adolescent Belly : A Belly story By Paul Gazer
In the crepuscule of 1996, computer course of study software was exploding, and, as a freelance code meat cleaver, I was raking in the sawbuck. So I was hard at it when 13-year-old Betsy walked in and cheerfully announced. “ I just had my stop, Daddy. ”
“ Uh, aha, um, well … right. Did you use the stuff we bought ? ”
“ Of course ; I’m not mentally challenged. ” She grinned all over her plump, pretty fount. “ You know what this means, Daddy ? Now we can really do it ! ”
Oh boy. To be plain about it, my unofficial stride daughter wanted me to slumber with her. This had been building for five twelvemonth and that little girl was wearing me down.
And it had begun so innocently ….
Five twelvemonth back, when Betsy was eight, her mother was 25 and I was 18. ( What can I say ? I was horny as only an asocial 18 year old nerd can be horny. ) We weren’t legally married, just hooked up ; but right away, Betsy started calling me “ Daddy. ”
And no wonderment. Her female parent resented and neglected her, fed her edible bean and mac and cheese -- that is, if and when she happened to consider of it -- and otherwise ignored the little fille completely. When Betsy found out that I liked her and paid attention, she glommed onto me like a biography restorer after a shipwreck. Naturally loving and affectionate, the kid was simply starved for love in return. She held my manus when we went shopping, sat in my lap whenever she could, and smiled a lot in my direction. Before I knew it I’d been handed the province for a completely unpaid daughter.
My long slide downward started one night about two months after the duo moved into my condo with me. Betsy stood in front of me, blocking the TV, and said, “ semen give me my bath, Daddy. ” She was down to her niggling missy underpants, which rode under the shelf of her big bare belly. I looked at her mother ( who was home for a change ). “ I’m not indisputable … ”
“ Oh, go ahead, ” said her mother.
“ But she’s a girl. ”
The cleaning woman shrugged. “ She’s eight, for Chrissake. ”
“ Pleeeeease, Daddy ! ” Betsy took my mitt to drop back me upright. I stood and let her pull me into the bathroom. The tub was already wax, so Betsy slipped out of her panties, climbed in, and then stood there. “ Okay, ” she said expectantly.
“ Okay what ? ”
“ Wash me, silly. ”
“ washables you ; right. ” I grabbed a washrag, soaped it, and started on her arms.
“ Ow ! That’s too scratchy. ”
“ It’s the cleanest one we have, babe, ” ( which wasn’t very ).
“ Just use your hands. ”
Right : rub my soapy hands all over her fatten eight-year-old body. But Betsy gave me such a loving, pleading flavour that I picked up the scoop and lathered my hand. Then I just stared at her helplessly.
She was a marvellous, sturdy girl with auburn hair's-breadth ( which I’d had cut for the beginning metre in a year ) and big pup eyes. Betsy was decidedly plump : chubby legs, dimpled elbows, dessert bubble butt. The embonpoint part by far was her belly. Sure, there was supererogatory fat there too, but that couldn’t be all of it. Her bulging paunch arced outward from her sternum and swooped all the way down to her slyness, bare, little girl mound. If she hadn’t been nine, I’d have wondered who knocked her up.
Which was a job. I’m crazy for pot-bellied missy. ( I’d never seen a real one naked, but by 1992 the primitive internet at least had alt-sex groups with a couple of BBW and preggo land site. ) But on an eight year old child ? God help me, I was bothered by that placid, thrusting belly. So I washed her arms, her legs, her neck opening and back, while she rotated in and out of the exhibitor to rinse. Then it was metre for her front. Betsy turned into visibility opinion, grinning at me. I swear, she took a big deep breather and arched her back, swelling her convex stomach even bigger. Did she already have it away my failing ?
At eight years old ? Impossible ! So I took a deep breathing place, held her near-side target cheek to steady her, and rubbed her abdomen with my soapy medallion. It felt amazing : all cushy and balmy on the surface, then muscles beneath, and then big resilient innards way inside her. Her skin was smooth and affectionate and slippery, and she wriggled happily as I ran my palm all over it. I was starting to get hard.
A final exam rinsing and she got out. When I handed her a towel she looked at me enquiringly, but I shook my head. I didn’t confidence myself to continue.
Outside the toilet, I took a deep breathing time and blew it out, ashamed of my response to her. It trusted didn’t aid when she showed up ten arcminute later in jammies three yr old, so the spinning top barely covered her tiny nipple and the pants rode below the swell of her convex gut. She hugged me and kissed me goodnight and skipped out again, ignored by her female parent as usual.
I turned to the cleaning woman. “ What’s with Betsy’s tummy ? It’s pretty big, even for a fa- uh, chubby girl. ” Her female parent just shrugged and went back to her celebrity filth magazine.
So I took the girl to a pediatrician. He poked and prodded and measured her belly, ran all his trial, then stared at her chart in that inscrutable way doctor have.
He looked up at us. “ First the expert newsworthiness. Betsy has zero wrongly with her. No sponge, vesicle, tumour & ndash ; goose egg. She’s perfectly normal. She’s overweight, of course, and she has the usual little girl bulging tummy. Even for her age, her abdominal muscles are somewhat under-developed. But the gravid campaign of her paunch distention is a condition called intestinal hypertrophy. In laymen’s terms, her bowels are too big for her sizing, so her belly’s twice as big as normal. ”
I said, “ That doesn’t vocalise good. ”
He shrugged. “ Perfectly harmless. We don’t see it often but it does pass off. You know, when King Louis XIV was autopsied after his death, they found his stomach was twice normal size. ”
I didn’t give a shucks about mogul Louie. “ So what’s the bad news ? ”
The pediatrician sighed. “ It’s a innate consideration and she may never acquire out of it. Betsy could have an outsize stomach all her life. ”
I put my arm around her protectively and she hugged me back. “ It’s all right, Sweetie, ” I said, you’re just OK and you look just fine too. ”
Betsy smiled happily, believing everything I told her.
And so the subprogram continued. I took Betsy to schooling, came home and did my freelance work, picked her up in the good afternoon for child's play or shopping or just hanging out. Meanwhile, her female parent was still going out at nighttime & ndash ; alone. okey, she had a right ; we weren’t married and my geeky absorption in body of work didn’t piddle me very entertaining. Still, I worried.
Every night we had Betsy’s bathroom. I did all right except on her sensuous belly, where her thrusting tautness never failed to, well, I guess I’d have to say it aroused me. I don’t remember Betsy noticed but I would start to rest deeply. Some nights I fell into almost a trance, stroking and rubbing the warm, conceited dome, slipping around her curvy sides, playing with her deep belly button. I didn’t really notice that when I did this, Betsy wriggled and cooed and purred like a fat kitten.
Time passed and Betsy was near ten years old, when one Night she smelled like an earth-closet as she pulled down her panties and they were badly stained. When I asked her, she said she’d had “ fluid yuckies, ” so I threw the panties in the sink to wash as she got in the tub. When I’d smoothed the soap all over her belly and into her omphalus & ndash ; I confess : taking long than necessary -- I and said, “ Sweetie, You ameliorate moisten additional between your legs to strip the runny yuckies. ”
Betsy smiled a seductive girl-child smile. “ You do it, papa, ” and poked her pussy out.
Now what ? “ fountainhead, you really ought to do it yourself. ”
Biiiig brown eyes and trivial girl vocalism : “ Why, Daddy ? ”
“ Ah, well … ”
“ I don’t think I can reach. ” She handed back the soap.
So I laundered her plump, bare cunny, rubbing the max over her soft pink knoll, sliding a finger into her immature lip, pushing in and backward. When my fingerbreadth approached her anus Betsy said brightly, “ Here ! ” Turning around, she leaned over and stuck her big round butt out at me. And there I was, staring at the arsehole of a not quite 10 year-old girl. It was tan and puckered, only slightly littler than a adult’s. Without thought process, I rubbed two finger all around it ; then I shook my head as if waking up. “ punter rinse, ” I muttered.
Despite myself, this became routine. I’d refuse to rinse between her second joint and she would mow and plead and I’d give in and torture myself stroking her labia and circling her anus. One dark, when she had rinsed again, I swear I caught her arse face in two cupped medal and put my mouth on her belly push button. I licked into it with my tongue while Betsy stood dead-still, and then French-kissed it slowly. When I looked up, Betsy was staring down at me with a sly, grownup grin. “ I love you, Daddy, ” she whispered.
digression from that, I kept things strictly up and up. I went to parent conferences, took the girl shopping, found a summer summer camp for her ; and as the months went by, she adored me more and more. I confess, I felt good being wanted, needed, loved, and yes, I loved her too. Like a daughter only, I assured myself, a daughter only, honest !
Then one morning when Betsy was near 11 age old, I woke up to obtain the bed empty beside me, my wallet stripped, my Visa card gone, and a scribble greenback : “ Bored shitless ; getting outta here. Seeya someday maybe. ” Sure enough, her mother’s closet was bare and her crap was missing from the bathroom. My merely bag had disappeared with her. lucid : she’d never really wanted Sir Thomas More than free elbow room and board ; and now that I seemed to be caring for her girl, there was null ( as she saw it ) to hold on her here.
OK, I was equally bored with the female parent too, but by now I deeply loved the girl. Betsy and I were like father and girl, but with a weird intimate undertone that I didn’t & ndash ; no, couldn’t & ndash ; quite acknowledge. One day, Betsy had smiled and told me, “ You aren’t my real daddy, so it’s all right. ” Melville Bell should experience rung and whistling blown, but I was in my air-tight binary humans and didn’t pay care. I knew I should cover her female parent’s flight and give Betsy up to sociable religious service, but that would deal the girl a rotted life sentence, and, well, I plain didn’t want to. I owned my condo outright, my income was way beyond my needs, I worked at home, and the local shoal had already accepted me as Betsy’s step-dad. I decided to sit sloshed & ndash ; well, maybe just for a while.
I told Betsy her mom had, um, gone away for, er, a bit ; but that 10 twelvemonth old lady friend knew me all too well. She took one look at my face and said, “ She isn’t coming back, is she ? ”
“ Ah, we don’t know. ”
“ She’s not, ” said Betsy shrugging, and everything about her face and consistency linguistic communication telegraphed indifference. After near-eleven years of no attention, she seemed to deliver detached herself in self-defense. Betsy had simply dismissed her mother. But she ran over and wrapped me in a bowelless hug and mumbled into my sternum, “ It’s just you and me now. ”
Betsy kept up a just movement throughout dinner party, but near bedtime, as I soaped her bulging stomach ( she often overate, though I’d shifted her to healthier food ) I looked up to see bout rolling down her chubby cheeks. At commencement I was frozen, like most males faced with a weeping female ; but then I stood up and gathered her to me, soapy pot belly and all, and held her while she cried it out. Later she climbed into my lap as I watched TV and sat a long time with her big bare gut hanging out above her jammy behind. I kept my thenar on it, smoothing and stroking absently. It seemed to calm her.
It must have been two a.m. that night when a considerable weight woke me by dropping onto my bed. Betsy, of course. She lay down facing me and wiggled into my weaponry. I held her a piece, and then she started kissing me & ndash ; not little girl style but alarmingly grown up kissing. “ I’m lonesome, ” she whispered and kissed some more.
I could tell by feeling down her binding that her jammies were even more provocatively low than usual and her nude, outsized belly pressed against my dresser. The result was an instant hard-on. Afraid of being busted, I patted her back and gently disengaged her. She pleaded, “ Can I sleep here & ndash ; just tonight, I promise. ”
Okay, I let her, rotating her so we were nested spoon-style. Absently, as usual, I rubbed and stroked her fresh pot belly, and she hummed with pleasance. In a while she dropped off, as baby do, but I was a looong meter staring at the darkness.
The side by side morning I awoke to happen a naked girl in my bed. “ Betsy ! Where are your pajama ? ”
She batted innocent eyes at me. “ They were too small and fell off. ”
“ The tops as well ? ”
She only grinned slyly and moved into my weapon. Though still immature, Betsy was as diffuse and warm and round as any cleaning woman, and I confess that I embraced her and stroked her hair and back, while cocking my articulatio coxae backward to keep my rigid tool away from her. We lay that way together for a long time & ndash ; too long, I’m afraid.
I think she accelerated her campaign that morning & ndash ; unconsciously, I’m sure. Betsy was no more introspective than the middling near-eleven-year-old, and she’d never been the sneaky, scheming type of girl. But over the weeks that followed, she took my hired man more often, leaned against me while I worked at my desk ( the numbers on my screen meant nothing to her ) and climbed into my lap when I watched TV. By now, she really too grandiloquent to fit, and I should suffer noticed that somehow, she was never dressed, but always spilling out of those blessed pj's. But if you know the intense, mesmerizing spell of crash-project computer programing, you’ll understand why I was too deep in my own earth to see the drift of things.
So the piddling intimacies went on & ndash ; and then went on some more. The nightly bath continued, and the missy complained if I didn’t caress her convex belly or soap her pussy and wash off the rim of her tan asshole. I was sometimes tempted to stick my finger in it, but I sternly suppressed my pulsing. At bedtime, she often begged to sleep with me but I said she was too big for that. “ Maybe not big enough, ” she replied ; but again my early word of advice system failed me.
In May Betsy turned 11, and I planned a birthday company. She didn’t seem to birth real champion, so it was just the two of us. I bought her talent I knew she wanted and took her out to dinner at one of those buffet-type places.
That was definitely an error. Betsy took one salivating look at the long hot tables groaning with admission and the island of gooey deserts ( she was conspicuously uninterested in the salad bar ) and went en. She piled her plate with Indian corn beef cattle and moolah and baked bean plant. She cleaned the plate, then piled it up again & ndash ; and then again. I worried, but, well, it was her birthday …
By the time she’d reached dessert, she was holding her gut and slowing down, but she attacked a pudding and demolished a giant sundae topped with everything they offered. By now, the girl had packed away a dinner party that would accept defeated a starving lumberjack. Her eyes were glazed and she burped hugely but discreetly in a napkin.
“ Had enough, sweetie ? ”
She sighed and burped again. “ I guess so, for now. ” She chugalugged a fourth entire glass of cola. When we slid out of the stall, Betsy’s birthday dress was pushing way out in figurehead. Headed out to my Camaro, she wobbled along, as if half wino on nutrient, her belly swollen out in front of her, belching non-stop and wheezing.
By bath sentence she was complaining. “ papa, my corporation hurts. ”
“ Why am I not surprised ? ” I went on soaping her big pot belly, which was indeed, swollen much to a greater extent than usual.
Betsy groaned and wriggled. “ I’m soooo full ! ” She moaned and grunted.
I ignored her. “ C’mon, get dry now. ”
Later : “ I can’t fit my pyjama. My potbelly’s too big. ”
“ Try harder. ”
“ Maybe I’ll sleep without them. ” Betsy did impromptu belly dancer relocation as she wriggled to settle her enormous dinner.
Then she moved up between my wooden leg as I watched TV. “ I’m so laborious and I hurt ! ” She pushed closer. “ look my miserable tummy. ” She turned and pressed her soft butt joint against me.
Aw jeez ! Her dinner party was now invading her gut and their obvious swelling pushed her umbilicus almost level with the airfoil. Slightly raring with her, I said, “ Betsy, you ate so much tonight, you graduated : from a potbelly to a mammoth beer gut. attend at you ! ”
She grinned through her discomfort. “ Just like a adult, huh ? ”
I gave up. “ O.K., get to bed now. ”
She kissed me on the lip, wagged her swollen paunch at me teasingly, then waddled off.
Betsy reappeared twice more within an time of day, complaining that her corporation was too stuffed and big to sleep. I only repeated, “ Try harder. ” By now I was starting to realize that this couldn’t go on much longer.
Of path, I’d no Oklahoman gone to bed myself than Betsy snuck into my bedroom and stood beside my heading. By now, the Indian corn kick and boodle and especially beans were in full gaseous production and her straining pot belly gurgled and snickered and made fizzing sounds.
“ Daaaady. ”
“ I know, your tummy hurts. ”
“ It’s still so firmly, and now it’s all swelled up. appear ! ”
The front end of a small blimp loomed over me when I turned on the bed lamp. The Blimp went on gurgling and squealing at me while I felt her stomach and gut. Her abdomen was obviously bigger and hard as a basketball. Even her bladder was rigid and bulging.
“ pop, I’m scared. My tummy keeps swelling and growling and it keeps making disturbance. I feel so full and it hurts so bad ! I think I’m going to break loose. Help me, Daddy ; don’t let my pot fellate up ! ”
“ Betsy, you’re not going to … aw hell, come up on get in bed. ” I flipped back the blanket and she thudded down beside me and lay on her back, desperately rubbing the tight glistening noggin of her gut. She was crying now.
“ Easy. Just take it easy ! ” I rubbed her rumbling belly, starting up at the spare bulge of her stomach wide-cut of noggin and kraut and working slowly down in gentle circles. After a patch, she burped and burped some more, then farted. She giggled through her tears. By the meter I’d caressed and patted all the way down below her straining belly button, Betsy’s tears had turned to suspiration and then coos and humming that meant she was enjoying this.
I circled the base of her paunch a few times and then stopped. “ Betsy whispered, “ That feels so good. Keep going down, Daddy. ”
“ Down is in between your legs, Betsy. You’re not stuffed down there. ”
“ It still feels swollen. Rub it anyway, Daddy. ”
Swollen snatch ? Betsy was barely twelve. She couldn’t be get on yet, could she ?
How would I cognise ? Though I was 22 by now, I’d dropped out of Stanford University after six calendar month and spent three years in a little room making magic with Numbers that made lots of money. I was copious all right, but still nescient, and insulated from real life by the priesthood of programming.
So I just went back to caressing the straining dome of her garden pink belly, pressing and squeezing her knotted tummy and moving my palm gently over her noisy, stuffed intestines. I played with her navel a little, and she giggled again through her eructation and groans. Her vesica still felt like a big rhythm stone, so I asked if she needed to pee. “ Nooooooooorrpp, ” she replied, as the Logos turned into a farsighted, juicy belch.
This went on for a patch and then, without warning, Betsy rolled on her side, toward me, threw her arm around as much of me as she could reach, and gave me one of those full-grown kiss that went on way too long.
“ Okay, sweetie, ” I said, disengaging. “ Now turn back over and let’s go to sleep. ”
“ Awwww, ” but she removed her arm from my chest. Then, to brace herself for turning, she dropped her palm tree & ndash ; right on my afflictive hard-on, unmistakable under my boxers. “ What’s that, dad ? Is that your thingy ? ”
“ Uh, yeah. drum roll over. ”
“ Is it supposed to be this big ? I saw Billy’s once at school and it was little. ” She still held on to it.
“ Well, sometimes & ndash ; when I’ve been asleep. ”
“ But you weren’t asleep yet. ” Now she was stroking it through my short pants as if my cock were a minuscule cute animal.
“ Betsy ! ”
“ Can I see it ? ”
“ No. ”
“ Why ? Is it bad or something ? ”
“ No, but … ”
Without waiting, the 12 year old young woman dug inside my waistband and freed my cock. “ Wow ! It’s huge ! ” My stopcock was of pretty large, I guess, but not up there in freaksville. She circled nearly of my diameter with her fingerbreadth and started stroking absently.
“ Betsy ! Don’t do that ! ”
Then a kid’s about irritating question : “ Why, dad ; whyyy ? It feels real good to do it. ”
“ Uh, well, uh, only grownup ladies do that, baby. ”
“ You mean like mum ? ” Stroke, apoplexy, stroke. “ But Mommy’s gone, so I have to be mamma ! ”
I groaned. “ It’s not the same. ” Losing patience ( and restraint ) I pushed the girl away. “ Behave, Betsy ! ”
“ W-w-what did I do bad ? ” Her big brown eyes puddled up and bout spilled over.
Oh gawd. “ Nothing, just & ndash ; We’ll talk about it in the morning. ”
She sniffed and wiped her nose. “ Will you rub my tummy again ? ” Without waiting, she turned over and spooned against me. My still-exposed prick detected unornamented peel : Betsy’s butt. I registered that the kid was naked.
“ In just a minute. ” I hit the toilet almost running and stroked a huge load of cum into the sink. When I returned to bed after a few more minutes, my cock was back down off duty.
So I rubbed and kneaded and caressed her swollen paunch while it squelched and gurgled, until she finally went to sleep. Now what the hell was I to assure her in the morning ?
At breakfast Betsy was still caressing her straining gut and eating very short ( for a alteration ).
I finally assembled some courage : “ Betsy, you feel to a greater extent grown up now, right ? ” She nodded, grinning. “ Okay. ” oceanic abyss breath. “ get-go, we both like giving you your bath and rubbing your tummy and, well, so-forth. ”
“ And sleeping with you, ” she added brightly.
I winced. “ Better to say you’re sleeping in my bed sometimes. In fact, just not talk about it at all.
“ Why, Daddy ? ”
God-DAMN that word ! “ That’s not important right now. The point is, we have to puddle some alteration here. ” She opened her mouth but I rushed on, “ In September, you start seventh grade at a different School. ”
I outlined the facts of lifespan : a ) her grade school had believed I was her stepfather because her mother had told them so ; b ) now Betsy faced a whole new set of middle school teacher, counselors, administrators, but without a mom to vouch for me ; c ) however I seemed to Betsy, adults would think me way too Pres Young to be a parent of a middle shoal educatee. If they decided that, the Social table service people would render up and carry Betsy from me.
“ Nooooo ! ”
“ Exactly ! So from now on, you start behaving like a teenage girl, not a kid. Don’t take my hired hand ; don’t kiss me in public ; don’t show you like me too often. Oh : and stop calling me daddy. I’m dad, from now on. ”
“ Can we still have fun at home ? ”
“ Um, well, within reason. ” Before the girl could ask what that meant, I served her more pancakes. On autopilot, she piled on butter and syrup and devoured them.
Between May and September I grew a short-circuit, spare beard and mustache. I went to a men’s sales outlet fund and bought some business clothes and shoes. Just before schoolhouse started, I invested in a clientele executive’s hair styling. At the new midriff schooltime, when Betsy’s seventh grade guidance counselor asked about her parents, I explained that my married woman was a “ project consultant ” who traveled a lot. I myself was “ in software, locally. ” Both statute title automatically satisfied everyone where we lived in atomic number 14 Valley.
I made a big heap out of insisting that, as Betsy’s stepfather, I kept closely tab key on her school day advancement. I wanted to be informed of any job in Betsy’s important transition to her new environment. I guess I was pompous and serious enough to pass & ndash ; especially when I volunteered to set up the new computer lab ( this was 1996, think of ? ) By the time I left, the advocate accepted me completely as Betsy’s step-parent and guardian. Not to brag, but I would keep that trick going perfectly until Betsy graduated high schooling ; and Betsy played her part too. As far as the humans could tell, she was just an stripling daughter.
But in buck private, Betsy’s stealing drive continued. The sensuous baths grew longer somehow and the bedtime visits more frequent. Often she “ forgot ” to put on her pj's and showed up in the living room in all her plump, pink aura. I’d shoo away her out, but she’d inveigle her way up onto my lap while I groaned silently. Once, she complained that her belly button hurt.
I stuck in a tentative finger. “ Does that hurt ? ”
“ No, keep looking. ”
“ You mean stay fresh playing with your navel. ”
Betsy grinned and nodded. “ And kissing it, you know the way you do & ndash ; with your lingua and all. ”
So I French-kissed her belly push button and tongued all around in it and pressed my sassing against it and sucked it like an reverse nipple. And all the patch, I kept my palm tree on either slope of it, caressing her warm, taut belly. I could get wind supper interior, bubbling and chuckling away. I confess it made me unvoiced, as it now so often did. Still, I tried to believe that this routine was as innocent as blowing on a baby’s tummy to seduce the child squeal and giggle.
Between 12 and 13, Betsy started budding big-time. Her pap grew into puffy mushroom-shaped cloud caps and her slowly widening hips required new clothes. She was growing ever taller - up to my chin by now and no end in hatful. Her pussy was still bald but the lips grew plumper and more prominent. Sometimes my hand shook as I soaped them. She lost a footling baby fat, but her tight belly still bulged erotically.
A full year went by this way, with Betsy quite innocently trying to score me, I while stayed on my trump behavior.
It couldn’t finis forever, though. When Betsy was approaching 13, things came to a head, so to speak, on Christmas sunup. Like about parents I gave in to present tense before dressing and breakfast, so we made a wrapping plenty out of the living room and then retired to the kitchen for a huge holiday breakfast. Betsy stuffed herself despite my incessant cautions. I ate more than my percentage too, and ended up sitting listlessly on the couch in my bathrobe and nighttime boxers.
Betsy ambled innocently over to me, wagging her belly overhang negligently. “ Daddy & ndash ; um, Dad ? ”
“ Mm ? ”
“ I want just one more Christmas present. ”
“ And what would that be, Miss Greedy ? ” I took a crapulence of coffee.
“ I want to see your cock. ”
SPLOOSH ! I cleaned the coffee off my robe with a tissue paper while thinking fast. “ How occur ? ” ( okeh okay, I wasn’t thinking all THAT fast. )
“ lawsuit I learned about them in, uh, sex education. ”
Seventh grade health, eh ? “ I don’t think they call it that in health class. ”
“ wellspring … ” she wormed her way between my knees. “ … well, it wasn’t school, exactly. ” She grinned up at me. “ Marcie told me. ”
Aha ! Marcie was another seventh grader, who had moved into in our condominium building complex. Betsy hung out with her after school. Like any proper parent, I took refuge in a technicality : “ It’s called a penis. ”
She served up her irresistible giggle. “ Of course I knew that ! okay, I want to see your penis. ”
I thought a farseeing moment, then pulled it out of my boxer fly, why, I’ll never know ( oh yes I do ). Maybe I talked myself into the idea that we could somehow get the whole thing over with. Or something. My alibi to myself were embarrassingly square. “ Satisfied ? ”
Instantly, Betsy grabbed it. She inspected it critically. “ It’s not big and hard anymore. Now it LOOKS like a ‘ penis.’” She started kneading and rubbing it.
“ It’ll maturate in a minute of arc if you keep that up. ”
Sure enough, as she fondled my shaft it stiffened and swelled under her warm fist. She smiled and started stroking up and down.
“ Betsy, easy ! Don’t Betsy ! Dammit ! Marcie taught you how to do this ? She’s mighty immature yet. ”
“ Well …, she had an educational video. ”
“ Educational ? Ooh ! Easy, sweetheart ! Ah, and what was this sex instruction video called ? ”
Cheerfully : “ ‘ Nine-inch Cocks in ten-inch throats.’” Thankfully, I didn’t have a mouth wide-cut of coffee this prison term. Betsy continued, “ Marcie sorta got it from her brother. ” When I raised an brow she added, “ Like from the back of his sleeping room closet. ”
I should have stopped it all right there, should have stowed my pecker away, should have got up and got dressed, but … shoulda woulda coulda. I didn’t. Betsy’s manus was big enough to wrap around me now and her slowly stroke and squeezing were irresistible. I just lay back and let her do it. After several minutes she looked up at me. “ I think it’s set, so I want to absorb it. ”
“ Okay, I draw the line. NO ! ”
“ But I want to see your cum ! ” she wailed.
“ It’s called ‘ seminal fluid’… oh never mind. ”
Another giggle. “ That’s as bad as ‘ penis.’”
“ Uh, okay, if you keep rubbing and stroking and maybe tickle my ball with your other hand, maybe you’ll get to me come. ”
“ ball ? ”
“ Balls. ”
That, I think, was the tiptoe point in time. By allowing Betsy to masturbate me, I was exposing my sexual interest in her. Of course, the mind doesn’t notice what it doesn’t want to, and the thought process did not happen to me, at to the lowest degree consciously.
She unsnapped my boxers completely and did as I advised. Her finger were delightful, exploring my scrotum, pulling up the tegument and watching bump fall on either side. Then she leaned forward with uncanny instinct, trapped my straining cock between her medallion and round belly, and pumped it up and down with her full food-stuffed gut. She pressed harder and her belly dancer extrusion got faster and stronger.
“ Aaaahhh, okeh, sweetie, here it comes, get fix ! ” She leaned her face over my stopcock head with bully pursuit. “ No ! Straighten up ; clean up up now ! ”
So when my ropy cum spurted upward, it didn’t squish her facial expression. That would suffer been just too much. She watched, hypnotized, as gush after gush of thick white jism fell back on her hand or ran sluggishly down the steep slope of her belly. She fingered her belly-button thoughtfully and licked it. “ Mm ! Salty. ” She swept up a big blob and swallowed it. Then she looked at me wickedly. “ Maybe future time, ” she whispered seductively.
I was too confused, too ashamed, and, yeah, too happily serviced to say anything. We took our shower early that Christmas.
In fact, I started joining Betsy in the exhibitioner some nights instead of standing by the tub and washing her. I still soaped her thrusting garden pink belly, pushed fingers into her pussy backtalk, and teased her anus while she grunted with pleasure and waggled her taut bubble arse. But now she washed me too & ndash ; at to the lowest degree, where she could pass. Looking down at her sopping hair as she knelt and tenderly soaped my pes and legs, I recognized the deep warmness, even love, that bonded us. She rinsed my dick and balls more thoroughly than necessary. Almost always, she would kiss my cock tip, then look up at me wickedly. “ I love you, pop, ” she would whisper.
God helper me.
On her 13th birthday in May, she took things up to the next spirit level. After the common dinner out that left her groaning and rubbing her food-packed gut, we sat on the couch while I massaged it. “ Daddy, ” she said in that timber that meant something was coming. “ Daddy, on my birthday, can I pick the TV to watch ? ” I said I didn’t see why not. Betsy hauled herself up off the sofa, turned on the 50-inch hi-def, and fed a DVD into its player. By the time she had climbed back up beside me, the usual right of first publication warnings and stuff and nonsense were over and the deed came up : BOUNTIFUL BOUNCING BEAUTIES. Uh-oh !
It was one of those porn anthologies, 20-minute segment of big beautiful women getting themselves off and/or getting their windsock fucked off. During a lesbian section, Betsy confided, “ Marcie and I tried that, but it didn’t do anything for us. ”
“ Marcie’s blood brother’s DVD, is it ? ”
Instead of answering, she pulled her sweatshirt off and shoved the drawers down below her straining gut. “ I hurt again, pa. shuffling my tummy feel better. ”
So I resumed the routine, massaging her compressed flesh from her over-stuffed tum all the way down to her sweat pants top. By now I was avoiding her pectus. Betsy had always had plump little fat-breasts, but now her diminished nipples had widened and jump up into shadow pinko mushroom caps.
One section featured a quite pretty Cy Young woman with a tranquil, generous belly crowned with wonderful breast : as big and pendulous as all the others, but shaped into thrusting, dark-tipped gourds. As we watched them wag erotically, Betsy reached an arm across and put her palm on my pants. “ Oooh ! You like her, don’t you, pop ? ” She rubbed and patted my cock through my jeans.
A long, contemplative pause, then she said, “ Do you think I’ll originate dope like hers ? ”
“ You’re starting already. ”
“ I try to make them bigger. ” With the first of all and second fingers of each hand, she rubbed round and polish her puffy mammilla. “ It feels secure, ” she said. I kept silent. “ When you wash me you hardly touch them anymore. Don’t you like my boobie steer ?
“ Honestly, I do. They’re, um, stimulating. ”
“ Well ? ” She grabbed my hand that was still reaching over to massage her paunch and lifted it to her chest of drawers. “ Rub there too, Daddy. ” I stared at her indecisively. “ make me a birthday feel. ”
“ Feel ? ”
A giggle. “ That’s what Marcie calls it. ”
So, God serve me, I caressed her big mamilla while Betsy hummed and cooed with pleasure. She started wiggling her hip around too. When I left off, she checked my crotch thermometer again. “ Mmm, you like that too, don’t you ? ” She smiled at me. “ One last birthday present, dada. Let’s get undressed while we watch the movie. ”
I heaved a powerful suspiration. “ Betsy, I just can’t do that. ”
Her pretty face clouded up. “ Why not ? Don’t you like to ? ”
clip to be very thrifty. After a suspension for grueling cerebration, I answered her slowly, “ I do like to, sweetie, I like to play with you & ndash ; too much. We love each other, right ? ” An enthusiastic nod. Betsy had stripped off her sweat pants too, but I ignored this. “ Well, it’s turning into grownup love and adult show their love, sometimes, like that. ” I pointed at the enceinte action on the screen.
“ good ! ” Betsy exclaimed. “ My pussy really wants that ! ”
“ Yes, but your, um, cunt isn’t grown up enough to cultivate right yet. It isn’t big enough and it doesn’t make slippery juices. ”
“ Ohhhh, yes it does ! ” she shouted. “ And I am grown up ! I have hair down there & ndash ; well, one or two & ndash ; I mean, I think. ” She couldn’t quite say that part with a straight face.
“ Listen, darling, Fatherhood don’t do this with daughters. ”
“ But we’re not really related. ”
“ well grownup men don’t do it with ANY 13 year olds ; or if they do, they get busted and sent to immure forever. You don’t want that, do you ? ”
“ How do you tell when I’m grown up enough ? ”
“ For one thing, you get a menses every month. You know what … ? ”
“ Of COURSE I know ! ”
“ And even then … ”
“ OK OK, but it’s still my birthday. We don’t have to … ” she jerked a thumb at the couples on the screen. “ You can still take your clothes off this one time. ”
So I did. Then we lounged side by side, naked, while I slowly caressed her distortion belly and she slowly fisted my equally throbbing cock. Most of the DVD was over by now, so we watched it out.
Then I had an idea. “ Okay, baby, the first step is to talk to you like an adult. You set up ? ” A wide-eyed nod. “ Let’s talk about making love and fucking. ” When her eye got even boastful I added, “ I’m sure you and Marcie use that word. ” A loath nod. “ Right, now tonight, we’ve looked at both. ”
At the DVD carte du jour, I went to one of the four segments, fast-forwarded a little, then hit gambol. On the screen, the fair sex’s huge dope were flopping madly back and Forth as her scantling took her from behind : wham ! Wham ! WHAM ! ! In and out, in and out. Both partners were clearly just going through the motility. “ That. My darling, is fucking. ”
Dismissively, “ Of path it is ! ”
“ But wait. ” I found another segment I’d remembered and jumped to it. This time, the duet were obviously amateurs. The plumply juicy daughter looked fresh and her guy was well enough endowed but nothing awesome. As they fondled and licked and sucked each former they often paused to look into each other’s eyes ; and the looks were intimate and joyful. Once she even giggled when he whispered in her ear. And when he finally entered her he teased her slowly, surged against her G spot, stroked her trunk with his hands. And all the sentence, they watched each other with a mixing of affection and desire.
“ That, my dear sweetheart, is making love. Now what’s the remainder between it and fucking ? ”
Betsy pondered this at length, all the while running her mitt slowly up and down my cock. Then she said, “ Fucking’s like a sportsman. Making beloved is showing how you love somebody. ”
Betsy was one bright 13 year old. I nodded at her, smiling broadly. She smiled back. “ And we love each former, don’t we ? ” TOO fresh, too damn smart !
discomfited by logic and maddened by her warm, stroking fingers on my hammer, I just sighed ; and then we wrapped our weapon system around each other and rubbed our consistency together as we tangled lips and tongues. It was the most erotic thing that ever happened to me and, yes, I knew I did & ndash ; I did eff Betsy.
A few minutes later we were gazing at the ceiling, face by slope, still caressing each other’s bare bodies, when Betsy piped up, “ I got an idea. ” I’d had enough of her idea for one Night, but I said okay. “ You ‘ fellow member the two who made love on the magnetic disk ? ” I grunted assent. “ wellspring, she not only rubbed his prick. He kissed her pussy too. ” Oh, here it came. “ We could do that too. ”
I sighed. “ Remember how I said you weren’t grown up enough to make juices down there ? ” Her play to mussitate assent. “ Well your persona probably aren’t developed either. ”
“ What share ? ”
“ Well, ah. Your clitoris. ”
“ What’s that ? ”
“ Um, it’s sort of like a tiny female penis & ndash ; way up in front of your pussy. When a fille grows up it gets very, very sensitive, and, uh, well, makes her feel all … aroused, ” I trailed off lamely, “ and like that. ”
Betsy bounced good, “ Let’s try it, Daddy & ndash ; see if I get aroused yet ! ” Without waiting, she flipped over into 69 position and raised her upper leg, her plump human knee cocked. “ Come on, dada : for my natal day ! ” She snugged against me and took my starchy cock between her two palm tree. She kissed the tip and slid it between her pink lips.
So there I lay, face just far enough away to focus, staring at her plump, pink twat. I knew Betsy wasn’t above faking arousal to get what she wanted, so I parted her outer lip and put my tongue tip all the way back to her vagina. I licked and lapped her a bit, without much reception. I raked my tongue back and forth between her inner rim. She sighed a bit.
Then I moved forward and found her clitoris. I had too niggling experience to know if it had grown to adult size, but it sure wasn’t concentrated for my tongue tip to encounter. I tickled it. Betsy grunted. I pushed my mouth in and sucked on it.
“ That’s it, pop ! ” she shouted. “ Do it ! Do it more ! ! ”
Did I want to ? Betsy would take this as proof she was physically adult. Instead, I said, “ It’s kind of difficult to gain now, truelove ; you’re still a bit short. ”
But her informatory friend Marcie had clearly clued her in. Without stopping her employment on my straining cock, she reached a mitt down, found her clit, and started on it herself. She rubbed and diddled her fingers while her pelvic girdle bucked and her suction on my cock intensified.
After a few minutes, Betsy squeaked, “ It’s doing something ! Something’s happening ! ” her dead body was now trembling as well as bumping and a mewling ummhh ! ummhh ! came out of her mouth. Ultimately, she shuddered and subsided into trembling. She pulled her hand out of her pussy and rubbed it up the slope of her belly, between her budding boob, and up and into her back talk. She licked and sucked her fingers. “ Hey ! I taste proficient ! ” I smiled inside. Betsy had been so in use getting off that she’d forget to jack my cock. I pulled back from her a bit and let it square up on its own ( encouraged by find out thoughts about gas station rest suite and overripe dumpsters ).
As we lay there, I studied the girl beside me. She wasn’t soft-fat now & ndash ; becoming more like a sealing wax with a layer of solid avoirdupois under a sleek, sensuous hide. Her legs were foresightful too, and from my extreme point low angle, I could see that her chest were now far Thomas More than infant fat launch area with mamilla. My Betsy was growing honest boobs. Her dead body had always been ripely attractive, but now it was share way toward forming one sexy Cy Young girl.
Somehow, it came together : I loved Betsy, romantically, sexually, fatally ; there was no avoiding it. I loved her confection peevishness, her generosity, her dedication to an absent-minded swot & ndash ; and right now, I loved her sleek, luxuriant body and that erotic, thrusting belly. Lifting her upper leg again, I rammed my expression into her pussy, shoved one arm beneath her to hug her resilient butt, and actively pushed my cock toward her face, suddenly grown stiff and fat again. Without missing a beat, she took it mystifying into her mouthpiece and started sucking me. Licking her button, embracing her merchantman, caressing her swollen pot belly, and thrusting into her mouth, I spasmed and shot a monster encumbrance of seminal fluid into her. From down where I was, I could see it gush out around my rotating shaft, too thick and generous to swallow.
“ You’re good at that ! ” I gasped. Between swallowing rapidly and licking gabardine overflow off her backtalk, Betsy couldn’t answer for a piece ; but finally she grinned and said, “ Remember those sex education mag tape ? ” I hugged her second joint and we chuckled together. We lay there on the sofa a patch until our external respiration and pulses slowed, then showered to cleanse up and went to bed together.
I hadn’t been able to think about what I’d done on the couch, but before I went to sleep that night I stared into the nighttime with growing pity and revulsion. I had allowed a 13 year old girl to service me … No, say it ! I fucked my daughter in her backtalk. I literally threw my pillow over my head and half-hoped I’d smother. When I’d told myself to depart the drama and suck it up, I took the pillow off, stared at the Nox again, and made a silent vow : no matter how intensely I loved her intelligence and originality, her sweet, cheerful personality, and growing mundanity ; no matter how I gave in to her souse, exotic body and insistent physical tempting, she was still a girl and I would not get across her. I would not stick my grown-up stopcock in to her snatch, ass or mouth !
And for two solid, baffle years, I kept my hope. Even when she came to me that day when I was working and said she’d had a period, I refused to thrust my cock in her.
Betsy turned 15 in May, 1999 and finished 9th grade. Come June, as common, I sent her to a miraculous summertime camp in the Rockies & ndash ; but this year, for the world-class metre, she went as a counsel learner and stayed through all three three-week camp seance.
In June I’d shipped off a big but half-developed little girl. Now, just before Labor Day, I got back a young woman & ndash ; tanned and toned, with sun-streaked auburn fuzz, a face no longer baby-chubby, and sexy looking branch that shot her up to five-foot-five. As she ran toward me in the San Jose airport arrival area, I saw she had hips now, and those swinging shapes beneath her shirt were real number breasts, and all-out too. Later, at shower down time, I found they were accented by bikini tan lines. ( By this, her 4th year at the all-girl encampment, her odd pear human body was long-accepted and she wore a thong Bikini unselfconsciously. ) Her pudge was evolving into satiny, boilers suit cushioning, and her jab, pouting belly was even amend showcased by her tan lines.
Oh, that sexy belly ! It was what had hooked me to lead off with, and now it was twice as erotic. The side of her upper and downhearted gut arced seductively and the belly push between them was now pass mystifying enough in substantial flesh to suck my finger in a one-half inch. My belly fetish dominated me as always, and nine weeks without Betsy’s erotic stomach had left me so horny that I was more susceptible than usual.
I’d like to claim that she seduced me all over again, but the fact is, I’d already bought a box of prophylactic & ndash ; “ just in case, ” I told myself, ho, ho.
In bed I said, “ Hmh : you have veridical dumbbell now, baby. ” I scuffed them lightly with my palms.
She grinned. “ You bet, still growing too. ” She covered my custody with her own and paused reflectively. “ Know what ? You can’t scream me baby anymore, ‘ grounds I’m not ; and I can’t call you daddy. ” Taking hold of my wrists, she moved my script around her breasts and pep pill dead body. “ matter are different, now. I’m rise up now. ”
I smiled. “ Well, maybe not completely. ”
“ Enough. ” Her smile wasn’t sly anymore, just loving. “ You remember when we talked about making love and shtup ? ” I nodded “ I’m ready to get to love now. ”
I pretended to consider, but I’d already decided and I think Betsy knew it ( she had a ace for reading me ). I said judiciously, “ Well, okay ba- uh, Betsy. ”
“ I thought a lot this summer. I know you really have intercourse me & ndash ; the real me. And … ” she stopped long enough to puzzle something out, “ … and at the same metre, you think my belly’s a huge turn-on. You want to fuck it & ndash ; ‘ course of instruction you can’t really, but you know what I mean. ”
It took a while to get it out, but finally, I admitted, “ Yes, uh, yes, you’re right. ”
Betsy took my hands now and placed them on both English of her swelling paunch. “ And I realized it’s okay & ndash ; okay to love someone and still require to stroke their belly and get laid their psyche out. ”
I chuckled. “ You picked up some expressions this summer. ” I was rubbing and caressing her smooth, shiny belly flesh.
“ Oh, I knew that one. Now, ” her grinning did work loathly. “ Now, let’s fuck each other’s brains out ! ”
“ Mm, but slowly, gently. You’re still a virgin. ”
Another grin. “ And you’ve got to bust my cherry tree ! ”
“ No ! I’m going to worry it, tease it, persuade it to give giving up voluntarily. ”
We dried each early with more than usual precaution and walked, hired man in helping hand, into the bedroom. She led me to the bed and sat down on the edge. Standing above her, I saw for the 1st fourth dimension how her bulbous new breasts accented the thrust of her sitting-down belly. It made an echoing triple of swollen curve that had me instantly hard as a brand-new popsicle.
As if picking up the idea, Betsy started warming me up, teasing and tickling my cock tip with her knife, then slowly closing her backtalk around my cap and sucking. She repeated this until I groaned, and then started slowly thrusting deeper and deeper, until her back talk kissed the radix of my shaft. Of course, lollipop melt, but my cock only warmed even further, if possible. When she had me gasping Betsy pulled her mouth off my straining dick, scooted back on the bed, and lay with her stifle in the air, panoptic apart. “ Your turn of events, ” she whispered.
Before going down on her, I took a moment to canvass what the summer had done for her. As I’d noticed, her two-piece bra melodic line drew triangles around her white meat & ndash ; so full and turgid that they refused to lie down or flop to the incline. Her nipples were expectant and even intumescent now, and her aspect was a char’s expression, not finished yet, but leaner, stronger, suddenly full of graphic symbol that the little little girl translation had not shown. From the breasts on up, it was voiceless to think back that she was 15.
From the titty on down she was still changing. Her passing of childhood chubbies had left her a sweetly curved waistline that faired outward to pelvic girdle that were definitely distaff. Her legs were longer now and promised to look mouth-watering in high heel. She was still quite flesh out, but her fat was squeezed by tight, taut skin that made her look even more like a silky and streamlined seal.
And then, of row, her belly : still layered with unanimous fat, still hurl upward by the bulk of her oversized organs. The Doctor had been right : Betsy’s bowels would remain double-size and she would always look five months pregnant. Sensing my thoughts, she took a huge, deep breathing place and held it while she arched her back and pushed her stomach out. Her tan, shiny belly ballooned into an titillating dome that had me airless to coming instantly. I slowly ran a do it medallion around it, spiraling outward from her belly push button and ending at the new, minor crop of pubic whisker now shadowing her mound.
“ Ohhh, Betsy ! ” I groaned and dropped my head between her legs. I licked her ass crack cocaine and vagina, then moved forward to insulate and tickle her button. Betsy moaned and shook, holding my head and pushing me into her. “ Oh, now, Dad, now ! ” she breathed, and sure enough, her twat was flowing with adult female succus. Yes, now it was time.
I moved up her rung, satiny body, kissing and licking as I went, until I reached her mouth. Her centre were tearing up although she smiled and nodded, yes !
I was so aroused by this new Betsy that I almost forgot. “ Sweetie, I’ve got to put a rubber on. ”
“ No you don’t. ”
“ We’re not risking … ”
“ Daddy, I mean, Dad : my period stopped yesterday. I won’t be speculative for almost two weeks. ”
“ You’re sure, baby ? ”
“ fixture as clockwork. ” She giggled. “ You oughta see me just before it. I get all bloated up and my belly gets even bigger. ”
Interesting, how calmly she accepted her body configuration by now, but I was too far gone to believe about this. Gratefully, I slid my cock into the lips of her plump cunt and found my porta. Slowly, slowly, I pushed in an inch, then pulled back out. Betsy nodded enthusiastically. In again, an extra inch this metre, then out.
Betsy looked impatient. Oh, do it, darling, fuck me ! ”
And so I slid my fat cock deeper, out, deep, out, cryptical down her eager, slippery fix until it hit the classic Virgin barrier. “ Hold, on, Sweetie ; here we go ! ” I pushed a bit, and pushed again. It seemed to buckle under a little.p “ Oh, Dad ! ” Betsy said in that disgusted tone favored by teenagers. Grabbing my butt face, she yanked me tightlipped, while thrusting her hips to fulfill me. I broke through, watching her face anxiously. Betsy squeezed her eyes shut, with her mouth and lips locked tightly closed. After a here and now, though, she relaxed, took an Brobdingnagian breath that pushed her belly farther upward, and grinned at me. “ Now go, sweet Daddy, GO ! ”
I went. Not the rapid slap-slap-slap so typical in porn vids, but slowly, lovingly, watching her brass grow tense and pearl of stew stand out above her plump pink mouth. After several hour of this, I wanted to see to a greater extent of my new lover. “ Listen, Betsy. ”
“ What, what ? ” she grunted.
“ Do something for me. ” I withdrew and rolled us over. “ Sit up and then spear my cock in your pussy. ”
This took a bit of fumbling and experiment but she finally mastered it : straddling me, kneeling she guided my tip to her vagina and lowered slowly down. A look of joy transformed her brass, like looking at a piling of Christmas present tense. “ Oooh, Dad, ” she whispered.
“ I’ll say, baby ! Now you do the workplace a while. ”
She tried it, rising and falling on my turgid cock. After a few moments, her smile got wider, if possible. “ It’s even better, ” she breathed, “ somehow you rub my clit thing harder. ”
She pounded harder, faster, mystifying while her new breast trembled and swayed. Finally I said, “ love, I’m going to stimulate to … ”
Her shuddery wail cut me off & ndash ; an endless “ Aaaaah-aaaaah-aaaaah ” that rose up to a yell. Her body buck and trembled, jerked again, and finally shuddered six or seven times, each a bit less violently. My Betsy had enjoyed a thorough, grown-up orgasm.
All this prison term, I was gazing at chubby paradise : auburn curls bouncing, shapely arms propping up her suntanned, roly-poly torso. Her egotistic belly shove forward each time she grounded on me. Its skin stretched tight and bright and her belly button got shallower until it was level with her belly surface. This and her noisy coming were too much for me. I exploded cum in her vagina, firing spurt after spurt.
When Betsy felt it, she hopped off, knelt beside me, and took the repose in her wide-open mouth. When I had exhausted my supply, she sat up and let ashen semen dribble down her Kuki. She licked it, swallowed. Then she fell forward on me and kissed me so passionately that I tasted my own ejaculation. We lay there, panting.
And so our long function began & ndash ; a love function that lasts up to the day I write this.
The rest is quickly told. Betsy blew through highschool school in Palo Alto, happy with life, scoring top mark, and running with the concert banding and jazz group. ( She played a mean baritone sax. I guess her lungs were as oversize as the rest of her electric organ. )
Meanwhile, portion and the dot-com house of cards were good to me indeed. start a software company bought my program for improved cell phone switching and paid me with ten percent of their pedigree. Within a yr, they’d been devoured by a big firm and I got ten pct of $ 100 million. With the money, I bought property in silicon Valley and the Bay arena, and watched my investment quartet in four years. When I sold out again, just ahead of the literal estate collapse, I had 40 million bucks. At a careful five percentage interest, I was raking in two million a year. Okay, not Bill Gates, but Not Too Fuckin’Shabby, as they say.
I kept one home in Berkeley, in walking space from the university. When we sold our condominium ( at a ridiculously inflated price ) we moved up there and started a new liveliness & ndash ; at to the lowest degree in public. She was now my live-in girlfriend and the two of us started at Berkeley together.
Why go back to school at 28 ? I guess ten year of parenting, family management, and keeping up mature coming into court for the alfresco world had all changed me from a reclusive geek to a grown up man. Besides, I wanted to detain in Betsy’s life. She felt the same. Later on, we married, and today Betsy bustles with our two kids ( you should have seen her belly fully pregnant ! ) I collect detestable income from investments and teach high-pitched schoolhouse math and programing. Turns out, I know an awful lot about kids and finger strong empathy with them.
Betsy had shown me that my multitude skills were better than I’d thought.