Candi

When the tiny blonde breezed past on a yellow mountain bike, pleated
pink tennis-skirt blown carelessly back against a flat girlish tummy,
it became immediately clear to Max that the little tease was
intentionally showing-off. Swinging a shapely leg over center bar like
a boy dismounting, she coasted to a stop and leaned the bike against a
wall. That titillating show had stopped at least four men in their
tracks: two young Mexican landscape gardeners on their way to lunch, a
middle-age businessman dropping mail in a box and a bald-headed
fat-man getting out of his car. At least ten pair of eyes followed the
nymph's nicely toned curves, tanned trim legs, smoothness and graceful
length emphasized by that incredibly short pink pleated skirt.

At first he thought she was a child trying to act older, a
pre-pubescent playing teen. But when she turned after dropping a coin
into a payphone, firm breasts, flawless face and hard sculpted figure
made him realize the tiny girl was no child. Receiver to ear, she
toyed with the cord, balanced on one leg, pivoting on the toe of her
other, white tennis shoe heel wagging like a happy puppy's tail.
Though wearing little makeup, wide-set ice-blue eyes and thick dark
lashes and eyebrows gave her the look of one of those trendy young
fashion models, a career she had every prerequisite for except height.
One amazing aspect of her appearance was the fact that even though
slender tanned legs made her appear much taller, the young girl wasn't
over five feet tall. Dripping wet, this pedophile's dream probably
weighed less than eighty pounds.

But there was more to her young face he found appealing. Max had a
thing for mouths. Some girl's mouths appear too small for their faces.
Hers was the mouth of an X-rated fellatio starlet, or a lipstick
model, full lips the color of frosted pink roses, plump as ripe fruit,
begging for kisses and a tongue she couldn't seem to keep in her
mouth. Hers was a mouth promising pleasures the drove men like him
wild. Pert nose and nicely shaped chin were just right for her
unspoiled innocent look. Tiny or not, the tart was unqualifiedly
drop-dead adorable!

Were men staring at her face? They weren't. They were staring at
delectably symmetrical legs, each male hoping the wind might blow or
that she might bend over to pick up the quarter she'd dropped when
feeding the payphone. The wind hardly blew and she didn't bend over to
retrieve the coin. Instead, she pivoted like some miniature wind-up
figure on a Swiss musical toy, left, right, left, body twisting to
some internal metronome. When her party answered she became even more
animated, each twist faster, pretty head turning counter to elfin
body, blue eyes sweeping the parking lot, clearly aware of her male
audience. Occasionally she'd giggle or run fingers through thick
wind-tousled hair, a golden waterfall cascading almost to her waist.
Then, full lower lip prisoner between pearl-white teeth, she'd nod now
and then, each nod punctuated by a small body-bounce as though eager
to hang-up and move on to new adventures.

Max could hear his mother's voice in his head; "Go outside and
burn-off some of that excess energy!" Max understood. He also
understood the kind of attention the girl was getting, having gotten
his share as he grew to manhood. With a physique that made women of
all ages forget propriety, many actually stopped to stare when he
shopped for groceries or walked through malls. It was more than his
smoothly-shaved coffee-bronze scalp, small ears tight to his head,
perfectly symmetrical face, large soft eyes and a smile that could
light-up New York. Standing six-two, and a hundred eighty-five pounds,
no one gave this handsome young Black American trouble but flirtatious
housewives and horny women. Eight years of working-out had sculpted
every muscle, and vain enough, Max dressed to show-off what he'd
built.

With only thirty minutes for lunch, the Mexicans had moved on, the
fat-man had locked his car and disappeared into the mall and the
gawking businessman had gone on about his work after being scolded by
a passing blue-haired matron for ogling the delightfully-delicious
young tart.

Eating a burrito, Max sat in the sun on a planter-box, amused by her
performance, wondering if she was going to continue the show. When she
hung up she checked coin-drop for change, found none, picked up the
coin she'd dropped and skipped to her bike, pleated skirt dancing with
a breeze created by a passing car. Knowing he was watching, she
returned his stare, expression theatrical as she tried to appear more
mature than her years. Pulling wind-blown blond tangled curls back
from her face, she immodestly wet that too-sensual mouth with a long
pink tongue. He wasn't surprised when she rolled the bike in his
direction, stopped a few feet away and looked at his burrito.

"Do they make good food?" she asked, a cute little-girl voice, but
musically pleasant. "I haven't tried them."

"I like it," said Max, nodding thoughtfully. "If you like spicy food."

Peering into the cafe window she nodded, too, hand moving up to brush
a wisp of blonde tangle away from pretty blue eyes, long dark lashes
tantalizingly lowered.

"A lot," she said, holding the handlebars, but twisting from left to
right like she'd done while on the phone. Looking back, she made a
'funny-face', sort of 'squinching-up' her cheeks, not really a smile,
an expression lots of kids make when not knowing what to say.

"This is kinda weird, but like, I left my fanny-pack home," (voice
rising on the end of each phrase like she was asking a question, a
communication style popular with teen TV shows) "I gotta play tennis
at two? I was gunna like get something to eat, but, like . . . "

"No money," said Max, taking a bite, masking more than passing
amusement.

Ice-blue eyes nailed him again, almost accusingly. "What?"

"You left your money home and you can't buy lunch."

Slightly off-balance, the girl started twisting again, perhaps
somewhat embarrassed. "Yeah but, like, I wasn't asking you to buy me .
. . "

"If you're hungry, get something to eat," he smiled, interrupting her,
reaching into his front pocket and producing a handful of small bills.

"Like, I called my girlfriend but she can't come over right now," she
continued, looking at the money then back in the cafe window. "You're
serious? You'd like, buy me lunch? I don't have to do something for
it, do I?"

"Nothing, no strings," he smiled, separating bills. "Would you rather
it be a loan? Say, five bucks?"

"Like, I guess," she answered, plump lower lip back between teeth,
fingertip moving to pink plump lips, fingernail playing between
perfect white teeth. She was looking at him with more than casual
interest. "Five bucks?"

"Is that enough?"

"Way enough!" she giggled, taking a deep breath, hardening nipples
provocatively stretching the front of a cropped white V-necked
tee-shirt. Developing breasts were so firm they needed no bra, and
obviously modesty hadn't driven her to wear one. Max was pleased, and
had she asked his opinion he would have told her.

"Like, what are you eating?" she asked, twisting again, glance
definitely lingering, 'checking him out', as kids so poetically
express it. "It looks good."

The girl was really a flirt.

"It is. Burrito, half and half."

"It's got meat?" A vegetarian question?

"A little, but you can get one without."

Pink lip back between teeth, she rubbed her nose and upper lip with
the finger she'd been chewing. "No - - I mean, like, meat's okay. Mind
if I eat out here with you?"

"Be my guest," smiled Max, handing over the crumpled Lincoln.

Back to him, she leaned the yellow mountain-bike against a column,
bent over and put a cable through the rear wheel and frame and locked
it to the post. That hormone-arousing chore took almost a minute. Max
had watched the production without taking another bite of the burrito,
undeniably aroused by the time the lissome teenager straightened and
went into the cafe.

"Whewwwwwwwwww," he sighed, exhalation heard by no one.

A few minutes later, she returned with a burrito but didn't sit like a
girl with manners. Instead, she straddled a gray plastic chair like a
boy and unwrapped the chubby bean-stuffed treat from its white paper
covering, wide spread thighs giving Max a mouth-watering view.
Swallowing what he'd been chewing, he waited, next bite halfway to
mouth, hand frozen in some kind of limbo, the sound of his heart so
loud in his ears he was sure the girl could hear it. If she had, she
didn't let on. Holding her burrito in preparation for first bite, she
opened her mouth (another heart pounding moment) and wrapped
bewitching frosted-pink lips around the overstuffed tubular treat.
Realizing his mouth was hanging open, Max closed it but couldn't stop
staring. Had it been anything but a burrito, the act might have gotten
her busted for public obscenity. Hedonists would have applauded.
Biting down, juices oozing from the corners of epicurean lips, she
chewed the mouthful like someone who hadn't eaten for a week,
shamelessly enjoying every spicy second, face aglow with voluptuary
pleasure.

"Mmmmmmmm! Tastes great!" she smiled, ample mouth full, big blue
wide-set eyes sparkling. It didn't take more than two minutes for her
to eat what had taken Max ten. "Gunna get a soda," she said, wiping
irresistible mouth with the back of her hand, bouncing out of chair,
pleated skirt dropping like a curtain on a peep show.

Back with the drink, she opened the second act. This time Max was
prepared for the performance, eyes doing to the spot where golden
thighs were separated by white panties what her tongue and lips were
doing to the edge of the paper cup.

"Like, when I drink stuff too cold it like, makes me all tingly," she
giggled, glancing down at nipples suddenly much longer than any he'd
seen on such a young girl. Blue eyes moved up to his but he didn't
stop staring at her perky twins nor did she make any move toward
modesty when his dark eyes moved back to the glossy strip of white
panty-crotch invitingly on-display between wide-spread
ripe-to-perfection young thighs.

"It's too hot to play tennis," she continued, smiling seductively,
knees wagging to keep his attention, never closing long enough to let
the pink skirt curtain fall on the testosterone-stirring show. "So,
you live around here?"

Mouth watering, Max looked up, then took the last bite of food, tastes
on his mind other than burritos. "Over there," he said finally,
pointing to condos a block away. "Town-house on the end."

Taking another big sip of soda, she crunched ice between white-as-snow
teeth. "Like, I live way over there," she said, indicating homes on
the other side of the freeway built ten years earlier than the mall.
"So - - like, what-a you do?"

"Photographer," replied Max, finishing the food, wondering where the
conversation was headed. "Magazine stuff. Mostly women."

He saw no reason to go into detail about his award-winning reputation
or the list of models his photos had catapulted to fame in the glamour
industry, having received three major international awards for
photographic excellence. Proud of his accomplishments, Max knew there
weren't many Blacks that had broken into that elitist 'wonder-bread'
industry. He also saw no reason to mention the eye-popping monetary
rewards.

"Wanta take my picture?" she giggled, eyes directing his to
momentarily-open slim thighs, tennis toes touching the pavement at
each side of the chair. "I'm gunna play tennis when I go to college. I
got a scholarship. I'm gunna teach phys-ed and play tennis."

"You need pictures for that?"

She giggled. "Naw, but I wish I had some good ones-a me. The ones they
took at school for graduation were junk. I didn't want them to put
them in the annual, but they did. I looked terrible."

"I can't imagine you looking terrible." Max took a drink of cold soda.

"I did," shrugged the girl, making him look at the front of her
tee-shirt every time she moved, before wagging knees pulled his dark
eyes back between firm flawless tanned thighs.

"Well," he said with a sigh, wiping his mouth with paper napkin,
"gotta get back to the dark-room."

Standing, he had to make an adjustment to the standing ovation taking
place in the front of his cargo kakis, thrown by the fact the nymph
was having such an effect on his normally professional cool. After
all, he'd taken thousands of pictures of beautiful dressed and
undressed females, and earlier in his career, many nudes under an
alias for men's magazines. It had been a year since he'd taken on
contracts to do porn, soft or hard, though he recalled the jobs with
more than professional interest. He'd made a handful of X-rated videos
and done dozens of photo stories for adult magazines. Max was the
youngest fashion lens-man and at the top of the crowd, a coup for a
Black, a position he regarded with no little pride.

"Let me see it?" she asked, bubbling over with teenage energy, staring
straight at his crotch, prurient curiosity written all over her face.

"See it?" he hesitated, wondering if she'd intentionally made the
double entendre. "Oh, my darkroom? Look, I live alone. What would your
parents say?"

"Who's gunna tell?" she smiled, brushing tangled blonde locks away
from adorably-cute face. "You aren't, like, all weird or something,
are you?"

"Depends on who you ask, but I don't think so," he laughed, tossing
his lunch trash in the waste container. "I'm not some serial killer.
Anyway, gotta go."

"Wait-a second," she giggled, tossing the paper cup and food wrapper
into the trash, "I'll follow you."

Max walked, the girl riding in big circles a few feet behind,
eliciting comments and honks from passing cars. Without looking back
he knew why. He crossed the mall and headed up the street toward the
Southern California style stucco town-homes, the girl still behind.
When he opened the garage door with the remote, she swung-off the bike
and leaned it against the inside wall. He glanced up and down the
drive, but no one else had been watching the show.

"Wow! This yours?" she asked, staring at the 1996 silver 911 Porsche
Turbo S.

Max pocketed the small remote "Got the pink-slip to prove it."

"Wow! What-a super car! Is it real fast?"

"Real fast."

"Wow! Will you gimme a ride?"

Turning, perplexed, Max looked her up and down. "You know - - a girl
as young and as pretty as you could get grown men in trouble."

"You think I'm pretty?" she frowned, making the 'funny-face' again.
"Even though I'm like, so short?"

"You couldn't be cuter. Short or tall, your proportions are perfect,
and your curves are all in the right places. Trust me. You're asking a
pro."

"Thanks!" she blushed, looking around the nearly sterile garage, a
place where everything had its place and was in it. "Like, I'm so
short everyone treats me like some little girl or something."

"What can I say? You're a babe," he grinned, telling the absolute
truth. "I wish you were a few years older."

That made her blush. "So like, how old are you?" she giggled, large
blue eyes checking-out the bulge in the front of his kaki pants.

Now it was his turn to check her out, wondering just how far she'd go.
"Twenty-four. Does that make me an antique?"

"No way," she giggled, twisting again. "You sure are tall. I like guys
with shaved heads. It sure makes you look sexy. Gawd, like you sure
got lots-a muscles!"

"Thanks, back," he smiled, turning a small gold ring in his left
earlobe. "And you? How old are you?"

"I'm gunna be eighteen in August," she bragged, pulling down on the
hem of cropped tee-shirt, a move drawing his attention from
sensuous-lipped mouth to lively conical-nippled breasts. "Like, I wish
I was lots taller, but everyone in my family is real short. Everyone
calls us 'the Smalls'. The funny face. That's our last name. My
mother's like, even smaller than me."

"Really? How tall are you?"

"Almost five feet. I think I was like, the shortest girl in school . .
. "

"So - - you're still in school?"

"I just graduated."

"Oh, right - - you were talking about graduation pictures. Well, tiny
or not, you certainly look grown-up for a girl just out of high
school. Look, we didn't introduce ourselves. I'm Max. What's your
name?"

"Candi," she said, making it sound like a forbidden dessert. "Candice,
really, but that sounds so Beverly Hills."

"You could get guys tossed in jail, Candi," he sighed, picking up a
small stack of newspapers and photo magazines, and dropping them into
a blue recycling container.

"Really? Like, what for?"

"For making them think what they think about when they look where you
let them look," he sighed, wiping his large hands on a garage towel,
folding it and putting it back on the bench. "You make men wish for
things they shouldn't be wishing for."

"Gee, thanks! Like, you're real sweet." For a moment, neither spoke.
"Really - - wanta take a picture of me?" she said, every curve of
beguiling little body broadcasting smoldering invitations.

Max considered that offer, tempted to hand her a card and send her
home to get parental permission, knowing he was treading on thin ice
with such a young girl. An expensive convertible drove past the open
garage, but the driver didn't turn her head. "What kind of picture did
you have in mind?"

"What kind do you wanta take?" she giggled mischievously, pink tongue
slipping out between teeth to wet even pinker lips.

Unprepared for such a persuasive confrontation, Max felt perspiration
forming on his forehead and heat spreading across high cheekbones.

"I bet I know what kinda picture you'd wanta take if I'd let you!" she
teased, flicking pink tongue doing lascivious things to lips so plump
and glossy it made his temperature rise another degree.

The girl was a nasty little tease. "Listen-up, girl. You're making me
nervous. Give a guy a break. Anyway - - I need to get back to work - -
time for you to get going."

"I saw you peeking," she smirked, blue eyes burning into his, Max's
gaze defensively dropping. "You were, weren't you?" she smirked,
twisting again. "I didn't mind. Like to take-a picture-a me like
this?"

Bending over as though re-tying her shoe, the short pleated skirt rode
up over the smooth curve of well exercised buns, leaving both cheeks
of her perfect little panty-covered muscle-hard ass exposed to Max's
grateful gaze. Glossy white smooth satin panties were so tight he
could see the shape of the teen's small pussy lips framed by
flawlessly-smooth tan thighs. Wiggling about the sweetest ass on
earth, she looked back over her shoulder.

"You're peeking again!" she giggled provocatively, tongue playing
between milk-white teeth, coyly raising an arched eyebrow, invitingly.
"Wanta feel?"

Skintight satin stretched snugly over an almost three inch wide
keyhole-shaped crotch, an invitation to pleasure so arousing Max felt
himself hardening, testosterone taking any remaining good-judgment
hostage. Perspiration running down the back of his blue denim collar,
he had to struggle to keep from touching the offered temptation, to
caress the wet glossy crease framed by hard-muscled buns. He'd made
himself a promise to stay away from the temptations of flirtatious
models and to keep things on a professional basis.