Chapter 1: Lust and Fantasy

Pretty little Leslie Weaver needed sex, and she needed it badly. As she lay in bed with her hand down the front of her panties, she decided she would have to do something about it soon. Lately her fingers just weren't doing the job.

Whoever said that men were more driven by their hormones than women had obviously never met Leslie. Ever since that first time that she had touched herself, she had needed it more and more. Like this morning, for instance. She had already gotten herself off once, but it had done little to quench her desires. All it did was leave her yearning for more.

Depending upon the definition used, the thirteen-year-old girl could still be considered a virgin. She had accidentally broken her hymen with her own fingers one night in her enthusiasm. Fortunately it was in the bath so the telltale signs washed quietly and discreetly away. It wasn't as big a deal as people made it out to be. A little temporary pain, and then it was all over.

Then there was that time, a couple of weeks ago, when she had fooled around with one of her girlfriends. They were just experimenting, and although it had been fun, again it had just been mostly touching with a little kissing and licking. But she had never felt the joy of a deep penetration by a stiff cock, the satisfying fulfillment that could only come from having a man shoot his seed deep within her. Some of her friends who had gone all the way with their boyfriends had told her about such pleasures, and she needed to experience it for herself.

There was one problem though. She didn't find any of the boys she knew the least bit attractive. Oh sure, there were plenty of handsome boys at her school, but their immaturity and constant self-centered attitude turned her off. If any of them were the type who would make her feel comfortable, they sure hid it well.

No, she needed someone mature and experienced, someone who knew what they were doing, someone who had progressed beyond the awkwardness and self-focus of adolescence. But that meant finding an older man willing to do it with a younger girl like her. Basically, the kind of man her mother warned her about.

She wished she could find the kind of man her mother warned her about. Sometimes when she hung out with her friends at the mall she glanced around to see if any men were looking at her. Sometimes she caught the eyes of a thirty- or forty-year-old guy checking out the group of girls. The thought of them mentally undressing her gave her such a thrill. Unfortunately, a public place like that was the wrong location for them to proposition her. She needed to find a nice, quiet place where she could be alone with one of them.

She could always take a trip into one of the seedier neighborhoods in the city, hoping to run into some filthy pervert who would rape her. But there was too much of a chance that that would lead to violence. She wanted to fuck, not get her throat slit.

More than once she had fantasized about seducing one of her teachers. She had heard stories of male teachers seducing their young female students, but sadly nothing like that ever happened to her. Of course, Leslie had been cursed with mostly older, and sometimes hideously ugly, teachers. The only one young and good-looking enough that she would consider giving herself to him was Mr. Collins, and he was openly gay.

Her alarm rang, snapping her out of her fantasies. She groaned in frustration and disappointment, then climbed out of bed and headed for the shower. Well, at least she could continue her self-stimulation under the water. It would have to do for now.

Once in the bathroom, she stripped off her night clothes, then took a moment to check herself out in the mirror. She really was a cutie, with shoulder-length, light brown hair and innocent hazel eyes with long lashes. She had a slightly upturned nose, just enough to give her a bit of a childlike look. Her lips were nice and pouty, and they produced cute little dimples when she smiled. Everyone said she had a nice smile, and she liked to practice it as often as she could.

Her thirteen-year-old body looked absolutely stunning. She didn't have particularly full boobs, at least not yet, but at the rate things were going she would have a great pair one day. She was already sporting nicely curved hips framing a pretty little pussy with just a touch of peach fuzz on it. Right now it was red and glistening from her earlier attentions.

She felt her best features, though, were her legs. Long and shapely, they had a graceful curve to them and tended to sway her hips a lot when she walked. She liked to wear skirts, the shorter the better, although unfortunately the school had a dress code that prohibited her from displaying as much as she would like. She tended to wear short stockings so at least her lower legs were fully visible.

She turned on the water, then stepped into the shower, immediately returning her hands to the task that had been interrupted so rudely by the alarm clock. Playing with herself in the shower was a lot different from playing with herself in bed. The warm water helped to relax her, but because she was on her feet she couldn't afford to apply all of her energy to her self-stimulation. Still, she had brought herself nearly there before the alarm went off, so it didn't take long for her to achieve her second orgasm of the day. She gritted her teeth to keep the sound from escaping; the last thing she wanted was to alert her mother to what she was doing in the bathroom. The pleasure passed through her and slowly faded, leaving her only partially satisfied.

She needed a man. That was all there was to it.

She finished showering, then dried herself and headed back out to her room where she searched through the closet for a tee-shirt and sufficiently short skirt. Something easy to flip up if she found a moment to herself during the day where she could finger herself to orgasm again. She found a suitable outfit and put it on, then returned once more to the bathroom to fix her face. Afterward, she headed downstairs to breakfast. Her mother wasn't up yet; since she didn't have to be at work until nine, she often slept in later than Leslie. That was fine; Leslie had long since learned to get herself ready for school, and since the bus stopped right in front of her house anyway, she didn't have to deal with a long walk.

Not that she would have minded walking. Maybe some pervert in a car would pull up to the curb and invite her back to his place. Wouldn't that be fun! But unfortunately, her mother would be furious if Leslie skipped a day of school, especially to go get laid by a complete stranger. No, she was going to have to find another way.

She sighed in frustration, wondering just how she was going to get herself a man.

Thirty-year old Roger Gardner needed sex, and he needed it badly. The problem was that he had very specific tastes, the kind of tastes that could get him arrested if he acted on them.

He lay in bed, tossing and turning restlessly. Roger worked as a night security guard at the local mall, so he normally didn't get up until three in the afternoon. Unfortunately, when the dreams hit, he awoke with a raging erection and longing for a bit of teenage pussy.

Most people would call him a pedophile. He disagreed. So what if he liked to look at young girls? So what if he got aroused at the sight of a twelve- or thirteen-year-old? Considering the way the girls dressed these days, who could blame him? It wasn't like he was staring at eight-year-olds, innocent little girls who had no concept of sexuality at all. The girls he liked were old enough to know what sex was, and quite a few of them had probably experienced it first-hand. Why was it socially acceptable for a boy of that age to find such girls sexy, when a man like Roger wasn't allowed to?

Besides, he had never done anything about it. He had his fantasies, and he had his dreams, but he kept them to himself. Hardly a soul knew that he was interested in girls that young, and that's the way it would stay. He knew enough to keep his hands off. He was no child molester by any means. Despite his fantasies, despite his habit of sitting in the mall watching the cute young girls walk by, he would never harm one of them. On the contrary, he would go out of his way to protect them from the real bad men out there, if the chance ever arose.

He often took the role of hero in his dreams, and the one that had been playing out in his mind before he awoke that morning was no exception. This time he was a detective who had rescued the daughter of a prominent politician from a mob hit man. Other times he had been a policeman, or a gunslinger in the old west, or a knight braving untold dangers to rescue the fair young damsel.

The fair young damsel was always very fair, and very young. Sometimes she had blond hair, sometimes brunette. Sometimes she was a shy young thing, sometimes wild and impulsive. But always the dream ended the same way. The girl was so thankful for his bravery that she rewarded him with a kiss from her sweet, delicious red lips. From that kiss she sensed that he wanted more, and she was always willing to provide it. She slipped out of her clothes, baring herself to him. Then she approached him, reaching out to embrace him...

Why did he always have to wake up right before the best part? He would even be satisfied if it ended a little sooner, just after the kiss. At least then he would wake with a happy feeling, because the dream would have had some kind of conclusion. But then his dream girl had to go and tempt him, making it such a horrible experience when he woke. In his aroused state, he always found it difficult to go back to sleep.

He sighed as he stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Sometimes he wished he could get away with having an affair with a girl that young. What was so inherently wrong with it, after all? Just because society or the law frowned upon it didn't mean it had to be a bad experience. He would be gentle. He would treat the girl with the respect and caring that she deserved. It could be wonderful for both him and her. He would make it special.

But no, he would never do it. Not as long as the law was against him, and not as long as mothers taught their daughters to fear men like him. If those girls were afraid of him, they would at the very least feel uncomfortable, and it could be psychologically damaging for them. And that was the last thing he wanted. So he would suffer in silence, and the girls would never know how much he was sacrificing for their sake.