Letters From a Pedo/Angela (12)

Dear James,

The most extraordinary thing happened to me yesterday and I hope you won't think too badly of me when I tell you about it. I remember some of the games we played when I was a kid, so I suspect this tale will not shock you overmuch.

You know that I am in Cornwall, working on my latest novel. I decided to rent a caravan to save money. Not to mention, allowing a little privacy. I found a standard four-berth van, parked in the least popular part of a site, and did a deal with the owner to help out with mowing and such. The site has good facilities for children and attracts a lot of single parents. I think the owner gives them a special deal or something. The Wi-Fi is excellent and I have set up a bedroom as an office with all three screens nicely arranged. I had to buy a proper chair though.

Whatever the reason, the pool is filled with scantily clad kids of all ages whenever the sun shines and if that isn't enough, some of the young mothers are pretty nubile as well. I've got to the stage where I have to have a wank before going there to avoid embarrassing myself. Anyway, I digress.

Angela (not her real name) is twelve, just like Lolita in the book. She is tall for her age and slim, with long fair hair and a snub nose. She laments her lack of breasts and refuses to accept my assurance that she is beautiful the way she is. She has two younger brothers who annoy her intensely and takes every opportunity to escape their company. I assume that she takes after her (absent) father because her mother is unattractive, both in appearance and manner, to put it mildly.

I first saw her on the day she arrived, posing on the diving board in a skimpy bikini. She eventually dived in and I lost sight of her until she appeared beside my lounger. "It's rude to stare," she said and plonked herself down in the next lounger. I apologised but pointed out that pretty girls who pose on diving boards should expect to be stared at. She enjoyed the flattery and graciously allowed me to buy her an ice cream. An hour later I knew that she had two half-brothers (different father) and her mother was borderline alcoholic. She knew that I was a struggling writer and that my admiration for young girls was not exactly fatherly.

That evening, after an indifferent meal, I managed a little time on the book before logging onto a porn site to distract myself. In the end, it wasn't the pictures on the screen that got me off, but the thought of that pretty preteen stretched out naked on my bed that did the job. Imagination is a wonderful thing don't you think?

I was woken in the morning by someone pounding on the door. I grabbed a robe off the hook and opened it to reveal the bedraggled girl on my step in the pouring rain. She pushed past me and flopped down on a seat. "Sorry. The boys were driving me mad and I had to get away," she said. I turned the heating on, found a clean towel and pointed her at the bathroom. When I heard the shower running, I put the kettle on and some bread in the four-slice toaster. It shouldn't have been a surprise when she came out wrapped in the towel and nothing else. I wrapped my robe a little tighter to hide my reaction as I made tea and buttered toast.

Angela had no such inhibitions and the towel, which wasn't overlarge anyway, soon slipped down to reveal her budding breasts. "You don't mind do you" she says with a grin.

I was pretty taken aback by the speed at which things were moving and sat for what seemed like a long time, just staring. She went pink under my scrutiny but made no attempt to cover up. Her breasts were about the size of half a tennis ball and topped with pink nipples that looked as stiff as my cock. It was obvious that we both knew where this was going if I didn't put a stop to it. "Are you sure," was all I said.

She smiled and stood up, allowing the towel to fall to the floor. As I said, she is quite tall and slim, with long legs and prominent hip bones. Without a word, she took my hand and led me into the bedroom where she sat on the edge of the bed. I dropped to my knees in front of her and slid my hands up the outside of her thighs. At first, I was looking into her eyes, but as I ran my hands up to her hips, I looked down, over her flat stomach to the swell of her mons which was covered with a hint of peach fuzz.