I have also always had a fetish for young girls and boys. I had only acted out my perverse dreams a few times - in safe environments. Like in Cozumel, where I'd slipped a waiter a hundred bucks for a young "tour guide" for my stay. At $50 a night, the eleven-year-old cocksucker was a deal and a half. "No marks, Senor," was his only caveat. No problem, I wasn't into that kind of abuse anyway. Maria was a dream come true. A regular little helper girl who did everything, and I do mean everything, to make my stay a pleasant one. She even offered to do her younger sister for me. For another $100 bucks. But alas, I didn't have the time. Besides, Maria's tender, young, virginal (until me) flesh was enough. I recall fondly slamming my cock into her repeatedly while she submitted to my authority. Not even a squeak, save for the sound of my rigid member filling her ultra-tight rectum. Then there was Antwerp. A city much like Amsterdam, but in Belgium and without the fanfare. Drugs, sex and money - it was all there. In Antwerp I was lead by my host to "The Ring" - a series of interwoven apartments where the meat got fresher (and more expensive) the further in you went. My host stopped to enjoy his fleshy desires about half way in. But not me - I want to the center, where I found an incredibly flexible seven-year-old. She wasn't pure, unfortunately, but she was indeed tight. Her mother stayed the whole time, monitoring the situation as I pounded her young girl's pussy. It was as much an excitement for me to be in the young girl as it was to have her mother watching. Her mother even offered a free blow job cleanup when I was done, which I gratefully accepted. Thankfully, my host never inquired about the depths of my trip.

So it was with intense curiosity that I went along with a friend to a meeting of the Gentleman's Brigade. My friend, a judge, had similar tastes in young flesh so I knew the trip would be interesting. The Gentleman's Brigade (or GB as it was affectionately known) was a group of men, mostly successful middle aged men, who volunteered at an orphanage outside the city limits. I'd read about the place in the newspaper - it always seemed to be receiving one grant or another. Or garnering an award for community service or some such thing. I trusted my friend since we'd shared a few "good times" together with some juvenile delinquents doing my friend's version of "community service." Amazing how open the young girls are when it means no time in jail. And hell, most of them have been there already, so it's no big shock to them.

We arrived at the compound around six. And it was a compound - over fifteen buildings spread among 20 acres of secluded woodlands. There were six dorms that could house up to 150 kids - 25 in a dorm. My friend told me that the current occupancy rate was closer to a hundred. The rest of the buildings comprised the administration areas, classrooms and playrooms. I'd learn later that the playrooms were more devious than they sounded.

We left the car and entered a small building and eventually found our way to a conference room. I met the director Mr. Hanger, a portly man in his sixties and he greeted us warmly. A few more pairs showed up and I was starting to feel uncomfortable - I had a pretty good idea why I was there, but like most of my kind, "being in the light" was not a good thing. We drank wine, ate some hors devours and chatted amongst ourselves, keeping the topics neutral. Finally Mr. Hanger dimmed the lights and we seated ourselves around a large oak conference table. A small recessed light illuminated the front of the room and with an attempt at fanfare; Mr. Hanger walked into the beam.

"Good evening, gentleman. And welcome to the Gentleman's Brigade. I want to thank all of you for coming today and tell you about a wonderful opportunity I have for you," Mr. Hanger started. He proceeded to give a history of the place, it's academic and sporting achievements and on and on. It was starting to sound like a sales pitch and I told my friend so.

"It is," he whispered back to me, "But I guarantee you'll be buying! Be patient."

Mr. Hanger droned for several more minutes before finally getting to the point. "Now gentleman, you know the "front door" of our cozy little place. But I'm sure what interests you is more of our back door." He let the double-entendre hang in the air. "Gentlemen, we all share the same," he paused, searching for the right word like a master showman, "proclivity toward children." The air grew deathly quiet. Mentioning such a thing in a crowd was a huge unwritten "no no." I noticed several people looking furtively around, including myself. "Please gentlemen, as a group we have no secrets." Most of us shifted uncomfortable in our chairs. At the moment I was cursing my friend, since it was clear he'd let out our "little secret." I knew that the death knell came from too many people knowing such a thing. "What I am offering you, gentlemen," Mr. Hanger continued, "is the opportunity to practice your preferences in a safe, secure environment. A place where no one else looks in, nor can they. A place where the children are quiet, if you know what I mean."

I listened intently now. He certainly had my attention. And for a person of my tastes, the thought of traveling here for some bare skin certainly beat going to Mexico.

"I would like to offer you to opportunity to 'adopt' one or more of our charges," Mr. Hanger continued. I heard a hum and a click behind me as a slide machine turned on. The image on the wall was delectable: a beautiful, clean young girl sitting on a chair. Naked. She had her feet up on the edge of the seat and was using her hands to spread her young, bare pussy lips. She had a huge smile on her face. "This is Jane. She's a precocious nine year old who lost her parents in a plane crash." The slide changed and a small boy appeared on the screen. He too was naked and faced the camera with a tilted head, as if confused. His small penis was erect and he had one hand on a hip. "This is Charley. Charley is mute and was abandoned by his heroin-addicted mother when he was four. He's six now and loves to please people." The camera clicked again and the picture changed. This time a small, blonde-haired girl was in the picture. She was on all fours, her butt facing the camera as she looked over one shoulder. "Annie is a special girl. She's been with us for about three years. She's five now and quite advanced for her age." I had fallen in lust. I stared at her tender bottom, squinting for a better peek of her pink asshole and tiny, enclosed pussy. She had a puffy pussy that looked virginal to me. The slides changed several more times, but my attention and thoughts stayed on Annie......(cont)