My name is Roger Rubenstein. As a young man, I was very popular. It wasn't because I was particularly good-looking nor the star quarter back, but the fact that my parents were very well-off and got me a new car every year for my birthday - usually the latest model sports car - and that I spread around my large allowance liberally. Thinking back on it, I was told many times that I was handsome and well-built, but when I looked in the mirror, I'd have to be honest and say that I was about average in build and size, although I was better taken care of than most. I do believe that my money is what most girls and women found most handsome and, in the end, I knew that. I guess it seems rather vain for me to mention my looks, but I want to be fair about it and I won't mention them again. "Back then" was the mid-60's and smack in the heat of the sexual revolution. It seemed that free love was the cry and the activity of everyone and - I wasn't any different. I could go into a long, drawn-out story detailing my life and loves up to where I need to begin, but let's keep it short. The young, woman I got pregnant didn't want the baby she gave birth to and dropped it in my lap.

"It's yours," she stated succinctly, "you're the only white boy I ever slept with."

She was just under five feet tall, but her preference was for great big, black guys. She'd already had five mixed blood babies which she'd promptly given up for adoption. She liked the kind of big, black man that would make several of me and have some left over. They had to be at least six feet tall and hung like an elephant. At the time, the common terminology was Negroes and they often referred to themselves as Afro-American, the word Black was barely coming into usage. James Brown's song proclaiming "I'm black and I'm proud," had just come out and the lexicon was changing - and, for the record, I'm Jewish and felt very responsible for my beautiful baby girl. She had lots of wavy reddish-brown hair, hazel eyes and a lot of fair, creamy skin. I'd been really high when I'd slept with Debby, the baby's mother, but I do remember most of it. However, I don't remember how I enticed her to her sleeping mat. Like I said, I was pretty high. She'd probably been just as stoned and horny enough to take me, but, I mean, she's not an ugly girl. It's just that she's not who I'd normally pick for companionable sex - but, enough of that.

Debby shoved the baby into my arms, handed me a bottle of formula and dropped a couple of sacks with more formula, diapers and an extra sleeper suit in them. She told me that the baby's name was Latricia and turned to go, but stopped at the top of the steps and turned back to me. For a second, I thought she'd changed her mind and wanted the baby back. I certainly didn't want it - at first.

"Oh, yeah," she reached in a pocket and handed me a crumpled piece of paper, " I almost forgot. This is her birth certificate," then turned on her heel and walked out of our lives.

I didn't wonder why Debby hadn't just turned her over to Child Services for adoption at the time, but thinking back on it, maybe she was just a little bit on the prejudiced side. Who knows. When I got Latricia, she was almost four months old and wasn't even able to sit up by herself yet - and I fell head over heels for the sweet little thing. It was the first time I'd ever been responsible for anything or anyone, other than myself, and once I got used to the idea, I loved it. Looking over the birth certificate later I saw that I was the person listed as the baby's father. I didn't think about it at the time, but this proved to be a huge help later on. My mother was shocked at first, but within a few minutes, fell just as much in love with her blond hair and sky-blue eyes as I had. She didn't like the name Latricia, so we just called her Trisha.

A few months later, I got my diploma, my sheepskin, in Business Sciences and we all went on a vacation. In the months prior to graduation, I'd been interviewing with several companies - this was back before cell phones were that common. Car phones were available, but that was exactly what they were - car phones. The transmitters and receivers for them were installed in the trunk and the antenna was a long, two-and-a-half meter affair, very advanced at the time. My father had one of his business sedans rigged up with one, but, we didn't take it on vacation. It was for business only, as he loved to tell us.

Trisha loved the beach although we had to be careful because of her fair skin, but she had a blast in the water. She managed to stand up and loved watching the waves wash over her pudgy little toes, even though she tended to lose her balance when the sand got washed out from under them. Although I kept her out of the sun as much as I could, she still got a little sunburned.

After the vacation, I began returning calls from the several companies that had left messages. They wanted to interview me for openings they had available, but now, I added the condition that they make room for my daughter as well. One by one, they all regretted that they could not accommodate me. The whole time I was getting rejected, my father kept suggesting that my best bet would be to start my own business. I couldn't think of anything that might even remotely turn a profit - until this one day that Trisha and I went window shopping. I loved walking with her and carrying her.

Dad was still supporting me because Mom had told him that the baby needed to have at least one parent around and it darn sure wasn't going to be her. She wasn't serious about it, I mean, she would have snatched her away from me quick if she'd found me close to being negligent. Dad was good-natured about it and told me - away from Mom - about some of his own parenting tactics. I later found an apartment and Trisha and I moved into it. Dad had set up a trust fund for me early in my life and it still had over a hundred thousand, even after paying for my college tuition. Back in the late 60's that was still a helluva lot of money. I'd only used the interest from that fund to pay for my college necessities - and some not so necessary partying. Also, Mom and Dad occasionally handed me money to buy Trisha clothes and things and they often bought her toys, so we made out pretty well. Trisha's toy locker - I should say "lockers" - were pretty full and I spoiled my baby girl rotten. She slept with me, a warm little body beside me and felt nice. Her warm little body felt good against me and she'd occasionally awaken and smile at me, pursing her sweet baby lips for a kiss before falling back to sleep.

One Sunday morning, as we lay in bed playing, she made a mess in her diapers. I was still in my pajamas - a pair of gym shorts - and was watching her play with her toes and gurgling happily as I smiled indulgently. She was just beginning to toddle, just short of her first birthday. I was mock fussing at her as I changed her dirty diaper. She had a little rash so I let her run around naked while I dug out the medicated lotion to rub in it. By then I hadn't had sex with anyone except my sexy right hand, since Trisha had been handed to me. I was pretty horny and the way she looked got me hard as hell. I let her putter around like that for a good long while, enjoying the sight of her naked toddler body. I finally couldn't hold back any longer and pulled out my pecker and began stroking it. I figured she was too young to understand much about what she saw me doing so I didn't worry and pounded my pud within her view. Jacking off, I had my eyes half-closed, watching Trisha watch me and, as I leaned my head back and took my eyes off her, she crawled up to me. I was close to cumming when I felt her tiny hand on my knee as she pulled herself up for a closer look. By then, I was past the point of no return and feebly tried to fend her off until after, but she slipped in and, as I came, got her hand on my cock.

She had such nice, warm, soft little hands. Her mouth was partly open as she stared at this hot, silky-smooth toy, so I aimed it in her general direction as I gasped and shuddered. As I opened my eyes after my first hot squirt, I saw that she was making a little face and bringing her hand to her mouth, licking at the bit of cum that had splattered onto her lips. I pushed her hand away and pulled her to me, pressing my prick to her open lips and held her there as I squirted another hot load. She closed and opened her mouth as I came again, the whiteness of my cum stretching between her lips and two baby teeth. I held my cock tightly, trying to keep from cumming anymore, but I could only hold back for a few seconds.

"More?" I gasped, smiling down at her.

She nodded, chewing and licking her lips.

"Open up, then."

She willingly opened her mouth wide and I pressed my cock-head up to her lips and let go another blast.

"Hold still, baby," I moaned, "just hold still, I'll feed it to you."

She held still, her mouth wide open as her little tongue reached out to lap at the head of my prick, sending hot, electric thrills up and down my spine. I sighed and leaned back, finished for the time being. I watched her as she gripped my softening prick with both tiny hands, busily trying to suck some more out of me. I realized that she'd willingly suck me off and wished that she had a little more skill. A second later, she turned her big, blue eyes up at me and gave me a wide, cum-drooling smile. I let her hang onto my pecker and play with it as she licked and suckled my cum slit, her little tongue sliding under my cock-head and suckling as if it was a thick nipple. She knew where the cum she'd taken a liking to came from, and she wanted more.

I stopped her and pulled her naked little body up onto my lap and tickled her ribs, making her giggle and squirm. Then I sat her back on my belly and rubbed the medicated baby cream on her rash. Trisha giggled and closed her legs on my hand as I teased her hairless, pudgy baby pussy. What I was doing, besides the obvious, was feeling her up to see if I could fit into her. It seemed possible, but I was afraid that I might hurt her, so I decided against it. I did manage to get her off, though, so it wasn't a total waste of time.

She now had a new toy. She stuck to me like a second shadow as I fixed us some lunch, peeking up at my cock then reaching up the leg of my shorts and grabbing it's softness. I laughed and playfully swatted her hands off as I worked, but she was persistent. She wanted her new toy and I had spoiled her to the point that she practically didn't know the meaning of the word "no" and I had to discipline her for the very first time. I told her no and swatted her well-padded, diapered butt a couple of times, sitting her in her high chair as she wailed in frustration. I bent and kissed her forehead, telling her to settle down and I'd let her back down. She cried the sobs of the spoiled little brat I'd raised. I chuckled at the irony implicit in the act.

My solution to this new problem, was to not diddle her except in bed and, as time went along, she got the idea. She understood that if she tried to reach for her toy at any time other than in bed, she'd get punished and that soon became our habit. Within a few weeks, I'd lay back on my pillows and let her take full charge of my stiff cock, sucking me off and playing with my balls and semi-stiff prick until she fell asleep.

---

One nice sunny day, I took her shopping with me. We climbed in the car and, after putting her in the kiddy seat, headed for the grocery store - by the way, Trisha was a real chick magnet. I mean, I couldn't go more than a few feet without some lady or girl, young and grownup, stopping and wanting to touch her or kiss her. Some would introduce themselves and, when they found out I was single, some even gave me their numbers to call them later - and Trisha wasn't even a little shy. She'd smile and wave to any and all. Had I wanted to, I could have had all the sex I wanted, from almost any of these women, but I had all I really wanted riding in the cart. As I leaned on the push-bar of the cart, examining the ingredients of a can with my head close to hers, she'd grab my ear - that later became a habit - and hang on, looking around at everything around her. Every so often, she'd turn to me and smile. I'd smile back and cross my eyes at her. She'd giggle and kiss my nose, imitating what I'd done hundreds of times.

It was around then that Mom began wondering why Trisha wasn't speaking yet. I tried to tell her that she was just too young to pick it up yet, but she argued that Trisha should at least be verbalizing and gabbling some incomprehensible noises or languages of her own. I just shrugged. Finally, after a lot of heavy nagging from her, we took her to her pediatrician. He couldn't find anything wrong, but agreed with Mom that she should, at the very least, be making some sorts of sounds and experimenting with words. The saga of how we found that Trisha was unable to speak is another story by itself, suffice it to say that she would always be unable to speak. There was nothing wrong with her vocal cords, lord knows she could squeal and scream, but she'd never make intelligent sounds, never be able to comprehend words or speak them.

I tend to use Trisha's age to mark milestones in our lives, so around the age of one, we had gone for a walk. She hated riding in the buggy, so she walked with me or I carried her. At any rate, we happened by a toy store and, out of curiosity, went in. It was full of stuffed toys that fascinated her. As we walked around, she immediately pointed to a giant giraffe and made known that she wanted it. I laughed and carried her up to it. She touched it as gently as she'd touched my cock, caressing and smoothing it's neck. Then she turned to me and hugged me around the neck. She wasn't even a year old and she already knew how to play me - and I let her. Anyway, the salesgirl was also the owner, as it turned out. She was an older lady and she said that she would soon be closing up shop. She was too old and the place didn't make much money, anyway. As we talked she told me about investments she'd made and worried because the majority of her investments were in this one little shop of hers. She told me that she'd had it appraised and that she wouldn't get much, mostly just for the value of the land and the building. Her inventory had been marked as valueless and to be sold for whatever it would bring.

That set me to thinking. I bought that giraffe and we walked back home. Trisha hung onto it, dragging it by the neck. I forgot it for a few moments, then a wild thought hit me and the rest of the way home, I mulled over what the lady had told me. Trisha got tired of walking and I managed to carry her and her prize giraffe home. I kept thinking about my idea the rest of the day, quickly formulating a possible business plan as I watched Trisha's diapered little behind playing with her new best friend. In the shower later, getting ready for bed, Trisha was giggling as I scrubbed her down and soaped her little butt-hole, working a finger in and out of it when, it suddenly hit me, I stood bolt upright, lifting Trisha with me, my finger still in her little bottom hole.

"Ee-ee!" she fussed.

"Sorry, honey," I pulled my finger out and kissed her boo-boo, walking us out to the living room and the phone.

"Dad?" I was practically wiggling with excitement as Trisha squirmed out of my arms and ran to grab her giraffe.

I explained my thinking to him and the business plan I'd slapped together in my head, including a possible advertising scheme. He put up a number of reasons not to take the risk, including bankruptcy, should the store not become self-sustaining. I managed to answer all his doubts and questions well enough for him to finally relax and ask me how much I figured I'd need. I gave him my best, low-ball estimate and he went quiet. I figured he thought it was too high a figure, but I waited. He'd taught me that the best strategy in this type of situation was to wait, let the fish take the bait. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore.

"Well? What do you think, Dad?"

"The figures I come up with don't jive with what you told me," he mumbled, "they seem out of whack somewhere . . ."

I waited a little longer, wondering how much he'd really front me and revising my financial estimate downward.

"Ah," I heard him mumble, "there's the problem."

I held my breath, I suddenly wanted this more than anything in the world - except for my little Trisha.

"You've low-balled me," he came back.

"Wh-what?"

"I said, you've low-balled me," he chuckled into the phone, "didn't I ever tell you that you always come in with as high a figure as possible then add ten or twenty per cent? That way, when you let them negotiate you down, you end up with exactly what you want. Well, boy, didn't I?"

"I thought that was a pretty high figure," I grinned, he was in!

"Not hardly," he chuckled again, "you gave me a figure that you thought I'd bite on and it only made me suspicious. You should've given me a figure three times that amount and let me cut you down to half, because half of three times your figure is the very least you'll need."

I laughed as he talked.

"As near as I can see, you haven't figured in payroll, especially if, with the advertising you suggest and the business begins to pay off . . . want a silent partner?"

I laughed again, "no, Dad. No relatives as partners. Non-voting and non-interfering investors maybe, but no relatives as partners, okay?"

He laughed with me, it was his major rule in business, no relatives as partners. That way, I had a free hand to do with the business as I saw fit.

"Okay, boy, I'll be your bank," he continued to chuckle, "as soon as you've got a business account set up, I'll deposit three hundred - thousand, that is - in it," I nodded to myself, "and see if she'll carry some of the paper on it."

"I want her clear, Dad," I shrugged, "I don't want her to use paper as an excuse to interfere, I'll need six to pay her off, do some re-modeling before opening and put out the advertising," I was firm on that.

"Okay, okay," he mused, "six it is, I'll throw in an extra two in case of incidentals and to make sure my grand-daughter has an insurance policy on you, capish?"

"Yeah, Dad, I capish."

We talked business for a little while and he suggested a couple of possible ad companies and to not go overboard on any ad campaign they suggested. He also suggested doubling or even tripling my inventory, make it look big and successful, he advised, nothing succeeds like perceived success. By then, Trisha was up between my legs, caressing and stroking up her soft toy. We were both still naked, but we had pretty much air-dried and, as I hung up, smiled down at my baby.

"Come on, baby girl," I picked her up with a wide swoop, listening to her delighted giggle, "let's go finish our shower and go to bed," I kissed and nuzzled her neck as she giggled, "you got me a hard-on and you," I poked her belly-button "are going to fix that little problem."

We finished our shower and I thought of something much better as I cleaned out her baby rectum with a large aspirator bulb. She enjoyed the clean-out as much as she'd enjoyed my finger. After we dried off, she latched onto my cock as I blow-dried her hair and mine. By the time we were done, I was stiff and hard as hell. I sat Trisha on the commode, a habit I'd gotten her into before bed, and she pissed then padded along behind me to our bedroom. She took off running for the bed when she spotted her giraffe on the pillows. As she tried to climb up, I picked her up and tossed her playfully into it. She giggled and squirmed around, then grabbed the stuffed animal and gave it a big, wet kiss on it's fuzzy lips. I laughed at her antics, then took it from her arms and put it on guard facing the door, with it's back to us.

"Keep an eye out, Jones," I directed it, "I don't want nobody to sneak in here while we're sleeping, okay?" I patted it's head.

Trisha looked at the giraffe, then at the door and smiled reaching her arms up to me as she lay back. I piled the pillows behind me and leaned back, picking her up and sitting her on my lap. She looked up at me and giggled, stretching her arms out to me again. As she pressed her tiny, warm fingers on each side of my face, I pulled her up to me and kissed her gently, licking her tiny pursed lips. She opened her mouth, her eyes half-closed, she loved suckling on my tongue almost as much as she loved suckling on my thick prick.

"Here," I pushed her back and reached for the lubricant gel.

She leaned back and smiled, watching my hand as I coated my prick liberally. She reached for it, but I moved her hands out of the way and lifted her feet up, gripping her ankles with one hand as I greased up her tight little asshole. She giggled, her little dark-pink rosette furling and unfurling as if unsure whether to welcome my finger or not. Her little hands grasped air as she arched her head back, tossed her head back and crooned softly. I seemed to be finding out things about my baby girl a little at a time. She seemed get a great deal of pleasure from my poking finger as I pushed it in deeper than I had earlier.

"Um-m-m-mAH-H-H-H," she squealed suddenly, her legs stiffening then suddenly relaxing, dropping herself hard on my finger.

"If you think that's good, baby," I whispered, pulling my finger out, "let's see what this does for you."

She looked upset for a second until I pressed my stiff cock against her quickly gaping and throbbing little pink maw. She gripped the finger of one hand with her other hand and smiled up at me crooning happily. Her eyes went wide then all fluttery as I pressed my stiff cock into her tiny ass. Then she threw her arms wide and gasped, her chubby little legs quivering with delight as I pressed into her.

"Oh, my God," I groaned, the exquisite pleasure of her tightening ass-grip felt so wonderful, "she's getting off, too!"

She gasped and sqawked unintelligibly as I pushed deeper and deeper into her clutching baby asshole.

"Ah-h-AH-H-H-H-H!!" she squealed again.

"Oh-h-h-ah-h-h-h," I moaned softly at the same time.

I pulled her tiny body to me and she grabbed my chest as I began short, stiff thrusts into her. She squealed again and latched onto my chest, sucking one of my nipples into her hot, wet little mouth. Her tiny hands scrabbled on my chest as I thrust into her rhythmically. She gasped and stiffened, quivering, her suckling lips stilled as her tiny nails dug into my sides the wailed softly.

"Is she really cumming," I thought in amazement, "is her asshole wired that way?"

I remembered that the neurologists had said that not only was the part of the brain responsible for speech malformed, but that there were other idiosyncracies in it that were different from a normal brain. He said that he had no idea what these idiosyncracies would be, but otherwise, she was a perfect and beautiful little girl. If this was one of those idiosyncracies, then I was damn sure going to enjoy it. She came several more times before her slitted eyes returned to, more or less, normal and she smiled happily at me. Her hands gripped my thumbs weakly as she crooned softly, seemingly enjoying bouncing on my hard prick as I rammed half of it into her little asshole. She caressed my chest as if she knew exactly what I liked. It wasn't until many months later that I realized she also had to be empathic - she could read feelings. I figured then that it was how she'd learned not to grope me in public so fast. That was how she knew to behave like a perfect little angel with Grandpa and Grandma, I was her guiding light and she did as I told her, whether she understood my words or not.

"Ooh-h-h," she crooned, arching her round little tummy into mine as I gasped, my balls tightening, my cock seeming to stretch.

She could feel me getting ready to cum. She was in sync with my feelings and desires and she came with me as I slammed hard into her, cumming in a heated rush as I blasted my hot cum deep into her squirming little colon. Her eyes went wide and rolled back in her head as she squealed again, her tight little asshole milking my cumming cock. I slipped forward atop her, her stubby little legs sticking straight out sideways. She sobbed, crooning as she wailed quietly, hugging me tight as I gently lowered my weight on her, my cock throbbing in the last spasms of cumming.

"Ah-h-h," I sighed cuddling her to me, "you are such a wonderful girl."

Her mouth worked as if trying to chew or bite and suddenly uttered a new sound.

"Pa!" she cried out, then, "Pa, Pa!"

That was enough for me.

"Baby!" I squeezed her elatedly to me as she giggled happily, grinding her little ass on my softening prick.

"Pa!" she cried out gleefully, "Pa!"

At the time, I thought that this was the beginning, that she would soon learn more words and begin to actually speak, but I was wrong. "Pa" was the only word she ever spoke.

I pulled her atop me as I rolled onto my back. Her little sphincter gripped me tight as she shuddered a few more times, cumming on my soft prick. Her little pussy was all wet and slick and I wondered how she'd take it if I fucked her sweet little pussy, but I held off. Her tight little ass was enough for now. Her eyes glistened as she opened them and stared into mine. Her little hand touched her pussy and caressed it gently. Was she trying to tell me something, I wondered, but quickly let the idea go, she was just to small for me now.

---

I got the toy store. The advertising program I launched - well, Dad and I, since I decided to go without an ad company - proved very successful. Over the next few years, we opened a number of franchises, found that we couldn't quite control them the way we wanted to and bought them back. We are now national. I'm making money, Dad made a nice pile before I bought him out and the sweet old lady I bought the store from never had to worry about money for the remainder of her days. Although it hadn't been in the purchase contract, I made sure that she got a portion of every bit of profit I made on the chain.

Trisha, at the age of nine, cut the ribbon to open our one-thousandth store and that's about as far as we're taking it for now - and her sweet little ass is just as wonderful today. I took her virginity when she turned five, but to her, it was just a ho-hum affair. There was certainly the initial pain of tearing her maidenhead, but no big deal after that. Certainly she gets off, but her sensitive little asshole is her personal preference. I guess if the truth be known, it's my favorite, too.

Trisha's going to be fifteen soon and still, the only thing she can say is "Pa." She's doing good in school, passes all her tests and understands a lot of spoken words, but reading and writing are beyond her. She and I communicate almost telepathically, it seems. She anticipates what I want or feel and acts on it. She's my beautiful baby girl. As for her mother, I have no idea what happened to her. She dropped out of sight a few years after she gave Trisha to me and we haven't seen her since. One rumor has it that she overdosed on heroin and several other rumors are that she was murdered by a boyfriend that has eluded discovery. Who knows? Who cares? I don't. I have my little lady, my loving daughter, my sweet loving wife - married, if only in our eyes.

I wonder . . . what kind of babies would she have?