Part 28 (1/2)
'But it wasn't in me,' she argued. 'Just the juice went in. I got the real thing in me now.'
The girl paused. The interviewer, still trying to mask a certain discomfort with the proceedings, prompted her. ”And that was all?”
”No, I wouldn't let it be all,” Nymph said. ”It wasn't in me when it went. I wasn't a real woman.”
”But can you be a real woman, at your age?”
”Yes! Yes! I had to, so Daddy would like me better, and George couldn't get me.”
”And what happened next?” the interviewer inquired with simulated mild curiosity.
”I held it in me, and it was real soft and slippery and it didn't hurt at all, it felt real good. 'This can't be all,' I said. 'I want more!'
'You can try it, I guess,' he said. 'Put your finger down where it's slippery and rub, right in front of it.'
Nymph still sitting astride the interviewer, put her hand down at her crotch, demonstrating. She touched herself, through her panties, and rubbed slowly. 'Here?'
'Yes. You'll know the place when you find it. It will feel good.'
Nymph experimented, reenacting the experience. Then she smiled angelically. There! There! It feels good!'
'Keep doing that, and maybe you'll feel what a real woman feels.'
The interviewer attempted to move the narration along. ”So then you didn't have to stay with him anymore?”
”No, no! I kept him in me! He-it-his thing was getting big again, and hard, and I knew if it got out it couldn't get in again, so I stayed real close and didn't let it out, and I kept rubbing, and it felt real good.” The child was accelerating the pace, rubbing her panties faster and harder. ”I kept stroking it the right way, and his thing kept getting bigger, but it was so slippery because of the stuff that came out of it before, it didn't hurt, and the bigger it got, the better it felt, and I knew if I could keep it in me I'd be a real woman this time!”
The interviewer gave up. ”And what did Mad say?”
'You really are getting there, Nymph! I think you're going to come.'
'Yes, yes! I'm coming, I'm coming! I want to come! I want to make warm stuff come out of me!'
'No, a woman doesn't do that. She just has a very good feeling when the man does. He gives it, she takes it.'
'I'll take it! I'll take it!'
Now the child's action was feverish. She bounced around as she rubbed her front, and it was evident that she was getting a real reaction in the course of the reenactment. Then, impatient with the panties, she put her hand down inside and into her cleft, and stroked directly.
”But wasn't Mad's thing too big to stay when it got all the way hard?” the interviewer asked desperately.
”Yes, I couldn't keep it all in me, only the end of it,” Nymph confessed, still rubbing vigorously. ”It felt awful big and awful tight and awful good. I tried to hold it in, but it just got longer and I couldn't. So I just sat on it as much as I could, as tight as I could.” She rose a little on her knees, so that her weight was no longer directly on the interviewer. ”Oh, I wish you had a c.o.c.k!” she exclaimed.
The interviewer seemed to give herself up for lost. ”Pretend that I do,” she suggested. ”What happened next?”
”I got real hot, and it was so good, it just-aahh!” the child went into an evident climax, her little thighs flexing, her torso shaking.
'You did it!' he said. 'And you've got me into it too. I feel you coming, I'm coming again too! Hang on!' And his thing swelled up like before, and he pushed some, in and out and she hung on, but it was sliding so, she thought it'd come out. 'Lie down on me!” he said. 'Don't let me hurt you! I'll try to keep it slow!'
The child lay down on the woman, her legs spread wide, trailing down across the woman's hips and outside her thighs. Her body moved in an unmistakable rhythm. ”And he shoved, and maybe it hurt some, but it was so good too, and I kept it in, and the stuff came out of it again, and into me.”
'Now I'm a real woman!' she exclaimed, flush with her victory.
'Now you are a real woman,' he agreed.
The girl put her little arms around the interviewer and hugged her. ”It was so good! I just lay there while his thing got small again, and this time it was all right, because I was a real woman, I had done it, I had all his warm water in me, I knew what it was. It wasn't pee, it was sorta white and slippery, and it could make a baby inside my tummy, and I was a real woman for real now!”
Then she lifted her head to look at the interviewer's face. ”Wasn't I?”
”Yes, dear, you were,” the interviewer said with a straight face, though her lips were thin.
”And I went up on him and kissed him,” Nymph continued suiting action to word, kissing the interviewer ardently on the mouth. ”Because that's part of it, because I saw grown-ups doing it. I had his water in me, and I loved him just like a real woman.”
”And that was all,” the interviewer said, as if uncertain whether to believe it.
”Yes. That time.” Nymph scrambled off her.
The interviewer got up, somewhat disheveled. She looked less confident than the child did. ”There was another time?”
”Oh, sure!” Nymph said eagerly. ”Lots of times! Every time I could, I sneaked back to his house, and if n.o.body else was there, we did it. It was a secret, see; he didn't tell anybody, and I didn't tell anybody. It was just us. It was real fun! We were Lovers!”
”What did you do with him, those other times?”
”Oh, everything!” Nymph said, delighted. ”I licked his thing, and he licked my thing, and he made me come with his tongue, and I sucked on his thing and made him come, and we kissed and hugged and everything, and he said I was the best little woman he ever had!”
”He made you do these things?”
”No! I made him! I wanted to do everything a real woman did, and he said he wasn't really supposed to do it with anyone young like me, but I kept kissing him and grabbing his thing, and then he did it. I made him do everything!”
”How many times did you visit him?”
The child pondered. ”Gee, I didn't count. Should I have counted?”
”No, dear, I was just curious. So you did it several times.”
”Every day I could! Some days I couldn't get away from George. See, I didn't want him to see where I went, because then I couldn't hide from him, so I'd just run around and not go there, so he couldn't see. But I went lots of times-more than I can count.” She ticked off her fingers, to ten, and again, not knowing the numbers. ”Mad and I are in love.”
”What?” For a moment the interviewer lost her composure, as if there had been one straw too many.
”In love,” Nymph repeated. ”Real women love. Make love, I mean. I didn't care about Daddy anymore, I didn't want him to do it with me, just Mad. Isn't that love?”
”It may be, dear.” The woman took a deep breath. ”How did it end?”
Now Nymph scowled. ”George! George did it! He followed me when I wasn't looking, and he saw Mad, and he told Mommy, and now Mad's in jail, and it's all George's fault and I hate him, and can I go to him now?”
”You want to see Mad?”
”Yes! Can I see him now? I told you everything, so you know it's okay.”