Chapter 1

I was at the Friday night party, sipping a Coke and chewing the fat with some guys, when I saw Little Angie walking toward us; well, actually walking toward me. She looked serious and nervous, and her walk was a little stiff. That's pretty common. When she saw me looking at her she added a small smile, which further complicated her expression.

I smiled back, not too big a smile since I didn't want to look threatening, excused myself and moved to meet her. I'm a lot taller than Angie so I stopped a few inches further back than I otherwise would. "Hi, Angie."

"Hi, Johnny. Can I talk to you for a minute?" Her smile disappeared while she spoke but she put it back on afterward.

"Of course."

She looked around nervously. We were about five feet from the guys I'd been with but she saw a place against one wall where we'd be around eight feet from the nearest people. Some distance is usually important to a girl at this point. She gestured at it. "Over there?"

I nodded and she started to turn towards it. I reached out and took her hand in mine. She turned her head back and smiled at me gratefully, before leading me to the spot.

When we reached it and she turned back to me, I held out my drink. "Would you like some, it's just Coke?" She looked pretty dry.

She accepted it wordlessly and took a small sip, then a large drink. She gave me a better smile. "Thank you. Johnny, will you fuck me, please?"

It almost pisses me off when a girl is as scared as Angie was. It's like they don't expect me to be kind and thoughtful. I've bitched to Emissaries about this but they don't seem to take me very seriously. They try to soothe me and tell me that they do their best to prepare a girl, but they can't do anything like drug them so most of them are going to be at least nervous and that means something between a little and a lot scared. They've even said that a girl is entitled to be nervous and shouldn't be entirely deprived of that.

That mostly confuses me although I sometimes kind of understand it, but I really don't like the fact that I'm part of the cause. Angie was so dry that she could barely speak because she was afraid of me and what I was going to do to her.

I still had Angie's hand in mine; I raised it to my lips and gently kissed it. "Angie, it would be my privilege."

I don't like that line, but when a girl is scared it's all I've got. If it feels right I sometimes say, "It would be my very great privilege" and that's about all of the variation I've ever been able to come up with. My favorite fantasy response is, "Just doing my job, Ma'am," but I can't really say that. And I've referred to it as my "privilege" so many times that I don't know how much I mean it anymore. I want to mean it, but how many times can you say something like that and still maintain the illusion of sincerity?

The level of apprehension in the girls runs the complete gamut although biased toward the nervous side. I've had a few girls who betrayed neither the slightest fear nor the least nervousness. One of them used this for an opening line, "Hey, big guy, ready to screw my ass off? Please?" I'm a lot more comfortable at the beginning with one of those.

The "Please" part is mandatory; the Powers that Be are big on politeness. I hate it; it sounds as if the girls are begging me and when they say it, they usually sound like they're begging me. It was explained to me that the major purpose is to remind the girls that it's their initiative and consequently they can stop at any time. I think that's nonsense; when a girl is nervous I go slow and remind her myself that she sets the pace and the pace can be zero. There have been a few times when we just cuddled, sometimes naked, sometimes fully clothed.

The Powers that Be can really piss me off. That's at least partially because I have no idea who they are or what their powers are. I don't even know what they're called. If they're so hot they should have done something about the "Little Angie" thing. When she was two, a new family moved in on the same block with a five year-old Angie and they became referred to as Little and Big respectively. That was probably harmless but now Little Angie is about five foot nothing and shows no signs of getting any taller. I'll bet that she wishes that wasn't so and the appellation "Little" must rub salt in it. Big Angie is a perfectly nice, approximately normal height, approximately normal weight girl who probably doesn't like being referred to as "Big." Since they're both Angelina, the PtB should have arranged for one of them to be nicknamed Lina or something like that.

I have to admit that I never thought about that until Angie's name was offered to me. And I have to say that the Emissary didn't refer to her as Little Angie but it started to really bother me after that; I won't use the Little or Big parts ever again.

Lately I seem to be prone to obsessive anger about things that aren't very important. I would never let any of the girls see it, and I think that I keep it bottled up pretty well with everyone else; but I get to vent to the Emissaries and I do.

So you might be able to tell that I have a burn-out problem. I'd like to claim that they won't let me quit but they don't have that kind of power, that I know of. All I can really say is that they're batting a thousand at talking me out of it. Emissaries can be incredibly persuasive and keep telling me that I have improved the lives of the girls I've been with and that the girls are very grateful for what I did. They've even trotted out a few of them to say so. Pardon me while I go hurl.

After I kissed her hand and laid my line on her, Angie gave a little sob and stepped in to hug me. I stroked her back and kissed the top of her head.

There's often an emotional release when one of the scared ones discovers I'm human, that I care about her feelings. Some of them don't really hear my line; they just know that they said something that qualified as A and I responded with something that qualified as B, so now it's time for C. They're still wound pretty tight and the release will come later. But some of them, like Angie, recognize that they got something a little better than they expected; an indication that I'm sympathetic. So I got a little sob and a hug from Angie after I laid a line on her that I'd used more than a hundred times before. That twists me up pretty good. It only affects how I feel about me; I can't let it affect how I feel about her.

The basic concept, I'm told, is that a girl's first time (we're talking intercourse here) is often less pleasant than, to be blunt, ... me. I got a full lecture from an Emissary while they were recruiting me. She told me that the usual way is usually emotionally complicated and more stressful, particularly afterward. She said that most girls regretted their first time. She was very specific about that generality but I don't know if she meant all girls and whenever, or just the girls in the age range I'd be fucking who would have done it some other way. She said that it was too often unplanned and too often involved alcohol or weed or a period of emotional vulnerability or some kind of pressure.

Apparently they (whoever they are) keep some kind of watch and, when they spot a girl who they think might like to be offered an alternative, they offer one. I have no idea how many alternatives there are or how many kinds of alternatives there are. I think I know one guy who is doing the same sort of thing I am.

I was told that one of the keys was to reduce the emotional complexity. I had to promise that I would have nothing to do with the girls I'd been with, beyond saying, "Hi", for a year after I'd been with them. I've learned that the girls have a similar promise although theirs is a year or until I retire, whichever is later. There's a logical inconsistency there but not a practical one; I can't date. It's not prohibited, just impossible. Think about it.

Angie and I didn't hug for very long. Public Displays need to be explainable since afterwards we're just friends who smile and say "Hi." She stepped back and took my hand. "Thank you, Johnny. Let's go." And she led me to the bedroom.

Even casual friends can have a long conversation in a bedroom. If they both scoff at any suggestion that something else happened and there's no pattern that anyone can make any sense out of, then nothing other than their version can get any traction. You might think that there's more of a pattern than there is. What I refer to as The Friday night party is whatever Friday night party I'm supposed to be at. Some people would probably suspect that I was in the closet if it weren't for the Emissaries. They provide enough Public Displays and date-like activities to keep people from noticing my actual lack of a social life.

Girls are not offered my name without my permission. If I understand the process, and I might not, when they get close to offering the alternative to a girl they like to have names to offer as well. Every week or two I sit down with an Emissary and she gives me some names. She has pictures available in case I don't recognize a name. I once asked if I could get nudes and the Emissary said that she probably could. I wasn't quite certain that she was yanking me so I back-peddled quickly.

The Emissary always talks to me about each girl before I decide. Sometimes I get some hint from an Emissary that I should decline a name. I always accept the hint and I have never been able to imagine why she gave me the name along with the hint. The girls they offer me are always presentable and always seem nice. I accept almost all of them. I will decline a girl if I know something about her that makes me think it won't work, or if I think she's too young. Middle School girls were more than just fine when I was in Middle School, but I'm getting steadily more uncomfortable with them. I try to judge maturity rather than age but I keep seeing more girls that I have trouble imagining that I can connect with.

When I decline a girl because I think she's too young, the Emissary sometimes persuades me to change my mind. They use detailed arguments like, "Jonathan, I think the two of you would get along just fine." I prefer not to think of it as being overruled.

My skittishness about Middle School girls may be another manifestation of my emotional problems. I might be rationalizing my way to declining them because I don't think I deserve that much fun.

That's not anything resembling pedophilia; the Middle School girls I deal with are far from a random selection. I don't have a lot of hard information about the process but I've gotten bits and pieces from the girls, and I can apply some reasonable speculation to the rest.

Someone has identified the girl as being ready, both physically and emotionally, to lose her virginity. She has been judged able to understand the alternative. She has chosen the alternative. Someone has determined that she and I could get along well enough for the purpose. And she has chosen me. Setting aside the last, that adds up to a girl who is physically mature, adventurous, intelligent, and sensible. And, of course, presentable and nice.

I tend to worry about them more before the fact, but I shouldn't. I always worry about doing some kind of lasting emotional harm to a girl and these girls look young, which I translate to fragile; but they never are. And they tend to be less anxious since they've had fewer years to let the anxiety build.

A huge plus is that it hurts me less. Even without the promise, I couldn't date these girls. Most of the time I still wish I could ask her out instead of just kissing her goodbye at the end, but it hurts less that I can't.

If you add all that up, after the requirements have been met, Middle School girls are usually giggly, squirmy, uninhibited fun.

Which brings me to Sarah.

Tall, seriously cute, almost skinny except where it's important. We're into the free-play period. She's sitting on me, firmly planted. She's wearing a mischievous grin.