From: wanker@dick.net   
      
   My  Story   
      
   by   
      
   Jennifer  P.   
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
   THREE   
      
      
   Well, there's two episodes in what seems to be developing into a   
   never-ending story.  I only say that because there's a considerable   
   volume of notes and so forth relating to this as I piece together the   
   memories of conversations I only recall fragments of based on the   
   stronger memories and impressions of my own actions and perceptions of   
   those of others.  Still, in narrative form, it's all reasonably   
   accurate.   
      
   Although society now finds it politically correct to classify a rather   
   large segment of itself as Paedophiles, I've come to a conveniently   
   different conclusion.  Those that more appropriately are classified as   
   such should not be considered part of the criminal element.  I suspect   
   that most people who are no longer children are effectively   
   Paedophiles to one degree or another.  My choices of words for the   
   criminal element are Molesters and Rapists in general.  Molesters, as   
   opposed to Paedophiles, have no real positive feelings for children.   
   They choose to mistreat them for their own personal satisfaction and   
   however destructive their behavior may be is of little concern to   
   them.  The same pretty much holds true for Rapists, only to a larger   
   degree.  Both of their actions range through a spectrum of behavior   
   from indifference regarding another's feelings and welfare to   
   premeditated cruelty and murder.  No distinction should be made for   
   the age groups of their victims.   
      
   My friend Mike is a Paedophile and as such, should not be considered a   
   criminal for any level of his behavior with regard to our relationship   
   or his relationships with any other children, including his own   
   daughter.  Virtually every aspect of our relationship has pretty much   
   been inspired by me - beyond his knowledge and susceptibility to my   
   childish influence.  My parents, perhaps naively, have allowed me to   
   go places with him at my insistence and there have been a majority of   
   occasions where that has happened without developing into any notable   
   sexual exploitation.  That's a nice word; exploitation!  It requires   
   that all participants must initially be willing to participate.   
      
   I could not back then even begin to comprehend what was the content or   
   context of adult conversations and I seldom recall any of them that   
   were not directed at me.  I only recall a few of the discussions that   
   included me, but some of them are recalled with reasonable accuracy to   
   detail.  For instance, this next episode, although probably having   
   occurred several weeks after my adventure with Mike in the woods, is   
   probably the most memorable sequel although there were several brief   
   encounters before and after that are only vague recollections.   
      
   Hearing a car pull into our parking area and then all those little   
   nuances of sound and voices indicating someone being greeted and   
   entering the house, my innate curiosity prompted me to pull on an   
   ankle length housecoat of plush velour to cover my nakedness as I'd   
   finally learned by this time.  When the house was comfortable and only   
   the family was about, most of us rarely wore much of anything, even in   
   the late fall or winter.  Several minutes had probably passed as I   
   resolved to satisfy my curiosity and strike out for the stairs down to   
   the main level of the house where my parents had their large suite of   
   rooms and the general living areas.  Half way down I heard my Dad   
   speaking earnestly with someone, then laugh agreeably at the others'   
   remark.  As he and another man entered the large foyer from the   
   home-office, I darted down the remaining steps with a careless   
   disregard for personal safety, squealing excitedly, "Mister Mike!   
   Mister Mike!"  My arms were out wide as I hit the bottom step and   
   bounded toward him.   
      
   My Dad grinned indulgently.  "Hey, hairball!  Call him Uncle like we   
   talked about.  It's just less formal and Mike's like family."   
      
   Mike was wearing full soft brushed denim pants that felt so good as I   
   hit him just above the knees, my arms anchoring me there, cheek buried   
   in the soft warm material.  "Missed you lots, Uncle Mike!" I gurgled   
   happily, having not seen him about recently.   
      
   His large hand tousled my hair and he sounded somewhat guarded as he   
   said, "Times have been busy lately.  What have you been up to?"   
      
   I replied proudly, "Playin' an helpin' Dad onna puter an stuff!"   
      
   Dad was required by my height to lean down as little to put his hands   
   lightly on my shoulders in a calming manner, saying firmly, "We still   
   have things to discuss, honey.  You can visit after dinner."   
      
   I made a little pout, but chose not to upset the balance of things.,   
   saying,  "Okay," then turning to stared up at Mike.  "You gonna stay   
   tonight?"   
      
   They both laughed indulgently.  He said, "As a matter of fact.  We   
   have some papers to sort out."   
      
   Dad added pointedly, more for Mike's benefit I suspect,  "We'll be   
   done well before noon.  Then he's all yours!"   
      
   That was pretty much it for the moment.  They did their thing; I did   
   my thing.  We had dinner and they spent some more time in Dad's office   
   and I fidgeted through the rest of the evening with Mom doing   
   something I don't really recall.  I think we kids under her   
   supervision and participation played some board game for awhile, but I   
   couldn't get Mikes' presence out of my mind, simply overwhelmed for   
   the most part by the notion that he cared about me as much as I wanted   
   him to.  They finally came out to announce they were going to play a   
   few rounds of pool in the game room and have some conversation that   
   would include Mom, so us kids would be obliged to find some   
   non-distracting things to do upstairs.  That led to Mom eventually   
   coming up to get us all into bed and turn out the lights on the   
   evening, leaving me in knots.  Still, I fell asleep rather quickly   
   since being excited without relief for a length of time can burn you   
   out as much as a stretch of physical activity.  I have a very strong   
   memory of that period of time from dinner through the following   
   morning sometime, but not so much regarding events or conversation as   
   the raw sensations and feelings of frustration and excitement,   
   anticipation, desire, and all those unfathomable expectations that you   
   are never able to put a legitimate name to.  Probably the most   
   striking are those vague decisions to do a thing and then fearfully   
   change your mind because of unknown consequences that your mind blows   
   all out of proportion.  There are those questions you ask yourself   
   that have no legitimate answers.  For instance, when I say I fell   
   asleep rather quickly, at the time it seemed I lay there in the dim   
   light of the room supplied by a bright moon behind heavy curtains for   
   an interminable period, thoughts and fantasies washing over me like a   
   torrent of rapids.  I tossed and rolled about under the sheet and   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)