The Meeting
At the age of 40 I was lucky and could sell off my gardening business. Coming from the Caribbean, I had created a specialist nursery that did exotic plants, which became a huge success across the country. I used some of the proceeds to buy a huge house in a small village mostly inhabited by multi millionaires like me.
The house had belonged to one of my former customers and the garden was beautifully laid out by my gardening business with loads of exotic plants. It looked like a well-groomed piece of the tropics. The garden was pretty secluded and I could roam freely without being spied upon.
In time I came to meet the neighbours at the eternal row of barbecues that seemed to pervade the neighbourhood in the summertime. I held a few too and by and large I felt quite at peace with myself after the hectic life I used to live. I had started to pursue a boyhood dream of painting and was forever setting up my easel somewhere in the garden trying to convey the beauty unto the canvas — mostly without any proper degree of success.
One day I had ventured into the front garden with my easel and just as my painting was finished, the neighbour Paul came out the door with his daughter Josephine in hand. He was a tall, muscular man in his late twenties, nicely tanned. He used to be a rugby player but had retired after knee problems. His daughter was an incredibly beautiful blonde. She was tall, she was slim, she was blond, actually more like white haired, she had the most incredible smile ... and she was ten.
Paul saw me sitting with my just finished canvas and came over to look.
"How beautiful," he said with a hint of awe in his voice. "I wish I could paint like that."
"Absolutely smashing," Josephine said and gave me a heart-melting smile. "You're as good as those painters we looked at in the museum." She looked to her father for confirmation.
Paul nodded. "I think you're right, Joe. It looks somewhat like Van Gogh, only better."
I looked at my painting again and couldn't find quite that many qualities in it. "You're kidding," I said and brushed my dreadlocks back to look at him.
"No, no!" He shook his head vigorously. "I honestly mean it."
"Yes," Josephine interjected. "You
are good." She smiled. "I wish you could paint me."
"That's a great idea," Paul said. "Why don't you make a painting of Joe? I'd love that."
"But," I stammered. "I haven't ever done a portrait before."
"Don't you mind. I'm sure you'll be absolutely good at painting her." Paul rested a hand on my shoulder. "I believe in you, you know." He squeezed my shoulder lightly and winked at me. "And I could use some time on my own now and again."
"Oh Dad!" Josephine laughed. "You just want some time alone with your dirty magazines."
"Joe!" Paul exclaimed. "You know about my magazines?"
"Come on, Dad. You have to find a better place for them. It's not like I'm little anymore. And I've also seen you in front of the telly in the night. I do wake up sometimes, you know, when you play your programs on telly. They're quite loud, you know."
Paul looked at me apologetically. "Sorry about that, but you see, her mum died from an aneurysm when she was pregnant with Joe. The doctors managed to save Joe." He smiled slightly lopsidedly. "And I haven't had a steady girlfriend since then."
"Nothing to be embarrassed about," I said. "I'm forty and haven't married yet, so guess what I'm doing now and again."
Josephine looked quizzically at me. "Why aren't you married? You are fit, you are rich it seems and you are absolutely gorgeous." She held my gaze with her light blue eyes. "So why not?"
"Well," I started. "I honestly don't know. I ..."
"You're not gay, are you?" Josephine interrupted.
"No, I'm not. It's just ..." I shook my head. "I just haven't met the right one yet ... I think."
"Oh come on," Josephine gave me a bear hug and got paint all over her front. "Go for it, Panther."
Where did she get it from?
Paul smiled at me. "Be careful. Joe doesn't stop for anything and before you know what has happened, she will try to match you off with one of her aunts."
Josephine looked flabbergasted. "I would
not! They're much too old. He looks young. He needs someone young. Not those flabby sisters of you and mum. And none of them are pretty and nice and sweet and caring and good enough for Mr. Phillip."
"Call me Kurt. I feel old when people call me Mr. Phillip."
"Fine with me, Kurt," Josephine said and planted a kiss on my cheek. "You need someone who'd be nice to you."
"Honey," Paul said. "Talking about aunts make me remember that we're already late for Auntie May's lunch." He looked her up and down. "And you've got paint all over your front."
Josephine lifted the front of her dress up to look at it, giving me a nice view of her yellow knickers. She had a very well defined cameltoe, thank you. Luckily, I sat down, which made my beginning erection less obvious.
"Oh, all right." Josephine let the dress fall down again and came back to give me a hug and a kiss ... on my mouth! OK, it was more like a longish peck, but all the same, it did something to me. Illicit thoughts began roaming through my head and blood started to flow to my penis. And her blue eyes looked at me piercingly as if she wanted to gauge my reaction. If only she knew. "Bye, Mr. Handsome. See you soon." She smiled mockingly. "For the portrait."
"Bye Little Minx," I answered in a throaty voice. "See you."
"Bye Kurt."
"Bye Paul."
They went back in to get her changed and I went in to make myself some lunch, as I felt famished. When I looked out the window and saw them leave again, she wore a tight, sheer tube top that reached just under her breasts (I swear, she had clearly outlined, small, budding breasts with big nipples, at the age of ten!), a short skirt that left little to the fantasy and flip flops that showed off her dainty feet. She seemed slightly unhappy as she looked around until she saw me in the window. She broke out in a big smile and waved to me enthusiastically and I waved back, wondering about her immense beauty.
After cleaning all my painting stuff and propping the picture up on an easel inside, I decided to call it a day and lounge at the poolside. I stripped naked and lay in one of my many beach chairs, cold beer in hand ... and fell asleep.
I awoke panting, shooting my hot sperm all over my front. I had a wet dream. I hadn't had a wet dream in decades, why now? I vaguely remembered my dream. It was about Josephine. She had been naked. In my front garden. With me. She had watched me masturbate. Her blue eyes glued to my erection.
Aw, come on. I just had a wet dream about an ten-year-old! An ten-year-old I had more or less just met.
I'm a monster!
It was late so I went in, had a quick shower, and cooked a fillet steak with a jacket potato and a huge helping of salad. Cooked? you ask. Well yes, I don't believe in servants so apart from the twice weekly cleaner, I do everything myself — including my washing. Honestly, I do.
I found my favourite DVD and put it on, but it didn't really inspire me, not even when the girl was filled with two huge cocks in her pussy, one in her anus and another in her mouth. I gave up, after half an hour where my cock just hang limp. I went to bed early and fell asleep immediately.
I dreamed again.
That I filled her.
With you-know-what.
And I creamed again.
I
am a monster.
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