First, the mom was perfectly happy that I was including them (the mom and the three girls) in my wealth. So long as she didn't know what was going on, and so long as none of the girls complained about me being bad towards them in any way, mom was happy.

Second, the 15F definitely was not a virgin. Mom knew it. The 15F was "putting out" for packs of cigarettes, according to mom. (I found that out later.)

Third, 6F was completely in love with me. Whatever I asked, She was happy to reply. Even without any kind of reward other than loving and attention She got from me. The 8F, that was J. So, J never hit me with my "trigger". She was a gorgeous little girl, beautiful beyond compare. I loved the way She looked. But, unfortunately, Her personality was quickly becoming self-centered. I think I have a story about Her... let me look.

Yup: found it. Copied here.

A and J

I had taken my two and my neighbor’s two, A and J, on a twenty minute ride south to Imperial Beach for a hot day in the sun and sand. To this day, I have every square inch of A carefully committed to memory. She and I were never sexually involved but, rather, sensually and emotionally so. She was 6 while J was two years Her elder. A was not quite as personable as Her sister, but She was definitely more willing to experiment with me, quite amenable to being held, hugged, and loved. As much as A needed to be loved, J needed it just as much but Her raging demand for independence kept Her from close physical encounters with anyone. This short story is about Her, not my beloved A. To compare J with A, it would be apples and oranges. A was a gorgeous little girl with short straight dirty blonde hair, beautiful wide blue eyes, a kind disposition, and an occasion to childish accidents. J was a bit taller, straight dark brown hair that reached sexually provocatively down past Her shoulders to her flat 8 year old chest. Her face had that 8-year-oldishness to it that just cried innocence; Her eyes could angrily pierce through your toughest look or flash a grin at you and melt your heart. I never saw Her in a skirt, dress, or even a day-jumper like Her sister always wore. She always wore blue jeans that neither was too big for Her nor too small. Her back pockets were somewhat tight but her calves were loose. She never wore a belt… probably didn’t have one. But the jean-front never drooped. And I looked. Often.

To give you an idea about the person J was, I must describe an event I shall always remember about Her. It defines Her in my mind. Weeks before our trip to Imperial Beach, the five of us, Stevie, Sara, A and J were walking along a dusty path alongside Ocean Blvd near both our homes when J threw a fit about how fast we were walking. I had a training flight that night and needed to take the kids home. I walked back and pleaded with Her to hurry. Big mistake. She began to yell in mostly incomprehensible gibberish. I picked Her up, arm about Her waist, and began to carry Her along. Second big mistake. She bit me. I tossed Her into the thick grass and sand beside the dirt road and regarded my hand. I thought to just leave Her there, but then decided to bribe Her.

“Dammit, J! I’m bleeding. And I need to get you all home. I have to go to work. Come on, please? I’ll give all four of you some chocolate popsicles when we get home.”

In the years that have passed, contemplating the encounter, I had initially wanted to conclude that J was averse to touch. But as my story continues, that conclusion fell.
I had recently bought a Ford LTD to scoot about town and the idle jaunt to remote beaches. A and my two kids were in the back seat chattering about all the seashells they had found in the surf while J sat in front, with me. The one great thing about that LTD was the iceberg air conditioning it had. We drove along the waterside highway back north, the windows were up and the cold breeze tossed J’s long straight hair about Her eyes which she closed in pleasure.

I could see She was getting sleepy so I suggested She lay Her head down on the bench seat next to me. She agreed but wanted to stretch out a bit more and use my lap as Her pillow. Touch! She scrunched up Her legs, pushed Her shoulders into my right leg, plugged Her thumb into Her mouth, closed Her eyes, and drifted off towards sleep. As I drove on, I had such a fight with myself trying to decide if I should put my hand on Her shoulder or keep it on the steering wheel. I was worried that She would find my touch offensive or uncomfortable. I simply dropped it lightly on Her t-shirt covered arm and made sure it never moved. But it was a moot endeavor because She unplugged Her thumb, reached up to my nervous hand with Her left hand, pulled it about Her chest tightly, replugged the thumb of Her right hand into Her mouth, and snuggled tighter to me. As intense a heavenly experience that was, I was also tempted to let my hand wander to Her tummy and, perhaps, I thought, to places She might find interesting. Yet, my recollection of Her bite weeks before required that I keep my hand perfectly still and exactly where She had placed it. I remained content just to have Her snuggling up to me. I wanted so badly to pull the car over, tell the kids in back to go find more seashells, and take J to the seaside grasses nearby and make slow passionate sensual love to Her. I never wanted to invade Her; I wanted to please Her as I knew little girls could be pleased. Oh, how I wanted to please Her. Yet I drove on. Every mile I counted down as we drew closer home and the heaven I was experiencing would soon end. I even recall driving 5 mph slower than the posted limit so the ride would be just a moment longer.

The time did come that we arrived home. J’s delightful form eased off my lap and eased into a more supine rest on the front seat. I went to the rear door to get the other kids. The three little munchkins in back had also fallen asleep but woke begrudgingly as the car door opened. Out they went, trudging up to my place. (Was A going to spend the night with me, too? I could only wish.) But I returned to get J who remained in deep slumber even as I pulled Her limp form to my chest and let Her drape Her head on my shoulders as I picked Her up. I cupped Her narrow butt and placed my other hand firmly on the middle of Her back, brushing Her hair out of the way. Her legs welcomed me by opening and wrapping about my waist. I pushed Her closer to me and began the short walk to the neighbor’s home where I knocked on the door. J’s mother puffed out a haze of smoke as she held open the screen door while I began to bring one of her daughters in. The screen door hit me on my arm and J woke abruptly, eyes squinting from the harsh light of bare bulb lights of Her home. She turned Her head to look me squarely in the eyes and squeezed me with both, Her arms and Her legs. I could feel Her push Herself into my waist and I thought I would have a heart attack. Her mother noted the hug but said nothing.

“A is still at my place but I’ll bring Her along in a moment.”

J headed to the sofa which I knew was Her favorite sleeping place.

The mother went back to her television program and called, “Tomorrow morning, can you drive me to….” somewhere. I agreed, wherever it was.

Over the years, I have always looked at dark brown, long haired little 8 year old girls and wondered if they looked the same as the memory I have of J.

I never had another encounter with J. Often we all would go the shopping center or some such. One day, I had to run an errand and left my kids with J, A, and their mother. When I came back, I went into my place quietly only to find my 10 year old son in bed with J. I froze but suggested that J go with me to Her home while I went to get my daughter.

J had become a non-attainable goal, in my mind. I was no longer sexually attracted to Her. Because of the beauty that She was, I still found Her artistically attractive. One day, She was the only other person in my place except me. She was carefully mimicking Her sister, attempting to get my attention (which She managed to get) but I was just not interested in us exploring each other. To keep from injuring Her budding self-esteem, I indirectly showed Her that I was very busy.

I really didn’t feel like I had “lost” Her. I was puzzled. Why had the “light” gone out? It wasn’t because my son had wanted Her. Heck, if I had not been so startled at the sight of the two of them, I would have asked to join in. It wasn’t that She had out-grown me. She was still the same age. Even though, today, where I am still confused about why I was no longer affected by Her, I am guessing it was because A was so involved with me. I do know that I am sexually monogamous which is why I am choosing that guess. But, it’s just a guess.




Regarding this post and every post I write about myself describing my past, be advised that I was tried, convicted, sentenced to a very long time in prison, and I served the complete sentence. Be further advised that I am no longer practicing illegal activities today and that I refrain from doing so by my own choice, not from fear of legal entanglements or society's outrage. I remain crime free because I choose to.