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Message-ID: <43105asstr$1056712206@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Russell Hoisington <writing@thekeyboard.com>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 27 Jun 2003 01:06:15 EDT
Subject: {ASSM} Child Molester's Handbook {Hoisington} (Mg nc ped exhib nosex)
Date: Fri, 27 Jun 2003 07:10:06 -0400
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                  THE CHILD MOLESTER'S HANDBOOK

*****************************************************************

                 ALL RIGHT, PEOPLE, LISTEN UP!!!

This story is a FANTASY.  That means it is NOT REAL.  People in
fantasy stories do not suffer the consequences of their stupid
decisions (AIDS, pregnancy, jail time) unless the writer WANTS
that to happen.  In the real world, you DON'T have a writer
protecting you from yourself -- you screw up and you're toast. 
(I'm sorry that I had to be the one to tell some of you that.  As
long as I'm bursting your bubbles, there's no Easter Bunny, Santa
Claus, or Tooth Fairy, either.)

You should NOT read this story if:

1)   You are not of legal age to read it where you are.  If you
     don't know, then this means YOU.

2)   You are of legal age, but your age plus your IQ is less than
     your underwear size.  If you can't do the math, this means
     you.

3)   You cannot distinguish the difference between reality and
     fantasy.  (Sorry, but you Born Again thumpers have to stop
     reading now.  You probably should have stopped at Number Two
     above.)

4)   You think that it's okay to molest children, and especially
     if you are looking for tips.

5)   You think that there is no risk in ordering by e-mail
     illegal materials advertised by strangers in kiddie porn
     groups.  You should have stopped at Number Two above.

The rest of you:  I hope you enjoy this.

-- Russ

Oh, yes.  One final thing:

This story is copyright 2003 by Russell Hoisington.  Please do
not remove the author information or make any changes to this
story.  You may post freely to non-commercial (free) sites, or in
the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your
consideration.

*****************************************************************


                  THE CHILD MOLESTER'S HANDBOOK
                        Russell Hoisington

SUBJECT:  USED COPY OF CHILD MOLESTER'S HANDBOOK FOR SALE
FROM:     TinyTwatTwaddler@BOGUStwaddler.net (Tickle Puss)

     Norman's jaw fell open, imitating the largemouth bass
mounted on the wall behind him.  He could not believe his luck. 
He had just downloaded a complete new set of "West Virginian
Virgin Vaginas" pictures, the first new pictures in over a year,
from his favorite newsgroup, alt.binaries.fuckable.young.pussy,
(there was a pile of used kleenexes that gave mute, if wet,
testimony to the amount of time that chore required on a dial-up
connection) and refreshed his headers.  There, at the bottom of
the page, was that posting.  Somebody was actually selling a copy
of *The Handbook,* the pedophile's bible that hadn't been
published in forty or fifty years.  The book had to be at least
as old as he was, which was why nobody EVER saw copies of it any
more.

     It had a whole section on unwilling victims.  Norman liked
"unwilling victims."  There was no joy to be had if they weren't
unwilling, like when they were thirteen and his cousin Selma was
so unwilling that she hit him in the head with a big stick while
trying to get away from him in the woodshed.  That was right
before her family moved away suddenly and his father kicked him
out of the house without a word of explanation.

     His favorite fantasies involved unwilling young girls who
were only vaguely aware of sex -- until, that is, he arrived to
(depending on his mood at the moment) stir their curiosity, or
awaken their first forbidden longings, or frighten them with the
sight of his awesome manhood, or thrill them with the sudden
discovery of the thrills he could coax out of their bodies, or
.....

     "Oh my god!" he cried as his mind began to process what he'd
seen on the screen.  "There's already two answers in the thread." 
He opened the message and read it as fast as he could, which took
between one and two minutes.  More like two than one.

     "For Sale," he read aloud.  "One average-condition used copy
of The Child Molester's Handbook.  One Hundred Dollars ($100.00) 
cash ONLY.  E-mail me:  TinyTwatTwaddler@BOGUStwaddle.net and I
will hold it for you. Names will be saved in the order they are
received.  You have five days to get the cash to me or I will
sell it to the next name on the list after yours."

     Norman was stunned.  "Only ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS for something
worth its weight in GOLD?"

     "This is NOT spam, a scam, or a police sting."

     Norman leaned back and rubbed his chin in thought.  "Well,"
he said to nobody in particular, "that's good to know."

     Nobody in particular responded with silence, except for the
female half-Doberman, half-Rottweiler asleep beside his chair who
whimpered as she chased a dream-rabbit.  Norman had named the dog
"Kitty," after his mother.  She was a bitch, too.

     Fearfully, he opened the first response and slowly read,
"Die Spammer!"  Norman laughed and shook his head.  "Fuckin
idiot.  He said right there in the message that it wasn't no
spam."

     He opened the next response.  "Nice try, officer," he read
-- again aloud.  Norman read almost everything aloud, to include
the credits at the movie theater.  Norman didn't go to many
movies now, except for when he drove up to the Denver and went to
those twin porn theaters on West Colfax, over by the Bronco's
stadium.

     Norman couldn't go to any porn movies down in Colorado
Springs any more.  Not after that incident that he didn't ever
want to think about again.  The theater manager had called him a
pervert and said they'd call the cops if he ever came back.  They
even took Polaroid pictures of him to put in the ticket booth and
to give to the other theater and bookshop owners.

     "Nice try, officer," he read again.  Yep, that was what it
said alright.  "I guess you wore it out down at the precinct and
decided to offer it as bait for a trap."

     Norman laughed and shook his head again as he opened the
e-mail connection in his news reader.  "Fuckin idiot.  He said
right there in the message that it wasn't no sting."

     The next morning Norman put five twenty dollar bills in an
envelope and mailed it to the address that Tickle Puss had sent
to him in a reply message.  Norman couldn't believe that he was
lucky enough to be the first to respond.

     For the next six days Norman was waiting down at the mailbox
cluster when the postman arrived.  The fourth day was Sunday, but
fortunately he remembered that around mid-afternoon, long after
Clete should have been there, and went back to the house. 
Finally, on the sixth day, it arrived.

     "Here you go, Norman," Clete said, thrusting a box marked
"BOOK RATE" at him through the window of his vehicle.  "I hope
this'n's the one you been waitin for.  Wait a minute!  Don't rush
off.  You got some bills here, too."

     For the next two days Norman read the book -- aloud -- to
Kitty, who ignored him and went to sleep, and to himself, who
fortunately had enough fervor for the two of them.  He used bits
of colored paper to mark pages with ideas he wanted to try.  He
also used up a small mountain of kleenexes studying the pictures.

                               ---

SHOCK TREATMENT:  THE INNOCENT VOYEURS

     Norman parked his car at the curb, eased down into the seat
to a comfortable position, which didn't require much easing down
since he was only five feet six, and then adjusted the mirrors so
that he could watch for cops or other interfering adults.  He
didn't want any of them to catch him, no siree.  He knew that
this was the best spot because he used to drive around after
school let out and fantasize about the girls he saw.  This place
met the book's criteria:  a route kids walked after school, but
not too many at one time; few adults on foot; a minimum number of
vehicles passing by.

     He saw the first one approaching in the rear view mirror.  A
fourth-grader perhaps, with short brown hair, dressed in a loose
blouse and baggy shorts.  He slid down his zipper and fished out
his already-hardening cock.  He pounded it furiously and had it
at full erection when she walked past.  Without looking inside
the car.  She was listening to music on a set of headphones and
half-walking, half-dancing to the beat.

     Well, the book said that most wouldn't look in out of
concern for individual privacy, and that he would have to depend
upon one "seeing the action with her peripheral vision and having
her eyes inadvertently drawn to the action."

     Another girl was following a hundred feet behind the first,
this one a blonde in a skirt and thin sweater.  She watched the
ground as she walked past, looking like she was about to cry.

     More were coming, but in groups of two to five.  The book
was very specific about not exposing himself to more than one at
a time.  In addition to the possibility that group courage might
create an incident, they could back up each other's statements if
they turned him in.

     After the seventh solo girl passed without looking in,
Norman began wondering if he should have brought Kitty to attract
their attention.  But no, the book said that the children should
"notice" what he was doing, and then they would "stop and watch
from a discreet distance."  If they came to the window to see or
pet Kitty, then they would "make their presence known and feel
obligated to retreat, albeit in horror," when they saw him
lopeing his mule.  They wouldn't hang around and watch, which is
what he wanted more than just shocking them.  No, something shiny
hanging from the mirror and catching the sun was what he needed. 
Tomorrow.  There were no more kids today, so....

     "Hot damn!"  His luck was still with him.  The rear-view
mirror showed Myndee Holder turning the corner.  Sweet little
Myndee Holder.  Norman knew her father and had seen her with him,
though he'd never been introduced to the girl herself.  She lived
closer to the school, and she wasn't carrying books.  She'd
stopped at home and was now on her way to a friend's house,
perhaps, and she was looking at everything about her as she
walked.

     Myndee was a rather plain-faced sixth-grader who always wore
tight clothes that drew attention to the nicest young little ass
Norman could think of.  Whenever he thought of playing with a
young little ass in his masturbation fantasies, Norman almost
always thought of Myndee's.

     He thought of it now, as he stroked his cock and waited for
her to reach him.  Those firm thighs were lightly sculpted -- not
the curves she would develop as a woman, but not the straight
pipe stems that she'd had a year earlier, either.  His mind's eye
pictured that ass in those tight black shorts, standing in front
of him as she slowly slid the shorts down to show him how her
thighs flared gently outward as they rose, and then thrust
outward with the round curve of that firm, smooth, rounded....

     "Hey, mister?"

     He opened his eyes and jerked his head around to look at the
passenger window.  Myndee was resting her forearms through the
opening and looking in with sparkling green eyes in her ordinary
round face.  She flipped up a finger to point at hand still
beating his meat.

     "Y'know, a lot of boys, instead of wrapping their hand
around it that way -- like it was in a hole y'know?  Well, they
think it feels better to put their thumb on the top and rub those
nerves on the bottom with just their fingertips.  You might want
to try it that way.  Bye!"

                               ---

SHOCK TREATMENT:  FLASHING THE INNOCENT

     Norman lowered the handbook and rubbed his chin in thought. 
He had started too far into the book.  Perhaps he should start
with "Flashing" and then move up to letting them be "Voyeurs." 
That made sense he decided -- walking before he started running. 
"Okay, Kitty, let's try this."

     Kitty responded with all the enthusiasm a sleeping dog could
muster.

     Norman fetched a box of old clothes down from the attic and
pawed through them to find a pair of dacron trousers he liked but
couldn't wear any more because he'd spilled fishing lure paint in
the lap.  He removed the legs and put the rest back in the box. 
He fetched some fishing line from his tackle box and measured the
amount he needed by wrapping it around his leg a couple of times
and leaving enough to tie the ends together in a bow.

     "Uh oh," he said as he suddenly realized the flaw with this
plan.  He needed a long coat.  Long, but lightweight because it
was mid-April and warming rapidly.  He didn't have one.  Norman
immediately drove up to the Goodwill Store on South Broadway.

     Kitty somehow slept through that excitement, too.

                               ---

     Norman walked about City Park with his hands in the pockets
of his lightweight long coat.  It was a warm Saturday morning,
and he was glad that the coat he'd found was lightweight.  He was
already sweating underneath it.  The bottom of the right pocket
had been slit open, and his hand was through it, stroking his
dick while simultaneously holding the coat closed below the one
fastened button.  The coat was a little shorter than he would
have preferred, but the pants legs were long and tied to his
upper thighs with the fishing line, so he looked normal enough. 
For Norman.

     The problem with tying smooth dacron cloth to constantly
flexing muscles with nylon monofilament line is that the
coefficient of friction, a term that would mean nothing to Norman
by the way, is so low that you have to tie the line very tight to
keep the pant legs from sliding right out from under the line. 
Norman's legs were starting to tingle, as if they were going to
sleep, after almost forty-five minutes of trying to find a
solitary girl to flash.

     Oh, he'd had several opportunities to flash college age and
older women, but he wanted to shock some young thing smaller than
him who'd heard of, but never seen, a dick before, much less one
in the full glory of erection such as his.  The Handbook had
talked about that under the "Maximizing the Shock Effect"
subheading.

     In truth, Norman was beginning to have trouble keeping his
erection because of the discomfort, despite the fact that he was
slowly stroking it with his hand -- well, with his fingertips,
actually, the way Myndee had suggested he try it.

     He had given up and had turned for the trip back to where
he'd parked when he saw them coming through the trees.  He
surveyed the area with a hunter's eye.  "There," he whispered. 
They would come past that tree.  He could wait behind it and then
step out as they approached.  The low shrubbery and the contour
of the ground would keep anybody else from seeing him pull open
the lower half of his coat with the hands stuck in his pockets.

     Norman didn't really want to flash two girls at once because
of the Handbook's warning, but he HAD to get those lines off his
legs DAMNED soon, and this was his only chance to flash SOMEBODY. 
ANYBODY! And these were the only girls he had seen who were not
with an adult.

     When he realized he would be visible to the girls while
waiting behind the tree, thus alerting, if not frightening, them
and perhaps causing them to take a different path, he slowed and
began looking at the upper tree limbs as looking for birds or
squirrels or whatever those yahoos a few hundred yards back had
been looking for.  His eyes kept flicking to the two red-haired
girls, apparently sisters and about seven and eleven years old.

     His timing was perfect:  when he arrived at the
"flashpoint," they were six feet from him.  "Hey, girls?  You
ever see one of these before?"

     They had stopped when he spoke, as immoveable as Mount
Evans, but when he lifted aside the bottom flaps of his coat,
both girls leaned forward and took another step toward him.

     "It looks like my baby brother's penis," the smaller girl
giggled, grinning broadly

     "Except Tommy's is bigger," the larger girl added with a
frown.

     "Yeah," smaller agreed.  Then her eyes widened.  "They get
bigger with a boner.  Mister, can you make a boner?"

     "It -- it IS a b... -- boner!" Norman stammered.

     "Oh," smaller said, looking disappointed.

     "It's hard to tell when they're that small," larger said
with a knowing nod.  "Maybe if -- hey, mister?  Where are you
going?"

     The right leg came loose at the edge of the parking lot.  He
kicked it free.  Some dried-up old busybody saw him do that and
started screeching her fool head off.  People were rushing at him
as he fumbled his key into the ignition and started the engine. 
They ran for their own vehicles.  He was halfway to the
interstate before he lost his pursuers.

                               ---

GROPING YOUNG GIRLS

     Norman lowered the Handbook and leaned back in the chair. 
"Can you beat that?"

     Kitty couldn't so she remained asleep as he again lifted the
book in his left hand, this time reaching for his boner with his
right.  He lazily stroked himself while he studied the pictures
that showed the way to position his hand and to screen what he
was doing with his body while looking away from his target.

     He was wrong to start out with visual shock effects, he
concluded.  He should start with tactile shock effects.  "I'll
use my hands to set up a strategic situation for the launch of my
tactile sexual missile.  No, my tactile sexual muscle!"  He broke
up in laughter at his joke.  Kitty didn't laugh, but she issued
an editorial -- a silent fart that made his eyes water and singed
his nose hair -- without opening an eye.

     Five minutes later the air was clear and Norman was again
studying the pictures while caressing his cock.  Too bad the girl
in the photographs was clothed, but that's how they would be on
the busses.  She sure did look cute and innocent in that poodle
skirt with that man's hand cupping her butt and her cootchie and
brushing across the gentle swell of her sprouting titties.  Soon
he was no longer looking at the man's hands as he mentally
undressed the girl, his own right hand slowly increasing it's
speed.

                               ---

     Norman spent a week riding the rush-hour busses before his
opportunity finally came.  The bus was properly crowded with
people standing, giving him the excuse to do so as well.  The
black-haired girl was alone, just tall enough that if he let his
arm hang loose and cupped his fingers, they would just be able to
slide under her ass or her pussy.  At a glance she looked to be
about fourteen, but a closer look showed that she was two,
probably three years younger.  Her worn knit blouse and too-short
shorts indicated she was without question no higher up the
socio-economic ladder than Norman, probably below him, and
definitely as clueless as he was as to what that term meant. 
Like her hair, face, hands, and legs, her clothes were not
"dirty," but they certainly weren't sparkling clean, either.

     Her baby fat was slowly turning to lard, but she wasn't
physically unattractive-- yet -- because of it.  She reminded
Norman of Becky Sue of the West Virginian Virgin Vaginas, but
where Becky Sue had fresh young titties with tiny pink nipples
pushing out from her chest wall, this girl probably had just a
small roll of fat bulging her blouse.

     The cuffs of her shorts were frayed, and if they'd been any
shorter they would have exposed the moisture band of her panties
-- hip huggers from the lines they made on the tight cloth of her
shorts.  "Tight cloth" was an accurate description:  her shorts
molded around the rise of her cunt, creating a beautiful
camel-toe.

     Norman allowed his fingers to brush lightly across the
underside of her ass, rising and falling as the skimmed over the
swell of her cheeks and dipped into the shallow valley between
them.  Norman thought about copping a second feel of that ass,
but the Handbook had said that while he might get away with a
first caress, she would move away after the second one.  And he
definitely wanted to feel that cunt.

     He pretended to look around outside the windows as if
orienting himself as an excuse to move until his hand was in
front of her barely-covered pussy.  She was standing with her
feet slightly apart for balance.  PERFECT!  When he straightened,
he used the opportunity to slide his fingertips between her
parted thighs and touch her.  He felt the cloth and then slowly
eased upward until he was just able to feel the resistance of her
body.

     The bus hit a pothole.  His fingers pressed harder against
the young crotch for an instant.  She didn't move, but Norman's
hand did.  When she didn't make an issue of the copped feel, he
eased it back again.  He was right!  He did feel the smooth,
slightly damp moisture band of her cotton panties with his little
finger.  His ring finger moved to join it.  Her attitude remained
oblivious, but he knew she'd felt it.  Which was it:  she was too
frightened of him to say anything, or he'd awakened her first
eager stirrings of feminine longing?

     A minute later he had four fingertips on her panties atop
her right cunt lip.  It was firm and smooth, hairless under the
cloth.  When she still didn't move, he eased his middle finger
between the panties and the thin narrow strip of the cloth of her
shorts.  He felt the groove between the pillowy outer lips and
thought her panties felt a little wetter there.  Still no
reaction.  He slid his fingertip slowly along the groove,
imagining how she was feeling her first caress from a man and was
too shocked even to stop him.  Perhaps she was in awe of his
overwhelming masculinity.

     He stroked the covered slit with a gentle touch for almost a
minute.  He was considering whether he should try to slide a
finger inside her panties, touching her directly, when the bus
slowed for another stop.

     She leaned forward then, whispering in his ear, "Not bad,
but the next time you're fucking your mother, ask her to show you
where the goddamned clit is located."  She clenched her thighs to
squeeze his fingers and then was gone.

                               ---

SUBJECT:  USED COPEY OF CHILD MALESTERS HANDBOOK FOR SALE
FROM:  2big4herLittleBox@NOSPAMquest.com (Big Norman)

FOR SALE! ONE COPEY OF THE CHILD MALESTERS HANDBOOK!; SOME PAGES
TORED OUT: SEVINTY FIVE DOLARS [$75.00}!; IN CASH ONLEY NOCREDET
CARDS!!!!  EMAIL ME AT 2BIG4HERLITTLEBOX@NOSPAMQUEST.COM AND I
WILE SAV IT FOR YOU UNTILL YOU HAEV FIVE DAYS TO GET ME MONTY OR
I WIL SELL IT TO THE NEXT NAMES; THAKN YOU  BIG NORMAN


                             - END -

-- 
Russell Hoisington
State of Confusion
June 2003
---------
No problem is so great that it cannot be successfully ignored
through the rigorous application of dynamic apathy.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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