She was stunningly beautiful - absolute fucking fantasy material - and she was eleven years old. Under five feet, ninety pounds soaking wet, with full, Angelina Jolie lips. Lips to die for. Barely a hint of puberty yet, so no doubt her soft inviting folds were still unblemished by hair. She was a natural beauty, and yet still a little girl. She was so shy, yet willing to hold my gaze directly - that's what first raised my antennae. It's very often the shy ones with wise eyes. She would be my fifth, not too bad for being here just two years. It took a lot of work, but the rewards - well, let's just say that I enjoy my hobby. I enjoy it a lot.

I first realized what I was when I was in college. It was a sudden taste of something sweeter than the most divine fruit, and it was an instantaneous understanding: "oh,... so this is what I am." She taught me many things, more than she knew, for sure. She worked as a Mercedes saleswoman. Reasonably good-looking, reasonably smart, and reasonably conservative for the semi-backwater town. I doesn't really matter how we met, but she was fourteen years my senior and we each had something the other wanted. I was twenty and perpetually horny. She was thirty four and, apparently, perpetually horny too. Not only that, but she had a fascinating kink - she liked to roleplay as a little girl, daddy-daughter to be precise.

I would, and often did, fuck anything that moved, but college girls and the occasional townie had become almost routine - something was missing, I wanted something new. My life to date had been about exploration - I'd been many, many places on the way to university that were atypical, to say the least. I was from the city: a bit older, a good bit more confident, and much more rough around the edges than the other guys at school. Add to these the rare quality so infrequently found in college guys - and so treasured by curious college chicks - I was entirely discreet, and that is why, you understand, I got laid like it was going out of style.

So when I hooked up with Joan, it was a life-altering event. No longer would I be satisfied with plain sex with beautiful young women - I wanted The Game. My dates became younger, and progressively more petite. Unfortunately few were willing to play my way and even fewer were any good at it. Ever elusive was the combination of a hot, tiny girl as kinky as I - though I searched as though my life depended on it. Along the way I discovered a vast trove of erotic fiction on the internet - which made me realize that I was not alone.

Maybe it was subconscious - I was interested in teaching children well before I learned What I Was, and was halfway through my teaching credential by the time it dawned on me: I was a paedophile. Not the drooling, aqualung-vagrant, hanging-around-schoolyards kind, but a smart, educated and determined one. I had no interest in getting caught by a stupid fantasy that some preteen was the love of my life, nor did it ever occur to me, even in fantasy, to force myself upon a little girl. Sure, coercion aroused me, but force? Not at all.

So I lived in the closet, so to speak. I had lovers, some of whom were into The Game, but always my fantasies would be focused on little girls. After school I easily found work, had my pick, really - I had been a pillar of the education department with an award-winning thesis and a façade of supreme upstanding moral character. I was recruited by a large Christian day school in XXXXXXXXX to teach first form in two subjects. Each of my classes held 25 students - mostly solid middle class, almost entirely white, and all young.

From the start I knew there was something different about Ginger. She didn't interact with the other children in quite the same manner as other kids, and although she regarded adult women indifferently, while she seemed fascinated with adult men. Early in the school year I met her parents, and learned volumes from five minutes of conversation.

"Hi, you must be Gingers' parents, I'm Michael, her instructor in XXXX and XXXX."

"Hello, Mike, I'm Dan, here father, and this little lady is Marsha, her mother. Ginger talks about you all the time, seems you're her favorite teacher."

"Well, I think she's a fine student, very conscientious about her schoolwork."

Dan must've had a few drinks because his next comments cleared my mind of the chit-chat haze like a bucket of ice water:

"Yeah, she's gonna be a real heartbreaker one day, just like her mamma" And with that he gave his wife a nice slap on the ass."

"Daddy, please don't DO that here!" Marsha hissed.

I thought to myself : 'Daddy? She calls her husband daddy?'

"Damnit Marsha, don't you talk back to me" Dan said jovially, as he gave me a wink. "Gotta keep 'em in line you know what I mean, Mike?"

At this point Marsha was looking straight at the floor, like a classic submissive, when Ginger ran up to us.

"Daddy! Daddy! Can I.." She said, as Dan scooped her petite body into his arm.

"What 'choo want Princess?" He said, 'Princess?' I thought to myself.

"Can Patty sleep over?" She whined, in a much quieter voice.

"Well, maybe this weekend, If you're a good girl."

"I'll be a good girl for you Daddy, I promise I'll.."

"Whoaaaaaoo There young lady" he cut her off with a only tremor to his voice, "I think we can have Patty over, would you like that?"

"Yes Daddy!"

At that point my mind was reeling, and I was mercifully intercepted by the middle school vice principal. I made my goodbyes to the XXXXXXXXX's and moved on to meet a couple whom I knew were being groomed for the endowment, and whose son was in my class. Suffice it to say I was entirely distracted, and had trouble keeping my mind on the following conversations. Several times my thoughts wandered too much, and I found myself becoming physically aroused - not good for parents' night, let me tell you. Finally the event was over and I was on my way home, exhausted.

I replayed the evenings' events in my mind - did I actually hear what I thought I heard? Could it be an indication of what I thought it might? My eyes are always drawn to the most lurid stories in the tabs, or on the internet - murder, rape, incest, paedophilia - I have always been fascinated with people gone wrong. As a result I've read a lot about incest and child abuse, and my interest was prurient enough to hope I was right about what I heard. There was one way to find out for sure; I just had to come up with the appropriate method of uncovering the truth. A plan was forming in my mind.