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She had long golden hair down to her navel. But who
was she really? Photographing her, painting her. Reaching under her short
little Catholic skirt and touching the silk of her naked thighs, I thought
of all that, too, I have to admit. I thought of kissing her, seeing if her
face was as soft as it looked - baby flesh.
Yes, it was there from the start, especially once she gave me the age-old
inviting smile and her eyes became, for a moment, a woman’s eyes.
Sixteen, maybe seventeen, she was no older than that. Scuffed oxfords,
shoulder bag, white sox pulled up over the calves, a school kid who had
maybe drifted into the line outside the book store just to see what was
happening.
She might have been a child actress or a model. I had photographed a lot
of those - young things who will market the teenage look till they are in
their late twenties or even thirty. She was certainly pretty enough, and
the mouth was full, but small, puckered, real baby mouth. She had the look
all right. My God she was lovely.
I was at a book signing of my latest novel and this angel showed up to see
me and get a book signed. She was leaning against the wall as casually as
she had against the book table. This time she had one of my books under
her arm and a little cigarette in the other hand. She crushed out the
cigarette in the sand of the ashtray and walked toward me.
“Hello!”
”Hello, Mr. Weston.” She was taking a pen out of her book bag.
Unbelievable blue eyes, yet she was so young. Just a baby up close, if
there had been any doubt at a distance. I reached out and touched her
hair. Nothing illegal about that was there? It was thick, yes, but it gave
under my touch as if it were full of air. She actually had dimples. Two
little dimples.
“That’s very sweet of you, Mr. Weston.”
“It’s a pleasure to sign your book for you.” I smiled at her.
“I heard them saying you were going to be here. I hope you don’t mind.”
She smiled at me.
There was a book signing party in my honor upstairs that I was going to
when she stopped me to sign her book.
“Not at all sweetheart.” Then said quietly,” Want to go to a party with
me?”
Had I said that?
“Sure, Mr. Weston. If you really want me to - “ Her eyes were dark blue,
that was the thing. They’d never look anything but blue.
“It’s a press party, lots of people will be there.” Very official, you
see, I am not a child molester, and no one is going to grab your beautiful
hair in two handfuls.
The elevator door shut and we went to the party. I asked for a Scotch and
water, she asked me quietly if she could have one also. I decided to
chance it.
“Get her off in a corner.” I thought, and keep her talking as you memorize
every detail of her so you could paint her later.
“Tell her that’s what you are doing, she will understand.”
“There is nothing lecherous about just wanting to paint her, is there?”
She was looking around as if she didn’t like it there, and she was getting
the inevitable glances. How could people not look at her? She bowed her
head as if she was really uncomfortable. For the first time I noticed she
had breasts under the white blouse, rather large ones. The collar gaped a
little and the tan ran all the way down.
“I would like to photograph you sometime.”
“That would be OK with me. When?” She smiled up at me.
“Tomorrow?” I smiled, I handed her my card.
“I’ll be there at 9, that’s when I should be in school.” She laughed a
little.
I smiled back with a big grin.
Next day, I got up early, started setting up for the shoot. Other pictures
I had done were always rather spontaneous but this photograph will be
created in an almost insane fashion. I worked franticly to have it all
ready when she got here.
As I stood there looking at the flowers and the flicker of the candles on
the white satin canopy above, I wondered if it wouldn’t frighten her. I
wasn’t wrong about that. It was sick, wasn’t it? It had to be. And those
wreaths of flowers on their spidery wire stands, they were funeral
wreaths. No one else ever used such flowers, did they? Imagine her telling
me that she had done this before. With a forty year old man, damn.
“Not possible,” I thought. And then I brought out a white veil and white
shoes and--. If I had heard of someone else doing this I’d say he was
crazy, stay away from him. You cannot trust someone who does something
like this. But it wasn’t merely the degree of contrivance. There was the
obvious blasphemy. The prayer book, the rosary.
My heart was beating too fast. I sank back against the wall for a moment,
folded my arms. I loved it. I went downstairs, left the front door open
for her, poured a cup of coffee and took it out to the back deck with me.
One thing for certain, I thought. I would never hurt her. It’s madness to
think I would. I’m not hurting her, asking her to put on these clothes, am
I? It’s merely a photograph, the photos could be a book on the Holy
Communion.
When I heard the front door shut, I didn’t move. In a few moments she’d
see those things. She’d come down and tell me what she thought. I just
waited. I heard the water come on upstairs. The pipes along the side of
the house was singing with it. She was taking a shower. Thinking of her in
the hot steam, deliciously pink. The water went off. I went to the stairs
and called her name.
I called her name again. No sound. I went upstairs. There was no light
from anywhere but in the bedroom, and that was the candlelight, throwing
its flicker on the old wallpaper and the white ceiling. I went into the
room.
She was standing at the foot of the bed, dressed in the full costume of a
young girl ready to receive Holy Communion. The white wreath around her
head, and the veil over her face. She was holding the prayer book and the
rosary. Her feet were right together, heels of the white shoes touching
and the short gown just reached her knees like a little girls First
Communion dress of long ago. She smiled through her veil. Her naked arms
coming out of the puffed sleeves were very round, yet her fingers threaded
through the pearl rosary beads were thin and fine and tapered.
“What do you think, Mr. Weston?” She asked shyly.
It knocked the breath out of me utterly. Her grave blue eyes shining
through the veil, her bud of a mouth set just on the edge of a smile. Only
her hands were a woman’s hands. That is, until I noticed the thrust of her
breasts under the yoke, the pink nipples showing through the sheer linen.
I felt the passion come up between my legs. I felt it go to my brain
instantly.
I came towards her. I lifted up the veil and threw it back over her hair
over the white wreath. That was the right way. The little girls had never
worn the veil down. Always back. Her blue eyes were flowing with the
candlelight. My cock tingled - “My God!. She is so beautiful, so young.”
I took her in my arms, clasping her bottom through the thin linen. I
lifter her up and back on the bed. I pushed her back, until she was seated
against the pillows. Her legs were out straight and she held the prayer
book and the rosary in her lap. I kissed her knees, ran my hands down her
calves then back up. She sighed.
“Oh! Mr. Weston.” She whispered, “Come here.”
She beckoned me with both hands for me to come up on the bed. I climbed up
and she went back into the pillows. She lay prone in front of me.
“I’ve only done this with young high school boys, Mr. Weston.”
“You sure you want this?” I asked quietly.
“Come on,” She said again.
“You sure you want me to do this with you?” I asked breathlessly
She opened her mouth and I covered it with mine and we started kissing
very hard and very impatiently. I could see the movement of her eyes under
her closed eyelids and her body was pumping slightly beneath me.
I stripped off all my clothes, while she watched me intently, then I
reached over her and pulled off her white stockings in one rough quick
gesture.
“Oh! Mr. Weston.” She gasped. My cock was throbbing violently arched
standing up firmly for her to look at. She looked at it intently then at
me, then back to my cock. She gasped out loud.
There was her sex under the heap of crumpled linen, all but hidden, the
shy little lips under the ashen shadow of hair. A seam of frightening dark
peach pink flesh. A core I wanted to touch. I touched it and she squirmed
under my fingers. Her face was flushed. She pulled me close to her, and
then she lay back, drawing the dress up so I could see her breasts. I
pressed my face to her stomach, then I went up on my arms and I gathered
her breasts and started kissing them, sucking them. Her nipples were tiny,
stone hard. She was moaning softly. Her legs lay open. I went between
them. Her thighs closed against the side of my face, hot, clamping onto
me. She seemed to be throbbing, shivering. I couldn’t stop now even if I
wanted to. She rolled back and forth when I touched her.
“Come on!” She whispered.
Her face was very red, her head turning back and forth against her tangled
hair. The veil was all over under her. She was sputtering out obscenities
under her breath,
“Damn it, shit, Oh! Jesus.” as she rolled back and forth, under me. It
seemed as though she really wanted it as bad as I did.
“Come on, Mr. Weston.” She said in a murmur. She touched my crooked,
veined, throbbing cock and felt its crest hot under her hand.
“God! So Big! God, Mr. Weston.”
“OH! Mr. Weston! Come on!.” She gasped as I lifted myself up over her sex,
my shaft pointed toward her little wet pussy. She whimpered loudly and
looked at my imposing firm cock poised to enter her.
“OK! Baby! Take it!” I could take no more of this and she invited me in
with a cry.
I went into her, and felt her legs really lock around me this time. Her
little sex enclosed my cock like a new glove and she squealed loudly
feeling its width expand her sweet young pussy wide apart. But I had to be
free to thrust into her hard, which I did a number of times, and then she
let go of me with her legs and lay back, sprawled out, her head crushing
the nest of white veil and the white silk flowers.
“OH! Mr. Weston! My God! Open me! Fill me!” She writhed under me, twisting
as she felt my full-grown tool kneading her inside. The walls of her
youthful vagina clasped me tightly, feeling it stretch her wide and deep.
“Oh Baby!” Her little tight pussy locked me securely in its wet grotto,
she gasped,
“Oh! Yum!” She gasped again, “God! That feels so good. Never had anything
like this before.”
Pumping, stroking, pushing, pulling, she rose to it and sighed loudly,
“Oh, Oh! Yes!” Her arms circled my back, her breath came in short steady
rushes, her thighs wiggled under me and I knew she was about to come
around my thrusting cock, I absolutely could feel it as her body clamped
down on me. She screamed out loud as her orgasm abandoned her vagina and
bathed my cock in her sweet liquid. As she convulsed and breathed hard in
my ear, her thighs came to meet my deep lunges. Couldn’t hold it any
longer. My semen built up, rushed into the tube in my shaft, surged to the
crown of my cock then let go inside her. Ejaculated in her inhaling and
exhaling pussy mouth, filling her with my come.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven - All good children go to heaven.
“Oh! God!” I thought to myself, “She is like a narcotic.”
“What did we do?” I asked myself, “Shit. Sixteen years old! Oh! Shit!”
She lay next to me relaxed and still breathing hard. I pulled out my slimy
cock then found her wet slit oozing my load and ran my fingers along its
length. She stirred a little but didn’t resist.
She was peering down on me when I finally awoke and I don’t think she knew
what a miracle it was. How could she? How could any child know?
“Let’s take the pictures!” She side gently.
“Doesn’t anything scare you?” I asked softly.
“Of course not, why should it? That was wonderful! What we did!”
She sat beside me with one knee up, her hair tumbled down over her
shoulders, over her breasts. She seemed to glow in the light of the
candles. The slit in her sex glistened with our discharge as it poured
onto the sheets. I found it with my fingers again. She opened to my touch
and I looked at her, feeling the thick substance on my fingers,
“Holy Communion.” I said.
She smiled, bent down, kissed me and whispered,
“This is my body - this is my blood.” |
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