I’m much older than I should be. Giselle, aged 14 going on 15
Her brother aged 8 Her sister aged 6 We’d been family friends for some time, visits and outings
together and we all got on so well; her mother, a single mum, and my wife hit it off and I was the
unofficial Grandpa to her three kids. They are wonderful kids, full of life and loved me as if I
was really their Granddad. I love to keep joshing them, telling them tall tales, knowing full well
they never believed any of it. Plenty of tricks, plenty of games together, table tennis, throwing
ball, playing chasey; all the stuff kids love and I loved every moment of it too. But there came a
time recently when I began to notice Giselle as more than a school kid. It struck me one evening
when the three were playing table tennis together with me; they were all hopeless, but as usual I
kept on encouraging them and their eagerness became infective and soon there were shouts of glee
when they beat me at a shot or when my partner hit a lucky shot over the net. Suddenly I began to
take notice of Giselle’s maturing personality and her developing curves in an entirely different
light. This skinny young kid, who was usually quiet and subdued, suddenly blossomed into a young
woman with bright cheeky eyes and a fun-loving life of the party intelligence. In the years we had
been friends I’d probably spent more time with the two young ones, who of course, sought my
attention most of the time. But Giselle seemed less inclined to join in the nonsense, probably
because she was much older than her brother and sister and thought herself above the juvenile
foolishness of her siblings. I guess it was natural too for my efforts to be concentrated on the
youngsters as they continually pestered me with their presence. Giselle, nearly twice their age
seemed to cling to her mother more than the others. But this night, as she played table tennis from
the other end of the table, still in her school uniform, she became a different girl. She was cute,
coy, happy, and playing up to me far beyond anything she had done before, glancing at me after she
hit a good shot, laughing mirthlessly when I hit a bad shot. She was making me the focal point of
her thoughts, or at least that’s what I thought. That was when I took notice of the curves she had
developed that I’d overlooked until now. From a skinny, flat-chested kid, to a teenager with
breasts, waist and hips all swaying before me, no doubt in total innocence of what I was thinking,
now real dirty thoughts, much to my shame. But was her showing off all in innocence? What was she
thinking? Was she playing up for my attention? Were those glances a signal meant only for me? Damn,
I was thinking things no honorable man should think. How big were her breasts really? They weren’t
large by any means but for a girl nearing fifteen I suspect they are close to being fully
developed. And her nipples; they could be teeny little things or large and puffy. Oh, I hoped they
were the latter. Imagine stroking them; running the tips of my fingers over them, making the teats
spring to life. No, there was no sign of that kind of arousal showing through her school tunic but
that could be because the bra that came with the uniform was so thick and clumsy. Arousal? Oh,
damn, what did she do when she snuggled under her blankets each night? Nearly fifteen so hormones
must be racing through her veins with the speed of light. She was a sexual being; she had to have
thoughts that were not meant for anyone but herself; naughty thoughts. Thoughts of what she might
do with boys; of what boys might do to her. Exciting thoughts; thoughts of touching, of kissing and
then… Yes, she had thoughts. Were they directed towards me as she played her little eye games?
Those bright eyes that seemed to glow with excitement when she gave me those knowing little glances
as she hit the ball back to me. Did she think about me touching her? Oh, God, what would happen if
I brushed my hand against her breast? Would she scream or would she become flustered and
embarrassed? No, she probably wouldn’t even notice such an innocent act but my cock certainly
would. Why do I have to have such a filthy mind? She’s fourteen for goodness sake; she an innocent,
still growing up, still to learn the wicked ways of evil men. Or is she? Damn, she’s beautiful. Her
sister, in a fit of spite as her brother hit her with his bat, retaliated and hit the boy in the
groin. Even at eight, that’s not a pleasant feeling and he hunched over holding his crotch and
groaning in pain. Giselle immediately berated the young girl. “You can hurt a guy doing that,” she
said with all the authority of an adult. “Why?” The youngster asked innocently. “Because it could
damage a guy for the rest of his life,” she said. “Why.” “You’ll find out when you grow up,” the
now blushing Giselle said in a half whisper, ending the subject. Again a coy glance towards me
before returning to the game. She knows more than her innocence betrays. She is a teenager who has
learnt a hundred times more things about sex and boys and all their goings on from her girlfriends
at school, than her mother ever taught her. Imagine having her stand before me, while I looked up
into her face from my chair. She not knowing what was to happen, me about to explore the body
before me. I reached out and clasped a hand around her hip, pulling her a little closer. Then both
hands ran up and down her sides. She stood still, a look of doubt rising but she never moved. The
edge of my palms touching the very edge of each breast and the tips of my fingers smoothing over
the globe of each bottom cheek with every journey back and forth. She never made any move to stop
me, standing still, her eyes looking down at nothing in particular, hands clasped behind her back.
Did she just spread her legs a little wider? Loud shouts broke my reverie as Giselle and her sister
at the other end shrieked with joy when I missed her unexpected return. Damn, my mind is playing
tricks. Oh, God, look at those virgin breasts; firm as ripe apples and not much bigger. Did she
touch herself in bed? Yes, of course she did. She’s a sexual being, she has urges; hormones. An
orgasm? Who knows but I secretly hoped she never has felt that incredible feeling. Oh, to be the
one who trains her in that way. She’ll want more and more. Imagine the moans of pleasure as the
first climax builds. Imagine her writhing. Innocence fulfilled and once fulfilled, the need for
more. She’s blushing. Can she read my mind? Does she know what I’m thinking? Have I given myself
away? “What is it?” I ask making the blush all the deeper. “Nothing,” she says, looking away but I
know something has happened. “Giselle just farted,” her sister shouted aloud with glee. We all
laugh, Giselle, buries her head in her hands then looks at me as though some secret has passed
between us. I love her. I want her. I want to touch her, to be her lover, to stroke her, to trail
my fingers through the secret tuft of hair, to annoy that special place all girls have, to invade
her preciousness. Damn, I’m dreaming again. Then I decide to do something I would never have
imagined before today. The risk is great so the final outcome has to be hers alone; there can be no
forcing on my part but she may just want the same things I want. Is she thinking of what I have
between my legs? Does she think about boys and the things boys do? Does she look on me as more than
a mere boy? I certainly hoped so. Well, maybe tomorrow will be the beginning. It was easy to choose
the diary. It had to be pink; all girls love pink and Giselle’s definitely a pink girl. I bought a
small diary and matching pen set, lock and key and all.

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 Now I had to catch her alone; it had to be
done in secrecy. Would she tell her mother? Is she the kind that tells mom everything? I think she
has a mind of her own and nearing her mid-teens, she must have secrets of her own. So I decide I
will go through with my scheme. I wait for her at the school gate along with all the other parents.
They live nearby and mom rarely calls to pick her up as she is already waiting for the young ones
at Elementary school. Her eyes lighten up when she sees me and runs to me, taking hold of my arm. I
explain I was just passing so it was a nice surprise to find her. She hugs my arm. Man, I love her.
When we are further down the street away from the other parents I confess my being there wasn’t a
coincidence. She looks at me, her eyes wide with questioning looks. I say something stupid like
telling her I’d noticed how much she has grown up when she was at my house yesterday and she
giggled. “I’ve got boobies now,” she reminded me of the obvious. “You think I never noticed?” “I
wondered…,” she began then stopped. “Oh, I noticed alright. I wouldn’t be much of a man if I
didn’t. In fact I took a lot of notice of you yesterday, Giselle.” “You did? Why?” There was no way
I could answer that question honestly just yet. “Because I saw that you have grown up. You’re a
young woman now, not the skinny little girl I once knew.” “A woman?” she queried with happy eyes.
“I’m only fourteen,” she reminded me. “Well I think of you as a young woman, Giselle. A very
beautiful young woman at that and last night I started thinking,” I tried to begin my plan. “What
about? About me?” She gushed as her brain raced along. “Oh, indeed about you. I thought to myself
that now you are reaching the age of a young woman you might need someone to talk to. I mean
someone who’s not part of your family, who you can trust and if you wanted, who you could talk to
about things. Personal things that you mightn’t want others to know about.” She remained silent for
quite a time as we walked slowly on. “You mean about…?” She hesitated. “About sex things?” I could
see she was weighing up my suggestion as only a youngster could. “About sex if you want or other
personal things. Things other girls might say that you don’t understand. Things that are happening
to your body that you think are so personal no-one else in the world could ever think about. About
your thoughts and dreams. About boys and what they think.” “I know what they think about,” she said
disparagingly. “All they want is to look up my skirt or down my blouse. And try for a touch if they
could.” “Does that worry you?” “No, not worry, but boys are so gross.” “Want me to make a
suggestion?” “Yeah, I suppose so,” she replied nonchalantly but I could see there was anticipation
in the air. “I’ve bought you something Giselle,” I said, handing over the diary and pen set. After
she looked at it for a few moments and a smile grew, I added, “I just thought that you might like
to write down all your personal thoughts in here and we could get together from time to time and
talk about them. Or you could hand the diary back every now and then for me to read and then give
you advice.” “What kind of things?” “Secrets. Things you’d hate anyone to know about. Things that
are very personal. Things you do that you don’t want anyone else to know about. Private things.
Things you wouldn’t even talk to your mom about. Do you understand?” Silence again then, “But then
you’d know about them. It wouldn’t be private anymore.” “How could I talk to you about those things
if I didn’t know what they were? I promise I wouldn’t tell anyone about anything you wrote or about
anything we discussed.” “Do you mean about sex things? It would be very embarrassing,” she told me,
her face aflame with blushes. God, it made her look so beautiful. “Wouldn’t you like to have a
confidante? Someone you could tell anything to without fear of being judged? Someone who could help
with all the worries and doubts a young woman has. I know you think of private things, Giselle. All
girls do. So do boys and so do I,” I confessed feeling rather smug. “You? You think about… about
sex?” “Of course I do.” “About me?” The question was so unexpected, I was lost for words. I just
looked into her eyes and nodded. “Oh,” she gasped almost silently. We walked several hundred yards
without saying another word. “I do think of things I’ve told no-one about. I’d like to tell you,”
she said, not daring to raise her face. “So you’ll do it then?” “Yes, as long as you promise not to
laugh.” “I will laugh with you but the day I laugh at you at your expense, that’s the day you can
kick me in the balls,” I said gallantly, knowing that she knew what I meant. Her blush grew
brighter. Yes, she knew. “Then I’ll do it,” she said at last. I was sure my cock was standing at
full mast but dared not look. “Two things you must promise.” “What?” “First, our agreement must be
kept in absolute confidence between us. You can’t even hint to anyone that you are recording your
thoughts or sharing them with me. Secondly that you cannot ever let your mom know what you are
doing and Moms often rummage through their daughter’s drawers and cupboards, so you’ll have to find
somewhere she would never look. Make sure the diary is always locked too.” “I wouldn’t want anyone
to know anyway, especially Mom. She’d have kittens.” “There’s one other thing. You’ve got to write
down all your thoughts and all the things you do that are so personal, you could never talk to
anyone about. Everything. Do you know what I mean?” “Even when I go to the loo to take a pee,” she
grinned impishly. “Even when you have to change your you-know-what each month.” I added on the spur
of the moment then could have bitten my tongue. It could surely have blown my quest in the
twinkling of an eye. “Oh, I’ve got Mrs. Lewis right now. boys are so lucky,” she told me
sheepishly. Mrs. Lewis? Hmm, I’d never heard it called that before and told her so. “Mrs. Lewis was
my teacher when it came the first time. She took me to the dispensary and showed me what to do,”
she explained when she saw my questioning look. “Cute,” I agreed. “So, when do I get to see your
writings?” “Oh, what about every two weeks? Or I could do it all on my computer and send it weekly
with a password only you knew.” I thought for a few moments, wondering why I hadn’t thought of
that. Then she continued, “Can I ask you something?” “Of course you can.” “Will you do the same and
send it to me?” This left me absolutely stunned into silence. Me write my filthy thoughts down and
send them to a teenager? She could spread them right across the internet. So could I about her, but
I was pretty sure Giselle never contemplated that at all. “What, write down my thoughts for you?”
“And about the things you do in private. I know boys do things to themselves so I suppose…,” she
stopped in mid-sentence making the meaning all the more prominent. “And with your wife; I’d like to
know.” Her eyes were searching mine. The little witch, she’s turned the tables on me. But then, it
adds much more spice to the whole scheme of things. “It’d embarrass you,” I suggested. “I want to
learn,” she said simply. “Alright,” I capitulated. Her password was to be mrslewis and mine back to
her was mrlewis. So my dirty old man’s thoughts were about to go public with all the inherent risk
that brings. But I just couldn’t wait for her first incoming message. I went home and fucked my
wife, imagining it was a fourteen, going on fifteen year-old girl writhing under me. I ejaculated
prematurely which was nothing new to my wife. She accepted my loving with a kiss on the lips as she
bade me goodnight. 

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