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As with the last time I posted, this is outside the normal bounds of my posting schedule. Or, more accurately, I blew right past when I said I’d post and am here 24 hours later instead. Maybe some people are used to checking at this point in time regardless of date, maybe not. I actually did deign to open one of the unapproved archives of my story and was shocked to see well over a hundred views. There are that many of you out there? I find it hard to believe, but it warms my heart regardless.
Right now my life has taken a few unexpected twists and turns, though nothing harmful has directly befallen Cassie herself, so rest assured there. However a tangential character from our story is not faring so well. Such is life.
Today’s entry has no specific word count I’m shooting for, just however much it takes to cover the material I want to cover. Likely a bit on the short side, but the last time I said that I overshot by quite a bit. We’ll see.
Part six left us at a much happier moment than part five. Let’s relish in it for a moment. Part five closed with me thinking the door between Cassie and myself had been slammed shut, and the object of all my affection would now forever be out of my reach. Essentially, part five left me with no reason to wake up each morning. But then part six, glorious part six, delivered on the promise of redemption. I made it back into the good graces of the family, though not without pain and struggles along the way.
Weeks without seeing Cassie. Weeks! And then, finally, dinner with them. And then I went and made things just a liiiiitle complicated yet again, by having sex with Cassie’s mom. Phew, just writing the sentence makes me feel a bit guilty. Now I do not find the woman unattractive, I can identify bits of Cassie in her, but she is nothing like Cassie herself.
I am not here to write pornography, as I’ve said before. But I will go into slightly more detail despite all of you covering your eyes and saying “ew gross get with the loli”. The first time I, uh, committed a sexual act within the house, it was all the more intense with knowing this was where Cassie lived. This was her home. My attraction to her mixed with my arousal, and despite the, um, act being alone, it was more than I expected.
SO CLASSY, GOOD OL’ HUMBERT
Where I’m obviously going with that is the simple fact that having sex in the house was far better than sex I’ve had previously. This was a woman who desperately needed love and affection, not just physical. I was providing that in the latter capacity for the first time. And knowing she was the one who gave birth to Cassie, who raised her...
And I’ll be even more frank. Knowing Cassie was sleeping mere yards away. And there was a picture of her on the nightstand. God, I’m a monster, but I acknowledge it all the time. At least my ability to be with an older partner means I’m not a hopeless case, I think.
All these factors contributed to the sex being far better than my expectations would have had me at. But you know what they say about older women. Well, they say it, something about older women being good at the sex? I’m not sure now.
So, drunken night of sex with a partner of an age I had never had on my radar before.
“FUCK, HUMBERT” says the reader, “GET BACK TO CASSIE, WTF IS THIS SHIT”
Okay, fine.
The next morning. I made them breakfast. The girls were overjoyed to see me, or so I told myself, in reality there was still work to be done. They knew I was trying to get back in their good graces and like most finicky little girls were going to do their best to make me earn it.
Fortunately, I do not give up easily. And these girls would love me again if it was the LAST THING I DID.
Hm, that comes across really poorly. Oh well.
I took off after breakfast, a smattering of small conversation occurring between us, a quick good morning and not much else to their mother before I sped away to get new clothes on and head to work. I knew I’d have to deal with the situation I’d created with the mother eventually, but for now was happy to see things finally turning back around.
And turn around they did! With one small speed bump. Or two. The first coming when my family decided to finally horn in on this perfect little life I was building. Following my graduation from a good college, I was supposed to be earning tons of money and fucking the poor alongside the highest percenters of the one percent. I was not doing this, rather handicapping my options by limiting myself to the area where Cassie lived. Which I do not regret one bit! My family, though. They, specifically my mother, had decided this woman (Cassie’s mother) was trying to leach money from me and control me with her voodoo vagina (not exact words, but basically).
Fortunately, I did not give a fuck what my family thought, and let them know this. This was, however, the closest it came at that point to someone outright stating the thing staring them right in the face. This has been asked about before, thus my detailing of this somewhat tangential occurrence. The strangeness of a single young man with a widowed mother passed under the radar for most people.
When drilled by my family, I told them there was no romantic attraction underlying my relationship with that woman (lol, now sort of a lie?). We were friends, I loved her, and I loved my little instant-family I could help provide for. People at my age didn’t usually get to have their own families, and I did. And I liked it. They needed me. Etc. Pretty much an honest explanation of my relationship with them, omitting one very key detail.
That was the detail that was starting to come to light.
It was only a matter of time, really. Everyone is carrying a massive axe to grind for those who may have inappropriate attraction to minors, and society seems to only seek a reason to ruin someone who even appears to have done something inappropriate. Who here has done something appearing a bit wrong?
Oh shit. Me.
The exact words escape me, but I still feel my stomach drop just thinking about the conversation.
“Humbert, you need to be spending time with someone your age. You need to focus on your own future.”
“I am focused on my future. And I’m very happy about it. I don’t need a girlfriend to be happy at this point.”
“Obviously you don’t need a girlfriend. But you need to hang out with people your age.”
“She’s an older woman. It isn’t an issue. Good grief, this shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I’m not talking about the mother.”
Here is where I had to sit down, feeling lightheaded, I wouldn’t be surprised if a small gasp managed to escape me. Did she have some sort of proof of something? Did she know? Could she see into my head?
“....what are you saying?” That was about all I could come up with.
“God help you if you’ve done something with those girls, Humbert.”
“Excuse me?” My voice was likely high and wavering.
“It isn’t right for someone your age--”
Here is where I grew some balls and started shouting.
“How dare you! You can’t throw around accusations like that. That’s enough to ruin my life, just saying it! That family is everything to me, they are more my family than you are. How could you even... How could you?”
Blah blah blah, continue righteous indignation for a while. She backed down, though still angry, and did not bring up the accusation again. At least with me. It took me hours, even several days to get over the horrific shock of thinking the rug had been pulled out from under me. I had NOT done anything wrong with Cassie. I hadn’t! Right? ...but what if I had, somehow? What if it was enough?
This was a dangerous line. But I knew I was going to keep toeing it. I had no other choice.
Let’s see. For narrative ease, I would transition towards the incredibly uncomfortable conversation with Cassie’s mother following our first night together, but I’ve really made all of you suffer with little-to-no Cassie for far too long. Here is the incredibly abbreviated version -- we agreed it wasn’t the best idea, and we were clearly both just very emotional about coming back together. We didn’t regret it but didn’t want to make it a ‘thing’. I would retain my own bed when I came over. But this didn’t mean it would never happen again. But for now, it wasn’t what either of us needed, though we did clearly needed one another in some way. Did the girls need to know? ...no.
Confusing? Yes. But out of the way. And that was the important thing. The very last part is likely the most important, as she was the one who proposed it, not wanting to ‘complicate’ things any further than we already had. I’ll let you think through all the different things this could mean, as I spent hours doing just that. She had never said a word about me and the girls. But my mother had -- surely she had thought it? Why hadn’t she brought it up? Hm.
Alright, to finish up part seven we’ll go as full of Cassie as possible. Ready? Let’s go!
To start off with, we’ll discuss a trend that seemed to sweep the early elementary years at Cassie’s school. Perhaps this was a worldwide thing, perhaps it was only our area. I am not sure. Maybe you know? Anyway -- as most of us are likely aware, most girls do not need to wear a bra or derivative thereof until around 12. Sometimes as young as 10, sometimes far later than 12, but that’s a good number to cut it off at. Ignoring the outliers whose parents buy them a training bra due to incessant whining, as those girls are hated by most everyone.
So, we’ve established that girls do not need bras when they are 9. This does not stop them from wishing they had them. To alleviate this desire, some girls would do their best to imitate their wearing of a bra. For those in Cassie’s grade, following the lead of grades above them I believe, this meant wearing a tank top underneath absolutely any outfit. As extremely detail-oriented and longtime readers will recall, Cassie owns at least one such tank top, one I found particularly memorable.
So whenever I was in a group of Cassie’s friends, picking her up or dropping her off or just running into them, it was more than normal for all of them to have straps slipping into the necks of their t-shirts, or clearly visible beneath the tight shoulders of blouses. Basically, showing off the fact that they had one on, despite them...not even being bras. Little girls, right? I’ll never entirely understand them.
Cassie was not immune to this trend, obviously, and it took about two instances before I asked her about it, with her shrugging it off as a completely normal thing to do even in warmer months/situations. Her mother filled me in on the details, and I laughed before something deep down in me wished I could let Cassie know there was no reason to rush growing up. Cassie in a bra? Needing one, no less? That thought was...not something I relished nor looked forward to. When that time came, what would happen to the two of us? ...fortunately, that was a long time away, and I left it for future Humbert to deal with.
I’ve barely even mentioned Mary and Olivia throughout this, so just a quick aside to say that Olivia was still the only one in a training bra (since this is such a bra-centric part of our tale), and was clearly starting to need one. My interest in her had always been scant to say the least, and her rapid development into a ‘tween’ or whatever advertisers call them was causing even that slim amount to rapidly disintegrate. Mary, whom I found more emotionally and physically appealing than Olivia though obviously exponentially less than Cassie, had yet to hit that point. I decided she would be a good barometer for Cassie’s ‘development’.
Creepy old Humbert, planning far far ahead. I’m sorry, but I am who I am.
So obviously at this point, visions of lolis are dancing in your head, Humbert’s emotional concerns left far behind. Great! Let’s extend that emotion as long as possible.
Mary and Cassie were both heavily into this tank top trend, and Mary had apparently invented a maneuver they could do when in semi-public situations to get the tank top off, once it was unbearably uncomfortable or too hot. This involved pulling their arms inside their normal shirt, wriggling around for ages, and pulling the tank top down and around their waists, down their legs, and off. It looked about as weird and hilarious as it sounds, especially when people started noticing the armless girls glancing around wildly, red-faced, a piece of clothing suddenly dropping off their body.
I was primarily familiar with the ‘trick’, as they called it, as it was employed in the backseat of my car very often, to great hilarity from myself. Did I dare suggest the trick was not necessary in my car? Well, not directly. But I did think it. Wondered if maybe someday it wouldn’t be necessary.
And my daydream came true, reader!
[Okay, now writing live. Looks like yet again I've missed what few readers are active on here. Thanks to the two of you who are here! Writing to a partially filled closet is better than an empty auditorium. I'll try to make this one as worth it as possible!]
One thing I did not realize while the ‘trick’ was still being used was what the exact state of the tank tops was. If I had known back then, I suspect I’d have had a hard time keeping the car on the road. But I was going to find out.
Let’s go right to that exact day. Here we are!
I picked up Cassie from school. Just her today, the other two having whatever after-school thing they had that particular day. Cassie and I in the car, a normal occurrence, her sharing her day at school. Me marveling at the fact that I got to spend time with this girl. It was an unseasonably warm day, obviously the trick was coming. I heard shuffling and movement in the backseat for a moment and glanced in my rearview mirror.
Almost plowed my car off the road. Almost.
Here’s where I explain what the hell “state of the tank tops” means. I looked in the rearview mirror, and here is where I’ll freeze time because I have artistic license and can do that.
Cassie was wearing a tank top easily from when she was six. It had the oh-so-important straps looping over her shoulders, but the neckline was barely above her nipples, exposing her collarbone entirely and most of her chest. And then, moving downwards, it did not come close to reaching her waist. Her cute belly was exposed, belly button marking the center of...I don’t know, her stomach? I can’t think of words strong enough to explain the loveliness of a loli’s belly. You have to see one for yourself. Flat, smooth, blemishless. Perfection. Like every other part of her, really.
Did I know what was coming next and almost stop the car? You bet. Instead I kept one eye firmly in the rearview and the other on the road. More realistically, both focused on the rearview while endangering lives all around me. WHATEVER, BRO.
The last time I saw her half-undressed was literally months before. I’d been teased with loose arm holes and gaping necklines, but this was the first time it was coming to me yet again. With her knowing full well what she was doing, even glancing towards me for a split second as she set her shirt next to her, ready to put back on.
She pulled an arm into her tank top, the strap dangling loosely next to her shoulder as she peeled it up and off.
I don’t have words, reader. Which is rare for me. As the eagle-eyed reader previously mentioned will remember, the delicious flat chest possessed by our idol did not have delicate pink nipples, but rather a somewhat darker shade, still resting atop pads of flesh to one day become breasts, not yet there.
My car plunged off a bridge, hitting the water, killing us both instantly.
Psych just kidding.
I say just kidding because obviously hitting water wouldn’t be enough to kill us. I think?
In reality, I am unsure how I managed to keep us both on the road. Miraculously, I did. Maybe it was my mind slowing down time, but it seemed like she was taking her sweet time putting her shirt back on. Leaning over luxuriously, showing herself off, the tiniest hint of her panty’s waistline appearing above her shorts.
Oh -- reminding me of the time I had seen her naked, the time we had shared a bed, the time I first held her... Reminding me of nearly everything. She was why I was still here, why my life centered around a seemingly ordinary (to an inexcusably unobservant eye!) little girl. I was so happy to be here with her.
Am I a monster, as I said above? I suppose to some.
But I am Humbert, and I can only apologize for myself so much.
I have little else to add before the end of our time together tonight. I realize it was a bit faster than usual, I actually took the time to write up and edit the vast majority before posting it. Looks like a couple more readers found me, so I can rest easy for the rest of the day knowing I didn’t elude absolutely everyone who may care to partake in our tale.
Things are roughly back to normal now. The disaster I created mostly atoned for. Our relationship was back on track -- but back on track towards what? Where did this path end?
I was scared. I was excited. I was aroused and terrified.
I wondered about the future. I waited to see what it would bring.
I come bearing bad news yet again. My schedule has been dramatically changed, and as such I barely got on in time to post this (even though it is somewhat late). I am not going to write a more "plot heavy" section tonight, but rather something a little more light-hearted/fun/shorter. I will also be finding a new time to post, so tell your friends, I'll figure that out by the time I'm done writing.
This is the perfect time to get caught up on our little story though. I'll leave it to a pastebin fag to post links.
I am coming up dry folks, is there anything someone wants to hear about? One of the few times you'll have me completely at your mercy. Otherwise I'll brainstorm for a bit longer and then potentially call it a day.
Sorry for fucking everyone and their expectations, I know it doesn't feel good.
Okay, I got a little short one for you~
So at one point during my time with Cassie (I believe this was directly before "the girlfriend incident"), we were watching TV. Obviously that means only one thing for me, that being loli cuddle tiem, and I will never stop being a fan of that particular activity.
I am writing this in the textbox, not on my computer, so excuse spelling/length/other issues.
So we are sitting there and she is on my lap. I am sitting with my legs straight in front of me on the ground, she is straddling them with her legs sorta bent back around mine, feet next to my hips. I rested my hands on her sides and she melted backwards into me, pulling my arms around her tummy so I was holding her as close as possible~ She was wearing a nightgown and had showered recently, so her hair was a little damp and smelled oh-so-delicious.
Absolutely a heavenly moment, other than the insistent Little Buddy in my pants making himself known. But I was a pro at dealing with him surreptitiously at that point.
Olivia was watching TV as well, seated next to us on the couch, not really paying attention to the two of us. I love that despite my almost overt increased affection for Cassie, nothing was ever said by her sisters, I wonder if they perhaps fought for my attention and she, thank goodness, won? Regardless, this sort of light petting was totally the norm, even with the other girls in the room. Obviously this led to me being certain I wasn't doing anything wrong, otherwise the girls would call me out. Right? Ehh...sorta.
So I have my arms around her and she's leaning back into me. She shifts her legs so they rest atop mine, her knees obviously nowhere near mine, legs sorta awkwardly sticking out from my lap.
This leads to her butt squashing down onto me. Derp.
Anyway guyz, I can go down one of two roads here, either the more flowery cutesie side or the total depraved Humbert side. I'll choose something in the middle? Is that possible?
Cute, nightgown-clad butts pressing into your lap? It is pretty nice.
Okay so I just went for the mildly illiterate side of things. Anyway.
She sinks back into me with a little sigh. I am poking her pretty hard with my Mage's Staff (LOLOL) but honestly there was nothing to be done for it. Whatevs.
But the sigh, her body close to mine, my arms so easily encircling her... Every time I get close to this girl, she reminds me of how fantastic she is.
Here comes the punchline, don't worry.
She bent her head downwards, giving me a peek at her delicate neck, hair wetly parting across her shoulders. Cassie mumbled something downwards, almost into my arm, sounding like "uh low ooh."
So I am left thinking "what did she just say", coming up with the obvious answer.
I brought a hand up her tummy, across her chest, gently pushing up against her forehead until her head fell back against my shoulder, leaning my head in a bit closer, whispering "I love you" back to her, a tiny grin spreading across my face as I said it, loving being able to express that to someone who actually meant something to me, someone who...I don't know, exactly. What future did we have? Ahh, but now we get towards plot, and that wasn't in my plan for this post. Anyway.
She made a contented grunt, nodding a bit, silence drifting over the two of us (except the blaring TV, long forgotten by me) for several long moments.
And then she looked up at me, clearly formulating words, finally saying:
"Um, Humbert?" Me, happy dreaming voice: "Yes?" Her: "I said hello. Not I love you." Me: [silence]
Me: "Well."
Giggles were had. My face was red. Good ol' Humbert.
Welcome to the penultimate chapter of our tale. Yes, it is almost time for me and my writing to fade back into the ether of these tubes.
Obviously I am posting this not at the time I had promised. My internet situation has unfortunately been negatively impacted, i.e. I couldn’t get to /b/ in time. Those who are meant to see this chapter still will, I am sure, but still I apologize to those who have taken my promised posting times as gospel truth. The number one thing to remember when dealing with an unreliable narrator is to realize he is probably lying, the only mystery is whether or not it is on purpose.
Let us take a moment to look back on how far we’ve come. At the beginning of our tale, I was a lone wolf doing his own thing (watching copious amounts of Afro Ninja, jerking off). A year and a half later, perhaps a bit more, I am the surrogate father to a family with three little girls. Despite my relative youth (I am not old enough to have a 13-year-old, let’s just say that), this family became mine. And I had become theirs.
And, more specifically, I was Cassie’s. The 9-year-old heroine of our tale, the reason you still F5 until your fingers bleed, the reason I still put pen to paper (fingers to keyboard). I tried being her friend. I tried excising her from my life. Every time, no matter what I tried, things snapped back onto one track.
I attempted to escape. I tried to scoot my ass right out of there, hoping to avoid the collision course I saw myself on.
The incidents of her exposing herself to me made me wonder if perhaps she was being...exploited. By someone else. God, yes, I suppose what I’m doing by even writing this in a public sphere is exploitation by definition. But maybe she was acting out because someone was messing around with her?
...someone other than me. Someone willing to cross the line I was only able to toe.
Unfortunately, there is no simple way to bring up that sort of question without looking like you are the guilty party or that you have a prurient interest. Fucked if I did, fucked if I didn’t. So I decided to keep my ears to the ground, decided to see if I saw anyone interacting with her in a way I found worthy of suspicion.
Oh the irony.
This was one of the final turns in my relationship with Cassie. One of my last-ditch efforts to be something other than what I saw myself becoming. After all, she had no father. Why couldn’t I step into that void? It would make sense, sort of, for me to slowly transition there from wherever I was now.
My mind raced down these paths late at night. As I lay there, my mind a jumble of fantasizing and wanting to protect her from just the sort of person I was realizing I was. Sorry, those seeking to label, this is nearly as close as I can get to labeling myself. I’m not proud of what I am. But maybe, just maybe, I exist for a reason. And could that reason be to act as a father for these girls?
Very little would need to change. I was already practically living with them, a dresser now in ‘my bedroom’, stocked with about half my clothing. I had a toothbrush in the house. Entering my own apartment became the most dreaded part of any day, as it meant I would not be with them.
We’ll move away from emotions and towards that which is more titillating soon, darling (furiously fapping) reader, I just want to make sure you understand a little bit of where Humbert’s head is in all this.
Ah, fuck it, let’s go to something more fun. I’ve judged myself plenty.
Not so long ago, a short school vacation was upon us. After discussions with the mother, I had arranged for vacation days to match up with their time off. And we decided to go to a warmer climate with a nice beach, a bit far away but not overly expensive.
I think you see where this is going.
Believe it or not, there was one thing I had never seen Cassie wearing. There were pictures in photo albums of her in a bikini. But as far as I could tell, she did not regularly wear one. We had gone to the pool together and other “water” events requiring a swimsuit. She’d always worn a one-piece swimsuit, usually purple (as detail-oriented readers could likely guess). Not that I’m complaining too much about that, it isn’t like I complain about seeing her with clothing on. This girl is beautiful regardless of what she wears.
Just... Y’know. Seeing her in different outfits is fun, okay? Like playing with a doll.
...if that doll could make you pop 9000 boners at will.
Speaking of which, yes I had anticipated the boner count likely to be reached during the beach trip, and brought appropriately loose/wide cut swimsuits to accommodate it. Remember being 13? Me too, except I still am apparently.
Right this started with me saying I was excited about seeing Cassie in a bikini. They had traveled to this beach spot before, some of the pictures of her in a bikini came from this very spot. So I made the logical leap that she’d wear one again, perhaps to work on a completely unnecessary tan, perhaps to fit in, regardless of the reasoning I was just crossing my fingers and hoping.
A conversation leading up to the trip: The five of us are together eating dinner.
Me: So, does everyone have everything they need for the beach? Girls: [chorus of things they still need to pack] Me: Okay...but you have all that stuff here, right? Mother: Yes, they should. I guess we need to pack a week early. Me: Nothing you need to buy? Girls: [intense naming of demands] Me: ...all set with swimsuits? Everyone have nice, fancy ones ready for the beach? Mother: Yes, actually, I got some on sale a few days ago. Girls: [happy agreement that they have nice suits] Me: [grumble grumble, will not be bathing suit shopping with Cassie]
This left me hopeful. Certain? No. But hopeful. I didn’t bring up bathing suits again specifically, letting the girls fulfill their desire to ‘surprise’ me with their purchases.
I remained curious. Of course.
Remember when you were a child, lying awake on Christmas Eve, unbelievably excited for the next day? Unable to sleep? That was me the day before vacation. Yes, despite the increased familiarity and near-constant access to Cassie, she still had the ability to steal sleep away from me.
I lay in my bed, sheets clutched in a death grip just below my chin, huge grin betraying my emotions. Stirring further down in the sheets reminding me what a terrible person I remained, despite all noble intentions.
Fortunately the internet exists, and morning came more quickly than it ever did back when I had to wait for Santa to haul himself down my chimney. There is a double entendre waiting to happen, but I’m not quite sure how to make it land. So I’ll let it go, as long as we’re all aware of it.
Get in the car. Drive. Listen to screechy pop music. Play some of my music, not met with the bleeding ears and gnashing of teeth it usually is. Yay, looks like electronica is here to stay, yo. That was essentially the highlight of the fairly dull traveling experience. You don’t really need to hear too much about it. The girls slept in shifts, I drove some, I didn’t drive some, etc etc. Imagine your normal family vacation, subtract dad, add Humbert. Ta-da!
We arrived, eons later. The car was unpacked. Fortunately we did not have to deal with the awkwardness of figuring out what a hotel room situation would be -- more accurately I would not have to cope with likely being relegated to my own room -- as professional connections resulted in us staying in a rich person’s never-used beach house. Don’t get me wrong - this wasn’t a mansion right on the water, but it was definitely nicer than where we came from and closer to the ocean then our home town. It’d do.
It was late, we had time for a short walk on the sand after an abbreviated dinner, then sleeptime. The fight over bedrooms was fun, as expected.
Elaborating on the bedroom altercations - the master bedroom was given to the mother, of course, and I got my own as well. This left two other bedrooms, and I think you can see where the problem was. Three little girls, two bedrooms. Or, I suppose: one barely-teen, one suddenly-moody tween, and one Cassie. And two bedrooms.
[Aside: I know I never talk about Olivia or Mary. This is somewhat of a disservice to them as they are certainly interesting in their own ways, but they just aren’t the focus of our tale. I may ramble a bit about them at a later point.]
[Oh nooo except we don’t have many ‘later points’ left ;_; bawww]
So, bedroom fight. Neither bedroom was closer to me (see how I went there immediately) so I was not too invested other than to hope no tears were shed by any parties, as this would likely mean a pall cast over the rest of our too-short vacation. The predictable happened - Olivia got her own bedroom, and a pouty Mary had to bunk with Cassie. What a shame. Since they all normally had their own bedrooms, I didn’t see the huge problem with changing up the routine a little, but, eh, I also hate change so maybe that was all.
Oops sidetracked again, let’s try to get back in the right direction.
I’m sort of surprised that the original reason I even started this story was the bikini. But yes, that’s why I brought all this up. A little bit of obligatory loli followed by an emotional climax and then the FINAL cliffhanger. Sorry, just trying to get everyone’s emotions ready. Anyway. Back to the past, back to where things were perfect and I was about to receive a ‘treat’.
Crack of dawn at the beach. Girls wake up at half past zero o’clock, basically, Mary pounding on my door for breakfast as they had suddenly become too good for cereal as long as their personal breakfast chef was around. Fortunately, this meant I can now make the fastest, best breakfast known to man. Seriously, test me. Okay, not seriously, don’t test me.
I remained asleep until the door busted open, Cassie not bothering with what the line between appropriate and inappropriate might be, used to having free reign in my bedroom at their house as well. She pounced onto my bed, ‘bouncing’ me, shouting for me to get up in a voice made slightly less adorable by the early hour.
And for the detail obsessed, while I cannot recall specifically, I know that her normal summertime pajama combo had become a large t-shirt, that I believe belonged to her dad, falling to mid-thigh. Just panties beneath. And plenty of flashing was happening during her bubbly, jumping, excited wake-up call. Not a bad way to wake, I guess. You should see if your hotel offers it.
I got up, I made breakfast, we ate, we discussed the day. And away they went to put on their suits.
Anticipation Level: MAX
All three girls come into the entryway with the incredibly loud slapping of flip-flops against tile.
ANNNNNDDDDD
They are in brand-new pastel cover-ups. Yes, those teasing garments you see more and more lolis wearing to the beach these days, like summer dresses? Utterly pointless no matter what angle I consider them from? Showing off the lines of bathing suits beneath? Yup. Those.
Anticipation Level: MAX + 1
Because seriously, walking them to the beach, knowing Cassie’s suit would soon be revealed in all it’s glory? I wonder if she had any inkling of the massive animu-style sweat drops dripping down my forehead during the ten minute walk.
You have discovered: BEACH!
I’ll take artistic license now to say that I spent three seconds putting down a blanket, setting up the umbrella, positioning the cooler just so, pulling my chair out, plonking my ass down, and waiting to see what I was doing to see. In the time it took me to do all that, the girls did nothing. I was READY, motherfucker.
Before moving to The Bikini, which of course it was, a quick aside to mention a troubling fact. Mary had recently turned 11 at this point, and her own swimsuit revealed a troubling fact. Yes, despite the relatively small frame of her mother and my prayers that the hormones would hold off, she was definitely well on her way towards losing her own Delicious Flat Chest. Remember, barely two years separate her and Cassie. Good ol’ Humbert, thinking that far ahead, but yes this actually made me sort of upset. Lolis: here today, gone tomorrow. You’d think when you see a loli just one time this would seem particularly true, but for me it hit home once I was living with them. Time was running out, soon she’d be a teen, soon it’d change, soon it’d be over. Or would it? Did it have to be?
Oops. This was about a bikini, wasn’t it? Unbelievable how easy it is to wax eloquent on subjects revolving around my incredible self-centeredness~
I actually have a picture, not taken at that specific moment, but of Cassie in said bathing suit. I have it here and will describe it as best I can -- at least I don’t have to work from my oft-faulty memory for this particular scene. Though I think even without a picture this would be yet another moment burned into my subconscience.
She has her back to the dunes leading away from the sea, the sun shining brightly down on her, causing her eyes to squint and nose to crinkle upwards in an ultra-cute fashion. Her hands are on her hips, fingers loosely wrapped around her front, mostly just her palms resting firmly just above her bikini bottoms. The top is of a type appropriate for a nine-year-old girl, of course, sort of a rectangle of lycra covering her chest before thinning down to straps on her back and over her shoulders. No tan marks to be seen, except perhaps nearly imperceptible lighter lines on her shoulders. The suit was, big surprise, a somewhat light shade of purple, perhaps a couple shades away from lavender, with white piping completing the ensemble, making it likely the best bathing suit I’d ever seen in my life. Her chest, flat as ever, of course. The bottoms were a tiny bit more risque, at least in my once-upon-a-time conservative mind. They sorta resembled a pair of hipsters, if you are familiar with women’s underwear-types, with the leg holes about in line with the “v” on her front, the waistline similarly uniform all the way around, looking almost like a little slice of a tube she was wearing as a bathing suit. They were certainly not high-rise, more like an ultra-low rise, nowhere near her belly button but instead practically showing off the beginnings of her pubic mound.
Yes, she looked good in her bikini. She looked very good.
As a responsible fake father, I reminded the girls about sunscreen. Guess who hadn’t put any on? Or, maybe, pretended not to for my sake. Regardless, soon I was running my hand up and down her back, shoulders, placing a dab on her tummy for her to rub in herself, gently running my somewhat greasy fingers across her face to try and take care of those important spots too.
Ironic, really, as she was and is absurdly tanned naturally and thus not in great danger of burning. But -- my god, readers. Miles of smooth skin needing attention, spreading gobs of white cream all over her.
Ahem. This is as close to porn as I can get for now. Excuse me while I take a breather to ensure I do not have a heart attack.
Oh, and obviously I was not standing up for quite a while after this. No amount of strategic placement or baggy suit was going to hide the Chrysler Building I was apparently smuggling in my crotch. Jesus Christ was this girl going to continue to make me physically respond forever? This was starting to almost become an issue, not just a tool I’m using for the cheapest laughs in this story, but an actual problem. But, well.
I could pretend it was a silent self-esteem booster for her.
Days of cavorting in the sun and waves followed, and honestly the temptation of doing something untoward wasn’t all that present due to the simple fact that I was exhausted every night. We still cuddled during a couple late-night movies, but I didn’t tuck her in (we’ll get to that in a moment) and she didn’t visit my bedroom.
We enjoyed one another’s company. I enjoyed all their company. I enjoyed my family -- yup, no longer my fake family. My family. I was beginning to accept it, beginning to realize it, and rather than being terrified it only made my heart warm.
Aw. Just writing that made my remaining testosterone leave my body, but that’s okay, emotion is worth it.
Time to bring it home. This is shaping up to be the longest entry in our story since part two, so console yourself with the knowledge that I’m not trying to get away from you.
So, vacation was over. We were back to the ‘normal routine’ we had created. Things were good. I was hoping soon they would be GREAT.
Then, that night. Another night where tables were turned, where the stakes were upped, where I found myself out of my depth. Ready?
I set things up pretty big. I’ll dial it back and make you earn it.
Driving to their home from work I had my normal dumb happy grin plastered across my face. My car, at this point, had become more of a soccer mom-mobile than a bachelor-ride, and that was fine. While I made the girls clean their shit up, there was still the occasional book, kid’s magazine, drawing, or rejected snack lying around. God help me, yes I did eat those snacks when they were unopened. And they were good. Ugh I am sort of ashamed of myself for admitting that but hey at least I didn’t let them go to waste. Humbert, hero of the ecology!
Pulled into the driveway, walked into the entryway, shouted that I had arrived and was greeted with the normal cacophony of hellos from the bedrooms where the girls were ‘diligently’ doing their ‘homework’. It was not my day to make dinner, as there was actually a schedule (sort of) for this, and I prayed that nothing too exotic was being attempted. Yes, still a shit chef. I greeted their mother in the kitchen, seeing macaroni and cheese or something like it being prepped and breathing a sigh of relief.
Holy shit everything I’m describing is incredibly domestic. And I LOVE it.
Dinner was had. The normal sitcom meal, camera rotating from the center, each of the girls describing their days and the various amounts of absurd homework/backstabbing friends/new clubs that each day seemed to hold no end of. I do not remember my primary school years being anything like what the girls went through. Am I boring, or are times changing? Or, even worse, both?
Realistically, certainly both.
So. Food, laughs, fun. Dinner was finished, cleaning up fell to Mary and Cassie, about as displeased as expected, but whatevs. At least that is one thing I don’t see changing for the children of the future - dishes will always need to be washed. And no one will ever like it (anyone who says they do is a LIAR).
A new board game had recently entered the home, and I do try to prevent complete mind rot from taking the girls, so we tried to learn it (one of those German games, I think, that requires actual mental capacity).
We tried to learn the game, we tried to play the game, it was actually kinda a good time as much as I hate to give any credit to those nerds who made Settlers of Catan popular (OKAY FINE, THEY DESERVE CREDIT, GOD). It lasted for a few hours, meaning bed time for the girls (boooo).
Then, in a mildly surprising move, Cassie began to put up a bit of a fuss about me leaving and them going to bed. She said she just wanted me to stay, that me always leaving was getting old (mild paraphrasing). This made me happy, duh, and I tried not to beam too obviously.
So then the normal “Humbert isn’t going anywhere, he just has to live his life too, blah blah blah” spiel was delivered by her mother. Cassie allllmost started to cry, cheeks reddening, upset to display this much emotion especially when it was having almost no impact whatsoever.
Aw.
As those who are around kids know, extreme clinginess/etc is usually a sign of sickness, especially true for Cassie. I wondered if she was getting sick as she stalked over to me, giving me a quick hug, hot, soft cheek pressing against my (OLD) stubbly face for a brief moment.
Marching to the stairs, Cassie turned and made the ‘announcement’: “Well, I only want Humbert to tuck me in tonight.”
D’aww. Her mother wasn’t too pleased with this, but I said I’d do it to prevent this becoming any more of an issue. Once Cassie was upstairs I even promised to talk to her briefly about not being a brat. Look at me, what a good fake dad! Not that I intended to really do that lulz.
Gave her a few minutes, went upstairs, walked into her room. “Close the door” murmured the lump in her bed, either an enormous worm or Cassie, I was unsure.
I slowly shut the door. Gulp.
Our heroine (this begs the pun ‘my heroin’) sat up in bed, covers falling down to her waist, looking at me with a still slightly-reddened face, beckoning me over to tuck her in.
I walked over, sitting on the bed next to her, smiling as best I could while I felt my heart pounding. Cassie never ceased to have that effect on me, never ceased to make me act like a schoolgirl happening upon George Harrison for the first time (wrong era? shit.) And something about this moment...well, looking back it is easy to attach a lot of emotions to it. Hindsight and all.
She scoots out from under her sheets, wearing an appropriately light set of shirt and shorts, just thin white cotton separating her from me as she slid onto my lap with a huffy little sigh, putting her arms around my neck.
“I didn’t get my cuddles today.”
Sliding her onto my lap was about as natural as it always was, her arms wrapping around my neck, my hands easily snaring her waist, lifting her gently over onto me. Her head leaning into my chest, noticeably higher than the first time we had cuddled like this, no longer neatly fitting under my chin. Cassie was, despite all my attempts to ignore it, growing up. ;_;
We sat there in silence for a few moments, with me forgetting entirely the supposed impropriety that staying in her bedroom might cause suspicion of. We were past that point - the thing most readers question - it honestly didn’t occur to me nor her mother. Finally, as our breathing synchronized, chests slowly rising and falling, she pulled her head back a little to look up at me.
“You like me, right Humbert?”
Readers know how sensitive Cassie is, so my response was an immediate affirmation. Of course I liked her! Still do like her! ...perhaps in a way I shouldn’t. But that wasn’t what she’d be thinking about, even if my brain went there quite quickly.
“Okay.”
This mollified her for a little while, my nodding making her smile in the most adorable way, just letting me know that she was the best thing that would ever happen to me. Or so I translated it -- seems accurate, I think.
But the silence lasted for only a few more seconds.
“Will you kiss me goodnight?”
She didn’t pull away from my shoulder to ask this, avoiding eye contact, voice practically a squeak. I felt my throat close, cheeks redden, and arms shake slightly. My god.
This was exactly the situation that had made me leave her before. Made me scared, made me realize I had to go. Exactly this -- kissing her goodnight, being afraid I wasn’t in control of myself when doing that.
And...I had to ask.
“Why do you want a kiss goodnight?”
I had to hear it. I needed her to say something, anything to validate the monster eating away inside me.
“You said you liked me. You can kiss me goodnight.”
“Cassie. I’m not-”
“I like you too.”
random user wrote:
random impostor wrote:
Cassie squirmed on my lap, as if she was uncomfortable. After about 2 minutes of this I realized that she was deriving enjoyment from the undulating motion as her crotch would stroke my groin. I reached down and unzipped my pants, letting my manhood push out the fly a little, still restrained by my underwear. She giggled, and touched the tip, when all of a sudden we hear a noise at the door. I told her "Quick! Get on the floor!" Everyone walk the dinosaur!
This is no time for loli-gagging.
She was thinking like ‘that’. Maybe not quite as far along as me, but she was actually...she was saying it. She was saying she liked me. My heart was pounding, my vision was nearly blurry, like my first kiss (whenever that was) I felt something inevitable and massively important trundling towards me.
I was frozen. I couldn’t act. What was about to happen?
She pulled away from my shoulder and swiveled on my lap, planting her legs on either side of my hips, facing me. Much like when she told me she loved me -- straddling me, but this time on her bed, this time with something big spoken between us, something big expected to occur.
It happened before I figured out what to do. It happened.
Cassie’s face darted towards mine. My eyes hardly registered it as I tried to figure out how to finagle out of this scenario without doing anything regrettable.
There was no cheek this time, no dodging, no redirection. Her lips met mine.
It didn’t last long. I didn’t force myself on her. I didn’t grab her head, her body, push her against me. I just froze as she pushed her thin, soft lips against mine. She was soft -- so soft -- slightly dry lips brushing against mine. Her eyes closed, long lashes so close to my eyes, her face radiating warmth against mine, her blemishless, smooth skin contrasting against mine. My arms around her middle still, from our cuddles a moment before, loosening as she pulled back.
It was only a moment, But a brief moment I knew would stick with me permanently.
She pulled back and slid off my lap, hopping under the covers.
“Goodnight.” She said this with a quavering voice, no further words emitted.
“Goodnight, Cassie.”
I stood, weak-kneed, pulled her covers around her. She did not make eye contact with me, cheeks as crimson as I assumed mine were. I walked to the door and flipped the light off.
I have some explaining to do. I did not get partyvanned (NOT YET), nor did I get found out or anything else bad.
I fucked up, two nights in a row. First the night I was meant to post Part 9, my internet shut off around 10:45 /b/ time. Then, last night, I tried again and had the EXACT SAME THING HAPPEN.
My ISP has no solution and I fully expect the same thing to happen tonight.
The End has been written. It is beautiful, and it doesn't end with whatever my last post to get through last time was. I am sorry to anyone (there was at least one reader?) who sat around hoping for me to reappear. I am an asshole who doesn't know how to internet.
I will bump this thread for 40ish minutes. There isn't enough time to post the end right now, I think, so if ONE READER shows up, we can set a time to post the final installment. That is all.
Sorry again. I am a dick.
>>437190919 Holy dang. Next time I will fuck moot herself in order to get you your fix. Gee whiz.
As to CTRL-P now, I honestly don't know when my internet will shit itself except that it will be soon, which doesn't lend itself to my particularly... languorous style. I'd rather do it RIGHT.
>>437190940 My heart is in love with you, gentle reader. Might you have had a name during the tale? Do I know you?
>>437191149 If I had the stamina to create a troll this incredible, I'd probably be in politics. HAHA SUCH INSIGHTFUL COMMENTARY. Thanks for being here, and I personally apologize to you too.
>>437191556 But that would then negate the plans for Cassie Harder: Cassie Another Day: The Sequel. You silly goose.
Despite your lurker status, thanks for being a friend.
>>437191996 Sorry bra, don't worry, things will all be alright, and I'll always pretend like a return is possible. Just like Jesus Christ, I am imminent. (Is that a religion thing? I'm going with yes.)
All joking aside, I need to set a new time to post. It is going to have to be drastically different from before in order to avoid the fuck-ups previously.
Leaning towards 11/25 at some point late in the evening /b/ time or the wee hours of 11/26. What does everyone think?
>>437192791 I live to serve, and it shall be so. From the moment I have internet until it shuts off, I shall belong to you.
Also, I'm about 40% done with the complete editing/brushing up of parts 1-8. What better way to start off my final posts then with a little victory lap?! ...if my lazy ass finishes doing it, that is.
>>437193061 I will do my best to strike a happy medium. And by that I mean ALL NIGHT ON /B/, my heart is pounding with joy just imagining it.
Seriously though:
OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT: I will be on for several hours minimum between 8pm ish on 11/18 and 9am ish on 11/19.
Huge swath of time? Yup. Be there or be square. (Earlier I said 11/25, please ignore this, my brain is shitpile)
Just in case anyone is lurking and wondering where the fuck I am, surprise! I showed up.
This is just to reward your patience while I prep myself for a nice long-ass stay on our favorite /b/.
I will be posting the edited/brushed-up/far better version of Part 1 within the hour, followed by THE END. Please stay tuned.
I am moving to a location with reliable internet and will then start up & link to a new thread. Feel free to bump this if necessary, just want to let people know I'm not fucking them yet again. SO FAR.
Cassie: The End (Part 9) by Humbert-Kun
So it begins, this time for real. The end of our story. We shared our tale for.. a month and a half? And we shared the massive blue balls of part 9 for what, a week? Classic Humbert!
I’m afraid I may have blown my load early on in our tale and for that I apologize. I tried to drag things out but it looks like I now know exactly the limits of my patience.
Don’t know what’s going on? Never fear! If you run your pretty little ass off to Ask Jeeves I am certain you could find other parts of this story. Or you could hop over to another thread floating around out there, read part one and see if you like it. Hint: you won’t, don’t bother.
Before we get things underway, a few statistics I think are fun:
Parts: 8 Words: 32,660 Words / Part: 4083 Time to Read: 120 minutes
I have had a rough conclusion mapped out in my head for a while now, but the few false starts with posting this have left me somewhat uncertain about where, exactly, to draw the line. This story is my life, my life is this story, and thus far neither have ended (all those rooting for my residence in the partyvan are so far disappointed but I’m not counting my chickens yet).
Why am I ending the telling? I suppose I think I should. I don’t want to overstay my welcome and I also don’t want my only quality output of 2012 to be the production of what amounts to an emotional fantasy for fake online friends. Or a sexual fantasy, though I’ve tried to toe the line without actually crossing into fully gratuitous material. A line likely crossed in part eight. Damn it, oh well. Fuck you and your judgement.
If this is the first time you’ve seen me, seriously go read part one. But here is the tl;dr in as abbreviated a form as I can make it:
1. humbert meets a loli under sad circumstances 2. loli becomes part of humbert’s life 3. humbert tries to get away, fails, comes back 4. lines start getting blurry
When the story started Cassie was seven, described in part one. A couple years have passed, and those years were full of dramatic changes for her (not really, not in ‘that way’, thank moot).
But a description of now, or pretty close to now:
Cassie is now nine. She is a far cry from the girl I met back then, and it feels odd to look back and compare the two. Cassie retains the sweetness and innocence that first made her stand out to me, though now packaged in a much more confident demeanor. She still needs support and accolades, a bit more than her peers, but I’d say overall for someone whose dad died when she was young she is doing quite well. Her hairstyle has changed only very slightly, the brown is slightly darker and she keeps it a few inches longer to more easily turn into the intricate braids/pigtails/odd inventions she has become a huge fan of either emulating or creating, I honestly am not sure which one of the two. Her height has increased markedly, though I can’t yet complain that she’s become gangly or awkward. Perhaps the rose-colored glasses that I always don when looking at her are impacting my judgement?
Where were we? Let’s try to maintain some semblance of continuity here. This is, after all, the premiere non-green text piece of writing on /b/. The only non-green text piece of writing. I’M STILL TAKING THE CROWN.
She kissed me.
I had gone in to tuck Cassie into bed per her request (SEE PART EIGHT [wow I love how this is like a shitty, shitty comic book]). She asked for a kiss goodnight, eliminating any innocent guise by adding the context that she liked me and I liked her. This wasn’t a kiss coming from some sort of purely symbolic place. Well, maybe it was. Okay it was. But it felt like something big.
The main character of our story, the only reason anyone reads and the only reason I write, had sat on my lap and firmly kissed me. I hadn’t bent down to kiss her, forced myself upon her, rather she had pushed herself against me.
I can’t really describe the act itself or the weight of the moment in great enough detail. It meant a lot to me.
Following the kiss and her quick retreat under her sheets, perfunctory goodnights whispered as neither of us were listening, I stood in the hallway outside her door. Not falling to my knees was a struggle. Primarily because of my incredibly strong flair for the dramatic, but let’s pretend I was actually that weak at the knees.
So I’m a grown ass man reduced to an emotional puddle by a loli paying attention to him. If you’ve been reading this all along, you’d react the same way. If you haven’t been reading along, well, hi I’m a loser.
What did I do next? What could I do, really. I walked downstairs, sat with her mom, and drank some wine while watching a movie. Later I went to sleep (and by ‘sleep’...you likely catch my drift at this point in our relationship).
(ps: to those who've already seen this bit of part 9, I'm sorry, but once I get into a 'flow' I like to have it all posted together, chopping up part 9 would read poorly and [blah blah other literary excuses])
As we all know (sort of, most of us, this isn’t /r9k/), once you kiss someone it is hard to stop or eliminate the thought of it. Or maybe only I say that, and claimed it to be fact in order to come across less odd. But much like Uncle Anon before me, may moot bless his pervy soul, I was an instant addict. I wanted to kiss Cassie, and I knew I could. I had become something akin to her father, albeit a father fostering an elektra complex as big as ...something huge.
That previous post came across a little bit more horrible than intended. What I meant was in the position I held with Cassie, a kiss here and there wasn’t beyond the pale. Fathers kiss their daughters and it is okay, as long as they don’t then lock them in a basement vault for 20 years.
The goodnight kiss became a tradition. Yes, I kissed Cassie goodnight every time I tucked her in. A few times it was preceded by a little conversation about her feelings towards me and my own halting admissions. Often it was silent.
Initially I kissed her cheek, her forehead, her nose. Anything but there, anything but the spot that could potentially be construed as wrong. But then she brought it up, after I struggled with the urge for the nth time.
“Humbert, you can kiss me goodnight.”
“Uhh. I do.” My face turning red, feeling like a thirteen-year-old being told to do something embarrassing.
“I mean for real.” Yes, she was going there directly. She had seen enough movies, hell she had probably seen it at school, she was nine years old and they grow up fast these days (or so the TV told me).
I felt conflicted.
For a full second, maybe even two. But I had to hedge my bets, then while I was doing my normal internal struggle that everyone reading this is sick of, she chirped from her bed: “Like that one time. That was a normal kiss. Goodnight kiss.”
Hand on my heart, swear to moot, she said that. First the actual words, then the correction to goodnight kiss. Because what other sphere could we let it slip into?
“Okay, Cassie. But I don’t kiss lots of people, alright? Let’s just have this be something for us.”
It came out something like that. I have less of a photographic memory when it comes to my own stupid talk since I am essentially the king before therapy in The King’s Speech. Whatever I did say made her eyes glint.
“Are you kissing anybody else?”
She had me, she knew it. And I was letting her.
“No. Just you.”
I punctuated this by pulling her covers up around her shoulders, tucking them in tightly around her skinny body and then leaning in.
“Goodnight, Cassie. I love you.” The words felt so natural tumbling out -- but said in that instant, they meant worlds beyond they did any other night.
I pressed my lips against hers.
What can I say that I haven’t already? The last time, she had initiated the kiss. It was done on her terms, with her stretching her own face up to mine and deciding how hard, how long, etc. But this was me, my decision, my action. As I kissed her I realized I potentially was going to have a major fucking problem.
First off, previously I had been joined by my faithful 9000 boners, but tonight there were OVER 9000 (I’ve made that joke three too many times, will never make it again). Second, I wanted to go further instantly. I knew I couldn’t cross that line, but the idea shot into my head anyway. Third, and most pressing time-wise, I never ever ever wanted to stop.
She was soft, so soft. She smelled of her sweet shampoo, her hair a freshly-brushed halo surrounding her head resting on her pillow, amid the debris of her fairly girly room.
I pulled back finally. Her eyes remained closed for a moment, lips pursed, then they slowly opened and she exhaled a quiet ‘goodnight’. I smiled at her, nodded, trying to be reassuring while my own heart almost leapt out of my chest.
Time passed. Cue the montage/music playing segment of our mildly twisted sitcom (it’d probably be on FX). When out and about one day in the recent summer, I was accompanied by the entire family. We were doing something requiring a long period of time sitting on the streets. (IT WAS A PARADE). This meant seeing a lot of people, and as myself and their mother do get around we know enough people in our small community, and were constantly being talked to by whomever spotted us.
We sat on the curb, next to each other, the girls off playing with friends. Nothing had happened yet event-wise and thus it was prime mingling time. Kindly old women came over to cluck over how cute we were together, with us having decided to let this go. If people wanted to think we were fucking, so be it. Have I mentioned how much of a good person Cassie’s mother is? Well, she is.
WHO CARES screams the reader. Okay fine.
Cassie came over after getting her feelings hurt by one of the several boys who showed affection by being cruel, and looked for some attention from either of us.
She was wearing a standard summer getup, or what has become such, a festive town-related shirt, tie-dyed at another event, complimented with absurdly short shorts. ....I didn’t mind, though all those fourth grade boys had better not have been making eyes at her.
Not that I am jealous or protective or any of that shit, no way bro I am totally confident in myself.
First she stood next to her mother, whining about something, shifting to sit between us, continuing to seek attention with negative action (I am pretending to be a smart person, can you tell). Finally she went to sit on my lap and I pushed her back up and away slightly, yes somehow rejecting her, while continuing my conversation with some local. After a lull led to the old fogey shuffling away, I turned to her and asked what was up, and she told me her latest tale of woe.
Consoling her with the fact that really she shouldn’t give a shit because I didn’t (not what I actually said but maybe), she was sitting in my lap again moments later. This wasn’t exceptionally odd, but perhaps out of the ordinary, some guy in his twenties sitting in the middle of town with a nine-year-old on his lap.
More conversations, very boring, my eyes are glazing over just remembering. Please note that despite all my complaints I’m actually way into my smalltown life. Cue the opening song from Beauty and the Beast. Except change it so she is satisfied with her small provincial life. That is me.
We were sitting there and I was approached by a coworker who is both a) female b) attractive c) single and d) accidentally mentioned by name to the family on another occasion. She knows who she is, and when the poor woman introduces herself Cassie is immediately on the warpath. Those of you who were here for The Girlfriend Incident know why.
I tried to signal her away/warn her/teleport myself to a school for gifted children, but it was to no avail.
Pam, the most boring generic name I can think of for her, says hi cassie nice to meet you other nice words, Cassie responds with a pretty steely glare (I think, she was sitting on me and I couldn’t see her face, but it is safe to assume she wasn’t looking welcoming).
Since she learned the art of subtlety from a dinosaur, Cassie took my arms and wrapped them around her despite my very quiet complaints (“it’s hot, please don’t, I’m sweaty, this is what the communists would want”). There was a bit of chatter between myself and Pam, I introduced her to the girl’s mother (Pam deciding we were together, making life easier for everyone).
Before Cassie had a chance to fully hulk on lil ol’ Pam, the woman scooted away to talk to someone less intimidating. Like a Hell’s Angel. Cassie turned sideways as I dropped my arms, actually kinda hot with her body heat contributing to the warm air around us.
She rested her head against my shoulder and sighed, shifting her head up slowly, not losing contact with my shoulder, finally saying “You’re mine, Humbert.”
From my perspective what she was referencing couldn’t have been more obvious, and her mother definitely heard her. I decided to just go with it, I was past the point of letting little things like that set me on edge. Slowly getting desensitized to the idea? Maybe, I guess. Let’s not think of it like that.
“Yup, I’m yours. No need to be mean.” Trying to turn it around into a learning experience. But knowing in my heart what she meant. What she needed from me and what I needed from her. Hoping to leave things the way they were, praying nothing further needed to happen. I was satisfied. I just had to remain satisfied.
FUCK, NAVEL-GAZING ALERT. Anyway, her mother chimed in with “You’re all of ours, right?”, accompanied with a little laugh, her easy acceptance of our lack of sexual chemistry probably the thing I was most cautiously optimistic about. I could continue just like this for a long time.
I know we’re all waiting for the inevitable timejump or abrupt “THE END”. I’m doing my best to seal up some loose ends, share a few more cute stories, and bring things together to something at least vaguely satisfying. FEELING THE PRESSURE BRO.
“But Humbert, this is completely self-inflicted. You decided to end it.”
“.....FUCK YOU”
There is one picture of all five of us together that I have on my desk in my workplace. It is, by far, my favorite picture. In the world. If I could trust you people to not shit right on my life, I would absolutely show it off here. Fortunately I am not a stupid idiot (Reader: “Uhh who says”).
So I managed to do something at my workplace that precipitated a party. ...I realize that sounds like a load of bullshit, but honestly getting any more specific will reveal essentially as much about myself as I’ve revealed up to this point. I did something well. I got a party. Good for me.
The party was for my workmates, i.e. it was pants-wettingly boring. I was in my normal pretending-to-be-white-collar getup, pretty DAPPER and PROFESSIONAL, if you gauge such things by amount of Ralph Lauren collection from four or five years ago. I was talking with one of my bosses next to a table of food, and yes there was a shitty cake that tasted like a plastic brick.
It was “great” and “made it all worth it”.
BUT THEN
I’m realizing if I hadn’t opened this with an obvious reveal of what was going to happen maybe it would be slightly more dramatic. This is why I’m not a writer on Boardwalk Empire (I have now officially filled my quota of pop culture references, something we’d been lacking until now).
Someone from work had invited my family! No, not my shitty actual family. My family! It was still summertime, thus no school, and when mom, Olivia, Mary and Cassie all marched in I almost let out a scream of happiness. They never, ever came to my workplace. Not due to lack of interest, just my reticence to invite them since it is sincerely as boring as something really boring. Even more, if you can believe it!
And their outfits. Obviously bought without my knowledge, or at least hidden away for a special event, they were beyond adorable. Knowing my workplace was kinda formal they went in that route though with a cute summer flair. Each of the girls had on a sundress of with varying patterns, the waist and below some type of floral design and from waist up a solid color on Mary and Olivia, striped red and white on Cassie. She had a white headband holding quite long (for her) hair back, showing off her beaming face. She had on blue leggings beneath, the sundress falling to just above her knees, and sandals rounding it out. The other girls were fairly similar, their mother in a particularly smart-looking jacket I took a moment to appreciate as well.
Obviously I mostly had eyes for just one person in the group, though.
Everyone in the office was mostly aware of my ‘family’, and the circumstances of us getting together, and thus it was a very cute adorable scene obviously created for their gratification as much as mine. Everyone was very happy. Seriously.
Now, the picture. We are sitting together on a couch, Olivia is on the left edge with her mother next to me, myself situated in the middle. Mary is next to me, with Cassie sitting on her lip and sort of diving towards mine. One of my arms is around their mother, the other is reaching towards Cassie, sort of unsure where she is going to land. I am laughing at her, eyes obviously shifting from her towards the camera, her mouth open in a little shout of excitement as she tried to get towards me and away from her sister. Mary has her hands tightly clasped in front of Cassie’s tummy, grinning at the camera, Mary has her arm around her mother whose arm is around my shoulders.
The five of us all together, the two of us there in the center. A picture that speaks a thousand words.
And here we are, finally, past anything that has been posted up until this point. You are officially reading some delicious OC, though I did toss some edits into part 9 because I am an OCD freak who needs to replace one word in each sentence in order to feel good about himself.
But. Last time I disappeared after the last post and never reappeared. That isn’t going to happen this time, we are riding straight through to the end.
PROTIP: If there is no byebye.jpeg, I did not leave by choice.
If you’re in here plz make yourself known, maybe you will get a special surprise at the very end if I know who you are.
Decided to fully rewrite what I already had so it is going to be a smidge slow. Here goes.
Life was good. Life is good. I have pictures littering my hard drive, little notes scattered around my office. A few months ago, I decided to make a big move. It was time to either be there for them or not be. I spoke with their mother about finally making a big move -- expressing my desire to sell my apartment and move in to their home full time.
She said she was single at the moment and not looking to date anyone for the time being. But there was potential in the future for someone to enter her life that she’d want to be with, and obviously I would fuck up that sort of plan.
But there was no denial of my chemistry with the girls, and the good my presence was doing them. She admitted this fully, hemming and hawing as I told her it’d be fine if this wasn’t acceptable to her.
And...ultimately it wasn’t.
Yeah, that kinda sucks. I had to have my own place as long as I wasn’t going to be their full-time dad, as long as their mother and I weren’t going to be together. And despite having had sex once, that wasn’t in our future.
Downerrrr.
But it isn’t all downers, and it also isn’t all wrapping-things-up-with-a-beautiful-ribbon. This is all still going on (I’ll express a somewhat more accurate timeline at the finish).
Very, very recently I went on a trip for work. It was going to be a couple months very far away from the girls, and they were very sad to say goodbye as we had now not been without each other’s daily company for well over six months. Away I was going, abandoning them like their real daddy did, though in a less permanent way, and they were very sad. I got lots of sad notes asking me not to go, to hurry back, etc. Obviously I didn’t WANT to go, didn’t WANT to leave them for longer than we’d been apart in...as long as I could remember.
Away I went. When walking out the door with my suitcase, I was given a huge tearful hug from each of them. Cassie couldn’t stop holding onto me, she locked her arms around my back and sniffled into my shirt. I patted her back gently, I told her I’d be back, she made me promise yet again.
I promised.
There was plenty of video-chatting to keep us from feeling the distance too much. Fortunately we live in now so I wasn’t overly likely to be killed by the natives.
There was one particularly memorable/horrifying message I received from Cassie. Remember the iPods? Yup, of course you do. They had been upgraded to newer versions over time, with cameras, thus making communication between us very easy. I received constant messages from the girls, mostly Cassie, usually telling me she loved me/missed me/etc. Adorable.
Of course you know what they say about giving kids technology they aren’t ready for and leaving them unattended. One morning apparently Cassie had woken up and decided her hairdo was hilarious and I needed to see it, mussed from what must have been a particularly disastrous night.
So she snapped a picture of herself in her mirror and sent it to me.
This is the moment where I came as close as I ever care to come to being sent away in the van that hosts parties for people like me (ugh that hurts to admit).
Maybe if she’d been wearing a shirt it wouldn’t have been quite such a big deal. But she wasn’t. Fortunately or not, her arm did a good job of protecting her modesty and preventing me from definitely going to jail forever, now I just have to sort of worry about it. I told her not to send me pictures like that, they weren’t appropriate, they could get her in trouble, etc.
But seriously /b/, I think I got sexted by a nine-year-old.
This was right around when I realized I was likely sitting on a story worth at a 4chan gold account.
I was on top of the world. Just kidding, I felt like I was walking on pins and needles after getting that fucking message. How much trouble was I definitely going to get in? A lot? Perhaps even a WHOLE LOT?! I prayed to the appropriate deities that it would all turn out fine. Fortunately, thus far, it has.
Returning home was amazing. I picked up my car at the airport, the drive to their home feeling longer than it ever had before. Pulling into the driveway, more than two months apart, I could feel my heart in my throat. I had missed them more than word could say and knew they felt at least some fraction of that same ache.
Opened my car door, walked to the entrance. The door was flung open in my face and all three girls pounced on me immediately, screaming my name (I can’t write Humbert here, don’t want to muddy the memory of hearing my actual name on their lips, joy radiating from every pore). I hugged all three at the same time as best I could, all three squirming girls trying to get as much of me as possible, Olivia pulling away to be a cool teenager after a moment, Mary another moment later, leaving just Cassie and myself hanging onto each other for dear life.
She was still absurdly short, small for her age, her head nestling under my ribs as I held her close. Her arms were wrapped around my back, not locked together but instead splayed flat on my back, pushing me closer. My own arms obviously able to reach around her easily, I ended up settling on grasping her with my forearms, hands resting under her armpits.
Cassie was and is such a delicate, fragile little thing. I could feel her heart pounding, feel her chest expand and contract as she took in quick, hiccuping little breaths. Tears were flowing from her eyes, staining my shirt, I could feel the hot wetness signaling her joy at my return, causing my own eyes to spring a slight leak themselves.
Fast forward a little, will you?
Greetings were had. Gifts were distributed. Love was liberally dispensed to all.
And as I was finally back, I had agreed to tuck Cassie in. After all, she’d gone without for so long.
Some of you are sitting on the edge of your seat now, I guess. It seems like the ‘pooper her now’ crowd has died out in favor of the ‘please don’t pooper her’ group, and I can assure you I am a much larger fan of the latter group.
Oh, I forgot the group that is just fapping like mad, but I try and ignore them except when I don’t.
Late in the evening, following much reunion partying, I went upstairs to tuck her in.
[ADMINISTRATIVE NOTE]
Massive huge cliffhanger time! We all knew there was no way this could go smoothly.
I'm getting kicked out of the place I am at and need to go somewhere else, I don't anticipate being gone longer than 15 minutes. Also sorry.
I decided to have a slightly more serious conversation with her. It seemed like that same idea was on her mind as well. I closed the door after entering her room, turning to see her sitting up in bed with her legs tucked under the sheets. With fall closing in she was wearing slightly more modest pajamas, but seeing her after such a long absence still tugged at my heartstrings [and undeniably lustful gaze].
“Cassie, I missed you a real lot.”
“I missed you too Humbert, even more.”
I walked over and sat next to her on her bed. Reaching out a hand, I gently rested my fingers against her cheek. Just like that first night with her -- when I barely dared to touch her face when I thought she was asleep. But not with both of us locking eyes, fully aware of what was happening.
I couldn’t get myself to say it. The words wouldn’t come. I wanted to say it, I wanted her to know, but I couldn’t. As usual, she took the first step.
“I like you a real lot Humbert. Don’t go away again.”
“I won’t.”
“And?” Her eyes seemed to expand in her face, long lashes fluttering as she searched my face for the response she wanted.
“I like you too, Cassie.” I coughed, looking down, breaking eye contact as I said it. “I might like you too much.”
I had said it. I admitted it. Or at least had come close.
Really though that was as close to saying ‘it’ as I could come at that point. Her eyes seemed to take in what I was saying, to process the emotions I was admitting to. Or at least I can hope she was processing, not disappointed or overwhelmed or disgusted. How can one really tell, in the end?
I do know what happened next, and I do know how it made me feel.
No, not the horrible, explicit, abusive rape I am certain some are expecting.
“Will you stay here with me for a little while?” I choked back the tears I could anticipate falling, the impossibility of the situation I had placed myself in causing me to feel a mix of emotion I wasn’t entirely prepared for.
“Sure, Cassie. Sure.” My voice came out thick, choked, filled with other unspoken words.
Denying myself had become something I was good at. But as she lay down, and I lay down next to her, I felt a twinge of concern. No matter, this wasn’t all that different from other times spent together. She lay on her back right next to me, her feet poking the blankets into a little tent, markedly above where my own long legs lay.
Silence drifted over us for a few moments, interrupted by quiet noises from elsewhere in the house, the only sound in the room our slow breathing.
With a quick movement she pushed the blankets down, pulling her legs up and over, resting atop the sheets now with an announcement that it was “too hot”. I nodded, lying there, not trusting myself to speak. Two months apart. Two months.
I guess I did anticipate it, but when her arm slowly snaked over my chest it still made my heart race. She rolled onto her side, facing my left arm which I lifted as she snuggled in close. Her right hand was brought up to grip my shoulder, left arm draped over my chest. Cassie wasn’t saying anything and I decided to remain silent as well.
Her skinny leg lifted slightly, knee resting near my hip, foot resting almost between my legs as she sought a way to make this entanglement comfortable. I slowly brought my arm down around her shoulders, and she let out a contented sigh as some stress melted away, body relaxing just a touch, seeming to further graft with mine.
I patted her on the back lightly after a few more minutes. I had to head downstairs, had to let her get to sleep, but just as I began to move her hands clamped around me, gripping my shoulder and side tightly, leg even seeming to lock into place around mine.
“Don’t go. Please don’t go away.” She murmured this with eyes squeezed tightly closed, as if unwilling to look my in the eye, unwilling to have this turn out to be a dream. Or perhaps that is me projecting my exact feelings into her, though I managed with difficulty to keep my own eyes open.
“I won’t go, Cassie.” I said it quickly, so quickly, not caring about anything but her in that moment. “I love you.”
There it was, said in a context which was certainly potentially compromising. Her body entwined with mine, me struggling to cope with liking someone this way, someone who I could never really be with. What was the benefit? What good could come of it?
My thoughts were interrupted as she now took this opportunity to move. Her hand across my chest shifted to now rest perpendicular with my chin, her other hand used to lever herself up over me, beautiful face looking down at me from above and slightly to the left. I could see it coming, and I wasn’t going to prevent it.
She leaned down and kissed me. With one arm already around her, the other one found its way around her quickly. I pulled her close, pulling her almost atop me, as she shifted her weight onto her hip that was already hovering by my stomach. As she lay mostly atop me, I continued to kiss her.
She was controlling it. She could stop it. I wasn’t going to do what my carnal mind was screaming for, this was the pinnacle of anything I could ever want. I repeated this mantra, I kissed her, I lost myself in the moment.
When she finally pulled away -- was it five seconds? five minutes? -- I could almost hear the pooping sound of our lips disconnecting. No, I didn’t force a french kiss on her YOU PERVERTS. That’s inappropriate. At this point.
But we fell asleep together. Her body resting on top of mine, me holding onto her for dear life. I didn’t say anything else, I didn’t need or want to.
I just wanted to hold onto Cassie forever, never let her grow up, never lose her for any reason. But I know it’ll happen, I know it’s coming. It is up to me how I respond to that day.
Within a week of sleeping in Cassie’s bed, I started to write a topic on 4chan.
Today I woke up, stretched, and walked upstairs to start breakfast.
The girls came down in their usual order, bright-eyed Mary followed by grumpy and half-asleep Cassie followed by incredibly moody and too cool for school Olivia. Their mother greeted me with a peck on the cheek as I served the customary pancakes. It is getting cold, flannel nightgowns are the pajamas du jour at the moment, my own ultra-cool flannel bathrobe making a complete set.
The girls were off to school far too fast, quick kisses to the tops of their heads (except Olivia, duh) and a pat on the backpack as they scrambled out the door. Reminders to stay bundled up, as it is cold out there.
I was off to work shortly thereafter, leaving their mother with a few chores she had been hoping to get done, organizing another pile of junk from the dreaded basement.
I worked on writing this section for a long time, but ultimately there is no good way to end the story.
Upon my return “home” on an average night, I am greeted by one very happy little girl. She always hugs me in the doorway, always welcomes me back. Lets me know she missed me. Tells me about the trials and travails of her day, and tries to show interest in/understand exactly what I did all day.
We usually do her homework together, perhaps finding time to watch some TV. I always find time for a cuddle as she rapidly shoots past a comfortable cuddling size. Soon she’ll be too big, too old, too cool for that sort of attention.
What else is going to happen between us? Probably quite a lot. It hasn’t happened yet, so I don’t know for sure.
I do love her. I love Cassie and I’m not ashamed of it. Is it a fatherly love or something more? Is it objectively wrong or right? I don’t know with full certainty either way.
I am scared to see her grow up. Scared she’ll change, scared she’ll lose the things that made me love her in the first place. Her 10th birthday is creeping closer, and while I will ensure it is an incredible time I wonder if that’ll be when she starts to pull away from me.
I wonder about the future. But while wondering, I do my best to love the present, as it is more than I would have ever asked for a few short years ago.
I don’t deserve to be this happy.
She deserves to be even happier.
And as long as I make her happy, I won’t be going anywhere.
Presented by your best friend in all the world, Humbert-kun.
I was not planning on writing this tonight, but upon finding another copypasta of my work, >>451199173, I thought maybe it'd be worth it. Oh, and fuck you people who are reposting my material. ...though I mean that in a loving way, I guess?
A few exciting things have happened between my angel and myself from the time part nine was posted until now. I am overjoyed and constantly have to check to ensure I am actually in reality. Cassie is growing up way too fast (not really, thank moot). In the Christmas photo we sent out this year (yes, I call the family 'we' now) she appeared to have Something Happening on her chest, but closer inspection (ahem) resulted in a reassurance that all was fine.
I am deciding on what exactly to share so that I leave material for a longer 'story' but also satisfy anyone who potentially gives a shit out there.
I'll be typing, but feel free to ask me questions.
>bumping >reading part 2 for the fist time... can't ask for anything better than this 10/10 perfection >I got a loli summer story of my own >but it would barely fill 1 post. It was real tho. Just like I want this story to be. Keep going It is as real as life gets, I suppose. I'd like to think it peaks in quality around part 5/6, then drops down for the end.
Ok guys, I am genuinely sorry, this is just not happening right now. Too many distractions piling up with no end in sight.
Is it possible to set a time to return? Can someone spread the word to any other readers out there? January 22nd at Humbert O'Clock (9:25 /b/ time) has a nice ring to it...
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