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Authors: Tess Stimson
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welcome. Instead, she clamped her thighs together, forcing him out of
her.
He hesitated, confused. She wanted him; he knew it, he could feel it,
smell
it. If she was trying to prolong his pleasure, it wasn’t going to work; he was so hard, he knew he
couldn’t last much longer. Gently, he eased himself back into her, but again she pulled away, forcing him out.
‘Harry, please,’ he breathed. ‘Don’t make me wait any longer.’
Suddenly she wriggled backwards and sat up. ‘No,’ she panted.
‘No?’
‘I told you, I
can’t.’
For a moment he stared at her, trying to work out if this was some kind of game. She groped for her sweater and held it against her breasts, and he realized she was serious.
Leaping to his feet, he grabbed his trousers and furiously started to stumble into them.
‘What the fuck, Harriet?’ he exclaimed, his voice bitter with frustration. ‘You let me halfway inside you and
then
you decide to change your mind?’
‘Oliver,’ Harriet said, and her voice was very calm suddenly. Very certain. ‘I tried to tell you. I did try. I
told
you we had to talk.’
My Mummy
by Nell Sands aged 6¾
I love my Mummy becase she is specill because she will always love me no matter what. Also she is specil because she cooks me pizza,
she buys me things. She also cooks for me. I love her because she takes me to school and we are always late. And even when I'm bad she will always love me. She lets me watch t.v. and She
takes me to the movies and ice skating and she likes too play with me. My Mummy doesent have a job she makes things. Somtimes she lets me help her and we have fun. Also she buys food like
colliflower, corn, peas, carrots and potatows and she gives me ice creem. She likes to nap. My Mummy is always kind and she has a shiny smooth face and a very big heart. She is the best
Mummy in the world. That is why I love my Mummy.
8
Zoey
Zoey liked waking up next to Richard. She loved the comforting bulk of his heavy body in the bed next to her, and the warmth of him radiating beneath the covers. It was a bit
of a squash for the two of them, admittedly; they were neither of them exactly thin, and she still had the same small double bed with the pale green wicker headboard she’d bought just before
Nell was born. But it was cosy and comfy and she
much
preferred it to Richard’s sleek black California King bed, which was far too wide and lonely. She liked the feeling of
Richard’s body pressed against hers during the night, his belly warm and reassuring against her back. She’d spent too many years sleeping on her own; she wanted to
know
he was
there.
She liked sex with Richard, too. It was, well,
comfortable
. That might not seem a very exciting way of putting it to someone Nell’s age, but she was done with passion. Passion
wasn’t comfortable; was, in fact, the very antithesis of comfortable, with all its nail-biting drama and tension and roller-coaster emotion. As for the practicalities of sex itself, she
didn’t want to do it on the kitchen table (cold and rather unhygienic, she always thought) or swing from the chandeliers (assuming, of course, she could find one to take her weight); she
liked the missionary position, it was satisfying and pleasurable, and when she was lying down, her breasts didn’t sag and her tummy didn’t gather in rolls where her waist should be. It
was nice to have an orgasm, of course, and it did sometimes happen, but she really didn’t mind if it didn’t. She’d never been very good at them, and thankfully Richard
wasn’t one of those men who felt he had to prove himself by making her come five times before breakfast. Frankly, sex was nice, but – talking of breakfast – given the choice
she’d much rather have a chocolate croissant.
She reached out now from beneath the covers and groped for her bathrobe, then squirmed out of bed and quickly pulled it on before Richard could wake up and catch her naked. He loved her curves
–
her.
He hesitated, confused. She wanted him; he knew it, he could feel it,
smell
it. If she was trying to prolong his pleasure, it wasn’t going to work; he was so hard, he knew he
couldn’t last much longer. Gently, he eased himself back into her, but again she pulled away, forcing him out.
‘Harry, please,’ he breathed. ‘Don’t make me wait any longer.’
Suddenly she wriggled backwards and sat up. ‘No,’ she panted.
‘No?’
‘I told you, I
can’t.’
For a moment he stared at her, trying to work out if this was some kind of game. She groped for her sweater and held it against her breasts, and he realized she was serious.
Leaping to his feet, he grabbed his trousers and furiously started to stumble into them.
‘What the fuck, Harriet?’ he exclaimed, his voice bitter with frustration. ‘You let me halfway inside you and
then
you decide to change your mind?’
‘Oliver,’ Harriet said, and her voice was very calm suddenly. Very certain. ‘I tried to tell you. I did try. I
told
you we had to talk.’
My Mummy
by Nell Sands aged 6¾
I love my Mummy becase she is specill because she will always love me no matter what. Also she is specil because she cooks me pizza,
she buys me things. She also cooks for me. I love her because she takes me to school and we are always late. And even when I'm bad she will always love me. She lets me watch t.v. and She
takes me to the movies and ice skating and she likes too play with me. My Mummy doesent have a job she makes things. Somtimes she lets me help her and we have fun. Also she buys food like
colliflower, corn, peas, carrots and potatows and she gives me ice creem. She likes to nap. My Mummy is always kind and she has a shiny smooth face and a very big heart. She is the best
Mummy in the world. That is why I love my Mummy.
8
Zoey
Zoey liked waking up next to Richard. She loved the comforting bulk of his heavy body in the bed next to her, and the warmth of him radiating beneath the covers. It was a bit
of a squash for the two of them, admittedly; they were neither of them exactly thin, and she still had the same small double bed with the pale green wicker headboard she’d bought just before
Nell was born. But it was cosy and comfy and she
much
preferred it to Richard’s sleek black California King bed, which was far too wide and lonely. She liked the feeling of
Richard’s body pressed against hers during the night, his belly warm and reassuring against her back. She’d spent too many years sleeping on her own; she wanted to
know
he was
there.
She liked sex with Richard, too. It was, well,
comfortable
. That might not seem a very exciting way of putting it to someone Nell’s age, but she was done with passion. Passion
wasn’t comfortable; was, in fact, the very antithesis of comfortable, with all its nail-biting drama and tension and roller-coaster emotion. As for the practicalities of sex itself, she
didn’t want to do it on the kitchen table (cold and rather unhygienic, she always thought) or swing from the chandeliers (assuming, of course, she could find one to take her weight); she
liked the missionary position, it was satisfying and pleasurable, and when she was lying down, her breasts didn’t sag and her tummy didn’t gather in rolls where her waist should be. It
was nice to have an orgasm, of course, and it did sometimes happen, but she really didn’t mind if it didn’t. She’d never been very good at them, and thankfully Richard
wasn’t one of those men who felt he had to prove himself by making her come five times before breakfast. Frankly, sex was nice, but – talking of breakfast – given the choice
she’d much rather have a chocolate croissant.
She reached out now from beneath the covers and groped for her bathrobe, then squirmed out of bed and quickly pulled it on before Richard could wake up and catch her naked. He loved her curves
–
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