All little girls

She smells like Jasmin when she leans past me. Tight, tiny breasts beneath a white shirt.
Looks like silk. Probably isn't.
She moves back, stops besides the table. She has thin pale lips beneath green eyes and a funky blond haircut. Green eyes asking me green questions, asking what I think.
I look at her, black skirt and white shirt. What do I think? I think she looks good.
Think she'd look better naked. Naked and sweaty and warm. Squeezed against me all sticky and squirming. But it doesn't happen.
She just stands there in black and white and I move me eyes to my steak. Tell her I think it looks perfect, tell her thank you. She departs, probably has other tables to serve.
“What the fuck was that?” Frank says across the table.
“Steak.” I smile.
“Ass.” he grins, “I was talking 'bout you eye-fucking the waitress.”
“What, no!” I reply. Not loving the conversation.
“Hey, I don't blame you.” he has salmon in his mouth. “Its real important to not ignore our impulses and desires. It's what makes us human.”
“Well..." I reply, "we're living in something passably similar to civilized society, and that means we can't always listen to impulses and whims.” The debate proceeds right on schedule. We've had this conversation before. I continue, “There are more important things in life than finding women and fucking 'em.”
“Bullshit!” he declares. “Everybody wants to fuck, all the time. The only reason people ever say no, is 'cause they don't want to fuck you. If the right person comes along there ain't no no. The world strides forth like a coke tripping porn fantasy with a chronic boner. And no cock anywhere wants to not be blown.”
I got to laugh, “Not everyone in the world has a cock, Frank. 'bout half the worlds dick-impaired.”
“And then some” he laughs back, “But women ain't no better. It hurts me profoundly that we, in our age of equality still employ outdated gender roles. Preaching that men want to fuck nonstop while women reluctantly agree to it. Pure A-grade bullshit. They're walking around horny as hell with fucking Niagara falls down their thighs. Girls want to fuck just as bad as you and me, the only difference is that they've been raised to believe all the bullshit 'bout romance and virginity. You'd think that we, in our sexually liberated equalized post-urbanized digital society would accept that women are just as horny as the rest of us.”
I nod, not entirely sure why, as I say “Bullshit dies hard”.
“Exactly!” Frank points his finger at me, “Maybe that waitress was thinking about you before. Picturing you naked in that chair, her hands around your dick. Maybe when she goes home tonight, she'll turn off the lights, get out her toys and fantasize 'bout you. Just like you're gonna do about her.”
“I... What?” Throat dry, reaching for glass.
“Oh come on!” he continues “it's so fucking obvious you've got a cumshot with her name on it!” he pauses for a moment, “Speaking off, what was her name again?”
“Hell if I know.” I say. A tad ashamed.
“Exactly” Frank grins, “She was right next to you earlier. She stood right there as she took your order, and later on too. You had every opportunity to get her name. What you didn't have was an interest in getting it. You weren't looking for a friend, or a girl, you're looking for a vagina with accessories. And by accessories I mean legs, arms and nipples and shit. Who she is, where she comes from, her life long dreams and ambitions; you don't give a shit about that stuff. You want to fuck her, and thats okay. Thats how everybody works. It all comes down to one question, If you're fantasizing about fucking her, and she's fantasizing about fucking you, then why the fuck aren't you fucking? Just meet, greet and beat that meat. Ain't no jack-off in the world that don't get better with a helping hand.”
I shake my head, too cynical. I take a breath, speak my mind: “Fine. She's hot. I concur. But its not like I can just jump her bones. Romance and emotions are complicated stuff.”
“Really now?” he looks past me, “Fucking is simple. Even uber-tards fuck. Its instinct. Anyone can figure it out.”
“Blow it out your ass” I reply, gravy at the tip of my tongue. “If everything happens the way you say it will with the hey-hump-hump-bye, that doesn't guarantee that thats how she's gonna see it. And I don't want be that guy. What if I fuck her, and I end up breaking her heart?”
“Then you've rammed it to far down her throat.” Frank laughs,” But seriously, get a grip man. This attitude of yours is despicable.”
I choke on my stake. “My attitude?” I cough.
He nods over his glass, “The problem is upbringing. Our grandmothers fought for womens liberation. Our mothers grew up and were given new options and opportunities because of that. But the very same grandmothers who fought for women's lib. Fucked it up. Or chickened out, depends on how you want to see it. They taught our mothers the same sexual bullshit that plagued past generations. Told them men are fuckers and women are virtuous. Taught them to lie. To cover up zits and blemishes with make up, and to paint their cheeks red just as they'd feign celibacy and strive to be perceived as virtuous. They where filled with bullshit stories about romance and sensitivity and fairytale endings. But when they grew up, there was no perfect man.
But as opposed to their mothers, our mothers had a way out: divorce.
So they leap from man to man looking for that perfect fairytale.
Where their mothers and their mothers again had grown up and coped with the reality of marriage, our mothers shot back and forth like preteens on a sugar rush. Every time things got too real, or the man turned out to be imperfect they'd take off. Looking for the next one.
A flaking generation of raving girls gave birth to a whole generation of men raised by women.
Now, some of the women of our generations have gradually overthrown the sexual paradigm, but there's still a lot of them out there filled to the eyeballs by over-romanticized bullshit. Rom com's in the cinema, soap operas on the tube. And we, the generation of men raised by women have inherited the bullshit that our ancestors used to control their women. An androgynous society of men wanting love and romance. Weeping their ass of watching Hugh Grant prance about the screen. Cheap thrills and chocolate happies to fill you up on hollow bullshit. Fuck all that shit, what our generation is finally starting to understand in terms of fucking genital awareness, the up and coming generations learned instinctively. People's first fuck happen earlier and earlier, teenage girls whoring themselves for cash and gifts. Its a fucking fantastic age of sexual awareness that dawns upon the boner of the world.”
I don't know where to begin, “So you think its good that minor girls whore out and strip on cam, that its okay that they're being taken advantage of by old pigs?”
“Yep.” he replies. “if a boy of fourteen has a sexual encounter with an older woman, thats anyone from twenty up, he's a hero. Its a status symbol. This is the same shit. The only difference is that men have had thousands of years to understand and gain acceptance for their sexuality. Its only natural that womens sexuality differs from our own as we're a different kind of people. What we have to do is to show consideration and acceptance for a young girls search for vaginal identity and sexual confirmation. Young boys peek under skirts and gaze through windows, young girls flash themselves and whore themselves on cam. Sounds like a win/win situation if you ask me.”
“Yeah, I guess I did” I smile, “Coming to regret that.”
“Hah!” he replies, “You're a slave to the the bullshit men have used to controlled weak women. Fuck morals. If you want to fuck her, and she wants to fuck you then that ain't nobody's business to nose in on.”
I finish up my steak, “Given this a lot of thought now haven't you?”
“Yeah...” he says. There's something else behind this, and he knows that I know. So why is he so hesitant. “I...” he begins, “I've met someone. A girl.”
“You're married” I say. As if he doesn't know.
“As I don't know!” He says, “And I love Linda, but..” He meets my eye before the continues, “But Jean is a whole different ball game.”
I grin, “Maybe you shouldn't think with the balls then.”
“I know, okay.” He looks away, “I know. And I've tried. But she's always there. Its not like I can just get away from it.”
“Fuck.” I say, “You're not working with this chick, are you?”
“No, no” he grins back, “Nothing like that. She's, uhm, she's one of Crissy's friends.”
I shake my head, “Thats all kinds of messed up. She's your daughters friend? Look, either you're daughters been hanging out with much older girls or you're heading for some fucked up shit.”
“Shits already fucked up, man.” he says, “The kind of outfits she wears, the bikini she uses whenever the girls go swimming in the pool, the way she breezes by me, just an inch closer than she has to. Its all fucked up. She's been around the man-bush before, she knows how to push a mans buttons. Its not like we're talking about ravaging some innocent flower, this girl's probably had more action than me.”
“Doesn't really matter.” I reply, “She's a kid, what fifteen years old? Thats wrong.”
“Don't you remember when you were fifteen?” he smiles, he knows I do. Sure, I remember fifteen, remembering knowing everything, having it all figured out. Remember fucking Shelly Barnes in her parents home. Remember the first taste of woman. I get where he's going; “Fifteens okay.” I say, “If thats were both are, but you're in your thirties. That makes her a kid, she's someones little girl.”
He grins wide, “All little girls are sixteen year-olds waiting to happen. Look, I'm not asking you to help me score jailbait.”
“Good.” I nod, “Then where are you going with this? Are we just sharing?”
“Fuck no.” he grins again, “Thing is, Jean is coming over with Crissy to do some school project or whatnot tomorrow. Linda's gonna be out of town so it falls to me to get Jean home. But I can't leave Crissy and Michael home alone. All you gotta do is babysit.”
“I'm supposed to watch your kids while you car-bang a minor?" I shake my head again, "Thats fucked up.”
“Maybe it is.” he says, “But you owe me since Texas. And that was just as bad.”
He's right. And just as bad might be putting it gently. There ain't no way out, he has me by the balls. Some friend.
“Fuck.” I say. “And what happens if Linda figures it out? That makes us both bastards.”
“Now how the hell is Linda going to figure shit out?” he says, “Unless you tell her. Which you won't, right?”
“Guess I won't.” I say, “Cause I owe you.”
“Exactly.” he says, and I bask in the smile of my oldest friend as he continues, “After all,thats what friends are for.”
I almost punch the bastard right there.

Almost a complete twenty four hours after the talk in the restaurant I pull my car into his driveway.
Something about this sickens me, but I'm bound to this, forced by one stupid mistake way back when. Inside his house, inside this impressive monument to capitalism, two fifteen year old girls are working on a school project. One of them will be violated before the night ends. Inside this house is an eight year old boy probably already asleep, its ten O'clock which is way to late for a kid that young to still be up. Inside this house is the man I trust with my life, and who in return trust me with his children. And he's like a brother to me, and I love him. But tonight, right now, I don't really like him. But thats what men are like, you take the good, forget the bad, and polish the good a little more. And hope that when the checks balance out, you're not surrounded by assholes. Or worse, that you're the asshole.
I get out of my car, the wind of the night kisses me welcome. I'm nervous about this, the wind whispers to me sweet words of how fucked up this whole thing is going to be. And the wind is rarely wrong and never lies.
I meet Frank in the door, he's grinning like an idiot. We're playing it casual. He takes me inside, its a nice house. Stocks have been kind to my old pal. In the living room two girls turn to face me. One I don't know, but she has the face of a dirty angel. The kind of girl you meet, and while you try to listen to her voice as she tell you her name, all you can do is picture your balls against her chin. Brown hair, short skirt. Top too tight over baby breasts, she half smiles as she sees us. And it ain't cause of me. I'll be damned; Frank is right. This girl has known more cock than a chicken farmer.
The other girl, the one to which I am a godfather smiles as wide as her daddy, white teeth between ruby lips. I know her well, we spent hours talking when she was younger. Heck, I've changed her diaper more than once. But last year, after the party where I was the designated driver and my best friend, the birthday boy, was passed out in the backseat, there was a moment between us. My godchild and me, something different. Like a spark. At least it was for me.
I haven't talked to her much since then, haven't seen the insides of this house in four months.
She runs over to hug me as I enter, and for a moment its like she's six again. Then her body squeeze against mine and its strong and alive. I feel her breasts against my chest, her scent in my nose. Her hair in my face. And I must accept beyond doubt that she is not six anymore.
Then we leave the girls, us guys head to the kitchen for some grown-up time. We talk, mostly bullshit, for a small hour. Then its time.
Everything moves fast from there. The dirty angel packs up her stuff, gives Frank a look that would put a boner on the pope and gets her jacket. Two minutes later and he's gone. I feel dirty.
I stay in the kitchen, I know Crissy is out there. I want to avoid her, to keep my distance if I can. Some babysitter. But then, she's nobodies baby.
The sound of the pool draws my attention, something in me whispers to stay put. But I can't. I leave the safety of the kitchen, cross through the living room still smelling of young girl perfume and find myself at the pool in the backyard. She's swimming, red bikini on tanned skin. She turns as I come closer, backstroke. “I love to swim under the stars” she smiles, “don't you?”
“Never tried.” I say, as casual as I can. Trying to pretend I don't want to.
“Well, I do.” she says. “You should try, you might like it. I like to try everything once.”
“Really?” I smile friendly. Sounding as half-interested as I can.
“Sure, I've tried all kinds of things.” she says. “I'll tell you if you want to know.”
“You're fifteen.” I grin, “whats to know?”
“I was drunk once.” she says with allure. And I notice I've kept moving closer as she's been talking.
“Congratulations.” I reply.
“Thank you. But it wasn't a biggy. Just a frat party, everyone was drunk. Even the guy who drove me home.”
“You got into the car of a drunk senior?” I shake my head ironically, “How did that work out for you?”
“It was nice.” she smiles, tongue at the edge of her mouth, “he was a perfect gentleman. Didn't even make a move on me.” she pauses for a second, “Even when I wanted him to.”
“Really now?” I stop by the side of the pool, kneel down to be closer to her. Her arms on the edge, she meets my eyes with that same forbidden spark I sensed all those months ago.
“Nothing I couldn't handle.” she giggles, “You'd be amazed how easily a boy is aroused once you put his dick in your mouth.”
“You've been reading more than school books. Sounds like the plot of a dear-penthouse letter.”
“Maybe it is.” she says, “Or maybe its true. You ever had your dick sucked?”
“Sure.” I say, as blazed as I can be, “Lots of times. Nothing special.”
“Bullshit.” she teases, “All men are one of two: Either someone dreaming of a blowjob, or someone wanting another one. I like blowjobs. When you got a dick in your mouth, you hold the boy in the palm of your hand. He'll do anything, say anything, for you to keep going. Its power, its control. Once he gets it in your pussy he's in charge. He's fucking you. And I don't mind that, I like to be fucked. Don't you? But a good BJ, thats powerful. Whole big strong man trembles, moves and squirms just the way the tiny little girl wants him to. Its control, supply and demand. You're eating his ballsack, he's eating out of your hand. I like that.”
“You like power.” I reply, “and making up stories.”
“You don't believe me?” she smiles coy, “What, I have to suck it right here for you to believe me? Cause I will. Come on.”
“Enough of this crap.” I get up, turning around. “You're just a little girl. You don't know what the hell you're talking about.”
Behind me I hear the water splashing as she gets out of the pool.
“Look at me.” she says, I turn.
She's beautiful, so much a woman. So little a child. But a little bit is still there. And it makes me sick again. She's tanned, thin and curved. Tiny tits under the wet red bra, droplets of water on her skin. Blonde hair wet and heavy on her head. The sweet face of the girl I knew has grown to the sweet face of a dawning woman.
“The way I look; if I want a boy, I get him. I like that.”
“Well, thats good for you.” I say with rejection. But despite that, I don't move as she comes closer. There's an electric atmosphere between us. A tingle in my dick as she keeps smiling the way she does.
“Not really.” she says, “You see, when I was a little girl I had a crush. And then later, it became a fantasy. But I remember what you told my father one time: who wants a virgin? Nothing sexy about a girl who doesn't know how to handle your cock you said. So I learned. I sucked, and I fucked.”
She keeps coming until theres only an inch between her drippy wet breasts and my chest.
“But every time, every dick up my pussy, every time I swallowed, every time I came, I was thinking about you. Its always been you, and now, I know what makes you tick.”
She grabs my groin, fingers squeeze all the right ways, and my knees go weak.
“No, stop.” I say.
“Make me.” she steps closer, leans in. Suddenly I'm kissing her. I put my hands on her body to push her back, but I don't push. A moment later I just feel her. She's so warm, skin still wet and slippery.
Her hand feels my dick pushing against my pants, and she grabs it through the fabric.
Throughout the kiss of damnation, she strokes my dick with the wonderful smoothness of an experienced woman. Then the kiss ends, her face just an inch away from mine.
“Now do you want me?”
I want to say no. Want to do the right thing, want to remember that she's a fifteen year old girl. That this is the girl I saw running off to kindergarten, the girl I saw grow from a baby to a girl to a teen, to this.
But I can't. It doesn't matter, Frank, Linda, none of it. She has my dick, and my attention. She has the power, and I am just a man. I accept what I am, and as I whisper gently “yes”, there is no shame anymore.
She unbuttons my pants, falls to her knees. For a moment, my dick points stiffly at her, swinging in the breeze, then she giggles like a kid. Her hand closes around my dick as she leans in closer. I feel her warm breath against its glistening head, and theres nothing I wouldn't give for her to keep going.
But she doesn't want anything, she just wants what I want.
She wants that desperation in my eyes that I know I had. And then she leans in, soft lips kiss the head, but they don't stop. They keep coming, the kiss opens up as she goes in. I can feel her tongue, can't keep my eyes open. I close them and the world turns black. I can't see, can't smell. All I hear is wet noise of my dick in her mouth, all I feel is her. And I'm so very hard, right then and there I could have fucked a brick wall, punched the whole in it with my dick alone. I thrust it forwards gently, she takes it. She wasn't lying, this isn't her first rodeo.
I loose track of time, could have been a minute, could have been five. Just listening to the sound of my dick in my goddaughters face.
Then I look down at her, she meets my eyes. We're eye to eye as she deepthroats it. Spots dance past my eyes, I could be so close. But it won't be, I won't be done so soon. Not yet, not before thrusting it as hard as I can into her cunt. She's bound to be wet, blooming. I pull my dick out of her mouth, grab her shoulders so she stands. We take a few steps over to the sunbeds as I undo her bra.
I sit down with her, my ass on the chair, her pussy on my groin. I can feel her pulsating through the thin red bikini bottom. Her bra is already entangled on the floor. Her breasts are small, wouldn't fit in the palm of my hand even, but they fit her. She's so thin yet so curved she'd give any man worth his salt that tingle through his cock. I kiss her nipple, the kiss becomes something more. I glide my tongue in circles around the stiff nipple, teasing her. Gently lick the nipple itself. I lean in, my kiss becomes a French kiss. I squeeze my hands around her back, pushing her harder towards me. I'm sucking at her nipple while she rocks her pelvis at my free dick. She's so warm. I hear her breath just besides my ear, heavy. I love that breath, ever since I first heard it on my sofa all those years ago. I love the sounds, all the sounds. Even the one's she hasn't made yet. No matter, she will.
She does that porn thing with her panties, just pulls them aside, exposing her pussy to my dick. I don't even see it before she slams down on my dick. It doesn't glide in, its not gentle. My dick crashes into her warm pussy like a rocket crashing down into a bunker. Its rough and impatient and I almost blow my load right then and there. She must have seen it in my eyes, 'cause suddenly she's rocking slowly back and forth. “Slower?” she says. I nod. “Yeah.”
She rocks back and forth and for every forth she squeezes in that way that always drives me crazy.
I kiss her nipple again, feel it poke my tongue. Hear her breath in my ear. And the only thing that fills my head is the question why we didn't do this ages ago.
Then another regret pushes into my head, just as she leans in even closer. A profound desire to eat her pussy. To taste her, to lick and kiss and touch, and feel her squirm. That power thing goes both ways I figure.
Oh well, theres always next time.
A sound interrupts me, someones here. I make a faint prayer its not her little brother.
And for once, God listens.
The voice is Franks, all I can make out is “fucking trickster.”
She must have not put out, poor Frankie. He was probably so horny he couldn't stand straight.
He calls my name, and I hear him heading for the pool. Any moment now he'll see us, but I can't stop. I'm so close now, and so is she. She moans in my ear as he barges through the door, and right next to his beloved pool his beloved daughter sits topless with a dick inside moaning her brains out. He sees me there, pants around my ankles, thrusting into Miss crayon of 1997.
“What the hell are you doing to my little girl!” He shouts, eyes popping out of his face.
I want to say something, to explain myself. To find the words to justify sticking my dick up his firstborns cunt. Want to reassure myself that I'm not as big an asshole as I feel.
She squeezes, I can tell she likes this. She just keeps on grinding, she's so close now. We both are.
I want to say something, anything. But as I do, all words escape me. She finally trembles down low, squeezing me so hard I can't keep it in any longer. My body puts it all in that final deep true thrust. We fall over as I shoot, I moan. Fall. He looks down at us as my dick slips out of her wide open pussy, still dripping wet. I open my mouth, say the only thing I can think of with that hoarse freshly-fucked voice:
“All little girls are sixteen year olds waiting to happen.”