15 March 2007

Greetings readers! This erotic tale is my first finished 'chapter' in the passion genre – finished after nearly eleven years of strictly reading the most wonderful of genres. I may or may not be holding my breath for any critical praise for the piece still I would love any appropriate criticism if you, the reader, can afford to give to me. If you are willing to drop me a line or two of encouragement and/or literary analysis, that would be appreciated, (my email address: princefoster@inbox.com). As for spam and other unsolicited pieces of hate mail, they will be ignored and promptly disposed, (after I exorcised them from my mail account with a minute or two of mumbling obscenities under my breath, of course). I am hoping to continue writing some more if I can stave off the most serious of afflictions ... procrastination. Ta! For reading my story. Hope you enjoy it!

Virtually yours,


Necessary Legalese: This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living and/or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This work of fiction contains acts of deviant sexuality: sexual acts between a minor and and an adult. The sexual acts described in this short work of fiction are illegal in most, if not every single developed country in the world. Please refrain from attempting to reenact the following sexual activities with any minor. There are legal, moral, physical, and/or emotional consequences that will cause much suffering for you and your underage partner. You should also be aware of the legal restrictions drawn from your regional legal authority that pertain to downloading, possessing, reading, and/or distributing this work of erotic fiction. If you, the reader, are a minor, please stop reading now. Goto your local library or perhaps if your access to a regional public library is limited, try one of the thousands of free and legal ebooks at http://www.gutenberg.org/. Browse and enjoy the plethora of FREE titles there.

“An Amateur Astronomer's Life”

Story Codes: Ped.; Fg; and mast.

Chapter 1: Close Encounter of the First, Second, and Third Kind

Andrea first spotted the child sitting alone on the sofa in the farthest, darkest corner of the her apartment building's lobby. The girl was lounging on that ratty black leather sofa, the one where the former residents of 3G made three herculean efforts to squeeze it onto the service elevator but failing that, left where it now sits, half in and half out of the elevator car.

The child had to be no more then 50 or 55 pounds, give or take a pebble. This waif couldn't have been no more then 48 or 49 inches tall either. Andrea assumed this sole runabout couldn't have been more then seven or eight years old. That day, the child was wearing a faded red velvet sweater and an equally tired black pleated skirt. Heck, the sweater was so tight on the child, the embroidered Christmas tree, sited right above her heart, could have been an actual tattoo.

Smirking to herself, Andrea mumbled, “Someone's mother must love shopping at the Salvation Army store a little too much.”

After making her clever, self-pleasing smug remark, Andrea continued to the back stairway to walk up eight flights of stairs to her so called penthouse apartment.


Andrea came home early from work at around noonish. She took her usual beeline route past the indefinitely unmanned doorman's desk, to the mail room - too early for mail, then around back to the lobby to get to the back stairwell. Her apartment building did not have a working elevator for at least six months. The forced mount up those eight floors, though a healthy addition to her nonexistent work out routine, just reminded her how pathetic her underachieving life was.

This time, the girl child was not lounging on the sofa. Lately, Andrea could rely on seeing her sitting there in the dim light, everyday these past few weeks. This time, she was no where to be found. After softly lamenting the child's absence, Andrea went to open the stairwell door. Halfway through opening the door, she tripped on her own double take. Did she really see someone crouching behind one of the lobby's over-sized artificial potted ferns?

Tracing her steps back to the questionable shadow, hiding spot, Andrea managed to make out the figure of her missing non-acquaintance/familiar distraction. Crouched in the corner, the child's outline was barely illuminated by what maybe the world's only 1 watt lightbulb. The light was placed strategically in the service elevator to give this back part of the lobby the least amount of light as possible.

Andrea couldn't make out any particulars of what the girl was wearing, though she could safely predict what Goodwill rags were draped on the shoulders of the child. Thursdays? The child would usually be wearing her faux red velvet sweat suit, branded with a darling embroidered profile of a bichon frise, which was conveniently placed where the belly button should be situated. Andrea found that she did not need a light to envision the child's shoulder length ash brown hair. She was certain it was silky and softly fragrant as it was always appeared clean and relatively well groomed. The incidental thought on the child's mysterious 1½ inch scar below her chin always elicited the usual shivers from Andrea. One day, I'll have to ask the girl, first her name, then how she got that scar. When Andrea realized that the two of them were in some unpremeditated starring contest in the dark, she broke off from the skirmish and headed up to her apartment.

After securing her front door, Andrea slumped down onto the floor of her so called foyer. What were these feelings that were recently frequenting Andrea? Andrea sat there and briefly ran through her social and emotional resume. As a neurotic habit, she held tightly to and brought forth her life's highlight reel of memories when she found herself socially perplexed and frustrated, which was too often these days.

She was a single, white female. She was someone who never had neither a serious boyfriend nor girlfriend for that matter. At 31 years old, this strawberry blond once sported shoulder length hair before making the manifest decision never to have her hair long enough to touch her ears. Professional could have been her surname after all. She was a research librarian, who happened to stumble onto a rare bird, a successful dot com. Her job was her only true vice and virtue.

Often, her self-repression conflicted with her self-designated bohemian lifestyle. Last decade's depression burst the entire country's bubble. So now, she owns her two bedroom, eight room penthouse, situated in a converted government subsidized tenement. Still, she was far from being propelled into the ever-disappearing middle class.

Picking herself off of the floor, she chosen not to reminisce about her expatriated parents, who fled the country to Paris after Andrea's only brother was lynched for being the first openly gay Bishop of the Providence Diocese.

She then wandered into the master bathroom before realizing that she was undressing herself completely to take a her pleasant habit of a post-work honey inundated bubble bath. Andrea smiled reflexively, I bet that little girl would appreciate taking one of these baths.

Instead of reading her Providence Journal from back to front, she just stretched out in her marbled tub. The image of that girl was projected onto the back of her eyelids. The child's simulacrum, as usual was without book or toy, left reclining on that black leather couch, caught up in her own private limbo. One minute later, Andrea realized that the girl in this imaginary recollection was now without socks or shoes. Andrea then knew that this daydream couldn't be heading in a healthy direction.

Andrea's sexual history was blatantly truistic. Written down on a paper, the list of names would include no more then two lovers, one name would have been her own. Again, instead of habitually dwelling on her obvious past, Andrea elected to dive into this unexpectedly deviant path.

Andrea then returned her focus to this mystery child and her relatively slacker position. And Andrea was befuddled with herself. What should I take off next, Andrea thought on the sly.

The butterflies were awakening in Andrea's stomach as the girl-child's red velvet top was slowly and delicately scissored off from the child's frame. Underneath the polyester top was a relatively clean white tank top. Andrea commanded her fantasy doppleganger to lift her arms. Underneath the outstretched arms was a silken expanse that was the child's soft downy armpit. And Andrea could imagine how clean and pure the child's scent would be. She could just lick this delicate vicinage ad infinitum.

Moving on, Andrea took advantage of the child's extended arms to give each armpit a raspberry or two. After the imaginary giggles had drifted away with a few of the bubbles of the bath, Andrea removed the child's tee shirt.

The child's belly and abdomen were a clean slate. Andrea first noticed the child's belly button was an outty. That strange beau ideal made Andrea quiver and set the her butterflies free to warm up and dampen her girlhood. Glancing northward from the child's navel, Andrea noticed the girl-child's broaching new buds. The child's areolae were slightly lopsided and asymmetrical in retrospective to each other. This minor imperfection thrilled Andrea into finally caressing her own anticipating mons. The resulting rush from this initial contact sent Andrea almost completely submerged in the bathwater. What would it be like to nibble, to kiss, and to tweak such virginal nipples? Andrea afforded herself one imaginary peck on the left breast. That's all it took to send another wave of overwhelming ecstasy down to Andrea's aroused loins.

Flushed with equal parts of hormones, deviant sexual thoughts, and Puritan guilt, Andrea sighed aloud. Again, falling back into this aberrant caprice, Andrea moved on once again. This time, Andrea stared at the velvet sweatpants. And for the first time in Andrea's fancy, the mystery child had spoken. “Go on... Go ahead please... I don't mind if you take them off. Please?”

To ease the transition, the girl-child slightly lifted her hips off of the couch. And before Andrea could grab hold of the pants elastic waistband, they began slowly rolling down the child's hips themselves. From here on, Andrea was a convert at the mecca of childhood sexuality. Below the child's designated outty, was a pristine pair of pink hearted undies. Andrea, impatient with her own lack of graceful reaction slipped two of her fingers under the left

elastic leg-band where she let them lay still. Again, her right hand traveled down to the insides of her wet and awaiting labia. Minutes or just bare seconds past as Andrea studied both the clean-cut softness of the child's panties while she would occasionally invite a tremor of lust from a quick flick of her adult clitoris.

Summoning all of her courage, Andrea proceeded to pull down the child's underwear. Simultaneously jinxing each other, both child and adult whispered, “thank you.”

After she pulled the undies down to the child's knees, she helped lower the girl's bottom till it once again rested on the newly sexed moistened couch. In the pale light, the child's skin glistened with sweat and a fine dusting of downy hair along the child's delectable labia. Andrea ventured to outline the child's mons. Electricity was shared between the two lovers. For each deliberate movement of Andrea's finger, a low moan emanated deep participants. Andrea continued to venture forth and discover what lie between the lips of this mystery child and to enter this child's sexual sanctuary. Delicately spreading the lips open, Andrea was emboldened at the revelation. Lowering her body, Andrea's face came inches away from the child's love. Moving closer once again, Andrea was about to kiss the child's longing spot when her right hand hit her own spot and Andrea fell into an abrupt orgasm and ultimately into a complete submersion.

The shock of breathing in a bit of bathwater immediately broke off her deviant fantasy. After she gained control of her near death experience, Andrea let the water drain down, got out of the tub, wrapped a towel around her head and headed into the kitchen to fix her supper while she air dried. After eating her poorly reheated take-out Thai food, Andrea revisited her recent bath-induced daydream. Certainly, the real life girl was not as developed as Andrea's fantasy appertained. The child was too much on the smallish side to be afflicted with precocious adolescent development. Andrea giggling to herself, flushed with the latest epiphany, as she mulled on the notion that she must have projected Andrea's former preteen self, early buds and all to the this mystery child's underdeveloped frame.

Still, Andrea couldn't help but wonder what sumptuous mystery could be found under the child's kitschy clothing. She licked her lips once more then headed into her usual bedtime routine. She wanted to get to work early tomorrow so she could return back home once again at noonish.


Once again Andrea found herself arriving home from an unproductive and thankfully uneventful workday. This time was different though. She wondered to herself that if she went and bought an art print, framed it, and hang it behind the never attended doorman's desk, then perhaps a little culture could enliven the place. And instead of marching to the out of the way mail room, Andrea marched to the service elevator. After all these years, she still did not know what floor the child lived on. With fingers crossed, Andrea entered the dark half of the lobby. She was a woman on a mission. This unwritten mission consisted of no known details, it was a plan that contained neither forethought nor foredesign.

Thankfully, the child was here. Her jaunty and pert nose pointing in Andrea's direction. Jinxing themselves, both simultaneously waved their right hand, while speaking to each other for the first time.

“Hi” to Andrea's “Hello.”

Following an awkard minute or two of silence, the child spoke up. "My name's Ross. People, who don't really know me, call me Rosabell. I live in the basement apartment."

"Well! It's finally nice to put a name to such a familiar face. My name ..."

"I already know your name. It's Andrea Vilepin. What country is that from?"

"Well actually my last name is de Villepin. Our old super was a semi-illiterate pig. He never got around to changing my name on the mailbox before he quit."

"Andrea, do you have anything to nibble on? I'm famished and parched."

Now that's a tad forward of the child but Andrea did not show the child any sign that she was taken back by her bold request. "Ya sure. Do you have any hiking boots? You know its a much longer walk up to the eigth floor than it is to walk down one flight of stairs."

Ross roll of her eyes countered her silly smirk. "I'm sure I could make it up those mountain of stairs."


After she popped the last bite of her bologne sandwhich and drinking the last gulp of the complemental glass of milk, Ross spoke up for the first time since the two had entered the apartment. "You never answered my question. What does de Villepin come from?"

Ross then settled the empty glass safely onto the kitchen table and folded her arms and awaited her answer. Well, its French but I was born here in Providence. In fact, I was the first child to be born in the Providential Health Center. It's downtown ..."

"Wow! My mom told me that I was the last child to be born there before ... ya know ... before THEY blew the building up."

"That seems to happen a lot these days. The middle school, I attended oh so many years ago was firebombed that same year. Ross,. do you mind if I ask about

that scar?"

"Hmm? Oh, that thing!? No ... I guess I don't mind. My ...."

A word must have got stuck in the child's mouth. She sat there for several seconds before continuing. "My father tried to kill me three years ago."

The child tried to answer the question in a neutral tone but her voice and demeanor tottered for a split second betraying her hidden pain. Andrea was then impelled to touch the child, first on her shoulder, then under her cheek. The evolution of this compassionate caress led the two to a long hug.

"I've gotta go and do some chores before my mom comes home from work. Andrea? Are you coming home from work tomorrow at noon? Can I come over?"

"I'll try to make it home then."

As Ross got up from her chair to go, Andrea pulled the child to her breast and kissed the top of her head. She led the child out through the door, never letting her hand off of the child's shoulder til she finally exited out of the apartment. As Ross glanced back, the words "I can't wait to see you tomorrow" furled off Adrea's tongue.