I spent a considerable amount of time just flipping through the hundreds of photos of this blue eyed, blond haired angel who I wanted so badly to rape and defile. I had favorites, in particular the ones where she is in her soccer get-up, not having changed before walking home, or bending over in a skirt, flashing her panties to me unwittingly. The best was a photo I'd taken of her as she leaned over a railing, her big braless breasts almost pouring out the top, and for the instant I'd taken the shot, she looked directly at me.

She often went without a bra, particularly at home, and I overheard her telling her dad that they were the most uncomfortable things to wear. What was more, on some hot nights, her father often was shirtless around the house, it being unnecessary to wear one in the warmth, and on many occasions, she would do the same; take her shower, don some boy-briefs (which she preferred over panties) , and forgo the rest of the outfit entirely. There were a number of times I'd been skulking outside a window of their house, to see the two of them sitting down with dinner on the couch in front of the television, both just wearing boxer shorts, and they would eat, talk, laugh as though there was nothing amiss.

During the most recent debacle, while I was occupied talking to Michael (after having removed my balaclava and admitting it had merely been a joke, bold young Lauren had slipped her hand inside my trouser pocket as though that was just the typical thing to do. I faltered, feeling her hot little hand squeezing my thigh, and glanced first at her, then at her father, who gave a little laugh and continued on with our discussion. She withdrew it minutes later, which I was glad for, since things had begun to get a little tight around there, and I was now able to converse more easily. Something wasn't sitting right with me, though (I mean the figurative, but the literal was true too) and I seemed to feel an onset of nerves for a reason I was yet to identify. Then it came to me.

My pocket was empty of more than just Lauren's hand, and I looked to see her just casually tap-tapping away on my cellphone. I snatched it roughly from her hand.

"Hey!" She said, frowning. "I was just sending your number to mine."

I stared at the screen, and she seemed to have done just so. Perhaps, then, my fear of her finding gallery after gallery of photos of her was misplaced.

"Sorry Lauren, it's just that I use it for work, and it's real important to me, you see." I stashed the phone firmly back in my pocket, glad to have evaded what could have been yet another disaster.

Lauren laughed at that. "What kind of work do you do that you need to take all those pictures of me for?"

I stared straight ahead, with an expression, I feel, was much like those on the great stone Moai of Easter Island, and I thought it best to pre-emptively enact my right to remain silent.

"What's this then? What photos?" Michael asked in a lazy sort of curiosity.

"They're on his phone dad." She said, once again cramming her hand into my pocket and producing my little plastic rectangle of EVIDENCE. Her tech-savy little fingers quickly navigated to one of the galleries of pictures, while I continued my impression of a carved granite statue. She handed him the phone and he clicked his way through them, giving a "Huh..." or a "Hmm...." as he went, and then a "Woah!"

I began to wonder if the police would get here before or after Michael had beaten me to death, or indeed, whether he would call them at all. I had an image of a shovel beating my head in, and then digging a shallow grave for me in the yard, and a thought came to me that it would be nicest if he buried me outside Lauren's bedroom window, in the spot where I'd spent so much of my time already. I waited bleakly for the fatal blows to come.

"Hey, some these are great." Michael said. I raised an eyebrow and turned slowly to him.

"Oh?" I asked.

"Yeah, they are. This one here, where she's leaning over the railing, looking at the camera, that's a fantastic shot. Would it be alright with you if I took a couple of these to get prints made up? I barely have any good photos of Lauren to frame, these would be ideal."

What could I do but laugh, and say yes? And so a week later, I was called by Lauren to come over, (now that she had my phone number, the calls were endless) and we three stood in the living room, Lauren a little embarrassed, admiring an eight-by-ten that hung on the wall. Taken by me, a creeper with a telephoto lens, of a nubile little girl without her consent, and her daddy proudly having framed the picture to hang in the living room. He was right, I guess, it was a lovely picture, and one that a photography agency might charge a lot of money for.


The calls, as I've said, kept coming, thick and fast. Every day at least, I'd have to take the call from young Lauren, talk some, but mostly listen, and usually, come up with an excuse as to why I can't come over to visit that day. Then there were sometimes calls late at night, just to talk, and I'd be in bed, wanting badly for the call to end. I'd tell her that she had better not talk for long, as her phone bill would be enormous. Damn, damn AT&T to hell, for those ridiculous incentives - calls after ten maximum ten cents - that kept her talking. Then I might say "Your father won't like you calling people at such a late hour." and I'd get back:

"Oh, we're both night-owls, we're still up in the livingroom watching television - dad says hi by the way!" And I could just bet that she was sitting there next to her daddy in just her boxer shorts while she talked to me.

Really, I had just wanted her to leave me alone so I could stalk her in peace. Then there was one day, when I got a call at the typical hour, answered, expecting to hear Lauren's voice, but instead got Michael's.

"Ah, hello Michael. Yes, fine thank you. Oh, in the shower is she? Well, whats up?"

"It's about Lauren, and how she's calling you all the time." He was picking his words carefully. "I'm sure you know, she seems to have something of a crush on you, and I've begun to think it's not entirely healthy. Now, ah, this is not an easy thing to ask, but..."

His voice was low and somewhat stern. This felt good, it seemed things were going in a direction they were meant to be going in. I waited, anticipating the words I wanted him to say - "please, no more calls, she's just a young girl and you're far older, it's not a responsible thing to allow, she needs a boyfriend of her own age, and damnit, I forbid you from talking to her any more!"

"Do you think, I mean, if you have the time, could you possibly take her on a date this weekend, maybe to dinner or something? She's just been talking about you so much, and she's been getting kind of disheartened that you don't seem to like her very much anymore. She's been depressed a little lately. Now, I figured you just didn't want to lead her on, perhaps without my consent, but I really think it would be good for her."

I groaned loudly. "But Michael, she's just a little girl, and I'm forty-two!"

Michael laughed. "Well, I don't know about that. She's a young woman, but definitely not a little girl. So how about it, just a friendly little date to put her at ease, and then you can make it clear that you just want to stay friends. Does that sound reasonable?"

I gave in. it was easier that way. "Sure Michael, I'll ask her next time she calls."

And so I sat, dejectedly, having agreed to take the girl who was supposed to be my stalk-victim, on a cutesy friendly date to humor her. I brooded and sat shaking my head. They didn't know just how hard they were making it for me, by making it so easy for me. I'm not supposed to be invited to take her on a date, by her dad of all people. I'm supposed to be lurking outside her windows, peeking on her, following her down dark streets, and then, one day, getting upon her. Hearing her whine and cry and beg me not to hurt her, and I wouldn't do so, merely make her to be quiet, and lie still, while I gently get myself up inside her, using her for pleasure, then turning her loose to run home to daddy, sit up on his lap and cry into his shoulder while he maddens himself over what the big bad world has done to his little girl.

The phone rang. "Hello? Oh, hi Lauren. No, nothing much. In fact, I'm glad you called, I wanted to ask you something. Do you want to go out for dinner this weekend? No, just you and me. Yes, sort of like a date. Yeah, a date-date. Yes, I mean it. Calm down, geez. Is that a yes then? Good. I'll pick you up at seven. Alright then, goodbye. You what? No you don't. You don't! I'm not going to say it, I can't! Lauren... look... okay, fine, I love you too. Goodnight."



It came to me in a dream. I had fallen into a river, and the water was rushing fast. I tried hard to swim back to where I'd fallen in, but couldn't make it, and Michael was up there, shouting something to me, over the rush of the water I could just make it out. "Easier, it's easier if you just go with the flow!" and he was pointing, so I turned around and downstream where the river turned, there was a crop of rocks sticking out into the flow, and Lauren stood on one of them waving to me, smiling, and so I stopped struggling against the torrent, and let it carry me downstream to her, where it deposited me on the rock bar at her feet, and I woke up with the solution.

I got on the phone and called my doctor to make an appointment. I waited anxiously in the waiting room, before I was finally called in.

"Doctor, you've got to help me." I pleaded. "I just can't sleep. Not a wink. It's driving me insane, and I need something for it."

"Sleep disorders are usually lifestyle and environment-generated." He began drolly. "Medication is the very last solution for them, when all others have failed. You've got to make some changes in your life, drink less coffee, manage stress better, eat a healthier diet, and get more exercise."

I groaned. "Doc, please. I'll try all that, I promise I will, but I just need something now, I need to get a few good nights of sleep while I make these changes! And then I'll never touch them again."

He frowned at me, and tapped his pen to his chin. "Well, alright. I'll prescribe you a mild sleeping aid, then." and he began scribbling down on his pad.

"Thank you so much, I really appreciate it." I told him.

Soon enough, I had the precious bottle of pills in my hand. As I'd said, my dream had given me the answer, with a rather cliche analogy. I had to admit that my original plans were now unrecoverable. I was in the torrent and I couldn't swim back. Instead, I had to adapt my ideas to suit the conditions. I had to let the flow carry me to her. So that saturday, I dressed myself in a fine casual suit, made myself look good, and drove over to Lauren's house. Michael let me in, and quietly thanked me for doing this. No sweat. Lauren was dressed up wonderfully, in a tight fitting red dress that showed off her considerable bust, with a leather jacket and cute strappy black heels. I took her by the hand and led her outside.

"Have fun!" Michael called out. Oh boy, was I going to have some fun tonight. I took her to a very expensive restaurant in the city, and we had a fantastic meal, in great company, and Lauren was having a blast. At dessert, I let her sneak a glass of wine, into which I'd crushed and mixed two of the sleeping pills the doctor had given to me. I would have her without her consent all the same, she just wouldn't remember it. That was the modification of my plan. I did begin to be concerned a little when she took entirely too long to have her dessert, nibbling it, and eating the cream by dipping her strawberries into it and sucking it off slowly between her red lipsticked lips, giving me a good long stare all the while. I urged her to hurry up, and she did.

I paid the bill and we got back in my car; I watched her leaning back into the seat with her eyes half closed and her hands over her tummy. "You look a bit sleepy." I said with a wry smile.

"I am, soo sleepy." She mumbled back, and ten minutes into our drive, her eyes were closed. Instead of driving her home, I went to my place. As we pulled up in the driveway, she opened her eyes a crack. "Where are we?" She asked.

"My house. I just need to pick something up. Come on inside." I brought her inside, holding her up by the arm, and let her fall into the couch. Now it was just a matter of waiting. It was a short wait though, before her eyes were shut again and I felt sure the pills had fully taken effect.

I sat down on the edge of the couch and looked her over. She looked real sweet and innocent, lying there. I slid my hand between her thighs, and up higher, under her dress, until I had a firm handful of her pussy. This was going to be good. I was going to spend all of the next couple hours on top of this unconscious little girl, way up inside her hot body. I opened her legs up, so that her panties were showing, and I slipped my hand back down and gave an exploratory little pinch of the flesh below.

"Ow!" She said. "That hurt." Her eyes were wide open.

"I thought you were tired!" I said, confused.

"I'm always tired after a big meal. I'm not so much anymore, though."

"But, but..." I didn't understand it. I'd given her twice the adult dosage. Then slowly, I understood. The doctors reluctance to let me have medication. He'd given me placebos, useless little sugar pills. Son of a bitch.

"Well, aren't you going to keep going?" Lauren demanded, still lying open-legged in front of me.

"I suppose so. You don't mind, then?"

"No way. God, I wanted this for ages!"

I sighed. Go with the flow.

I took hold of her panties, and pulled them down, and pushed up her dress. I got my hands on her pussy, which was shaved bald, and rubbed and fondled it all over. She moaned and rolled her head about, thoroughly enjoying it. I pulled the top of her dress down, freeing her tits, and gave them a good firm squeeze. I kicked off my shoes and unzipped my pants, sliding them off. She was breathing heavy, and so was I. Sure, I wasn't raping an unconscious girl, but it was still exciting to think that her own dear old dad had sent her on a date with me, pure and innocent to humor a child's playful crush, and while he sat at home, I had his precious little girl on her back, her panties on the floor and dress pushed up to her navel. Momentarily I was going to be spoiling the innocence of his little daughter while he remained oblivious. I climbed on top of her.

"Wait, wait." She said. "Hand me my bag." It was beside the couch, and I handed it to her. She rummaged inside for a second and produced a roll of six condoms. She broke one off and pushed the rest of them back into her bag, and dropped the bag on the floor.

"Dad gave me some condoms, just in case you didn't have any." She said as she peeled off the wrapper. "He said I'd probably need them tonight."

Lauren was more an active partner than I originally had expected, and after several minutes of my awkward and desperate thrusting up inside her, she squeezed my shoulder hard, and with all the dexterity of an octopus, she squirmed her way out from under me and gained the upper hand. She sat astride me, with one fistful of my hair, the other hand pressed against my chest and rode me fast and rough. I'll admit, she did in fact hurt me some. When she had had her way with me, and climaxed several times (to my one) she rested. Were I a lesser man, here is where I'd curl up and weep at the horror of having been raped. She pulled her leg over me, so that she sat in a side-saddle position, resting back up against the couch (both of us still bonded together) and crossed her ankles. She reached for the TV remote and turned up the volume of some nature show. I believe it was a safari documentary, as I was confronted by a vivid description of the mating habits of lions (fifty times a day!). Lauren rubbed herself slowly between her squeezed-together thighs as she watched. I considered initiating a conversation, but was distracted by the program (barbed penis, NOT for her pleasure). Lauren sighed contentedly.

A trilling sound caused Lauren to spring off me and clutch at her handbag. She sifted through and produced her cellphone, pressed a button and held it to her ear. I listened to Lauren speak, but was excluded from the other side of the conversation.

"Hi daddy!" She answered happily. "We are at Danny's place. He just stopped in to get a little something." The lick of the lips and double entendre were meant for me.

A little laugh, a glance at me, then "Yeah, he got what he was looking for. Yep." and then a longer "Yeah!" with an excited tint. Then to my horror, "Umm... not really." and another little laugh.

"Not long. I'll ask him to bring me home now. Okay, love you, see you soon."

We composed ourselves to some degree, and I escorted Lauren out the door. As we were leaving, the television duly informed me that the adult lioness (the slut she is) frequently accommodates several males a day. I nodded my head sagely, in a moment of deep speculation.

Once in the safety of the car, lit by the soft colored dashboard lights, I saw her descend into my lap headfirst, and like a mutt tearing the butchers-paper wrapping away from a delicious bundle of meat, she opened the front of my jeans and began to feed. A dedicated little thing she was too, as she'd not raised her head once during the entire trip. I'm certain she would have noticed though, how I managed to take a quarter of an hour to complete a five minute drive.

On arrival at Lauren's home, I informed her that it was time to go inside, but she quickened her pace and began to do things with her tongue that make my old heart race dangerously just to remember them. Seconds later she had a mouthful. With a pleased hum, she zipped me up, licked her lips, gave me the sweetest of smiles, and climbed out of the car. I watched her wriggle her little tail as she walked up the path to the front door. Her dad must have been waiting, since the door sprung open before her and she stepped inside. She leaned up to give him a kiss on the lips (!), looked at me with a playful grin and a wave, and disappeared inside. Michael patted her on the backside as she passed, then gave me a wave, which I returned, and closed the door behind her.

The next afternoon, I waited with phone in my lap, expecting a call from Lauren, as I so often get. None came, and I wondered why. In fact, over the following weeks, I heard very little from Lauren. Admittedly, this is what I'd originally wanted, but I still felt somewhat hurt. On the third day of the third week, I received a call from her in the early morning. Her voice was cracked as though she'd recently been crying. She pleaded with me to come over right away, and with a lump in my throat and a feeling of dread in my gut, I obliged.

She met me at the door with wide and kind of frightened eyes. She led me by the hand into the kitchen, where I found Michael frowning into a mug of coffee. Another one was steaming away lazily on the counter, and he nudged it towards me without a greeting. I took it and sipped it, glancing from Lauren to her father and back again nervously.

"What's going on?" I asked tentatively.

Lauren took a deep breath, and looked at her father. He motioned at her with his mug. "Go on, tell him."

"We've got a bit of a problem." She began slowly. "I don't know how to tell you this."

She trailed off momentarily, then, looking back up into my eyes, she took my free hand, and stepped closer to me. She lifted up the bottom of her shirt, and pressed my palm against her belly.

"I'm pregnant." She whispered, quiet as death.

I put the mug of coffee back down. My jaw went slack, and I looked at Michael. He nodded gravely.

"My doctor confirmed it today." Lauren said, cementing the thought in my mind.

"Congratulations Danny." Michael added. "You're going to be a dad."

"We're going to have to start planning for the wedding soon." Lauren said.

"Wedding?" I stammered.

"Before she begins to show. It's the proper thing to do." Michal added.

"Have you thought of any names yet Danny?" Lauren asked.

The two of them were taking turns battering me with heavy chunks of reality. I was breathing fast. The world seemed to zoom out, and lose all perspective. Little flashes of light, like lightning bolts, zoomed around inside my eyeballs. The room was becoming grey and dark, and just as I began to close my eyes, the floor rushed up and slapped me in the face.

The dark void of unconsciousness seemed warm and inviting, but light and sound soon penetrated it, and I was aware that unfortunately, I had not died. I was lying on the carpeted floor of the living room, emitting a weak groan. Two faces hovered above me.

"You okay?" I heard a voice say.

I became acutely aware of a sharp pain in the back of my head. I managed to get out "What happened?"

"You fainted." I heard Lauren say.

"You banged your head rather badly against the corner of the table on the way down." Michael informed me.

"Do you know what day it is?" Lauren asked. Testing my memory, clever. Make sure I didn't bramage my dain.

"It's Saturday." I groaned.

"No, the date. Do you know what the date is?" She persisted.

What did it matter, I wondered. I searched my mind for the appropriate answer anyway. "It's the first, I think."

"Of what?" Michael asked.

"April. The first of April." I said.

"Yep." Lauren said, grinning. "April fools."

Monstrous. Twisted. Evil, deceitful creatures. I was horrified that such a sweet thing as Lauren could do that to me. "I think I'm dying." I moaned.

Lauren laughed. "I'm not pregnant. I'm sorry Danny, but that was just so much fun." As if trying to console me, she planted a wet kiss on my lips like a serpent administering its venom.

I struggled to a sitting position, then stood on wobbly legs.

"Here, have a seat, drink your coffee." Michael implored.

"I'm going home." I grumbled as I headed for the door. "You people are going to be the end of me!"

That night (a Saturday) Michael called me up.

"Hey Danny, hows the head? Sorry about this morning, it really was all Lauren's idea."

Oh, not to worry, I guess it was sort of funny, The doctor tells me it's only a minor concussion.

"Glad to hear that. Listen, Lauren's gone out with a girl-friend tonight, so if you want to come over for a beer..."

I should tell say at this point that I didn't care much for friends, I suppose I never saw any use for them. And since meeting Lauren, I'd begun to appreciate the platonic closeness a little more.

"Sure," I told him over the phone. "I'll be there in a bit."

On my way over I stopped to pick up some pizzas, and was served by a very pretty, very young cashier girl. At Michael's, we each popped a bottle of beer and settled into the couch to watch TV.

"Boy, that look on your face, when Lauren said she was pregnant..." Michael said with a laugh, trailing off.

"She's not a shy kid, huh?" I observed.

"She takes some getting used to. I don't think I learned how to deal with her until she was at least twelve, and that was right around the time she started to mature, so it was like starting all over again."

"Quite the little handful then?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah. And what's worse, she knows it. She can drive me to the brink of homicide, and make me fall in love with her all over again in the space of an hour. I remember this one time, hey, you don't mind me going on like this, do you?"

"Of course not." I said.

"Just tell me if I'm boring you. So there was this one stage she went through when she was fourteen - say, you know what
Goth is, right? As in the whole black magic, black clothes, black everything. And death metal. Anyway, she was at this stage where she began to rebel against anything and everything. Especially me. She would dress trashy, like those pop-stars you see on TV, just to raise my ire. Ultra-short leather skirts, ripped black tank tops that showed far too much skin, through far too many holes. Leather knee-high boots, platform shoes, fishnet stockings, the works. She was big on makeup too, black eyeliner, purple lipstick, black nail polish, and powder that made her skin seem paler. She even took to wearing a dog collar round her neck. I was tempted to buy her a leash, but It wouldn't have gone over well.

I felt embarrassed whenever she and I went out some place. Men stared at her all the time. I'd see guys walking into parked cars and lampposts from staring at her. She knew it too, even at fourteen, and she loved it. She'd push her little tits together to make some cleavage for them to see, She'd lick her lips and blow kisses, or move her closed hand in front of her open mouth in the 'cock-sucking' gesture. And this wasn't just to guys she knew, I used to catch her doing it at the guy in the next car at the traffic lights.

One time, she really pushed me too far. It was a Friday night, and she had been hammering some god-awful music on the stereo. I went to tell her to turn it down, her bedroom door was open. I walked in and saw her sitting on the edge of her bed, pulling on a huge pair of black boots; she hadn't anything else on. She looked at me, and mouthed "What?" at me. I told her the music was too loud. Get dressed. And don't roll your eyes at me. She just stomped her boots down to get her feet in them, and reached for a skirt. I went back out to the living room and got another beer. I was sitting on the couch, with my feet up on the coffee table when she came out. She was wearing a tiny little black skirt and a low cut top of some shear material that you could just about see through. Enough to see that she wasn't wearing a bra. She was holding her purse in her hand, claws painted black as usual.

"I'm going out daddy." She said.

"Hold on a minute," I said, leaning forwards.

"I know daddy, if I'm not in bed by twelve, come home, right?"

I narrowed my eyes at her. "You're not going out tonight." I growled quietly.

"The fuck I'm not. I already promised like, five guys I'd let them fuck me tonight."

I got to my feet and stood with my hand on the door handle, jabbing an angry finger at her. "You're not going anywhere. Get back in your room and put some decent goddamn clothes on!" I shouted.

She tried to squeeze by me, and open the door. "Get fucked." She said.

I clipped her a backhand across the cheek, the sound rang out loudly, and she dropped to the floor. She stared up at me, but not in fear, or anger. Just stared with those calculating eyes. She got to her feet and tried again to push past me. I really didn't want to hurt her. I grabbed her arms, and pushed her back. She continued to struggle against me, but she never screamed or shouted at me. She was surprisingly dexterous, and was almost squirming out of my hands. I pushed her back further, until she lost her balance and tumbled down on the couch. She grabbed me at the last moment, pulling me with her. I crashed on top of her. She kept squirming, and I just tried to hold her down.

In the struggle her little skirt had ridden up above her hips, and the little bitch had no underwear on. She'd opened her legs such that I was lying between them. I grabbed the hem of her skirt and tried to pull it down, to cover her up. She kept her legs open, on purpose, so that her skirt wouldn't go back down. She was breathing heavy, and giggling, but still fighting strongly against me. I grabbed her thigh and tried to pull her legs together. It was a struggle.

"Why the fuck are you like this Lauren?!" I shouted at her.

She lay panting underneath me, with my entire weight resting on top of her to keep her from getting away. She leaned up towards me, caught my earlobe in her teeth, and pulled.

"Ow!" I shouted. Entirely on reflex, I slapped her again. She let out a groan, and then giggled again.

"Harder daddy..." She whispered. "I need it. I deserve it."

"Don't be such a slut." I growled at her.

She laughed again. "It's too late for that. Daddy. One way..." another minor skirmish, and a whine from her "...or another, I'm going to get a dick inside me tonight. It can be yours if you want."

Then she was lying still, panting heavily underneath me, staring into my eyes. A few moments later, she slid out from under me, and walked slowly to the door. She laid a hand on the handle, and looked back at me.

"Last chance daddy." She said.

I gave a long sigh. "Come sit with me then." I said. She came back, and sat herself in my lap, arms around my neck, and I let her kiss me deeply.

"That was the first time." Michael said.

I nodded slowly in silence. Neither of us said much for a while after that. Then Michael let out a short laugh.

"The funny thing is, she'd never had sex before that night. She was a virgin. I'd say she just did all of that to get attention."

"It works." I said. Both of us laughed.

"Was she good that night?" I asked.

"She was excited. A little frightened, but mostly just excited, and awkward. It was... surreal."

"Yeah, I bet."

"How was she the other night, after your date?" Michael asked.

"Good." I admitted. "Real good. The best I've had in a long time."

"She's such a bad girl." Michael laughed, shaking his head.

"And a screamer." I added.

"You're telling me."

"So, you really don't mind that I slept with her?" I asked.

"Better the devil you know." Michael explained.

I felt a slight sense of accomplishment, having been briefly compared to Satan.

Just then, I heard footsteps coming up the path. Michael heard them too, and got up to open the door. I looked at my watch; it was almost ten. Michael let Lauren in, who was followed by another girl, presumably her friend. Lauren kissed Michael, then came over and kissed me too. She touched my head tenderly, and I winced.

"Sorry." She whispered, then kissed me again.

Then she took her friends hand and led her into the middle of the room. "Daddy, Danny, this is Chloe."

The girl gave a little smile and a wave.

"Dad told me that he was going to call you tonight, so I brought enough for everyone." She said, smiling.

Lauren called me late on Sunday.

"Hey, missed you this weekend. Why didn't you call? She inquired.

"Oh, just busy I suppose. Taking some time out to myself, to relax, you know." I told her, rather untruthfully.

"Which was it, busy or relaxing?" She asked suspiciously.

"Busy relaxing?" I offered.

"You should have called me. I could have come over to get busy with you."

"It was more of a 'relaxing alone' thing."

"Ah, I see. So, how many times did you relax yourself?" She asked cheekily.

"Was there a reason you called?" I asked shortly.

"Hey, that's not very nice. I just called to say hi."

"Hi." I said, feeling a little irritated already. Lauren was quiet for a few seconds after that, then I heard her sigh.

"What's your problem?" she asked, sounding a little angry.

"Nothing."

"Something I've done? Or, not done?"

"No."

"Then is it someone else?"

"No."

"Another girl?"

"No."

"What's her name?"

"Natalie. But it's not what you think."

"What do I think?"

"I don't know."

"Then how do you know it's not what I think?"

Then it was my turn to be quiet. I tapped my index finger against the side of my head, as though I was knocking to see if there was anybody home. So far it didn't look promising.

"Soo, when do I get to meet this 'Natalie'?" Lauren asked after a moment.

"You don't."

"Oh?"

"I mean, you can't. I haven't met her yet."

"Danny, what?"

"She's a... Well, she's what you were, before I met you."

"Ohh," Lauren breathed, apparently understanding. "You're stalking her!"

"Yeah." I admitted.

"Neat. For how long?"

"Just this weekend. So far."

"So far? So there's going to be more."

"Is that a problem?"

"No, not really. But you really should take me along with you next time."

"No!" I blurted, recoiling at once. "Not a chance!"

Sure enough, I went to pick up Lauren the next weekend on my way to Natalie's house. She seemed rather excited about our first field trip together, and amused herself along the way by fiddling carelessly with every single piece of camera equipment within her reach.

"So, where is 'Natalie' going today?" Lauren asked. She seemed to emphasize the name every time she spoke it. I suspected she was just a little jealous."

"She's going to the fair in Breckenridge. I overheard her mother promising to take her last weekend."

"Ohh, a FAIR! Wow, cool." Lauren said sarcastically.

"It's on a lake."

"So?"

"A swimming lake."

"Ah."

I stopped the car a few houses down from Natalie's, and switched the engine off.

"Hand me the DSLR."

"The what?"

"That extremely expensive camera you dropped a few minutes ago."

"Ah, here you go." She said, handing me the camera in its case. I slipped it out and changed the standard lens for a zoom, then fastened it to it's little tripod, which I stuck on the dashboard.

"What does DSLR stand for?"

"Dirty Slutty Lauren Reynolds."

"Aww, you're sweet." She said.

We sat in silence for a half an hour, which was an astounding achievement for Lauren, but sure enough, she started getting restless.

"How long is this going to take?" She asked impatiently.

"From now, until later." I said mysteriously. She missed the reference completely.

"Well, don't mind me, I'll just amuse myself." She said, unfastening her seatbelt, and sliding her seat back. She threw one foot up on the dashboard, bent at the knee, and unbuttoned her jeans. She wiggled them down a few inches, then slipped her hand inside the front of her panties and began squeezing around inside. I raised an eyebrow, but didn't object. She laid her head back, eyes closed, and began breathing slow and deep as she fingered herself roughly. I sat and gladly watched her screw herself for another ten minutes or so, before she suddenly opened her eyes and pointed out the window.

"That them?" She asked.

I'd been so distracted that I missed the people exiting the house up the street. A woman in a red blouse and floral skirt led a little girl up the driveway to the car.

"That's them." I said.

"Holy fuck, how old is she, ten?"

"Mind your language. She's thirteen."

"She looks younger. You sure are a baaad man, Danny." She teased.

I snapped a rapid-fire series of pictures on the camera as Natalie climbed into the car. She was wearing a little ruffled skirt, and spaghetti strap tank top, with high-top sneakers. Her hair was a nice copper-blond, and a few cute freckles dotted her cheeks. Her eyes were blue, not that I could see them from the car; I had been closer the previous weekend. Her mother backed the car out onto the street and pulled away. I started the engine and began to follow.

"The fair is about half an hour to get to." I informed Lauren. She groaned, and pulled her ipod out of her pocket.

"At least I've got good music," She said, plugging the output into my car stereo and starting a song. "You want a blowjob while we drive?"

I gave a strange little gurgle.

"Smooth." Lauren laughed.

"You've talked me into it." I finally managed to say. She leaned over into my lap complicitly, unzipped my jeans and began to suckle.

I did my very best (and partially succeeded) in keeping the car going in a straight line. I peered sideways at every stop, just a little paranoid that despite the dark tint on my windows, someone might see Lauren's head bobbing in my lap. I felt a little safer once we got onto the interstate, though there were still the truckers with the high vantage point to be wary of. As the urban sprawl gave way to patchy green farmland I began to relax and sink into my seat, as both Lauren and I took it all in. I hung back a quarter mile from the car I was following, partially cruising behind a large white van. I hadn't had the thrill of the chase for a little while now, not since Before Lauren. It was more satisfying than I had remembered. I made sure to push down on the back of Lauren's head so that she took it all the way in.

Perfection is fleeting though, as I had been so cruelly reminded time after time, that day being no exception. Red and blue lights flashed in my rearview, and in my abrupt and savage panic attack I managed to blow my load unexpectedly. Lauren came up coughing and choking.

"A bit of warning would have been nice!" She growled.

"I'm being pulled over." I blurted in terror.

Lauren looked back casually. "Oh, so you are."

"Do up your jeans for heavens sake!"

As I drifted over to the shoulder and slowed to a stop, Lauren pulled her jeans up and fastened them. I did the same. Lauren grabbed a roadmap book from under the seat and opened it to a random page.

"Just be quiet and let me do the talking." I instructed her.

"Roger." She said, nodding.

I heard the cop's door slam as he got out of his car.

"You're holding the book upside down."

"Check." She said, turning it around.

The trooper took out a pad and stood at the back of the car while he noted down the license number.

"You've got cum on your chin." I said urgently.

She wiped her hand over her mouth, in the wrong spot. "Did I get it?"

The cop approached the window.

"No, over left more."

She wiped again, missing it a second time. I groaned and leaned over, licking her lower lip where the blob was.

"Got it." I said.

The cop leaned down and looked in my window.

"Problem, officer?" I asked.

"License and registration sir." The officer said.

"Lauren, get the registration, it's in the glovebox." I reached into my back pocket, produced my wallet, and handed the officer my license. Lauren leaned over me to hand him the registration, smiling brightly at him.

"A few robberies have been associated with a car of this description. Just passing through?"

Lauren interrupted me before I was able to speak. "Guten tag! Ja, vee are frum Sveden!"

I groaned.

"From Sweden, but you speak German?" The officer asked her with a wry smile.

"Da!" She exclaimed.

"And Russian?"

"Nyet! Po-russki!" She corrected him.

"Cute kid. How much?" He asked.

"P-pardon me?" I stammered.

He pointed to an empty whiskey bottle on the passenger seat floor. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Oh, nothing sir, that's from a week ago. Messy, I know."

"We were winning." He said.

"We were?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes. "Face me and say 'We were winning'"

"We were winning."

"I don't smell anything on your breath, so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." He handed me back my license. "Have a nice day, sir." Then he leaned lower and looked at Lauren. "Karozhiva Djna. By the way, you've got a little something on your cheek there."

Lauren looked surprised, and wiped her cheek free of a gob I'd missed. "Spasiba, do svidanija!" She called out after him. I glared at her. "What? Dad taught me some things he learned when he worked in Alaska. Oh, hey, you better step on it if you want to get to the fair on time."

"You could have gotten me in trouble just then, Lauren."

"For what?" She scoffed.

"How about statutory rape of a minor?"

"As if. I was the one doing the work, he probably would have cuffed me. Not that I'd mind. Then you would get to sit down with the nice lady and show her on the Ken doll where I touched you."

And that's all that was ever posted. Oh well. Enjoy!

*sigh* I WISH THE AUTHOR WOULD BRING IT BACK.

I'm sorry. I have a girlfriend now, and a very demanding new job. Also writers block. I wish I could write some more to it.

;_; The writing, the story, all so good. How could you abandon us like this? JOBS, GIRLFRIENDS, I don't understand. :(

Bump

Born in hate and rage, the uncaring lives of those around you are the cruelest judgement. Your desperate longing for recognition and understanding and forgiveness thrown in the dust in honest and unrepentant disregard is the truth you knew too well. Danny fought the war against his self and did it without complaint until he at last he caught a break. A bit of break action between the teeth scared off the ghosts that haunted his demons and left a love letter painted on the wall in pink and red for me to find.

It's not the truth to say there was something wrong with Danny, but there was nothing right about him either. You can only lose your way if you started out with a clear idea of where you're going. Danny was my friend but he was the lion to my fawn as well. He'd have liked to hear me call him Lion, maybe, while he held me down on my daddys bed and ate me between my legs.

The haunt he felt was not just his subconscious phantom, it was a specter very real and mean, with a dirty badge and a shiny gun. It's said by people who say such things that the greatest predator, man, kills not with teeth or claw, but with relentless pursuit through days and nights and forests and deserts and fear and loneliness until that which would be prey succumbs to itself and chooses to lie down and never get up again. Man kills with mind and terror, and so it was with Danny. I don't mean to confuse the reader, it was unquestionably Danny who plead and then drank the 5th, and put the gun between his lips and pulled the trigger, but it was The Law who took him there.

The hurtful thing, though Danny's death hurt me in a way that won't ever heal, was that I helped to dirty the badge that cut Danny down. The devoutly pious man with eden's snake across his shoulders, whose daughter I made a lesbian and an atheist and a free young woman who knew her way around a clit better than Joseph Smith knew the book of Mormon, he was the man who did Danny in.

In my teenage binge of black lipstick and black eyes, tattoos on my tits by scary bikers who took payment in pussy in lieu of black Bank of America credit cards, of choker necklaces and choker boyfriends with broken noses and blown out veins, I met Miranda.

Her name was Jane, but she liked Miranda. It's a moon, she told me, and like the moon, nobody feels comfortable discussing who she hangs around. It hurt her father to see her free with me, so I guess its expected that the first time she and I came close to friendship and mutual orgasm, and when he dragged me from the room by my hair and threw my to the street, he did more work on her than I could have done with a case of KY and a sack full of ecstacy, which, between you me and the federal agents, my daddy had. The ecstacy I mean, not the lube. Maybe the lube, I don't know. He did like to keep some secrets.

When Miranda ran from the blinding light of manufactured faith and stumbled into the darkness of truth, and I've never found the truth to be anything but dark, I was there to help her up when she fell, and in her bitter but not unwarranted anger, to help her put the iron rod of faith up the asshole of the god of men, It was in The Law's pursuit of me that the seeds were thrown on the farm that Danny bought.