From The Heart free porn video

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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.
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.
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.
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.
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?"
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."
"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."
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.
"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.
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.
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!"
"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.
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.
"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?"
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.
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!
"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.
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.
"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.
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