Millicent is not married.

And if she wants to marry the bastard who knocked her up, she can't - because she's only fourteen.

But even if she were old enough to marry this pervert, she still couldn't, because he's married.

And she could hardly ask him to get a divorce. Well, at least not without breaking up her own family. You see, the guy who impregnated her is married to her own mother.

Me.

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Oh, don't think I haven't considered abortion. But to be honest with you, I've never felt right about the procedure. Contraception is one thing, but abortion, to me, is quite another.

Obviously, I hadn't been too keen on contraception when it counted, either.

However, intellectually I could probably get over my misgivings in a case this dire, a case in which a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl is carrying her own stepfather's child. Except that I AM that stepfather, and when it comes to aborting my own child, my reluctance is seriously augmented. But when I consider the near certitude that any baby she births will immediately be identified as mine, I might overcome even that hesitation.

I really should try to get her to a clinic. But there are two serious difficulties with that proposition.

First, were I to present myself as her legal guardian at an abortion clinic, I'm sure an immediate investigation would ensue, and the life I've worked so hard to build for myself would be destroyed.

Second, every time I start thinking of the child growing in her precious young womb, the progeny I planted there so firmly, I find the idea so erotic that all I can think about is fucking poor girl silly once again. When this line of thought arises, it pushes all practical concerns from my mind, and shortly thereafter, I usually end up shoving my nine-and-a-half-inch prick once more up into her abused little hole.

Perhaps I should start at the beginning.

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Really the beginning.

I come from the working poor of this country. My father worked as a janitor all his life, up until he died at fifty-five. My mother cleaned people's homes. They both had one goal - to get me and my two sisters out of that dead end life, through college, and up the socioeconomic ladder. And they succeeded.

I am now a successful lawyer and, at forty, a senior partner in my firm. My sisters have also done well. Unfortunately, my dad didn't live to see it, although we try to do everything we can for mom nowadays. She lives with my sister Mary, a designer, in Chicago.

But with my background, I feel as though I've had to pull twice as hard at every rung on that proverbial ladder. It's like I'm expected to fail, and there never seems to be a shortage of rivals, foes, or mean spirited busybodies eager to catch me in a slip-up. I know that sounds paranoid, but I've lived with it too long to believe it's anything else. And then there is the obvious, of course.

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I met Millicent's mother, now my wife, at a charity fundraiser. She was recently divorced at the time, and something about me appealed to her, I guess. Alice was old money, and her ex-husband was a prominent doctor in town, so in addition to her family wealth, she made out all right in the divorce settlement as well.

When Alice and I started dating, it occasioned a bit of an uproar. People accused me of being a gigolo, or worse, as though I were only after her money. Never mind that I had a great earning capacity in my own right, and a partnership in a successful law practice. People see what they want to see, I guess.

Thankfully, Alice ignored the gossip. In fact, I think she was a little resentful of the blue-blood society of her birth, a society that had married her off to the "right sort of fellow" who proceeded to neglect her, to openly flaunt his mistresses, and to ultimately divorce her for a twenty-two year old bimbo. Getting married to me was all her idea; I actually think that it was partly out of spite for those who warned her against it.

The only good her first husband did for her was to father three beautiful girls. At the time of our marriage just over four years ago, Helen was twelve, Millicent ten, and Sabrina eight. Of course, they're all four years older now, and every one of them is a blonde, blue-eyed heartbreaker......(cont)