Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, please do not judge me for what I am about to put down, for it must be done. Though many of you may think me a monster, much as her mother did, I can assure you that I am far from it. For my love is not of all young nymphets, but only of one, and I will continue to love her until I am an aged cripple in the winter of my life and she in the autumnal years of her own. She is, and always will be, my little Dolores. My Lolita.
When she first bared herself to me, oh, how I wished to be nowhere else in that moment. She stood in her usual, carefree manner, but her glance over her shoulder as she slid the fabric from it was temptation incarnate. Her eyes were teasing and her fingers carefully held the fabric between them in the way that only a girl her age could; it was angel and devil together in that one look, both of them whispering into her ears at once, and I had the distinctive feeling that she was going to give in to one. Which one that was, I must admit to myself now, was fairly obvious, but the ignorance that I had held in the initial moment was bliss.
The shirt slid from her, baring her back to me as I had seen it once before in the back of my very own car as she had changed by her leave after I had permitted myself to collect her in the middle of summer camp. But this time held promise of much more, and now I was able to permit myself the pleasure of acting on the impulse that filled me, and I took a step forward and placed a surprisingly steady hand on the skin between her shoulders.
So soft, so smooth. And all mine.
Her front was bared, but I daren't yet look, and closed my eyes, savoring the moment that I knew would be fleeting and would vanish instantly should I do or say a single thing that might shatter the fragile glass that encased our moment so carefully within our hearts and minds. My other hand slid down her back, tracing every single contour, memorizing every single line, imprinting it into my memory for years to come, and then encountered the tightly stitched material of her short trousers, which honestly kept little out of my imagination.
I could practically feel her smile as I traced a single finger along the top edge and then down the side seam to the lace edging that tantalized me and made me envious as it had the privilege of being so close to her warm skin, and could hold her secrets so easily under its' confines.
She did not tremble nor shake as I moved my impatient fingers of my left hand to the front of her and deftly undid the three buttons at her hip that kept her hidden from me. The sudden feel of skin beneath my fingertips, instead of soft cotton, nearly undid any resolve that I might have still had in that moment, and in a sudden motion, they were gone from her and were pooled at her bare feet and ankles.
My hands now shook like leaves in a brittle, harsh wind, and I clenched them over her now bared hips, and instinctively pulled her flush against me. My mind said to wait, to be patient, but my hands, however, decided to blaze their own trail and moved from the neutral planes to dangerous ones, the fingers of my right hand sliding down over one impossibly soft thigh, gently pulling her legs apart and sliding between them until I found her hidden warmth.
Delving into soft, and now dampened folds, she arched against me, her head leaning back over my shoulder, and I dared to look and saw her bare, ripened young body and all resolve left me. My fingers made their home between her thighs, slipping over her repeatedly, drawing out the most delightful sounds from her throat, and my left hand slipped up her side and boldly grasped onto her soft mound of flesh, kneading it to a hardened point that seemed to invite suckling. No longer in control of my body, I removed my hands for a brief moment, at which a desperate cry of protest escaped her lips, but then stopped as I laid her on the mattress that had been only a few scant feet from where I had witnessed her surrender to my control.
She stared up at me with those eyes; the innocence gone, only pure, unadulterated need etched into her girl-woman features. I would gladly give her what she needed.
Quickly, like a mad man about to jump into freezing, arctic waters, I pulled my clothes from my person, desperately wishing the entire time that the fashion of the day did not require so many layers and so much time. Each second my fingers were unlacing laces, unbuckling belts, pulling at buttons, and tearing at zippers, was a second wasted. Soon, all of my fastenings were gone, and I fell to my knees, glad for the excuse to no longer have to hold myself upright.
In a hunger that startled both myself and the nymphet before me, I grabbed her legs and dragged them down the sheets, leaving only her torso on the mattress, and then lifted her right leg, firmly placing the arch of her foot on the rounded bone of my shoulder, leaving her spread before me. Oh, gods above, nothing can describe the taste that I encountered there between her soft thighs. Sweeter than any honey, more intoxicating than the opium of the smoke houses of my ill-guided youth, richer than any nectar of the gods. She arched and keened under my attentions, and I knew that I could listen to those sounds that fell from her lips for forever. I laved deeply into her center, I suckled sharply at her engorged nub, I nipped gently at her sweet, succulent flesh, and felt a surge of pleasure run through me as I felt her body suddenly seize, and a freshet of thick juices coated my tongue, drowning me in her taste. What I would have given to be able to stay in the valley of her thighs for forever, and if not that, then to have the taste of her spread over bread every morning for the rest of my life.
Slowly I rose, sliding her back up the mattress, strength suddenly renewed to my once weak limbs, a surge of masculine pride welling up within my chest and groin at seeing her limp body and glazed eyes, her chest heaving, inviting me to take my place at her breast like a child at his mother's teat. Unable to resist the siren call, I fell to the most welcome task and gladly worked my tongue over pebbled flesh, suckling each dark tip into my mouth, relishing in the taste of her. My Lolita.
Gods above and man below, do not judge me for my pleasure at her body, for it was also her pleasure, as she repeated one word again and again into my ears. More. More. She begged me, pleaded with me, and who was I to deny her ever so eloquent request? In response, my teeth joined my lips and I knew as I left my mark on her, that she was relishing every second of it, as my hand had gone wandering and was down between her warm thighs once more, gently thrusting, and as I nipped ever so gently, she clenched around my fingers, a slippery, wet glove that told me she wanted more. I gladly complied to her wishes and suckled her breast even deeper between my lips and teeth.
Her hips started to thrust against my hand and I knew, in the moment, that I had to have her.
While still lavishing attention on her bosom, I slipped my hips between her thighs and used my free hand to grasp myself to position to finally become one with my Lolita, while moving my hand from her center to her nub, rubbing the broad pad of my thumb over it repeatedly, watching her core became more ripe before my eyes. Gently, I placed myself just inside of her…and then slid home in one fell stroke, like a hot knife through butter, no resistance in my predetermined path, and gasped as she clenched tightly around me and a low groan escaped her lips.
I was home. Finally.
Her legs rose around my hips, her thighs flush against my sides, her calves up towards the ceiling until they dropped over my shoulders and I gave a second thrust. At this, her head canted back and the most lovely sound emerged from her slender throat. My name. Never before had my name sounded so lovely to my ears, so perfect in its deliverance. A rhythm as old as time built between us, and I soon found myself lost in her body, in her soul. With every breath that she took, I felt my soul pouring into hers, and even if it is never returned to me, I know that I should die happy; blissful, even.
Her completion was closely followed by my own, and as I nearly collapsed over her lithe form beneath me, all I could feel and hear was my blood pounding through my veins, my heart trying to escape through my chest, trying to defy all laws of physics. Gently, I disengaged myself from her slender form and fell to the side, breathing heavily, though loathe to part from her for any length of time, so merely sated my desire to be near her by gently grasping her hand in mine, entwining our sweat-covered palms, fingers locked as though two parts of a perfect whole.
As you read this, gentle women and men, I know you are disgusted, angry, wanting to reach into this memory and wrench us apart, to slap shackles onto my wrists and cart me off to some prison from whence I could never return, and for that I can understand, but I am not asking you to understand, just to know.
I will love her far beyond anyone has ever loved anyone else in the history of time. Oh, I know that this sounds exaggerated, and more poetic license than anything that can be logically comprehended, but I know with every bone in my body that it is the truth. She is the light of my life, the fire of my loins. My sin. My soul.