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"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up."Robert," I answered. "I'm Robert Peterson." Mine's Wendy ... I'm six." Hi, Wendy."She giggled. "You're funny," she said.In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on.Her musical giggle followed me."Come again, Mr. P," she called. "We'll have another happy day."The next few days consisted of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, and an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater. I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed."Hello, Mr. P," she said. "Do you want to play?" What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance."I don't know. You say." How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.The tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that is." Then let's just walk."Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her. He didn't hug her again, and though she wanted to, she made herself keep from clasping him. Instead she reached for a nearby vine and tried to calm her heartbeat as she stood stiffly on the limb."I'm all right now" she said. Idly she wondered why she spoke to him at all. He obviously didn't understand or speak English. But it made her feel more normal. She felt the residual effects of lust in her body as moisture left her pussy and ran down her left leg. Her nipples felt super sensitive and she wanted to tweak and squeeze them.But not in front of this boy.Twice more she clutched him, terrified as his strong arms held a vine and they flew, like birds from one tree to the next. Each time she felt hot and flushed as she pressed her naked body to his. She wanted to kiss him, to suck his tongue, to swallow his penis until it shot the thick white balm she knew was in that low hanging sack under his penis. It was probably because she was so sexually excited that she was able to grip him.
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