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Message-ID: <31763asstr$996700203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "joseph_lawrence Last Name" <joseph_lawrence@my-deja.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Million to One (MF, m(1st)F, preg, caution)
Date: Wed,  1 Aug 2001 17:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


A story including sex (not a 'sex story'). The coding is not *quite* precise so as to avoid spoiling the ending.



------------------------------------------------------------


<1st attachment, "Million.txt" begin>

Million to One
by Joseph Lawrence.


	The air hung redolent with sweaty, fruitily-
acidic passion overlaid with a fetid mawkish 
pungency. In the close darkness of the bedroom two 
bodies lay side by side on crumpled sheets, damp 
with sweat and aromatic fluids seeping unseen into 
the cloth. A fan, a pair of black lace panty hanging 
from one blade, murmured above, filling the pair's 
nostrils with their own, most intimately secret 
scents. By the bed lay two modest piles of hurriedly 
discarded outer clothes; the more intimate items lay 
strewn all over the room; discarded, redundant as 
protectors of modesty and containers of body hair 
and personal odours.
	Little light slipped past the heavy curtains, 
little noise disturbed the pair as they rested: 
spent and heart-fillingly satisfied. She gazed up, 
remembering the moment when he had joyously flicked 
her panties over his shoulder, and filling herself 
with the moment soon after when he had held her 
lithe hips high above the bed and devoured her. Her 
lips broadened their smile, her soft dark hair 
splaying out over the skewed pillow. She moved one 
leg, widening the gap between, allowing the pulse of 
scent that the thought had raised to escape from 
beneath the slight wisp of hair that was all what 
little her panties had covered. Moments later the 
soft, damp flesh laying on her other thigh filled 
and warmed a little. Her smile broadened further, 
then it narrowed to soft contentment as her hand 
confirmed the filling was too little and already 
diminishing. She didn't have to work to remember how 
full it had been and how she had been totally filled 
and totally fulfilled by its penetrating eruption 
that spewed forth deep within her. The remnants of 
that now cooled and dried between her legs. In her 
mind she felt her legs parted, her flesh opened. She 
felt her flesh betray her desire, she felt it rise 
up within her; a rich warmth that filled her, that 
prepared her and made her want the ultimate moment 
of penetration. As his raging tight flesh touched 
her engorged fullness she felt she'd burst. As she 
felt him slip within she thought she'd die. As she 
felt him push hard at her inner depths she felt 
she'd never be able to accommodate his fullness, 
yet, in at first gentle then more and more rapid and 
urgent pushings, she been able to let him take her 
completely. Their pubic bones crushing against each 
other. Their bodies thrashed together at the moments 
of completion. Hers came first; a joyous cacophony 
of shrieks, grunts and gasps that mirrored the 
grasping and throbbing of her flesh, her whole body 
cascading in a explosion of light and scent. His 
followed soon after, held back barely long enough 
for her to feel it in the quivering aftermath of her 
own. He buried himself tight within her heat, 
stretching her to her limit, the pain it should have 
caused turning to hot hedonistic pleasure in her 
instinct-laden mind. She felt the pulses that 
signalled his abandoned emptying into her. She 
couldn't, in her over-stretched inner womanhood, 
feel the filling, just the few repeated twitchings 
of its deliverer.

				***


	It had been a hot slow July afternoon . Too 
hot to be outside for long. Inside it was cooler, 
though humid and sticky. Yet Carol lay bikini-clad 
on a sunlounger on the deck outside. A straw hat 
draped over her nose and closed eyes. She dozed as 
the sun cooked her exposed flesh. She didn't notice 
that above, from a first floor window two boys 
looked down at her.
	"Well, what do you think?" asked one quietly? 
"Is she hot or what?"
	The other boy shuffled his feat uneasily and 
shrugged a 'sort-a' shrug. He felt a sharp dig in 
his ribs.
	"Are you dead or what? Doesn't she give you a 
hard-on?"
	"I." he hesitated, not knowing what he really 
felt, apart from discomfort. "I suppose so."
	"What is wrong with you? You're not a gay-boy 
are you?" There was little response. "You're queer!" 
The boy pulled away sharply from his companion.
	"No I'm not!"
	"Yes you are! Queer! Gay-boy poofta!"
	"I'm not! I'm not!"
	"Prove it!"
	"Prove it? How?"
	"Show us your hard-on!"
	"What?!"
	The boy lunged at his friend, going for the 
waist of his trousers, wrestling him to the ground; 
taunting and laughing cruelly, "Show us you pretty 
little dickey poofta-boy!" In the struggle a chair 
fell to the floor with a loud thump. A yell rose up 
and carried out of the window. The pair fell on the 
bed and moments later a pair of jeans landed on the 
floor.
	The door opened suddenly.
	"What the hell's going on here? Can't you two 
behave for more than two minutes?"
	The older boy drew back from his exposed prey.
	Carol advanced into the room and scowled at 
the older boy. "Joe, what kinda games have you been 
playing? I didn't know you're into this sort of 
thing."
	"What sort of thing?" answered Joe in a 
pathetic attempt at nonchalance.
	Carol raised her eyebrows, and camped up her 
voice, "This sort of thing, dearie." Then she turned 
to the boy on the bed. "I'd not turn your back on 
him if I were you." She looked at him for a few 
seconds, unable not to avoid noticing the high point 
in underwear. "Is that for him?"
	"No," the boy blurted.
	"For me?" She laughed, "Haven't you seen a 
girl in a bikini before?"
	"Yes, well no, not close up, and none as hot 
as you!"
	"See Joe, he's not interested in your type, 
he's a real man."
	With that she turned and left, pulling the 
door closed behind her. The younger boy's tent 
slowly sagged, watched jealously by the older, "What 
the hell did you do that for dumbass?"
	"Do what?"
	"Show her your boner?"
	"I couldn't help it?"
	"What do you mean 'couldn't help it'?! Of 
course you could help it!"
	"No I couldn't. it just sort of happened!"
	"'Happened'? No my own sister thinks I'm a 
gay-boy, because you can't keep your dick down! What 
the hell is it with you anyway?"
	"I've never seen anything like that."
	"Like what?"
	"A girl with no clothes on."
	"She had clothes on! Christ, around here we 
all walk around with nothing. Dad sleeps naked; 
hell, Mom and even Carol usually walk around in the 
buff after a shower."
	"Really? Like nothing on at all?"
	"Yeah, really. Like its no big deal or 
nothing."
	"What, can you see everything, I mean 
everything?"
	"Sure. Anyway what's the big deal? I mean, 
they're my family, so what if I've seen their bits, 
they've seen my dick often enough."
	The younger boy sat up, stunned into silence. 
In all his thirteen years he'd never even seen so 
much as a cleavage, now his best friend tells him 
how he's seen it all, tits and everything, even 
their..
	They both heard the squish of the shower 
starting. For a moment neither boy said anything. 
Then the younger made a move.
	"Jon, Where do you think you're going?"
	"How long does she..?"
	"Take for a shower? A few minutes; she's just 
cooling down after being outside."
	"Joe, do you think. Could I. just sort of. you 
know."
	"What? Accidentally on purpose just happen to 
walk past the bathroom as she gets out of the 
shower? Give me a break. She'd see through you no 
trouble. Then we'd be for it. In any case, if you 
see any more of her, that thing between your legs'll 
explode. Bang! Bits of you splattered all over the 
place!"
	"What's she like? I mean, you know, what she 
look like down there?"
	"Like a girl, what do you expect?"
	"Like, can you see her slit and everything?"
	"Yeah, cause. She shaves herself."
	"What down there?"
	"Yes. Where else do you think I mean?"
	"God, I reckon I better leave you alone to 
whack off and get rid of whatever's built up in you. 
Just don't cream up on the pillow!"
	Joe had almost got to the door when he heard 
Jon's voice call timidly, "I can't. cream up." 
Joe turned. "Really, but you do jack off, 
right?"
	"Yeah, 'cause, sometimes."
	"It feels real good yeah?"
	"Yes, but I get frightened."
	"Oh, you wouldn't get frightened when a girl 
does it to you."
	"You think so? Has a girl done it to you?"
	"Oh sure. Remember Lucy?"
	"Yeah."
	"In the woods, that's where she jacked me. I 
shot bucket loads all over her dress."
	"Over her dress? You're kidding me. Aren't 
you?"
	"No kidding."
	"But you didn't do 'it', did you?"
	"Well, ok. We didn't go that far - but she did 
jack me off."
	"How do you jack them off?"
	"Who?"
	"Girls? How do you jack them off? Do them 
cream up too?"
	"How the hell should I know?"
	"Lucy? Didn't you do her? Surely you got to 
see her. you know. her slit"
	"Slit? No, why should I want to? I've seen 
enough pussy here to last a lifetime."
	"But didn't you want to touch her?"
	"Touch her? No. do you want to touch a girl 
then?"
	"I'd die for a touch."
	Joe thought for a moment, he might be able to 
help out his friend. Maybe not to touch a girl, but 
maybe for a look. "Stay here, and keep your hands 
off your dick!" He opened the door and walked out.
				***

	"...No WAY!"
	"Oh come on, he only wants a quick look, he's 
never seen a girl naked."
	"I'm not exposing my pussy to some aching 
dicked-kid, that's final!"
	"He's ok, he can't even cream yet. Anyway I'll 
tell Mom and Dad about what you were doing with Gary 
the other night."
	"What? You weasel. You don't know nothing 
about me and Gary."
	"Oh Gary! Harder! Harder! More! More! Oh shit, 
I'm cumming!"
	Carol stared hard at her brother before 
saying, "O shit. Where's the little lecher?"

				***

	Jon was laying back on the bed as Carol walked 
in, her brother followed her, closing the door 
behind him. In the closeness of Joe's bedroom 
Carol's towel smelt damply fresh. She walked 
silently around the bed and stood close to its end.
	"Jon, Joe here says you've never seen a girl 
naked before. So here you are, even though I'm not a 
girl no more." She peeled the towel off, pulling the 
tucked-in end from over her breasts. The damp towel 
fell heavily to the floor behind her. The sun 
streamed in through the wide open curtains, harshly 
spotlighting her naked form. Jon sat up, feeling a 
vaguely familiar tightness in his loins. Carol's 
body was perfect, but then to most thirteen year old 
boys all naked females look perfect. He noticed her 
glistening brown eyes, her strong nose set above her 
rounded lips. Her light hair, neither red nor 
blonde, glowed, its colour amplified by dampness. 
Her breasts held themselves tightly to her chest, 
they were not as big or as full as some he'd 
illicitly glimpsed in magazines or on the beach, but 
they were dick-stiffeningly female, and, his gaze 
fixed on them, he saw their ridged nipples standing 
firm on coin sized pimpled rings. That was enough, 
he felt a feeling he'd only felt from his own hand 
on his dick, a feeling of flowing and pulsing, as if 
some fluid was driving thorough it and particularly 
around its end. He became aware of his balls moving 
gently yet uncontrollably in his lightly haired 
sack. He didn't feel the feelings as pleasant, 
rather they were exciting and unsettling. He didn't 
know whether he should want the feelings or not, 
whether they were right or wrong.
	He dared his gaze to go lower, to actually set 
his eyes upon a woman's parts. His heart raced, 
pumping, pumping, pumping. The feelings in his dick 
grew stronger with each pulse.
	Carol saw the poor boy's eyes flitting over 
her body, glancing fearfully at her breasts before 
darting to her pussy. She wondered how a boy could 
go thirteen years without ever really seeing a naked 
woman. She felt sorry for him, he felt sorry for all 
of her brat brother's friends, 'who wouldn't be?' 
she mused. She didn't feel embarrassed standing 
before him, nor even exposed, even when she 
considered the rampant hard-ons she was undoubtedly 
producing in both the boys. She knew nothing would 
happen, after all they were both just thirteen, and 
Joe was her brother. She didn't feel proud for 
giving them such a thrill, she wasn't sufficiently 
naive not to realise that practically any female 
would have produced much the same reaction. She had 
known Jon for a year or more and had noticed his 
glances and stares. She knew that Gary liked the way 
she looked, and he was the one who mattered.  She 
had shaven carefully for a year, mainly so that she 
could wear that really cool swimwear. Its thin lines 
meant that she had to keep her pussy itself clear of 
hair, allowing it to cover only a relatively small 
area of her mons. Later, with Gary, she realised 
that her bare flesh felt more from a man's touch, 
and the more bare flesh she had, the more those men 
seemed to want to touch her. She couldn't work out 
why some girls she knew didn't shave at all. At 
least Jon would get a good first view of pussy.
	Jon looked furtively at Carol's thing. 'God,' 
he thought, 'she's got a lot of hair there.' Below 
her bush he saw her slit, two rounded pencil folds 
of mounded flesh, slightly darker than that around 
them. There was little in-between. The slit slipped 
out of sight below her, between her tightly clamped 
thighs. He realised he was staring and pulled 
himself away.
	Carol reassured him gently, "Its ok, you're 
allowed to look. For a little while anyway. Here." 
She relaxed her stance, parting her legs a little 
and tipping her head slightly to allow her hair to 
run free over her left shoulder.
	"Christ!" exclaimed Joe behind her.
	"If you're going to go on like that you can 
get out now!"
	"Ok, ok!"
	Jon turned back to Carol's wondrous naked 
form. She wasn't just a woman, she was a goddess.  
He smelt her clean warmth, it reminded him of his 
distant childhood, of his mother. He reached out his 
hand for her. She pulled back before he got anywhere 
close.
	"Go on - let him touch you."
	"Shut up you rat! The deal was for eyes only, 
nothing else."
	"Gary, how can you get so big? Now, again.no, 
not like that, we don't need one of those this time 
my love."
	"     " She looked at the boy on the bed, lost 
and lonely. She looked at the evil one by the door, 
"Only if you bugger off out of here. I'm not going 
to give my own brother a free grope."
	"Oh Gary! Harder!"
	"Sod off turd-face!"
	The door slammed shut. The two were alone. 
Carol knelt down on the floor and reached over to 
the frightened boy's face. She stroked his forehead 
gently. "Don't worry about my shit-face brother. 
I'll make him pay for this later. Do you still want 
to touch me?"
	"Yes," Jon whimpered.
	"Where?" she asked softly.
	"In this bedroom."
	"Yes," she laughed gently, "I meant where on 
my body? My breasts? My pussy?"
	"Your pussy," he gasped. Jon had never thought 
he could have touched her. her parts.
	she chuckled, "A bit forward aren't we? Well, 
we can't let you do that like this. No, that's no 
good. Here, budge over."
	He hesitated. She nodded her head, indicating 
the side of the bed closest to the window. He 
shuffled himself over a foot or so. She climbed on 
the bed close beside him, laying face up. "Right," 
she said ever so softly as she took his hand in hers 
and guided it over her body, "here." She placed his 
hand on her mound, cupping his still small hand, 
pressing it into her clipped hair.
	"Oh God," he blurted. Is that...?"
	"Yes," she smiled. "Go on, touch me," she 
said, pushing his trembling hand lower. She felt his 
cold fingers touch the folds of her larger lips. She 
parted her legs, keeping her thigh pressed to his. 
Her lips separated slightly. His fingertips froze on 
them. She pushed them down the valley between her 
mound and her thigh. "Those are my outer labia: my 
lips. They protect the rest of me."
	"Protect the rest? What rest?"
	"Here, I'll show you." She wondered why she 
was doing this. Partly it was to alleviate the 
feelings that had grown in her as she lay outside 
wanting Gary to take her. Partly it was to spite her 
brother, to do willingly what he had tried to force 
her to do. Partly it was the illicitness of it all, 
letting a young boy feel her up. Partly it was the 
result of the growing motherliness that she felt for 
him. She felt she wanted to teach him something, 
something he'd need later in life. It wasn't about 
sex, she wasn't going to have sex with him, rather 
she wanted to teach him something about women. He 
wasn't doing anything sexual, despite his pounding 
erection, and that she was naked on a bed with him. 
No, she was helping him, giving him something 
special. Something practically any girl could have 
given him, it just so happened that she was the one 
who did. She took his fingers in hers, guiding them 
down, along and then between her labia. He rolled on 
to his side as his short arms ran out of reach, 
pressing his still covered erection into her side. 
"Those," she said as his fingertips slipped over a 
wrinkled but now firming warm fleshy flap, "are my 
inner labia, my small lips. They're very sensi." she 
caught her breath, "sensitive.". "No," she added as 
she felt him pull back, "its good sensitive, very 
good. Here, you touch them by yourself." She let go 
of his fingers. He did not know what to do, or 
whether to do it. She felt his nervousness, "run 
them along it, go on, feel all of them. Feel." She 
gasped loudly.  "Yes, feel them."
	"What's happening?" He asked as he stopped 
moving his fingers over her.
	"That feels good."
	"Good? It sounds like you're hurting?"
	"No," she took his fingers and moved them over 
to her other, now succulently full, lip, "See, I've 
opened for you."
	He didn't see. He couldn't see or imagine. In 
his mind he still saw her tightly closed outer lips. 
He sat up.
	"Where are you going?"
	"To see, I want to see!" Then he saw, gone was 
her girlish slit. Her heavily pimpled outer folds 
splayed widely. Between, her fleshy inner lips 
buckled and glistened, their dark fringes thinning 
as they disappeared below. Above they joined and 
disappeared under a tight looking hood-like fold. 
There was no 'hole' to be seen.
	"Can you see now?"
	"God yes. Wow its fantastic, I can see your 
lips, all of them, they look kinda rubbery don't 
they?"
	"I guess so, do they feel rubbery?"
	"Oh!" he gasped, remembering to use his 
fingers. "No, well, not really, they're more, well, 
soft and slippery. But where's -"
	"Where's what?"
	"Your hole?"
	"My hole...? Well, there isn't one. Not really."
	"But I thought girls had a hole for boys to 
stick their things in."
	"Things...? Eh? Well, we have, sort of, but 
they're not empty holes. Normally our vaginas are 
closed up, they only open when they have to take 
your thing in them. Do you see?" 
	"No, not really? So is your... err... cunt, a hole 
or what?"
	"Don't call it a cunt, that's so juvenile. Its 
my pussy, or my vagina if you like."
	"But didn't I see your pussy earlier?"
	"Yes, but. oh here I'll show you!" She moved 
his fingers down further. They mingled with the 
lubrication she had been making for some minutes. 
"There, feel that?"
	"Feel what?"
	"That slipperiness, and the heat coming from 
inside me?"
	"Oh god yes, I can feel it! I really can!"
	She thought for a moment as to whether she'd 
gone too far. Her mother would have said far too 
far, but she sort of enjoyed Jon's clumsy 
exploration. So what if he felt her? What did it 
really matter if he got a little pleasure, she was 
getting it too. She pressed his fingertips a little 
lower and pushed them in. Her folds parted around 
them and three of his thin fingers slipped inside 
her up to the first joint. "Now," she gulped between 
gasps, "can you,", "...feel that? That's my 'hole', my 
'cunt'."
	"Shit!" he gasped, "that's beautiful." He 
pushed his hand in a little further, her fingers at 
first resisted, then as her knuckles pressed hard 
against something further up they released their 
grip. She abandoned herself to the feelings inside 
her. He slipped in to his knuckles, his other, bent, 
fingers rested on the folds of her inner labia. He 
held his position. So far the instinct to thrust 
anything placed in a woman's pussy had not developed 
in him. She closed her eyes, opening them a few 
moments later when she realised he was not going to 
frig her. "That's the best thing in the world!" he 
said excitedly, "You're the best!"
	"No," she mouthed as the feelings of fullness 
subsided a little. "There's one more thing you 
really need to know." Reluctantly, but 
realistically, she pulled his hand from her. His 
fingers were soaked with her deliciously aromatic 
lubrication.
	"Aw," he protested, "that was lovely. Can I do 
it again?"
	"That was lovely, but this is even lovelier, I 
promise."
	Her chest heaved as with each breath she 
slipped his gently resisting fingers up her labia, 
pressing his tips to hers. She fought the instinct 
to heave her hips up, though she couldn't prevent 
her breath becoming steadily more ragged. He felt 
his fingertips touch a rounded peak, a bud of tight 
flesh. As they did so she released a gasp. Her eyes 
closed tightly, her breast heaved with her chest, 
her nipples firm and slightly proud. She felt a rush 
as his well-lubricated fingers rubbed her bud, 
"There, I told you it was lovely. Isn't it?"
	"Oh yes, but what is it?"
	"It's my - Oh god yes - There, move your fingers 
up and down - all over it."
	"Yes, but what is it?"
	"My clitor... Christ yes. Don't stop!... clitoris -
rub my clit! Please!"
	"What's happening to you? Please tell me? 
You're frightening me!"
	"It feels really good, for God's sake don't 
stop now. It doesn't hurt, its really 
goo...aaaahhhh...dddd...."
	"But how can it feel good?" He tried to pull 
away, but she held him firm and urged him to 
continue. Now she let go to her urges and bucked her 
hips up, holding his fingers tight to her delicate 
clit.
	"Damn it... Oooooooo... I'll show you how good it 
feels!" With that she reached between the writhing 
pair and slipped her hand deftly into his exposed 
underwear. She wasted no time in finding his modest 
cock, still not fully grown. Taking it in her hand 
she rubbed it powerfully as her other hand guided 
his fingers ever stronger and faster over her clit 
and inner lips.
	His dick ached, his mind reeled, his fingers 
flew, his sweat poured. A woman was jacking him off, 
just as Lucy had jacked Joe. Jon was afraid he'd 
cream up over the freshly showered Carol. He felt 
new, incredibly powerful sensations but his fear 
prevented them from fully forming. Suddenly he felt 
her grasp his dick firmly, too firmly - it hurt. She 
arched her hips high and held them there, crying out 
over and over. Not words, just cries, eloquent 
meaningless syllables that everyone knew the meaning 
of. Cries of release, cries of lust, cries of 
passion, cries of orgasm, cries of cumming.
	'What have I done to her? Have I killed her?' 
he thought as she slumped back on the bed. 'No, 
she's not dead' he thought as he felt trembles and 
pulsations in the flesh beneath his fingers. So much 
was new, so much was frightening, so much about 
women was alien to him. He had no idea what she had 
just experienced, his own dick still ached, its 
short inches feeling like long feet. His heart still 
thumped, he could see from her chest that her's did 
too, though slower than his. He sat up, looking at 
her slumped, spent body. He could see her pussy 
clearly now, it lay open, nothing hindering his 
inquisitive gaze. Her lips looked raw red yet 
glistened with something, presumably the slippery 
stuff from her hole. Then he finally noticed the 
smell; a pungent aroma. It filled the air, and it 
made his dick ache even more, its tight flesh 
pulling itself even more painfully thin. She was 
right, it wasn't a hole really, just a place where a 
hole could be, if it needed to be, and it was open 
and visible for him. He could just reach down and 
push his fingers in again. He lifted himself, to 
release his arm. Her fingers let go their grasp and 
fell away from his dick. He reached out. and 
stopped. Why not roll on to her and slip his dick 
in? She wouldn't mind. Hadn't she said it'd open for 
him to put his thing in? He looked again, her pussy 
was fully open, that was certain. Her legs lay 
widely splayed, she was ready, her slippery stuff 
was all over her lips. He made his move.
	Kneeling between her legs, he reached down to 
his dick. Holding it firmly he shuffled forwards 
carefully, trying not to touch her thighs. When he 
inevitably did she drew them up and away, opening 
herself even more, making his next move simple, even 
for him. He leant forward, placing his hands on the 
bed either side of her chest. His dick bobbed in mid 
air. He looked at her face. Her eyes were still 
closed, a contented smile lay on her lips. Her 
breasts rose and fell slowly and evenly beneath his 
pounding chest, never touching. 'God yes, just one 
touch', he thought, 'that's all, just one touch.' He 
lowered his hips still further, his thighs touched 
hers. His tightly swollen dick tip touched 
something: something yielding, something moist. He 
lunged his hips forward. His near-bursting tip held 
for a moment, then moved down and slipped in, the 
moist flesh closing behind his tender ridge. His 
heart leapt to his mouth and its beat filled his 
ears. His eyes flooded blindly as his loins exploded 
in sensations so strong that he thought he was 
bursting apart.
	She felt him climb on her, his thighs pressing 
firmly down on hers, begging them still further 
apart. She barely felt his entry, even as rough and 
ill-aimed as it was. She felt a warmth, a fullness 
between her legs, and thinking it was his hand she 
reached down through her post-orgasmic haze. She 
never got there, instead the boy collapsed on top of 
her, gasping and crying. She felt his pulsating 
within her, she felt his racing heart close to hers. 
She felt him make one feeble attempt at a thrust 
before his softening member slipped out of her 
gaping pussy.
	He didn't know what hit him. His whole body 
tensed up and he felt as though he was pissing 
bricks. He couldn't see anything, he couldn't feel 
anything except the uncontrollable lurching of his 
hips. Then he felt her rough pushes, driving him up 
and off her. She was shouting at him over and over, 
"Get off! What the hell do you think you're doing? 
Did you cum?" She asked him over and over "Did you 
cum? Did - You  - Cum!?"
	"I don't know. Did I?"
	"Fucking boys! They can't be trusted to do 
anything right! Did you cum or not?"
	"Cream up?"
	"Yes, cream up - cum!"
	"I can't cream up yet."
	"Are you sure you can't? That sure felt like 
you came!"
	"Did it? Did it feel good?"
	"What? Yes, I guess it did in a way? But did 
you cum properly? You know, cream in me?"
	"No, I can't! I can't!" he cried, his final 
words coming through a whimper, "I can't."
	She rushed out, grabbing her towel and heading 
for the shower.
	Joe crept in a few moments later. "Well, did 
you do 'it'?"
	"Why the hell should I tell you Joe?"
	"She's my sister! Well did you?"
	"It," he thought for a moment, was what he'd 
done really 'it'? "No, we didn't do it. She just 
jacked me off. AND I now know how to jack girls off 
and you don't!"
	"Did you cream up on her?"
	"No. No, I didn't, but it sure felt like it!"
	"Yeah, it's the best isn't it?"
	"Yeah Joe, it's the best...."

					***

	It was six months before Jon plucked up enough 
courage to bring himself to cum for the first time. 
For the rest of the summer he had been too scared to 
even touch himself. Once the leaves started to fall 
and with them the swimsuit season, he finally gave 
in to the need, and desire, to jack himself, but 
only when he was desperate, and he always stopped 
when the feelings got close to growing uncomfortably 
out of control. He avoided Joe's house, for a while 
he even avoided Joe. When school finally came round 
Jon had to come to terms with Joe. He soon found 
that he had acquired an almost legendary reputation 
among boys, one he both loved and hated. His 
reputation among girls was understandably more 
mixed. He had become a target of suspicion, 
adulation and derision and in more than one 
instance, outright hate. In the face of continuous 
rumour, innuendo, and giggling behind his back he 
retreated into himself, becoming quiet and 
withdrawn, rarely joining in with anything. He left 
school the moment the bell rang, preferring to study 
than hang out. Joe tried to bring him out of his 
shell, but his efforts were only rewarded by Jon 
withdrawing still further.
	That autumn Carol married Gary.
	Jon felt more and more alone, his parents 
heard the rumours and Jon had barely been able to 
persuade them that they were false. Yet he kept on 
hearing them quietly saying, 'There's no smoke 
without fire'. The problem was that the rumours were 
false. They said Jon had seduced a fourteen year old 
into going with him. The rumours varied as to who 
the fourteen year old was, at least four names kept 
cropping up. All four were practically ostracised, 
the aftershocks of Jon's supposed sweaty afternoon 
reverberated through three schools. With his parents 
only barely on his side, and his best friend accused 
of starting the rumours, Jon studied harder and 
harder. His until then occasional notes in his diary 
grew more frequent, and darker.
	A month is a long time for a young teenager, 
two months are eternity. The rumours died out, and 
fairly soon after, when it was clear Jon wasn't 
shagging every girl, his reputation began to 
diminish too. By November he could go to school 
mostly unnoticed, yet his emotional scars would take 
much longer to heal. Christmas passed by mainly in 
an empty haze. The chill of the New Year finally 
drew him out. He saw in the New Year standing alone 
in his parent's garden. They watched him quietly 
from an upstairs window. He stood there, the bitter 
cold biting into him, looking out into the chill-
starred night. Later that night, as he lay in bed 
crying; listening to the creaks, thumps and grunts 
of his parent's muffled love-making, he slipped his 
hand up and down his young length. He didn't care 
about the feelings of loss of control that grew in 
his loins. The noises grew faster, the thumps 
intensifying. His hand moved faster, his heartbeat 
intensifying. His rhythm matching the noises, pump 
for thump, gasp for grunt. When it happened it took 
him by surprise. The noises went on but he didn't 
hear them. His hip rose off the bed, held high as 
his flying hand stilled, tightly gripping, gripping. 
The first pulse grabbed him, blinding him, throwing 
him high. The next followed almost instantly, this 
time there was something else, his dick burned. Then 
another, a fourth and a fifth. Jon had no way of 
stopping whatever was happening to him, something 
possessed him, taking him over completely, and it 
drained him totally.
	When his sight returned, at first Jon dared 
not see what had happened. He knew of course, but he 
felt that until he had seen it he'd think it had 
happened to someone else. His punished dick had 
softened, and he felt something damp on his hand and 
thighs. He flung the covers back with one arm, he 
dared not move his other, keeping its grip on his 
flaccid dick. He fumbled for the light switch. He 
turned it on, his eyes smarting in the sudden bright 
light. He stopped for a moment, basking in the 
feeling of empty contentment emanating from his 
spent loins. The noises continued: the creaks 
rhythmically betraying his parent's lust, the gasps 
proclaiming their still increasing abandonment.
	Looking down he saw what he knew he must see. 
Thin films of yellowy fluid trickling over his hand. 
He had come at last.
	With the old year past, Jon's world slowly 
brightened. Joe finally managed persuade Jon that he 
had not started the rumours; steadily, they were 
seen together more often yet still Jon would never 
go to Joe's house. At the end of January came a red-
letter day for Jon and Joe: Joe's party. It was the 
first time that Jon had stepped foot inside Joe's 
house since that July afternoon. For a while things 
seemed to go well enough, until Carol stepped into 
the room. She wasn't staying, she was going out to 
the movies with her husband, Gary. Jon's eye latched 
onto her swollen belly. Gary put his arm around her, 
she lightly rubbed the bump. She turned to him and 
spoke a few silent words to his ear. Then with a 
shake of her head she stopped and turned away. 
Moments later she and Gary left. Later Jon followed 
their route out into the misty, damp night. He never 
entered that house again.

					***

	Jonathon sat up. Rebecca was gone, the sheets 
where she had lain were damp and dimpled. He smiled 
to himself as he ran his hand over the damp patch. 
He liked these quiet afternoons, infrequent as they 
were. Rebecca liked them too, as she reminded 
Jonathon as she re-entered the bedroom, "Glad you 
could join us, stranger. When was the last time you 
had the afternoon off? Oh yes," she said rubbing the 
slightly protruding area around her navel, "eleven 
weeks ago. Wasn't it?"
	"Go on, rub it in why don't you?"
	"No," she replied sitting on the bed gently 
beside her partner. She took his hand and guided it 
to her naked belly, "You rub it in for us." He did. 
"We'll have to be more creative soon you know?"
	"More creative?"
	"Yes, it'll get bigger you know. Is there any 
way you've always wanted to try but been afraid to 
ask to try? Soon we'll need all the wild ideas we 
can get."
	Jonathon had never really stopped to think 
about the problem. Really stopped that is. Somehow 
he had imagined that they'd carry on making love 
like they always had. Joyous hard thrusting 
missionary and quieter, cuddlier, gentler side by 
side rear entry. "Well." he began.
	"Yes? What kinky idea is trying to get out of 
that mind of yours?"
	"Oh, its nothing."
	Rebecca glanced down the bed. His rapidly 
twitching half-erection told that it was more than 
nothing. "Come out, out with it Bunny-snugs!"
	"Don't call me that?"
	"What?"
	"That!"
	"What? Bunny-snugs?"
	"Yes. That?"
	"Ok, only if you tell me, Snugsy."
	"Ok, ok, anything to stop that!" He paused, 
looking into her eyes. "You get on the bed 
straddling me."
	"What," she asked as she got on the bed, 
swinging her right leg over his torso, "Like this?"
	"No, the other way."
	She looked puzzled for a moment, "...the other 
way?"
	"Yes, facing away."
	"Oh...." Awkwardly she got up and turned round, 
sitting down roughly on his belly."
	"Ok," he gasped as she bore down on him. "Now 
get down on all fours."
	She did as he asked. He held her thighs and 
pulled her back up the bed until his head 
disappeared between her strong legs. Her love-filled 
belly hung down, resting lightly on his chest. She 
kissed the nearest thing, his cock, caressing it 
with her tongue, "Oh my love, if you'd wanted to 
sixty-nine all this time why didn't you just ask?"
	"Who," he gulped from behind closed eyes, "who 
said anything about sixty-nine? This is just sixty." 
He reached down and lifted her away from him. As she 
looked lovingly at his length he devoured her, 
lapping at her pudenda, laid out above him perfectly 
by gravity. His mouth cupped her outer lips, his 
tongue slipping deep into her. Her fluids seeping 
out into his mouth. Soon she shuddered, and moments 
later felt the need to resist his instruction to 
leave him alone.

					***

	"My mother arrives on Wednesday."
	"She can't! I've not got the waterhole ready!"
	She felt the pressing of his still hot member 
on her panty-clad buttocks. "Do you ever stop?" She 
turned on the tap, reaching down and splashing the 
cool water on her flushed cheeks and forehead. The 
bathroom smelt of sex, the bedroom reeked of it: 
juicy, smoky, fruity and totally lascivious.
	"I have stopped!"
	"Only because you couldn't cum anymore. What 
did you say? Oh yes, 'If I cum anymore my balls'll 
burst!'" She wiggled her buttocks on his pressing 
loins.
	"God, don't. They really will burst if you did 
that. Then where we'd be eh?"
	"I don't care," she said playfully, "I've got 
what I wanted." She looked into the mirror over the 
basin, reaching round to his hands and bringing them 
round to her belly. "I've got what I wanted right 
here." She saw his smile in the mirror. "If you get 
anymore ideas like that, save them for later. A -" 
they completed the phrase together, "...After my 
mother goes home."
	Rebecca's mother was something of a mystery to 
Jonathon. She appeared not to have a name, she was 
always simply "My Mother". From what little he could 
gather Rebecca was, like Jonathon, an only daughter. 
He smiled at thinking about himself as a daughter. 
My Mother appeared to be alone now. Rebecca's father 
had gone long ago. She reminisced of him in 
delicate, loving terms, and as far as Jonathon could 
gather her parents parting had been as amicable as 
such a life changing event could be. Precisely why 
they split was something Jonathon had not got out 
his otherwise very willing partner.
So Wednesday it was to be. The day when they 
would announce that they were going to marry. The 
day they'd announce that they were going to have a 
baby.  Rebecca had behaved remarkably when she, 
unexpectedly, found out she was pregnant. They had 
decided to get married long before. The baby made no 
difference to the arrangements. It had been 
difficult to fix a day around her commitments, and 
considering the amount of time they had had together 
it was remarkable they had had time to conceive at 
all. Rebecca confessed to Jonathon that she had been 
worried that she might have been infertile, as her 
father had so nearly been. At least that was the 
reason she gave for not being very careful about 
contraception, and the fact they were getting 
married in any case. It was a million to one chance: 
her conception. She was born in May, seven short 
months after her father and My Mother married. 
Despite many years and almost as many sets of 
bedsprings trying they had never managed to conceive 
again. Rebecca remained an only child. He was in a 
band, and My Mother apparently blamed his drinking 
for their lack of further children. In the end tests 
had proved that his sperm count was very low. The 
fact that he had impregnated My Mother showed that 
it hadn't always been, or maybe, he they just got 
lucky - literally a million to one shot.
	Rebecca was a pianist, not on the concert 
circuit, but she was a very accomplished and in-
demand accompanist. Too much in-demand for 
Jonathon's needs. He was a university lecturer. 
Years of lonely determined study had finally paid 
off. It was a quiet enough life, boring even, until 
one evening the loving Rebecca had walked into his 
life. He couldn't play, could barely sing and yet it 
was in his bed that she chose to lay. His life she 
chose to share and his body she eventually chose to 
enjoy, and his child to carry.

				***

	Wednesday came too soon. Jonathon came home to 
find My Mother's luggage in the hall. 'How can stuff 
for a couple of days expand to fill that much 
space,' he mused, thinking of a possible theme for a 
cosmology lecture. Rebecca came out excitedly to 
meet him. "Have you told her yet?" he whispered.
	"Told her what?"
	"That", he held his hand to her belly. It 
didn't show yet, but it couldn't be hidden for ever.
	"No, I thought I'd let you," she said matter 
of factly.
	'Oh My Mother, I've got your unmarried 
daughter pregnant.', "Are you serious?"
	"No," she chuckled. "Come on in and meet my 
mother."
	She led Jonathon in to the room, rather like 
she had done into her hotel bedroom for their first 
time.
	"Mother," she said bubbly, "This is my fiance, 
Jonathon."
	"Jonathon?" she said staring at him.
	"Eh? Do I know you?"
	"Err, no, I don't think so. So, Becky dear, 
	did you mention fiance?"
	"Yes mother."
	"Well, it's about time! Twenty-two and how 
many boyfriends have you had?"
	"Mother!"
	"Come one Becky, its not as if you've been 
playing the field. Jonathon, how do you measure up? 
Are you sure you're still up to it?"
	"Measure up? Still? How DO you mean?"
	"You're no spring chicken are you?"
	"I'm only thirty-five!"
	"Yes, but do you have what it takes to please 
my Becky?"
	"I'm more than pleased," Rebecca said as she 
adjusted her stance, bringing her legs closer 
together, "I love him."
	"Love. yes, well that's all very well, but 
Jonathon can you give my daughter what she needs?"
	"I think," he said squirming uncomfortably, 
"that's a matter for your daughter and I."
	A heavy silence followed, broken by Rebecca's 
mother.
	"Well, be that as it may, can you give my 
daughter children?"
	"What? How dare you!"
	"Oh, get off that high horse and get real! 
Mothers have to think of these things you know."
	"Mother, just because you got messed about, 
doesn't mean I will too!"
	"Rebecca, I don't know what you're talking 
about."
	"Yes you do! We've been through all this. So 
Dad couldn't give you more kids, what does that have 
to do with me?"
	"God only knows how he managed to spawn you.."
	"Anyway, you don't need to worry about that."
	"Oh yes? Why?"
	Jonathon hid his face with his hand. This was 
not at all how it should have happened. But Rebecca 
always did have an impulsive, reckless streak.
	"Because I'm pregnant!"
	"You're.!" her mother gasped.
	"Yes, about eleven weeks. It'll show quite 
soon."
	"Pregnant, then married! My daughter!"
	"No, well, yes. No!"
	"What I think Rebecca is trying to tell you is 
that we decided to get married long ago, before she. 
we. well, before."
	"And you don't even tell your mother?!"
	"Mother, we're telling you now, and anyway 
you've not always been exactly easy to get hold of."
	"That's no excuse." She paused for a second. 
Her tone became softer, "So, when are these, err, 
happy events going to happen? Am I invited?"
	"The wedding's at the end of September, you're 
invited to that, though I'd prefer it if you left 
the birth to us."
	"Well of course."
	"So," she said turning to Jonathon, "how did 
you two meet? Was my daughter the best lay you'd 
ever had or what?"
	"Mother!"

				***

	Jonathon at first didn't know how to deal with 
Rebecca's mother. She latched on to him and didn't 
seem to be worried that her candidness embarrassed 
him. He half expected her to want to witness an 
example of their lovemaking, just to make sure it 
was sufficient for her daughter. As dinner loomed he 
managed to prise himself away for a few minutes to 
join Rebecca in the kitchen.
	"God, is she always like this?"
	"No! I don't know what on earth has come over 
her."
	"Just watch out. If she gets out a tape 
measure and comes for me I'll be out of here quicker 
than a ferret up a drainpipe."
	She giggled at the rather unexpected metaphor. 
That was one of the things that first attracted her 
to him, he never quite seemed to think like everyone 
else, he was a true original: one in a million.
	"Well, she does seem to like you."
	"Well, that's all very good, but do you know I 
still don't know her name."
	"Surely not."
	"Yes, for real. I can't go on calling her 'My 
Mother'. She isn't for a start, and it'll cause all 
sorts of confusion at our wedding!"
	Before Rebecca could answer My Mother's voice 
sailed in, "Oh, while you're out there Jonathon, do 
you think you could get me some more ice?"

				***

	"So, seriously, what do you two plan to do 
after the wedding?"
	"Well Mother, we're not really sure yet."
	"One of us will have to give up work of 
course. I quite like the idea myself. I can still do 
some stuff, maybe get on with that book I've always 
promised myself I'd write."
	"A book, Jonathon? A hot steamy epic?"
	"Oh yes, steam on every page. Real hot stuff."
	"On every page? Now that's a book I'd like to 
read."
	"Really? You're interested in industrial steam 
locomotives then?"
	Rebecca's mother laughed, they all did. 
Jonathon's initial unease had begun to wear off. She 
seemed to like Jonathon and even liked his flat. It 
was modestly spacious, the first floor of a hundred  
and twenty year old town house. There was space 
enough for a small family, there was little doubt 
that there was no cause for motherly alarm. She 
revealed little about herself however, and by some 
miracle she remained 'My Mother'. She eventually 
went to bed, in the untidy room which was destined 
for the baby. The tired couple sighed happily, 
dragging themselves hand in hand to the main 
bedroom. They undressed, thought vainly for a moment 
of sex, then climbed into bed and turned out the 
light.

				***

	Something woke Jonathon early. He dragged 
himself out of bed, throwing on a robe. He headed 
for the bathroom. The door was closed, as he trudged 
along the hall it opened and the naked form of My 
Mother stepped out. She smiled at him politely, 
giving him a cheery "Good Morning!" as she brushed 
unashamedly past. She disappeared into her room. 
Jonathon couldn't help but note that for a mother of 
a twenty-two year old she was in great shape. She 
can't have been much older than him, she must have 
had his Rebecca early. She was instantly attractive, 
alluring and frankly sexy. In fact, as the bulge in 
his robe betrayed, he now knew where Rebecca's 
irresistibly sensual curves came from. He cursed her 
attractiveness, aborted his walk to the bathroom and 
retreated to his bedroom where he prayed Rebecca was 
awake and in a willing but quiet mood.
	"What's got into you?" Rebecca purred as he 
caressed her nipple under the quilt.
	"Shushh. Your mother's up."
	"If you keep on doing that that'll make three, 
no four of us."
	He rolled her firming nipple between finger 
and thumb.
	"Stop that. She'll hear us."
	"Go on," he said, pushing his other hand under 
the quilt, "let her. Its not as if she doesn't know 
we make love."
	As his hands occupied both her nipples she 
drew back the quilt, slipping it off her body, 
uncovering herself.
	The morning light cascaded in, lighting her 
belly. She drew her knees up, arching her legs. She 
breathed strongly, he leaned over her, she searched 
for his lips, as they met hers she drew her ankles 
up to her buttocks and let her knees drop wide 
apart. She broke away from his lips, "Taste me. lick 
me, eat me up." Taking one of his hands and leading 
it down her body she asked again, "Please. eat me." 
She rubbed his open hand over her open pussy, 
allowing him to feel her readiness. She was not 
fully wet, but she was more than ready enough to 
feel his tongue on her palpitating clitoris and take 
it into her quivering lips, his lips sliding 
lusciously over hers, his nose taking in all of her 
delicate scent.
	A noise, a click. A footstep.
	"Good morning you two! I thought - Oh my god!"
	The caught couple made futile attempts to 
cover up their activities, and themselves. The quilt 
was hurriedly pulled up, hands pulled back from 
breasts and elsewhere.
	Rebecca gulped, "Good Morning Mother. This 
isn't your home, we don't enter rooms without 
knocking first!"
	"And I think we'd better not walk around 
without any clothes too," added Jonathon.
	"Mother! You didn't?!"
	"Well why not? There's nothing here you two've 
not seen before. As I can well see."
	"But that's different! We're in love!"
	When she had gone Jonathon asked his love 
affectedly, "Does she have no shame?"
	"She used to, after Gary left. When he was 
still around they often used to do all sorts all 
over the house, at it like rabbits they were, 
anywhere and everywhere. Then, oh I don't know when, 
maybe I was ten or so, they just sort of petered 
out. When he left she sort of became 'normal' thank 
God."
	"Gary, was that your father?"
	"Yes, that was him."
	"And your mother?"
	"Carol."
	Jonathon started, getting up. "Carol? Are you 
sure?"
	"Yes, of course I'm sure, she's my mother."
	"No, it can't be." He thought on, 'It's a 
million to one chance, surely. There must be 
hundreds of Carols and Garys.'
	"Is something wrong?"
	"No, well, I'm sure there isn't." But he 
wasn't so sure.

				***

	The rest of the day went quietly, subdued by 
the embarrassment of the morning. Jonathon pleaded 
for Rebecca to come with him as when he took her 
mother to the station for her journey home.
	The first ten minutes of the drive were 
silent. Then, well away from Rebecca and home he 
came out with it, "I don't know how to say this, but 
do you remember letting a boy feel you up?"
	"A boy?" she said strangely curious.
	"A thirteen year old boy. You showed him 
yours, and he felt yours."
	"Err," she squirmed, "a boy. well."
	"Look, are you the Carol I. I. lost my 
virginity to?"
	"Jonathon. Jon? That Jon - little Jon? Joe's 
friend?"
	"Yes." It was his time to squirm.
	"You've grown - in every way I think."
	"It was twenty odd years ago!"
	"I think my daughter's in good, err. hands. 
Even if I say it myself you had a good tutor."
	"How can you sit there like that - so damn 
calm?"
	"Why? Do you think you were the only boy I 
had? I had all sorts, big small, old, young, well, 
ok so you were the youngest."
	"What? Is that anything to boast about? 
Slutting around with everything with three legs?"
	"Slutting around? Let me tell you I'm not 
ashamed of any of it. I can't help it if I've got, 
well, had a great body and boys liked me, and I 
liked them?"
	"So which one of these boys gave you Rebecca? 
From what I can tell she can't be Gary's?"
	"Oh she was Gary's alright. or perhaps. no, 
that's not possible."
	"How can you tell?"
	"Because I loved Gary, once we'd met I stopped 
all that sleeping around."
	"Stopped? You were only sixteen."
	"So I started young, what's wrong with that? I 
was only twelve when I first enjoyed sex. It was 
fun, nothing more. I'm allowed to have fun aren't I? 
Anyway you can't talk, how old were you? Thirteen 
wasn't it? I don't think you were exactly worried 
about who you went to bed with? How many conquests 
was it before my Rebecca then? Ten, twenty, a 
hundred, how many sweet little students of yours 
have laid on that bed I saw you on with my 
daughter?"
	"None."
	"None? You really expect me to believe that a 
randy little thirteen year old who couldn't keep 
himself out of my cunt would save himself for 
anyone?"
	"Believe what you like. I had no one before 
Rebecca."
	"Except her mother!"
	"I didn't, not properly!"
	"Oh, and that wasn't your cumming cock that 
you put inside me?"
	"No, I didn't come."
	"Yes, you did!"
	"No, I didn't. Not properly, I didn't 
ejaculate. I couldn't until six months after."
	"I've got news for you. You came. You 
ejaculated all right. You put your little yellow 
spunk in me."
	"No!" he shouted. "No I couldn't have. I 
couldn't cum."
	"Yes you could, and you did!"
	'Yellow?' he thought, 'how did she know that?' 
Only with his first three or four comes did he 
produce yellow semen, after that it faded to the 
more expected white, or at least soft grey. Could 
she be right after all? No, of course not, she was 
lying. If he had come then maybe, just maybe. no, it 
was impossible, he knew he hadn't come in Carol, 
he'd always known he hadn't. Why should that have 
changed?
	She left on the train as expected. Jonathon 
was glad he wouldn't have to see the witch again 
until the wedding.

				***

	Three weeks later Jonathon rushed into the 
hospital. Rebecca had been taken ill during a 
rehearsal. Severe bleeding they said. No one said 
what that might mean. When he got to her bedside he 
cried as she slept after the operation. There was to 
be no birth, no happy-ever-after. Later when he 
stood by the consultant's desk he was asked if he 
wanted to sit down. He cheerfully declined - he was 
then told to sit. Rebecca would be ok, the 
consultant told him, she'd lost a lot of blood, and 
she'd come very close to death. She'd lost the baby. 
That shattered Jonathon, in time but more was to 
come. A week later, with Rebecca due to come out of 
hospital, the consultant told him that she, for it 
would have been a girl, had a very rare congenital 
defect: she couldn't have lived.
	"What the hell does 'very rare' mean? Will it 
happen if we try again?"
	"You won't be able to try again. The 
miscarriage will almost certainly leave your fianc, 
unable to have any more babies. We'll have to do 
further tests, we'll need some blood tests and maybe 
some genetic counselling. Though this sort of 
problem very rarely happens here."
	"What do you mean?"
	"Its unfortunately relatively common in close 
island communities with some degree of inbreeding, 
but I've never heard of any case here, it's a 
million to one chance I'm afraid, though I doubt 
that helps you now."
	"Inbreeding?"
	"Yes, of course there's no chance of that with 
you and your fiance," the consultant wondered at 
Jonathon's pained expression, "is there?"
	"Tell me," Jonathon gulped painfully through 
his tears, "what chance is there of a thirteen year 
old virgin getting a sixteen year old pregnant with 
his very first ejaculation?"
	"Very first? Oh, that's rather dramatic isn't 
it?"
	"Doctor, tell me, what's the chance?"
	"It practically doesn't happen. None to speak 
of - a million to one maybe."

Ends

Joseph Lawrence, 2001

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