My name's Edward Cunningham. I work in the petrochemical industry. My job takes me to different countries. I've always considered myself a normal heterosexual male. In fact, years back, I used to say to myself that I was lucky not to be cursed with a need to dress up in rubber or whip myself to get my rocks off. I'd done all the usual kinky stuff that nine out of ten people do and there was, and still is, sufficient diversity in those things to keep me happy. That all changed when I met a little girl some years back. I was working in Indonesia at the time. She is the daughter of friends and she was two years old when we first met. Her dad, George was an engineer and he'd joined the company bringing his wife Sarah and their daughter, Amy, to Indonesia with him.
I'd been with the company for several years and in Jakarta for five years prior to George's arrival. I was there with my wife Pam. Pam and I had married young, me 20, she 19, and our children were both at boarding school in the UK.
George and Sarah had also married young but for career reasons had put off having children. So although there was a big difference in the age of our children, there was less than 5 years between us.
Pam and I were golfers, George and Sarah had recently started playing golf and so that common interest started our friendship. George and I teamed up for 'better ball' competitions; our high / low combination winning us many prizes.
The expatriate life style is work hard, play hard. We were very much in the deep end of the social set. We burnt the candle at both ends; Monday to Friday was boys' night out, drinking at the golf club. Weekends was barbecues and dinners which also involved much singing and dancing.
Sarah was a liberated woman and although she had taken a break from her career as a lawyer after the birth of Amy, she was not going to let that get in the way of her doing exactly what she wanted to do. She insisted that George shared the chores including looking after Amy.
That often meant that George had to either stay at home with Amy or brought her with him when we played golf. As soon as she was out of nappies he started bringing her along. We'd take a cart and she would sit on the drivers lap. After the game we'd sit outside and Amy would run around or play with her dolls whilst we had a drink.
That was our life and Amy grew up a part of it. She grew up in the company of adults, often male only and often whilst they were drinking dancing and generally having a good time.
Amy was a great kid, she was fun, mischievous, always wanting to try anything, she was one of the boys. I know it sounds bizarre, but you could have a group of guys stood in circle drinking and talking and she be there amongst us and chipping her bit in like one of the boys. I don't mean she was able to discuss the political situation in the far east but she could burp and fart like anyone of us and she did. She would also insist on having a beer and not a soft drink. Her dad had to get the bar staff to water down a bottle of beer and get the waitress to serve her and even then she'd sometimes test it against others to see if it had been watered down.
At some point in time I started looking at Amy as more than just a child. I can't recall when that was, It may have been when she started wriggling on my lap whilst I was driving the golf cart. It may have been the mischievous look on her face as she looked at me looking at her whilst she squatted to do a piddle alongside the cart. It may have been when she stood in front of me dripping wet from the pool chattering away whilst unconsciously scratching her 'front bottom' as she called it. It may have been when she first grabbed my dick (if she wasn't getting attention or was feeling naughty she'd punch you in the nuts). I can recall one time when she'd been swimming and had taken her bathing suit off and was wrapped in a towel. She was chattering away to me holding the towel across her and she raised her hands to rub her eyes and in doing so the towel opened and exposed that puffy little 'front bottom'. She was totally unaware that it was exposed and stayed exposed after she'd finished wiping her eyes and continued to chatter. She must have been about three or four years old at the time but that image burned itself into my head.
I can see it now as clearly as I saw it then, so white and podgy. The flesh folding in to form a simple black line in the centre of a 'V'. When I think about what I was looking at it's very difficult to explain why it caused the little guy in my pants to turn from putty to steel. She was chattering away and I was squirming trying to make room for my dick which had a mind of it's own. That mind, that 'little head', took control of my body; it took control of all my body's resources and channelled them into a few inches of flesh.
Finally, her mother called her and she ran off. I went to the toilets and I don't think I reached a dozen stroke before the little guy had liquidised my whole inside and ejected it at speed through the end of a very swollen purple head.
That was it; I was hooked. I couldn't count the number of times, over the proceeding months that I'd jacked off to that sight. I started dreaming about her. Of course the dreams revealed what I wanted to do, what turned me on. Strangely I found myself getting as much satisfaction from dreaming of kissing her lips as I did from kissing her pussy. My dreams were never detailed enough to explain how I got to the stage of being intimate. They usually started and ended with the intimacy.
During those early days I would wake before any physical contact with any of her body below the waist. I would wake out of fear. I wanted so much to stick my tongue between those legs and something in my brain wouldn't let me do it because it knew that if I did I would be caught. My head was conditioned to the rules and culture of my society and my dread of being caught and the consequences of that. It took me months to condition myself to believing it was not wrong; it was loving and beautiful. Finally, in a dream, my tongue parted those soft white folds and wriggled its way into that tight dark place. That also woke me up but this time I also had a white sticky mess between me and the sheets.
I wanted to kiss her lips. I wanted our tongues to touch and slide across each other kissing deeply like two people hungry for the intimacy that follows those kisses. I wanted to smell her hair, caress and stroke her. I wanted explore, with her, every part of her body. I wanted to take her on a trip of discovery, to open doors to hidden secrets. I wracked my brains on how I could achieve this and more importantly, how I could achieve it and get away with it.
Amy was always asking whether she could sleep over with us. I am sure she asked for no other reason than the novelty of sleeping somewhere different and the possibility of being spoiled. I also wanted her to sleep over, but I knew If I pursued it with any enthusiasm someone would smell a rat. She would ask us all, trying to find one of us that would support her suggestion. I would always say, "of course you can sleepover, sweetheart." My wife would always say something neutral not wanting to offend our friends, but clearly not keen on the idea. Her mother and father would ignore her until she pestered them beyond being ignored and then they would scream at her.
On one occasion I said to her "Of course you can sweetheart, but I am sure your mommy and daddy would like you to sleep at their house so they can play with you." In her innocence she said, "No they don't. They don't like me." I said, "Of course they do princess, they love you." She said, "No they don't, they don't like me, they told me so." I pulled her to me and gave her a hug with my right hand cupping her bottom. Oh, how soft that bottom was! I can't think of anything in the world that feels as soft and round and warm as that little bottom. I would have been happy just to have caressed those small globes for the rest of my life.
The fact was that her parents did love her, but she was in the way of their pursuit of a serious social life. They'd had her purely because her mother thought it was the right time career-wise. The kid was dragged from one adult social event to the next. George and Sarah were always looking to dump the kid somewhere. My problem was that we were always with them at every social event so there was no way my wife was going home to baby sit their kid.
I can recall an occasion when a bunch of us were going on from the golf club to a BBQ at a friend's house and Amy was clearly tired. My wife suggested they leave her with the maid. I overheard Sarah telling Pam how their maid had a boyfriend, in fact a series of boyfriends, and Amy had told them stories of things she'd seen the maid and the boyfriend doing. "Like what?" Pam asked. "She said she saw Anna (the maid) sucking Acha's widgy," Sarah said. "It's not that we're too worried about her getting an early education we're just a little worried that one of the boyfriends might have Amy joining in!"
George and Sarah not only did not limit their social life because of the kid, they also seemed indifferent to her early exposure to sex. I'd noted this on the golf course, if George wanted a piss he would stand against the closest tree and do it, oblivious to Amy's presence.
Like all kids, she was curious and would follow and stand inches from his dick watching the flow, in awe at the miracle of producing water from nowhere. Similarly if she wanted a piss George would tell her to do it behind the cart or behind the nearest tree. Amy was still at that age where she hadn't progressed past 'concrete thinking' (see Piaget's study of children's learning development). If she couldn't see you, you didn't exist. So although she was careful to take a piss out of the view of people in front of her, she couldn't see the people behind her, so they just didn't exist. She also spent most of the pissing time with her head craning forward and down, marvelling at the wonder of the fountain erupting from her body. For my own part if I had the luck to be behind her she sometimes craned her head so far forward that her bottom raised up and her cheeks opened giving me a great view of her little pink rosebud back bottom and hint of the front bottom.
These incidents, the occasional squeeze of her bottom whilst I was carrying her, and her wriggling on my dick whilst I drove the golf cart with her at the wheel, was the nearest I was getting to my goal. That said, it was enough for my dreams and enough to give me many innocent and pleasurable moments alone with my right hand, the little guy and my memories.
Luckily for me, the pissing thing gave me much erotic pleasure, it stirred something deep inside me. I wonder how much early events colour our particular sexual preferences. I don't know but I do know that my first sexual event was when I was a very young boy, maybe eight or seven. I was at school walking along a corridor when a new girl asked me where the toilets were. She was maybe a year younger. For some mischievous reason, I don't know why but I directed her to the boys' toilet. I showed her in and I said "That's for weeing," pointing at the urinal. She stood there with her finger in her mouth. She'd obviously never used a urinal before maybe never seen a urinal before.
I said "Do you know what to do?" She shook her head. I walked up to the urinal got out the little guy and commenced to impress her by squirting urine from side to side and up and down. She stepped up to the urinal dropped her little white cotton panties to the floor squeezed herself up as close as possible so that the bottom of the urinal was between her legs and her little pussy was over the protruding porcelain and with a swishhhhh the amber flow hit the bottom with such force that it bounced back up and hit the back plate.
I stood there transfixed by the sight. I am sure, at that age, I didn't know what sex was but I knew that I was witnessing something secret, a forbidden fruit and I liked what I saw. She finished, hobbled over to the toilet booths, pulled off a strip of toilet paper, wiped the urine from her cunnie, pulled up the cotton panties giving me a great view of her arse and off out the door. I never saw her again but I can see her now as clearly as I saw her then. I think that event turned me onto pissing and arses. Thank God she wasn't wearing a rubber suit and carrying a whip!
Again whilst we're talking 'w.s'., at another point in time, I was at another BBQ when I went inside the house looking for the toilets. I found them, the door was open and there, sitting on the toilet, was Amy. Her legs swinging over the side and her head buried between them watching the flow. I stood there, taking in the sight when she looked up and saw me. I grabbed my crutch hopped from foot to foot and said "Quickly! I need to go!"
Recognising the urgency, she said, "OK, I've finished now," and grabbing a handful of toilet paper she wiped herself from front to back. That's the first time I'd seen a girl wipe from front to back and at the time it struck me as unusual. Now I can see it makes sense otherwise a girl might end up with a pussy full of shit. She jumped down giving me momentary sight of the object of my desire before covering it in the ubiquitous white cotton panties. She walked over to the sink and washed her hands whilst I positioned myself, got my dick out and pointed it at the un-flushed golden liquid in the bowl. Fear put a clamp on my urethra like a vice. She walked off, glancing back to check out what was happening over the bowl. I waved my dick up and down like a flag hoping to impress her. That was it. She was gone. That's the way it was, month after month. My game plan was to prepare her for the day when I had an opportunity to get inside those panties. Until that day arrived all I could do was desensitise her to the sight of my dick and the inconsequence of me seeing her bits.
In between the odd sighting of naked flesh, tight panties and the occasional feel I spent hours planning. Planning what to do and how to do it if the opportunity presented itself. I didn't plan in the expectation that I would ever get the opportunity I planned because it was thrilling to postulate the possibilities. Someone once said that the joy of sex is nine tenths imagination and one tenth reality. And I am sure that is true because I could stick my dick between two pieces of raw liver and get the same physical feeling but with absolute zero thrill, yet the sight of a piece of white flesh with a slit in front and I'd cream my pants. Or even less the sight of those white cotton panties stretched across a small protuberance with a dip in the centre. It's bizarre, I don't understand it, it doesn't make any sense but that's the way we're wired and instead of fighting I used it to my pleasure.
I created in my head the scenarios and whilst playing through the possibilities I'd stroke myself to a magnificent crescendo. Of course the little brain in the end of my dick isn't stupid and it wouldn't believe any ridiculous scenarios. If I came up with a scenario whereby Amy pulled me into the bushes, grabbed my dick and rammed it up her cunt shouting "Fuck me big boy!" the little brain just wouldn't believe and consequently would not respond. So realistic possibilities tended the centre around us baby sitting Amy or sub scenarios like her having some type of toilet accident and need of cleaning up. Plainly the baby sitting held out the greatest possibilities as it gave me more time to get something together. I would work through a plan of what I could achieve and how I could achieve it.
For example in Plan A I would slip a double dose of sleeping tablets in Pam's drink and that would be her out of the equation. That would leave me with Amy whom I could similarly drug or get drunk and do what ever I could do to an unconscious body. Plan B would involve some ingenious game or role play whereby she exposed her crotch or felt my dick. Those were the scenarios and in until the opportunity presented itself all I could do was prepare the ground. Preparing the ground with Amy came down to desensitising her to seeing each others bits and gaining her trust as a second father. Other preparatory work I could do involved Sarah.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Changes last made on: Friday, July 21, 2006