I 
         got soft and withdrew. As I did so, I noticed blood -  a 
         lot  of blood - all over her pussy and my cock. I  said, 
         "Carol,  look!" She screeched. We thought I had  damaged 
         her. We quickly packed up and she used leaves and  grass 
         to wipe herself. When we got back to the waterfall,  she 
         undressed and washed her pussy. I said, "Does it  hurt?" 
         She said, "A little. but I still liked it." 


           After that time we made love several more times before 
         we both went away to school. I became a writer and Carol 
         became  an artist. She married happily and raised  three 
         boys. Much later in life, in our late forties, we talked 
         about  our  childhood  sex  and agreed  it  had  been  a 
         positive  experience.  Both  of  us  had,  partly  as  a 
         consequence, had active and fulfilling sex lives.  Carol 
         passed  away  three years ago and I miss her  dearly.  I 
         never  got  to tell her that she was the  most  exciting 
         woman of my life. 


         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


         For your assistance and information.


         Common abbreviations used on alt.sex.stories and others



                   qualifier   story to include    
                   ________+______________________
                   aphyx         breath control         
                   beast         with animals           
                   bon           bondage                
                   child         non-adult: children    
                   dis           discipline             
                   dom           domination             
                   enema         enema given/received   
                   exhib         public exhibition      
                   Fm            female dominating male 
                   f or m        female or male         
                   ff or F       lesbians               
                   forced        non-consensual         
                   funny         humorous stuff         
                   furry         humans with fur        
                   group         more than two persons     
                   heavy         intense
                   incest        family relations
                   info          information on a topic
                   mild          mild whatever
                   Mf            male dominating female
                   mm or Mm      gays
                   pedo          adult/child
                   poem          poetic material
                   sm            involving pain
                   teen          non adult:teenagers
                   trans         transsexual
                   vanilla       simple male-female
                   weird         very odd     



         comments?  additions?  We are trying to build a  generic 
         list and are sure we've left some out...???


         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+


                            ANON.PENET.FI


                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~


           Following the closure of `anon.penet.fi', the  popular 
         anonymous remailing service, M.C.G. are entertaining the 
         idea  of devoting a proportion of our computer space  to 
         offering  a similar service.   All transmissions and  e-
         mail are completely `untouched by human hand' (and eye), 
         and  subscribers to "ELECTRA MAGAZINE" will be  e-mailed 
         with  details of how to use the service, should it  ever 
         come about.


         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+



           From our "Case-book" Series of true accounts, run as a 
         serial  on newsgroups, Chapters 1 to 6 of the  following 
         story  told  of  Steven Morris's  realisation  that  his 
         daughter and son-in-law, with whom he had gone to  live, 
         were  incestuously-involved with their daughter, 12  yr-
         old Paula, and that as a result, she was running wild.


           Matters  become  further  complicated  when   Steven's 
         attraction to Pam, his daughter, is sensed by Roger, her 
         very self-centred husband.


           Confronted  with either having having to  abandon  his 
         daughter  to  solve  her  own  problems  and  leave  the 
         household,  or to help her, stay and face Roger,  Steven 
         wondrs just what is:     



                            "THE BEST POLICY"
                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                                 (contd)



           "Yesterday,  in  your bedroom, my mind  was  on  other 
         things.   I never noticed it."   There was silence for a 
         few  seconds.    Pam's  voice  was  hushed.    "I  never 
         realised before, it is so long."


           Since  moving-into his daughter's home, with  so  much 
         sexually-orientated   activity:  his  gathering   sexual 
         desire for Paula; the discovery of incestuous  activity; 
         Paula's   near-rape  of  him;  his   daughter's   sexual 
         coquettishness  and  profoundly erotic  demand  of  that 
         morning;  his  touching  of  her  body;  the  developing 
         intimacy during their riverside stroll, over the  weeks, 
         Steven  had  been sexually-aroused and,  when  about  to 
         climax,  on  so  many  occasions  let  down,  his  penis 
         permanently semi-hard to the point of ache, the  sexual-
         spring within him was stretched taut.     


           He  smiled.  "It's  one  of the  things  God  made  an 
         extremely  good  job  of for  me.    Your  mother  never 
         realised it, but it was full of love for her.   And  now 
         it  is  for you."   He paused.   "If you want  it,  that 
         is."


           Her  head on one side, Pam eagerly looked up  at  him.   
         "Can I love it now?"


            Low,  husky-voiced sexiness dripping from Pam  roared 
         violently  into  Steven's abdomen  and  flames  suddenly 
         ignited, dull pain thumping in his genitals.   For years 
         suppressed, incestuous fantasy in his mind had generated 
         smouldering  embers.   Fuelled by Pamela's  and  Paula's 
         incestuous  activities, re-inforced by physical  contact 
         with  them,  with high-octane energy  pouring  from  his 
         daughter's  now-openly-admitted  incestuous  desire,   a 
         blow-torch flare of sexual heat sat between his  thighs.  
         If  exposed  to  Pam's touch, Steven  knew  the  sexual-
         tension wouldn't last a minute. 


           Silently, his hand guiding his long penis towards her, 
         Steven  slid  the other around Pam's head,  coaxing  her 
         towards  the bloated, dull-shining head.  "Let  it  love 
         you instead," he said.


            "Will  it?"  whispered Pam.   Face flushed, her  eyes 
         gleaming,   her  tongue  slithered  across   her   lips, 
         quivering tip protruding  as clasping his penis near the 
         enormous  purple-red  bell that was  his  glans,  Steven 
         gently eased her mouth towards it.   


           Possessed  by the life's-desire to  sexually-love  his 
         daughter,  Steven was beyond excitement; in  slow  time, 
         all mental-vision, thought and awareness gone, his  sole 
         focus  was the fiery, throbbing pain in  his  testicles, 
         channelling  the  dull ache towards the  soft  flesh  of 
         Pamela's glistening-red lips as, ready to take him, they 
         parted. 


           Apprehensive of its force but eager to gather the life 
         threatening  to detonate within him, sensing his  climax 
         powering,  Pam sank lower to the floor, her  lips  below 
         the tiny pouting slit at his penis-tip.   Well aware  of 
         an  inner sense saying she was committing her future  to 
         him,  deliberately, her pointed tongue-tip  reached  up, 
         delicately caressing bunched nerve-ends.    


           Muscle,  tendon and sinew locking him, his head  back, 
         Steven's eyes bulged.  Gripping her father's thighs, his 
         buttocks  pushed towards her, Pamela felt  an  unhurried 
         spill of white sperm arc into her filling mouth. 


           Steven's smooth, tangy semen flowing across her tongue 
         in a steady, oily stream, a brilliant light shimmered in 
         Pam's mind.   Spinning in her womb, surging up into  her 
         soaring  heart, intensely exciting  realisation  struck; 
         she was feeding at the fountainhead of her own  genesis, 
         tasting the origin of her own conception.   


           Her  mouth  swiftly filled, loops of  milky  secretion 
         dribbling  over  her  lips and cheek  as  Pam's  probing 
         tongue urgently reached for its source.  Eyes closed  in 
         blissful  ecstasy,  her  breath  catching,  she   slowly 
         swallowed.  


           Holding herself stock-still, her larynx closing,   Pam 
         waited  the last slippery-deliverance to drip  into  her 
         open  mouth.    Licking her lips  clean,  relishing  the 
         cold/warm sensation as she swallowed again, with a small 
         sigh, her eyes flicked open.   Holding Steven's gaze for 
         a second, she suddenly caught hold of his sagging penis, 
         and kissing it, buried her head in his lap.   "Oh, Dad," 
         she  whispered.   "That was beautiful.   I felt it  flow 
         right  down  in  me, right into my  heart."    Her  eyes 
         moist,  she looked up at him again.   "Paula was  right, 
         having  her  Daddy's love come into her would  make  any 
         girl  happy.    It was just as I always hoped  it  would 
         be".      


           His eyes smiling, Steven gently stroked her hair.   "I 
         wish now we had done that years ago.   Things would have 
         been so different."   Expectantly, his eyes opened  wide 
         as he looked at her.   "Doing that felt wonderful."


           Pam   smiled.    "Mummy  didn't  know  what  she   was 
         missing,"  she said.   "The first of many?"   They  knew 
         something  profound had happened, that within them,  one 
         door had firmly shut and another opened wide.   Replaced 
         by  a future as warm and intimate as they wished  it  to 
         be,  past days of distance and strain between  them  had 
         passed.    Chased  away by the warmth exuding  from  the 
         good-looking  man  sitting opposite  her,  Pam  suddenly 
         realised  the image she'd held of her father  had  gone, 
         replaced  by a strong feeling of friendship, covered  in 
         healthy  lust, wrapped up in his want for her.    Inside 
         her,  sufficient  to make what  she'd  just  experienced 
         produce sexy-twinges of illicit-fun, daughterly-love for 
         her  father  remained, but most had been replaced  by  a 
         strong  glow of adult happy love of the man.    With  an 
         inner  shiver of excitement, a little seepage  of  fluid 
         trickled from her vagina.


           Giving her a swift kiss as he helped her to her  feet, 
         Steven looked at her. "The first of many."


           Delight  and  deep satisfaction  in  letting  Steven's 
         penis  fill  her mouth suddenly  tingled  through  Pam's 
         belly  and breasts.   Gasping at the  moral-enormity  of 
         the   realisation,  for  an  instant,  her   imagination 
         elatedly  cherished  the powerful, sexy image  of  being 
         pinned  beneath his naked body,  her legs  locked  round 
         her   father's  back,  and  her  heart  squeezing,   she 
         visualised  feeling that fantastically long  penis  bury 
         itself deep into her womb, squirting in her.  Her  heart 
         skipping a beat, Pam suddenly knew she was in love  with 
         him.   Involuntarily clamping her thighs together  under 
         the   table  as  she  closed  her  eyes,   her   stomach 
         shudderingly clenched as her cervix thrilled.


           Shaking  her  head to clear it, Pam's eyes  opened  to 
         find  Steven looking at her, a grin on his face.    "Has 
         another  of those `positive benefits' just turned  up?", 
         he knowingly enquired.


           "Yes."  Momentarily, Pam felt sheepishly  embarrassed, 
         then, reliving the sensation, her shoulders going  back, 
         squarely  catching her father's gaze,  she  straightened 
         up.    "Yes,"  she said emphatically.   "And I  like  it 
         very much." 


                              *    **    *                       


           A little later, thoroughly recovered and at ease  with 
         each  other,  as always, the  conversation  reverted  to 
         Paula.    Pam sighed.   "One of the difficulties of  the 
         way  of  life in this house is that, to Roger,   in  all 
         other  things except his sex-life, Paula  comes  second.   
         All  the time he wants to screw her, she can do  as  she 
         wishes, but if ever he lost interest in her body - which 
         he wont - he'd simply see her as his daughter, expecting 
         her  to  revert back to being an obedient  12  year-old, 
         doing as her father tells her, when he tells her!   


           "That  is going to be the difficult thing  to  contend 
         with.   Suppose,  knocking  at the  door  of  love,  she 
         suddenly  grows up, only to realise her father  is  only 
         interested in fucking her?"


           Steven shrugged his shoulders.  "Eventually, she  must 
         do.   Even more reason this is the time to give her  the 
         real  thing."   He glanced at Pam, sorrowful that  lines 
         of concern had re-appeared on her face.   "If it is done 
         properly,  she'll think it the best thing she  has  ever 
         had.    You  appreciate what it can do for you;  do  you 
         think she will be able to overcome her own  shortcomings 
         once she has found out how love really feels?"


           Pam  made  a face.   "Not yet, she is getting  it  all 
         from  Roger."   She looked keenly at Steven.    "If  you 
         take a part in things, what if she tells him?"


           "Only mild consternation.   Roger cannot say too much, 
         only  bluster."   Steven smiled to himself.   "All  that 
         rubbish of yesterday about people in the house  trusting 
         each  other!   The only person Roger trusts is  himself!   
         Eventually, he'll kick himself for letting incest become 
         the family way of life.   Until then, he'll revel in the 
         good  things and let Paula run his life.   All the  time 
         she  is  doing that, she will want it to carry  on.    I 
         fear  dear  Roger is working himself into a  very  tight 
         corner."


           Later,  preparing the evening meal, Pam stood  at  the 
         cooker.    Suddenly,  she  called  over  her   shoulder.  
         "Dad?"


           "Yes."    Over  the  top  of  his  newspaper,   Steven 
         regarded her.


           Turning  towards  him,  Pam leant  against  the  sink-
         drainer. "If I were to leave Roger, how would you feel?"


           A pleasing mental flash of a possible future rolled in 
         his  stomach  as  Steven said,  "Half  of  me  would  be 
         unhappy,  and  the  other half would  be  very  pleased.   
         Why, are you thinking of it?"


           "I'm thinking about it, not of it.   But things  could 
         go  either way, and I like to be prepared.    Why  would 
         you be happy about it?"


           Steven  thought,   "Because you'd have a chance  of  a 
         fresh  start, you'd be happier.   Marriage is  only  any 
         good  if  all the people in it are  happy.    With  your 
         situation with Paula, and Roger and Paula, and Roger and 
         you, well, it must be like living in a strait-jacket."


           "It  is", said Pam emphatically.   "I'm  very  rapidly 
         realising  what  I have been missing-out on.    All  the 
         wealth in the world doesn't buy peace of mind, and  I've 
         been  so  long  without  it,  I'm  just  realising  I've 
         forgotten what it feels like."


           Steven  sniffed.    "It's the same position  in  which 
         your  mother and I found ourselves.  If trust has  gone, 
         everything else slowly and surely falls apart.  Once  it 
         starts,  there  is  nothing anyone  can  do  about  it."   
         Unhappily  recalling the empty days without  Pamela,  he 
         stared absent-mindedly into space.


           After  a few moments, Pamela asked,   "Assuming  Roger 
         and I split up, where would you go?"


           Steven  smiled  reassuringly at  her.    "Don't  worry 
         about that.   I would find somewhere."


           "Would you come and live with us?


           For  all  the  warm, easy swell of  hope  within  him, 
         Steven knew he must divorce himself from the equation of 
         everything  he might wish for, and concentrate  on  what 
         was best for his daughter.   And grand-daughter!   "That 
         could be difficult," he replied.


           "Why?" asked Pamela promptly.


           Very   methodically,  Steven  carefully   folded   his 
         newspaper  and laid it on the table.   "You've  made  it 
         very  clear what you want of me and I could very  easily 
         be induced into saying I want the same.   


           "But Paula's presence complicates things.   All  plans 
         to  bring her back to earth to one side, there is  still 
         the  little thing that she is into sexual  relationships 
         within her family.   With you, her and I under the  same 
         roof, who knows to where it would lead?"


           "I  already thought of that, before I asked you.    We 
         know  damned well where it would lead."   Pam looked  at 
         him evenly.   "I'm not a fool, Dad.   Whilst I could say 
         `whatever  will  be, will be' and  leave  everything  to 
         Destiny, in our circumstances, certain things are almost 
         foregone conclusions.   


           "But  even at its very worst, I'd be  happier  knowing 
         you were helping me to raise Paula than Roger; at  least 
         I'd know whatever was going on, someone was doing it for 
         her happiness and not their own."


           "That's  very  true.    So  would  I",  said   Steven.   
         "Seeing  that it closely involves her, we  could  always 
         see what Paula thought of the idea."


           Pam smiled and nodded her head.


           "I'll  sound  her  out, if your  wish,"  said  Steven.   
         "But before I do, you have to clearly understand and  be 
         happy  to accept the possibilities.   You know what  she 
         will want?   And very probably how it will have to be?"


           Pamela  pursed  her lips.   "With  all  these  divided 
         loyalties,  it's  complicated,  isn't  it?    Why  can't 
         anything  be simple?   Everything is so insecure.    No-
         one  can make a clear decision or get on  with  anything 
         enjoyable   without   wondering   whether   Roger   will 
         manipulate it for his own ends.   And just to ensure  he 
         can still fuck her whenever he wishes, drag Paula  along 
         behind him!"   She clutched the edge of the sink.   "Oh, 
         I wish to God I'd stopped Paula and Roger before it even 
         started!    Everything  went wrong from then!    I  hate 
         this  existence!    It's not real-life, it's so -  so  - 
         miserable!"


           Hearing   the  unhappiness  in  her  voice,   as   his 
         daughter's  tears  started to flow,  starting  from  his 
         chair,  Steven  caught  hold  of  her.    Quelling   his 
         resentment for Roger, towering above her and lifting her 
         chin, he caught her tear-bright gaze.   "That's not fair 
         on you," he said reprovingly.   "Roger had seduced Paula 
         long  before  you  ever knew about  it.   You've  become 
         caught in the back-wash, that's all.  


           "An unhappy marriage is more than any wife and  mother 
         should be asked to endure, and this is one with the very 
         distasteful  side of the after-effects of incest  thrown 
         in  for  good measure.   Now dry your  eyes."    As  Pam 
         sniffed,  he went on, "You are about  three-quarters  of 
         the way home.   Have a lot of faith, see it through  and 
         everyone will come out of it quite happily, you'll see."   
         Mentally  crossing  his  fingers,  he  thought,  `Except 
         Roger.   But then, he did make the running'.



                            *    **    *                       


           After  dinner, before the family settled down for  the 
         evening,  Steven  adjourned  to his  bedroom  to  think.   
         Earlier, Paula and her father had returned from  Roger's 
         office  and the meal had been eaten in subdued  silence.   
         Nothing had been said by anyone, but a deaf person could 
         have detected strain and undercurrents of tension in the 
         atmosphere.   Particularly avoiding meeting her mother's 
         eyes, Paula had scarcely spoken to Steven, whilst Roger, 
         something  on  his mind making him  look  red-faced  and 
         angry, had stared into space.


           Deeply  immersed  in his daughter's  problems,  Steven 
         hardly  heard the gentle tap on the bed-room  door,  and 
         Paula  was  in the room before he  really  realised  it.   
         Wearing  a  button-through grey-and-white dress  with  a 
         slim  belt  at  the waist, her  long  fair-hair  hanging 
         loosely  around her shoulders, Paula's usual bounce  and 
         vitality  was missing, and  sitting on the edge  of  the 
         bed, she unhappily gazed down at her feet as they  swung 
         in  space.    Steven  left her to make  the  running  of 
         conversation.   Finally breaking the silence, she  said, 
         "I  don't think Daddy likes you any more, Grandad.    He 
         wants you to leave."


           `So  Roger  has  read chapter  two',  thought  Steven.   
         "And do you want that?", he asked Paula.


           "No!    I want everything to be as it was  before  you 
         came here," said Paula.   "But I want you to be part  of 
         it and not have to leave."


           "And who would be happy if I went?", asked Steven.


           Paula's  slim shoulders slumped.   "Only  Daddy,"  she 
         said.    "Mummy is very happy you are here and so am  I.   
         I don't understand.   Why isn't Daddy?"

                 
           Feeling a 12 year-old shouldn't know so much, so soon, 
         seeing  his  grand-daughter's  troubled  face,  propping 
         himself up on one elbow and picking his words carefully, 
         Steven turned towards her.   "Because until I turned  up 
         on  the  scene,  your father had Mummy and  you  all  to 
         himself",  he said gently.    "Roger was happy he  could 
         go to bed with you or your mother anytime he wanted, but 
         now  he is not too sure.   Probably, he feels  he  might 
         lose you and her, that everything could suddenly change.   
         And that he might not be happy with the results."


           Paula's  oval  face  flushed  pink  with  indignation.   
         "But  why?    If he can fuck me when he  wants  to,  why 
         can't Mummy and I do the same?   That's not fair!"


           "Because  in  your father's mind, Mummy is  still  his 
         wife.   And you are still only a 12 year-old  daughter."   
         Steven's  tone  was soothing.   "Maybe  not  Roger,  but 
         other husbands and fathers are happy to think they  rule 
         the  roost,  that the women and girls must  do  as  they 
         say." 


           Paula  thoughtfully investigated a mark on  her  shoe.   
         "Mmm,  Daddy's like that too.  When we are together,  he 
         makes  me  do things because he likes it.    Mummy  does 
         things  to me as well, but they are the things  I  like.   
         Daddy never does!"


           As  a downcast grand-daughter swung her heels  against 
         the  side of the bed, Steven suddenly wanted to  comfort 
         the  insecure  adolescent  she  was.     "When  we  were 
         talking  yesterday,  I  told you there was  a  power  of 
         difference  between sex and love.   Perhaps that is  the 
         difference."


           Paula  looked forlorn.   "Daddy never does anything  I 
         like.   He says we `make love', and that it is good  for 
         me  and will help make me a better girl when I grow  up.   
         But it feels different somehow."  Looking at Steven from 
         under  shy  eye-lashes,  she asked, "Can I  tell  you  a 
         secret, Grandad?"   


           Swinging  his legs to the floor, Steven sat up on  the 
         bed  and  put  his arm  round  Paula's  shoulders.    He 
         nodded.   "Of course."


           Feeling  guilty she might be breaking faith  with  her 
         father, Paula hesitated.   "When Daddy puts his thing in 
         me,  sometimes it hurts.   Really hurts, I  mean.    And 
         when I ask him to stop, most times he doesn't."  


           Seeking comfort, she suddenly slipped an innocent  arm 
         round  Steven's waist.   He gave her a squeeze.    "Then 
         that's  a downright shame.   When people who  love  each 
         other  are  making  love, they make  each  other  happy.   
         They never ever hurt each other."


           With   a   slight  frown,  Paula   contemplated   this 
         proposition.    "Do  you  mean people  do  it  for  fun, 
         Grandad?   Make love, I mean."


           Astounded that something so fundamental had been  kept 
         from Paula and unexpectedly foreseeing a great,  yawning 
         abyss  opening up in front of Roger, and unless  he  was 
         careful,  the  possibility of falling into  it  himself, 
         Steven  mind ruled his heart.   Postponing giving her  a 
         text-book  lecture on the deeper significance of  loving 
         another person, he decided on another approach.    "Why, 
         isn't it fun when you make love to Roger?"


           "Sometimes.   I like doing it, but quite often, I feel 
         as  though  Daddy's  doing  it to  me  because  I'm  his 
         daughter,  and not because it is me,  Paula."    Sharing 
         another  confidence,  Paula's confused  face  looked  at 
         Steven.    "He's  told me he doesn't like  doing  it  to 
         Mummy any more.   That's another reason why I hoped  you 
         would love her."


           Even more understanding Pamela's desperate request  of 
         the morning as a cry for help, Steven inwardly  seethed.   
         During  the  two  weeks  he had  been  under  Roger  and 
         Pamela's  roof,  how could he have been so  blind?    So 
         good was the face of the happy family they presented  to 
         the world, not one clue had revealed itself that  Pamela 
         was  so unhappy or that Paula was anything but a  normal 
         happy,  bright, developing young woman.   "So  when  you 
         are with your father, what happens?" he asked.


           "It depends where we are", answered Paula.   "If we go 
         to his office, he makes me lay on the floor.   Or I have 
         to  sit  on his desk and then he does it  to  me  there.   
         Here  at home, he usually comes in to see me  before  he 
         goes to bed.   That's when I like it best."


           "Why's that?", enquired Steven.


           "Because  Daddy isn't in so much of a rush.   Even  at 
         week-ends,  when everyone is at home, if we are  at  his 
         office,  he's always worried that someone will come  in.   
         And if we go out into the country and do it in his  car, 
         he's  forever looking to see if someone is looking.    I 
         think  it makes him hurry, because that's when he  hurts 
         me the most."


           "And when you are at home...?"


           "It  is usually OK, but if Daddy thinks Mummy  is  not 
         happy,  when  they  have  had a  row,  he  tries  to  do 
         everything quickly and get back to her.   But sometimes, 
         he  just  doesn't  care and stays with  me  all  night."   
         Paula's voice became unhappy again.   "Sometimes, I  can 
         hear  Mummy crying, and it makes me sad.   I don't  like 
         those  times  at all."   She gave a  little  involuntary 
         shiver.


           "And does that happen often?", asked Steven.


           "Not so much now, but when Mummy found out Daddy and I 
         were  doing it, they had lots of arguments.    I  always 
         knew,  because those times, Daddy would be rougher  with 
         me and it hurt more."


           "How do you mean, rougher with you?"


           "Normally,  at  home, when Daddy wants to  do  me,  he 
         makes me undress and then puts it in me."   Paula looked 
         at  Steven.  "His  thing, you  know."    Steven  nodded.   
         "When  we  are  anywhere else, I just have  to  take  my 
         knickers  down.   Daddy likes it when I do that,  but  I 
         have  to do it very slowly.   He usually has  his  thing 
         out  and then he puts it in me.   But when he  is  upset 
         about  something, he sort of pulls my knickers down  and 
         does it."


           "And is it like that every time?", asked Steven.


           "Mostly.    In the beginning, when it all began,  we'd 
         lay  on the bed and I'd stroke him.   Then he showed  me 
         how  to suck his thing.   When Mummy started  coming  to 
         bed  with  us, it got to be very nice,  all  gentle  and 
         lovey.    She  showed  me  ways  of  making  Daddy  very 
         excited, but that seemed to make him do everything  much 
         faster.   But now, Mummy doesn't join in."


           "And  does  your Daddy ever make you  feel  lovey,  or 
         cuddle you?"


           "Sometimes, but not often.   If we are out  somewhere, 
         after he has come, we normally come straight home.   And 
         if  we  are here, he tells me I need to go to  sleep  or 
         that  Mummy  might make trouble and he  goes  back  into 
         their bedroom."


           "Does Daddy ever love you?"


           Paula looked puzzled.   "What do you mean?"


           "Does  he  ever cuddle you or kiss you.  Or  make  you 
         feel happy?"


           "No.    I  mean,  I feel happy  if  he  feels  happy."   
         Paula thought about it.   "Is that what you mean?


           Steven  was  forming  a  picture  of  Roger   severely 
         overlooking  parts of his daughter's  education.   "When 
         most  other girls are making love, their lover goes  out 
         of his way to make them feel warm and happy and lovely.


           "How do you mean?"   Paula's interest was piqued.


           "There's  lots of kisses and cuddling.  Being  stroked 
         and  touching  each  other."   Steven  grinned  at  her.   
         "It's known as `getting in the right mood'.


           Paula's  slim shoulders gave a small  shrug.    "Daddy 
         kisses  me some times.   I like that, but what does  the 
         mood feel like?"


           "Lovely.    Soft  and  pleasant.   Making  love  is  a 
         lovely  thing, for both people.   Or it should be.    It 
         becomes  very  dreamy and romantic.    Didn't  you  know 
         that?


           "No.    I've seen people on films and  the  television 
         doing things like that and wondered what it feels  like.   
         Daddy  doesn't do that to Mummy, and he has never  shown 
         me."    Steven could see the gears working.   "Will  you 
         make me feel like that, Grandad?"   Paula's earnest eyes 
         pleaded with him.    "Please!"


           "Oh,    my   poor   little   Paula."    said    Steven 
         sympathetically.    "All this time, you have  been  left 
         out  of the best part of love-making.   Let's see if  we 
         can't put that right for you."   


           As  Steven  gently eased her back to lay on  the  bed,  
         her eyes opening wide, Paula said in a trembling  voice, 
         "Don't  hurt me, Grandad.   I don't want it to  hurt  me 
         any more."


           "Never,  my little love.   Never ever."     Swallowing 
         the trace of a lump in his throat, Steven determined  to 
         eradicate Paula's uncomfortable memories of sex.   "Just 
         relax and let things happen."  


           Very pensive, sombre grey eyes looking into his, Paula 
         didn't  move as Steven's hand started to  gently  stroke 
         around her face, smoothing over her ears and  shoulders.   
         As  signs  of sexual arousal flushed her neck,  after  a 
         little, her eyes closed, her breathing quickening as she 
         felt  Steven's hands gently slide down the  material  of 
         her dress, his fingers deftly undoing the top buttons.   


           As  his  hand slid across her slight  breast,  staring 
         earnestly  into  Steven's face, Paula's  fawn-like  eyes 
         flashed open as he quietly kissed her hair and  forehead 
         but continually kissing her, undoing the buttons one  by 
         one, he felt her respond as his fingers slid between the 
         layers of material, brushing her skin.


           Gently  running  his hand in small  circles,  becoming 
         aroused himself as he saw her clear skin stretching away 
         in  front  of him,  Steven eased the dress  open.    Her 
         eyes  closed again, Paula suddenly curled an arm  around 
         his  neck,  and drawing him down to her  lips,  dreamily 
         murmured "I love you, Grandad."


           "I  know,  Paula,  I  love  you  too.    Very   much", 
         whispered  Steven.    "Just  relax and  let  the  lovely 
         things  happen.    Let  it flow along."     She  gave  a 
         little nod and quietly sighed.


           Smoothly  undoing  the thin leather  belt,  the  final 
         button  giving way to a swift twist,  Steven  delicately 
         laid  back  the  sides  of  the  grey-and-white   dress,  
         Encased  in a white, girlish-brassiere, Paula's  forming 
         breasts  evenly  rose and fell with her  breathing,  the 
         outline  of small nipples clearly showing  arousal.  His 
         fingers  slowly walking a path towards the thin  elastic 
         strip of white bikini-briefs, feeling Paula stir beneath 
         him  as  his tongue touched the warm skin  of  the  arch 
         below  her breast-bone, he licked  her.    "Everything's 
         OK,  Paula.    Just  let things  happen  and  enjoy  it.   
         Let's  see  if we can show you what  this  thing  called 
         love-making can be like."


           Concern  in her voice, Paula asked, "Are you going  to 
         do me like Daddy does, Grandad?"


           Steven smiled down at her.   "No, my love.   I'm going 
         to  make  love to you."   From the corner  of  his  eye, 
         still with her eyes closed, he saw Paula relax and  give 
         a slow smile.  "Yes, please, Grandad.   I'd like that."


           "Then   lay  still.   You'll  like  it   very   much."    
         Deliberately  spending  a long time licking  the  gentle 
         depression around her dimpled navel, his tongue  working 
         round  in  circles,  Steven slowly traced  a  path  down 
         Paula's  body.   As the minutes slid by,  her  breathing 
         becoming easier and easier, her body only moving as  his 
         hands  caressed the exposed flesh, his  thumbs  touching 
         each  other  as they gently slid along the line  of  her 
         lower  ribs, then to glide up to caress the lobe of  her 
         breasts.


           Taking his time, feeling Paula completely entranced by 
         the  silky warmth growing within her,  his  fingers  now 
         constantly  touching and stroking her  breasts,   Steven 
         discreetly  slid  from the bed, kneeling on  the  thick, 
         comfortable  carpet.    Still  stroking  Paula's   body, 
         leaning   forward,   he   gently   licked   her   knees.   
         Surprised, Paula momentarily stiffened and then, to  his 
         joy, her legs partly opened.


           His  nostrils  filled with the  aroma  of  excitement, 
         working  up  and  down one leg and then  moving  to  the 
         other, Steven slowly kissed and cat-licked the inside of 
         Paula's  thighs.    With  eyes fixed  on  the  alluring, 
         sharply-contoured  cleft  only  six  inches  from   him, 
         gradually  easing closer to her vulva with  every  slide 
         forwards,   her  legs gradually parted.    As  his  nose 
         brushed  against the damp-stained white material of  her 
         briefs, under his still-caressing hands, her body giving 
         a   little   wriggle,  Paula  heaved  a  big   sigh   of 
         contentment.   "That's nice, Grandad."


           Unobtrusively, his tongue and lips coursing the length 
         of her thigh, as her white abdomen gently rose and  fell 
         with  her  breathing,  Steven's fingers  hooked  in  the 
         elastic  of Paula's knickers.  Brushing  his  tongue-tip 
         around  the backs of her knees and along the top of  her 
         long legs, quietly tugging, first one side and then  the 
         other,  he  began to ease them over  her  slender  hips, 
         until, tightly stretched between her legs, the  wet-mark 
         on  the gusset showing starkly, they were clear  of  her 
         body.    Moving back on his heels, casting them and  her 
         shoes  onto the floor in one slow flowing  movement,  he 
         slid them over her ankles.


           After the momentary disturbance, of their own  accord, 
         Paula's slim legs drew apart, and massaging her body, on 
         hearing  a little gasp, Steven smiled to himself  as  he 
         realised  she had been holding her breath as he  removed 
         her  underwear.   Dry tongue steadily slithering  across 
         her  thigh up towards her vulva, sliding his arms  under 
         her legs, he laid them across his shoulders.   Framed by 
         the   slight  suggestion  of  downy  light-brown   hair, 
         revealing   the  fan-shaped  dewy-silveryness   of   her 
         glistening labia lips, Paula's legs were opened wide.    


           Reaching  across  her white  thighs,  readily  parting 
         under  Steven's gently-prising fingers,  her  inner-lips 
         opened.   Peering whitely from its sheath, betraying her 
         excitement,  Paula's  clitoris  slowly  pulsed,   whilst 
         trembling  as  though  alive,  red-coloured  filmy  skin 
         shimmered at the mouth of her moist, dark vagina. 


           His  reaching hand constantly roaming her breasts  and 
         belly, Steven felt Paula's whimpering breath  quickening 
         as, eyes tightly-closed, she started to pant.   


           In  one  long, slow deliberate wet  lick,  his  tongue 
         glided  over the apex of her legs, and as Steven's  nose 
         slid  across  the  face  of  her  clitoris,  his  grand-
         daughter's  buttocks  naturally rose towards him.  Of  a 
         sudden,  his  long,  pointed tongue  firmly  but  gently 
         probed  the puckered bud of her anus.   Paula  squealed, 
         her body arching as his tongue rapidly slid upwards, her 
         clitoris  slipping  into his mouth. Clamping  it  firmly 
         between his lips, his tongue flicking its beaded-tip, it 
         swelled,  lengthening until it was touching  his  teeth.   
         Letting  go,  pulling  her slim hips  towards  him,  his 
         nostrils  rubbed  against  her clitoris  as  his  tongue 
         scathed the intensely sensitive skin of her birth-canal.   
         As Paula's body began to jerk and squirm, Steven  sucked 
         and licked, kissing and chewing her vagina.    Her knees 
         swinging  to  one side and then  the  other,  frenziedly 
         looking  to  escape the mounting torment,  her  buttocks 
         bouncing on the bed, Paula's hand tried to push his head 
         away,  but  firmly  grasping  her  hips,   remorselessly 
         licking,  mouth glued to her clitoris,  Steven's  tongue 
         stayed  in her.   Cramming his mouth against the  smooth 
         gaping flesh of her vaginal-wound, he sucked loose folds 
         into  his mouth, tongue sliding round them as  more  and 
         more innocent softness entered him.   Suddenly, her will 
         succumbing,  her buttocks rising as she drew  her  knees 
         towards  her  breasts, Paula offered her vagina  to  his 
         mouth.   Knowing  he'd  mastered her,  slipping  a  hand 
         between her legs and cupping her buttocks, Steven raised 
         her  open  genitals to his lips.    Driving  his  tongue 
         deeply  into  her,  his  thumb  felt  for  her   excited 
         clitoris.    As it tried to elude him, feeling it  nudge 
         her  pelvic  arch,  pressing  down on  it,  he  began  a 
         remorseless  attack.   Under the  cruelly-rhythmic  rub, 
         rub,  rub, Paula's body again began to writhe and  buck, 
         her  head  twisting from side to side. gasps  of  breath 
         coming  from  her open mouth.      Beneath  his  sucking 
         lips,  running  into his swallowing mouth  in  a  steady 
         pouring,  her  already-trickling  bitter-sweet   vaginal 
         fluid began to spurt.    


           Suddenly,   pulling  Steven  even  closer,  her  hands 
         sliding round the back of his head, Paula sat up.    


           Tongue buried deep in her fleshy vagina, snuffling for 
         breath as soft, slim thighs clamped his head,  realising 
         Paula was near climax, Steven exhaled deeply.   Dragging 
         his  imprisoned  finger free, linking  hands  round  her 
         buttocks  and pulling her tight onto his mouth,   slowly 
         engulfing  her clitoris and flimsy labia lips, he  began 
         to  exert suction.   As the vacuum deepened,  a  whining 
         gurgle  came from Paula's throat as she strove  to  push 
         her   vagina  deeper  into  Steven's  wide-open   mouth.   
         Wildly rocking backwards and forwards, grinding her  wet 
         belly on him, her pelvic bone knockingly-jarred  against 
         him. His teeth sinking into soft flesh, suddenly tasting 
         blood,  Steven  sucked  harder as  gasping  and  crying, 
         tearing  at  his hair and ears, legs locked  around  his 
         neck, Paula clung to him.   


           Mouth   wildly  sucking  gasps  of  air,  head   flung 
         forwards, long fair-hair cascading over her  perspiring, 
         flushed  face, mewing and grinding her teeth, her  juice 
         freely flowing onto Steven's lapping-tongue, like a sky-
         rocket exploding, Paula came.        

         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+

                           ARCHIVING YOUR WORK
           
                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


         Any  Author  wishing to have their work  placed  in  the 
         Archive  must feel free to submit it.   Any work on  any 
         subject is eligible for inclusion in any format, whether 
         old,  new or previously published.    Owing  to  varying 
         requirements  of both Subscribers and Newservers  around 
         the world, having to work in DOS, all we ask is that  if 
         transmitted in coded form, that UUENCODE is used.


          Many well-known and often-read authors on the Net  have 
         been  happy  to  send .TXT and disk  versions  of  their 
         efforts   to  us  for  inclusion  on  our   list-server, 
         including Frank McCoy, The Hawk, Rob Morton, Barry Traga 
         and others.      

         If  a story is included in "ELECTRA MAGAZINE", based  on 
         the subscription list for the month in which it appears, 
         a royalty is paid.


         For further details, mail `arch-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'


         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+

         
                      "THE DOORS TO GAYLE'S FUTURE"


                             Conclusion


                             ~~~~~~~~~~

           For some weeks, there was no evidence even that  Gayle 
         was  alive.   Expecting as she did I'd be away  for  two 
         months,  I was foolish to even expect to hear from  her, 
         and not wishing to rake over hot coals, decided my self-
         inflicted exile was all for the best.   


           Life  continued as it always will, and to keep  myself 
         amused,  I killed the long, miserable hours  by  reading 
         all   the   library  could  find   concerning   people's 
         experiences  and philosophies on life after death,  fate 
         and destiny.     Sometimes reading well into the  night,   
         acutely aware of loneliness around me, wondering how I'd 
         ever  got myself in this position when  deliberating  on 
         some point, I'd find myself staring into space for  long 
         periods   of  time.     Fearful  of  Gayle's   hurt   or 
         embarrassment   should  I  do  so,  and  in  any   case, 
         completely  devoid  of any desire to find  other  female 
         company, the days crawled by.   


           Of  the subject of which I was constantly  reading,  I 
         knew much more than I had, but was no nearer to  finding 
         any  answer  than  when I  had  commenced  my  research. 
         However,  reading of many experiences similar to mine  I 
         came to accept the mental `light' was inherently `good'.   
         Exampled  by  `dark forces' or `dark  deeds',  when  the 
         `powers  of  darkness'  were supposed to  be  about,  as 
         opposed to `dark', anything `light' - light-heartedness, 
         light-spirited,  even  unto the expressions `I  saw  the 
         light'  or `light dawned on me' - could only be used  in 
         the  context  of good being  done,   positive  happiness 
         created  or the furthering of education  or  experience.   
         Somehow  deeply relieving concern in me, I was happy  to 
         finally and unquestioningly accept the strange  feelings 
         I'd  experienced  were  all for  Gayle's  happiness  and 
         health.


           Affording  the opportunity of having  something  other 
         than  Gayle  to  think  about,  seriously  contemplating 
         taking a job of work to occupy the time, tax laws  being 
         as   they  are  and  it  radically   affecting   Gayle's 
         investment  income  should  I do such  a  thing,  I  was 
         strongly  advised against it, and another  avenue  along 
         which to steer my mind closed off to me.   


           Far  from  walking  through open  doors  of  Fate,  it 
         placing  my life in abeyance through refusing to  budge, 
         I'd  somehow  walked right into this  one.   Undermining 
         everything as my  leaden heart became heavier, never for 
         one  moment  wanting  or  needing  Gayle  any  less  but 
         believing  as the saying goes, `I could live  with  it', 
         still   positively  regarding  my  decision   as   being 
         fundamentally correct,  I was desperately unhappy.   


           Stumped and seeking respite from emotional heart-ache, 
         I sought out mediums, clairvoyants and others of similar 
         ilk, and nothing making sense, therefore never believing 
         a  word  of what I was told, apart  from  convincing  me 
         there  were  some  very peculiar people  abroad  in  the 
         world,   such   encounters  only  managed   to   produce 
         confusion.    Guided by such perfect morality and  legal 
         correctness,  how could I feel so mentally-strained  and 
         spiritually-dispirited?      Why   had   something    so 
         punctiliously-right    turned    so     unhappily-wrong?   
         Gradually,  a  step  forward on the path  to  Wisdom,  I 
         learnt enough to realise how little I knew.   


           But  this  wasting of time being all very  well,  said 
         Fate, I ordain the opening of another door!


           Travelling by train to London one day, sitting  beside 
         me,  I can still recall every word of  the  conversation 
         when  a complete stranger suddenly said "Excuse  me  for 
         asking,  but  are  you by any chance a  student  of  the 
         Second World War?"   


           Having  nothing better to do for two hours or  so  and 
         the  man looking completely innocuous  and  nondescript, 
         deciding  anything was better than being trapped  in  my 
         own unhappiness, I replied, "No.   Why do you ask?"


           A   short,  lean  man,  the  fellow  smiled.     "This 
         sometimes happens.   Often when in the company of  other 
         people,  I  sense things, or pick up what  is  on  their 
         mind.    Forgive  me,  but  are you  sure  there  is  no 
         connection  with the last war?"   He sat  forward.    "I 
         have  this  picture of British aircraft  of  that  time.   
         Hurricanes,  Tempests, Typhoons; they were the names  of 
         some of them."   He seemed to think for a moment.    "Or 
         have you been attached to any kind of Navy?   The  Royal 
         Navy?    Or  the Merchant Marine?    Any  service  which 
         would have to accept extreme weather conditions, such as 
         those named hurricanes and tempests?"   


           Shaking my head, I said "No, not at all."    Beginning 
         to  think the man odd, that would have been the  end  of 
         our  conversation,  save for him suddenly  snapping  his 
         fingers  and  saying,  "Gale,  that's  the   connection.   
         Gale!"


           Heart racing and now riveted to my seat, I  cautiously 
         asked, "Well, what about it?"


           Observing my sudden interest, the man sat back in  his 
         seat.    "Ah, then it is right."   Abruptly sitting  up, 
         he  went on, "Forgive me again, please. It would all  be 
         much  simpler  if the words came in  direct  terms,  but 
         these  things  usually have to be  deciphered.    I  was 
         looking at the names rather than the weather  conditions 
         they describe.   Yes, that is it!"


           My  heart was at explosion level.   "Well, what  about 
         it?" I repeated, tersely.


           "Let's see", the man said.   "Young, bright, walking." 
         His  brow furrowing, he frowned.  "But only just."    He 
         stared  at me.  "How very confusing!   A young girl  who 
         should be skipping around, but who for some reason seems 
         incapable of doing so.   But then, suddenly can!    Lots 
         of  surprise  and  amazement around  her."    His  voice 
         became  concerned.    "Oh, suddenly, there  is  lots  of 
         unexpected  grief."   Looking harassed, he gazed out  of 
         the  window.   "Must be something wrong, perhaps  it  is 
         me."


           "Your  right  on  target  so  far",  I  said   grimly.   
         Desperately,  I looked at him.   "What  else?    Please, 
         tell me."   Embarrassed, my voice dropped.   "It's  very 
         important to me."


           For  some moments watching the scenery speed  by,  the 
         man  continued  looking  out of the  window.    When  he 
         looked  back,  his  whole  demeanour  had  changed.    A 
         serious  look  on his face, the hair on the back  of  my 
         neck  standing up as his eyes looked into mine,  I  knew 
         he knew;  every little detail, the past, the present, of 
         Gayle and me!   


           Searching  for  the  right  words,  the  man   coughed 
         nervously.    "It's  my experience that in  this  world, 
         love overcomes everything, even good common sense.   And 
         that once led by their emotions, people find  themselves 
         doing the most extraordinary things."


           His  face completely bland, the man lit  a  cigarette.  
         "But once certain things are done or said, there can  be 
         no  going back, there is nothing else to do but  to  see 
         them  through  to  their  natural,  normal   conclusion.   
         Having  gone through the door, it must be played out  to 
         the end."    Fighting down an impatient urge to tear  it 
         from  his  lips as he drew on his cigarette, I  let  him 
         exhale.    He  looked at the  cigarette's  glowing  tip.  
         "What  is  started, must be seen through.    You  became 
         committed  a long time ago, and you must see what is  at 
         the  end of the path.   Not for your sake, but  for  the 
         sake of - er - shall we say, the young lady.


           "For  whatever  reason, people cannot  break  ties  of 
         love.    They try, but they only hurt  themselves.    To 
         suit  yourself,  you've tried to bend love, or  stop  it 
         still  and you're reaping the harvest of  the  whirlwind 
         you've  created.    You  lost sight  of  the  truth  and 
         deviated from the path.   You are extremely unhappy."


           Any  fool could see that.   I bit my lip  in  anxiety. 
         "What should I do?"


           His  eyes crinkling, the man smiled kindly.    Leaning 
         towards  me,  he said in a quiet voice.    "Believe  me, 
         there  is only one thing to do."  Seeing  the  imploring 
         look  on my face, his face compassionate, he  said,  "Go 
         back and put it right!


           "But how?", I exclaimed in frustration.   "I thought I 
         had."


           "Never!",   the   man  replied,  shaking   his   head.   
         "Anything  which makes love unhappy, makes God  unhappy.   
         Whoever she is, she deserves better of you, the girl  is 
         love, and neither she nor you are ever going to be  able 
         to  get on with life until bridges have been built.   Go 
         and  put it right, cast your Fate to the winds  and  see 
         what  happens."   His voice became firm.   "In this  day 
         and  age, it sounds trite, but please believe me, it  is 
         nevertheless  true!    This situation is  above  people, 
         this  is  a matter of Destiny.   However it  looks,  the 
         core  of  what  you have created is  very,  very  right!   
         There  is only one more door through which you  have  to 
         go.   Thereafter, whatever there is between you,  you'll 
         be creating it in your own time, your own future as  you 
         go along."


           Smiling,  he  leant back again.   "So go to  her,  and 
         whatever  you  have  to do - ", the  break  catching  my 
         attention,  I  saw  his eyebrows raise, "  -  mind  you, 
         whatever  you  have to do, make sure you do  it.    Blow 
         everything else!   


           "Have  lots of faith!   There is no danger,  and  save 
         from your own mind, no problems!"   He looked at me in a 
         strange  way.   "Although you seem to already  have  had 
         ample proof of that.   Do you know a medical person, one 
         who   is  blind,  by  the  way?"   Thinking  of   Gayle, 
         bewildered by the sudden  question, as I shook my  head, 
         the words of Gayle's Ward Sister, who'd seen everything, 
         yet seen nothing, came to mind.   No danger, except what 
         had been in my mind.   "No, but I believe I know to what 
         you are referring."


           "Good", said the man, smiling.  "Now you know what  to 
         do."  Relaxing, he smiled.   "I must say, it sounds very 
         simple."


           Great  feelings  of  light-heartedness  milled  around 
         inside  me, and for the first time in weeks, I  actually 
         grinned.   "Yes, it does, doesn't it?   And I'm going to 
         do  it!"    Struck by a thought, I  asked,  "Please,  is 
         there anything else you can tell me."


           The  man  pursed  his lips.   "No,  not  really.   The 
         words,  the  pictures,  whatever  manner  by  which  the 
         information  turns up, it's gone now."   As I  began  to 
         relax, he puffed his cigarette.  "Hold on though!"


           Excited and although at that moment, the fellow  could 
         have  sold  me Hyde Park, icy fingers  slithered  up  my 
         spine  and an electric buzz rippled across my  shoulders 
         as,  looking  directly at me, he said, "I  hear  a  very 
         happy cat."     

              
           Game,  set and match, I gave in.   Desiring to give  a 
         Cheshire-Cat beam of my own to everyone around me, as  I 
         planned my next move, the train started to slow for  the 
         next station.  Leaning towards me, the man smiled.   "If 
         I were you, I'd think about getting out here."


           Glancing out of the window to fix my bearings, I asked 
         "Why?"


           The  man grinned.   "Well, this train goes to  London, 
         which is east.   She is behind you, westwards."


           Three  minutes later, hurrying through the  subway  to 
         catch  my  connection, it occurred to me I  hadn't  even 
         asked the man his name.


                            **      *      ** 


           Save for a small lamp glowing in the sitting-room, the 
         house  was  in  darkness.   If everything  had  gone  as 
         planned,  Grand-mother  had returned home  the  previous 
         week, and peering through the front window, although the 
         television-set  flickered, there was no sign  of  Gayle.   
         A quick inspection proving her car still in the  garage, 
         positive  she  couldn't  have gone  far  and   taking  a 
         chance, I set off up the lane.   Reaching the top of the 
         cliff, searching around in the darkening twilight, I was 
         unable  to find her until just about to leave,  I  heard 
         the scrunch of a stone being disturbed.    Following the 
         noise  and  clambering  down  towards  the   cliff-edge, 
         sitting on a large rock, I saw her.   


           Hearing  my approach, recognising me in  the  twilight 
         but  saying  nothing  as she turned,  watching  the  sea 
         tumbling  below, Gayle looked away.   Sitting  alongside 
         her  and  slipping my arm round her waist,  I  felt  her 
         stiffen.   


           What I wanted to say wouldn't form properly, and for a 
         long  while, we just sat there.   Finally, I could  only 
         express  what  kept  coming  to  mind.    "Gayle,  I  so 
         tremendously sorry."


           Picking  up  a small stone  and tossing  it  over  the 
         cliff edge, Gayle watched it bounce and ricochet to  hit 
         the  sea below before replying in a flat,  tired  voice.   
         "That's  OK, Daddy.   There's no need to be.    You  did 
         what any father would have done.  It made me want to get 
         better,  so  I suppose it was worth  it."  She  sniffed.   
         "There's no hard feeling, I love you just the same."


           "But  I told you lies," I persisted.    "Whatever  the 
         circumstances,  I shouldn't have done that.    I'm  very 
         sorry."


           "Why  be?" asked Gayle, her voice  subdued.    "What's 
         the  point?    For me, it was a lovely  dream  for  many 
         years,  it gave me something to work for.   And  on  the 
         bad  days, something to hold onto.   Why be sorry?"  she 
         repeated.

                
           "Because...",   I  started.    Suddenly   tremendously 
         fatigued, I had to concentrate hard.  "...Because to me, 
         it was as real as it was for you.   Everything I did  to 
         you,  it became more and more right.  It felt  good,  it 
         felt almost perfect."   I shrugged helplessly.   "It was 
         just - well, right, I suppose." 


           Scepticism in her eyes, Gayle looked at me.   "It  was 
         right for us then?   Or feels right for you now?"


           "No",  I  said  quickly.   "It's  wrong  for  me  now, 
         everything.    That's why I've had to see you.   To  try 
         to put it right.   To say sorry."


           Disinterestedly, Gayle looked out to sea.  "Well,  you 
         have.    So  everything's happy again."   After  a  long 
         pause, she whispered in a forlorn voice,  "I've sat here 
         every evening.   Waiting for you to come."


           I  was startled.   "What made you think I  would?    I 
         didn't know myself until this morning."


           "Fate,"  Gayle  murmured.    "When  people  have   got 
         something  going  as  strong as we  had,  it  cannot  be 
         stopped  just like that, it has to work  out  somewhere.   
         Mummy said everything would work out right, that I'd  be 
         very  happy  in the future with the man of  my  dreams."  
         Staring  ahead  of  her,  as though  she'd  just  run  a 
         marathon,  Gayle's  breath suddenly  caught.    Sounding 
         strangled, her words ran together as beginning to choke, 
         she  said,  "But you were the man, Daddy; I  dreamed  of 
         you!  Night after night."   


           Gayle's  voice became miserably tight.   "Now I  can't 
         go forward, I cannot change the past...I'm all empty and 
         hung-up  and  there's  no point in  anything  any  more.    
         You don't want me...and I can't be happy until you  work 
         out  of  me...but unless you want me,  you  never  will, 
         there isn't a way..." Tears began to freely stream,  her 
         sentences punctuated by gasps and heaving sobs.  "...for 
         my  love  to work itself out, and I'm  going  to...start 
         crying  in a moment and I don't ever cry  because...it's 
         me feeling sorry for myself...and I've no right to  feel 
         that    because...oh,   Daddy,   can't   you    see!..."    
         Grizzling, sobbing misery reached its peak as my darling 
         Gayle  whispered, "...I'm so in love with you and I'm  a 
         very unhappy girl...and it was all for nothing..." 


           Breaking   her  heart,  Gayle  collapsed  against   my 
         shoulder.    Unable  to think of anything to  help  her, 
         feeling  utterly  futile, I silently sat  there  as  she 
         cried  herself out.   Unseeing, her head in  her  hands, 
         Gayle  gazed at the ground as the tears fell,  and  they 
         were  all of my creation.   There could be  little  left 
         for life to throw at her and at every stage of the game,  
         she had buckled to, applied herself and beaten the  odds 
         without tears of self-pity.   She hadn't wanted to walk, 
         she'd  wanted to walk for me!   By itself, that she  was 
         sitting  alongside  me was a testament to  her  courage: 
         that  she  had walked even two yards to  get  there  was 
         monumental achievement; that she could walk at all  made 
         people want to cry.


           Then  there  was me.   Safely tucked  behind  a  blind 
         faith which told me something would turn up to solve  my 
         problem  for  me, day by day, just blimping  along  with 
         things,  happily  thinking  it  was  for  the  best  and  
         writing  everything difficult or unhappy-making  off  to 
         `let's  see what happens'.   "It was all lies",  I  said 
         absent-mindedly.


           Sniffing,  Gayle  reached out and took my  hand.    "I 
         know, but you meant well."


           "No,  I meant the things I told myself.   Did  I  mean 
         well?    And  if so, for who?"   I sat  up.    "So  busy 
         doing  what  was best for you sounds good,  but  it  was 
         nothing  of the sort.   All the time, it was giving  you 
         what I wanted to give, not what you wanted to have.   It 
         was  rubbish!   If it was all right for you, it was  all 
         right for me, but only providing I agreed with it.   But 
         that's  finished  now, this is where I  make  the  right 
         decision and make everything right.   It's mine to make, 
         and until I do, there's no life, there is nothing.    It 
         goes against all we've been taught, what we've learnt to 
         respect.    But  there is just the  one  thing  everyone 
         respects over and above convention.


           "Morally, I'll be a blaggard, and conventionally, I'll 
         be leading you in sin.   There's even a fair-to-middling 
         chance  I've jeopardised your eternal soul, but I'm  not 
         the one who makes that decision, thank God.


           "For  your  sake, I've done it every which  way  other 
         people  think  it ought to be, but I can see  now,  they 
         think they understand reality and then compromise.   But 
         also for your sake, now I'm going to do it our way, what 
         we want, and to Hell with the rest!"   


           Confident and clear-minded now, as I looked at  Gayle, 
         I  said  firmly,  "If we are right, we'll be  happy  and 
         they won't even know about it!   And if they are  right, 
         we'll find out soon enough!   But someone else will have 
         to  sort  everything out, this is far too  big  for  me.   
         Until notice to the contrary, you and I together is  how 
         God intended it, and if He isn't happy about that, He'll 
         let  us  know.    In  the  meantime,  there's  a  future 
         together there for us.   If you want it, that is?"


           Now no 18 year-old, Gayle's voice was the woman in her 
         was speaking.   "Do you think it will last?"


           "God,  yes.    There's  everything going  for  it,"  I 
         replied  readily.   "I've just spent the most  miserable 
         weeks  of my life trying to go against it, and I  can't, 
         it's   far  too  strong.    Now  I'm  going  with   it."   
         Standing, I put my hand out to her.  "Coming?"


           Making no attempt to move, Gayle looked at me.    "Are 
         you sure?   You've put so much effort into backing  away 
         from  it,  I'm  doubtful.   I've learnt  a  lot  in  two 
         months.    Now  we are talking again, I'm no  longer  an 
         emotional cripple.  I can exist like this."


           Getting  nowhere,  I was talking to a woman  of  equal 
         years.    Beginning  to feel desperate, I  said,  "Gayle 
         darling,  the day I brought you here, everything I  said 
         was  lies.   I'd convinced myself it was the best  thing 
         to  do, men just don't sleep with their  daughters.    I 
         thought you'd want to find someone of your own and  love 
         them,  that you'd eventually see the sense in it.    But 
         that wasn't true either.   You'd found him and I  didn't 
         see it.   


           "This  isn't about what's best for you.  I didn't  see 
         it  but  for some time, everything has  revolved  around 
         what's best for me.   The truth is, I can't live without 
         you.   I've been compromising since I was at school  and 
         I  can't  compromise any more.   It hurts too  much  and 
         whatever  I must do to bring you about in my life,  I've 
         got  to do it.   Whatever the cost and  whatever  people 
         may  think."   I smiled ironically to myself as  I  told 
         her, "From that time in the hotel, I didn't see it,  but 
         it  became whether you could really want me.   The  same 
         as I lost your mother, as soon as you could walk  again, 
         I thought I'd lose you.   And if making love to you, I'd 
         be  forcing the issue; I might have been about  to  ruin 
         your  future and you'd probably have hated me for  doing 
         it.   And then I'd have lost you forever.    I  couldn't 
         make myself believe you really wanted me.   For me."


           "Well, I did," said Gayle flatly as she rose.    "Come 
         on, walk home with me."


           Very  uncertain  of her, as we walked down  the  lane, 
         Gayle  took my arm.   Much comforted, as  we  approached 
         the house and she said, "When you brought me here, I was 
         so happy.   Do you want to know why?",  I nodded.


           "Because  you'd brought it and fitted it out.    You'd 
         done  everything.  It was the loveliest surprise  and  I 
         believed you'd done it for us.   I so loved you for  it, 
         but  you went so quickly.    I wasn't able to say  thank 
         you."   Rising on tip-toe, kissing my cheek, Gayle said, 
         "Thank you, Daddy.   It's beautiful."   


           Unlocking  the  door, she pushed it wide  open.   "And 
         there  is another reason why I so love it!      Can  you 
         see?"


           Craning  forward, as Gayle entered and turned  on  the 
         lights, I looked in.    Glass-panelled doors throughout, 
         I  could  see right through to the rear  of  the  house.    
         Neat, tidy and clean, fresh and airy, I looked but all I 
         could  see was new carpets and the furniture I'd  helped 
         carry in.   I shook my head.   "I give in."


           More  like  my  Gayle,  happiness  in  her  eyes,  she 
         suddenly  smiled. "The doors," she said.   "Look at  the 
         doors."


           Studying  the front door, and then the doors from  the 
         hallway to the sitting-room and the kitchen, I shook  my 
         head again.   


           "There's  nothing  in it for disabled  people,"  Gayle 
         whispered.    "No  special  door knobs so  they  can  be 
         opened from a wheel-chair.   No special handles to  grab 
         in  funny places.   And no sloping door-step to  get  my 
         chair  up."   She nodded towards the front door.    "And 
         look at the paint!"


           Realising,  I looked and grinned at her.   "No  wheel-
         marks.   Or scratches where your chair bumped it.    All 
         that time and I never thought of it.   Had I known,  I'd 
         have repainted them all."


           Smiling again, Gayle led me through to the smart,  big 
         kitchen.    "It wouldn't have made any  difference.    I 
         would still have known they were there."     Reaching up 
         on  those long legs for the crockery, she  said,    "Sit 
         there and I'll make you a drink before you drive  home."   
         Different to what I'd hoped, brought back to reality, my 
         heart dipped.   


           Sipping  a  mug of coffee in  the  living-room,  Gayle 
         suddenly  asked,  "Tell me, Daddy, what  made  you  come 
         tonight?"


           "Two things", I replied.   "Well, one thing  triggered 
         off   the  other,"  and  I  told  her  of  the   strange 
         conversation on the train.   "Whoever he was, he had you 
         and  the  situation  very clear.    He  pointed  out  my 
         problem,  and  then gave me the answer."    I  shook  my 
         head.   "It was most peculiar."


           "Not  really,  my  love", said  Gayle  with  a  laugh.   
         "It's  been  on my mind for two or three days  you  were 
         going to turn up."   She smiled. "Fate!"


           "That or your mother," I remarked.


           "Probably one and the same", Gayle laughed.


           Happy to open any door but the only one making  sense, 
         telling  me  details  of her  grand-mother's  visit  and 
         generally  chatting,  Gayle  seemed  intent  on  letting 
         things stand as they were and sitting listening to  her, 
         I was becoming nervous.   Time ticked by and the  moment 
         came  when any decent visitor, even a father,  would  be 
         making a move.   Unable to find any break in  continuity 
         of the conversation to turn it back onto what was on  my 
         mind, eventually I said, "Well, I suppose I ought to  be 
         going."


           From  the  depths of her  arm-chair,  Gayle  chuckled.   
         "Now why would you be wanting to do a thing like  that?"   
         With  heartfelt relief, as she rose, I reached  out  for 
         her, but slipping past me and smiling, she held out  her 
         hand.  "Come on, I'll show you to your room."


           Close  behind  her as she climbed the  stairs,  as  we 
         reached  the square-landing and Gayle went to  open  the 
         guest-room door, I suddenly felt frightened.   If I went 
         through  it, nothing would change save that I'd  forever 
         lose  a future.   On a sudden compulsion,  reaching  for 
         her and pressing her up against the wall, I kissed  her.   
         Momentarily,  she held back and then, grabbing  for  me, 
         lips searching, her strong body pushed against me as her 
         arms went around my shoulders.   


           Revelling  in  the  strange,  wondrous  sensation   of 
         feeling her legs pressing against mine, my groin  pushed 
         into  Gayle as a hand slid under her breast.    Chancing 
         upsetting her, sliding my other hand between us to reach 
         for her vulva, she began to rub against it.   Still with 
         our  lips  pressed noisily together, slipping  into  her 
         blouse  and  kneading  her  nipple  through  her   silky 
         brassiere, as my hand tried to cup her soft breast,  she 
         unexpectedly began to strain, hands pushing at me as she 
         turned  her face away.   Surprised and lifting  my  lips 
         from  hers, seeing her chance  to dart to the centre  of 
         the landing, she wriggled out of my arms.   "No,  Daddy, 
         it  doesn't  read  like that,"  she  said  breathlessly.   
         "It's not that easy."


           Amazed, I said, "What's up?   What did I do?"


           "Nothing!   That's the trouble, it's what you  haven't 
         done!"    Seeing  my  puzzled  expression,  Gayle  said, 
         "Look, I knew all about incest when I was thirteen and I 
         wanted you.   Since then, still wanting you in spite  of 
         everything, I've lived with incest.   Never sure whether 
         you wanted me or were patronising me, waiting for you to 
         be  happy to live with incest, I've wanted you  for  six 
         patient years;  I've loved you and believed in you,  but 
         to ease your conscience, you made everything wrong!


           "Then  because some stranger on a train finally  makes 
         up your mind for you, you arrive out of the blue,  think 
         nothing  has changed and I'm going to welcome  you  with 
         open arms.   And open legs!


           "When  this  all started, you once told me  that  when 
         you'd made up your mind, no matter what anyone  thought, 
         you'd do it, but darling Daddy, every move you have ever 
         made  about me, someone has made the decision  for  you.  
         You've needed six years to make an instant decision!"   


           Seeing me prepared to argue, Gayle said, "Think  back!   
         Right back in the early days, I offered myself to you. I 
         pushed  you into playing with my pussy, and my  nipples, 
         remember?"    Watching my face, Gayle saw  memory  flood 
         back.   "And on that holiday when we found I could  move 
         my  legs,  I  wanted you to make love to  me,  but  your 
         precious conscience got in the way.   Just so you  could 
         tell yourself you hadn't pushed me, or co-erced me, that 
         I'd  only done what I wanted to do, that it was my  idea 
         and  you hadn't led me into anything; it was  as  though 
         every five minutes or so, you were expecting to be taken 
         to  Court,  and wanted to be able to tell the  world  it 
         wasn't  your  fault  you'd committed  incest.    So  you 
         always  parked me to one side and got out of making  the 
         commitment.    


           "And  the  first  time  I  sucked  you,  rather   than 
         compromise  yourself  because  you loved  me,  you  even 
         watched  me  struggle  to  unzip  you.    I  had  to  do 
         everything.  


           "Trusting  your promise you'd make love to me  when  I 
         could walk across the room, when I came out of hospital, 
         ready  to start living with you as your wife and  lover, 
         what  happened?   Who backed away from incest  and  went 
         home?  And has felt sorry for himself ever since?"


           Nostrils flaring, her face tight, Gayle stared at  me.   
         "God knows, I love you, Daddy and I want to be with  you 
         forever,  but I'm not going to make it easy for you  any 
         more, to simply slide into something!   As far as things 
         between you and I are concerned, the only decision which 
         has  been  left up to you has been whether you  want  me 
         enough to forget self-interest and fuck me!  


           "And  being you, you're going to damned  well  decide, 
         once  and  for all, because if you do,  then  you'll  be 
         happy to stand by it.   It's `make up your mind time'!"


           Glancing over my shoulder, in a business-like  manner, 
         Gayle nodded towards the bed-room door.  "So look behind 
         you,  my darling!   There's a door leading to  the  life 
         you  have now.    With so little use, there's some  dust 
         and  stillness, the room contains a comfortable  single-
         bed, a chair and a chest-of-drawers.    If you wish, you 
         can move here with me as my father and that can be  your 
         world.    No decisions of conscience, no-one to whom you 
         need explain you're just making the best of being a good 
         father!   Almost all you need.    Live that life for  as 
         long  as  you  want  and looking  after  my  father  and 
         supplying  any other necessities, I'll be happy to  play 
         the good daughter." 


           Jerking  her  head  towards  the  main-bedroom   door, 
         Gayle's  head came up as her eyes challenged  me.    "Or 
         there's  the  door ahead of you.  That's where  I  live.   
         Through  that one, there's a bouncy  double-bed,  frills 
         and flounces, and all things feminine and loving.  And a 
         warm heart that loves you very much, everything that  is 
         me!    It also contains my lips, my tits, and  my  body, 
         everything  I've  got!   That means  lots  of  laughter, 
         kisses and cuddles.   But it also means lots of sex  and 
         making love!   


           "We  might  be caught, or we might get away  with  it.  
         There's  also  lots of risks and chances in  there,  but 
         it's  life, it's living, it's fun and it's  the  future!   
         That's  my  world!  If you want me - really want  me,  I 
         mean,  that's  the  door you'll have  to  walk  through.    
         Not to play with my nipples if you feel like it, not for 
         me  to suck you off every now and again, or for  you  to 
         lick  my pussy when the mood strikes you.   Not  because 
         you've  been led, and certainly not because a man  on  a 
         train  told  you to, but because of your own  will,  you 
         want me and because you love me.   And because of  that, 
         you want to screw me."


           Slowly,   I  realised  Gayle's  door  and  mine   were 
         identical.   Opening to her future, it opened onto mine.  
         Going  through the one leading to my moral, safe  little 
         life  gave  her  the same.   Although  she'd  walk  with 
         another  eventually, she'd still be my  daughter.    But 
         her way of life was still my choice, my responsibility!   


            Acknowledging six minutes in Gayle's arms and bed was 
         worth as many years of being confined in the safe prison 
         my  conscience  had  allowed me to build for  us,  if  a 
         future  with me was happiness to Gayle, whatever Fate  - 
         or  her mother - held for us and whatever the  risks,  a 
         future with Gayle was certainly happiness to me. 


            So  obvious to her, the Ward Sister at  the  hospital 
         had  clearly told me Gayle loved me with all her  heart, 
         and when it thought it would lose her, it was mine  that 
         had cried.   That's where love lived, and it had  always 
         known  the answer.   Whatever my decision, who would  be 
         happy  with it?  Gayle?  Her mother?  God?   The  public 
         at  large?   There was only one person in whose  eyes  I 
         had to justify myself and starting the same fatal  tramp 
         around   morals,   principles  and   scruples,   finally 
         understanding  the  dangers and problems it  had  always 
         posed me,  to silence my head, I shook it.        


           Because all that mattered was my wanting Gayle as much 
         as  she wanted me, and whatever anyone else thought,  or 
         whatever  happened to us, something making me  so  happy 
         because  from now on, they'd be our doors, suddenly  not 
         in  the slightest concerned who else was happy about  my 
         decision,  I grabbed her.   "If you want a  wicked  life 
         with  an old reprobate of an incestuous  father,  you've 
         got it!"   


           Sweeping  her up as kissing me, she happily  clung  to 
         me,  with my arms under her legs, reaching the  door  to 
         her  bedroom, Gayle looked at me.   "Can you hear  it?", 
         she asked.


           It  was  quite distinct.   I nodded.  "There's  a  cat 
         purring."   


           Six  years before, confronted by a door to a  life  of 
         sorts, her world in ruins, her useless legs over my arm,  
         rightly or wrongly, I'd carried Gayle through it and  by 
         a long chalk, I hadn't made the best of it.   Because of 
         her courage and determination, out of disaster had  come 
         a  happy life, and from that life had been born a  love.   
         Confronted now by the door of future happiness,  pulsing 
         with  strength and health, the very same legs  over  the 
         self-same arm gently kicked it open. 


           Carrying  her  through into her bedroom,  tinged  with 
         dynamic  awareness as Gayle laid back on the bed,  those 
         very misty, loving brown-eyes gazed at me as I struggled 
         to  tear off my clothes.   Knowing it a turn-on for  me, 
         tanned, shapely thighs appeared as,  deliberately-slowly 
         lifting  the  hem  of her skirt,  quickly  removing  her 
         panties, her breathtakingly-exquisite down-covered vulva 
         revealed   itself   and  in  sudden   slow-time,   those 
         healthily-white legs parted as spreading her knees - the 
         same  knees we just couldn't get to bend -  and  lifting 
         her  feet  onto  the bed, oozing  love  and  wetness,  a 
         quiveringly-pulsing vagina  opened to me   
            

           Still  gazing at me as I moved between her thighs,  my 
         rampant penis nudged the delicate fronds of  pink-tissue 
         aside, and holding my shoulders off with her hands as it 
         slowly  pressed  into  her,  Gayle's  glove-like  uterus 
         suddenly contracted as the tip of my penis made  contact 
         with  her resisting hymen.   Through those  brown  eyes, 
         lost in the depths of Gayle's soul, I breathed, "I  fell 
         in love with you when you were thirteen.   And every day 
         since, I've wanted to make love to you!   I've wanted to 
         do the most lecherous, carnal things to you."    


           Straining  up  towards me, softly  kissing  my  mouth, 
         Gayle  whispered, "You should have, my darling  one.   I 
         so wanted you to.   Do them for the rest of your life."


           Gayle's  to give to whomever she wished, and  mine  to 
         take  if I wanted, once exceeded, never to  be  restored 
         and to me, representing the physical limit to which  I'd 
         been  prepared  to go,  her hymen had  always  been  the 
         impediment of our union and old life.   


           And now, it was now the key to the new.


            Within  me, a towering, powerful want soared,  to  be 
         with  Gayle,  to share her tomorrows,  and  nothing  was 
         going to stop it.   Nestling my glans against that  tiny 
         piece of tissue, our eyes locked.  


           Quietly,  Gayle  said,   "You're dealing.    You  call 
         it!"


           Still gazing at each other, lips together, feeling the 
         willingness  of my penis pushing harder and harder,  for 
         the  first  time pulling and gripping me closer  to  her 
         warm  body,  those  strong legs came  snaking  round  my 
         waist.    Straining  against her vulva,  desire  for  my 
         daughter's  love instinctively compelled a sharp  thrust 
         as  she  tensed, and to her  sighing,  `o-oh-h,  Daddy', 
         feeling  resistance  give, I suddenly  melted  into  her 
         deep,  fluid  soft-depths.   From father  and  daughter, 
         piercing  a barrier only millimetres thick  transforming 
         us  lover  and  lover, the bolts  thundering  home,  the 
         hesitant door to our past slammed shut.


            And a better one, a million times better, swung open.   
         No more alone and waiting for me to open it for her,  it 
         was the last of the doors to Gayle's future. 



                                THE END
                                ~~~~~~~


           The Authors:   
           ~~~~~~~~~~~

           Still  wondering  how matters arranged  themselves  so 
         fantastically,  at  46  years of age, a  result  of  the 
         incidents  related in his narrative, now well-known  and 
         with  a respected reputation in the world  of  spiritual 
         philosophy  and  healing, still  following  the  amazing 
         `light' which so helped heal Gayle, the Author  lectures 
         on  the  subjects  on an  international  basis.    Often 
         appearing  on TV and radio, he has written a  number  of 
         books of his experiences.      


           Then  aged 20, Gayle finally had her game  of  tennis.   
         Including  the Nursing Sister, watched by  patients  and 
         Nursing  Staff from the Hospital she'd attended  for  so 
         long,  chasing him all over the court and leading  by  2 
         sets  to 1, she was leading in the fourth set when,  for 
         lack of strength, her ex-surgeon's legs failed him.


           Living  as  man-and-wife,with  two  adopted  children, 
         Gayle and her father currently reside on the South coast 
         of England.   


         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+
         copyright: Merrill, Castle & Gray 1996  




         ANONYMOUS CLASSIFIED ADVERISMENTS

         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


           Copy for advertisements carried in the next Edition of 
         "ELECTRA MAGAZINE" is being accepted NOW.


           Commencing  next  month, we have  reserved  space  for 
         Classified  Advertisements.    ABSOLUTELY  CONFIDENTIAL, 
         they  can  include ANYTHING whatsoever.    Meet  people, 
         exchange   or  sell  goods  or  other   material,   swap 
         information   and  opinions;  the  scope  of   what   an 
         advertisement can do for you is unlimited.


           Space  up  to TEN LINES is FREE.   Remailing  of  each 
         reply costs $2 (one pound sterling).   For collection at 
         your  convenience, a CONFIDENTIAL personal post-box  may 
         be  hired  at an extra  cost of $5 per month  (3  pounds 
         sterling).


           ABSOLUTELY  CONFIDENTIAL means PRECISELY  that;  dealt 
         with  by machine, contents of replies never come  before 
         a human eye.   


           Upon  receipt,  each  advertisement  is  automatically 
         given  its  own reference number.    Mail  the  required 
         wording to: `adv-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'



           Receipt will be acknowledged.


         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+


                       "IN PRAISE OF OLDER WOMEN..." 

                          Adapted from `Jailbait' 

                                by Jack 


                                ~~~~~~~


           Little  boys are just little boys - `rats  and  snails 
         and puppy dog tails,' as the old poem goes - but  little 
         girls are very often merely little women. I'd read about 
         that young girl named Lolita, who made it with an  older 
         man,  but  I  assumed she  was  totally  fictional.  She 
         wasn't,  much  to my amazement and sorrow, and  I  found 
         that out. 


           My  wife  of six years and I finally divorced  in  the 
         winter of '93, and I moved out. Managing to keep my job, 
         that was about all, but because I'd become awfully weary 
         of the fighting and tension I, I figured it was worth it 
         though. 


           When I'd finally caught her making it with some  young 
         grunt  of  a  high school football player,  in  our  own 
         house,  that  did  it. Like the husband  in  a  classic, 
         French  farce,  I'd come home too early  and  found  her 
         getting  her  red-headed  brains  screwed  out  by  that 
         juvenile  jock.  The soft, rhythmic sound  of  expensive 
         bedroom  hardware should've clued me, but  unthinkingly, 
         I'd  pushed open the door to see the soles  of  Brenda's 
         feet  bobbing the air and her fingers digging  into  his 
         butt  as  with youthful gusto, he was humping  her  down 
         into the mattress. She was groaning and whimpering,  and 
         both  of them were too engrossed in the job at  hand  to 
         hear me enter. 


           Acting  without thinking, leaping across the room  and  
         just  as he was coming, jerking that punk off of her  by 
         the  hair,   before he recovered, I got in a  couple  of 
         good punches. Then he beat the living hell out of me.  I 
         was  thirty-two, and in decent shape, but the kid  -  if 
         you  could call him that - was over six-foot tall,  one-
         ninety-five, eighteen years old, and in peak  condition. 
         Trying to stay conscious, beginning to hurt all over,  I 
         lay on the floor as, her curvy butt going  jiggle-jiggle 
         as she ran out of the room, Brenda jumped off the bed, . 


           And that was that. Filing for divorce, but out of male 
         pride,  not citing adultery, the court clobbered me  and 
         bitterness  piled  upon  anger.  When  the  legal  smoke 
         cleared, I moved into the YMCA and began my new,  single 
         life. 


           Boy, did I get a hard lesson in the mating game. I got 
         teased,  stood up, ripped off and generally trashed  for 
         six months before I got wiser and wary. 


           By  June, things were looking a little  better  though 
         and  I  went  house hunting. Finding  a  nice  apartment 
         across  town - actually a guest house at the rear  of  a 
         large  home  - I set up bachelor  house-keeping.  I  had 
         reasonable   privacy,  and  a  back  entrance  off   the 
         alleyway, so I hardly ever saw the couple who owned  the 
         place.  My landlord was a middle aged exec with a  large 
         computer  corporation, and I think I got a deal  on  the 
         place  because, trying to finish my degree  in  computer 
         science,  I  was  back  in  school.    His  wife  was  a 
         friendly,  blonde,  but we kept it  civil  and  strictly 
         platonic. 


           So  all  went well until late June when  their  grand-
         daughter, Molly, moved in.    Pushing fifteen, Molly was 
         tall for her age, red-headed and green-eyed, like my ex, 
         and  just  past the budding stage. In fact,  she  had  a 
         fairly  lush figure for a kid, but the trouble was,  she 
         knew  it. Her breasts weren't big, but they were  headed 
         that  way,  the  large nipples  making  prominent  peaks 
         against the material of whatever top she wore. Her  hips 
         were beginning to take on the alluring, female curve  of 
         womanhood,  and  her legs were already well  shaped  and 
         long. 


           That  much  body, coupled with  surging  hormones  and 
         juvenile emotions is one very dangerous combination  for 
         any male in sight. I noticed her shortly after she moved 
         in and spoke to her, but she responded with a dour  look 
         and I ignored her after that. 


           Being  ignored  was something  little  Molly  couldn't 
         handle  so after a couple of weeks, she  began  flirting 
         with  me.  Now  it seemed every time I  looked  over  my 
         shoulder, she was there. I got sly glances, then smiles, 
         then  I got treated to the sight of her in  a  minuscule 
         bikini,  and  supposedly to dump the garbage,  once  she 
         came out of the main house in just her bra and  panties.  
         I blew it off though until my landlady asked me to tutor 
         the girl in computers for the summer. I almost said  no, 
         but she pleaded sweetly and I finally agreed. 


           So on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, Molly would  come 
         back to my little place and we'd sit down at my  pentium 
         for a lesson in electronic data mystique. It went okay - 
         she was a fast learner - and I tried to ignore the  knee 
         bumping  under  the desk, the frequent touches  and  the 
         heady scent of expensive perfume until the third week. 


           That Tuesday she showed up wearing just a t-shirt with 
         obviously  nothing  under  it and  tight  short  shorts. 
         "Oops,"  she  said as she plunked herself  down  in  the 
         chair  next  to mine, "Sorry I'm late. I had  to  finish 
         some chores." 


           Suddenly,  I  was having a lot of trouble  keeping  my 
         eyes  on the monitor and off the dual rise of  her  bare 
         boobs  under the thin shirt. Distracted, I  suggested  a 
         break  and  got  us cokes from my small  'fridge.  As  I 
         handed her the can, her fingers wrapped around mine  and 
         I saw she was wearing nail polish. 


           Sitting  on  the  couch across  the  small  room,  she 
         crossed her legs to give me a nice shot of her legs  all 
         the  way  up to her ass.  Keeping my gaze  elevated  and 
         away from her thighs, all too adult and luxurious, below 
         the high edge of her pink shorts, I sat across from her. 


           "Jack,"  she  finally said, using my first name  in  a 
         disturbingly familiar way, "Maybe you could help me with 
         a problem, if you wouldn't mind a lot." She paused, then 
         continued. "I should ask my grandma, I guess, but she's, 
         well,  kinda older, and I think you might know what  I'm 
         talking about more. Besides, I can't talk to them  about 
         it." 


           "If  it's computers, I can help," I told  her  firmly. 
         "But otherwise I doubt it." 


           Molly laughed. "It's not computers. I'm confused about 
         this boy I've been dating. I know he wants sex from  me, 
         but I'm, well, getting tired of saying no all the time." 
         I started to speak, but she held up her hand to stop me. 
         "I  know, I know, it's awfully personal and  everything, 
         but  since  I'm probably going to say yes, and  I  don't 
         want  to get pregnant, I'd be awfully grateful if  you'd 
         help me get some birth control." 


           Sweet  Jesus! She was about to get laid and wanted  me 
         to further her delinquency. I shook my head quickly. 


           "Please?"  she wheedled, looking under her  lashes  at 
         me. "They won't sell them to me, he won't get any, and I 
         don't want to be pregnant." 


           "Try saying no," I suggested sharply. 


           She  gazed  at me as if I'd suddenly turned  into  the 
         pedantic  Caterpillar  from Alice in  Wonderland.  "I've 
         been saying no," she said petulantly, "but I don't  want 
         to anymore. He puts his finger in me and I get so  dizzy 
         and flustered." 


           Her legs and her emerging breasts dominated my  sight, 
         and my brain, and I began to picture her naked,  heaving 
         under some pimply boy, taking his thrusts and moaning in 
         pleasure.  Sweat dampened my sides and the palms  of  my 
         hands,  and  worse, I felt an insistent stirring  in  my 
         lonely penis. "Whoo," I muttered. "I can't do that.  I'd 
         be  in deep trouble even talking any more about it  with 
         you." 


           Molly wheedled again, coming over and trying to sit on 
         my  lap. I pushed her off and she settled for  squatting 
         down next to my chair. "Please. I really trust you.  And 
         you can trust me too. I wouldn't tell anyone, no  matter 
         what. Please." 


           I  tried a different tack. "Look, I'm assuming  you're 
         still  a virgin, and I know it's awfully old  fashioned, 
         but you might consider staying that way." 


           She gave me an arch little smile. "You are sort of old 
         fashioned,  but kind of sweet. What makes you think  I'm 
         still virgin?" 


           I  felt a hard, warm ripple through my crotch.  "Okay, 
         so  you've  already  done it. I still  can't  buy  birth 
         control for you." 


           "You  wouldn't  want  a boy to take  me  without  some 
         protection, would you?" Her hand rested on my leg as  if 
         to  make  a point, but it was about as  uncalculated  as 
         Wellington's  campaign against Napoleon. "You  wouldn't, 
         would you?" 


           "No," I said in a daze of lust, "I wouldn't." 


           "Well  then,"  she smiled, "buy some for me  and  I'll 
         even  pay you back. Or maybe you could loan me  some  of 
         yours." 


           I gaped at her in surprise, then comprehension.  Molly 
         blushed,  and I knew she'd been prowling in my room.  "I 
         guess you have something like that," she said quickly to 
         cover her lapse. 


           I  decided  to  try  shocking her  out  of  it.  Half-
         jokingly,  I  said, "I don't suppose you'd  want  me  to 
         demonstrate them for you would you?" 


           She pulled her hand from my knee and stared at me, her 
         eyes going wider. "I wouldn't be afraid if you did," she 
         said in a low tone, but her expression made a lie of her 
         words. 


           We'd come to a turning point and I thought I'd  scared 
         her enough to where she'd leave me alone after that. But 
         I  didn't realise just how determined she was. "I'm  not 
         really  in  love  with him," she said. "I  mean,  I  was 
         thinking about doing it with him, but I still might  not 
         if I had someone I really liked better." 


           I told myself I was trying to scare her off even  more 
         as  I  said,  "You know just  what  you're  hinting  at? 
         Talking  to  a  man my age about sex  is  tantamount  to 
         asking for it. Is that what you want?" 


           Molly  put  her  chin  up, set her  jaw  and  put  her 
         shoulders back, pushing her tits against the material of 
         her  shirt.  "I  might be. Does that  bother  you?"  she 
         smiled. 


           I  couldn't see her as a little girl anymore  then.  I 
         got up and slowly moved toward the door, locking it, and 
         then  turned back to her. She looked at me  soberly,  no 
         longer wheedling or smiling. 


           "Are your grandparents home?" 


           Molly  shook her head, her eyes fastened on  mine.  My 
         nice-guy  side  was  screaming 'no,  don't!  she's  only 
         fourteen!'  but  the  other  side  of  me,  the   horny, 
         frustrated,  not-so-nice  side, was saying,  'she's  old 
         enough  and she's no virgin, go for it! Fuck her  little 
         brains out!' 


           The horny side won out. I stepped over to her and took 
         her  hands  in  mine, kidding myself that  I  was  still 
         trying  to  shock her out of it, and said,  "Okay  then, 
         let's go to bed." 


           "Aren't  you going to kiss me first?" she asked  in  a 
         tremulous voice. I was still trying to kid myself that I 
         was  attempting  to shock her out of it as  I  drew  her 
         close  and  kissed her, pressing my  pelvis  tightly  to 
         hers,  knowing that she had to be feeling the firm  rise 
         of my swelling penis against her belly. She didn't  back 
         off  though and I got a very adult kiss  back,  complete 
         with probing tongue. 


           That really did it. We side-walked to the couch and in 
         just a couple of minutes, we were stretched out, my hand 
         up  under  the edge of her shorts and her  ankle  hooked 
         over the back of mine.. As we came up for air once,  she 
         whispered, "You don't have to use anything if you  don't 
         want to." 


           I intended to, but just then I was busy pushing up her 
         t-shirt.  I got it up and I was shocked at how full  her 
         breasts  were. They were nicely curved and nubile,  with 
         fairly  large  nipples, now swollen with  excitement.  I 
         bent to kiss them and she held my head. 


           "I'm getting all squirmy and tingly in my tummy,"  she 
         told me. 


           "Good! Let's get your shorts off." I felt her go tense 
         again.  "You want to stop?" I asked, the  nice-guy  part 
         hoping  she'd  say she did. But, no, she  didn't  and  I 
         helped her unzip and wiggle out of the snug shorts. 


           Still going easy as I was able, I ran my fingers  down 
         her  abdomen and pressed them gently into the crease  of 
         her mons under her underpants. Instead of flinching, she 
         opened  her legs, making it easier, inviting me,  and  I 
         discovered that she was slightly damp. I started to pull 
         them  off  her, but she stopped me. "You  get  undressed 
         first." 


           "Why? Are you embarrassed?" 


           Molly nodded. "But it's okay. I just want to see." Her 
         face coloured. I sat up and stripped as she gazed at me, 
         hesitating  a little before I pulled off my  shorts.  My 
         cock jumped free and I waited for her gasp of shock


           But  it didn't come. Almost wonderingly,  she  reached 
         over  and  touched the turgid length of my  male  staff, 
         touching the tip cautiously. "It's wet on the end,"  she 
         observed, repressing a giggle. 


           "I noticed you're a little damp yourself." 


           She  lifted  her  hips  and  quickly  pulled  her  red 
         underpants off. I don't know why, but I was surprised to 
         see  the  curly delta of woman fur at  her  crotch.  Her 
         shirt bunched up at her chest, she lay back, moving  her 
         legs  apart, looking at me. I forgot all about going  to 
         the  dresser  for  a condom as I moved  up  between  her 
         spreading  thighs. Now there was no turning back and  no 
         fooling myself. I was about to fuck her. She sucked in a 
         hissing  breath as I got into position and  touched  the 
         tip  of my all too eager cock to the fleshy cleft  below 
         that thin woman fur. 


           I pushed a bit, barely parting her labia and she  gave 
         a sharp gasp and her eyes went wide. I stopped, but  her 
         hands  pressed the small of my back, urging me on.  "No, 
         it's okay. Go on." 


           I pushed again, she gave another little gasp and I was 
         in  her. I don't know what I had expected but it  wasn't 
         like screwing a little girl. She lay still, but the feel 
         of her so snug and warm around my intruding cock was not 
         so  different  from the way it would be  with  an  older 
         girl.  I  kept still on her for a  moment,  hearing  her 
         breathing,  and  after a bit, she shifted,  moving  more 
         under  me  and bringing one knee up. "Oh,"  she  sighed, 
         "it's so different." 


           Pulling  back a bit, I thrust again and this time  she 
         didn't  flinch or gasp. I took another easy stroke,  she 
         sighed,  and then I was humping her, slowly stroking  it 
         to  her.  She became wetter and looser and  I  began  to 
         believe  she really hadn't been virgin. I  stopped  just 
         long  enough to grab a throw pillow and place  it  under 
         her  head, then put her arm around my neck. "How do  you 
         want me to do?" she asked in a quivery voice. 


           "How ever you feel like." 


           Molly  made a tentative movement of her  hips,  biting 
         her  lower  lip  in  concentration.  "Uh,"  she  grunted 
         softly, her arm tightening around my neck. 


           "Bring  your legs up," I ordered and her knees  cocked 
         back.  "Good. Now just try to move with me." Resting  my 
         forearm under her neck, I grasped her butt with my other 
         hand and began to really hump it to her, moving  faster, 
         plunging  in  and  out in a nice,  steady  rhythm,  then 
         hammering  down on her until she was grunting  under  me 
         and  her legs were flopping in the air above  my  sweaty 
         back. She kept saying, 'oh, oh, oh' as I drove into  her 
         and I grinned to myself, thinking that kid she'd  fucked 
         hadn't given it to her like this. 


           Molly  got over her confusion after a bit and did  try 
         to  move with me, starting to push her hips back to  me. 
         In  a  few minutes, the couch springs sighed  under  our 
         weight  and  Molly's hands were stroking my back  as  we 
         moved nicely together. 


           "Are  you going to come?" she whispered thinly  a  bit 
         later. 


           "You ready?" 

           "Yeah." 


           Lifting my upper body, I drove for a finish, thrusting 
         hard  to  her, looking down between us to see  my  prick 
         pistoning in and out of her stretched inner lips. Then I 
         came, arching up as I burst into her. She went tense  as 
         she felt my sperm filling her, sucking in a quick breath 
         and tightening her arms. 


           Then  came the awful realisation that I had  just  had 
         sex with a kid. Sudden visions of enraged guardians  and 
         stern judges filled my brain and cold panic washed  over 
         me. I came out of it with Molly's voice in my ear. 


           "How do I know if I came?" 


           I  pushed  off  of her and sat  up,  icy  with  dread. 
         "What?" 


           "It  felt so . . . different. My tits got all hard,  I 
         got dizzy and my tummy went all swirly inside, like  big 
         waves and I felt like fainting." 


           I looked at her, naked, open and flushed, her one  leg 
         bent  behind  me, the other over my thighs.  "Yeah,  you 
         could have." 


           "I never came before," Molly said wonderingly. Smiling 
         up at me, she touched my forearm. "Am I as good as  your 
         dumb ol' girlfriend?" 


           "I don't know. You're too young for me." 


           "Crap!" Molly snapped, sitting up. "I am not. We  just 
         did it and we both came, so I'm old enough." She gave me 
         a sly grin. "Besides, we didn't use anything so I  might 
         be pregnant right now even." 


           `God  forbid!'  I thought. "You'd better  get  out  of 
         here," I told her. 


           "No,  I'm staying. They won't be back for  hours  yet. 
         Anyway, you have to do what I say now because you  could 
         get  in  trouble  for  doing it to me."  I  gave  her  a 
         horrified look and she giggled. "I won't tell, so  don't 
         look so scared." She looked thoughtful. "I don't know if 
         I could stay all night with you, but I can try.  Anyway, 
         next time we'd better be careful." 


           `Next time?' I shook my head. 


           Molly  scowled  at  me. "You don't  want  to  make  me 
         pregnant, do you?" 


           "I  don't  even  want you over  here  again,"  I  said 
         darkly. 


           "Yes you do!" she snorted. "You liked it. I bet  you'd 
         even  like  to  do it to me again  too."  Boldly,  Molly 
         touched my limp cock, still damp with her female  fluids 
         and  my  semen. "It's all wrinkly  now,"  she  observed, 
         tracing my length with one finger. 


           I flinched away but taking my penis in her hand, Molly 
         pursued. "Can you make it get bigger again?" 


           I  was  certain  I  was going to  go  to  jail.  Then, 
         perversely,  I  didn't give a damn anymore. If I  was  a 
         rotten  child  molester and I was doomed  to  prison,  I 
         might  as  well  do it right. "You  could  make  it  get 
         bigger,"  I said in a malevolent tone. Molly gave  me  a 
         questioning look. "Sure. Play with it a bit and see what 
         happens." 


           Hesitating, she tried stroking my still flexible cock, 
         squeezing  and pulling on it. When I didn't  immediately 
         become  erect, she stopped. "A grown up woman would  try 
         kissing it," I advised, wickedly grinning at her. 


           Glowering  at  my teasing, Molly thrust her  chin  out 
         defiantly. "It's all yucchy and slimy and I'd puke." She 
         suddenly  switched  moods again and gave  me  a  naughty 
         little  smile.  "You think I'm chicken, don't  you?  You 
         think I'm just a kid. Well, I'm just as sexy as that fat 
         old  lady  you brought over that night."  She'd  done  a 
         little sneaking and peeking on me and no doubt had  seen 
         me balling a woman I'd picked up and brought home a  few 
         weeks ago. 


           Before  I could rip her for spying, she scooted  back, 
         bent over my lap and planted a quick kiss on the head of 
         my penis. "Poo!" she spat. "It tastes funny." Then  with 
         an  age  old  instinct, she bent  again  and  cautiously 
         sipped at the end of it. She grimaced with distaste  but 
         tried  again, this time leaving her lips on  me  longer. 
         "Huh,"  she muttered wonderingly. Holding  my  twitching 
         cock in her fingers, she carefully placed her lips  over 
         the  head and took a tentative suck. I must have  sighed 
         or groaned or something because she grinned up at me and 
         immediately  went down again, sucking harder. In a  very 
         short  time,  Molly was awkwardly pulling  on  my  cock, 
         trying to really suck on it right, even using her tongue 
         a  little. I responded, shifting lower on the couch  and 
         lifting my hips to encourage her. My cock began to swell 
         in  her moist, fourteen-year-old mouth and  surprisingly 
         soon I was coming up to complete erection. I petted  her 
         hair and her back as she slurped away on me. 


           "Hah,  did  it!" Molly exclaimed a couple  of  minutes 
         later,   holding  my  hard-on.  Looking  up   from   her 
         handiwork, she said, "Do you want me to lie down now?" 


           "No,"  I  said thickly, "Climb up on  it."  I  thought 
         she'd  balk  at  that, but no,  she  straddled  me,  her 
         features  tight  with concentration as  she  grasped  my 
         resurrected  cock,  raised up and set the  head  to  her 
         female entrance. She gave a little grunt as she  settled 
         down  to  drive  it up in  her,  then  squirmed  closer. 
         Hugging my neck, she said into my ear, "Okay, it's in." 


           Totally  gone to lust, I kissed her cheek. "Good.  See 
         if you can come again." 


           Her arms tightening around my neck,  moving slowly  up 
         and  down on me, Molly flexed her thighs. It  felt  very 
         good. I slid wetly in and out as she made short pumps on 
         me  and I leaned back, letting her ride me. She got  the 
         rhythm  and  was soon humping me in  fine  fashion,  her 
         breath beginning to whistle in my ear, her face  flushed 
         and  her eyes half closed. It was good sex and I had  to 
         keep  reminding myself that this was a little  girl  and 
         not some experienced woman. 


           "I  . . . think I . . . can," she sighed after  a  few 
         minutes. 


           "Okay. But hurry. I think I'm getting pretty close." 


           "Okay.  Uh, yeah." She inhaled sharply, stiffened  and 
         all  at  once pushed down very tight to me,  her  pelvis 
         grinding   against  mine.  "Oh!"  she   blurted.   "It's 
         happening!". 


           Leaning back as I squirted into her, her eyes squeezed 
         shut,  her  fingers  digging into  my  shoulders,  Molly 
         flopped  forward against me, gasping. I could  feel  her 
         vagina  going tighter on me, grasping my cock inside  of 
         her. 


           "Oh,  God,"  I groaned. We rested for a  moment,  then 
         lifting her off, I moved back and laid her down with her 
         legs  over  the edge of the couch.  Pushing  her  thighs 
         apart,  I put my face to her crotch and began to  nibble 
         at her slick, fleshy folds. 


           "No," she cried, pushing at my head. "That's nasty! We 
         just  . . ." But she got quiet as I flicked her  swollen 
         little  clitoris with my tongue and thrust  two  fingers 
         deep into her slippery, semen lubed vagina. 


           A bit later, Molly's legs were around my shoulders and 
         she  was  shuddering as I knelt on the  floor,  my  face 
         buried  in  her  cleft.  She  came  again,  lifting  and 
         whimpering. I pushed back and sat back on the couch. 


           Molly  lay  there, staring at the ceiling,  her  mouth 
         open.  "That's  what men do with big girls," I  said,  a 
         trifle smugly. 


           Molly  slowly sat up, staring at me. "I'm all  squirmy 
         inside. My bottom hurts." 


           "Think you'd want to do it again?" 


           She thought, then nodded. "Not right away though." She 
         shivered. "But I can sneak out after they've gone to bed 
         tomorrow night." 


           "Better  not," I advised. "Just keep it  for  Tuesdays 
         and Thursdays, like usual." 


           "I  feel funny about you doing that - you know -  with 
         your mouth, right after we did it." 


           "How would you feel about doing it from the back?" 


           "In my rear end?" She looked aghast. 


           "Sure.  Some  big  girls like it that  way,  and  it's 
         harder to get pregnant like that." 


           Molly chewed her lip in consternation. "I don't  know. 
         Couldn't we just use one of those plastic things?" 


           "Hey,  look, you want to be grown up about it,  right? 
         Well . . ." 


           She  surprised me once more by saying, "Maybe. But  it 
         might hurt." 


           "I'll do it real easy." 


           "Okay, I guess. We'll see." She left a while later. 


           I wasn't sure she'd show up again, but that  Thursday, 
         there she was at my door. She was no sooner inside  than 
         she was hugging me, ready to be kissed. "I'm okay  now," 
         she said. "You can do it to me, but not in my behind.  I 
         tried putting my finger in there but I'm too small  back 
         there for your thing." 


           With the aplomb of a long time, older girlfriend,  she 
         dug  through  my dresser and found a condom.  Without  a 
         trace  of shame or reluctance, she went to my  bed,  got 
         undressed  and  slid under the covers, waiting  for  me. 
         When  I stripped and got in beside her, she  kissed  me, 
         then pressed me back. "I want you to kiss me down  there 
         first instead of afterwards." 


           I got her good and wet and warmed with my tongue,  and 
         when  she was happy with that, Molly pulled me  up  onto 
         her, parted her legs for me and deftly rolled the condom 
         onto my ready cock before she brought it to her  swollen 
         and moist cunt. As I sank down on her, and slid smoothly 
         into  her, she said, "I'm going to keep on  dating  that 
         boy  I know, but I won't let him do it, not  right  away 
         anyhow. But if I do, I promise to make him use one too." 


           Then proceeding to screw my head off, locking her legs 
         around me, she bucked and sighed under me until I came. 


           Laws  and such notwithstanding, some females are  born 
         lusty  little seductresses. And now that I  think  about 
         it, once she made her mind up to have me, I don't  think 
         I ever had a chance. 


           I was only thirty-two, but she was fourteen, going  on 
         forty. 

         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+

         `ELECTRA MAGAZINE' is usually published between 10  days 
         and 2 days prior to the month to which it applies.

         The Proprietors, Editor and Staff of Merrill, Castle and 
         Gray  accept no responsibility for matters arising  from 
         the   contents   of  the  Magazine,  neither   does   it 
         necessarily reflect their views or opinions.


         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+
  
           ARCHIVE NAME:
           ~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Although   an  excellent  name,  excluding  `The   New 
         Louvre',  or any derivation thereof, do you have a  good 
         title for the Archive?


           Some suggestions already received have been:

                       
                          `The Vatican Library'                   
                             `The Parthenon', 
                          `Library of Congress' 
                          `Scherezade Archive'
                           `The Boudoir Press'
                           `The Great Archive'
                               `The Attic'

                                 and the 

                          `Alexandria Library'. 


         but  apart from not wishing to upset the Pope, and  with 
         the poetic talent often displayed by newsgroups posters, 
         we are looking for something a little subtle and  easily 
         remembered.   


           In the meantime, M.C.G. have specifically reserved the 
         title  `The Zoo' for that part of the Archive  available 
         only to those smoking funny tobacco, the  strong-hearted 
         or  weak-headed.   When ready, access instructions  will 
         be sent to Magazine Subscribers. 
             

           FREE COPY
           ~~~~~~~~~

           FOR the sake of sending an e-mail with your  suggested 
         name,  the  mailer  submitting the  best  title  in  our 
         estimation  will  WIN  a FREE copy  of  the  soon-to-be-
         released  revised and up-dated best-seller,  `TOMORROW'S 
         FAMILY?'.    Retailing at $30.00 (15  pounds  sterling), 
         written  by the family involved, it is the true  account 
         of  their conversion to incest as a  way-of-life.    The 
         competition is open to anyone over the age of 18 years.


         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


         "Electra Magazine" is always happy to hear from  readers 
         on any subject at all.

         Of what would you like to read?   Can we improve on  the 
         contents, lay-out and design of the Magazine?


                   e-mail: `mag-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'


         For all our publications: `list-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'


         FRIENDS: Would any of your friends or associates like to 
         receive  a  FREE copy of the Magazine?  Or  if  changing 
         your e-mail address, contact:
          
                      `dist-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'



         NEXT  MONTH: 
         ~~~~~~~~~~~

         `Viccy'  reveals more from her `Incest-Help-Line'  mail-
         bag.

         By  request, a reprint of `Darlin' Daughter's'  10-point 
         guide to finding TRUE stories on the Internet.

         The  start  of the UNPUBLISHED chapters  of  `Tomorrow's 
         Family?',  the  true  account  of  an  entire   family's 
         coversion to incest as a way of life.

         Part one of `Etienne' by Rob Morton.

         News of a PRICE REDUCTION CONCESSION for subscribers  of 
         "ELECTRA MAGAZINE" to a major binary archive.

         and much more, including a section of `Energy For Life', 
         the  story  of a mother and father  and  their  daughter 
         Sabine.   


         And `Charlie', their Red Setter.    


         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+

        "ELECTRA MAGAZINE" (September)
        
         copyright: Merrill, Castle & Gray 1996 (UK Edition) 

         All rights reserved. No part of this publication may  be 
         reproduced  or transmitted in any form or by any  means, 
         electronic,   mechanical,  photocopying,  recording   or 
         otherwise, without prior permission of the publishers. 

         This magazine is published subject to the condition that 
         it  shall not, by way of trade or  otherwise  circulated 
         without  the  publishers prior consent in  any  form  or 
         binding  or  cover  other  than  that  in  which  it  is 
         published  and without similar condition including  this 
         condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. 

         Merrill, Castle & Gray. 

         e-mail:ed-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk 






-- 
Distribution Manager

Merrill, Castle & Gray

