When I woke, the light was already softening; evening was hurrying.When I woke, the light was already softening; evening was hurrying. I knew exactly where I was and who I was holding and I was starting to have second thoughts about this whole situation. I was, after all, laying in my bed with my (re-stiffening) cock buried in a 12-year-old. She was still nestled, spoon-style in my arms and one horny hand was cupping her small, left tit. The other arm held her from beneath. I looked at her face in profile and realized just how beautiful she really was -- and how young. Not a young woman, not kid-young -- somehow, child-like. Her face was so innocent in repose! Yet I couldn't feel like a defiler. She'd enjoyed -- no, she'd craved and enjoyed -- what she'd done with me, and she slept the sleep of satiation. Something in the way her incredibly long, thick lashes slumbered against the lingering baby-fat of her cheek made her seem more vulnerable than any human could possibly be. Twelve. I tried to remember what my mindset had been in my twelfth year. JFK's assassination was a year in the future. The Mets still played in the Polo Grounds, while Mantle and Maris were cranking out homers with awesome regularity the year after Roger took the Babe's record. Only a fortunate few had ever heard of Dr. King. Stephen King had not yet dreamed of word processors. Subway tokens cost fifteen cents. Cars had anal and dorsal fins. Porterhouse steak was 89 cents a pound. There was no crack, no AIDS, no Uzi's being toted by myopic 14-year-old kids in Bushwick. No Saddam, no Ayatollah and the Beatles hadn't hit, yet. No Viet Nam. I hadn't taken a life, yet. Twelve. Innocent. Whacking off in the bathroom to Miss November. Drooling over Carol's knobs. (That's what we called them.) Copping a feel on the back of the arm by brushing against a girl's boob -- that was our idea of sexuality at twelve. I looked at that vulnerable, sleeping, trusting and lusting young woman-child-girl making a sound that might have qualified as a snore if "snore" weren't such a loud, harsh word compared with her soft, sweet sound, and I suddenly understood what had provided the mysterious super- vitamins or hormones that had enabled our -- hers, mine, your -- ancestors to render extinct the auroch -- the 14-foot-tall saber-toothed cave bear -- 50,000 years before the invention of the Winchester: I would never let anyone, anything, anywhere harm her. |