Story: Pick Pocket    mg, cons   
      
       By Leslie Schmidt   
      
   This is the first part of my Rome fantasy. I hope you   
   enjoy it. I will write the next soon.   
      
   I have used the AltaVista "Babel Fish" to add some   
   Italian words and phrases-if the translation is not   
   good, excuse me. (I was amused to see that "Do you   
   want me to suck your pussy" translated as   
   something to do with eating a cat)   
      
   If you have any suggestions, e-mail me:   
      lschmidt@boardermail.com   
      
      
      
      
   I had squeezed into the crowd which overfilled the   
   car at the Termini Station of the Rome subway. It   
   was Friday, and I was wondering what I would do   
   to fill the coming evening. I was in a corner, near   
   the end of the car. As I read a paper over another   
   man's shoulder, I felt a slight pulling at my pocket.   
   I reached down and grabbed the hand which was   
   gently trying to relieve me of my wallet.   
      
   I looked down into one of the most astonishing   
   faces I have ever seen. She looked to be 10 or 11.   
   Her long black hair corkscrewed down each side of   
   her oval, dark skinned face. Her small mouth was   
   accentuated by deep red lipstick. She had a pixy   
   nose and dark eyebrows. And her eyes, one so dark   
   you couldn't see a pupil, the other was sky blue,   
   stared up at me with pain and fear.   
      
   The site of this gypsy beauty kind of took the wind   
   out of my sails but I quickly regained my   
   composure. She saw the moment of weakness pass   
   over my face and relaxed slightly, but I kept hold of   
   her hand.   
      
   "I should turn you over to the Caribenari, you little   
   urchin," I said in Italian.   
      
   The fear returned to her face. "Please Signore, no,"   
   she whispered. "My family, they will send us back   
   to Yugoslavia."   
      
   "Why do I care?" Again, the look of this child's   
   face was working on me, I'm sure she saw my   
   resolve weakening. The train was stopping at the   
   Ostiense Station, my stop. When the doors opened,   
   I pulled the child off the train with me; I intended to   
   drag her to the police who were always stationed   
   near the ticket booth.   
      
   She jerked hard and stopped me, even spinning me   
   around to face her. Again, the astonishingly   
   beautiful face. "Signore, please," she whispered.   
      
   That's when I felt her other hand gently squeeze my   
   cock through my pants. "Please, Signore." I   
   instantly swelled, and I'm sure she felt my cock   
   strain against my trousers.   
      
   With less resolve I said, "Come with me." I led her   
   past the Polizi Municipal at the turnstile and up the   
   escalator to the street.   
      
   It was a two block walk to my flat on Via de   
   Conciatori. As we walked, making our way through   
   the crowds and street venders, the girl hurried next   
   to me. I kept my hold on her hand. At the door   
   between a house wares and a shoe store, I had to let   
   go of her to dig out my keys. She stood silently, if   
   she had wanted to run, she certainly had the   
   opportunity.   
      
   I opened the door and held it for her; she smiled up   
   at me and entered the dingy hallway. For the past   
   week, the lift had been working (some sort of a   
   record) and we took it to the fourth floor, then down   
   the hall and into my flat.   
      
   I'm a fashion photographer and my flat is lined with   
   posters of my work. The girl walked from picture to   
   picture. "Did you make these?"   
      
   "Si," I replied.   
      
   She continued around the room and then down the   
   hall. The door into the bathroom was open, she   
   looked in and I saw her pause. In there were a   
   couple of pretty raunchy nudes.   
      
   She came back into the living room. "Will you   
   make my picture?"   
      
   I inspected her with a critical professional eye and   
   realized that she was beautiful-beautiful and   
   unique. "I'll get my camera."   
      
   She was dressed in Tommy fashion jeans and a knit   
   shirt. It was beige, with cowl sleeves and a rounded   
   neckline with a black stripe. Her hair was somewhat   
   tangled and I decided that, to begin with, that would   
   be fine.   
      
   She sat quietly as I dug out an old Pentax K100 and   
   loaded it with film. Because of her eyes, I decided   
   to use color. I usually shoot in black and white. I   
   pulled out a light meter and set the exposure.   
      
   She turned out to be a natural. I was amazed, she   
   knew exactly how to pose and what expression was   
   needed for each shot. Within just a couple minutes I   
   had burnt up my first role of film.   
      
   As I reloaded, I had her brush out her hair. Her hair   
   was black and thick. It reached her waist in waves   
   down her back.   
      
   As we started the next shoot, I realized that I knew   
   nothing about this little goddess I was   
   photographing. "What's your name?"   
      
   "Lena." She had her hands on her hips and was   
   looking over her shoulder at me.   
      
   "How old are you?"   
      
   "Diez."  Now she was turned directly toward me,   
   her feet planted shoulder width, her hands behind   
   her head and her face turned toward the left, looking   
   down slightly.   
      
   "Pull up your shirt some."   
      
   She reached down and pulled one side of her shirt   
   tail out, revealing a strip of clear olive colored skin.   
   She pulled it up provocatively, uncovering her ribs   
   and smiled at the camera with an inviting   
   expression.   
      
   Next, she turned her back and wrapped her arms   
   around herself so her hands were seen on her sides.   
   Then, swinging her hips back and forth, she slowly   
   pulled the shirt up, turning it inside out as first the   
   small of her back, then the mid back, then her   
   shoulder blades were uncovered. She bunched the   
   shirt up and pulled it off over her head, her long hair   
   was slowly freed of the cloth. The whole time, she   
   kept her back turned.   
      
   She crossed her arms over her chest, then turned so   
   her right side was toward me. Her full hair covered   
   her chest and arms; she slowly turned toward me.   
   With her face looking down slightly, her eyes   
   looking up at the camera, and her lips slightly   
   parted, she dropped her arms. Her hair fell forward   
   to cover the slight swelling of her breasts. She   
   shook her head and looked defiantly into the   
   camera, her hair parted to uncover one of her   
   preteen breasts; a large reddish-brown nipple over   
   just the slightest beginning of womanhood. Next   
   she lifted her arms and ran her hands behind her   
   neck, then lifted her locks. With her face turned to   
   one side, she uncovered her wonderful preteen tits.   
      
   At this point, I lost my professional demeanor. She   
   was such a beautiful, sexy, sight. My dick swelled,   
   crying for relief. Now I knew, I was going to fuck   
   this preteen gypsy.   
      
   I had her strike a few more poses-hands on hips,   
   facing directly into the camera, back turned, feet   
   apart, ass flared, pretty ordinary modeling stuff,   
   then said, "Undo the button on your pants."   
      
   With an incredibly sexy smile, she slowly hooked   
   her thumbs in the waist band of her jeans, then   
   slowly moved them toward the middle until they   
   were behind the button. Then she undid the button   
   and moved her hands away, the top of her light blue   
   panties could just be seen in the gap. She moved her   
   hands down the front of her thighs, leaning forward.   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)