
                          The Pedophile
                         An Erotic Story

     I guess the time my life started to take a turn for the 
better, was when I got my new apartment.  Previous to this, I 
hadn't been able to stay put for more than a few months, before 
someone recognized my name, and I was forced to move again.  I 
had begun to regret my appearance on the TV show, even if it had 
been responsible for my getting the high-powered legal help that 
allowed me to be free, instead of locked up behind bars, where 
the life-span of men who were known to like little girls was 
short and brutal.
     At least the last place I had been at, the owner had been 
fairly decent; returning my deposit, and the unused portion of my 
rent-money, when he told me I had a week to be cleared out.  The 
previous place I had lived had just dumped my belongings in the 
carport, and when I came home from work had told me I'd better be 
gone before morning, or he'd tell everybody in the apartment 
building who I was.  I was in no condition to face a lynch-mob, 
so I left.  It was over a year, before my lawyer was able to 
collect the rent I had already paid, and I never did get my 
deposit money back.
     It's not that I really needed the money.  The work I do, 
pays fairly well.  My boss knows who I am, but doesn't care WHAT 
I do for a sex-life, as long as I don't bring it to work.  Still, 
having to move every month or so, when people found out who I 
was, was not pleasant.  THAT is the main reason I was so happy to 
find the "Open Arms" apartments.  There were other advantages as 
well.
     When my lawyer heard about my having to move again, he 
wanted me to sue the landlord.  After all, it's not as though I 
were a convicted felon or something.
     Well, in a way I was.  I was convicted.  Then the Marshall 
foundation stepped in, with their high-powered legal staff, after 
someone saw our family interview on TV.  They got me an appeal, 
and not only did they manage to get the case dismissed, which 
would have left the possibility of it being reopened, they 
managed to force the judge to give a directed verdict of "Not 
Guilty."  I was free.
     So, the interview on TV was both responsible for saving me 
from the slammer, and my difficulties retaining an apartment.  
When most people found out that I had not only fucked my own 10, 
12, and 14 year old daughters, but had gotten all three of them 
pregnant, they didn't seem to care that it was the girls who had 
tied me down, and made me squirt incestuous cum inside them, 
until I gave in, and let them have their fun.
     After fucking the two older girls for almost a month, I 
began to like it so well that I didn't raise too much objection, 
when Lisa (the youngest) came into her big sisters' bedroom one 
night, where I was fucking Terry, and demanded to be let in on 
the fun.






                                1


     Within 3 months, I was a confirmed pedophile.  The feeling 
of my little girls' tight little pussies, swelling bumps of 
breasts, and bare little cunnies, was too much for me.  I still 
loved my wife, but it was only because I DID love her, that I 
continued to have sex with her.  I hated to cheat Mary, when it 
wasn't her fault.  Besides, as I said, I still loved my wife 
(Still do, for that matter.) so while it didn't have the illicit 
thrill of screwing a cute little pre-teen, the fun of knowing the 
woman you loved was turned on by you, was still enough to make it 
enjoyable.  Enjoyable?  Oh heck! I loved it.  No matter how much 
I liked fucking my little girls, Mary was the one who had loved 
me enough to give them to me, and it was still fun to try to make 
another one in her still sexy little belly.
     There were two troubles, however.  You would think that I 
would lose interest in fucking my wife, what with three little 
girls all vying for my sexual favors.  Well, surprisingly, that 
wasn't the trouble.  It seemed, that the more and more varied sex 
I got, the more I wanted.  No, the trouble was, that I wasn't 
superman.  All that sex was tiring, and it affected my work, 
until I was caught falling asleep on the job, and almost got 
fired.
     The other trouble was one you might suspect.  Terry got 
pregnant.  I didn't dare put the girls on birth-control, and they 
wouldn't have stood for it anyway.  So, when my eldest daughter 
told me she had missed her period; it wasn't really a surprise.
     What WAS a surprise, was my wife's reaction, when I finally 
confessed.  Yes, Mary was mad at me; but not for fucking our 
little girls, as you might think.  No, my wife was mad at me for 
sneaking around, and not letting her know.  After all, they were 
her kids too.
     It was only when Terry, Denise, and Lisa all told her how 
much I had worried about her, and how I had wanted to tell her 
from the beginning, but they had all talked me out of it, that 
she relented.
     Mary insisted that we put the two younger girls on birth-
control right away, before it was too late.  Only, it was already 
too late, as you have probably guessed.  There I was, with three 
daughters ranging in age from Lisa at 10 years old, to Terry at 
14, all pregnant by me.  Oh shit.
     Still, we might have been able to bring it off, with no more 
than a minor scandal, if some nosy neighbor hadn't overheard one 
of my daughters talking to the other, and figured out who the 
father was.
     The rest, you probably know about.  My arrest.  The big 
scandal in the tabloids, about the unidentified father, whose 
daughters had "raped" him.  It was only because the legal fees 
had mounted so high, we were about to lose the house, that the 
family agreed to do that interview on the "Opal Winter" show.  
They kept my face darkened, so people wouldn't recognize me, but 
my name became almost a household word for a while.







                                2


     At first, the interview concentrated on the girls.  The 
people couldn't believe at first, that all three girls actually 
wanted to have sex with their own father.  It took most of the 
show, to convince them, that all three girls not only wanted to 
have sex with me, but they were all delighted that I had gotten 
them pregnant, as well.
     After that, they concentrated on me.  What kind of father 
was I, to fuck his own daughters, two of whom weren't even 
teenagers yet?  If they had almost forced me the first time, why 
hadn't I told my wife?  Why hadn't I at least put the girls on 
birth-control?
     On and on the questions went.  I fielded them as best I 
could.  I could tell that some people in the audience, including 
a surprising number of the women, seemed to feel some sympathy 
for me.  After all, I hadn't raped my little girls.  In fact, 
they had almost raped me.  It was that "almost," that did me in.
     The last question, was the one that damned me.
     Opal knew the answer, from talking to my daughters, but she 
was trying to improve her ratings, like any talk-show host.
     "Mr. Jenkins," she asked, "I know you were forced into it 
the first time, but what about now?  I'll bet you really like the 
feel of having sex with a little girl, don't you?"
     I blushed, which thankfully the audience couldn't see, but I 
started to answer truthfully.  "Well yes, but I wouldn't do it, 
now that I'm not being pressured to any more.  I love my little 
girls too much for that."
     "Well," Said Opal, "there you heard it folks, from his own 
mouth.  The man who got his own daughters pregnant, just admitted 
that he is a pedophile.  A man who likes to get his sex from 
little girls."
     The nasty thing, was what they did with the tape of the 
show.  All you heard of my remarks, were the words, "Well yes, I 
love my little girls."  The bastards cut out the middle part, 
then broadcast this edited version all over the country.
     In a way though, I was lucky.  One of the directors of the 
Marshall foundation was in the audience; where she heard both my 
original answers; then saw the aired tape the next day.  I 
understand she was furious, and directed their lawyers to help me 
out, by suing the show.
     In the meantime, I went to trial, and predictably, lost.
     The DA managed to get the judge to admit a recording of my 
wife's discussion of the girls' pregnancy with the doctor on the 
grounds that it wasn't protected by a doctor-client relationship, 
as it was her daughters she was talking about, not herself.
     The trial was paused for almost a month, when Terry and 
Denise had their babies.
     It didn't become completely clear why, until the prosecuting 
attorney had DNA tests done, which while they didn't PROVE I was 
the father of all three little girls, showed that there was at 
lest a better than 50% chance that I was.







                                3


     The worst part, was that while the court was recessed, there 
was a news-report on the Opal show, and the lawsuits they were 
fighting.  Including mine.  They showed the edited version of the 
tape, saying that this was one of the items Opal was being sued 
for.  It turned out, that over half the jury saw that tape.  Even 
though the judge instructed them all to ignore any outside 
testimony like this, I could see that they all looked at me with 
disgust, after that.
     My lawyer tried to get the case dismissed on prejudice, but 
the judge wouldn't do it.  Personally, I think he saw the edited 
tape himself, and had decided to convict me anyway he could.
     The judge thought he was being lenient.  He only gave me 8 
years.  He told me that was because of the mitigating 
circumstances, of the girls forcing me.  He told me, that I 
should have found some way to stop, if I really loved my 
daughters like I professed to.  The public had to protect itself 
against men like me, who wanted their sexual gratification from 
little girls.  Eight years, and he was being lenient.
     Some leniency.  I read in the newspaper about a month later, 
where he sentenced a man for raping his girlfriend at knife-
point, to only 5 years.  "After all," he said, "it wasn't as if 
it was the first time, the two of them had sex together."
     That was his idea of justice.
     It was about this time, the lowest point in my life up to 
that time, when I contemplated suicide.  The only thing that 
saved me, was the constant support I received from my wife and 
daughters.  Even though I wasn't allowed to see the girls, Mary 
kept me informed.
     It was Mary, who introduced me to Mark, my new lawyer.
     I was in the process of being fitted (if you can call it 
that) for my new prison wardrobe, when I was told to get dressed 
again, and hauled out to the visitor's center.  My wife had a 
very businesslike man with her, who she told me was a lawyer who 
had taken over my case, If I would accept him.
     Well, what did I have to lose?  Of course, I said yes.
     On the spot, Mark pulled out a writ of Habeas Corpus, from a 
circuit-court judge; and after 15 minutes of paperwork, I was 
back out on the streets.
     It was there, in a coffee-shop, across from the prison, that 
I learned the downside.  Mark was fairly sure he could get me 
off, but he couldn't protect me from an overzealous DA who would 
feel that he had been cheated.
     If I went back to living with Mary and my daughters, people 
would think I was still fucking them, whether I was or not.  They 
would then charge me with a new crime, and this time I wouldn't 
get off.  And if any of the girls turned up pregnant. . . I'd 
probably NEVER get out of jail.  So, Mary and I would have to 
divorce.  We would have to be careful to not make it final, until 
after the upcoming hearing though.
     That's the last time I saw Mary, at least, for over 5 years, 
anyway.  Then. . . Well, I'm getting ahead of myself.
     I almost decided to go back to prison, rather than give up 
the woman I loved.  Not to mention our daughters.
     It was only when Mark pointed out to me, that I would lose 
them there, in an even more permanent manner, that I accepted.


                                4


     I kissed my wife one last time, tasting the salt of her 
tears joining mine then I watched her go.  Somehow, she managed 
to make it to her car, and drive off.  I don't know what I would 
have done, if she had weakened.
     The next two weeks were a blur.  What a difference, having a 
GOOD lawyer, and money to use him.
     Mark explained that the Marshall foundation specialized in 
cases where people like me had gotten a steamrollered by the 
judicial system.  It was set up by some woman who had more money 
than she knew what to do with, who got mad one day, when a friend 
got convicted for stealing something that the self-confessed real 
thief was acquitted of.
     The woman set up the foundation to pick out 5 or 10 cases a 
year of this nature, and fight them.  She wasn't as big or well 
known as the ACLU, but the foundation had a much higher success 
rate.
     Mark got the circuit-court judge to order me a re-trial, on 
the basis that my wife had been forced to testify against me, 
when the judge had used the doctor's tape without her consent.  
From there, the prosecution's whole case fell apart like a house 
of cards.
     Mark got a ruling from a supreme-court judge, that they had 
improperly obtained the blood-samples from Terry and Denise's 
children.  They couldn't get new ones, without the mother of the 
baby's permission.  No way, were my daughters going to help them 
convict me, when they didn't think I had done anything wrong.  
They all felt I had only done what was right for them.  (In fact, 
I learned many years later, that they all wished that I had been 
able to give them each more than one child, before our family got 
broken up.)
     The tape of the Opal show was ruled inadmissible on two 
grounds.  First, self incrimination.  Second, it had been 
altered.  By this time, one of Mark's fellow lawyers had won an 
out-of-court settlement from the Opal show, for almost $250,000.  
They didn't care.  They had already made more than that, from the 
tape, and the increased audience, was easily worth three times 
that.
     Even after paying legal fees, and taxes, there was enough to 
set up Mary and the girls, so that I didn't need to support them 
any more.  One less tie, as Mark pointed out, to get me in 
trouble.  I wanted more ties to my family, not less, but knew he 
was right.
     Even the original neighbor who had overheard my daughter's 
conversation, was no longer around.  Her family had come into 
some money suddenly, and they had all vanished.  My daughters 
wouldn't testify.  My wife wouldn't testify.  There were no 
witnesses.  They couldn't use my own admissions on the Opal show 
against me.  They couldn't prove the babies were mine.  The whole 
case against me collapsed.
     Since there was no case, Mark moved that the judge make a 
directed verdict of "Not Guilty," which I could tell that he 
didn't want to do, but was forced to.
     When he handed down the verdict, the judge looked me square 
in the eye, and told me, "Mr. Jenkins, I'd better not see you in 
MY courtroom, for even a traffic-ticket.  Do you understand me?"


                                5


     I did, and told him so.  If the local DA even caught me 
jaywalking, I'd probably go to jail.
     Mark told me, that I could probably sue the judge and win, 
for threatening me like that.  We both decided that it wasn't 
worth the cost.  Better to retain the threat as a weapon, in case 
the judge or the DA DID try something sneaky.
     As soon as I could, I moved out of state.  Mark agreed that 
this was a good idea.  No only to get me away from the District-
Attorney's wrath, but to protect both me and my wife from 
suspicion that I might be sneaking around and molesting them 
again.  As if I EVER "molested" my daughters.  They molested ME!  
Not that I fought them all that hard.
     It was afterwards, that I found out the real downside of the 
Opal show.  People recognized my name, as a self-admitted 
pedophile.
     I'd barely get moved into some new apartment, when I'd start 
noticing people looking at me funny.  Then the notes, or 
telephone calls, or other threats would start.  Sometimes within 
a month, sometimes even sooner.  The longest, was only 4 months, 
before someone almost burned a whole apartment-complex down, 
including their own apartment, where their two daughters were 
sleeping, just to "protect" them from the "pervert."  Some 
protection.
     Almost killing his own children to "protect" them from a guy 
who wouldn't hurt a child to save his own life.  Right!
     Somehow, I received the blame for the whole thing, and it 
was only the police investigators who came to arrest the nut who 
started the fire, who kept me from being lynched.
     I was told by the lieutenant, to leave town, as they 
couldn't protect me for very long.  He was the only one, who 
seemed to be as disgusted at the jerk for almost killing his own 
daughters, as he was at me.  Somehow, I felt the rest of the 
police wouldn't have been too unhappy, if they had been a little 
late in rescuing me from the other angry tenants.
     Seven times, in two years I had to move.  That's why it had 
been so pleasant to move into the "Open Arms," and why I dreaded 
the time when someone would recognize my name again.  By now, a 
lot of people had forgotten who I was, and I surely made no 
effort to remind them.
     There was another reason I liked the "Open Arms."  It wasn't 
only their arms that were open.  Almost every thing else, except 
the gate in front was open, as well.
     The first time I entered the complex, following the striking 
figure of the apartment-manager, I almost died of embarrassment 
when a gorgeous redhead came out of her apartment, waved at the 
manager, and dove into the pool, wearing nothing but a smile.
     "That's Gloria," said Anne, when she noticed my gaping jaw, 
"she lives in the apartment next to yours."
     "Didn't she forget something?" I asked, "Like maybe her 
swimsuit?"
     Anne looked at me with some amusement.  "I thought you knew 
this place was C/O," she said, "It was in your contract."
     "C/O?"
     "Clothing-optional."



                                6


     "Oh!"  I was too dumbfounded, to say more, so I kept quiet 
and followed Anne to my small apartment.
     It was the smallest apartment in the complex.  Barely three 
rooms and a bath.  Anne explained to me, that all the apartments 
were partitioned so that they could be made smaller or larger, as 
needed.  The rooms in any adjoining apartment could be made part 
of that one instead.  Locked doors kept the tenants apart.  One 
person in the complex rented out three whole sets, for his 
extended family.  The place next to mine, used to be the 
manager's apartment, before she took over, and the people there 
needed extra room.  That left the place she was renting out to 
me, cut down to bare-bones.
     I didn't object.  The price was right.  I was now a 
bachelor; and besides, the view was great.  Of course, I didn't 
know just HOW great it was, at the time; but I soon found out.
     The "view" was of the pool.  Being right up in front, next 
to the original manager's apartment, put my main window directly 
overlooking the big pool, where almost all the women liked to sun 
in the afternoons.  WHAT a view!
     I soon grew to love my new digs, and wouldn't have moved 
out, if somebody else paid my rent for a place twice as big.
     I had never heard of a "Clothing Optional" apartment before.  
The biggest difference, was the entrance and lobby.  You couldn't 
come in, without either a key, or being admitted by a tenant.  
There were strict rules, "NO nudity in the lobby," that they 
tried to enforce.  Not always successfully, as sometimes someone 
would dash down there naked, just to pick up their mail.
     Once I got used to it, I found I liked it.  It wasn't a 
swinger's paradise as you might think.  It was just normal 
people, who weren't all that uptight about wearing clothes.  Or 
not wearing clothes for that matter.
     Nudity was not required either.  Many days, I would look out 
at the pool, and see quite a mixture of full-bodied swimsuits, 
mixed with bikinis, mixed with full nudity.  Nobody seemed to 
care, and after a while, neither did I.
     After a month or two, I was just as happy chatting with my 
neighbor, Sam when he was lunging nude, potbelly sticking out, as 
when he was dressed to go out on the town.  Even more relaxed, in 
fact.  It was Sam, who showed me the real advantage of my 
location.  Sam pointed out the gold privacy film on all the 
windows.  It also kept the afternoon sun from baking the 
apartments, but its main purpose was privacy.
     The film acted somewhat like a one-way mirror.  When it was 
sunny outside, everyone inside could have a good view of the 
pool, without being seen themselves.  Sam showed me how you 
couldn't see inside the apartments from the outside, on any 
normally sunny day.  Even fairly overcast days kept you from 
seeing in.  On the other hand, except for a slight tinge to the 
view, it was almost as if the film wasn't there, when looking 
out.
     At nighttime, the situation reversed, and you could see in, 
but not see out.  Of course, most people kept their curtains 
drawn at night, and anybody peeking in windows at night, would 
have been an obvious "Peeping Tom."



                                7


     Sam showed me how, with a pair of strong binoculars, you 
could look at all the pretty girls from inside your apartment, 
almost as if you were standing beside them.  He handed me his 
pair, in his apartment, and pointed out one of the younger girls 
who was sunning herself about 30 feet away.
     "Oh my God!"  I found myself looking right up the crack of a 
barely pubescent girl, who couldn't have been much older than my 
Terry.  There was a fine little fuzz just beginning to show where 
her future womanly bush would be.
     It was then, that I found out that the accusations were 
true.  After all I'd been through, I was still a pedophile.  Or 
maybe I had just become one.  Whatever.  My prick ached with the 
thought of how tight the young woman's cunny-hole must be inside.  
I was almost ready to leave a big mess on my neighbor's carpet, 
when Sam nudged me, interrupting my train of thought.
     "Quite a looker, huh?" he teased me.  "I'll bet you'd like 
to stick that big thing up her tight little hole and make her beg 
for mercy."  Sam grinned at my obvious erection.  "Probably would 
too," he continued. "I'll bet that thing would split that little 
girl wide open!"
     "Oh don't worry," he said, at my obvious discomfiture, "I 
won't tell her."  "Anyway," he continued, "she probably wouldn't 
mind anyway.  She already knows that I like to look at her, and 
she never says anything.  Sometimes, she suns herself right in 
front of my window too.  I feel like I could almost reach out and 
touch her.  Of course, I wouldn't.  She's too young, for one 
thing, and doesn't give me any other encouragement, for another."
     Sam sighed, at the injustice in the world, while I got hot 
under the collar, remembering what I used to do with my 
daughters.  Then, I had a horrible thought, about what would 
happen if people found out that a pedophile (me) was staring at 
their little girls like that.  My erection wilted like a wet 
noodle.
     "Oh.  I guess that the younger stuff just isn't your thing, 
huh?" observed Sam, misunderstanding (luckily) the reason I 
didn't have a hard-on.  "Well, I'm still a 'dirty old man,' and I 
still like to look, even if I can't do anything.  I guess I'll 
have to 'handle my problem by myself.'"  He grinned at me, and I 
watched the older man head for the bathroom, to "handle" his "big 
problem."  "Let yourself out Mike," he called, as the door 
closed.  So I did.
     Passing the teenager on the little frame lounge, I couldn't 
resist looking down.  So smooth, so firm, so YOUNG.  I hurried, 
to keep from calling her attention, but she noticed me anyway.
     "Hi, Mr. Jenkins," she said, making my hair stand on end.
     I looked back, and I could see the girl half-sitting up, 
with one knee cocked.  This had opened the slit between her leg 
up, so that I swear I would have been able to see right up to her 
unbroken hymen, if she still had one.  All I needed to do, was 
duck my head.
     I didn't.  In fact, I turned my head to keep from letting 
the girl know that I was blushing.  If I didn't get back to my 
apartment pretty soon, it would soon be obvious to everyone where 
my thoughts were leading.



                                8


     "Afternoon, Jennifer," I replied, now remembering who she 
was.  I hurried towards the safety of my own rooms, when her 
words caught me.  "Aunt Anne wants you to come over Monday 
night," she said.
     Anne, like several of the middle-aged single women in the 
complex, was obviously making a play for me.  Now, she was using 
her niece, as bait.  What a piece of bait.  Then I was ashamed at 
myself for the thought.  Anne was too nice a gal to do that.  
Still, she wasn't the type I was looking for either.  I wasn't 
looking for anything really.  My heart still ached with the 
thought of Mary and my daughters.
     I agreed to go visit anyway.  Sometimes, an aching heart was 
best consoled by a willing woman.  It had been almost 2 years, 
since I last got laid.
     I was right.  Anne and I never did get to have a real 
"thing" going between us, but we got to be good friends, and more 
than 1 night I spent in her bed, while she spent several in mine.  
Still, that's all we ever were.  Just friends.  We still are, 
years later.
     After Sam had pointed it out to me, I became an avid 
sightseer in my front room.  I picked up a pair of binoculars of 
the type used by fire-wardens in the mountains.  I mounted them 
on a sturdy tripod, where I could see the women outside.
     It was almost as if some invisible message was passed.  It 
seemed as though the minute I set up to watch, all the women in 
the building picked that moment to show off what they had.
     I had never noticed how many fine young specimens of female 
humanity congregated in front of my window before, but from that 
day on, it always seemed as if there was always at least one, and 
sometimes as many as fifteen beautiful girls lying out by the 
pool, in front of my window.  (I found out later, that Sam had 
given me a gift.  Being in charge of the pool arrangements, he 
moved almost all the lounge-chairs down so that they faced my 
window.)
     From then on, there was almost always a pretty view outside 
my front window.  As I mentioned before, some of the women went 
naked, and others didn't.  Sometimes, a pretty girl in a bikini, 
is more arousing than one completely nude.  Sometimes.  Other 
times. . . Well, I wasted a lot of sperm into the towel I kept 
handy by the front door.
     It wasn't only women, or even men.  Quite often, it was 
little kids, as well.  Most of the kids went naked, enjoying the 
sun on their bare bodies, without a care.  Occasionally, a little 
girl would wear a swimsuit, but it was usually a visitor.  None 
of the other kids seemed to care, if one of them was or wasn't 
naked.  This surprised me, as I really expected some of the kids 
to tease the others for wearing clothes, while they were naked.
     I learned later, that one of the most rigidly enforced rules 
of the complex, was that "Clothing Optional" meant just that.  
Anyone who caused trouble about the state of dress, or undress of 
somebody else, was evicted.  Even little children minded their 
manners, when it came to this.





                                9


     Around the pool, you could be as comfortable in top-hat and 
tails, as in a bikini, or nothing at all.  Even out on the 
courts, or in the recreation-room the rules applied.  The only 
exceptions were: Everyone had to wear clothing in the lobby.  And 
the rules of wear in YOUR apartment, were your business.  A 
couple of families I know, enforce total nudity in their 
apartments, and anyone visiting them has to comply.
     Another, (considered a little square) didn't get undressed, 
even for the pool.
     Quite a few, only went naked when swimming.  Most fell into 
the swing of the place, and went nude, when they felt like it, 
and dressed up, when it suited them also.  I fell into this 
latter group, quite easily.
     As I said earlier, I found out that I was a true pedophile.  
When I first got the binoculars, I mostly forced myself to watch 
the more mature women, and tried to fantasize about having sex 
with them.
     A few (very few) even let me act about my fantasies.  (No, 
I'm NOT going to tell you which ones.  "Kiss and tell," is not a 
way to keep friends.  "Fuck and tell," is a way to make enemies.  
I like friends.)
     After a while, I kept finding myself looking at the little 
girls, usually picking those between the ages of 10 and 15.  The 
ages my own daughters had been.  Younger than that, and I would 
be afraid of hurting them.  Older than that, and they developed 
hairy snatches, and big bosoms, that didn't seem to turn me on so 
much.
     I never did approach any of the children though.  For one 
thing, the thought of someone recognizing a known pedophile (me) 
talking to their little girl, was enough to give me the Willies.  
The other reason, oddly enough, is that I AM a pedophile.  I love 
little girls.  That's love.  As in Heinlein's definition, where, 
"Someone else's happiness, is essential to your own."  I knew 
that even the mere thought of someone like me approaching them 
for sex, would scare these little girls half to death.  That 
would not be love on my part, if I did it.  That would be sheer 
sadistic brutality.
     Very few girls in the world really WANT to have sex, before 
they are 15.  A lot get pressured into it, but that's different.  
Pressuring a little girl would be almost like raping her, and I 
could never do that.
     I know; you're wondering about my daughters.  So did I.  I 
never approached them.  They came to me.  Or more correctly, 
"came-on" to me.  Of course, I didn't resist them, as much as I 
should have, but that's because I didn't have the heart to refuse 
the children I had poured so much love into, when all they 
wanted, was to show they loved me just as much.
     I don't know where the girls got the idea, that the best way 
to show they loved their father, was to carry his babies, but it 
almost sounds like somebody's sex-story.  Who knows, maybe it 
was.  Perhaps, they heard of this from some story like this one, 
and thought that it would be cute, to get pregnant by their own 
father.




                                10


     Maybe not.  So many romance novels these days contain 
stories about how wonderful it is to be a woman, and to carry the 
baby of the man you love, that they may have gotten the idea from 
one of those.  Whatever.  I knew my daughters were unusual, and I 
love every unusual bone in their bodies.  (All the softer parts 
too!)
     So, I love little girls.  My fantasy was to make love to 
some of these lovely moppets that would gather in front of my 
window, but it was also my nightmare.  The thought of even 
accidentally hurting one of them, kept me from more than barely 
saying, "Hi," when they spoke to me.
     Of course, I was still scared that someone might recognize 
my name, from that ill-starred TV show.  Nobody ever seemed to.  
At least, nobody ever said anything.
     The day things REALLY started to change, was one of those 
low-points in your life, when it seems that everything that can 
go wrong does.  A perfect embodiment, of Murphy's Law, as it 
were.  My (now ex) wife Mary, had sent me some papers to sign, 
concerning our daughters.  It was a mere formality, as she now 
had complete custody, but she knew how much I treasured even the 
appearance of having some say in their upbringing.
     Since the annuity bought with the Opal settlement kept her 
and the girls quite comfortable, I didn't even normally have the 
contact of sending child-support.  I had written the whole 
annuity over to her, and it WAS my child-support.  Actually, the 
girls were better off than I was.
     Mark (my lawyer) insisted that I only send presents on 
birthdays and Christmas, and that I not spend too much on the 
presents that I did send.  Those were the only contacts I had 
with the 4 women I loved most in the world.
     When I got the paper to sign, I noticed that it was wrinkled 
in spots.  It wasn't until I finished signing my name below 
Mary's, (For possibly the last time in my life.) that I realized 
they were tear-marks, as my tears dripped off my cheeks to add 
further abuse to the poor innocent piece of paper.  Mary had been 
crying too, when she signed HER name.
     Almost blindly, I scrambled the letter into the return-
envelope, and rushed out the door, before my eyes could fall on 
the pictures I kept on the desk.  Almost 8 months old now, they 
showed my beautiful girls, as they had looked for their school 
photos, just before Christmas.
     I stumbled out to the lobby, (Luckily, I was still dressed 
from work.) and stuffed the envelope into the outbound mail slot 
before I lost the nerve, and kept it as a last precious memento.
     I was on my way back to my room, when I heard my name being 
mentioned.  "Mike Jenkins?" said Anne, "Yes, I know him.  He 
lives in number 13."
     "Oh God!" I thought.  This was the first time I had ever 
noticed the unlucky aspect of my apartment number.  "How 
appropriate, unlucky 13!"
     I was about to try and sneak back to my apartment, where I 
was always half-packed ready to go, in case someone DID recognize 
me like this, when the apartment manager noticed me.
     "In fact," she said, "there he is now.   O Mike!"



                                11


     "Damn!"  Now I couldn't just sneak away in the night.  I'd 
have to face-up to the fear and disgust of yet another angry 
parent.  As if I was really any danger to kids!  Oh well, they 
just didn't know.
     To my surprise, there was no sign of disgust, loathing, or 
even fear, on the young woman's face whom I turned to greet.
     "Oh Mr. Jenkins, I'm SO glad to finally meet you," she said 
with what seemed like a genuine smile.  Her manner was even more 
encouraging.  Instead of pulling away in disgust, like you might 
expect if she knew my past, the young woman offered me a warm 
friendly handshake.
     It's amazing how much friendliness can be put into a 
handshake.  By the time we had finished, I felt as close to the 
woman as if I had gone to bed with some lesser mortal.  Cathy 
(her name) seemed to be just as delighted to see me, as I was to 
admire her delightfully curved body.  I was almost biting my 
tongue, to keep from growling.  It's amazing what lack of a 
proper sex-life will do to you.
     I was jerked back to reality, as Anne continued her 
introductions.  ". . . are her children, Cindy, Diane, and 
Ginny."
     "Oh shit!" I thought, "she's married."
     "Where's your husband?" I asked, looking around for the 
lucky man who had captured such a lovely creature.
     "Oh, I don't have one," she giggled.
     "I'm sorry," I apologized, embarrassed at the faux paux.
     "I'm not," she giggled again, "not if it means that I get to 
meet you, after all this time."  Cathy looked around at her three 
children.  This time, I looked closer.  Three miniature 
pedophile-delights grinned back at me.
     Cindy was the oldest, at about 12, and looked like a wet-
dream.  Her lightly rounded hips, and budding breasts hinted at 
the woman who would soon be filling out curves in all the right 
places.  Not that her curves were unappealing now!  In fact, the 
little girl was the sexiest thing in the whole apartment complex, 
with the possible exception of her mother, Cathy.
     Ginny was the smallest, just barely out of the tomboy stage, 
at 8 years old I wondered just how tight her little slit was, 
then berated myself for mentally fucking the little girl, when we 
hadn't even properly been introduced yet.
     "Hi, Mr. per. . Jenkins," said Cindy, then gave me a sunny 
smile, that warmed me down to my toes.  Surely she hadn't been 
about to say, "Mr. pervert."
     "Cindy!" warned her mother, obviously annoyed about 
something.
     "OK Momma, I was just kidding," replied Cindy, then turned 
to me again.  "You're nice," she said, then beamed a smile at me, 
that made me decide she couldn't possibly have meant what I 
thought she did.  Then, the little 12-year-old added, with a 
grin, "Why don't you come over to our place some night, where you 
could meat me properly."
     I gaped at the little girl in astonishment, and some 
embarrassment.  Cindy couldn't possibly mean what I thought she 
meant.



                                12


     Cathy just shook her head.  "Kids," she said, "they start so 
young these days." Then she looked at me, with a twinkle in her 
eye.  "As you should know, Eh, Mr. Jenkins?"  Then left, with a 
wiggle in her walk that drew stares from all around the pool.  
Even fully dressed, the woman had a sensuality that made even the 
young girls in bikinis look pale and uninspired.
     I was too busy trying to get over my shock, to respond.  
"The woman DID know," I thought, "and she doesn't seem to even 
CARE!  And her with 3 lovely pre-teenaged daughters!  Oh my God!"
     I was still staring, gap-jawed, when Anne caught me.  
Misunderstanding my interest, she started telling me about my new 
neighbor.  In a few minutes, I learned that Cathy Anderson was 
not married, was VERY well off, (She had rented the big apartment 
that used to be the manager's, right next to mine, the moment it 
became vacant.  And it was NOT cheap.)  She only had the three 
children.
     And yes, Cathy HAD been inquiring about me.  All Anne had 
found out, was that Cathy had mentioned she had seen me on some 
TV show, and had been wanting to meet me ever since.
     I blushed right down to my hair-roots.  She WANTED to meet 
me?  And her, with three starting-to-be pubescent little girls?  
No way!
     "It must have been someone else," I told Anne, hoping it was 
so.  "After all, there are LOTS of TV shows.  Perhaps, she's 
thinking of someone else.  I never was a TV star."  No lie, but 
hopefully misleading enough.
     "Maybe you're right," sighed Anne, "but she seemed so sure 
though.  Besides, how many Mike Jenkins' are there?"
     "Not many," I agreed, and we left it there.
     That was the Last I saw of Cathy, except for glimpses, for 
the next week.  Only once, when she was signing for a delivery, 
did I see her looking my way, when she gave me another of those 
soul-warming grins.
     Well, if Cathy knew about my sordid past, it didn't seem to 
bother her.  In the meantime, I wasn't getting any strange phone-
calls, or hate mail either.  I breathed a little easier.  Perhaps 
it WAS somebody else she was thinking of.  After all, there were 
a LOT of TV stars.  I couldn't remember ONE named Mike Jenkins 
though.
     After about two weeks, they had settled in.  I became used 
to seeing the three little girls come out from next door, and 
head for the pool.  Just like all kids, they loved to get wet.
     After the first three days, when they suddenly seemed to 
realize that bathing suits weren't needed, all three little girls 
stopped wearing theirs, and never wore one again.
     In about a month, I had almost forgotten their mother's 
comments, and spent most of my afternoons ogling the three kids 
through the binoculars, to the detriment of all the other young 
girls who were there.
     One day, I was watching Ginny, running my way, as she got 
closer and closer to my window.  I was so absorbed in looking at 
the little girl's tiny little cunny, that I felt as if I could 
almost reach out and touch, that I didn't realize where she was 
heading, until my bell rang.



                                13


     "Can-I-use-your-bathroom-Cindy's-using-ours-thanks," said 
the little girl in one breath, squeezing past me, and on into the 
toilet.
     I never had a chance to object.  I was about to tell the 
little girl that her mother might be worried, if she went into 
strange men's rooms, without even telling her mother where she 
was.
     My words died on my lips, as I heard a satisfied, "Ah," then 
a splashing sound as the child relieved herself.  I stared in 
wonder, at the little girl "going potty" in my apartment.  I 
could actually see the stream of liquid, as it left the little 
girl's body, before vanishing down into the bowl.
     Seeing my interest, Ginny smiled at me, then calmly spread 
her legs, to give me a better view.  I couldn't have moved, if 
you had tied a team of horses to me.  I watched the pee flow out 
of the little girl's cunny in a steady stream, until she 
finished, and started to wipe herself.
     "Do you want to wipe me?" she asked, hesitating.  I wondered 
just who had been wiping the little girl's cunny previously.  I 
shook my head, afraid of what I might do, once I started.
     "That's OK," said the little girl, reassuringly.  "Maybe 
you'd better not, if you're afraid."  She flushed the toilet, and 
headed towards the front door.
     "Uh, Ginny," I said, "it's usually not a good idea, to go to 
the toilet, in just any man's apartment.  Especially, without 
your mother knowing about it."  I almost sweated blood, wondering 
what Cathy would do, if she DID know about this.
     "That's OK, Mr. Jenkins," responded the little girl.  "Momma 
says we can trust you, since you love little girls too much to 
hurt them."
     My mouth was gaping wide, as she continued, "She told us all 
about how you loved your own little girls so much, that you were 
willing to give them up, rather than let them be hurt by other 
people thinking nasty things about them and you being together.  
So Momma says we can all do whatever we want with you, but we 
aren't supposed to let anyone else know, or they might try to 
make you look bad, just like they did with your little girls."
     I stared at the little girl, unable to say a word.  
Obviously the little girl's mother DID know about me, and, and, 
and, approved?!?!  I still couldn't believe it. And that remark 
about the girl and her sisters doing whatever they wanted to with 
me.  Surely their mother hadn't meant that to be what it sounded 
like.
     Since I didn't say anything else, (I just stood there, with 
my jaw flapping in the breeze, like the village idiot.)  Ginny 
headed back out to the pool.  On the way, she took in my 
binoculars on their tripod.  Up to now, this had been a secret, 
that only Sam knew about.  Ginny figured it out instantly.
     "Oh," she said, "you like to look at the women in the pool, 
don't you Mr. Jenkins?"
     I was barely able to nod.
     "How about girls?" she asked, peering through the eyepiece, 
at her big sister, "do you like to look at them too?"




                                14


     I shivered at how close the little girl was getting to home, 
but ventured another nod.
     "Oh Goody," she said, then looked me straight in the eye.
     "How about me?" she asked, "Do like to look at girls like me 
too?"
     My expression gave me away.  I nodded anyway.
     Ginny almost exploded with glee!  The next thing I knew, 
there was a little 8-year-old girl in my arms, kissing me.  
Before I could stop myself, my overexcited prick was pumping 
thick sticky gobs of sperm, all over the little girl's flat 
little tummy; from where, it dribbled down between her legs.  
Ginny watched amazed, at squirt after squirt of thick sticky 
liquid splattered all over her breasts, her tummy, and down her 
legs.
     I couldn't believe how much cum I wasted that day.  Well, it 
wasn't a COMPLETE waste.  Squirting it all over a pretty little 
girl, was definitely preferable to squirting into an unfeeling 
towel.
     "Wow," said Ginny, "I guess you DO like to look at me!  
Thanks, Mr. Jenkins.  I guess Momma was right about you."
     "I guess she is," I barely managed to breathe.  Somehow I 
managed to escort the little girl to the door, before I found 
myself  laying her on the bed, and filling her tight little tummy 
with so much thick sticky cum, she would have been having babies 
for the next 20 years.  I don't know where I got the strength, 
but I did.  Ginny didn't look too disappointed though.
     When I finally caught my breath enough to look outside, I 
remembered just what I had done.  Ohmigod!  I had just sent the 
little girl out of my apartment, naked, alone, with great big 
gobs of thick white greasy cum covering her front, from her cute 
little nipples, down to where It dribbled into the lips of her 
tiny little cunny.  I was dead!
     I stared out the window, looking for the lynch-mob.  There 
was nobody out there, except Ginny, and her two sisters.  Now 
that I remembered it, there hadn't been anybody else out there 
earlier, when Ginny had come inside.  I vaguely remembered Ginny 
checking the window, before she left.  It seems the little girl 
had about 100 times the brains that I did.  I still worried about 
her cum-covered front though.
     With good reason too.  As I watched, I saw Ginny talking to 
her older sister, then pointing at her front, then at my window.  
She turned and waved at me.  Cindy looked my way, mouthed 
something that looked like, "Pervert," then hurriedly escorted 
her little sister into the water, where she ran her hand up and 
down the child's front; obviously washing off every trace of my 
sperm.
     For about another hour, the three kids cavorted in the 
water, seeming to ignore me.  Whatever happened, the little girl 
didn't seem to be bothered by our little session.
     When they finished playing in the pool, all three little 
girls headed towards my door.  For a second, I was scared that 
the would knock, and want to come inside.  I was relieved, when 
they all stopped and lay down to rest on the three lounges 
closest to my window.



                                15


     Before she reclined with her two little sisters, Cindy 
looked straight at my window, almost looking me straight in the 
eye, even though I knew she couldn't see inside.  The little girl 
once again mouthed the word, "Pervert," at my direction, before 
joining the two younger girls at rest.  Just before she relaxed, 
I caught a twinkle in her eye, and small smirk, before she 
puckered her lips in a cute little kiss that she threw my way, 
before laying back with a big grin on her face.  Cindy may have 
thought I was a pervert, but she didn't seem to mind the idea.
     It was only after I figured this out, that I realized what 
the three little vixens were doing.  They were deliberately 
showing off their bodies to me.  They had picked the three 
lounges closest to my window, and had each lain down with her 
legs towards the window, so that I was almost looking directly 
into three pre-teenaged cracks.  Through the binoculars, they 
were almost too close to focus, but It was almost as though I 
could lick them with my tongue, they were so close.
     Cindy lifted her head, looked around to see if anyone was 
close by, then gave a wink towards the window.  Slowly, almost 
casually, the little girl spread her legs, lifting her knees, 
until her tiny little cunny was open and inviting.  It was so 
obscene, yet so innocent.  When a door opened a few apartments 
down, the little girl rolled over casually, as if she had no idea 
she was displaying her charms to the panting pedophile behind the 
window.
     That night, I was all packed.  I already had made 
arrangements to stay at a nearby hotel, if necessary.  I kept 
waiting for the knock on the door.  I waited, and waited.  I knew 
it was coming.  I ate a TV dinner, watched TV, and waited some 
more.  It was after 7 o'clock, that I saw the next-door apartment 
open and Cathy head my way.  Well, it had been a nice place to 
stay.  At least, she wasn't bringing a gun.
     Actually, she wasn't bringing anything.  Cathy was as naked 
as her little girls had been; but she walked with the grace of a 
queen.  When she knocked, I gave her a moment, then opened the 
door.  I was prepared to tell the woman how sorry I was for any 
damage I might have caused her, or her children; then I was going 
to call the mover, and leave.  Cathy never gave me the chance.
     "I'm so sorry about Ginny," she said.
     I gaped at her.  SHE was sorry, about GINNY?
     "I, I, I. . ." I started.
     Cathy rushed on.  "She should know better, teasing you like 
that."
     "Huh?"  My intelligence reached a new low.
     "Showing off her body in front of you, then kissing you like 
that.  It's not fair to a man who doesn't get much sex.  Ginny 
told me how you came all over her, you got so excited.  So I came 
over to apologize for her."
     "You," I said, "Came.  Over.  To.  Apologize.  For.  Ginny?"
     "Unhuh," she replied, "I hoped I could make it up to you, 
for Ginny leaving like that, then the girls teasing you with 
their bodies afterward."
     "Girls," I said, "teasing."  I was just one big hunk of 
brilliance.  NOT!



                                16


     "Yes, it's not fair to show a man heaven, then take it 
away."
     "That's what happened to Moses, you know."  My brilliance 
was rising again.  That remark was almost smart.
     "It wasn't fair to him either," she replied.  "I know I'm 
not as sexy to a pedophile, as my little girls, but do you think 
I could substitute for them, just a little?  They don't know you 
well enough yet to go any further than they already have."
     I stared at her.  The most beautiful woman in the building 
offers herself to me as a temporary substitute for her own 
daughters?  And she's worried I might not think she's sexy 
enough?  I was almost ready to repeat my actions of the afternoon 
all over the woman this time, instead of her daughter.
     "Unh," I choked.
     Cathy looked down, and grinned.  "I guess you DO think I'm 
sexy enough," she told me.
     Two minutes later, there were no words being spoken by 
either of us; as we both were too busy talking with our bodies.
     Cathy was just as hungry for sex as I was.  In fact, she was 
probably hungrier.  I was so afraid that I was going to leave the 
beautiful woman hanging, when I began spasming her sexy little 
belly full of sperm only two minutes after I entered her.  I 
needn't have worried.  The moment she felt me squirting inside 
her, Cathy let out a screech, and clamped down on my prick so 
hard, I thought she was going to cut it off.  There was no faking 
orgasm for this woman!  For almost two minutes, we both jerked 
and shook.  Each time I squirted another big dollop of sperm 
inside her, Cathy would squeeze me again, bringing yet another 
blob of semen from somewhere within me.
     This continued, until I finally had no more to give.
     Afterwards, Cathy and I lay on the bed, resting.
     "Ooh, I'm going to miss you, when you go back to your 
apartment," I finally managed to groan.
     "Who says I'm going back?" asked Cathy.
     "But your daughters," I protested, albeit weakly.
     "My daughters are old enough to take care of themselves for 
one night," she told me.  "I've been waiting to get you in bed, 
for 3 years, now kiss me!"
     My thoughts about how it was just about 3 years, since the 
Opal show debacle, were cut short by the feeling of a warm sexy 
body, and two succulent lips driving all rational thought away.  
Well, if she wasn't bothered by the fact that I was a pedophile, 
why should I worry for her?  I surrendered to passions I hadn't 
felt since my last time with Mary; the only previous woman who 
knew what I was and had accepted it.
     After that, Cathy and I spent a LOT of time together.  We 
didn't date.  In fact, she seemed to be still dating someone 
else.  I didn't care.  I was finally getting sex on a regular 
basis.








                                17


     Cathy kept me so satisfied in fact, that I didn't mind the 
sex-show that her daughters started to conspire to subject me to.  
It seemed like every day now, at least one of the girls would 
"Have to use the potty," and use mine, instead of their own.  
Besides this they all made a point of  drying off from the pool, 
right outside my window, with their legs towards me, and cute 
little cunnies displayed for my close-up examination through the 
binoculars.
     All of the girls found occasions to kiss me, like Ginny had 
earlier.  Getting regular sex from their mother, kept me from 
repeating the messy example I had set the first time with Ginny.  
I wasn't sure if the girls were happy about this, or 
disappointed.  I was happy.  I still had nightmares about Ginny 
going out the door, plastered from chest to foot with my thick 
sticky sperm. even though Cathy reassured me that the little girl 
had checked to be sure no one was outside, before going to show 
off to her older sisters that day.
     It was about two weeks later, that Cathy decided that the 
girls knew me well enough, and trusted me enough, to complete the 
plans she had been working on for years, ever since her father 
died, leaving her with three little girls to raise alone.
     "Can you baby-sit the girls tomorrow night?" she asked me.
     I was astonished.  Up to now, Cathy hadn't seemed to be too 
worried, when she stayed the night with me.  When I asked her, 
she explained, "When I stay over here, they all know I'm just 
next door.  I know it too, so if anything went wrong, I know they 
can reach me easily.  Tomorrow, my boss and I will be gone all 
night long, and I won't be next door, to take care of anything.  
I was wondering if you would stay over at our house, and sleep 
with the girls."
     I looked Cathy straight in the eye, and said, "If that's 
what you want."  She didn't mean what I thought she did, did she?
     Cathy stared back at me with a level gaze, and replied, 
"That's what I want."
     The next day, Cathy invited me over for dinner, then told 
the three children that I would be sleeping over, while she and 
her boss went out.
     "But Mom!  He's a pervert," wailed Cindy.
     "He's not a pervert.  He's a pedophile!  Not that there's 
anything wrong with being a pervert.  Now you go over there, and 
apologize to Mr. Jenkins!"  The little girl's mother was adamant.
     "OK Momma," sighed Cindy.
     "Don't sigh.  Do it right, like I showed you."
     I couldn't believe the conversation I had just heard.  
Cindy's mother knew that I was a pedophile, a little-girl lover, 
and she not only didn't seem to mind, she wanted her daughter to 
apologize for calling me a pervert?  Wow!
     I watched the cute little 12-year-old girl approach me.  
Nicely budding tits, barely formed hips, and a bare little cunny 
that showed just the trace of down that would one day blossom 
into the thatch that would proclaim her a woman.  My prick was 
hard, and pointing at her, but she didn't seem to notice.





                                18


     "I'm sorry I called you a pervert," she said.
     I wasn't.  Not if it got her to come that close.  My mouth 
was almost drooling, and my cock was.
     "Cindy!" called her mother, "you know better than that."
     Cindy grinned.  "OK Momma," she said, then turned back to 
me.  I just kept enjoying the view.  What a view, for a confirmed 
pedophile!
     "I'm sorry I made being a pervert sound like something 
nasty," she apologized.  "I really know better.  Besides, you're 
a pedophile, not a pervert anyway."
     I couldn't believe it.  Most people would be throwing me out 
of the house, if they knew I was a pedophile.  Cathy was having 
her daughter apologize for calling me a pervert, when she knew I 
liked little girls?
     "It's OK," I reassured her, "most people don't know the 
difference anyway."  Which was true.
     "But I do, so I shouldn't have been so uptight," she 
replied.
     I wondered if she really did.  "Oh?" I asked, "What is the 
difference?"  I know, I'm crazy.  But I really wanted to know.
     "A pervert, is someone who gets sexually exited by weird 
things.  Like playing with shit, or fucking animals," she 
replied.  "As Momma said, there's nothing wrong with being a 
pervert.  As long as nobody gets hurt, what you do for sex is 
your business.  Anyway, you're a pedophile, not a pervert.  A 
pedophile is a man who likes to have sex with little girls."  She 
grinned at me, and added, "Like me."
     Oh boy did she have THAT right.  I would give my right arm 
to have sex with a cute little pre-teen like her.  Of course, the 
way her mother didn't seem to mind me standing naked next to her 
little girl, who was also naked and talking about the fact that I 
liked to fuck little girls meant that I might actually have a 
chance someday.
     It turned out to be sooner than even my wildest hopes.
     "Cindy!" said her mother loudly, "You can do better than 
that.  Now you go over there and apologize to Mr. Jenkins 
properly!"
     "Yes Momma," said the pretty little girl.  As I was trying 
to figure out what her mother meant by "properly," she stood up 
on her toes, and kissed me.
     I was so astonished; I fell over backwards.  Luckily, the 
couch was right behind me.  I found myself sitting down, a pretty 
little sub-teen sitting naked on my lap, with my big cock almost 
touching her inviting little slit, while the little girl tried to 
kiss me again.
     This time, I didn't duck away.  If the little girl wanted to 
kiss me, I wasn't going to disappoint her.  Not me!  I wrapped my 
arms around the child, and was pleasantly surprised when she not 
only didn't resist, she snuggled closer.








                                19


     I couldn't resist it.  I opened my mouth, and licked her 
lips.  Wonderful!  No lipstick, just cute little girl.  I was 
pleasantly surprised, when she opened HER mouth, and licked back.  
In less than a minute, we were kissing like a French movie.  Her 
lively little tongue was dueling with mine, as her pert little 
bumps rubbed against my hairy chest, and my pre-cum dribbling 
prick rubbed against her smooth little belly.  I felt as if I had 
died, and gone to heaven.
     "Cindy!" admonished Cathy.
     I almost jumped out of my skin.  The little girl's mother 
was watching her daughter, and she looked highly annoyed.  Oh 
shit!  I knew it had been too good to be true.  I had probably 
blown any chance I ever had, of getting alone with the little 
girl.  Let alone, doing what I wanted.  Now that Cathy knew her 
little girl didn't seem to mind my advances; she'd never leave me 
alone with her daughter.  I mean, even if she didn't mind that I 
was a pedophile, she wouldn't want me practicing on her own 
daughter.  It turned out, that I misunderstood who she was 
annoyed with, and why.
     Cindy jumped in my arms, then pulled her mouth from mine 
long enough to reply meekly, "Yes Momma?"
     "You know better than that!" said the older woman.  "Now do 
it right!"  She looked sternly at her offspring.
     I was about to say that Cindy's apology was good enough for 
me, when the little girl stopped me with a finger on my lips.  
"Momma's right," she told me, "I do know better.  Here."
     I was about to ask "Here, what?" when it became obvious.  
The little 12-year-old girl raised herself on my lap, until my 
prick slid down to where her tiny crack split the roundness 
between her legs.  To my amazement, the child then reached down, 
and grabbing my cock, she rubbed it "here," until the lubrication 
I had been leaking caused the head to vanish inside her.
     "Aaahh!" she said, squirming a little.
     I couldn't say a word.  I was too busy gritting my teeth, to 
keep from squirting baby-juice all over the inside of the little 
girl's tight little cunny, before I was more than an inch deep 
inside her.  She was so tight, I knew the little girl had never 
had someone as big as I was inside her.  I couldn't believe how 
good it felt.
     "Cindy," admonished her mother, again.
     "Yes Momma," replied her daughter.
     They didn't say anything more, but it became obvious what 
Cathy wanted.  Cindy began moving her hips in circles; working 
first the head of my penis farther inside herself; then sinking 
down farther and farther; milking the shaft of my cock with her 
tight little vagina, until I felt the tip of my cock bump up 
against the little girl's cervix.
     I looked down, and was amazed.  Somehow, the little girl had 
managed to get almost 6 inches of my 9-inch cock inside her tight 
little cunny.  I could feel ripples of muscular contractions 
milking on my prick, as the head of my penis pushed up against 
the bump of her cervix.  She had somehow managed to get over two-
thirds of my overgrown cock into her tight little slit.




                                20


     I fought back the need to fill the child's vagina with my 
sperm.  I might never be able to enjoy a little girl like this 
again.  Certainly not for the first time.  I wanted to enjoy 
being mated to the child as long as I could, before filling her 
hungry little womb with my seed.  I hoped the girl was on the 
pill, as I knew I wouldn't be able to pull out in time.  Just the 
feel of her sliding off me, would be enough to make me squirt.
     "All the way Cindy."
     I wondered what her mother meant.  I was already bottomed 
out in her daughter.
     Cindy knew.  Biting her lip, I felt her press down.  
Somehow, another whole inch managed to slide inside the little 
girl. The head of my cock was now pushing HARD, into the neck of 
the little girl's uterus, and I actually felt the tip spreading 
the entrance to her tiny little womb, and drip warm sticky 
pre-cum inside.  Wow!  I knew the little girl had all she could 
take.
     "ALL the way."  Her mother sounded annoyed.
     I was about to come to Cindy's defense.  I thought her 
mother didn't realize just how big my cock was.  However Cindy 
never gave me the chance.  Raising herself about a half-inch, so 
that the pre-cum I was dripping out of my cock lubricated her a 
little more, the little girl sat down on me HARD.  She lifted her 
feet off the floor, and let the weight of her body drive my cock 
up inside her.
     There was a moment's hesitation, and for a second I thought 
that I would tear the little girl inside. Then, I felt a tight 
ring slip over the head of my penis, as the last half inch of 
cock vanished into her warm little body, and her bare cunny lips 
butted up against the furry base of my cock.  I knew that the 
head of my cock was actually inside the little girl's womb.  I 
had heard of such things, but hadn't believed it really happened.
     "Good Girl," Said Cathy, obviously proud of her little girl.  
The older woman turned to me.
     "Now fuck my little girl," she said.  "Cindy hasn't had a 
good fuck in over three weeks, since my boss last came over to 
visit.  He's a nice guy, but he can't get her pregnant, since 
he's had a vasectomy."
     "Oh God!"  I thought, "That mean's she's not on the pill."
     "I'd better pull out," I managed to groan.  I wasn't sure I 
could do it, without splattering the little girl's womb full of 
baby-juice, but I knew I would have to try.  Yes, I'm a 
pedophile.  That means I love little girls; not want to hurt 
them.  I already loved Cindy, for what she had done for me.  I 
couldn't bear the thought of hurting her, by making her bear an 
unwanted child.  Gritting my teeth, I tried to withdraw.  Cindy's 
sucking little cervix clamped down behind the glans of my penis, 
and wouldn't let go.
     I was about to try even harder, when I was stopped.  "It's 
OK," said Cathy, "you can cum in her."
     You have no idea how happy I was to hear her say that.  I 
stopped holding back, and felt a pulse of cum spit out of my 
prick, right into the little girl's waiting young womb.  I 
groaned with the pleasure of release.



                                21


     "She's not on the pill," continued the girl's mother, as she 
watched me inject two more healthy dollops of sperm into her 
daughter, "and her period was a little over two weeks ago.  So 
you might be getting my little girl pregnant right now, if you're 
lucky."
     Cindy was moaning and squeezing madly on my spasming cock, 
as I filled her tiny little womb with my baby-making cum.  
Knowing that I might be getting her pregnant, just seemed to 
excite her more.
     "Unh," she moaned, "fuck me.  Make a baby in my tummy.  
Please Mr. Jenkins.  Please!   Augh!"
     What could I do?  I let the little girl have it.  Pushing my 
swollen cock as far up inside the little girl as it would go, I 
did my best to plant as much of my potent sperm as far up inside 
her womb as I could.  It had always been a fantasy, to get a 
little pre-teen girl pregnant, with her own mother's permission, 
and now I was actually doing it.  Spasm after spasm shook me, as 
I did my best to impregnate the little 12-year-old.
     I was so involved in fucking Cindy, that I had forgotten all 
about her two younger sisters.  At first, they had remained 
silent, when their mother had been chastising their older sister.  
Now, seeing Cindy and me in the throes of a mighty orgasm, they 
had lost their shyness, and were looking on interestedly.
     "What's Mr. Jenkins doing to Cindy?" asked Diane.  The 
10-year-old didn't seem to be shocked, only interested.  Her 
little 8-year-old sister didn't say anything.  She just stared at 
the two of us, as I coupled madly with her older sister.
     "Mr. Jenkins is making a baby in your sister," replied their 
mother.  "If you two are both real good, he might make a baby in 
each of you as well.  Right now, he's almost finished making a 
baby in your big sister, so let them finish."
     "OK Momma."  There was silence; until Cindy and I both 
stopped jerking and gasping.
     When Cindy pulled off me, a large gob of cum started to ooze 
out of her swollen little slit.  When her mother saw this, she 
had Cindy lie back on the couch, "So that Mr. Jenkins' sperm will 
soak in."  I still couldn't believe that the woman actually 
WANTED me to get her little girl pregnant.  Still, if that's what 
she wanted, who was I to deny her?  I wondered what the two 
smaller girls thought.  I soon found out.
     "Is Mr. Jenkins really going to make babies in us too?" 
asked Ginny.  "Yeah Momma, is he?  How come Cindy gets to have a 
baby, and we don't?" her older sister chimed in.
     "You'll have to wait a while," replied their mother.  "Mr. 
Jenkins is a little tired, after fucking your sister.  Maybe you 
can ask him to fuck you after dinner."
     "Oh my God!" I thought, "Don't tell me she wants me to get 
Cindy's 10-year old little sister pregnant too!  Not to mention 
the little second-grader."
     Well, you know?  It turned out that she did.  And I did.
     "See that white-stuff, that Mr. Jenkins squirted in your 
sister?"  Cathy pointed to where a white blob was oozing slowly 
up out of Cindy's puffy little slit.  Just the thought that the 
little girl was already carrying my seed in her womb, was almost 
enough to get me hard again.


                                22


     "That's the stuff that makes babies in little girls," she 
instructed the children.  "Why don't you each take a little on 
your finger, and put it up inside you?  That way, you'll all be 
able to feel Mr. Jenkins' sperm making a baby inside you, while 
we eat supper."
     My jaw dropped, as I watched first Diane, then Ginny follow 
their mother's instructions.  Obediently, the 10-year-old reached 
over, and scooped up a big blob of cum from her big sister's 
oozing crack with her finger.  Then, the little girl held her 
bare little cunny-lips apart with her left hand, while she 
carefully pushed her semen-covered finger as far up inside 
herself, as she could.
     Watching closely, Ginny duplicated her elder sister's 
actions.  I was almost ready to waste a gallon of baby-juice all 
over the carpet.
     Cathy noticed my condition, and smiled.  "AFTER dinner," she 
admonished me.
     Somehow, I managed to restrain myself.  After all, I didn't 
want to waste my sperm on the carpet, or even on my hand.  Not 
when there were two pre-pubescent little girls just waiting for 
me to squirt it in them.
     Cathy turned to the younger children.  "See," she said, "at 
least now, you'll both be able to eat supper, knowing Mr. 
Jenkins' sperm is inside you.  You might actually be making a 
baby, while we eat."
     I groaned, at the delicious thought.
     The woman smiled at me, and continued to her eager 
offspring, "After supper, you can all fuck Mr. Jenkins as much as 
you want.  I'm going out tonight with Mr. Perkins  ('That's my 
boss,' she whispered in an aside to me.) and I'm leaving Mr. 
Jenkins here to take care of you.
     Oh God!  I knew I must be dreaming.  Only a pedophile's wet-
dream of heaven would have a woman leaving her three little girls 
with him, while she told them that they could, "fuck him as much 
as they wanted."  This just couldn't be real.  I didn't DARE 
pinch myself, for fear I'd wake up.
     I can't remember what we ate that night.  It could have been 
hog-slop, for all that I paid attention.  Of course, I know that 
Cathy is way too good a cook, to just throw junk on the table.  
Still, I was so distracted by the sight of the three little girls 
squirming on their chairs, knowing that all three of them were 
leaking dribbles of my sperm on the hardwood seats, that I don't 
know if I was served Prime-Rib, or hash.
     After dinner, Cathy gave instructions.  Both to me, and to 
her children.  "We won't be back, until about 10 o'clock tomorrow 
morning.  So I want you all to promise me that you'll all obey 
Mr. Jenkins, and do whatever he says."
     "Oh Shit!"  What a line to give a pedophile.  If I thought 
that was something, her next lines just blew me away.
     "I usually sleep with the girls," she told me.  "We all 
sleep in the same bed."
     Somehow, I wasn't surprised to hear this.





                                23


     "The girls will be lonely without me," she continued with a 
straight face.  "Could you sleep with them tonight, so they won't 
miss me too much?"
     Does a bear shit in the woods?  Both I knew, and she knew 
that all four of us would be far too busy on that bed, for her 
little girls to get lonely.  I grinned at her, and said, "I would 
be happy to sleep with your little girls."
     "I thought you would," she replied with a grin, as big as 
mine.  "Just take it easy with Diane and Ginny.  At least for the 
first time, would you?  They've never done it with a man before.  
I don't mind if you get them pregnant, just don't hurt them."
     "Oh God!"  She "didn't mind," if I got them pregnant.  Just 
"don't hurt them."  Oh Jesus!  You couldn't have forced me with a 
gun, to hurt the little girls.  I already loved them all too much 
for that.  The thought of even accidentally hurting a little girl 
who might soon be carrying my baby in her cute little tummy was 
almost enough to make me lose my hard-on.  Almost.
     Cathy must have sensed my thoughts.  I knew she wasn't 
really afraid I'd hurt her kids, or she wouldn't be leaving me 
alone with them.  I don't know why she trusted me so much.  That 
interview on the TV-show must have really impressed her.  My 
rambling thoughts and sagging hard-on were rescued by Cathy's 
final instructions to her family.
     "Now girls," she started.
     "Yes Momma?"
     "Since Mr. Jenkins is going to be sleeping with you for a 
while, I don't want you to be so formal.  Why don't you all call 
him 'Daddy,' so he'll feel at home?  Go on Cindy, you first."
     "OK Momma," said Cindy, then she turned to me.  "Daddy, are 
you really going to make a baby I me?  I mean I've been trying 
for almost a year, with Mr. Perkins, but nothing seems to 
happen."
     I almost collapsed on the floor from mental overload.
     Cindy's little sister put the cap on it.
     "Daddy, could you fuck me now?  Please?  I can't wait until 
tonight.  Cindy always gets to fuck, and we never do.  Please 
Daddy?"
     Cathy grinned at my gaping jaw.  "Why don't you start in, 
while I get dressed for my date.  Cindy, why don't you take care 
of Mr. Perkins, if he arrives before I'm ready.  You know what to 
do."
     "OK Momma," replied Cindy.
     I barely heard the exchange.  I was too busy trying to fit 
my cum-dribbling cock into the tightest little-girl hole in the 
world.  If she hadn't been so obviously eager, I would have 
worried about hurting Diane but she seemed to want me to put my 
cock inside her tight little crack, almost as much as I wanted it 
there.
     I was so busy working first the head of my prick inside the 
girl, then the shaft, that I never heard the front-door open to 
admit someone, or Cindy leading him over to where I was laying 
myself open to the biggest charge of statutory-rape the state had 
ever seen, by fucking a little 10-year-old girl right out in the 
living room, where her mother's boyfriend couldn't miss the fact 
that I was screwing the child.


                                24


     I almost jumped out of my skin, when Cindy led her mother's 
boss over to the couch, and sat down beside me, so that she could 
see where my cock had vanished up inside her little sister.  I 
was about to collapse in embarrassment and fright, at being 
caught "with my pants down," when Cindy leaned over and swallowed 
the man's cock.  My relief was like someone had poured a bucket 
of cold water over me.  Obviously, this "Mr. Perkins," or 
whomever he was, couldn't call the police on me, for doing the 
same thing that he was.  I remembered what the little girl's 
mother had said about her boss having a vasectomy.  Well, in the 
baby sweepstakes, he wasn't any competition.  Actually, it turned 
out that he wasn't ANY kind of competition.  He was just a 
friend, and has remained so, even years later.  I returned my 
attention to the little girl who was about to make me cum inside 
her, and ignored Cindy's slurping.  I wasn't even aware when the 
man came in the little girl's mouth, and then went out with her 
mother, leaving Cindy licking her chops.
     There's NOTHING like squirting your sperm in the belly of a 
10-year-old little girl, who's already having periods, but who's 
not on the pill, and actually WANTS you to get her pregnant.  
Well nothing, unless it's doing the same thing to her little 
sister.  Actually getting an 8-year-old little girl pregnant, 
while her mother encouraged you.  Wow.
     I won't give you a blow-by blow description of what went on 
that night.  You wouldn't believe me anyway.  No man could get it 
up that many times.  Well, normally you'd be right.  It's just 
that the first time was so stimulating, that every time I was 
ready to call it quits, one or the other of the little girls 
would do something, or make some comment about making a baby in 
her, that would start the ball rolling all over again.  I must 
have fucked each one, at least three times, before Cathy returned 
the next morning.
     Cathy was so proud of her little girls, as they all showed 
her their cum-dripping little cracks, and each one bragged about 
how much sperm I had squirted inside her.  She helped me clean up 
the mess on the bed.  Then after lunch, we started in all over 
again.  Only THIS time, I fucked the mother, as well as all three 
daughters.
     Sadly, I was never able to repeat the performance I gave 
that first night.  The best I was ever able to do after that, was 
one extremely horny day, when I fucked each of the little girls 
twice, and their mother once.  By the time I finished THAT day, I 
was almost dead of exhaustion.  I never did figure out, where I 
got the energy the first time.
     To answer your question, yes I did.  I actually got all 
three little girls pregnant.  Yes, even little Ginny.  Don't ask 
me how.  You wouldn't believe how cute the kids looked, when 
their tummies started to swell.
     I must have spent about 6 months worrying about the kids 
getting hurt, being so small and all.  Cathy wasn't.  She had 
them all take Lamaze classes, and they all had normal births.  
Yes, even little Ginny.  I know, I don't believe it myself, but 
the doctor let her try, and she only had about 4 hours of labor, 
before delivering a beautiful baby boy.  Her sister's both had 
girls, so Ginny got a little smug.


                                25


     When her three daughters all had babies within a month of 
each other, there was a big scandal.  Still, it died down, when 
none of the three kids would tell who had knocked them up, except 
that it was "Some older kid," that they didn't want to get into 
trouble.  Everyone sympathized with me, when I married Cathy.  
They all felt sorry for me, having to help raise all those little 
kids.  Of course, I didn't mind.
     There was another scandal the next year, when all three kids 
got pregnant again.  Cathy and I tell everyone we don't know what 
to do.  I mean, what CAN we do, if the girls won't tell us who 
they are having sex with?  (It's no lie.  The girls never tell 
us, since we already know, of course.)
     I know, you're wondering why I didn't end up in jail again, 
when people found out that Mike Jenkins' kids had babies.  It's 
quite simple.  Mike Jenkins no longer existed.  I took Cathy's 
last name, when I married her.
     Cathy turned out to be a LOT richer than even I had thought.  
It turned out, that she didn't really rent her apartment, she 
owned the whole complex, and had set it up with me in mind.  She 
also turned out to be the entire "Marshall foundation."  Even her 
"boss" Mr. Perkins, was just a friend, who she exchanged favors 
with.  (NO, her daughters were NOT the "favors" she swapped!  The 
girls LIKED Mr. Jenkins; Cathy liked him; and she didn't stand in 
their way.)  There was more, that I didn't find out, until about 
three years later, when the last one of the kids came home from 
the hospital, and we were all celebrating.
     Cathy invited everyone in the whole "Open Arms" complex to 
Michelle's "birthday" party.  About a week after the fact, but 
who's counting.  During the preparations, Cathy kept trying to 
tell me something about one of the new tenants, who would be 
joining us, but I was too busy helping the caterers and musicians 
set up to find out who they were.  I figured that I would meet 
whomever it was at the party anyway.  Everyone was coming.
     The party started at 10:00 on a fine Saturday morning.  I 
was just admiring the banners proclaiming "Welcome Michelle, 
Susan, and Marie, to the world!"  Everything was ready.
     As I was gloating about how lucky I was, to get everything 
ready on time, to have such a wonderful wife, not to mention such 
adorable sex-mad children, I found out that what I had thought 
was heaven, was only an appetizer for the real thing.  Two soft 
hands reached around me, and covered my eyes.
     "Guess who?" said an oh-so-dear voice, in a manner that I 
could never forget, no matter how many years passed.
     Tears were streaming down my face, as I turned around.  It 
couldn't be, but it was.  There, standing where my back had been 
turned to, were Mary, Terry, Denise, and Lisa, along with three 
little boys who looked so excited, they could hardly hold still.  
Standing a little to one side, were Ginny, Diane, and Cindy, 
holding a baby in each arm.  A little to the rear overlooking 
this family reunion stood Cathy, grinning from ear to ear.
     It turns out, that our new next-door neighbors, is some 
family called Jenkins.  I love my family, and somehow, I'm going 
to show Cathy just how much I appreciate what she's done for me.




                                26


     When I told her this, Cathy just grinned, and told me I 
already had, but if I really wanted to do something for her, 
there was one small thing.  With this, she looked pointedly in 
the other room, where both sets of girls were playing.
     Oh boy!  Well, It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do 
it.  Still, don't you think that SIX babies, all at the same 
time, might be pushing things just a little bit?


















































                                27
