“What am I doing?” I think, hungrily gazing at the sweet, nearly naked coed trembling before me. White lace bikini panties are all that conceals her sex. Kim is only four foot ten inches tall, probably weighing ninety pounds soaking wet. When we first met, she was just nineteen, seeming more girl child than young woman, almost half my size, and easily half my age. A blend of Vietnamese, Thai and French, she is like a China doll. With long, raven black hair pulled back in a ponytail, her Eurasian features are enhanced. She has very dark brown, almost black eyes that are wide, and in the moment, showing anxiety bordering on fear.

Pale pink lips tremble slightly, revealing more of her nervous tension. Her mouth is too wide for such a narrow face, but I love her features, especially a small, straight nose that always gives her a look of determination, and sometimes defiance. Pert little mountains high on her satiny chest, her breasts are small, not quite an A-cup, their peaks distinct with conical areola darker than the flawless, golden skin of her chest, a marked contrast with dark brown nipples that are almost black in the dim light of my bedroom. Despite her petite form, she has flaring hips with a distinct gap at the juncture of her thighs. A small, silky thatch of black hair shadows a barely visible, vertical slit.

Part of me is afraid, certain I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t resist, beyond any thought of stopping. I’m not a monster, really. I’m not a pedophile or child molester, just a man in love.

I met Kim almost four years ago, when she and two university classmates inquired about renting rooms in a cottage at one corner of my property. Yes, university! I was surprised that the shy, mousy little girl hiding behind the others was actually a student. At first, I thought she might be twelve or thirteen, one of those ‘vunder-kinder’, genius children, a prodigy far above the norm.

Her small, narrow face was hidden behind a pair of glasses that were too large and not in the least stylish. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, her hair was straight and simply cut. She wore baggy clothes that accentuated more than hid her petite frame.

I was well-off. My acreage included what had once been a carriage house, later converted to a modest, four-bedroom cottage. The property’s dilapidated old mansion had been demolished, replaced by a single-level rancher of my own design, the house modern, modest and comfortable. Since my land was adjacent to the regional college and the university campus, I rented the cottage out to needy but suitably vetted students. I rarely took notice of the four youngsters who rented the place year after year, but, for some reason, I kept noticing the tiny Eurasian girl.

Kimberly Lee Yon was a curiosity, though I couldn’t say why she kept snagging my attention. One morning as I examined a bed of flowers bordering the property gates, I saw her leaving for classes. I called out, saying, “Hello, Kimberly.”

She looked up and blushed, giving a little wave before rushing off.

After that morning, I made a point of greeting her every time our paths crossed. Within a few weeks, she would stop and chat, her precise voice sometimes betraying a curious oriental accent. Gradually, she became comfortable, answering questions about her studies and future hopes. That was when I learned she was nineteen, not twelve or thirteen.

One night I caught sight of her alone, hurrying off campus, almost jogging towards my rental cottage. It was well after dark. The next morning, I made a point of intercepting the girl, asking why she wasn’t with somebody, warning her about the risk of assault, something that unfortunately was happening at too many colleges and universities. Even then, I was starting to feel protective, convinced that my feelings were stirred up because she appeared so vulnerable. I put my interest down to the longing for children, and especially a daughter.

As it turned out, Kim didn’t have a computer, and needed to use the college lab to do her assignments. Sometimes it got quite late. Not wanting her to take such risks, I offered her one of my spare laptops. She refused. Puzzled, I told her there were three desktop PCs in my home office, one generally on, linked into market data. It wasn’t like I needed more than one for my own work, so I told her she was welcome to the use of one at any time. After some haggling, and reminding her there had been two sexual assaults and a brutal rape the previous semester, convincing her to share my private space and a computer wasn’t too difficult. Certainly, it would be better than taking the risk of walking alone across campus from the library or computer lab after dark.

So, over the following years, Kim became a regular visitor, getting familiar with my home, using my office computers whenever she had the need.

Many times we sat and talked over coffee or herbal tea as she took a break from studies. Eventually, as she came out of an introvert shell, I learned about her past. She was an only child, her father a Vietnamese refugee, her mother Thai and French. For an unspecified reason, her mother ran off when Kim was only four, leaving her with an overworked father and maternal Thai grandmother. Thanks to his lacking a trade or education, her father worked several jobs. He was strict, and didn’t approve of her going to university. His initial argument had been that he couldn’t afford the expense, but she confided it was mostly because he was fearful that she would rise above his menial circumstances, eventually bringing shame on him.

Despite her father’s ignorant, controlling attitude, Kim had an independent spirit, working odd jobs, taking out student loans to make up any shortfall in scholarships and bursaries.

Impressed with the girl, I found myself telling Kim things I hadn’t talked about in years. She found out that despite our wanting children, my wife couldn’t have a baby, dying childless fifteen years ago. I shared how I’d lost my dream of having a family. Instead, I’d sublimated all my grief and energy into building business interests, accumulating wealth, ten years earlier purchasing my current property, burying myself in work, orchestrating deals while avoiding most demands of society.

Despite learning of my wealth, Kim several times refused my financial help. She continually refused the gift of a new laptop, insisting that she would much rather visit me, borrowing the use of my office computers.