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Message-ID: <61326asstr$1312197001@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Dude Ster <yeehaarider@yahoo.com>
Reply-To: Dude Ster <yeehaarider@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Custom Shoot (Mg, exh, cons, rom)
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Date: Mon, 01 Aug 2011 07:10:01 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Custom Shoot (Mg, exh, cons, rom.).rtf" begin>

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

   The following is entirely a work of fiction.  It was written purposely
for the entertainment of adult readers.  This type of fiction should never
be read by minors.  Readers of this type of fiction should never try to
copy the actions within, lest they look forward to a very long jail
sentence, followed by a life of forced poverty.



   This story contains graphic descriptions of sex between a preteen female
and a grown man.  If this type of behavior offends you, read no further. 
If this type of material is illegal where you live, please stop now and go
away.



   This isn't a quick spank it story.  It's an adventure wrapped in a love
story.  I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I loved composing it.



   Summary: Mike is an ordinary guy, who in his private life is a
pedophile. Checking out modeling websites, he sees the face of a Goddess
and becomes besotted.  He has no idea that once he joins the site, it will
set forth a chain of events that will change his life forever.



   It all started with a membership in a modeling website.  The site was
somewhat exclusive-you had to be sponsored to get in.  An acquaintance from
another site had asked me if I wanted in.



   I had seen the site talked about and I jumped at the invitation.



   Once in, I found the site to be more topic rich than any other site I
had ever seen.  New members were required go over rules and regulations,
and respond to acknowledge that they had read the rules.  Since the site
was about preteen and young teen models, I was surprised to find that all
nudity and near nudity was banned.  The site was exclusive, which made me
surprised to find the ban on nudity.  To be sure, I went over to the model
section and spent hours going over the pictures.  I looked carefully, but
there was no nip or lip slips.



   I quickly fell into the fraternity of the site.  It felt good to among
fellow pedophiles and to discuss issues important to us.  Some guys
prattled on about this model or that, but a dozen of us did talk about the
tragedy of child abuse, and our love of sweet little girls.  But finally, I
saw a model listed on the site who really turned my head.



   She was a Goddess.  Her face was that of an Angel, with pure innocence.
Her light brown hair fell past her shoulders.  Her figure, with a slight
bit of baby fat, looked to be barely eleven years old.  Her breasts were
tiny buds, barely noticeable in a tight top and damn near invisible in a
loose top.  Her photographer rarely posed her in a risque pose.  She always
looked angelic, but the thing that added to her charm was that she rarely
wore shoes.  I'm not a foot fetishest, but she did look really divine in a
white dress, or an outfit with her bare feet.



   Her site offered no information on her, save a name.  The bio section,
up for the first year of the site, was always empty.  Every week, a half
dozen pics of her would appear on the site.  I was curious if there was
more to be seen, so I joined her site.  Because I joined within the first
six months of the site, I was given a "Founder's Membership".  It was nice
to be given a title, but six months down the line, I found the importance
of having such a membership.



   The email announced an upgrade to the site.  The email was sent out to
all "founders".  The announcement was that for the first year anniversary
of the site all founders were invited to participate in the upgrade.  For a
one hundred dollar donation, you would get one free month and a costume
worn by Jean Model during a shoot.  For a five hundred dollar donation, you
would get two months free, and a special file of unseen pictures.  A one
thousand dollar donation ensured three months free, the file, a costume,
and an autographed picture.  I found that five hundred would dent my
savings, but I could spare it, so I sent it in.



   Six very long days later, the zip file arrived.  I nearly went into
cardiac arrest when I found that the file was filled with nip and lip
slips. Evidently, there was two or three oops moments in every photo shoot.
I about wore myself out pleasuring myself to her little body parts.  A week
later I finally noticed the details in the pics.  First, the pictures
didn't have the Jean Model watermark.  Second, the pictures had a three
digit number stamped in the middle of each pic.  The three numbers were the
same for each pic, and they would be difficult to remove-even with
photoshop.  This was to identify someone stupid enough to post the slips on
the net, not that I would want to.  I had private pics of my Angel that few
or no one else had.



   Six months later, I had another offer from her site.  Myself and two
others (according to the email) had achieved "Benefactor" status due to our
reply to their upgrade.  We were given a choice of lingerie for a custom
shoot, but we were warned that there would be no nudity.  The custom shoot
would run two hundred and fifty bucks.  I picked a red babydoll negligee
and sent in the money.



   Eight days later, the custom set arrived.  The first pic was her holding
up a sign announcing that this photoset was only for me.  The rest of the
pics were her in the red negligee, but there was something different. 
These pics were a lot more sexy than her usual pics.  Six of the pics had
her legs spread, and two of the pics were her pulling on her panties so
that just her slit was covered.  Some peachfuzz was available in her magic
triangle.  Five of the pictures, her top was open.  She held the top so
that much of her chest was exposed, but her nipples were covered.  In the
last three pics, her top was completely off.  In the first pic, you saw her
bare back.  Also, the waistband of her panties were down and her bare ass
was exposed.  In the next pic, she was facing the camera, but her hands
covered her tiny boobs.  In the last pic, two fingers covered each nipple.



   I spanked myself sore from that set.  A couple of months later, I
received an email offering another special file, exclusive to me for only
one hundred bucks.  The email did thank me for my support.  I sent in the
money.  Three days later, the file arrived.



   Checking my email, I was surprised at the size of the file.  I opened
the file.  There was a picture section and a video section.  I scanned the
pictures first.  Like the first special file, it was a collection of nip
and lip slips, except for the last picture.  In the last pic, she was
facing the camera.  She was completely nude.  She was holding a sign below
her breasts that read "Thanks Mike".  In this pic, I could see how much she
had grown in the last year, her breasts now a firm A cup.  Her nipples were
light tan and puffy.  Her peachfuzz seemed to have become transparent, or
else she was shaving her magic area.  With anticipation and racing heart, I
went to the video section.



   The first two vids were short.  In the vids, Jean was topless and
climbing out of a pool.  The third vid, a little longer, she was also
topless and laying on a chaise lounge next to a pool.  She smiled at the
camera and waved.  In the fourth and final vid, the camera was in a
bathroom.  Jean walked in wearing a white terry cloth robe.  She turned her
back to the camera and dropped the robe.  She then walked in the shower,
and it was obvious that she wasn't alone.  The camera person walked over
and taped her taking a shower.  Unfortunately, the camera only panned down
when her back was to the camera.  I got two minutes of her bare boobs and
ass.



   Four long months rolled by before I heard from the site again.  The
email stated that in a week's time, an announcement was going to be made on
the site about another upgrade.  To Benefactors only, an offer was being
made.  For a one thousand dollar contribution to the site, Benefactors
would be able to actually meet Jean Model.  The paragraph below the offer,
which looked like it was written in broken English by a lawyer, whose
command of English was shameful, stated that I was responsible for my own
traveling expenses, hotel, and restaurant fees.



   I did the math in my head, figuring in my donation, airfare to
somewhere-most likely Russia, plus hotel and food.  I would have to do some
budgeting, but I would also to do some planning.  I considered that this
might all be a ruse, and that there might be some dark motives at play.  I
thought about the possibility of blackmail.  Since I was single, and just a
face in the crowd at my company, this was a no go.  As for the possibility
of kidnapping, my family was just wacky enough, that they would go on the
morning network shows and cause a huge international uproar.  This would
backfire greatly, if tried.  Finally, there was the possibility of
murder-with robbery as a motive.  To that end, I would take some cash and
one credit card.  If they planned to reap a harvest off of me, they would
find the bounty less than bountiful.



   I sent in the cash, and waited.  Three days later, an email arrived from
a travel agency in New York City.  The travel agency had a Russian name and
announced that it was working for Jean's site.  The email needed my name,
date of birth, and address.  I had identity protection in case this was a
phishing scam.  Two days after this, I saw the upgrade announcement on
Jean's site.  For certain donations, T shirts and autographed pictures were
offered.  A personalized picture was offered for one hundred bucks.



   I guess the upgrade response was less than tantalizing to the customers.
Ten days later, for two hundred bucks, an offer was made for a personalized
picture of Jean wearing an outfit, if it was sent in and was her size.  A
disclaimer added that no see through clothing would be acceptable.  Her
site, so far, had been non nude.  To my knowledge, myself, and perhaps a
few others, had nude pics of her.  None of her nudes or slips had surfaced.




   A week later, I received an email from the site.  I had been approved to
meet Jean on a certain day.  I was free to use the Russian travel agency,
or manage my own arrangements to Sevastopol (in the Ukraine).  I called the
contact number for the travel agency.  The woman who answered had an
accent, but not a thick one.  She sounded like she knew what she was doing.
She gave me a quoted price on the airfare, which was as steep as I
expected. She also looked at several airlines.  We finally settled on a
plane from my hometown to New York City, then on to Paris, and change
planes one more time there for a flight to Sevastopol.



   Because the flight schedule would be so harried, I decided to take a
sleeping pill on the flight to Paris, and a nap on the flight to
Sevastapol. The strategy worked great, that and keeping to one carry on
bag. I arrived in Sevastopol, in late afternoon, only slightly jet lagged.
A woman of average looks, looking thirtiesh, greeted me at the airport. 
She told me that she would provide my ride to see Jean.



   She led me out to the parking lot.  We got into an older Volvo.  We went
through a part of the city, then left out on a road leading north.  I
noticed that we had a tail.  I wondered if that was for her security, mine,
or to make sure I wasn't some kind of law enforcement Officer.  Finally, a
little over an hour later, we arrived in a small town.



   The town looked like one of those master plan Soviet Villages.  On our
left was a shuttered factory.  On our right was a long row of houses,
practically identical in configuration.  The houses looked to be at least
forty years old, and perhaps were older.  A little past the factory, we
took a right onto what might have been a main drag.  There were some shops,
a gas station, and a newer store of some sort.  There were also some
shuttered buildings that might have been shops.  We crossed a bridge over a
creek into a much newer part of town.  The houses looked newer and cleaner.
There was a modern looking school, and close to the school, our
destination.



   The building must have been a social center of some kind.  There were
several dozen cars on one side of the two story building.  I noticed that
we went to the far side of the building, where there were several Mercedes,
and a relatively new Volvo Station Wagon parked.



   As we entered the building, I smelled chlorine.  There must be a
swimming pool in the building, most likely in the basement.  The woman went
to a desk that had a receptionist.  The woman said something in Russian. 
The receptionist answered her, then we went to the right, through the
lobby, and into a hallway, where the woman told me to wait.  The woman then
disappeared into a doorway.  A moment later, three men came out, all of
them in business suits.



   The man in the center of the trio was small in stature and quite thin.
The other two men, a lot larger and heavier, were obviously hired muscle.
The small man extended a hand, "You must be Mike McCay" he said in perfect
English.



   "Hello", I replied as I shook his hand.



   "You can call me Marky, if you need to", he volunteered.  "You've
traveled a long way to meet a sweet girl, and she is quite sweet."



   His wink at the end of that last sentence made me feel dirty.  It's one
thing to be a pedo and have your own fantasies, but to suddenly realize
that you're meeting a man who is pimping a beautiful young girl can make
you nauseous, if you don't have a thick skin and a casual disregard for
anything but your own primal desires.  He continued, "I manage Jean's site,
as well as half a dozen others.  She is quite the money earner.  Last year,
I took in six figures.  That's a king's fortune in this part of the world."



   I noticed that he said he made six figures, not her.  Jean, probably not
her own name, probably came from the poor side of town that we went
through.



   Changing gears, he went on, "Just wait until you see the new upgrade. 
You and the other donors have bought us a couple of new cameras, and the
resolution is beautiful.  Wait until you see it."



   He noticed that I wasn't into his "I am great" speech.  I saw him change
gears through his eyes.



   "In a few minutes, you'll be meeting my crown jewel", he said, "and
that's what I wanted to talk to you about.  You paid to meet her, and
you'll get an hour of her time, but if you want to spend the night with
her, and I'm sure you do, that will cost you another thousand, American."



   I was prepared for this kind of eventuality.  I fished one of two
moneyclips out of my pocket and handed it to him.  He counted the bills and
looked up, with an ear to ear smile.



   "You'll find her in there", he said, motioning to a door at the end of
the hallway.



   I walked down the hall and through the door.  It was a somewhat small
room.  At the center of the room was a five foot by five stage with a
raised bar next to it.  A row of chairs lined three walls of the room. 
There was a small table with bottles of water and colas.  I took a bottle
of each and sat down at the bar that ringed the stage.



   A moment later, Jean entered the room through a door at the back of the
stage.  She was dressed in a thin see through piece of white fabric that
went around her neck and tied behind her back.  She was also wearing a
white thong.  She was carrying a boombox.  She said "Hello", then plugged
the boombox in.  As Luther Vandross came through the speakers, she started
to dance.  Actually, her dance movements were the uncoordinated movements
of a twelve year old girl untrained in dance.  Still, just feet from me,
was a beautiful girl, that just days before was only a computer fantasy. 
She was doing her best to try and entertain me and Ilet her know that I
appreciated her efforts with a smile.



   The first song ended.  Seductively, with a smile, she reached behind her
back and untied the fabric.  She then, slowly, pulled the fabric from her
body and let it drape across the boombox.  Wearing only a couple of inches
a fabric, she started to dance again.  During her dance, for a very brief
moment, she sat on the counter next to my drinks and leaned back.  I could
smell the pleasant aroma of scented soap, and/or a nice shampoo.



   As the third song started, she slipped the thong off.  Sitting back on
the corner farthest from me, she spread her legs to reveal a bald pussy. 
Her red and inflamed pussy lips told me that she was sexually excited.  She
reached between her legs and rubbed her pussy a couple of times, then she
realized that she was too far away.  She came closer and resumed the pose,
placing her tiny feet up on the counter so that I could get a better look.
I motioned her to come closer.  She looked confused, then eventually
realized that I wanted her to sit with me.  Finally, she ended up in my
lap. In a half hug, I could smell her hair and feel the velvety softness of
her skin as I caressed her thigh.  In halting English, she said "Thank you
Mike."



   I asked her if she spoke English.  She held up a couple of fingers to
indicate just a little.  Slowly, I asked her how old she was.  With fingers
and smidgen English, she indicated that she was twelve, but would be
thirteen in a few months.  Our conversation went on from there, with my
finding out that she went to school at the school I saw, that she had a
younger sister, and she wanted to go into fashion later.  When she asked me
about my home, I pulled out my iPhone and showed her pictures of the New
York skyline (to which she squealed "America!!"), and pictures of my house
and car.  She looked in my eyes and in a voice dripping in sadness, said

   "I like America."



   I think she was saying that she wanted to leave the squalor behind and
live in a land of opportunity.  I hugged her and we shared a kiss.  I knew
her desire and I felt a sadness in my heart.  She laid her head on my
shoulder.  I leaned in and held her.



   I must have lost track of time.  I sensed a door opening.  The woman who
had brought me came in the room and had a short verbal exchange with Jean.
Jean indicated to me that she would be five minutes and she went through
the door she first came in.  The woman smiled uncomfortably at me.



   "You are to spend the night, yes ?" she asked.



   "Yes"



   "I take you to hotel, and her" she replied.



   I didn't like the way she said "and her".  I realized that I was in an
old world country.  In old world countries, men make the rules and strictly
enforce the rules.  The woman didn't have a problem with me being a pedo,
but she regarded the much younger and cuter Jean as competition, and she
despised her for it.



   Jean reappeared in the room, fully dressed, carrying a tote bag.  I
picked up my carry bag.  The three of us went out to the station wagon. 
The woman then drove us to an old two story building at the edge of town. I
quickly surmised that it was a Soviet era hotel.  The woman said something
to a mousy and disinterested desk clerk inside the front door.  The clerk
handed her the key.  The woman gave me a key and indicated upstairs.  The
woman then walked out and left us.



   Jean and I went upstairs to room 206.  The room was more spartan than
any military room I ever saw while I was in service.  The room had a bed
and a square table that looked like it functioned for a desk.  Jean and I
laid our bags down.  We sat on the bed.  I stroked her hair for a moment. I
was tired and laid down.  I reached up towards Jean.  She took the clue and
laid next to me.  I stroked her hair and smiled at her.  She returned the
smile and I saw curiousity in her eyes.



   After a short while, I asked her if she was hungry.  The puzzled look
told me she didn't understand.

   I gestured towards my mouth.  She nodded and rubbed her stomach.  We got
up and went downstairs.  I asked the clerk for food.  He gave me a puzzled
look.  Jean jumped in and asked the clerk something in Russian while I
fished a twenty out of my pocket.  After a discussion, Jean told me "Bring
food here", while she gestured to the floor.



   We waited upstairs.  Forty minutes later, a man in his thirties brought
food to the room.  I took the box from him and handed him the twenty.  He
looked at the money and got a puzzled look.  Jean said something to him. 
The man smiled and left.



   Jean and I dug into the box.  There was some kind of beef, some potatoes
wrapped in foil, boiled cabbage, a loaf of baked bread, and a pair of Coca
Colas.  We were starved and we dove in stuffing our faces.



   After the feast, we felt a lot better.  Side by side, we laid on the
bed. We smiled at each other as I ran my hand through her hair.  Then,
moving down, I slid my hand down her arm until it passed her hand, then, on
to her stomach.  I slid my hand under her top and started feeling her young
firm flesh underneath.  Her top started impeding my hand.  She sat up and
pulled her top off.  I also sat up and started undressing.



   We were standing when we were fully nude.  I took her head in my hands
and kissed her.  I then lifted her off of her feet and laid her on the bed.
Laying next to her, I kissed her, then moved on to her neck, before finding
her tiny breasts.  I spent several minutes on each nipple, suckling on her
tiny puffy nipples.  Jean was breathing deep and grunting softly.  I
reached between her legs and found her sopping wet.  She spread her legs as
I fingered her slit.  I moved down and started licking her little slit. 
She let out a girlish "Oooooooh" and gripped my hair as she arced her back.
I could feel pre cum oozing out of me and running down my dick.  I couldn't
take it any more.



   I moved in to mount her.  Her opening was small, and it took a couple of
pushes, but I got the head and maybe an inch in.  She started moving her
hips, matching my thrusts.  After several minutes, I was little more than
halfway in.  We were totally into it.  She was panting and holding my arms.
Occasionally, I could feel her little heels digging into the back of my
thighs.  She would smile at me, but clearly, she was in a zone.  I felt the
thrill in my lower abdomen.  I sped up my pace.  As I came in her, she let
out a little shriek.



   I collapsed, spent, on the bed.  Jean was in better shape.  She smiled,
draped the lower half of her body across me, and kissed me gently on my
chin and chest.  In afterglow, we held each other, then drifted off to
sleep.



   Dawn's light coming through the window awakened me.  Jean had an arm
draped across me.  My bladder was screaming in agony.  I tried pulling off
of her without waking her, but I was unsuccessful.  As she stirred awake, I
indicted to her that I had to pee.  She also had to pee.  Our room didn't
have a toilet-we had to go down the hall.  We covered ourselves, then found
the bathroom.  Afterwards, we agreed that we were hungry.  Jean dressed,
then went downstairs and arranged for food to be delivered.



   We had to wait for the food.  Although it started with an innocent hug,
we ended up making love again.  We had finished and were about fifteen
minutes into afterglow when the knock came at the door.  I slipped on pants
and overpaid, again, for a meal.  Jean and I ate, then dressed.  Shortly
afterwards, the clerk downstairs gave us a message-that my ride was coming.
Jean went into a funk.  While I packed, Jean sat on the edge of the bed and
sulked.  As I finished, I held Jean's head and kissed her.  Her half kiss
told me that she hated that I was leaving, that and her glassy eyes.  I had
no idea who she was going to be prostituted to next.  I think she knew who
and that was what prompted her sadness.



   It tore me up inside that I had to leave.  I did some counting in my
head.  I had enough left in the bank to make another round trip to the
Ukraine, but not enough for her, and certainly she wanted to bring her
family.  That would take bucks and I didn't have it.  Then there was the
matter of her manager/pimp.  Surely he'd want a payoff to release her from
a contract, if there was one.  In any case, he wasn't about to let a golden
goose just get away.  He had hired muscle-did he also have underworld ties
? It would take a miracle to free my Goddess from the hell that she was
living.



   Our ride arrived at the hotel.  As we followed her from the hotel room
Jean's mood became even darker.  As we got in the car, Jean sat with a
truly pissed off look, her arms crossed.  Silence ruled the car as we left
the hotel and made our way through the village.  Our escort then made a
gigantic mistake as she stopped off in front of Jean's house.



   I caught Jean's hand as she slid out of the car.  We still had a
gigantic language gap, but I knew enough body language to convey my
meaning. Standing outside the car and facing Jean, I held her hands.  Using
my left hand, I gently touched her between her eyes.  I then directed my
finger to my chest-over my heart.  I then poked myself in the chest and
brought the same finger to her chest, over her heart.  She understood, and
tears streamed down her cheeks.  I then kissed her forehead, and then her
lips.  Jean broke the kiss and ran in the house crying hysterically.  I got
in the car and couldn't help but notice that my driver had a satisfied
smirk.  She would regret that smug feeling, I would see to it.



   The plan came together in my head over the Atlantic.  As soon as I got
home, I accessed a website that links actors, or their representatives, and
paying members of the site.  I accessed the manager of an actor that I
knew. In college we had been roomates.  Senior year, he left to become a
movie star.  I became rank and file, still, because of a drunken night, he
owed me a favor (because of my silence).  I sent the manager an email
stating a cheating scandal was brewing at ESU and it would behoove Stu to
contact Mike from room 210.



   The reply email wanted details on the B.S.  that I was manufacturing.  I
replied that I was Stu's roomate in college and he should contact me right
away to straighten up a misunderstanding.  I included my cellphone number.



   The next afternoon, my cellphone rang.  Stu's voice came over the phone,
but he advised me that his manager was listening.  I then confessed that
the cheating scandal was total crap, but I desperately needed a favor and I
reminded Stu that he owed me one.  Stu told me that he was going to call me
right back, and he hung up.  Five minutes later, when Stu called me back, I
told him the story of my recent trip, glossing over certain details.  I let
him know that a beautiful twelve year old girl was being prostituted.  I
let him know I was low on funds, then I threw him a bone, letting him know
that he could get one hell of an exclusive story to make a movie about, and
the publicity would do him a lot of good.  He just needed to provide some
funds and lend some star power.  Five days later, Stu and I were on a
private jet, enroute to the Ukraine.



   When we arrived at Sevastopol airport, two limo's and some large guards
were awaiting us.

   I rode in the lead limo and provided directions.  A little over an hour
later, we arrived at Jean's house.  One of the guards, working as
translator, went to the door with me.  Jean's mother answered the door. 
The guard let Jean's mother know that we had come to take Jean and her
family to the United States.  Her mother had a disbelieving look, until she
saw Stu.  Her Soviet style stoicism suddenly evaporated.  Stu, seeing what
was going on, walked up to the door.  Jean's mom quickly confessed that
Jean was at a relative's house and she sent Jean's younger sister in search
of her.  At her insistence, we then came in the house so that she could
make tea for all of us.



   While she made the tea, the translator tried to impress upon her that
time was of the essence.  Jean's mom, instead made the tea and babbled on
about how impressed she was to have a movie star in the house.  The tea was
hot, thick, and way too sweet for me.  The translator continued to work on
her, but Jean's mom was besotted and she tried to flirt with Stu.  Stu, to
his credit, played along, although he tapped his wrist watch a couple of
times.  The entire atmosphere in the room changed when Jean arrived.  Jean
took one look at me, screamed, and ran into my arms.



   The hug was intense and heartfelt.  Jean said something in her language.




   "She was worried", the translator said, "that you would never return."



   "Let her know that we have come for her and her family and time is of
the essence."



   The translator did his job.  There was a quick and heated verbal
exchange between Jean and her family.  The translator jumped in, aiding
Jean.  The translator then asked me, on Jean's behalf, if this was forever.




   "It is for as long as she wishes."



   When he translated, Jean grabbed me and kissed me long on the lips. 
Jean then barked an order at her family.  The three females then went to
work.  Two of the guards, anticipating a need, brought boxes from one of
the limos.



   Two hours later, with just necessities, Jean and her family said goodbye
to their house.  Jean cuddled next to me on the ride to the airport.  It
was only then that I addressed an ugky bruise on her face.  It turned out
that our escort had told everything to Jean's manager.  With her manager
present, Jean was then "disciplined" by the escort, and she assued us that
there were more marks-from a belt-across her backside.  Upon hearing this,
Stu shook his head in a disapproving way.



   Eighteen hours later, we arrived in the United States.  In New York, Stu
and I parted ways after agreeing to meet again in California in a week's
time.  Jean and her family then went with me to my home state of Texas.  I
didn't take them to my home, but rather to the country home of a friend. 
He had a friend, a translator, present when we arrived.  I then explained
to Jean and her family that the arrangement was just for a short time.  In
less than a week, I would come for them again.  I then went home for some
much needed rest, I would need it.



   Sure enough, three days later, Jean's manager fell right into my trap.
He had made the trip and brought his muscle with him.  He was on my turf,
and he was going to regret it.  My condo has security precautions, and I
saw the unworthy trio long before they realized it.  Tucking a gun into a
shoulder holster, I went outside and talked to them through the security
fence.  I expected the threat I received, and I pretended to submit.  I
told the slimy son of a bitch that he would have to follow me to where she
was at.  I then texted my friend to let him know that we were on the way. I
then drove, with slimy and his muscle following, to a nearby rural airport.




   I turned off of the highway onto a country lane with fence on both
sides. Suddenly, two Constable cars came shooting out of a barn and towards
us.  Six Constable cars shot off of the highway and came up from behind. 
In a minute, fifteen shotguns were trained on the slimy trio.

   I then got out of my car and played my trump card.



   I walked up to slimy.



   "Listen", I told him, "I don't know if you know how deep the shit is
that you are in.  You are in the wrong fucking place to think that you
matter.  A trial would put you away forever and ever, but it would be
painful for me and Jean, and her family.  Therefore, I'm going to give you
a 'get out of jail free' card and I suggest that you take it.  I'm going to
give you a check for fifty thousand dollars, and you're going to go away,
forever.  The check will more than reimburse you for lost revenue.  In
return, you will never bother Jean, or any member of her family, ever
again. Just one fucking threat", I gritted my teeth, "and the Texas Rangers
will gladly send Interpol after you.  You won't have any place on the
planet to hide, and you'll either die in a jail cell or a slum apartment.
Do we read each other fuckwad ?"



   Slimy nodded.



   "These nice Constables will now escort you to the airport.  I suggest
you take the first plane out of Dodge, and you never return."



   I then handed him the envelope with the check.  I got in my car and I
saw the Constables motion to slimy and company.  It took ten minutes to
unravel our little traffic jam.



   I immediately drove over to my friend's house.  Jean's mom was outside
hanging laundry on a laundry line.  She smiled and waved.  I ran inside and
looked around.  I found Jean, her younger sister, and a young female friend
of my friend gathered around a piano.  Jean and her sister were playing on
the piano.  They all looked up as I entered the room.  Jean's face lit up
and she squealed in delight as she jumped up from the bench.  She ran over
and squeezed me in a bear hug.  My friend's wife, upon hearing the noise,
entered the room.  I saw her and tried to tell her the news.



   "It's over, he___"



   "I got the call, I know", she said.  "She might not understand the news.
We set up a way to communicate.  Do you see the laptop in the corner ?" she
asked, pointing to my left.



   I made eye contact with Jean.  We both went to the corner.  I typed in
what happened on a pre-set website.  I hit enter.  Jean then read the
translation.  Her face lit up again and she squealed, again, in delight.



   Less than two hours later, I had three new roomates in my condo.  Less
than a fortnight later, I had Jean's mother and sister in their own condo
nearby.  It was the trip to California that was the most poignant and
emotional part of the entire event.  In California, we were to meet with
Stu, his manager, a translator, and three people from the studio to take
Jean's story, in the hopes that a movie could be made of her life.  As we
walked in the studio conference room, Jean's eyes immediately fixated on an
upright piano neatly tucked in the corner.  The piano probably had a
purpose in pitches made for movies, but Jean saw an opportunity to bare her
soul.



   "Can I ?" she asked, pointing at the piano.



   "Yeah", Stu said.



   I looked at Stu and he shrugged his shoulders.  Jean went to the piano
and lifted the cover above the keys.  Looking at Stu, she said "For you, in
English, I learn." She then began to play the piano and sing in a mezzo
Soprano voice:





   "Some say love, it is a river

   that drowns the tender reed.

   Some say love, it is a razor

   that leaves your soul to bleed.

   Some say love, it is a hunger,

   an endless aching need.

   I say love, it is a flower,

   and you its only seed.



   It's the heart afraid of breaking

   that never learns to dance.

   It's the dream afraid of waking

   that never takes the chance.

   It's the one who won't be taken,

   who cannot seem to give,

   and the soul afraid of dyin'

   that never learns to live.



   When the night has been too lonely

   and the road has been too long,

   and you think that love is only,

   for the lucky and the strong.

   Just remember, in the winter,

   far beneath the bitter snows,

   lies the seed, that with the sun's love,

   in the spring, becomes the rose."



   As she finished, there wasn't a dry eye in the room.  Deeply moved, I
walked over to hug her.  Seeing the moisture on my face, she got a look of
curiousity and concern.  She wiped the tears from my cheeks.  I returned a
gentle caress to her face, to which she leaned into.  Stu stood up.  Deeply
moved, he offered, "That is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.  I was
going to rankle you on all the money I spent on this, but now I see it was
well spent.  Well done Mike.  Let's sit down and make a movie."



   The End.



   Epilogue: Jean learned English within a year, as did her sister.  Both
flourished in their new surroundings, as both discovered a world of things
not previously available to them.  With practice, my love life with Jean
attained a level of greatness.  I had her on the pill to prevent any oops
from happening.  The hormones agreed with her, not only making her more
beautiful, but desired by teen boys at achool.  By then, I had her wearing
aring, which only slightly helped.  I still had to warn boys that called,
to tell them that she wasn't available.



   The movie was only a mild success.  The movie included the scene that
unfolded in the conference room.  A few movie critics found the moment
either maudlin or contrived.  Jean sparkled in the flashbulbs that popped
during the movie premier.  I made sure that she wore an understated blue
dress.  Of course, offers poured in after the movie premiered.  We turned
them all down as we were trying to have a normal life, which we ended up
doing.  Jean will be starting high school in a local private school soon.
She modeled the school uniform for me, which led to several nights of
naughtiness on the part of the naughty student, and her teacher, or
principal, or school counselor.  All is well with the world.



   If you like this, there's more at my site :
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/dude/www/PTandTeen.html





  
"javascript:vote(0,5921,0,'33e7f5c83b24364474a82bcb37f5fd27',-10)"HYPERLINK




   
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