From: PreteenLover@MailAndNews.com   
      
   Story: Emma   
      
   by Peter Pan (uds3@hotmail.com)   
      
      
      
   Even in the best families, you never know what secret   
   lives are being played out. Sometimes confessing to a   
   stranger seems like a good idea! (Mf, ped, inc, 1st,   
   mast, rom)   
      
   ***   
      
   I received this "confession" if you like, from a man in   
   Western Australia just last week. He refers to himself   
   as "Phoenix" and in subsequent emailed communication,   
   has given me permission to reproduce his story here,   
   although I have where indicated, corrected his grammar,   
   and punctuation as well as amending his sometimes   
   unsupported phraseography. He is not proud of his   
   accomplishments and readily admits to being weak, if   
   not a slave to lust. My guess is that he is just one of   
   many fathers - some who have acted on their impulses -   
   many more who would dearly like to.   
      
   I have not submitted this that he should be judged one   
   way or the other. It is simply a case-study as might be   
   deemed "Harper Valley" itself. Strictly on account of   
   the girl's tender age, some readers will find the   
   unfolding events reprehensible - others possibly   
   tantalising. It is after all, much like beauty itself -   
   somewhat in the eyes of the beholder!   
      
   Herewith his communique.   
      
   "Dear Pan,   
      
   Reading many of your stories, one in particular - "It   
   Came Upon A Midnight Clear" struck a chord with me. I   
   have assumed this tale is true mainly because the   
   feelings you describe, mirror to some extent, the   
   experiences with my own very young daughter here in   
   suburban Perth.   
      
   I am sure you love your daughter/s dearly and you must   
   know how easily things can get out of hand.   
      
   I have had a fixation I suppose you would call it, with   
   Emma ever since she was eight or nine. I have managed   
   to keep my feelings from my wife (Emma is an only   
   child) and I am sure she had never suspected a thing.   
   It would destroy our marriage and obviously her trust   
   in me if she ever found out the truth, but I have   
   desperately wanted to confess my desires and lately -   
   actions - just to vindicate myself in some small way.   
   Of course, I can never do that. In writing to you, I am   
   in part clearing my conscience by openly sharing with   
   many readers (if you do decide to reproduce this) my   
   weakness and paternal downfall.   
      
   Emma has just turned eleven and what I am about to tell   
   you started when she was little more than nine.   
      
   No pun intended, but I suppose you could call me a   
   hands-on father. I had helped out with Emma's   
   upbringing right from the start. Changed as many   
   diapers as her mom and fed her just as often. From   
   babyhood I had bathed her, washed and dried her hair,   
   dressed her and all the things so many fathers should   
   do but haven't the time or inclination to fulfil.   
      
   Not surprisingly a strong father-daughter bond   
   developed and during her pre-school period she would   
   always find some excuse to "snuggle up with daddy" late   
   nights. Susan didn't care - her sleep on the far side   
   of the bed wasn't disturbed!   
      
   Throughout these years I never once had a sexual   
   thought about Emma - she was just my beautiful little   
   girl that I could never wait to get back home to. As a   
   family, we scaled the heights of contentment and loving   
   interaction.   
      
   I remember precisely the day something insinuated   
   itself into my subconscious.   
      
   I had taken Emma to one of those kids' playgrounds in a   
   neighboring park while her mom got dinner ready. Having   
   always push-started her on the swings, at eight now and   
   with a growing independence, she wanted to do it all by   
   herself, insisting I stand in front of the swing to   
   watch her progress.   
      
   It was I think her third down-swing when a gust of wind   
   blew her skirt up just marginally. Uninhibited and   
   without any real sexual awareness at that age, the fact   
   that her panties were fully displayed momentarily   
   caused her not a second's thought. She made not even   
   the least attempt to preserve a degree of modesty, such   
   that any teenager would most certainly have seen to.   
      
   That delightfully exposed triangle of light-blue cotton   
   undies, triggered something in my frontal lobes that   
   had lain dormant all these years. I was privy suddenly   
   to something other than my eight-year old daughter on   
   that swing, and even as I smiled my appreciation of her   
   new trapeze-like skills, my mind was riveted on areas   
   of Emma's anatomy that might best be termed   
   inappropriate!   
      
   When shortly after, she was wanting me to push her   
   again, I found myself gazing with unfettered delight at   
   that compact young bottom nestling there on the seat of   
   the swing. My hands encircled those firm little cheeks   
   as they had done so many times before, though now   
   incurring a delightfully new sense of tactility. I   
   ached to see her sans that tight little skirt.   
      
   Emma giggled as I pushed her yet higher, as innocent   
   and blissfully unaware of her father's decadent   
   thoughts as only a child can be.   
      
   I found myself studying her closely as we walked home.   
   The way those pretty blonde curls danced around her   
   shoulders, the softness of her tiny hand as it nestled   
   lovingly in mine. The girlish features as she would   
   look up at me with that expression of childlike trust   
   and affection. And what was my contribution that day?   
   Simply to glance at her top taking in the temporary   
   flatness of her chest and the image of those soon to be   
   swollen nipples within. Her very lack of development in   
   that area, I found to be of considerable arousal   
   itself. How might she react to being licked there even   
   at this stage I wondered? before chastising myself for   
   such wickedly left-field contemplations.   
      
   In the following weeks, although I did nothing overtly   
   inappropriate, I THOUGHT plenty. Mainly I suppose, how   
   I might get to see Emma's panties on a more regular   
   basis. As it happened, opportunity presented itself   
   within days.   
      
   Invited to a friend's birthday party, Susan had bought   
   Emma a couple of new dresses. I was just putting the   
   finishing touches to the pasta creation I had been   
   working on, when I was called upstairs.   
      
   "Emma's not sure which dress looks best honey," Susan   
   said, as I walked in. My nether regions stirred with   
   unprovoked interest as I stared at our beautiful   
   daughter, looking years older in that velvety flounced   
   outfit with pretty lace edging. Emma smiled at me and   
   muttered "What do you think daddy?"   
      
   If I had told her what I was thinking right then, Susan   
   would have been tossing up which to call first - her   
   attorney or 911.   
      
   I just sat down in the chair alongside her work-desk   
   and said "You look like an angel sweetheart."   
      
   "Can I show daddy the other dress?" she gabbled   
   excitedly to my wife who then to my total and   
   everlasting shock, helped her out of the velvety   
   creation, leaving her standing momentarily right there   
   before me, in simply a pair of skimpy little white   
   bear-print cotton undies. If I had been forced to stand   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)