Chapter 6: Friday, One Week Later

SITTING ON A HARD wooden bench and shifting uncomfortably as my butt slowly turned numb, I watched Cassie rehearse a modern ballet, Roland Petit's "Pink Floyd Ballet."

I admired the movement of Cassie's slender body clad in what looked to me like skin-tight light-gray yoga pants, yellow leg warmers and a loose yellow cotton top.

I was quite immobile as she treated me to body swoops, bends, arms forming waves, toes pointed, fingers talking. The incredible Pink Floyd's Dark Side of The Moon cascaded over me. Combining beautiful music with beautiful movement performed by a young angel sent shivers up my spine. But, as Cassie bent, her slender legs straight and together, a succulent little ass curving sensuously, and slowly raised one leg into the air, a standing leg split position, her remarkable ass forming sexy shapes, I suddenly had a vision of her on my bed spreading her legs wide, panties stretching and forming tight to her pussy, and a camel toe emerging in a seductive little invitation for me to explore. My cock thickened, responding to an overactive imagination.

As if she knew what I was thinking, Cassie glanced my way and smiled knowingly.

I chastised myself. I was glad to be back. I was glad to have helped Jerry and was quite pleased with the payment swelling my bank account. But it had been an agonising, soul-searching week away.

I felt bipolar, my mood swinging from pure unadulterated pleasure at the sexual side of Cassie's and my relationship, to deep depression and even shame for succumbing to her and betraying her mother, Mary, a wonderful woman I'd known for fifteen years.

Work had helped take my mind off the problem, but it hung like low, heavy clouds over my head. The only solution I could come up with was to stop. Somehow I had to stop our sexual relationship and wait until she turned eighteen. And, as deeply depressing as that thought was, watching her practice, seeing her move so gracefully, my heart racing just from observing her, I knew, if she loved me, she'd wait. That only made it harder.

After practice I took her to Wilket Creek Park to wander through the tended Edwards Gardens. Late afternoon temperature was falling. I led Cassie into the ravine where we could stroll amongst tall maples and oaks with their spectacular fall colours, a brook burbling at the lowest point. Canadian geese had crapped all over leaving gray reminders of their migration south.

I held her hand, fingers intertwined, and we just walk together in companionable silence. Her other hand held my bicep, her head leaning on my arm. It was perfect.

At one point, overcome with feeling for her, I paused and drew her into my arms. I loved how she rose onto her tiptoes and turned her pretty face up to me. I adored the love in her glittering eyes. And I absolutely loved kissing Cassie. Nothing in this world could come close to kissing her. She murmured so sensuously into my mouth as if my kiss was pure ambrosia to her. She pressed her slender young body to me, her eyes closing as if the sensation of kissing me was too much to handle. And her arms slipped up to my shoulder blades to hug me tight. Nothing came close to the pure joy of kissing Cassie. She made me feel like I was her everything.

I felt worse.

Finding a bench we sat. I took her hand and turned to her. Steeling myself, I spoke gently giving her my well rehearsed, reasoned decision.

The tears that glittered in her spectacular eyes sent me to Hell and almost overcame my guilt.