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From: chaz_dodgson@yahoo.com
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Subject: {ASSM} COLETTE (Mg;m,o,v;mc,con) [C.Dodgson]
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Date: Fri, 17 Jun 2005 03:10:02 -0400
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I still lived at home even though I was a graduate student in
Psychology at the nearby university.  My thesis was on the various
routes to motivation and persuasion and was coming along nicely.  I
glanced out of my second floor bedroom window and saw our next door
neighbor, my mother's regular Bridge partner, Mrs. Jordan, walking up
our driveway with her ten year old daughter, Colette.  She was a very
pretty little girl, but I knew she was generally rude, picked on her
younger siblings mercilessly, and lied with no compunction.  She
certainly was not my favorite neighborhood child.

Mr. Jordan had left a year ago, and they divorced, but no one knew the
circumstances.  A few minutes later, my mother knocked unnecessarily at
my open door and called, "Kevin, are you here, dear?"  Of course I was
there.  She was looking right at me.  I think my mother was part of the
reason I chose this major.  I couldn't understand how such a bright
woman lived in an unreal fairyland where etiquette, manners, and good
breeding were the only things of importance.  Somewhere along the line,
all her creativity and independence had been taken from her.  Her
second knock jarred me from my thoughts.

"Yes, mother, please come in.  What can I do for you?  Oh, hello, Mrs.
Jordan, and you too, Colette."  Although I wasn't happy with the
interruption, I had to respond with the social amenities or my mother
would be upset, especially because Mrs. Jordan was just as immersed in
those social niceties as my mother was.  Appearing proper to all their
friends was the highest priority either of them had.

"Mrs. Jordan has a favor to ask of you, dear, and I'm sure you would
enjoy helping her."  I was equally sure I would hate doing Mrs. Jordan
a favor because I was certain it would take more time away from my
thesis than I wanted to spare.  Even though I didn't know what it was,
I was busy marshaling socially correct excuses to get out of doing
whatever she wanted.  Normally, I would have just said I was too busy,
but, to preserve peace, I had to go along with my mother's genteel
charade.

"I'll certainly try.  What can I do for you, Mrs. Jordan?"  The fact
that the evil child was there should have given me a hint that the
favor had to do with her.  I'm sure I would have demurred fairly
strongly had I realized this.

"I know you can help, Kevin.  You are so brilliant and you speak so
well that you can do this very quickly."  Now I knew I was being
trapped into something particularly onerous.  "Colette is doing poorly
in English, reading, and especially in oral reports.  Her teacher
recommended a bit of outside tutoring.  We would both be so
appreciative if you could spend a few minutes with Colette so she could
catch up with her grade.  I understand tutors make ten to fifteen
dollars an hour, but I would be willing to pay you twenty, because I'm
sure you are far superior to those Colette's teacher recommended."
Later I was to learn that three of the tutors had tried and then
refused to work with the little girl because she was so obnoxious.
That was almost certainly the reason for the attractive pay level she
offered.

Since the Psychology Department budget had been cut this year, jobs
there were scarce so I could use the money.  Against my better judgment
I said, "I'm committed to complete my thesis, Mrs. Jordan, but we could
work together for an hour or two and see how Colette responds.  I see
she has her books so we could begin immediately.  How does that sound
to you, Colette?"

"OK, I guess," she was on unaccustomed good behavior because her mother
was there.

I swivelled around, moved papers and equipment out of the way, did
something more foresighted than usual, pulled over another chair and
motioned her toward it.  She came over and sat down.  Both our mothers
babbled socially correct phrases then left.

"I don't want to do this; you're a nerd so you can go fuck yourself."

"Colette, I would really like to help you, and your mother went to a
lot of trouble for you by coming over here.  Don't you think you should
respect her wishes?"  I was speaking very sweetly and formally for a
reason.

"She's a stupid bitch, and she can go fuck herself, too."

"Really, Colette.  What would your mother think if she could hear you
talking like this?"

"She's too dumb to believe it, and I'll just deny it if you tell her.
I'll tell her you tried to molest me, and that will screw you so just
leave me alone.  I'll sit here until she leaves then I'm going to sneak
out and see some friends.  And you better not say anything, or I'll get
you in big trouble.  Oh, and you're not going to be doing anything for
the money so I want it."

"Colette, your mother hired me, not you, so even if you refuse to learn
I believe the money should be mine, or I should just tell her that I
cannot tutor you and give it all back to her."

"You're an ass-hole.  Don't you get it?  I'm a little girl, and you're
an adult.  We're alone together.  All I have to say is that you stuck
your finger in my cunt and really hurt me.  I don't have a hymen
anyway, and I can scratch myself there so they'll see it when they
examine me.  You'll be lucky if you ever get out of prison. You keep
collecting the money from her and giving it to me, and I won't say
anything."

"Where did you learn this technique, Colette?"

"From a couple of my girlfriends.  They've both done it.  One of them
hated her stepfather because he was always trying to make her study,
keep her room extra neat, and stop her from going out on school nights
to visit her friends.  She made up stories about him wanting to touch
her and have her touch him.  Her mother wouldn't call the police, but
she kicked him out and divorced him.  She got his house and most of his
money, too.  They told me not to tell my parents, but to call the
police and child protective services.  That way, the guy really gets
nailed.  I think I should charge you ten dollars right now for that
information."

"No, Colette.  I think you won't do any such thing, and you shall sit
here quietly, be a good student, and learn, because of this."  I
reached over, grabbed the tape recorder, waved it in front of her face
for a second, then turned it off.

"Now, you stupid little bitch, you will do exactly what I say, because
I figured you'd do something like that so I turned on my cassette
recorder as your mother left the room.  I can do anything I want now,
and you just screwed yourself because whatever you say will be seen as
a lie based on what you said on this tape.  Don't fuck with me little
girl, because I'm not your mother."  She grabbed for the recorder, but
I held it away from her with one hand and shoved her back into her seat
with my other.

"You bastard.  That's dishonest.  You cheated because I didn't know you
turned that thing on.  You can't use that against me because you
recorded it without my consent."  For a small child she seemed to know
more about entrapment laws than I would have expected.

"Sorry kid, but this wasn't entrapment.  You volunteered everything,
and there is no prohibition against me turning my tape recorder on in
my own room.  Just because you were dumb enough to babble into it
doesn't get you off the hook.  Now, keep your ass in that seat, open
that book, and start reading aloud."  She was furious, but she opened
the book and started to read.  It was clear that she either was
dyslexic or had avoided learning.  I felt certain it wasn't because she
was unintelligent.  I wrote myself a note to bring home some
standardized tests to find out what her problem was.

We made a small amount of progress before she left.  When she came over
the next day, she had worked out another strategy.  As soon as we
started working on her English she reached down and began to caress my
soft penis in my shorts.  As much as I tried to stop her, she kept
reaching up the leg for my shaft.  I grabbed both her wrists and said,
"You are not going to make me come, then smear semen over yourself and
run out screaming.  If you don't sit quietly, I'm going to call your
mother and have her in the room with us."

She sat back and glared at me.  "How did you figure out what I was
trying to do?"

"Because I'm at least as bright as you are, I've had more experience,
because my mind is just as devious as yours is, and I can be even more
evil than you think you can.  Now, I have some tests for you to take.
Try to screw them up and you'll be surprised at how badly I can mess
you up without you even knowing it or being able to prevent it.  Oh,
and I think I'd really have fun seeing how much I can make you suffer
without you being able to do a thing about it or to escape."

"What are you going to do?"  she asked, a little fear creeping into her
defiance.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?  Half of the pleasure of punishing
you will be watching how shocked you are at its weirdness, and the best
part is that you won't be able to tell anyone about it and have them
believe you.  You know I can do it because I'm smarter, more
experienced and more of a bastard than you've ever met."

I really didn't have the vaguest idea of anything nasty to do to her,
and, although I didn't care for her, I wasn't going to hurt her
physically or emotionally.  From the worried look I could tell that I
had begun to break through her tough shell.  She started the first
test.

After I evaluated each of them I found that she had a surprisingly high
intelligence, was not dyslexic, but was intensely negative to everyone
and everything because of her anger at her parents for breaking up.
One of the tests indicated that she had much more sexual experience
than one would expect of a ten-year-old.

I decided that she needed someone to relate to positively before we
could make any other changes.  This might be a good way of trying some
of my ideas in my thesis.  I wrote a very carefully worded sheet for
her to read.  It was supposed to give her practice reading aloud, but
it was also designed to induce hypnosis.

She read it, and I told her to read it again.  By the sixth reading I
was ready to test her level of hypnosis.  It was deeper than I ever
hoped for.  I gave her quite a few positive, loving suggestions over
the next few sessions and she began to change, a little.  Finally, I
decided to find out what was blocking her.  It didn't take too long to
learn that she and her father had been having sex from her earliest
memories until he left when she was nine.  Her mother had caught them
and kicked him out.  Colette was angry because she apparently really
enjoyed the things she was doing with her father and loved him deeply.
She blamed her mother for stopping those activities and driving him
away.

Nothing I tried seemed to lessen her anger, but she had become strongly
positive toward me.  We were making some progress in her tutoring, but
the block remained.  One day she asked, "Can you be my daddy?"  I
thought this transference might be reasonable for now but didn't fully
appreciate what she meant.  As soon as I agreed she wanted to have sex.

A number of carefully unpublicized studies indicate that many more men
are attracted to little girls than is generally perceived, and I fit
into that group.  It was bad enough before, but now that this pretty
little girl was trying to get me to have sex with her without devious
motivations I wasn't sure of what I would do.  Her educational progress
was agonizingly slow and far below her capabilities.

"Well, if you won't do anything else with me, let me sit on your lap
while we read."  A little affection couldn't hurt, could it, I thought?
 Talk about rationalization.  I knew I was getting uncomfortably close
to doing something more, but I thought I could control myself.  As she
wiggled her bony little rear end into my lap, I realized I had made a
mistake.  In only a few moments she knew it, too.  We started reading,
and were doing well with me holding the book with my right hand and her
holding it with her left.  Unconsciously, I rested my left hand on her
upper leg, and then she slipped her right hand between her legs and
stroked my already stiff shaft through my shorts.

My hormones short-circuited the judgment areas of my brain, and almost
without volition, my left hand slid up her leg, into her shorts and
found her smooth little vulva.  She had no panties on, and was already
surprisingly lubricated for a little girl.  My third, then both my
second and third fingers slipped easily into her little vagina while I
stroked her clitoris lightly with my thumb.  I put the book on the desk
and reached under her tee shirt with my right hand to find her lovely
little nipples and flat chest.

"Kevin, please, I want to really feel you.  Can you slip your shorts
off?"  She hopped up, pulled her short pants down, and I saw that
wonderful pink little slit for the first time.  As I yanked off my
pants, she pulled her tee shirt over her head.  She immediately climbed
back on my lap, but this time facing me.  Before I had time to question
our size difference she pushed forward and completely enveloped me.
She was exquisitely tight, warm and slippery.  The feeling of being
inside this lovely little ten year old child was far more wonderful
than any of my previous standard sexual experiences.

I reached under her, carried her to my bed, laid her down, pulled off
my shirt and climbed on top of her all without disengaging.  There was
no finesse of love making to this; I fucked the little girl
ferociously, and she responded just as wildly.  For the first time in
my life, after I had a powerful orgasm, I maintained my erection,
continued ramming my cock deep into her tiny, pink vagina, and repeated
this twice more before I collapsed on top of her.  Three orgasms
without even losing my erection was beyond my wildest fantasies.

She lay there as drained as I was, smiling up at me and making pleasant
little sounds for about five minutes before she could talk.  "Oh,
Kevin, I love you.  That was a thousand times better than even daddy
was.  I never want to stop doing this with you.  I love feeling your
thing so deep inside me."

"I feel the same way, Colette.  I'd rather do this with you than eat or
sleep or anything else."  About then I realized where we were and that
I hadn't even thought about either of our mothers.  I then remembered
that, fortunately, they were at their twice weekly Bridge club.  Rather
than study English we continued making love until five minutes before
our mothers were to arrive home.

Shortly after we began this new phase of our relationship I explained
to Colette that the role of the parent is to raise the child, giving it
non-sexual affection, and that when the person grows up he or she can
move into a sexual relationship with an outside person.  As such, she
should think of me of a loving friend or as a lover rather than as a
daddy.  As long as our relationship remained as positive and
pleasurable as it was she was willing to shift it as I suggested.

I was now tutoring Colette three times a week, twice during the Bridge
club, and once while our mothers were in the house when she actually
learned the subjects in which she was deficient.  She quickly caught up
and was transferred to the enriched, fast track, or college preparatory
classes.  I stopped charging Mrs. Jordan because, I told her, I had
taken Colette on as a class project for one of my graduate seminars.
While this was a fabrication, it allowed me to take Colette,
supposedly, to my classes.  In reality this allowed us to expand our
time together from the Bridge club days to four times a week.

While we both loved normal vaginal sex, we often added oral at least
once during each session.  I loved the feel of her smooth, hairless
little vulva in my mouth and sliding my tongue along her slit and deep
into her tart little vagina.  After a year we managed to make anal
work.  There was nothing as erotic as sliding my cock deep into her
tiny, lubricated eleven-year-old anus, but it didn't do much for her.
It's too bad that we didn't discover using a vibrator until she was
thirteen.  If we had started using it when she was eleven, we probably
would have spent all our time with my cock deep inside her intestines
while she held the vibrator against her clitoris.

I was so emotionally involved that I was not fit to make an objective
evaluation of the situation and its effects on Colette; however, I used
standardized tests to rate her emotional stability, growth, and
adjustment.  She ranked quite highly on all of them and showed a huge
improvement in her scores.  Intergenerational sexual contacts often
result in trauma for the younger participant, but I honestly believe
our relationship helped Colette recover from her earlier loss and begin
developing into a more integrated personality.

EPILOGUE

Six years later, I have moved to California where I have a position in
the Psychology Department of a large university.  Colette lives with me
and, at sixteen, is a senior in high school.  When I accepted this job,
we wanted to leave home together, but I couldn't see a way to
accomplish it.  She still had a devious streak because she came up with
a plan.

We told both our mothers about our relationship then played the tape.
After they simmered down from being properly appalled, angered and
shocked, we explained that we really loved each other and wished to
live together. If they brought everything out in the open, it would
make a sensational case, damage both Colette and me severely, and (most
important to them) make them look as if they approved of this socially
unacceptable relationship.  They would never be able to face their
friends again.

We suggested that they tell a story about Colette being accepted into a
gifted program and moving to California to live with an aunt.  That
way, they could both continue their proper lives while the two focal
points of impropriety would be far away.

In addition to my regular duties, I'm presently setting up a research
project which I doubt will be approved until I become a more senior
member of the department.  Prior to the nineteen-seventies,
homosexuality was considered a mental illness and often against the
law.  Since all the homosexuals who came to see therapists had mental
problems, the psychologists and psychiatrists assumed that it must be
the root of those problems.  It took many years for them to see the
flaw in this reasoning.  All the well-adjusted gays and lesbians, just
as the well-adjusted heterosexuals, never bothered visiting a
therapist.

My hypothesis is that there are many well-adjusted adults who have had
positive intergenerational or incestuous sexual relationships when they
were children, but only the negative, non-consensual ones are
publicized.  The question that hasn't even been asked is, "Is the
damage reported always a result of the relationship or because of
molestation and rape?"  In other words, is there a necessary connection
between intergenerational contacts and damage?

While those who force themselves on children deserve to be incarcerated
or at least put in intensive therapy, some adults who are found to be
having a relationship with a child are punished much against the
desires of the child.  These children are then given therapy.  They are
told the relationship they perceived as loving and constructive was
terrible and perverted.  While they thought they were equal partners,
the therapist convinces them they were powerless, manipulated victims,
and the person they loved was a monster.

Is it any wonder that many therapists who examine these children after
they become adults believe that childhood sexual trauma can never be
really overcome?  Of course, the question that is never asked is:  How
often is the trauma from the adult participant, and how often is it
from the arrest, publicity and subsequent "therapy"?
====
This fictional story is (c) Copyright 2001 by C. Dodgson.  ALL Rights
Reserved.  It may not be reproduced in any form for profit including
use by membership for fee Internet sites without the written permission
of the author.  It may be distributed or archived provided that there
are no charges and this warning notice is attached and the story is not
changed or abridged.  To comment send e-mail to chaz_dodgson at yahoo
dot com.

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