At eight, Irma was the younger of the two girls, although she was probably the smarter one. Her sister Krystal was almost eleven. With blue eyes, long dirty blonde hair and, especially, her budding breasts, Krystal got most of the attention. Not that Irma lacked her own merits. Although plainer than Krystal, Irma's pale white skin, clear complexion, and pouty lips nicely complemented her shoulder length dark brown hair and brown eyes.

Whereas Irma would have been a bookworm if she'd grown up in a more intellectual family, Krystal took a liking to trash culture from a young age. When playing at home or at a friend's house, at only ten she'd turn on the local dance music station, slip her skinny little body into short flashy skirts, put on gaudy makeup, and pointlessly try to shake her tiny boobs to the music. It was for play of course, but it seemed to me that she'd probably be getting fucked up the ass by the time she made it to middle school. It was a bit sad, but stimulating to think about.

Although Irma was my favorite, I also had fantasies about her sister. Unlike my gentle thoughts about Irma, my ideas for Krystal were of a definitely harder nature. Such as bribing her to wank me off and then, just when she thought she'd earned her iTunes credit, forcing her mouth open to accept my unwelcome semen - simultaneously tugging (hard) one of her little nipples if I could find a free hand. Or intimidating her into letting me stroke her still hairless pussy, with a little lube, and then staring into her eyes as I suddenly rammed a couple fingers up her ass by surprise.

The sisters hadn't benefited from a strong upbringing. The family was a mess, in the midst of a divorce, and things like teaching ladylike manners had clearly fallen by the wayside. One of the reasons why I think of those girls the way I do happened a few months ago. I agreed for the two of them sleep over, but since my family was home, monkey business wasn't on my mind. In the evening, after putting on pajamas, I walked into the living room to find the two of them on the couch watching a movie, both with their legs open and both absent-mindedly diddling their pussies through their underwear. They saw me, and I walked right past them as they did this. They didn't react to my presence. Entranced by the video, neither one removed their hand or covered their panties.

Both girls, at once, without any self-consciousness, masturbating on my couch? Wow. I stood at the back of the room to watch. Like any kids, they frequently squirmed around, but every time they adjusted themselves, even though their eyes were glued to the TV, within a few minutes their hands would be back at their crotches, lightly stroking. Actually, I wouldn't really call it masturbation, but clearly they were enjoying themselves in an essentially subconscious way. As if the psychological stimulation from the movie was getting mixed up with the physical stimulation they didn't realize they were giving themselves.

I would have loved to have slipped on some running shorts, sat down between them, and started to stroke by balls through the thin fabric - just to see their reaction, but my wife was home and my daughter was with them, so there was no way.

After that incident, though, Krystal and, especially, the more innocent Irma, brought child sex to my mind.

Krystal was somewhere else the day Irma came to my house and we were left alone. The plan had been for Irma to spend the afternoon with my daughters, but a cousin had a medical emergency and the women of my house were stuck at an uncle's place, taking care of that family. Irma and her sister lived with their grandmother (and mother, who was at work), and on the basis of the original plan, grandma was on her way to go out and do errands.

With no other place to go, Irma was left with me. "Don't worry," I assured grandma, "I'll let her read my daughter's books and maybe have a treat or two. My kids will be back in a while and then they can play." Grandma was relieved that her plans hadn't been scuttled; although I didn't tell her it was going to be hours before my family came home.

I let Irma get comfortable and read a couple of my daughter's shorter books. With her marginal education, she was drawn to the ones written for slightly younger kids. So long as it made her feel at home. Soon thereafter, I went to make my move.

Sensing that she lived in the shadow of her sister, and that her quiet nature wasn't appreciated in her broken family, I complimented her on her reading. Quickly shifting the subject, I moved to complimenting her, "Wow Irma, that's a really pretty shirt with the flower on it, did you pick that out?" She admitted it was true. "And those shorts, they go perfectly together." Blush.

I left her alone for another few minutes and then came back in the living room, proffering a soda, into which I'd slipped a measure of grain alcohol. Not enough to get even an 8-year-old drunk, but maybe enough to loosen some screws. She put the book about cats down and sipped happily at the pop. I asked her, "Irma, we've got the whole afternoon here, what's something special we could do? I want to do it for you. Something that you're not normally able to do. Tell me, what's an idea?"

Irma responded with some predictably ludicrous suggestions, such as going to the movies or ice skating. I gently dismissed these, pointing out (incorrectly) that my daughters might be home before we got back and, reassuringly, that her grandma was expecting that we'd stay at home.

The poor girl was bereft of ideas of something "special" to do at home. I sat down beside her on the couch and gently cajoled her, "Oh, come on Irma, I remember that when I was a kid and my parents left me and the other kids alone, we found exciting things to do. Don't think of me like a grown up, think of me like another musketeer, somebody who will go on an adventure with you. What we do stays between you and me. Nobody else has to know."

I hoped that she'd take the bait and come up with a rowdy suggestion that I could work into something naughtier, but she didn't. "I dunno," she replied, "I usually just watch TV or read."

Her cheeks were flushed, and sensing that the effects of the alcohol might have been hitting her, I decided to take a chance. "Irma, come on, everybody likes to do naughty things sometimes.", I said, as she gave me a quizzical look, "I remember when I was your age, boys and girls would sometimes sneak into the woods and play 'truth or dare'. Sometimes we'd even touch each others' privates." (Although, in truth, I was older than eight before I did that sort of thing.)

"Do you ever do anything like that?", I asked, "Just between you and me." Irma looked surprised. She said "No." Then she said "Well, maybe..." and her voice trailed off.

With a little more prodding, she told me the story, or at least part of it. A couple months previously, in the wake of Irma's parents separating, she and her sister were left one afternoon in the care of her half brother, a fourteen year old. Her sister Krystal and the brother had decided to play some sort of doctor-like game, and Irma, the youngest, was of course the first "patient". The two older kids conspired to do to Irma what they might have liked to do to each other. The result was that the brother had put his hand down Irma's pants, and roughly pawed her vagina. While he hurt the girl, the slutty acting Krystal egged him on, probably secretly hoping that she'd be next.

Irma, however, was alarmed. Tears started welling up in her eyes and she yanked her half brother's hand away from her pussy. She ran away and the game was over, at least as far as Irma was concerned.

It seemed like my gambit had failed. Irma had been touched, recently, and the experience was negative. How was I going to get into her shorts now?

I decided to try to make lemonade from the lemons Irma's siblings left her. And a little bit of foresight saved the day.

I told Irma that I was really sorry about what her brother did to her, "but that it's good to talk about it, and you have to remember that most of the time when people touch each other's privates, it feels good, sometimes really good." Irma was pleased that I would talk to her about it, and apparently intrigued at that idea that it could feel good to have her privates touched.

But she wasn't sold. I told her, "Look Irma, as long as it's between you and me, I can tell you about it. Even better, I have a video that explains. Let's make that our special activity, okay?"

Irma agreed with a barely audible, "Okay". My dick practically ripped my pants open.

Fortunately, I had already thought a little bit about the question of what video I would choose to help introduce a child to sex. I thought about different options and settled on a nearly softcore, Playboy-type video that was, frankly, about the most boring pornography imaginable. The actors or, more accurately, actor and actresses, looked like plastic surgery Frankensteins, with dyed hair, boob jobs, artificial tans, botox injections, tattoos, and all the other hallmarks of crappy mainstream porn. In other words, "beautiful" people to a little kid who doesn't know better.

The action, or lack of it, was critical. This video was totally conservative, man-woman, slowly evolving, standard sex. No screaming, no big dildos or other devices, nothing radical, just kissing, boob caressing, gentle fingering, non-intense oral sex, and finally, a little bit of penetration (although the camera mainly stayed on the woman, who contently purred. Yawn.

The only 'kinky' aspect was the second woman, who limited herself to caressing and licking the first woman's silicon boobs, kissing her and whispering in her ear. At Irma's age, she certainly hadn't given much thought to her sexual orientation, so there was certainly no reason to think that lesbian sex would turn her off. To the contrary, maybe two women making out would grab her interest or, at least, seem less threatening than a big porn star dick.

I queued the video, swallowed hard, and sat down on the couch beside Irma. What was about to happen could be a disaster, or the most exciting half hour of my life.

As the opening credits played, I put my arm around Irma's shoulder and drew her in closer. She didn't protest. When the porn stars engaged in some idiotic dialog intended to show they were "actors", I started to gently massage her shoulders, neck, and upper back. She purred, but there was no way to know how far I'd get - this little massage was still arguably innocent.

Once things started to kick into gear on the screen, I made a few observations to 'help' Irma understand what was happening, like, "See that, the pretty lady is taking off her bra so that the man can rub her breasts, because it feels good."

With that comment, I slipped my hand around to Irma's front and began to fondle her chest. It was completely flat, of course, but there was an undeniable link to the action on screen. Irma made a few little indistinct sounds and, to my relief, was relaxed about my hand on her chest. I noted, with pleasure that her right hand rested on her crotch, just like it had when she'd watched the movie before.

But this movie was different. I dropped my hand to her waist and began to work it back up, inside her shirt, towards her little girl nipples. Sensing that the time was right, I said "Irma, I can't show you about breasts if you're sitting beside me, why don't you sit on my lap so I can reach better?"

It took a little more discussion, but in a moment she climbed onto my lap, both of still facing the television. Of course I had a raging hard on inside my shorts, and I didn't want to scare her with it. I arranged her little butt so that it was in front of my dick, which pressed slightly against her upper ass crack, but didn't get underneath her, where she'd surely feel it much more.

With Irma on my lap, access to her chest was easy. I ran both hands under her shirt and rubbed her flat chest. On screen, she saw silicon boobs flopping in every direction. She was relaxed, even making encouraging little movements to help my hands. I whispered in her ear, "You're more beautiful than even those girls, will you let me kiss your boobs like them?" She gently nodded, saying nothing.

I hiked up her shirt and placed my mouth around her flat little eight year old aureole. It was quite pink, not surprising considering her pale skin. With slight sucking, I was able to coax out a tiny nipple, first on her left and then, switching sides, on her right. She seemed bemused by this, and not to derive any particularly sexual pleasure, but I noticed that her hand went to her crotch, gently stroking through the cotton shorts, every time that my head wasn't interfering.

I decided to back off for a moment, and pulled my head back, lowering her shirt, and resuming -more aggressively - my massage of her torso. I kept whispering in her ear how beautiful she was, which seemed to excite her.

By this time, there was full-blown cunnilingus on the TV screen, and Irma was transfixed. "One day, yours will be like that," I told her as I reached under her shirt again, "but I like little girls vaginas better." She seemed pleased, but a little confused by this, her attention divided between the screen, my hands tweaking her nipples, and the PG-rated diddling she kept giving herself.

As she seemed calm and content enough, I pulled my hands out from under her shirt, took a deep breath, and reached around the front of her waist. "What the hell," I thought, "there's no explaining this anyway." With my left hand, I pulled the waistband of her shorts and her panties forward, while I buried my right hand into her pants.

Mindful of her brother's misdeed, I cupped her pussy with my hand, nothing more. No rubbing or spreading - yet. It was slightly damp - urine, sweat, or early-onset vaginal juices, I sure as hell didn't care. I immediately noticed, happily, that she was one of those girls whose clitoral hood slightly protrudes from her vaginal lips, presenting itself, begging for attention. Finding this girls' sweet spot would be no problem at all.

She was startled and, for a second, I thought I had made a terrible mistake. She made a light grunting sound and grabbed my right wrist with her hands. She opened her mouth to say something, but before it came out, I said "Irma, you sweet girl, you deserve to let me show you what she [the woman on the screen] is feeling." She interjected, "But...". I stopped her again, saying "Just my fingers darling, so that you will know."

Her hands stayed on my wrist, but they relaxed, signaling her apparent consent. I began to gently rub her whole pussy back and forth, holding off (for the moment) from burying any fingers in her soft snatch. Her hands loosened further and, finally, fell against my thighs. I was free to explore.

I reached deeper into her pants, below her vagina, and burrowed my middle toward her asshole. She seemed to like this, but I figured best not to press my luck. I had an immediate problem, however, and that was that her virginal little pussy was insufficiently lubricated for me to try to rub her off. I discovered that I could quickly bring my left hand to my mouth, spit on it, and then transfer my saliva to right hand and her pussy.

With adequate moisture, I began to explore her inner slit, gently rubbing her clitoris, spreading her kiddie cunt open with my index and ring fingers, and touching her vaginal hole. Heaven. Irma was quiet. She watched the TV and, to my pleasure, leaned back a bit to rest her torso on me. This enabled me to spread her legs a bit more, making access easier.

The on screen action was building to a crescendo. The porn tramp was on her back being fucked, with the other girl kneeling near her head, tongue kissing her, sucking her boobs, and occasionally rubbing the tramp's, or her own, clit. The kind of light duty lesbian that maybe your average housewife would like, or at least tolerate.

I don't really know if, in Irma's mind, I was playing the role of the man or the woman, or if I wasn't even part of the scene, at least in her imagination. I do know that my ministrations to her vagina, along with whispering in her ear how beautiful she was, was having an effect.

It might be an exaggeration, in adult terms, to call it an orgasm, but about ten minutes into my protracted fingering of her smooth, soft kiddie cunt, Irma seemed to momentarily loose a little control of her muscles. Her thigh muscles tightened and her legs shot up a bit, she leaned her body back into me, and my left palm felt her abdomen pulse. She took a couple of odd sounding breaths, and that was it. I'm pretty sure she didn't even know what was happening. But she definitely liked it.

Irma then seemed to lose a little interest in the porn, and my hand, after that. As she regained awareness of the situation, I took the hint, pulled my hands out of her pants, and went back to massage. She seemed to still appreciate that. I asked Irma if she understood a little better what the porn actress was feeling, and why I said touching privates wasn't always bad. She said "I do now."

I turned the porn off, and asked her if she knew about men. She said she knew about penises, that the porn actor had a big one, and he and other boys had two little things hanging down. It hurt if they were hit. I pressed her if she really understood, though, how a man's parts worked. "What do those testicles do, Irma? Do you know?", I asked. "What comes out of a penis, other than pee?" She admitted that she had no idea, and conceded that she'd like to know.

We agreed that these little classes should remain our secret, and that the first order of business the next time we got together would be to learn about male parts. I kissed her again and told her that she was the most beautiful, and smartest, girl in the world.