She walked past, her ass writhing like a bag full of cats beneath that tight jean skirt. My pecker ached so bad to stick it in her cooch. I followed h...r. She was so beautiful, vivacious—desirable.Beguiling figure, comely face.What could this little girl do to me? It was getting hard to think as my blood filled up my pecker. I reached out, stroking her neck. She gave a delightful squeal, whirling about, looking wild-eyed. I loved this part, watching the fear, feeling my power over the girl. Her. Unlike Cecily in "Importance of being Earnest," it's not "simply a very young girl's record of her own thoughts and impressions, and consequently meant for publication." My journal is my journal. My dictionary says that's "a record of experiences, ideas, or reflections kept regularly for private use." So there, Mr. Simmonds!Dad stopped Mum from destroying the garden. They talked for a while and then Dad came inside. "Do you think you could sleep in my study for a while?" he asked."Sure. Why?" I. More

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