She thenreached up with her free hand to peck out "...continue..." "...Well as I move up to suck her breasts, she takes one handand presses my head to...her nipple. I start nursing on thehardening nub, flicking my tongue all around it, and caressingthe spit-slickened areola with my small fingers. With my otherhand, I started a milking motion on her free breast, pulling onthe teat as her abundant flesh spilled through my fingers.Suddenly, I feel her hand caressing my back in response, herbody. In French we say galopin, but waifis one of the nicer English words, or so I think.As the song goes, she came in through the bathroom window. Not a shethen - still very much a child, only 12, with her sex not fullydetermined. She had escaped, as I think we can call it, froml'Orphelinat d'Saint Jerome quite near to my home, and fled across theroof tops and down the sewer pipes to my open window.She was dirty and tired from her adventures. I reassured her that shehad a safe refuge with me.I. I know I didn’t sleep the best that night and for that I’m sorry. The one thing that I remember most is falling asleep with your arms around me and how wonderful that felt. I wake up early and just watch you sleep. You look so peaceful sleeping next to me. I can’t help but think that I can’t wait to wake up next to you again. We spend the day together, getting to know each other. Sitting on the sofa, my head in your lap. Oh how comfortable that was. I don’t remember anything else, but I know I. I can't really tell you what I felt.Perhaps it was this step that puts most people into asylums. I can onlysay that the near-entirety of this woman's life fell into my brain, givingme a second lifetime's worth of knowledge in a span quicker than man canmeasure. Within moments, I knew this new woman's name. That she was who Iwould have been had I been born a woman; that my mother was still mymother, my father my father, my job my job. That this was a transformationto my own identity, not an.