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CHAPTER ONE – Growing up nude: the Orchard at Berry RoadInterview with Treena McGarvey (pseudonym), conducted by Dr. Ivanna Heermoar, as part of a research project, using individual case studies to explore the nature and extent of older-younger relationships in the eastern areas of
Appaloosa
County. Dr. Heermoar is a tenured professor in the Human Relationships department at the University of Western Montana. At the time of this interview, Ms. McGarvey was 25, and had recently completed her Human Sexuality degree at UCLA Palo Alto, where she was starting work on her Master's project.Thanks for agreeing to interview me, Dr. Heermoar. When I first heard about your research from friends in Appaloosa a couple of years ago, it brought back a lot of memories. Mostly good, but some quite challenging on a personal level.I'll be honest, things happened growing up that maybe shouldn't have, even if I didn't object at the time. But I bear no anger about it, my life has turned out pretty well, partly because of those events. I have nothing but love for my family, and the other people I'll speak about were honest with me. The story might have gone quite badly for other girls, for whatever reason. Not every girl has the qualities I needed for my own journey. That's just a fact. None of this held me back when I decided I wanted to go to university and have a career in the academic world. I was always a bookworm, a nerdy kind of girl growing up.You want to know how it "started".... I suppose you wonder how I ended up working part-time for five years as a paid sex therapist for several older men at the Grafton Seniors' Centre. That began when I was just 13, so it might strike people as, ummmm.... unusual at best, or probably terrible exploitation for others. I understand from your qualifications that you must have a more nuanced view of this story. There's not necessarily a victim and an abuser in every situation. That's the main reason I'm willing to be completely honest and open, so you can understand the full complexity of my life, as part of your research project.Let me begin with the setting of my childhood. After our parents died during the tragic Avian Flu epidemic of 1992, my older brother and I were raised by my grandma and grandpa at their orchard farm on
Berry Road, in the hills outside of Appaloosa. This was at the age of two, so I have no memory of my parents, but my brother was ten, he missed them so much.The orchard is located in a pretty isolated valley, at the end of the road. The geography of the area means that it's almost impossible for anyone to visit without driving, but there are hiking trails going up from the orchard into the hills. If you know the terrain, you can find clearings and vistas looking down into the valley.It was an ideal place for my grandparents to be completely free from prying eyes. In their youth, they had discovered what they called recreational naturism, the philosophy of clothes-free living close to the outdoors. That's actually how they met, at a so-called nudist colony. They fell in love and married, and spent several years looking for ways to combine that lifestyle with the need to earn a living. When they found the orchard for sale after the previous owner passed away, this was the perfect choice. The work was hard, but sales were big enough to live comfortably. Every year from about April through October, the weather is mostly suitable to go without clothes outside. During the month from about mid-July to mid-August, more or less, they needed to hire pickers for about two weeks to help harvest the crop. Sometimes they were fortunate enough to find employees from the young people at one of the clubs they belonged to, and during those harvest seasons, everyone could be nude. Other years they had to cover up, but it was a small price to pay.

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Around the time my brother and I arrived, my grandparents were extending their philosophy. Together with a few other naturists in their social circles, they were exploring ethical non-monogamy. I'm sure you're familiar with the concept? Yes, of course. There were two or three small cabins on the property for visitors, including a sauna with an attached bedroom and kitchen. The sauna is always nude, that's the rule.It wasn't like constant orgies or anything wild, but over the years there were a variety of folks who would spend a weekend or a couple of weeks. By the time I was maybe six or so, it started to dawn on me that sometimes grandma or grandpa would spend some nights with visitors at one of the cabins. There was never any weird drama. Most often at breakfast time it would be my brother and me with our grandparents, everything casual and light-hearted even if one of them had spent the night with a visitor. I can't speak for my brother, I know that he found the situation more difficult to understand, since our parents had not shared similar values. There was never any animosity in the family, from what I know. But for me, this was just the way it was. Even after I started school, I simply accepted that my grandparents had a different way of life than others.Well, naturally, this all meant that for about half of the year, I was often in the company of older people, with everyone naked or wearing a minimum of clothing. Often eating meals together outside at picnic tables. Gathered around a campfire at night. Sitting on our towels, as naturists do for reasons of hygiene and comfort. Now that I think about it, except on rare occasions, I was the only person in my pre-teens. Nobody ever felt embarrassed, myself included, despite the visibility of my bare vulva, my flat chest, my chubby little butt. I didn't think much about my looks. Dark hair cut short, brown eyes, skin pretty tanned from a lot of time outdoors.There is a large pond on the property, formed by the inflow from a stream coming down from the hills, and draining out down into the valley. It's about an acre in size, sometimes less by the end of a hot summer season. My grandfather and some buddies built a dock reaching out maybe 20 yards into the water, eight feet in width. On a nice summer day it's the perfect place to dive in for swimming, or just to lie on a towel to work on a tan. When we had hired pickers who weren't nudists, everyone wore a swim suit, but there was some grumbling, and I remember a couple of summers when those pickers finally swam and tanned naked, happy as jay birds.But that dock was also the one place where sometimes I was aware of older men's eyes. It was rare, but for a few of these guys, something about the dock seemed to invite stepping over the bounds of politeness. Generally among nudists or naturists, it's accepted that people do look at other bodies, just out of curiosity or admiration, but staring and ogling is incredibly rude. Once there was a complaint to my grandma about a man who wore sunglasses. That was sort of frowned upon, and this guy seemed to spend his time mostly staring at women's boobs. He creeped them out, and he was never invited back.

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The stuff that happened starting about the summer I turned eight was different. Nothing obvious enough to seem remarkable, but sometimes with a couple of different guys I had the sense they were checking me out while pretending to sleep. They were the type who would set up a folding chair on the dock, maybe two or three yards away from me, coincidentally in perfect position to get an unobstructed view of my butt, or of my bare vagina if I was on my back.Most men would always politely set up off to the side, or looking across the pond, or a few yards in front of my head. These are instinctive decisions of men who know it's forbidden to stare at naked little girls. With those two, a casual observer might see nothing problematic about their choice of where to sit, but I knew better, or at least I still think so.One of them offered a few times to put sun-block on my back, and if neither grandparent was around, I agreed. He was careful never to suggest going further. But on those days I could feel the intensity of that guy's gaze, almost like he was waiting to catch a glimpse of my butthole or my bare pussy if my legs were spread a bit too far, or if I did a flip that exposed my bare ass while I was swimming near the dock. I have no doubt that guy jerked off at night, remembering every detail of my young body, fantasizing about pushing his fingers or his cock into my tight little holes.By the next summer, after my ninth birthday in late June, I was beginning to understand that that men - and even some boys older than me - found the sight of my body desirable. I enjoyed that knowledge. It was strange, for sure, and it made me nervous, but also curious to learn more. We did have a computer linked to the internet by that point, but it was strictly used by my grandparents for important messages and business, so I never had personal access to explore my various interests and passions - which ranged from world history to outer space to human sexuality and lots more. I was always reading.On the sex stuff, grandma answered my questions to the best of her ability, so I knew babies came from men and women having something called intercourse, which apparently involved the man putting his penis inside the woman's vagina. She gave me strict orders to never let that happen until I was grown up. She made me promise to report any attempt by a man to grope my boobs or my ass or my pussy (she did use that word). I gleaned some other fascinating information from a few copies of popular naturist magazines left by visitors, but that was more about body image and freedom, not much about sex.Around the same time, I found my older brother's poorly hidden stash of precisely two old Penthouse magazines. This opened up my world to an astonishing array of kinky sex in the letters pages. That's when I truly discovered the pleasures of humping my pillow at night, thinking about those letters, or wondering about the men who looked at my nude body.

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That set the stage for late summer when I was nine. As Labor Day got closer, a man arrived, who had spent time with his wife at the orchard a couple of years earlier. He appeared to be in his late 50s, about a decade younger than Gramps. Thinning dark hair, a bit of a paunch, but with a body that hinted at a former athlete, maybe a runner. There was a deep sadness in his eyes when he greeted us in the driveway one afternoon. His wife had passed away last Christmas, he told us, after a short and painful illness which I didn't understand. He had hesitated to visit our orchard until now, but he finally decided that a couple weeks of outdoor nude life might be a useful part of his grieving process. So he moved into one of the cabins. He brought a box of books to read, and he generously allowed me to paw through those in search of food for my inquisitive mind. Nobody objected when I picked out an early Robert Heinlein novel and something very different – Little Birds, a collection of Anais Nin's erotic tales.The next afternoon, I was comfortably stretched out on the dock, lying naked on a blanket as I switched from Heinlein to Nin and back again. Our visitor was lounging nearby, his pale face protected by a wide-brimmed straw hat, sipping iced tea from a giant thermos mug. Other than the occasional bird over head or a fish jumping in the pond, we were alone that day. As I delved into some of Nin's dreamy tales, I felt a faint tingling of desire, but I had no idea what to do about it. Instead, without any conscious thought, I opened my legs wider, feeling the breeze tickle my butt crack and my exposed pussy. The sun felt good down there too.After finishing one story, I flipped over on my back. The soles of my feet were planted on the blanket, and I stared up at the sky, trying to understand exactly what the characters had done together. Innocently, my knees began moving back and forth, coming together and then moving wide apart, over and over. Before long, I happened to glance between my legs, over towards the visitor. He was looking intently at my crotch, and to my shock, his stiff penis was pointing straight up to the heavens. Naturally, I had seen erections a few times before, but it was unusual to witness one displayed so openly.Apparently the visitor was equally caught by surprise. There was consternation on his face, and he nearly spilled his drink trying to set that down and cover his manhood. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, honey," he blurted out, blushing as he finally managed to block my view with his paperback. He was struggling to pull his towel from beneath his butt, and he kept apologizing, but I was more amused than upset."Hey, it's okay," I giggled, "don't worry, I've seen those before. Just, you know, not usually up close like that. Grandma says it happens to guys sometimes, it's really no big deal.""Your grandma's a smart lady," he nodded, looking relieved but still wary. Keeping the book in place, he checked back over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching. There were no other visitors that day. Most of our pickers were gone, Gramps was doing something in the orchard, Grandma was usually in the kitchen or taking a nap at that time of day. It was just the two of us."I'm Treena," I said, "but you probably remember that from last night. I forget your name.""Lawrence Sharpe," he replied, starting to relax. He put the paperback down on the chair to his left. Now his cock was deflated, which kind of disappointed me. "I don't know what happened," he continued. "I never get that way in public, I really am sorry, Treena."It was fun to have a grown-up so flustered and weird, and some little demon inside my pre-teen mind nudged me to tease the poor man. "Was it because you were looking at me?" I asked with innocently, not daring to say more."I don't know," he shrugged, still trying to understand what just happened. "Maybe. I wasn't trying to stare or anything, I just.... I guess I was just watching you move around, the way your knees were going back and forth...." He ran out of steam, sort of reluctant to spit out the words."So you could see my pussy when I was like this?" I said, suddenly shifting into the legs wide open position. Once again, I could feel the warm afternoon breeze caress my exposed vulva, and my tiny nipples began to harden. I sat without moving, inviting him to stare. I had a sense of power as I realized he couldn't tear his eyes away. For a moment I looked down at myself. I could see how my labia were unfolded slightly, like a flower.The blush came back to
Lawrence's face. "I really shouldn't be looking at you," he whispered, even though I was the only one to hear."Why not?" I asked, now a bit puzzled. "Are you afraid you might get hard again?"He nodded wordlessly, and I watched as his penis stirred. Slowly it began to get stiff again. I watched in total fascination. My heart was beating faster at the sight, the first time I ever saw a man get an erection. "That's so cool," I grinned when the tip of his cock was pointing skyward again.Lawrence
did another shoulder check. "I'm glad you think so," he replied. His cock twitched and bobbed around while I looked. "And you can just make it do that? Really?" I asked. "Well, yeah, I can make it move," he said, making it twitch again. "Like, when you look at a girl's bare pussy?" I probed. Now I was hooked on finding out more."I guess so," he agreed. "But I really really shouldn't be doing this with you. For pete's sake, don't tell your grandparents. it's not acceptable for an old guy like me to have a hard-on in front of a girl like you. Maybe I'll just go in the pond to cool off.""Sure," I nodded. "But I don't see the problem. We're just looking, not doing anything. Grandma said I should never let a man touch me down there, and you're not. And I'm just curious, about penises and bodies and stuff. Aren't you too? Isn't that why you have books like that Little Birds one you let me borrow?"I could see a look of regret flash across
Lawrence's face, maybe thinking that was a mistake. But he also seemed to be enjoying this, now that he knew nobody was around, and I probably wasn't ready to rat him out. "Yes, I enjoy reading books like that," he admitted. "Lots of people do. What about you? Enjoying it?""Yeah, and that science fiction too. The school library doesn't have those kind of books," I answered. Suddenly this was becoming a grown-up kind of conversation. I liked that, being taken seriously for a change, so I kept talking. "One of the last stories in Little Birds.... Probably I should have read the stories in order, but sometimes I don't do that. Anyway, there's one about a man who goes swimming in the ocean, and it's the tropics and the water is all warm and clear.... and this girl is out there too, diving for shells, and she's naked cause that's how the people do it. And the man watches her and looks between her legs like you are with me."A flash of fear went through
Lawrence's eyes."No, no, I'm not going to tell anyone," I said quickly. "Just saying about that story. And the man leaves the beach and goes back to the hut where he's staying, and he, you know, he masturbates thinking about the girl. Is that what guys do? I've never seen it happen, I just wish I could see that.""Maybe that book's too adult for you, Treena,"
Lawrence
smiled, but his cock was trembling as we spoke. I could see a tiny clear drop appear on the tip. "But too late now, I guess you must have finished most of it already. Anyway.... sure, that's what men do. We like to think about girls we see, and masturbate.""So you must like what you see now?" I gave him a devilish grin, touching myself momentarily. His eyes moved back down to my exposed, smooth vulva. He gulped and nodded, and suddenly his right hand grasped his shaft. "Can I watch you do it? Please?""God, I really shouldn't," he mumbled, but his hand was already squeezing his erection. His index fingertip smeared the drop of fluid around the tiny hole, across the swollen head of his cock. Another drop emerged and he repeated the action while I held my breath watching in amazement.He began squeezing again, sliding his hand up and down slightly. After checking behind again, he brought his fingers up to his mouth and spit, then began to lubricate his shaft. A silent "wow" emerged from my mouth, my eyeballs nearly popping out of my head.
Lawrence
seemed to move into a trance, relaxing on his towel in the folding chair, his hand gliding up and down. I wiggled around on the blanket, adjusting my position to open my legs a tiny bit wider. He noticed this subtle gesture, took a longer look at my pussy, and then closed his eyes and kept stroking."Oh my lord, you are so lovely," he whispered, bringing his hand up to his lips again for more spit. "I never masturbated in front of a girl your age before."The stroking resumed, and I leaned closer, trying to see every movement. Suddenly his rhythm slowed down, and he was squeezing harder. His body went tense, and he began to gasp. I had no idea what was happening, until he stopped stroking and let out a low moan. The erection seemed to twitch in his grasp, and spurts of white cream came out. Not big jets like in the Penthouse letters, but four or five big globs, pouring onto his fingers. Finally he let out a sigh and went limp, for what felt like a full minute.Opening his eyes, he smiled ruefully, still wondering if he had made a terrible mistake. But it was far too late to go back, and he simply gazed at me, his eyes travelling from my feet, up across my thighs to my bare pussy, over my belly and then the nipples on my flat chest, ending with my face. He stared into my eyes, silently thanking me and begging forgiveness at the same time."That was incredible, Treena," he finally said. "But now I'm kind of a mess." He stood up and wiped a gooey hand on the towel, and then tried to clean off his cock. Dropping the towel on the wooden dock, he walked to the edge and lowered himself into the water, swimming a few strokes away and then back. He finished washing, and then heaved himself back on the dock, standing up in the afternoon sunlight to enjoy the warmth of the sun. Now his cock was flaccid again, shrunk by the cool water of the pond.I watched in silence, too shy to follow his example. But I knew that the moment I was safely in my bedroom back at the house, I would be under the covers, humping my pillow and touching myself, rubbing the clit which I now understood was the source of pleasure.

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Lawrence gathered his things, heading back to his cabin and a shower. At that age, I couldn't even begin to guess what this experience meant for a man who had lost his life partner less than a year earlier. Thinking back to when Lawrence and I met on the dock every afternoon for nearly two weeks, I'm nearly certain that this was his first sexual experience since that tragedy. Probably, though I don't know for certain, these encounters somehow satisfied fantasies that he had always denied - the taboo urge to explore sexual desires with a girl decades younger.Back at the house, I begged off my chores, telling Grandma that I was a bit faint from the heat. I snuggled into bed with "Little Birds", reading another story before turning out the lamp. Putting some hand cream on my fingers, I closed my eyes and relived the events which had just taken place, the forbidden game of shamelessly exposing my cunt (a word I picked up from Penthouse) to a man I hardly knew, adding one further element to the drama.... the thought of taking Lawrence's cock into my mouth as his orgasm hit, tasting his ejaculation and doing my best to swallow, just like in the Penthouse letters. Listening to him tell me that I was a lovely girl while I sucked him off. The thought of this scenario was enough to take me over the edge, my hips bucking under the blankets as I tried to stifle my moans of excitement.The rest of the day, after getting up from the nap, I was in a daze. Unable to believe what we had done, frightened that my grandparents would confront me with my actions, longing for the next day and a chance to do it all again. Lawrence joined us for supper and then some evening TV, and we tried to avoid acting too friendly until he went back to his cabin. But that night I played my fantasies out again in my room, this time imagining that I was kneeling before him in the folding chair, eagerly swallowing his cum while he stroked my hair and told me that I was beautiful.Things didn't work out quite so perfectly during the rest of Lawrence's visit. A couple of cloudy, rainy days interrupted our encounters, and shopping trips to town were unavoidable. Once or twice Grandma spent part of the afternoon out on the dock with us. Trying to understand from my perspective today, I think it's likely that without my presence, she and Lawrence would have made love together on those days. Certainly that might have happened during one long, hot afternoon when Grandpa needed my help with some work in the apple orchard. Something about the look on Lawrence and Grandma's faces at supper that night suggested that frolicking had taken place.But my recollection is that Lawrence and I shared six or seven quiet afternoons, alone together on the dock after lunch. Inevitably, it started with both of us reading our books, while I kept my legs spread for his observation. One afternoon I shifted from lying on my tummy during reading, to a face down position with my bum in the air, knees wide apart, allowing Lawrence a perfect view of my anus and cunt. He sat behind me in his chair, stroking his erection, whispering about what an adorable girl I was, how sweet it was for me to expose myself that way. On that occasion, he caressed my thighs and my butt cheeks, and lightly fingered my pussy, until I took over and rubbed my clit while he masturbated until spurting his cum into the crack of my ass.More often, he masturbated while gazing at my pussy, before telling me when it was time to take his erection in my mouth. Inexperienced and small, I found that a difficult challenge, even though his erect cock was less than six inches. Slowly, I began to improve, learning to breathe through my nose and avoid gagging. It was a perfect apprenticeship for my time with other men at the senior's centre a few years later.Other parts of our sex together were equally memorable.... the way his tongue lapped at my pussy and my clit was intensely pleasurable, giving me a rolling series of climaxes. And once I got past a bit of squeamishness, I loved the sensations of his tongue thrusting into my puckered anus.Following Grandma's orders, I never let Lawrence's cock or his fingers enter my other holes. He didn't seem to mind. He appeared content with this series of erotic afternoons with a girl young enough to be his granddaughter. Perhaps delighted would be a better word, judging by the way he moaned when he called me his sweetheart or his adorable little girl, and his excitement when I presented the parting gift of a few pairs of my prettiest Disney princess underwear.During our last day at the pond, he expressed his desire to visit again the following summer, but he also admitted that it was best to stay away, for his own sake and for mine. I was aware that he was right, since my grandparents were growing a bit dubious about our time together. That afternoon was the last time I tasted his cum, but those two weeks had certainly helped prepared me for the future.

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For a variety of reasons I don't fully recall, things were different at the farm the following summer, after I turned ten. Fewer visitors, and the handful of fruit pickers we hired for about two weeks were an adventurous group of young Quebecois women. They enjoyed being nude on the dock for an hour or so after a long day in the orchard, before eating supper. I caught intriguing glimpses of a different set of desires. Occasionally two of the women would display their intimacy together on the dock, kissing and caressing without caring if anyone was watching.One night, stopping to wash off my feet at the ramshackle outdoor shower my grandparents had installed, I heard moans and giggles over the sounds of running water. Peeking around the fencing, I was stunned to see the same pair of young women engaged in steamier kisses, fingers exploring each other's pussies. After holding my breath for a minute, I tiptoed away. It was a new thrill.... but sadly, for that entire summer, there were no appreciative male gazes at my figure.That changed the next year. For one thing, now I was eleven, and puberty had just started. My small breasts were definitely budding, and Grandma helped me find my first bralette, white and lacy. A peach-fuzz dusting of dark hair was sprouting on my mound and under my arms. My favorite denim shorts were suddenly too tight to fit my hips.One sweltering day in early July, a Francophone man who had picked apples for us about four years earlier suddenly arrived. Phillipe was no longer young and strong enough to handle the work, and his neatly trimmed beard was now completely grey. He was in his mid-50s, still in good shape, taking a break from his new career as a house-painter to do some travelling. I remembered him as a bit of a loner, rarely partying with the other workers, preferring to go hiking in the evenings, or to read with a flashlight in his tent.While Phillipe wasn't an avid convert to nudism like some pickers, he wasn't shy. Occasionally that summer, back when I was just seven, I explored the grounds at night. A few times, I came across him at the outdoor shower, casually soaping up or towelling himself dry. Since I was no stranger to the sight of naked men, I would simply wave and keep walking, and he would give a friendly wave in return. I have no memory of Phillipe showing any interest in my body at that age, either at the pond, or when I walked around nude or wearing just panties on the hottest days.

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This year, it was different. When I went down to the dock after finishing my morning chores, Phillipe was on a fold-out lounger, reading magazines, wearing swim briefs that looked European-style skimpy, and he noticed me looking in his direction. I was actually more intrigued by his reading material, but in my eyes, he was an attractive man, despite his age. In retrospect, that was what we call foreshadowing, I suppose. Walking nearer, I could see that he was reading a copy of National Geographic, a magazine that always caught my interest, and there was a haphazard stack of seven or eight more piled up near his lounger. He could tell I was curious, waving me over to say that he had more of the same in his tent, plus back issues of Scientific American. That impressed me, even though I found those to be heavy reading, and I agreed to visit him later to borrow a few copies.As we chatted, it became pretty obvious that Phillipe was seeing me with a different lens. He appeared intrigued at my keen interest in reading material, asking how much I actually knew about scientific topics or the exotic locales of National Geographic features. But at the same time, his eyes flickered between my small boobs and the emerging pubic hair about a foot lower down. (At first, I thought rather naively that maybe this was just because of his position on the lounger.)Whatever the case, Phillipe managed to control himself, refraining from actually starting to ogle my pubescent body. He said I should drop by his tent around eight that night, after dinner time. He was a perfect gentleman when I arrived, this time fully dressed, and I left with a couple of magazines in hand. Our conversation continued the next day on the dock, both of us nude, chatting about the images in an article on the Himba, one of the tribes of southern African desert areas.The article fascinated me, with its explanation about cleaning habits; some tribal peoples who lacked access to water sources used ochre dust instead, turning their bodies a distinctive reddish color. The process also gave women's exposed nipples an amazing cone shape, which I pointed out to Phillipe's amusement. I distinctively recall him laughing about this, saying, "Yes, ma cherie, even the girls your age in those tribes have nipples that are, how do you say, tres magnifique." As we looked at the images, his eyes once again checked out my titties, arousing emotions that recalled my experiences with Lawrence two years previously.Phillipe and I became regular friends out on the dock in the following days, but he never sported an erection, even when I was sure that he was discreetly checking me out. That summer, there were usually other visitors, so we were rarely alone by the pond. When the weather cooled off a few degrees, he would sometimes fire up the sauna in the evening. There were times we worked up a sweat together, each on our own bench, before dashing naked to cool off in the pond or in the sprinkler by my grandparents' house. As the days passed, Phillipe and I became more comfortable around each other, and he was more open about admiring my body. For my part, the situation kept reminding me of my time with Lawrence, and I would masturbate every night, imagining myself with Phillipe.To his credit, my new friend refused to go further than looking. After that risque comment about African girls, he stayed away from any hint of sexuality. No doubt he realized that the amount of time we spent together put up red flags for my grandma in particular, who started keeping out a watchful eye.But finally I was the one who couldn't take any more. This man was exactly the type I liked, and I knew from the Penthouse letters that I wasn't the only girl with similar tastes. I began flaunting myself rather shamelessly when Grandma wasn't around, tugging on my nipples, even teasing Phillipe by pulling my butt cheeks apart as a childish joke. One time I hid his towel, sniggering with delight as he searched. When he finally found it behind a bush near his tent, I burst into laughter, hooting that he should spank me for being such a brat. The look that crossed his face was priceless, sparked by the mental image of putting me across his knee to swat my ass.

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Towards the end of July, there came a day when Gramps had to drive into town to pick up supplies, and Grandma had to spend hours baking cookies and muffins for an Elks Club fundraiser. The morning dawned clear and warm, and after breakfast I was free of any chaperone. It was the perfect opportunity for a scheme that had been coming together in my mind - an invitation for Phillipe to join me on a hike to a secluded spot up in the hills, overlooking a nearby lake. The hike would take about an hour, and we needed to get back home before Gramps returned from town. That would allow maybe three hours of solitude in the wilderness, by my calculations.... if I could convince Phillipe.At first he seemed dubious. Is this some kind of trick? Are you sure nobody else hikes up there? he quizzed me, before finally giving a shrug. With a sparkle in his eye, he accepted the idea, and we slipped away from the farm carrying a couple of small backpacks with water and sandwiches, and a small blanket in mine.My hiking experience came in handy that day. By ten-fifteen, we were ducking off the trail, through a thick patch of bushes, emerging with a few scratches into a grassy clearing with a clear view down the valley. Even if somebody else followed that trail, it was highly unlikely that we could be discovered, and we would hear them coming.Astounded by the view, Phillipe wandered over the edge of the clearing. It's about a fifty-foot sheer drop at that spot, a good reason to stay well back. He let out a long, loud whistle of appreciation at the scenery, stretching all the way to the Appaloosa County line, around twenty miles away. Down in the valley, church spires in the townsite are visible. If Gramps had a good telescope, he could see our Francophone visitor and his naked granddaughter.Yes, the moment Phil went to check out the view, I dropped my pack, whipped off my t-shirt (no need for the bralette that day!), kicked away my black hiking shorts, and pushed my comfy white cotton panties down to my shins. There was no time to undo my high-top, fully-laced hiking boots, but I thought the effect would be pretty great anyway."Was that whistle for me?" I squealed, too excited to be nonchalant. Startled, he turned around, his eyes bugging out, mouth opening and closing."Sacre bleu," he sputtered, as I shuffled around, doing a 360 for him. "Sweetheart, are you crazy?" Then he shut up, drinking in the sight of my nearly naked body, wearing nothing the shoved-down panties and a pair of boots. I could practically hear the wheels turning inside his head, but more important, there was an obvious bulge in his shorts. "I hope you are right, ma cherie, we are completely alone?"Nodding enthusiastically, I sketched out the details of my plan. "This trail is deserted, I swear," I began. "We have our lunch, and a blanket. Gramps has a doctor appointment at 2:15, so he'll be home by 3. It takes an hour to hike back. I should aim for 2:45 to be safe. So that means..... you have about three hours to ravage me. And another fifteen for lunch."My heart was pounding like a drum. Hell, I was eleven years old. The only things that had ever been in my pussy were Lawrence's tongue and his fingers, plus my fingers, and a few of those little cucumbers Grandma used for salads. No, no, I'm not that gross, I ate the ones I used for self-pleasure time. So it wasn't like I had ever propositioned a man before. Showed off my princess parts to a couple of old guys, that's true, but this was a bigger deal. What if Phillipe turned me down?"I can't do that, mi amor," he gasped, switching momentarily to Spanish. "We don't have any, ummmm, protection, you call it? And my god, you are so adorable, but your vagine.... I can't hurt you."My eyes did a quick roll, and I reached for my pack. From a side pocket I pulled out some condoms. "I brought three of these, there's lots in the first aid box in the sauna building," I showed him. "And don't worry about my vagina, every girl uses toys and stuff these days, I'm sure I don't have a hymen. Come on, Phil, I know you want this. I can see how you look at me. And I want it too, that's why I brought the blanket."From the bottom of the pack, I pulled out a colorful plaid blanket, big enough for lots of rolling around. Phillipe shook his head and grinned. "Mon dieu, you naughty, naughty little girl... you think of everything!"Taking that as probably a yes, I bent down to unlace my boots, clumsily kicking them to one side along with my underwear, which felt a bit damp from the brisk hike. Phil was a bit slower, still looking like he couldn't believe his good luck. But it only took a few minutes for him to get naked, and after several weeks of semi-flirting, we were suddenly standing on the blanket, kissing and groping, and his erection felt incredible rubbing up against my belly.Phil (that's what I started calling him) groaned as I put my hand on his dick. Like Lawrence, not so long, but thicker. I gave it a squeeze. Feeling it throb made me weak in the knees.He grabbed my hair, not too hard, just enough to pull my head back a bit before staring into my eyes. "You are a naughty girl, Treena. Very naughty. Teasing me all this time. Now get down on your knees and suck me, before I give you that spanking you deserve!"I nearly fainted on the spot, getting my first understanding that Phil had his own kinks. Over the next month before he headed further west, we were kept busy exploring our fantasies. He was never mean or cruel, but yes, the man had a definite think for spanking and fucking little girls like me. Girls who discovered they had a fondness for older men who treated us as treasures, not trash.Oh, fuck yes, I deserved the sexy hot spanking he gave me up on the trail that day, and a few more after that, panties down, bent over his knee. I deserved to have Phil push his cock into my mouth until I learned to suck properly and swallow his cum. I deserved to have him as a wonderful lover who eats out his girl until she climaxes over and over.... and to feel him use my asshole for pleasure with a minimum of pain. I deserved to have him pump my virginal cunt full of his seed safely, not to knock me up. And I deserved all the orgasms he lavished on me. Why? Because I gave him an incredible gift - the chance to fulfill a dark taboo fantasy he had kept under wraps for most of his adult life.

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Before I met Mike, over that winter and spring before I turned 12, I had one of those amazing growth spurts, in just about every way. Four inches taller, believe it or not. But even weirder at the time, I went from almost flat-chested to real lady boobs, like my chest was exploding. I had to wear a real bra. That first bralette is still in my dresser, and the strap is velcro, so I could still put it on for a few years, but just barely. Sometimes it came in handy, but that's getting away from my interview. And down below, the peach fuzz of dark stubble that Phillipe loved to caress turned into an actual bush. Not the full dark tangle of curls I had by the time I was sixteen, but more than halfway there. So I started grade 7 with a whole different mind set than a year earlier when I met Phil.It was a classic good news-bad news situation. Sure, I looked more grown-up, people took me more seriously. I had more athletic talent. Guys looked at me differently, but not always the ones I was interested to meet. Honestly, I knew already that I had zero attraction to boys my own age, or even high school guys. But some of the older men who used to check me out seemed less interested. It was confusing. It was hard to believe that I was already off the radar for certain men with younger tastes.That was a puzzle, but other men in that age range were checking me out instead. The ones who thought girls on the edge of being teens were hot. I know it sounds so creepy, but this includes the ones who hang out at the food court in the mall, trying to peek up school uniform skirts. I know I'm an exception – I started wearing shorter skirts because I got a thrill seeing an older man looking. But they had to be at least 40 or 45. So who's the perv, me or them?Anyway... by the time I started grade 7, it was a year since I was with Phil. I spent that Grade 6 year doing a lot of reading on my own, and I mail ordered a couple of toys to masturbate with. But I was pretty horny, and right away I was checking out teachers and even the school police liaison dude. Lots more to look at than when I was in elementary, but it wasn't easy. The worst thing would be to work on a man that seemed promising but ratted me out. I didn't understand yet how that wasn't likely. If any teacher made a complaint about me, most likely the assumption was he must be some kind of pedo. Nope, never occurred to me.A few times when I crushed on a teacher, one of those silver fox guys (god I hate that term!), I did the old flashing trick to see what happened. Short skirt, bright panties, big smile. I think I got a couple of good reactions, but I guess they were used to that stuff. They seemed to be well-trained to look away and then ignore me. Another time I went to a school dance with parent chaperones. One of the dads seemed to be smiling at me, so I tried to get close enough to chat. But his daughter kept hanging around, and I never even got a chance to say hello.By around Christmas, I was getting nowhere. I was ready to try the mall thing, just to get a real response from an older dad type. But the mall in that town is not exactly big time. Over the holidays I hung out there three or four times, and I did make a few guys blush and look real nervous. They would keep staring at my panties, and I tried to pull my skirt a bit higher without causing a scene. One man started to walk over in my direction, and my panties were already damp. But then some little kid came along to find his grandpa, and the poor guy just shrugged and gave me a “what can I do?” look. And there went my big chance to give that grandpa a real christmas gift, a blow job in the parking lot. Hey, you promised to be non-judgmental! What? You sort of know the feeling? Well, holy jeez, professor, that's interesting.

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Anyway, back to the drawing board after New Year. My marks were pretty good, near the top of my year. But I was starting to realize I'd need more to get accepted at a university, and then how would I pay for it? I couldn't imagine taking on huge student loan debts, and my grandparents would have to sell the farm. No way, Jose. I needed summer jobs that paid a fortune, but there weren't any jobs like that in Appaloosa.So I made an appointment to ask the school counsellor for advice. Bingo, Mr. Torrance. I'd seen him in the halls, but there was nothing much to look at. In his mid-fifties, wedding ring, conservative dark suits, glasses. I never saw his eyes dart around when girls dressed like me walked by. That's a total giveaway.It turned out later Mr. Torrance might have had two brief affairs with girls around 11 at an elementary school up-state somewhere. Somehow the school board got suspicious, but the girls denied anything happened, and Mike got hired in Appaloosa. This time he was ultra-careful, his office door was always kept open, no private time. After a while he let his guard down a bit, but only with me. Somehow we were connecting.It started the moment I sat down to tell my story and get his advice. Just on the off chance he might be what I was looking for, I was in a t-shirt without my bra. He turned a bit pale, trying to avoid looking at my pokies. My skirt was riding up my thighs, and I didn't tug it back down. But he was very professional, giving tips on building up my chances for scholarships or at least admission to a university. Which classes to focus on, extracurriculars, that kind of thing. I took notes, seeing his eyes drawn to my chest and my legs. When he got to my sports participation, I admitted I had nada. The school had no swim team, which would have been a good option for me.“Too bad,” he nodded, looking pensive. “University admins like girls who do competitive swimming. Good color for the application.” I thought that was odd, but he kept going.“What about volleyball?” he asked next. “The school has a great coach and a winning record. And you look like maybe you could be, um, getting taller.”“Yeah, I grew four inches last year,” I admitted. “Do you think that might help?”“If you're good,” he said quietly, picking up a team printout. “It does involve team practices once a week, and bussing to some tournaments in the district. And a uniform purchase, but the school covers that if necessary. Appaloosa Lady Stallion jerseys, those tight volleyball shorts, that's a rule. Some girls are a bit shy about that.”The way he mentioned the shorts sounded like a tipoff. “Oh? Because the games have spectators?” I responded with a grin. “Tight shorts don't bother me at all, Mr. Torrance.” His pupils widened, and he flushed a bit pink, gulping before his reply.“Oh, good,” he nodded. “And yes, there are spectators. Up to a hundred or so at some games. I usually volunteer as one of the teacher chaperones, I enjoy the games.” Now he was gazing at my eyes, and I felt a tingle in my belly.“Sounds great! I'll talk to the coach... it says here they accept tryouts anytime for Grade 7s?”“I think so, yes. So maybe we'll see each other on the bus one of these days.”“I'd love that, Mr. Torrance,” I told him with another smile. “I suppose I should get going. Homework to finish.”“Call me Mike,” he said. “After all, I'm not a full-time teacher.” We shook hands, looking closely at each other again, sizing up the hint of a mutual interest, and then I was off, giving my butt a wiggle as I left his office.

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Getting on the team was a breeze. Several grade 9 volleyballers had graduated the previous June, and our Coach Sara Miller was still struggling to field a full team on the court. I filled out the form to ask for a free uniform, and later that week I was at my first practice, tight shorts and all. Yes, some people will want to know, did we all shower after practices? Duh, of course we did. And yes, Coach Miller usually popped in while we were getting dressed, just to give us the schedule for the following week. Or so she said, anyway. A few of my new teammates basked in her attention. Coach was a good-looking blonde in her early thirties, on the large side, but stunning in her own volleyball outfit. So I could understand the blushing and giggles in response to her sporty butt slaps on the way to the locker room, and why some of the girls a year or two older than me hung around talking with Coach after their showers.But I was clearly looking elsewhere. When I noticed Mike Torrance in the bleachers, I'd give him a wide smile when I saw him discreetly checking out my ass. Suddenly I was confident this could work. Too bad about the wedding ring, but even at that age, I knew some men would take a pass on their vows for a fling with a cute 12-year-old.Mike seemed to make it to every practice over the next month, and we kept chatting for a few minutes when it seemed casual. When the annual Shamrock tournament came up in mid-March, I got my grandparents agreement to take the team bus. The Lady Stallions and Coach Miller would spend two nights billetted at the local Girl Guides hall, and the three chaperones booked rooms at an inexpensive motel. On the bus, there was a scramble for seats with besties, while I hung back. Getting on near the end, I moved slowly towards the back, looking for a friendly face. And there he was, Mike Torrance, taking an aisle seat, as if he wanted to sit by himself.“Ah, Treena,” he said with a rueful smile. “I guess I was hogging a seat. Why don't you take the window beside me?” I tossed my pack in the overhead and squeezed past Mike. We made small talk for a few minutes until the bus pulled out at seven pm, players waving at family members. The driver announced the trip was about an hour and fifteen minutes. Some players put on reading light to study, other sat in the dark, giggling and gossiping with friends. When Mike asked about my preference, I said I didn't care, so we sat together in the evening gloom, lit up only by the occasional light from a farm or a passing car along the highway. Mike talked a bit about what to expect at the tournament, and related a couple of player escapades, stuff like sneaking out of billets.Was that a hint? I had no idea, but it sounded incredibly risky. He went quiet, and we listened to the sounds of the bus rolling down the road, the low chatter of teammates. As we relaxed, the narrow gap between us slowly shrank, until our thighs were pressed together. I held my breath, wondering if Mike would do anything. Minutes and miles went by.“This is nice, isn't it?” I finally whispered in his ear. “I've never done this before, it's pretty exciting.”“Don't be nervous,” he whispered back. “Just enjoy the games, and the fun. And the ride.” He patted my knee in a reassuring way. The hand pulled back, only to nestle gently between our legs. There it remained. At last I casually put my own hand near his, pinky fingers touching ever so slightly. Not daring to look to the side, I slipped my finger over his. Thank god his ring hand was on the other side, I thought guiltily. We stayed that way for the last half hour of the trip, fingers linked, wondering if we dared to continue the game later. The bus stopped just a few minutes late at the Girl Guides, and we pulled apart before anyone could see.Standing in the aisle, Mike announced, “I'm doing rounds to check on you athletes at ten. If you have any problems or questions about the accommodations, ask me then.” He glanced down at me with a nod and a slight smile.We piled out with our backpacks, calling out dibs on random sleeping cots in the hall. Snacks were laid out for us, and most of the girls had a bite to eat and a juice box or two while Coach went over the Saturday schedule. After everyone changed into various pajamas, we settled down with books or cell phones. A few minutes before ten, I went to the bathroom in my slippers, and then padded to the front door. One of my teammates was there first, asking Mr. Torrance something about seeing an aunt for lunch on Sunday. Satisfied with the answer, she went back to the cots. Then it was my turn, and we whispered together quietly. “I'm not going to sneak out, if that's what you were hinting, Mike.”“Oh, of course not, Treena” he said. “That would be crazy. But fun to imagine.”My tummy did a flip, seeing myself stepping into Mike's motel room. I wondered about trying to kiss him, but that seemed almost as dangerous. As I hesitated, he whispered again. “Maybe we'll get lucky enough to sit together again on the way home. But right now I better skedaddle before anyone comes along. Maybe we can spend a couple minutes alone tomorrow?”“I'd like that,” I answered. “G'night.” As I turned to head back in, I felt his hand give me a gentle tap on the butt before he hurried away. Oh my god, I thought. Looks like I have a married man for my boyfriend.

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It was hard to sleep that night, wondering what I was getting myself into. Finally I managed to doze off sometime after midnight, to the sounds of fourteen teammates shifting around on their cots, or whispering to each other. The next morning, Coach Miller woke us up at seven with a recorded trumpet blast, and we all stumbled out of our sleeping bags looking bleary-eyed as we waited our turns for the showers. Everyone had to change into our uniforms as Coach supervised (surprise, surprise), reminding us that breakfast was at eight, and the bus was leaving at nine to the high school where the first games were scheduled for ten. That left a few minutes after breakfast for hair and make-up time at the sinks, and then making sure we had everything we might need for a day of opening round matches. Supper would be served at the school, with an hour of socializing time with the other teams before heading back to the Girl Guides for lights out. All in all, a full day coming up, although as one of the two Grade Sevens on the team, I didn't expect much playing time.Mike turned up at nine to join us on the bus, trying not to be obvious as he admired the fit of our uniforms. He gave me a nod and a bright smile, but to my disappointment, he sat up at the front with one of the tournament officials, discussing the weekend schedule. But when we arrived, he waited in his seat as we all shuffled off the bus with our day packs. I hung back as long as possible, waiting to make sure I was the last player getting off before Mike, and that worked out well. As moved near the front, Mike winked at me, and discreetly caressed my butt, more firmly than the night before. I turned my head to grin, deciding that whoever Mrs. Torrance was, that was between her and Mike, nothing to do with me. Yes, that was pretty immature, but I was twelve, right?The games that day were a blur, a series of fast-paced matches between two teams at a time on the large gym floor. Hundreds of spectators were in the bleachers, more people than I had ever seen in one place. From the way cameras were flashing, if appeared as though Mike wasn't the only one who appreciated a firm young rear end as much as a kill spike. As expected, I didn't play much, just subbing in to give the more experienced players a break. Lunch break was set for one, but then the unexpected happened. Coming off the court after making a couple of nice sets in our second game victory, I saw Mike and Coach Miller checking the time and gesturing about something. Suddenly Mike tapped me on the shoulder. "Slight change of plans, Treena," he shrugged. "Our team's lunch coolers were delivered to the Guides hall, not here. Coach wants us to borrow the bus to pick up everything, so you won't play the next match."Too startled to ask questions, I followed along as Mike took my arm and steered us to the parking lot. He had the keys, and apparently a license to drive bus, so off we went, just the two of us. It was a short drive, less than ten minutes, and the coolers were by the front entrance of the hall. Moments later, we had them loaded. "Looks like we have some time to kill, and nobody else is around," Mike said with a twinkle in his eye, stepping back inside with me. For once, I was too nervous to speak, as he pulled me close for a powerful hug before planting a kiss on my lips. His hands slid down my body, cupping my buns in his strong fingers as the kiss lingered.Pulling away for a moment, he looked into my eyes. "If you don't want to do this, just tell me, honey, no problem" he said. "I know this is all pretty sudden. But it feels like we both share the same feelings. Am I right about that?""Oh god yes," I breathed, relaxing into his arms. I should have brought up that wedding ring, but I didn't. I just let him kiss me again, and then I felt him tugging down my volleyball shorts and my underwear. When they were around my knees, he lifted me up and carried me over to sit on a wooden folding table that looked stable enough to hold my weight. It was game on. I clumsily kicked the shorts and undies down past my sneakers, and Mike had a hand inside my jersey, reaching for a nipple. Trying to make it easier for him, I tugged the jersey over my head, and he expertly unfastened my bra.Suddenly I was bare-ass naked with a man about forty years older than me. His mouth went down to my boobs, switching from one to the other, making me groan with excitement and arousal. Somehow he shifted me around on the table, putting me flat on my back with my legs spread wide and my pussy fully displayed. His long middle finger slid up and down along my vulva, teasing my clit with each pass, even as he kept sucking my nipples. It was the most accomplished lovemaking I had experienced, and I could feel myself getting wetter by the second. Part of my brain was trying to digest it all, screaming that we could be discovered at any moment, but more than anything, I just wanted Mike to keep going, damn the consequences. His finger was penetrating to its full length, and my hips were bucking up and down as I wriggled my bare ass on the table. It got even better when he turned his full attention to doing lazy circles on my clit, something Phil had never fully mastered. My mind went blank, and I began to shake. The most powerful orgasm of my life hit full force, and I let out a long cry of satisfaction."God, you are so fucking perfect, Treena," Mike murmured, starting to fumble with his pants. He needed to pull his finger out of my tight little cunt to unzip properly, but at last it was accomplished. He pulled me over to the edge of the table, and my head turned to one side, my mouth opening wide as his dick came into view. I licked frantically at the tip before taking the head between my lips, ready to give Mike a blow-job he'd never forget.But the position was simply too awkward, lying on my side at ninety-degrees to his erection. After a few moments of trying in vain, he glanced around. Not finding any better option, he helped me get down on my knees, in front of the pants pooled around his feet. Putting his cock into position, he thrust forward into my willing mouth, and put his hands on the back of my head to steady himself.I sucked frantically, with the eagerness and lack of finesse of any twelve-year-old girl trying to prove her fellatio skills. Luckily, Mike was an average-sized man, and wildly aroused. Despite my gagging and choking, he lasted only a minute or so, before warning that he was about to cum. Feeling like the sexiest pre-teen in Appaloosa County, I opened my jaws a little wider, gasping for breath, until several warm spurts filled my mouth. Mike was in heaven, talking dirty and pushing my head forward, calling me his sweet little cocksucker. His jizz spilled out my lips, dribbling down my chin and down to my chest.It was my first blow-job since that summer with Phillipe, and I was pretty proud of myself, to be honest. But I also suddenly felt like a dirty little whore, scared that somebody might wander into the building at any moment, seeing me naked with a married man's shrinking dick in front of my face. Mike seemed to grasp the danger at the same time, frantically helping gather up my uniform and panties, taking me over to the washrooms just off the lobby to wash up and get dressed. Scrutinizing the jersey, he dabbed at a couple of spots with a paper towel, but there was no harm done. He gave me a long, warm embrace, whispering about how beautiful I was, and I knew that he had every intention of making this risky relationship a steady thing. We drove back to the tournament in good time for the lunch break, managing to avoid creating suspicions.Over the rest of the weekend, our team lost more than we won, and I had my introduction to the "wandering hands" of older men - spectators who "accidentally" brushed their hands against my tushie in the hallways or during post-game celebrations. Other teammates experienced similar incidents, and we reported one repeat offender to the tournament organizers. Everyone knew that some men were there to ogle us, and that was accepted, but groping was out of line, and "Mister Fingers" was banned from future attendance.

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Our first encounter seemed to settle Mike down a bit. Without losing interest, he became more careful around me. Over the next few weeks we became confident about finding ways to meet up. He took responsibility for birth control, and we had our first vaginal intercourse after scoring a hotel room during the school district reading week. When they picked me up at six o'clock downtown that day, Gramps and Gran had no idea I had just spent the afternoon with my guidance counsellor's cock in my pussy, and his hand slapping my butt while I squealed with excitement. My grandparents were loving and very open-minded, but that was way too much information for them!Later that spring, Mike had a vasectomy, so he could realize his burning desire to pump his seed into my young pussy without getting me knocked up. He never tired of looking at my changing body, from my rapidly growing boobs, to the dark pubic bush starting to flourish on my mound. Anal sex was tricky, but he was infinitely patient, building up slowly from the glorious fun of inserting a string of beads into my pucker, to the wonderful day when he managed to insert about two inches of erection into my bottom without making me scream in pain.Like any older male attracted to girls my age, Mike enjoyed other perks of the relationship. He was the one who bought my underwear, satisfying his kink for Disney princess panties and wildly inappropriate thongs that left most of my anus visible. I had to be careful and ladylike when I wore such undies - never on volleyball practice days, for example. With her eagle eyes on young ladies in the locker room, Coach Miller would have spotted those in a heartbeat. But on special occasions, I would flash Mike in his office at the school, seeing his face go pink and the bulge grow in his pants.I wasn't sure how much to believe about Mike's marital situation. One afternoon after some particularly thrilling gymnastics in a hotel room, I worked up my nerve to demand a real conversation about a few things. He claimed, and I had no reason to doubt it, that his wife had no interest in sex beyond a monthly pity blow-job. His suggestion to open up the marriage went nowhere.I wasn't surprised when he admitted that his attraction to girls like me was simply part of his wiring, as he put it. About a decade earlier, he said, he was hired at a drama teacher at a middle school upstate, where he made the innocent mistake of putting on a youth version of Cabaret, which allowed girls playing the female roles "considerable flexibility in costume choices." Seizing on the opportunity to use their creative expression to shock grown-ups, several young Sally Bowles wannabes chose to wear various types of skimpy panties and bras.After opening night, Mike was accused by some parents and the principal of poor judgement. More disastrously, a few went so far as to say that Mike got a sexual thrill out of working on stage with Grade 7 and 8 girls practically flashing their bums and boobies. There was a rumor that he would visit "Sally's" dressing room during rehearsals to help her with costume changes. There was no direct evidence of this gossip, but the school board was taking no chances, and found ways to end his contract. His wife was distinctly unamused, and the marriage began to decline.I asked Mike directly - did that turn you on? He admitted that ever since he hit puberty and discovered sex, he had always been aroused by girls and women in colorful lingerie, whether they were 12 or 22 or 92. There was something about young girls that he found most exciting, but his experience with me was the first time he had acted on this taboo. Or so he said.What could I say? I was the one who had taken the first step in this journey, and not for the first time, so I found it impossible to condemn Mike for reacting. And since our sex life was frankly amazing, I didn't want to stop. We just had to make sure nobody found out, especially his wife.

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So it went for the rest of the school year, and we managed to have a special getaway for my 13th birthday. The affair continued into the summer, when Mike visited the orchard on Berry Road on the ruse of being just another naturist. He lucked out a few times during those visits, when a German couple staying at the farm were accompanied by their 12-year-old daughter Hilda. It was two girls for the price of one during that month of July, as Mike enjoyed watching the young blonde German and her fully visible pussy lips and fat boobs. I teased him cruelly about the situation when we made love, asking if he ever imagined fucking Hilda and me together, a scenario that tortured him with lust.That was also the summer when another visitor occupied a cabin at the farm for about two weeks. Natalie Zukerman was a friend of the town librarian Harriet Semple, who had gained some notoriety for her involvement in the "scandalous" wedding of two other town residents. This was the case of Constance Ellery, who became known as the youngest bride in Appaloosa country, marrying Dan Warren on her own 13th birthday a couple of years previously. Naturally that marriage had caught my attention, since it validated my own interest in older men.Natalie Zukerman shared Harriet's open mind and interest in naturism, but she had no participation in those events. However, as a keen observer of people, she quickly picked up that Mike and I were an item. When she asked about it one day, I denied everything, but she dismissed my protests with an imperious wave. She was mostly interested to learn that Mike wasn't my first older man, and that in fact I was quite strongly drawn towards age-gaps. When our conversation continued another day, she tactfully inquired about my career plans, and I confessed that I had no idea how to save enough money to obtain a university degree without huge student loan debts."I have a suggestion for you, young lady," Natalie said, after contemplating my response for a few minutes. "It's a project that could be quite lucrative. But it's also something that calls for absolute discretion. Not a word of it could ever be spoken, since it would involve activities of the type that we've discussed in general terms here today."Of course, I was intrigued. "What kind of lucrative are you talking about, Ms. Zukerman?" I wanted to know. "And I guess you mean something about sex, is that right?""If you want to hear more, you have to swear right now that this is absolutely quiet. And you'll have to call me Natalie, or Nat," she told me."What about Mike?" I probed. She sat back in her deck chair, gazing out at the pond, both of us quite naked as always on the dock. Finally she let out a sigh. "Fine. Let me explain, and I suppose if you accept my offer, Mike would need to know. At least if you plan to stay together."I nodded my agreement, at that age sadly unaware of the fragility of human relationships. We decided that if I had no intention of accepting the offer, it would remain a secret, but if I accepted, Natalie would being Mike into the circle."I'm telling you this for several reasons," she began. "You appear utterly truthful about your attraction to much older men. From the scraps of information I glean from Mike, and from my observations here at the orchard, I can see that they are equally attracted to you, both physically but also emotionally and intellectually. That's rather rare. In my estimation, a rather high proportion of men in the age range of perhaps 55 and older find the idea of sex with girls quite appealing as an abstract idea, but this project requires more than a pretty face and figure. And finally, my dear girl, you have a very direct material reason to be interested in this project; it will offer you considerable income over a limited period of time. That could be adjusted, but let's say five years, until you enter university, assuming your marks are high enough. Just as important, the project would only require a limited time commitment, so that you can keep up your studies. In my estimation, about four hours per week."Her eyes sized me up carefully. "What do you say? Should I give more details?"Sitting there in shock, I tried to be clear. Was Natalie offering me work doing sex with old men? Having heard this much, I needed to know more, so I nodded a yes."Good. Here's the situation. You know that I'm the owner and director of the Grafton Seniors Home in town. I have complete control of the home. We have about 60 residents, all of them men over the age of 50, mostly retired working guys from Appaloosa County who need to be looked after in a facility like mine. Some are bedridden and have dementia. Many others are still quite physically and mentally able, but they're lonely. They have.... needs. Normally, there's not much such a facility can do about this, other than hiring well-trained staff, people who sincerely care about their well-being. That has always been my vision, a truly good place to live for men who contributed so much to this area during their working lives."Gathering her thoughts, she continued. "Now, unexpectedly, I have access to the resources needed to do more for some of our residents. Certainly not all of them or even more than a small minority, but at least a few. I can't do it openly or publicly, but thanks to the generosity of one resident who has, shall we say, particular interests, I can make arrangements for about four of our gentlemen. Each would receive a two-hour session of special help, once every two weeks. Enough to provide them with a great deal of happiness in their golden years. You must realize I'm talking about extremely well-paid sexual attention, paid for by one resident who became extremely wealthy about a year ago.... a lottery ticket winner. Here's the fine print in his offer. He wants to be one of the recipients of this service, but it must be provided by a girl no more than thirteen. He knows three other residents who have the same interests in young girls. If her services are judged adequate, her contract will be extended. In his words, that means primarily being willing to work a two-hour shift for each session, either fully naked or wearing apparel of the resident's choice - perhaps just panties, or lingerie, or a costume. He says that considering their ages, the men would usually be quite satisfied with oral sex - a blow-job - or perhaps a hand job, or touching the girl's body, or watching her masturbate. Dirty talk, of course, which could become rather crude. Or some combination of these things. He adds that he is only rarely able to sustain an erection in order to have vaginal or anal intercourse, but in theory it could happen, and he suspects the others are in a similar situation. They're all tested STD-free."She paused. "Now for the financial side, which I would manage on his behalf. I propose to pay this girl $200 per session, even if it ends before two hours. That would add up to $20,000 per year, allowing a two-week holiday break, and provision for paid sick leave if necessary. If a resident requests services beyond what I've outlined - for example anal sex with the girl, or BDSM activities like bondage or floggings, the pay rate would be doubled for that session. Over a five year period, the total earnings would be around $100,000, perhaps more. The resident making this offer proposes to pay me a bonus of about 25 percent for my time on the project, which includes scheduling of sessions, or dealing with related matters. The sessions would take place in a specially-designed room at the Home, fully equipped for the needs of the residents."Upon the conclusion, I sat there in shock. One hundred thousand dollars was enough to pay tuition for four years. If I was able to win a few scholarships, and maybe get my grandparents to kick in a bit, my living costs would be covered. I would earn a useful degree and be on my way to the life I wanted. All I had to do was..... let me think.... have sex with old men in a seniors residence for a total of about 1,000 hours. I would be a professional sex worker at the age of 13. Or an unaccredited sex therapist, to put it a different way.

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It was incredibly tempting, and totally appalling. Could I afford to say no? What would Mike think? My heart sank. I realized there was no way I could risk breaking Mike's heart by becoming the youngest whore in Appaloosa County. Even if he agreed, it was a heavy burden on a relationship to carry for five whole years."Can I have some time to think about this?" I said at last, looking sadly at Natalie."Of course, I know it's a lot to process," she answered gently. "But my resident Anthony wants it to happen soon. I hate to say it, but all these guys live on borrowed time. Tony wants to enjoy what's left of his life, and he wants a few of his buddies to share his good fortune, so he's put a lot of time into thinking of this. Can I suggest, maybe you could try one session with him, just to see how it goes? Of course you would be paid. Two hundred dollars. And then have another week to consider it?"Hmmmm..... that seemed fair. I decided that Mike didn't need to know about the trial session, just about the project if I wanted to run it past him. In the meantime, why not give Tony a blow job? He sounded like a good guy, after all, and two hundred bucks to suck off his old dick was easy money.Three days later I turned up at Natalie's office after school, dressed in the shortest skirt I dared to wear to class. My hair was done in short pigtails, quite a change from my usual look. We shook hands and she took me to a room down the hallway. The first look inside surprised me. Far from the regular institutional decor of an ordinary room in such a facility, it was just like a nice living room in a condo, complete with fireplace, nice drapes, comfortable carpeting, classy paintings on the walls, a couple of big armchairs and a large sofa. Sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace was a guy who looked to be a well-preserved 75 or so, dressed in a checked cowboy shirt and blue jeans. He stared at me like a dog sizing up a pork chop."There's the buzzer if you need me," said Natalie, pointing near the door. "Any last questions? No? Good, I'll be back at 5 o'clock."I gulped, setting down my school backpack and looking around. "Hi, Tony," I said, trying to sound like a care aide or something. "My name is Treena. I'm 13 years old, and I'm your new sex therapist."Tony's eyes bugged out, and he licked his lips. "Holy fuck," he finally blurted out. "Ah, shit, pardon my French, young lady. That was rude. I'm not usually like that, it's just..... oh my god. I've waited a long time for this. Lift up your skirt and show me your panties."I put a hand up to my mouth to stifle a laugh. This guy was a hoot, or maybe he was just nuts. But I could handle him, he sounded like some of the old dudes who spent time at the orchard."What makes you think I'm wearing panties, Tony?" I shot back, glaring at him.The old man put his head back and laughed out loud. "Touche, honey. I think I like you already. But do me a favor, satisfy my curiosity. I haven't seen what a girl your age has under her skirt since I was at some rodeo up in Montana fifty years ago, and that was only because she fell off one of those mechanical bulls. Who the hell wears a skirt on one of them things?"I slowly raised my skirt, which was already half-way between my knees and my pussy. As my undies came into view, Tony leaned forward eagerly. "Sailor Moon from the TV cartoons... recognize her, Tony?" I teased him, pulling the skirt all the way up to my waist."Oh yeah," he grinned. "I jerked off a few times to that cartoon. There's even a porn version on my computer. She's pretty hot. So are you."Tony was already fumbling at his belt buckle as I undid the skirt, letting it fall to the floor. I did a 360, stopping to waggle my ass in his direction. "Back up and do that closer, honey," he rasped, clearly getting more excited by the moment. I turned my back to him and moved nearer, my panty-clad butt inches from his face. He grabbed it with his hands, squeezing the globes of my butt. I stayed in position, letting him tug the panties down, giving him the first look at my bare bottom. I bent over more, planting my feet further apart. He had to be able to see my anus and my pussy."When was the last time you saw a thirteen year old pussy?" I asked. "Was it as pretty as mine?""Oh my god, this is amazing," he said in reply, running his fingers along the crack of my ass. "I'm not sure.... maybe never. I think the first girl I dated was something like fifteen, and I never got her underwear off. She did suck my dick, I remember that."I stood up again, kicking off my shoes and slipping the panties off my feet. "What about boobs, Tony? You like to see titties?""Damn, you're killing me, honey. Come on then, let me see your tits."I undid my white blouse, button by button. Dropped it behind my back. Undid the lacy white bralette. Stood there naked, my boobs on show, along with my pussy and its covering of curly black pubes.By now Tony had the belt off, and his jeans down to his ankles. His boxer shorts were next, but everything was tangled up. "Let me help you with that, honey," I told him, getting down to my knees. For a couple of minutes I struggled to undo his shoes, pull off his socks, and then remove his boxers and jeans. The cock was surrounded by greying pubic hair, standing half 3erect."And now I can help with this," I added, shuffling forward on my knees. I reached out to grasp his dick, giving it a squeeze, and then leaning ahead to lick it. Tony closed his eyes and let out a moan of sheer joy."Do it, honey. Suck my cock like a good girl," he growled. "Never had a girl your age suck my dick."It was more challenging than I expected. I would get him half hard, feeling it twitch, then he would go soft again. Up and down. Finally, a thought hit me. I turned around and grabbed my Sailor Moon underwear."You wanna smell my panties, Tony?" I teased him, putting the crotch up to his nose. "Go on, take it. See what a little girl like me smells like."Worked like a charm. Tony inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. He moaned something about the scent of pussy, and I went back to sucking. Sure enough, a minute later he gasped and his hips bucked, and cum flowed out of his cock. Not a lot, but it was satisfying, reminding me how much I enjoyed swallowing a guy's load. Especially an old man, the kind who loved to have a girl's mouth on his dick.When he finally stopped twitching, the cock deflated almost instantly. Tony took my underwear and grinned, moving it down to his crotch. "I'm gonna clean up with this," he laughed. "And then I want you to move that other armchair over in front of mine. We got an hour left, I wanna see you rub your cunt, honey. That's another one I haven't seen in forever."And so it happened. Turns our that masturbating for an old guy is just as exciting as doing it for a guy my own age. I tried to pace myself, but about fifteen minutes later, I was crying out and wailing, and having my own orgasm.Tony seemed even more spent than me. "Damn, girl," he finally murmured. "May as well push that buzzer. You wore me out today. Coming back soon, I hope?""I think so," I nodded, starting to get dressed while I waited for Natalie. "This was fun... I'd like to come back, Tony."His eyelids were drooping as Natalie and I left the room."Well?" she smiled. "Tony's a sweetheart, isn't he?""A bit salty, but I did enjoy it," I told her. "Even swallowing his cum, I wasn't really sure how that would taste, but it was good. Now I just have to see what Mike says."

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By the terms of our agreement, I had a week to decide on Natalie Zukerman's offer. That little romp with Tony settled my nerves, at least in terms of the sex obligations. Probably things would get complicated sometimes, but I was a young girl bursting with curiosity, I could handle it.I did spend much of my time thinking about the fine details. How to explain to Gramps and Gran where I was after school on Tuedays and Thursdays? (Monday and Wednesday were volleyball practice, so my schedule was limited.) What about transportation back to the farm? I called Natalie, who came up with simple answers. Officially, I would be described as a part-time resident companion, somebody to brighten their days. (No kidding!) Most of my earnings would be deposited in a savings account, but a small percentage would go into checking, about the equivalent of minimum wage, giving me regular spending money. The Grafton would assign a staffer to drive me home, or pay for a cab. Any other questions could be dealt with between me and Natalie. That just left my married lover. But life has a way of taking unexpected twists, and I never did get the chance to tell him what I was considering.The next Saturday afternoon, I was getting ready to float the project for Mike, hoping he wouldn't be crushed. But first, he had other plans. He checked us into his favorite motel, operated by a rather shady dude who asked no questions, Pretty soon, Mike and I were doing a hot sixty-nine on the king-sized bed. I recall that his tongue was happily exploring my pucker, while I tried to get more than three inches of his dick into my mouth. Perversions and taboos galore! But before I could climax with his finger circling my clit, we heard somebody out in the hallway, then hammering at the door."Mike, are you in there? With that slut? Open up, you bastard, don't make me wait out here."He rolled off, leaving my legs spread wide on the bed and tears on my cheeks. I wasn't a damn slut, I was just this guy's girlfriend! "Holy mother of god," he moaned. "My wife. I'm so sorry, babe. I never wanted her to find out about us."Yes, things got ugly, real fast. We never did find out who ratted us out, but the look on Wendy's face when she saw me was priceless. In the end, we managed to convince her that blowing things up into a public scandal would be a disaster for all three of us. His job and pension, her social standing in a town full of gossips, my reputation as a good student and mediocre volleyball player. Wendy got a quiet divorce from Mike, with a reasonable settlement. My name was left out of it, sparing her the indignity of losing a husband to a girl barely in her teens. She promised verbally not to kill me or tell my grandparents.

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Long before all the legal loose ends were tied up, I was already back at Natalie's office, ready to start sucking and fucking men old enough to be my Gramps. And that's how I became a teenage sex therapist, after school from 3 to 5 pm, Tuesdays and Thursdays (plus twice a week during holiday seasons), for the next five years. I started promptly that week, providing Tony's best pal Zeke with the youngest blow-job service in town.Zeke was memorable. He was the only one of the original four with a pecker hard and long enough to need a condom when he wanted intercourse, which was almost always. Natalie arranged a trip to the local clinic, where Zeke told us the cute receptionist offered him a choice of Penthouse or Playboy for his visit to an austere washroom. One sample later, word came back that Zeke's swimmers were pretty much non-existent. He was happy as hell when he finally got to fuck me bare, and I just accepted that with my two hundred bucks came the job of cleaning up using the fancy bidet that Natalie had installed. Ever the gentleman, Zeke offered to lick it up, but as I pointed out, that would still mean I had to wash my princess parts. All part of the deal. Zeke's occasional request for anal was less fun, but I did get extra pay for the pain, and he tried to be gentle. I liked Zeke, it was sad when he suffered a stroke about a year later. Still alive, but no longer in shape for fun time with a sex therapist. I tried to drop in to see him from time to time, showing off my newest panties or my still-growing boobs, but it wasn't the same.Chino was another original, a Mexican-Chinese guy who told me his life story working on a crazy range of hard jobs across the west. Over the years, he managed to save enough money to score a place at the Grafton when he hit retirement age, but he was never lucky enough to find a wife and raise a family. Instead, as he admitted with a look of deep shame, he had slowly gone deeper into his sexual kinks, largely centred on his lust for little girls.Yes, it was icky listening to Chino, who genuinely felt bad about the ten or twelve girls younger than me he paid to suck his small dick, or take off their underpants so he could penetrate their smooth pussies. Most of those girls were from desperately poor families, he admitted. Some of them he paid a few times for their services. On other occasions, he had older girlfriends for a week or two, or as long as six months in Lake Tahoe during a stint as caretaker and maintenance man at a casino operated by a Russian mafia type. But more often, his sex life was reduced to the pitiful status of looking up skirts at the playground or the mall.The tragic tale was a stern reminder that my path in life was much easier than others. But it also explained by Chino was in heaven when I showed up with my hair in pigtails, sucking on a lollipop, bending over to "accidentally" give him a glimpse of my plain white cotton undies. Yes, it was an amazing piece of good luck the day Chino met Tony, becoming unlikely buddies before the lucky lottery win. Otherwise, he would never have scored with the teenage sex therapist a couple dozen times a year over the next five years. Chino liked blow jobs and intercourse, but just as often he ended up jerking off on my boobs, which he completely adored.The last of the original four was Ralph, an old farmer with a weather-beaten face. He and Tony first met at a poker game in Vegas about twenty years earlier, but the relationship didn't start so well. Both of them fell instantly in love with the young dealer, a so-called blonde with a flat chest and a face that looked about fifteen. They nearly came to fisticuffs over who would ask her to dinner, until she intervened by graciously offering to let both of them buy her a steak at Caesar's Palace. For an appropriate price, she joined Ralph and Tony in bed, where to their disappointment she admitted to being the advanced age of twenty. But it wasn't all bad, they each told me a slightly different version of DPing the poker dealer, which seemed to have been an expensive highlight of their lives. They kept in touch, meeting occasionally to share their passion for young girls, but mostly it was talk not action, or so I gathered. Until they found me, anyway.It was Ralph who hesitantly brought up one problem with the arrangement, first to Natalie, then to me. He thought I was gorgeous, of course (a compliment I always took with a grain of salt). But one thing could be better... What was that? I asked. Well, he mumbled, feeling like a perverted old creep, it's your pubic hair. It's pretty, he said, but the thing was, he was always more turned on by bare pussy. To be perfectly honest, he continued, that made it easier for him to fantasize that the woman was a little girl, so would I be willing to get waxed before his days with me?Actually, I had wondered if this might come up. I had no objection in principle, and Natalie said Tony's money would cover the spa visits. But there were other considerations. Gramps and Gran would notice almost immediately that their precious granddaughter was suddenly smooth again. Same with all the volleyball players. Not to mention Coach Miller, who missed nothing about her team's looks, not even the time one of the Grade Nine's came back from Christmas vacation with an anal bleaching. People on the dock at the orchard pond might notice too, but they were mostly naturists trained to avoid any comments on a girl's body.I finally surrendered to Ralph's request, mostly because I felt bad for the old farmer who was so ashamed of his taboo desires. It wasn't his fault he got so aroused by a bare pussy. And the first time he saw me waxed, he nearly busted a nut before eating me out for most of his appointment time. Not a bad way to earn my two hundred bucks.

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There were other memorable guys over those five years, along with a few I can barely recall. Whenever one of the men suffered a severe health crisis or got moved away by relatives, or god forbid passed away, which happened three times, Tony would have quiet conversations with his friends and then select another lucky man who shared the same fetish. As I got closer to eighteen, things slowly changed, of course. Men who liked their girls in the 12 to 14 range - early puberty - weren't quite as excited about my nearly adult body, but only a couple of them dropped out for that reason. I was just too much of a good thing, right? Altogether, according to my diary, fourteen men enjoyed my services as the teenage sex therapist.Along the way, I earned enough to buy my own car, an old Honda Civic, so I could drive around on my own. The interest on my earnings added a few thousand to my savings, and I was accepted into the university of my choice. The contact ended with my 18th birthday, and Tony regretfully ruled out an extension. He wanted somebody younger, and Natalie had her eye on a good prospect. I was okay with that, my first year of post-secondary was just a couple months away at the end of that summer.We held one last get-together at the Grafton, the guys and Natalie and me dressed up in my best little girl costume - Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, complete with the blue dress, the ruby slippers, and frilly white panties and socks. I was finally legal to drink, and we all had champagne while the dirty old men took turns using my holes and my mouth and my titties one last time. Natalie was invited to participate, but she declined, sipping a drink and watching with detached amusement as the men took turns. Zeke went first, and as the best-endowed fellow he also had the final shot, hard enough to fuck my broad ass while everyone cheered and I whimpered in pain. Then Tony graciously used warm washcloths and soap to clean me up, and everyone gave me passionate farewell kisses. Despite my sore bottom, I shed some tears before driving away.

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Over those teenage years, I also found time for a few more summertime relationships. I was studying a lot and doing my stints at the Grafton, but what teenage nudist girl could pass up tanning at the dock and flirting with interesting men.... and even a gross old slobs who didn't understand the anti-ogling protocol. It was a place where my frequently waxed pussy drew some attention, and by then I was skilled at picking out which men might be worth getting to know a little better.It feels weird to admit that I was kind of turned on by a couple of the slob types, the ones who were confident enough to make a move on a teenager. Not enough to have sex or anything, but a few times I'd let them put sunblock on my back and then finger my cunt or my asshole. Before it could get out of control I'd jump up and grab my stuff, and I guess they'd jerk off after I left. Thinking back about it, I guess that was pretty immature.My grandparents finally understood that I was getting too old to keep inside, and Gran had to be satisfied with giving regular sex education updates. She even generously gifted me with a new toy on every birthday and at Christmas. Between my work at the Grafton, the occasional lover at the farm, and those toys, my fuckholes were stretched frequently and with great pleasure over that time period, and I don't regret any of it.So, Professor Heermoar. I assume for your research you want to know, how many men had sex with me as an underage girl? Well, let me think. I already counted 14 at the Grafton. Then in order there's Lawrence, who didn't penetrate me with his cock, Phillipe, Mike, and later Andre the fruit picker, he was just thirty, the youngest one. And then Gene and Martin during the last couple of summers, they were seniors who found out they could share me, but that's another story. And oh yeah, Tommy the Coach from upstate during one of the volleyball tournaments when I was fourteen, I think.That makes another seven, so 21 in total before my 18th birthday. It's true, I was paid to be with two-thirds of those guys. But every single one, it was my decision. It's up to you to decide how to integrate that into your research. But aside from a few short heartbreaks and some sore buttholes, I've enjoyed it all the way. For the next few years, I want to concentrate on my academics, but I don't intend to turn into a recluse. I have your card, if you want to follow up, I'll give you a call sometime!