A haven for Monica

I found myself moving out of an uncomfortable situation (which
I don’t care to discuss) into an apartment. Not in the best or
worst part of town, but in a low-rent area, where the folks were
mostly laboring class people and the rents were a lot cheaper.

I made friends, became known and got involved in the community
around me, and soon volunteered as an assistant at the neighborhood’s
annual campout. While there, I got to know most of the kids in the
neighborhood, and they began to get to know me, and began to trust me
with their thoughts and dreams.

Most adults aren’t very easy for kids to talk to because they
don’t listen. They forget that kids are people too, and have their
own problems and worries, and deserve to be treated the same
as you’d treat anyone else. No preaching or giving of unasked
for advice, just conversation and discussion.

During this time, I noted that one of the sharper kids, a
lovely little redhead named Monica, lived not too far from my
apartment building. She was an enthusiastic camper and declared
herself to be especially fond of backpacking, canoes and boating,
which gave us a lot in common right off.

At the campout, a group of us set out on a three-day canoe
trip on one of the rivers that flowed near our base camp. We were
all trucked up the river to our first camp, where we put our canoes
in the water and set off. We’d float down the river all day stopping
occasionally for meals and rests, camping at preselected campsites
for the nights.

On the second afternoon, though, things went wrong. Monica
happened to be riding in my canoe with me when a surprise thunder
storm hit. We were separated from everyone else and, during the
darkness, wind, rain and confusion, we took a wrong turn, entering
a different branch of the river.

We eventually realized that something had gone wrong and we
were nowhere near the rest of the party. After talking about it a
while and after studying the map we decided that we knew where we’d
gone wrong and would have to go back. It was getting dark by this
time though, so we decided to make camp and settle in for the night.

Unfortunately, we were carrying a large pack of food, and no
tent, so we had to improvise. Luckily the food was wrapped in tarps.
One of these we set up over our canoe for shelter then we spread out
our sleeping bags on another tarp beneath, consolidating all the
food under the third. Our personal gear, in our packs, luckily
including my backpackers stove and cookset. We cooked a quick meal,
sharing pan and utensils and then snuggled up in our makeshift
shelter to wait for morning.

As it happened, it got unseasonably cold that night and we
wound up pulling both bags over us and sleeping together for extra
warmth. At first a little shy, Monica was soon cuddled up as close
to me as she could get. During the night it warmed up, and by dawn
when we awoke we were more comfortable.

That morning when we awoke cuddled up together, it was
a bit of a surprise at first. After a moment it was a very pleasant
feeling. We lay there together for a long while talking quietly in
the morning stillness about many things. She pillowed her head on
my chest and I found that it felt good there.

We finally got up, had a quick breakfast, broke camp and headed
out, as we knew they’d be worried and probably planning on sending
out search parties. Sure enough, we hadn’t gotten very far past
where we’d missed the proper channel when we were met by a ranger
boat.

They talked to us for a while and then radioed what had
happened, that we were fine, and in excellent spirits, and that we
would continue and would catch up with the rest of the party soon.
We thanked them and paddled on. As the group’s pace had been quite
slow we had no problem pouring it on and catching up. As I said
before, Monica was a very sharp k*d. In a short time she had proven
to be an excellent canoeist. I moved her into the steersman’s seat
and took the power seat up front and we were soon really moving
downriver.

Before we caught up with the rest of the group she kidding me
about how much fun she’d had sleeping with me. I gave it back,
saying that she was fully as good a bed-warmer as I had ever found,
although rather short.

After we caught and rejoined our friends, she didn’t say
another word about our night together. There were a few half-sly
comments started, which she put down ruthlessly. She jumped all
over the group leader, giving him what for about his ideas on canoe
loading.

She insisted that before we set out again, we had to unload the
canoes and redistributed the load so that we all had food, shelter,
extra clothing and so on in each canoe. That, I knew, was certainly
what should have been done in the first place.

So now, even though we still traveled as a party, each canoe
was also partly self-sufficient, at least to the limit of the
abilities of the occupants to use their resources. Monica told me
in private that she doubted that some of our companions would have
survived had they been the ones to drift off course. She added,
“We on the other hand had fun, ate well and (she winked) slept
better.”

By the time all the repacking and reloading had been done, the
little misadventure she and I had been on had pretty well been
dismissed from everyone else’s mind. At least we didn’t hear any
more about it. So far as I know, no one from the main camp ever
even knew we’d been astray.

Monica also made it known in no uncertain terms during this
time that I was (in her opinion) ten times the woodsman that any of
the rest of them were and that there was no way she was going to
ride with anyone but me. I was a little embarrassed, but also
flattered. Frankly after the bad time she gave the leaders, and
the work she put everyone else to, the rest of the group was
relieved she was with me and not them.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, fortunately, with no
noteworthy occurrences. She became accepted as my permanent
partner, and by the time we got back to base camp, she was fully
competent as a wilderness canoeist and camper.

She had to tent with the other girls again, of course. While
on the river and we couldn’t be heard she told me that my company
was more fun than theirs. She also made a few joking comments about
she’d now prefer a nice, warm, cuddly bed partner to sleeping alone.
I had spoiled her, she said, with a wry little smile.

We continued our partnership back at the camp. Although some
of the other kids may have resented her spending more time with me
than them, nothing was said to me about it.

I know she may not have been fun company for some of our other
campers, but I found Monica to be intelligent, pleasant to be with,
and very capable. In short, a fine person and a perfect backpacking
companion, which we did a lot of.

She was sensitive to criticism from others. She never showed
much affection in public, but when we were alone in the woods, and
stopped to rest, or observe something, she’d cuddle close, or sit
on my lap and stay there if I’d let her. She always wanted hugs
and kisses while we were alone. She liked to push the limits by
getting a little too french with her kisses.

She became as interested in the woods and wildlife as I was,
and with a little coaching she soon learned to move through the
brush with as little commotion as I can. She began to develop a
woodsman’s eye, and became a better tracker than any of our leaders.
I taught her how to disappear in the woods so well, that someone
could walk within a few feet of her and she’d not be seen.

In short I was very proud of her abilities and enjoyed her
company tremendously. I had a great time and it was a tossup
whether Monica or myself was saddest to see our camping trip
come to an end. Once the outing was over and we got back home Monica soon began to
come over and visit me at my apartment. Before long I noticed she was
ever so discrete about it. She made sure that even though (she said) she
had permission from her parents, that she did it in such a way that very
few people would ever notice her coming and going.

She might have soon grown tired of our relationship except for the
fact that we found even more in common. We discovered a mutual interest
in the same type of reading material, found we liked the same types of
movies on TV, and even enjoyed cooking together. Even doing dishes and
cleanups afterwards was pleasant with her.

While browsing through the books in my library she found dozens of
interests she didn’t know she had. Due to her questions and comments, and
a couple of trips to the Library together, I soon found out that I could
learn a lot from her, too, despite a considerable age difference.

We continued in this relationship, getting more and more friendly as
time went by. I found that I was spending less and less time going out
with other friends, preferring to spend time with her. She let me know
that she wasn’t spending much time with the boys in her school, either.

I was starting to get concerned, and might have made a break in things,
when something happened that ultimately resulted in changing our
relationship forever.

One night, quite late, there was a knock on the door and there was
Monica. Instead of the bright cheery demeanor I had grown used to, there
was a different girl. She was wild-eyed and had a tear stained face.
She came in immediately, shut the door and, for the first time since
our escapades in the wilderness, ran to me and put her arms around me.

Her parents were having a tremendous fight, and in the course of
it she had been struck, and had locked herself in her room. After thinking
about it for a while she still felt unsafe, so she quietly climbed out the
window and came to me to plead for refuge.

I was taken aback by her display of emotion, and deeply concerned
about her circumstance. I dressed, and went over to her home with her.
If anything she had understated the situation. From outside I could hear
the argument still going on, and it sounded like it might keep up for some
time.

I asked her if she had left a note telling that she had fled, and why
and where to. She hadn’t. I convinced her that she should leave something.
So she climbed back in the window, wrote a note and came back out again.
She told why she was leaving and said that she’d be back the next day after
school. She gave no indication as to where she had gone, though. As it
turned out that was probably a good idea.

I took her back home with me, and made her a bed on the couch. Since
it was late, we both went to sleep immediately. After breakfast the next
morning she went off to classes as planned and I didn’t see her again for
a couple of days. I was worried but couldn’t really do anything but wait.

When I did see her, again it was late at night. She had repeated her
past adventure, sneaking out of the house this time because they had nailed
her window shut. It seems that she was exceptionally worried because they
were suddenly blaming all their arguments on her. They were saying that if
she wasn’t there, they wouldn’t be fighting.

This was obvious nonsense and I told her so. She felt a little better,
but was still worried, and with good reason. The innocent accused always
have reason to worry, especially if they are accused of something imaginary.
How do you defend against the imagination? I soon convinced her that the
best thing to do was go on and do the best she could and hope that it would
all blow over. That was the best advice I could give, and I still can’t
think of anything else I could have said. Things worked out in their
own way for the best, I suppose. After all this, Monica came and visited a couple of times for a few
minutes and told me that she was still in considerable trouble, and that
her folks were giving her a real bad time. She was grounded except for
school.

It was two weeks after her second sneak out before she came back for
any time. This time she stayed. It happened like this.

She came to my door again, tear stained eyes and all, put her arms
around me, crying her eyes out, saying “What am I going to do? Where will
I live? Where will I go?” and similar questions.

I finally got a semi-coherent story out of her. When she
got home from school, her home was empty, her parents gone, and nothing
left but things that had come with the house and junk, plus her own meager
collection of personal items. On seeing this the first thing she thought
of was coming to me, and she came straight over.

We immediately went over to her house and it was exactly as she had
said, with the exception that I found a note on the kitchen table that
she had overlooked.

“Dear Monica:” it said, “Your father and I need to be alone, so we
decided that the best thing to do was leave. You are old enough to do
okay by yourself, and we don’t feel you’ll have any problem finding a
place to stay, or taking care of yourself. Why don’t you stay with one
of your friends that you spend so much time with? There is still about
a week left on rental for the place and I left quite a bit of food. I
know you have some money hidden away (not true) and I expect that you’ll
be fine. Have a good life. Mom and Dad.”

Now it came out that she had hidden her time with me by claiming she
was with other kids. it had backfired. She got on my lap, put her arms
around me, holding on as if I was her float in a stormy sea. She sobbed
that I was her one and only true friend, and could she please stay with
me until she could come up with something else?

Thus it began. I took her in. We went back to what was now our home,
taking with us her few belongings. Later we went back and took a few
other things, but most of it we left for the landlord.

When I called him, he only knew that her folks had collected their
security deposit and left, not saying where they were going. They didn’t
even leave a mail forwarding card. I spent several days trying to track
them down with absolutely no luck.

Then I spent several more days trying to figure out what to do with her.
I couldn’t get any answers, so I kept her. What else could I do? I wouldn’t
put a cat out on the street, much less a person who trusts me. I also
wasn’t about to turn her over to social services, an agency not exactly
famous for having a heart. At her age, they’d just have put her in a long
chain of temporary homes, and she’d never know love again.

I doubt that her parents had ever loved her anyway, but she declares
that’s not so. That they only stopped loving her when she reached puberty.
Then they began to get distant very quickly. Like when a kitten suddenly
becomes a cat, and isn’t cute anymore.

I assured her over and over again that she was fine, and there was
nothing wrong with her. She was welcome, and she could stay with me as
long as needful, no matter how long it took. She spent a lot of time on
my lap, or cuddling against me for a little love and security.

She soon settled in, and we became a regular household. We
arranged for her address at school to be changed to mine, and I
visited the school every parent-teacher’s day from then on, which
was more than her own parents had done. In fact, the teachers
seemed to be glad to have Monica’s “Uncle” around.

I am aware that many parents have a great deal of difficult in
disciplining their teen c******n, but I never experienced any problems
with Monica because she never behaved as a c***d. I treated her like
the very adult person she in fact was. I make my bed every morning,
so, as a matter of course, she made hers. We shared in the cooking,
laundry, dishes and all other chores just as we share in backpacking
and a good deal of other fun and good experiences. Our few
disagreements have been worked out with very little difficulty.

Living arrangements have to be quite simple in a small apartment like
mine, but we’ve done just fine. Her grades are excellent and getting
better. No one has questioned my assumption of guardianship yet, and as
long as things keep going as they have, no one will.

Soon, I intend to find another larger apartment, as we are presently
sharing the same bedroom, and I don’t quite feel comfortable with that. A few months after the last chapter was written, I found out how
right I was. had we moved, things might have been different.

The Fall was nice. We went backpacking several weekends, and had a
ball. Monica insisted on sharing sleeping bags for warmth each time
because she had “…gotten used to it.” Winter was cold, and on several
occasions she had shared my bed, also to keep warm.

Although admittedly there were other pleasures involved, not to mention
simple affection, I never took advantage of her. At least not while I was
awake and aware of what my hands were doing. There were times when I would
wake up and find my hands or her hands in intimate places, and would gently
remove them to safer areas.

Summer came. The weather got very warm, and the heat made sleeping
rather difficult. The amount of clothing we slept in had gotten steadily
less and less. Before long she was sleeping in a cut up tee shirt and
bikini panties, while I was down to my boxer shorts. At this point, I
wasn’t about to let her sleep with me. I know my limits.

But, one night after showering, Monica simply dropped her towel and
stood before me nude. She told me that it was too hot to wear anything,
and that she saw no reason to be modest in front of me. I was not too
Surprised as she had dropped hints plenty of times, which I had ignored.
I already knew, and she knew I knew that her muff was as red as her head.

That night after lights out I took off my own shorts, and the fan
indeed felt a little cooler. When I got up during the night to go to the
john, I stopped for a moment and looked at her. In the dim light I could
see her lying in her bed nude. She was on her back, arms akimbo, legs
spread, long red hair framing her face. She was very beautiful. I stood
there looking at her for a while, drinking in her beauty, before I
finally went back to bed.

I lay there in bed with an erection thinking of her, and with a bit
of guilt at finding myself so easily aroused by her nude beauty. I went
to sleep with a picture of her in my mind.

The next morning when I awoke, Lovely, nude, Monica was sitting on the
bed next to me. I still had an erection, which she was making a close study
of. She was having a great time.

It was the first time she had ever really been able to study an erect
male organ, I guess, and she was unabashedly staring at it. I was afraid
she was about to grab for it so I pulled a corner of the sheet over myself.
She protested and tried to pull it (the sheet) away, and we wound up
laughing, and wrestling for the sheet. Before I knew it, she was pressed
up against me with her hard nipples pressed into my chest and only a fold
of the sheet between us.

Our wrestle soon turned into very sensual writhings despite my attempts
to get her off me. The harder I wiggled, the more Monica enjoyed it. She
locked her legs around mine and soon was pushing against me with her pelvis.
I could only stand a certain amount of that before I began to thrust back.

She came suddenly and almost violently, and as soon as she let go of
me, I pulled away and finished what she had started myself, discharging
into a tissue. I was afraid of what I might do if I didn’t relieve
myself.

Her first sexual release had made her feel very, very good, and
totally happy and relaxed. She hadn’t expected anything of the kind to
happen. She had never even had any serious sexual thoughts before, she
claimed.

Now, Monica was cuddled up against me, purring contentedly, caressing
me, kissing me, and I knew I was in trouble. It took a great deal of will
power to get her to let go of me, and to turn her attention to something
else.

The next night while I was showering, she appeared and hopped in with
me, demanding to scrub my back. Weak man that I am, she was soon scrubbing
all of me, enjoying the thrill of giving me another erection. She soon had
me washing her also. She wasn’t about to hear any “we can’t do this”. She
wasn’t happy until I had come in her hands. Then she had to get off too.

I found my hands exploring her firm little body, her round little
tit-buds, her smooth soft skin. Soon I was slipping my exploring fingers
into her young slit, running my fingers in and out of her virginity,
and rubbing her hard little clitoris into even more excitement. By the
end of the shower, Monica no longer had any secrets from my hands, and
had come twice under my touch.

A couple of hours later, at bedtime, she got in bed with me. I couldn’t
dissuade her. She flat refused to get back in her own bed, pointing out
that if she did, as soon as I went to sleep, she’d just crawl in with me.

We developed a pattern of sleeping together nightly after that. She
claimed she slept better that way. I only know that we caressed each other
a lot and eventually fell into the habit of masturbating each other almost
nightly. I felt guilty, but Monica’s happiness and comfort with what
we were doing soon calmed that. We slept cuddled together in such a way
that I was sorely tempted constantly. I guess she was even more tempted
than I was.

Late one Saturday evening after a heavy petting session she was cuddled
against my chest. She looked into my eyes and kissed me and asked me to
make full love to her. I spent several hours telling her why I shouldn’t.
She seemed to accept that. I should have known better.

That night I awoke in the middle of the night. She was astride me
trying to insert my erection into herself. After a few minutes of trying
to get her to stop I gave up and told her I’d do it. We kissed, and
caressed and when I was sure she was fully aroused, moist and ready, I
let her put my erection inside herself.

I let her push down far enough so that I could her tightness pressing
back against me. Holding her hips, I asked her if this was really what
she wanted. She pressed down harder and told me that if I didn’t let her
have it in her right away, she’d be very angry at me, and told me in no
uncertain terms that she wanted me. She wanted me in her now. I gave in,
as she knew I would, and let go. She dropped her weight down until my
erect penis slid inside and Monica’s virginity was at a definite end.

Our earlier explorations of each other must have destoryed her hymen,
because I don’t think that she ever experienced any uncomfortable
sensation at all during that first penetration.

She was tight but very wet. She claimed that it didn’t hurt at all,
that although she’d cried out, it had been from the sensation. Once I had
penetrated all the way into her, I held her still for a long time, enjoying
the sight of her almost hairless little body holding my organ all the way
inside it.

Then she begged me to continue, and finally I began stroking in and
out, deep within her pinkness. She was very soon thrusting back, tears
of pleasure and passion pouring down her cheeks. She was crying out
incoherent little words of joy and pleasure.

We changed positions, so that I could be on top and get better
leverage so as to penetrate deeper. She hugged me with her legs, pulling
me as deep into her little body as she could. I would push in as far and
as deep as I could and then hold myself there, and move side to side.
She soon began to move in counter to me and soon had her orgasm.

Monica’s first full climax was literally bed if not earthshaking.
She clamped her little legs around me, and her internal muscles clamped
down on me so hard, that I came too. By the time we finished, I think
I was near a heart attack from the intensity of it. We fell asleep in
each other’s arms almost immediately.

She woke me up and We had sex again that night and again the following
morning. Unfortunately it was great. The next morning, wrapped in each
others arms, we talked over our new status. I was no longer a surrogate
father, I was essentially a husband and lover. Monica was no longer my
foster daughter, but my lover and my wife. Oddly enough as it worked out,
nothing observable to outsiders changed. We just slept in the same bed
and had sex together a lot. everything else remained the same.

When I met Monica, she had just turned twelve. By the time she came
to live with me she was just past thirteen. When we became lovers, she
was almost fourteen. I know she’s young, but under the circumstances,
I may as well enjoy myself, because Monica is having a fine time. It
may be a poor excuse, but sexually I did nothing and do nothing without
her full approval and cooperation. In fact, she is usually the instigator.

The only thing I have insisted upon is that she use the pill. I’m not
ready to see her have a c***d yet. As if I could keep her from getting
pregnant if she wanted to. I sometimes feel as if I have little choice,
because all she’d have to do is skip a few pills, and there she’d be. She
has refused to consider using prophalactics. It’s amazing I didn’t knock
her up during that first few days of incredible lust.

As to the future, perhaps she’ll find another and leave me. Perhaps
not. I’ll just go on and enjoy my lovely, sweet, sexual Monica while
I have her with me, no matter how long that might be. We will probably
move away as soon as she graduates from high school. Among her schoolmates
she has a reputation as a bookworm, because her grades are so high. Mostly
she makes excuses so that she can be with me rather than go out on dates.
When she does go out, she doesn’t accept anything like a pass from the boys.
If they try, they get a black eye. Then she comes home and tells me about
it, and we make love.