"When did these... urges start?" Miss Ainsworth asks me.
I sit back in my chair. "That depends on who you ask," I say. "It either started when I was two, when my father first introduced me to his way of loving me, or seven, when I showed my little cousin the same love."
Miss Ainsworth's lips purse together. She's a dried up old prune, but her eyes are sharp, missing nothing. Her office is also a dried up old prune, with its dark oak, olive green velvet curtains, shit-stain brown carpet, and depressingly mold-tinged ceiling. "I don't need a smart mouth from you," she says briskly. "I'm here to help you, but I will not tolerate the sarcasm."
"Then you're going to be disappointed," I tell her. "I operate on sarcasm and caffeine. Since you've decline me the latter, I must subsist on the former."
Miss Ainsworth capitulates. "Very well," she says. "In reference to your answer, we'll start when you were two."
"My mother had walked out on us," I say, "so it was just me and my father. He was very lonely after she left, and I wanted to make him smile again. So I decided to sleep in bed with him. He seemed to like it; I woke up the next morning to find him kissing me on the mouth and touching me through my underwear."
"Were you scared?" Miss Ainsworth asks
I chuckle. "I felt very tingly where he touched me," I say. "No one except my doctor had touched me there, but I, in my infinite two-year-old wisdom, decided it was a thing all adults did. So I touched him in return. He liked that just as much, and that's where I had my first orgasm. Then I got scared, but he kissed me and told it was natural, and not to worry about messing my underwear."
Miss Ainsworth noted this down. "Then what happened?"
"He gave me a bath," I reply. "But he climbed into the bath with me, saying that he had to make sure I was clean. Again I deemed it a natural thing. He was quite thorough when washing me, and he made sure my penis got extra attention. Then he sat me in his lap and wanked me again under the water."
"Did you feel threatened?" Miss Ainsworth asks.
"Hell no," I tell her. "It felt good, and he said afterwards that he loved wanking me under the water. It felt extra special, and it kept the rest of the world from knowing about it."9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2dN7vDHrte
"And you adapted this principle," Miss Ainsworth notes, her lips pressed together again.
I smirk. "No one can see what happens underwater," I tell her. "It allows you to get away with all sorts of mischief. That's how I got away with touching my cousin."
Miss Ainsworth looks like she's bitten into a lemon. "How old was she?"
"Three," I say, grinning at her sour puss. "Toddlers are easy; you just have to talk to them in their language. I talked her language, all right, and not only did I get her to let me kiss her underwater, I also got her to let me touch her while we were kissing underwater." 9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgvw7kq9AHR
I let out a long, satisfied sigh at the memory. "You have no idea how good it feels, to have a little girl wriggling in your arms, making gurgling sounds as you finger-fuck her only a few feet under the surface. No one can see what happens; she had the lungs of a fish and could stay underwater for quite some time, more than enough for me to turn her around, pull down her swim bottoms, and finger fuck her again. God, the way her little legs kicked as I gave her another orgasm, and the sounds she made! I wasn't sure if she was trying to scream underwater, but the way she writhed and moaned, all bubbling and gurgling as she let her air out, the way she convulsed as she came again... nothing can compare."
"You are a monster," Miss Ainsworth says sharply. "She was three. How could you possibly justify almost drowning her for the sake of a cheap thrill?"
"She didn't drown," I say primly. "I got her back to the surface before she ran out of air... aaaaand I forgot to retrieve her swim bottoms. But since no one had noticed our little, ahem, interlude, I asked her if she'd come down with me again so we could get her swim bottoms back on. Surprisingly, she agreed, and I got the thrill of my life watching her pert little backside wiggle as she dived down. Naturally, I took full advantage, and since she'd taken a nice, long breath--"
"That's enough," Miss Ainsworth cuts in. "Spare me the gruesome details of how you raped her in the anus, presumably several feet underwater."
"I won't," I say equably. "I'll just tell you how I lay on my back and let her ride me at the bottom of the pool, and how she--"
"Enough," Miss Ainsworth repeats. She slams her notebook shut and rises. "Clearly there's no hope for you. We're done here."
I smile as I stand. "Have you children?"
Miss Ainsworth sniffs. "That is none of your business," she says primly. "I wish you nothing but eternal damnation for the utter horrors you've visited on those poor children."9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ94RO0veB4K
"They consented," I say. "It's their parents who are getting their underwear in a bunch."
"Children cannot consent to rape and forcible touching," Miss Ainsworth says coldly.
"It was hardly that," I say. "It was love, pure and simple."
Miss Ainsworth sniffs again, and quite bluntly shows me the door. I bow extravagantly, laughing as she slams it behind me. "One day," I say to the dull oaken panels, "you'll accept me. Children are meant to be loved. Not tucked away and hidden."
No reply comes, and I smirk as I turn to my stiff-faced parole officer. "Lead on," I say cheerfully. "And then go home and hug your children for me. I'd do it myself, but..."
That appears to be a bridge too far; my ears ring for ages afterwards from the punch he lays into my jaw, and I decide to keep my mouth shut, following him in not-quite-chastened silence. Time and place, I remind myself. 9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPlsyIs2IzJ
But since I had no access to caffeine, sarcasm was just going to have to do.
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