Adam was frustrated. His father was mad at CarolLee again and he wouldn’t play chess with him. Brian had to go to a church picnic with his parents, so he couldn’t come over and play video games. The feeling was a familiar one to Adam; he felt agitated, but not sure what he should be agitated about. He tried going for a run earlier, but it was too hot, and nothing helped when he was in one of these moods except jerking off. He wanted to sit in front of his computer, pull up a couple of favorite videos, the ones with the two guys sucking on each other at the same time would be good, stick the hairbrush in his ass and jerk so hard that he hit the ceiling with his spunk. He knew he would feel miserable afterward, though, so he threw himself on the bed, and tried not to think about it.
After about an hour of thinking about sucking dick in spite of not wanting to think about sucking dick, he heard a knock at his door. “Who is it?” he yelled. He hoped it was his mom, she always knocked after she had discovered him with her hairbrush, but he would be surprised because she was always out selling houses with the creepy guy she worked with. He hated how Rusty was always tying to be so friendly with him.
“It’s me,” he heard CarolLee’s voice say.
“Go away!” he yelled back.
“I have something for you,” she said.
“Okay,” he said, “Come in.”
Adam sat up on the pillows, and his sister entered holding a large piece of paper from her drawing pad, and sat next to him. Laying back with a smile, she showed him the drawing. “I made it for you,” she said.
Adam stared at the image in disbelief. It was of an erect penis at the point of climax when the spunk was flying. He was instantly aroused and ashamed. He jerked to an upright position. “CarolLee!” he yelled. “What the fuck’s the matter with you. I told you, you’re not supposed to draw dicks.”
“Don’t you like it?” she asked, the smile replaced with an expression of tragic disappointment. “The doctor did.”
“It’s disgusting,” he said. “Why would you think I would want a picture like this?”
“You like to look at penises,” she said, then added, “Hanjub says you do it all the time.”
“You’re insane!” he said. “No guy wants a picture like this. And I don’t look at them… all the time. Why can’t you be like a normal kid? You’re always talking about that stupid Hanjub, and it’s making everybody crazy. Dad’s angry all the time, and Mom is never around any more. And it’s your fault.”
“It’s not my fault Mommy doesn’t like Daddy anymore?”
“What?” Adam said. “What do you mean?”
“Mommy likes someone else better, because he likes to go down on her.”
This immediately made sense to Adam because of all the time his mother spent with Rusty. “How do you know that?”
The girl avoided Adam’s intense stare, saying, “Hanjub told me.”
“You’ve been spying again. You’re a dirty little spy. How do you do it?”
“I am not a spy,” she said. “It’s not my fault Hanjub sees things and hears things.”
“Yes, it is your fault,” he said. “Do you want Mom and Dad to get divorced? We’ll have to move, and be poor, and only visit dad every other weekend. If you say anything about this you will ruin the family.”
“I don’t want to ruin the family,” she said, as her eyes filled with tears.
“Well, you’re going to if you tell on Mom,” he said.
“I won’t say anything,” she said, “I promise.”
Adam did not feel at all bad about making his sister cry. She deserved to feel bad for the crazy things she did. His attention was captured again by his sister’s drawing which he still held in his hand. In spite of himself, he was impressed with quality of his sister’s work. “How did you draw this?” he asked. “Did someone show you his dick?”
“Hanjub described it to me” she said.
“Bat shit crazy,” he muttered. “It sure is big. I’d better keep it so no one finds it.”
Dr. Winklebaum was dismayed by the dejection she saw on the face of her young patient at their next session. CarolLee was not her usual ebullient self, and unlike previous sessions, she seemed to have little to say. She encouraged the girl to draw, which was usually accompanied by very productive discussions, but not this time. CarolLee doodled more than drew, and offered little.
The doctor had noticed a strain on the face of her mother in the waiting room, so she decided to explore further. “How are things at home, CarolLee?”
The girl continued to doodle without responding.
“Is somebody upset at your house?” she asked.
“Who is upset?” she asked, leaning in closer to the girl.
CarolLee’s eyes glistened, and she said, “They’re all mad at me.”
“They are?” she said, in genuine surprise. “But why?”
“Because of Hanjub,” she said.
“What about Hanjub?”
“They are all mad at him because he tells me everybody’s secrets.”
“Oh, I’m not supposed to say,” CarolLee said.
Dr. Winklebaum reminded CarolLee of one of their earlier conversation about how the things said in her office were confidential, and she shouldn’t be afraid to tell the doctor anything. She also said that good families didn’t have secrets, and that CarolLee would feel better after telling her the secrets.
“Adam says if I tell about Mommy and Daddy they will get divorced and Daddy will go away and I won’t get to see him very much anymore. And Mommy says if I tell about her bruise Daddy will get mad at her like he gets mad at me.
“Why is your daddy mad at you?” the doctor asked.
“Daddy gets mad when I talk about doing things with Hanjub. He said I should tell you I made Hanjub up, and for you to stop looking for someone who did things to me. He said he would use the belt if I talked about him again. I don’t want him to hit me with the belt.”
Ah ha! Dr. Winklebaum thought. It was no surprise the true identity of Hanjub was her abusing father. He must have realized the doctor was getting close to the truth and he threatened his little girl to silence her. She was so touched CarolLee trusted her enough to tell her the truth, the psychiatrist nearly broke into tears. Now it was necessary to uncover those complicit in his crime, either by participation or denial.
This meant she would have to act fast and report her discovery to Children’s Protective Services. There would be an investigation, of course, and the police would determine the details, but now that the girl had let go of her denial she could begin to heal. Although the psychiatrist knew she could put a stop to the child’s abuse, she knew CarolLee’s healing journey would never end. When the session was over Dr. Winklebaum sat and cried, both for her young patient, and for herself.
Detective Marlowe had arrived early to review the evidence collected in a recent case. He preferred doing this in the morning before the bureau grew noisy with the activity of the many men and women housed there. The hapless suspect had amassed a library of images, and each one had been carefully labeled, cataloged, assigned keywords and indexed for easy retrieval. The suspect lived with his mother and had never been within ten feet of a child all his adult life as near as they could tell, but he had done it all through the images he collected. It was without a doubt the best collection of child porn the detective had ever come across and would certainly earn the man a ten year sentence. He hoped he had enough time to finish his review before he had to stop.
Which is why he groaned when an officer came by with two messages for him. The first was that his partner, Detective Ruth Taylor, would not be in that day. He sneered thinking the woman was probably trying to reconcile with her crazy boyfriend, again. He couldn’t understand why they gave women such positions of responsibility when they couldn’t come to work if they were upset or on the rag. If he hadn’t come to work every time he got pissed off at his wife he would still be a beat cop.
The second was from CPS requesting an investigation for a possible child sexual abuse. It was one of the nicer areas of town, which meant it would probably be some banker who had been watching so much porn he decided to try out what he saw on his daughter. Marlowe had been working Special Victims Unit for six years, had seen everything, and he hated these kinds of cases most of all. He actually preferred the street pimps who sold their child whores to tourists because it was just money to them. It was the wealthy, middle-class types who had the elaborate rationales for why it was okay to fuck a little girl that made him puke. They should hang them all by their dicks as far as he was concerned.
He called the psychiatrist who had made the report and she kept trying to tiptoe around the confidentiality laws while fulfilling her obligation to report an instance of suspected abuse. The result was she suspected the father who she kept calling a dirty name for some reason that didn’t make sense to him. But beyond the fact that the girl drew pictures of penises, he had nothing concrete to go on. It would require some good old-fashioned police work to get to the truth.
Marlowe left minutes later to begin the investigation before the family had time to destroy the evidence. Even when there was horrific abuse the family would always pull together during an investigation and try to conceal the facts. When he arrived at the house, the family was having breakfast. Normally, the female detective would question the women, while the male questioned the men. It was all on Marlowe this morning, though, so he began by taking the father into a separate room to ask his questions. He pulled out his note pad and thumbed through the notes from his conversation with the psychiatrist. “So you’re David, the father of CarolLee and Adam?”
“Yes,” the man said.
“Why do they call you Hand Job?”
“What?” David said, his face turning white. “Nobody calls me Hand Job, and it’s Hanjub. It’s an Indian name.”
“You don’t look Indian,” Marlowe said as he wrote in the pad. “Why are you called… Hanjab?”
“It’s Hanjub, and they don’t call me Hanjub. Hanjub is his name, not mine.”
“The Indian,” the father said. “He’s a damn king or something.”
Referring to his notes Marlowe said, “The psychiatrist, a Dr. Winklebaum, said you were the… Hanjab…”
“It’s Hanjub, you idiot, and I am not Hanjub.”
“Keep a civil tongue in your mouth mister,” Marlowe said, “or you will be answering my questions down at the station.” Marlowe thought the guy looked like he was ready to lose it, and he kept an eye on him in case he tried anything funny. “Now, where is this Hanjub? I’d like to talk to him.”
“You can’t talk to him,” the father said, his lips tight.
“Why not?” the detective asked.
“Because he doesn’t exist.”
Glancing at his notes, Marlowe said, “I thought he lived in the attic.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” the father said. “Nobody lives in the attic.”
“So who has been sleeping in your daughter’s bed at night… ” he glanced at his pad, “in the nude?”
“Are you insane?” David said. “Nobody sleeps in her bed. She made him up. She just wants attention. Hanjub is a figment of her imagination.”
Marlowe had lost count of the number of times he had been told the abused child was making up stories of molestation. They had been trained that children never made up such accusations, but that parents always made up excuses. “Do you sleep in the nude?” Marlowe asked. The man paused which told Marlowe the next words out of his mouth were going to be a lie.
“Uh…no, I don’t–.”
The detective followed quickly with, “Do you sleep in the attic?”
“Of course not,” he said, the words spitting out of his mouth. “Nobody sleeps in the attic.”
“According to the doctor, the girl knows how to draw a penis,” the detective continued. “Not just a regular one, but one that means business. Now how would she be able to do that if somebody hadn’t been sneaking into her bed in the nude?”
“There must be some mistake,” the father pleaded. “CarolLee is only ten-years-old and she has never seen a penis. She says she has, but she says a lot of things. She says she is going to be a harem girl.”
“A harem girl? Whose idea was that?” Marlowe asked.
“Hanjub’s,” the father said. “Hanjub told her he wanted her to be in his harem.”
“I thought Hanjab didn’t exist?” Marlowe said, pleased with himself for catching the lie.
The man began fuming, “Hanjub does not exist. I told you, she made him up. He does not sleep in her bed or show her his penis. She is not in his harem and he is not molesting her.”
“Well,” Marlowe said. “you had better get your story straight, or you’re in a lot of trouble.”
“For what? Nothing is going on here. We are just a normal family with a little girl who makes thing up.”
“I guess we’ll just have to see about that. I’d like to talk to your wife now.”
The wife was as uncooperative as the husband and was definitely hiding something. In his experience the mother knew everything, but refused to acknowledge it because she didn’t want to break up the family. After some tough questioning, she admitted there were sexual problems in the marriage, and that CarolLee was her father’s favorite, and the two were very affectionate. She even said CarolLee had told her someone was sleeping in her bed at night in the nude, but she didn’t believe her. She then admitted her husband slept in the nude, but she was sure it wasn’t her husband doing the molesting. She couldn’t say why she was so sure, of course, and Marlowe considered it another lie.
Marlowe had honed his observational skills for many years and he noticed the rope burns on her wrists in spite of her constantly pulling the long sleeves of her blouse down to cover them. When he asked about them, she said she injured herself putting up a real estate sign, about as flimsy an excuse as he had ever heard.
He interviewed the boy next, who was a nervous as a field mouse caught in a cat’s paws. He was barely coherent the way he trembled and was full of denials about everything. He denied sneaking into the girl’s bed at night to show her his penis, and he had no idea how she might be able to draw one, but he was sure she hadn’t seen one. How he could be so sure simply told Marlowe the boy knew more that he was telling.
He saved his interview with the girl for last. “Hello there, CarolLee. Do you know what a policeman does?”
“He arrests people,” the girl said.
“Sometimes,” the detective said, “but mostly he helps people. That’s a policeman’s most important job is to protect and help people. And that’s why I am here today. I want to help you, and make sure nobody hurts you.”
“Are you going to arrest somebody?”
“No,” the detective said. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, and I want you to tell me the truth, because if you tell me the truth, then I can protect you. Do you understand?”
“You’re not going to arrest me, are you?” the girl asked.
“Of course not. Policeman never arrest little girls.” Marlowe sat near her on the couch. She was a large kid for her age, not fat, but tall, big-boned as they say, and cute, he thought. There was no evidence of breasts and he wondered if she had any hair yet, and if it matched the two long blond braids and the fine blond hair on her legs.
The girl had a remarkably wide mouth that cut across her face like a knife and, when she smiled, a mouthful of beautiful teeth. It was, he thought, the widest mouth he had ever seen on a little girl, and he couldn’t help but wonder how that mouth would handle a large cock, when she was much older, of course. He suspected a cock, even one as large as his, could get lost in a mouth that size, and if she could learn to suppress her gag reflex she could drain a nut sack faster than you could say, ‘Dyson my dick you blond baby bitch.’
“CarolLee,” he began, “Do you know what a penis is?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Have you ever seen a penis before?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Whose penis did you see?”
The girl looked suspicious, which told Marlowe he was on the right track. “I’m not supposed to talk about him anymore,” she whispered.
Marlowe leaned closer, letting his elbows rest on his knees. “That’s okay. You don’t have to say his name. So this penis you saw, does it belong to the man who sleeps in your bed at night, naked?”
“How did you know?”
“Policemen know everything,” he said. “Now this penis, can you describe it?”
She shrugged and said, “It’s like a little floppy hose,” she said. “Kinda cute.”
“Little and floppy, huh?” Marlowe responded. “Does it ever get stiff and red, like it’s angry?”
“Angry?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “All hard and mean, like it’s going to do something it shouldn’t? Have you ever seen one of those?”
“Maybe,” CarolLee said, the caution clear in her voice.
Now we’re getting somewhere, Marlowe thought. “Can you describe the angry penis?”
“Well–,” the girl seemed unsure, so the detective encouraged her while wiping a bead of perspiration from his brow with his finger. “How big was it? Was it the size of a banana, or a cucumber? Cucumbers are a little fatter than bananas, but not as fat as a salami. Was it that real meaty salami size?”
“I guess so,” CarolLee said.
Marlowe cleared his throat, made sure he was smiling, and said, “And did he ask you to touch it?”
“No,” she said.
“Really?” he asked with genuine surprise. “His big, salami size penis was right there in your bed with you, and he didn’t ask you to wrap those long fingers around it, and pull on it maybe? You know, back and forth like a… a bicycle pump?”
CarolLee said, “No.”
“How about kiss it?” Marlowe asked, resorting to pressing the sleeve of his jacket to his forehead to prevent the beads of sweat from dripping. “Did he ask you to kiss it?”
“No,” she said.
“Or suck it?” the detective asked. “I’ll bet he asked you to suck it. Did he put it near your mouth and say, let me in, let me in, or I’ll cum all over your chinny chin chin?”
“No,” she said, looking confused.
“Oh,” Marlowe said, gulping and catching his breath. “Well, when he is laying in bed with you, naked, does he touch your privates?”
“No,” CarolLee said, her eyes fixed on him as he brought his sleeve to his brow again.
“Really? He doesn’t try to slip it to you with his finger, or his penis, or maybe with something that vibrates, or a large vegetable?”
“What do you mean? CarolLee asked, still looking confused.
Marlowe remembered that his partner always brought the anatomically correct dolls to use to question kids, and he would have to do without. “Well, you have holes, see, near your privates,” Marlowe said, trying to add to his description with a hand gesture in which he made a very small circle with his thumb and forefinger. “Does your– the man with the penis, try to push something in there…” He pushed another finger through the finger circle, and continued, “…something so big that it feels like it will never go in, but then all of a sudden it slips in and you feel like you’ve been blown up like a balloon?” The finger protruding through the pinching finger circle was turning blue, and it didn’t seem to be helping the girl’s understanding, so he let his hands drop.
After a thoughtful expression, the girl said, “You mean like my butt?”
“Yes, yes, your butt,” Marlowe said, his face lighting up, causing him to get down on one knee and a foot closer to the girl. “Did he try to put his big salami penis in your very tight, wrinkled brown butt hole?”
The girl looked wary, “You won’t tell Daddy will you? He’ll get mad. He doesn’t want me to say what I have to learn to do to please him.”
“Oh, your secret will be safe with me, don’t you worry,” Marlowe said in his most reassuring tone. “Now, what do you have to learn to do to please the man with the salami penis?”
“I have to stretch it out,” she said.
The detective gulped, and his voice dropped to a whisper, “Stretch what out?”
“My butt hole,” the girl said clearly.
Mopping his brow, the detective asked, “Why does he want you to stretch your butt hole, CarolLee? Tell me everything. Don’t be afraid to tell me everything.”
“So his penis will fit,” she said.
“Oh,” Marlowe gasped. “He wants it bigger? But not too big, right, because he still wants it to be tight, so that it feels good? It has to be tight to feel good. Right?”
“No, I think it has to be stretched out,” CarolLee said. “That’s what he says.”
Marlowe began muttering, “Dumb son-of-a-bitch.” He cleared his throat and resumed his interrogation. “Ah… now… when he puts his thing in there, CarolLee, in your tender and still very tight butt hole,” Marlowe wiped his forehead with his sleeve again, “did it hurt? Did it hurt so bad it made you cry because it was in there so deep?”
“Oh no,” CarolLee said. “It didn’t hurt. I like the way it feels.”
The detective gulped, loosened his collar, and wiped his sweating brow with his sleeve, but had to switch sleeves because the first one was soaked. “Now, CarolLee, this is very important,” he said solemnly, “so I want you tell me the truth. When the man put his thing into your butt hole, and pushed it in and out, and in and out making that sloppy wet sound, did it make you feel warm and shuddery and tingly all over, like your brain had exploded? But not bad, good like, so good it felt like being tickled and eating ice cream at the same time. Did it? Huh?”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“Well, of course not,” Marlowe said, standing and taking a deep breath, “because that would make you a real little– Ah… never mind.”
“Do you want to see it?” CarolLee asked.
Still struggling to compose himself, he turned to her, “See what?”
“My butt plug,” the girl said. “I keep it in most of the time, now.”
The detective felt slightly dizzy and he spread his feet wide so he wouldn’t tumble to the floor. He was once again grateful for the pleated slacks and compression shorts he always wore to keep anyone from noticing the frequent hard-ons he had on the job. It had been a problem ever since he came to the unit which he attributed to a bad dose of Viagra crossing some wires in his brain. His partner suggested the solution because his tented pants seemed to scare the female victims they interviewed. “You… you… ” he gulped again, and his voice fell once more to a whisper, “You have something in your butt, right now?”
“Uh huh,” CarolLee said. “It’s very pretty. Mommy thought it was pretty, too.”
He cleared his throat again. “Mommy knows about him putting the… thing in your butt?”
“Yes. She was going to slap me at first when I told her who gave it to me, but then we promised to keep it a secret. You won’t tell Daddy I told you, will you?”
He had seen cases like this a hundred times where the abuser threatens the family until they are terrified he will find out who told. This guy would be going away for a long time, Marlowe was sure. The girl admitted he was sticking things in her rear, and that was a felony. A search warrant would no doubt reveal child porn on the father’s computer, probably with pictures of him fucking his daughter. Marlowe would look through every byte for any pictures of the cute blond bent over and taking it in the ass from her father’s big angry cock. That would add another twenty years to his sentence. The brother was probably involved, too, either as victim or perpetrator, and the mother knew about it, but kept quiet because she was being tied up and abused as well.
“Well, CarolLee,” he said, moving awkwardly, as though he had three legs. “You’ve been a very good little girl. A very good girl indeed. I want to thank you for being so brave in telling me all the things he did to you. And truthful, you have been truthful with me, haven’t you CarolLee?”
The girl nodded.
“Good, good,” the detective said. “Just one more question, CarolLee. That part about how the thing he made you stick in your butt feeling good. That’s not true, is it? You don’t like having things sticking in your butt, now do you?”
“Yes, I do.”
Marlowe looked at the girl again as she sat on the couch, her bare knees together, her hands in her lap, and a pleased expression formed by her wide mouth. He tried to imagine what she was feeling sitting on her cute butt with something sticking deep inside her most private of privates, and then him accepting her offer to present the object to him, holding it in her long fingers like an invitation because she liked having things in her ass so much. Then he realized he must have misheard her because she couldn’t possibly enjoy something like that. He had been assured by the females conducting the many trainings that little girls never liked being abused, even if they said they did. CarolLee was only doing it because her crazy father was pretending to be an Indian king and forcing her.
“You don’t have to worry, CarolLee,” the detective said. “He’s not going to destroy your exquisitely tight butt hole by sticking things in there any more.”
“But I like the way it feels,” she said.
“Now CarolLee, you don’t mean that,” the sweating detective said. “It’s okay, you can admit how bad it feels now.”
The pleased expression disappeared from her face, and she said, “Am I a bad girl for liking the way it feels in my butt?”
“No, no, of course not, you’re just confused,” Marlowe said, putting his notepad into his coat pocket. “You see, girls get confused when people stick big things in their privates because that causes the blood to flow away from the brain and into their privates, which is not where it belongs. In your case, you just have too much blood in your ass, I mean butt, and it’s very confusing to have all that blood in your ass…butt.”
The girl felt her rear with her hands as she sat, saying, “I don’t feel confused. I was looking forward the next one, you know, a bigger one.”
The detective tried to ignore the throbbing erection pressed to the inside of his leg by the compression shorts, and said, calmly, “You just tell yourself you don’t enjoy things sticking in your butt, that you have never enjoyed it, and that you never want to stick anything in your butt again. We have to keep all that confusing blood out of your… butt. Do you understand?”
“I guess so,” she said, her head down.
“Good,” Marlowe said. “That’s very good, CarolLee. You’re going to be alright because I am going to make sure he doesn’t try to play hide the salami in your butt ever again. And you remember the part about not liking it, because we can’t have little girls around who actually like that kind of thing, can we?”
Marlowe began a zombie walk out of the room, relieved he had helped the girl understand the way things had to be. Still speaking softly to himself, he said, “After all, what kind of world would it be if there were little girls who liked sitting down with things sticking in their ass? Why, if little girls liked that sort of thing men would want to poke things in their ass all the time, and naturally they would get around to poking their big cocks in there, and they wouldn’t even have to feel bad about it because the little girls liked it so much.”
He was still muttering as he left the house and got into his car. “And if they didn’t feel bad about poking their big cock in a little girl’s ass, there wouldn’t be any reason to feel bad about anything. Then there would be no need for laws, and no need for detectives to arrest men caught with their cock buried deep in a little girl’s ass, and we could all live on the beach, naked, with lots of little girls sitting on our cocks, any little girl we wanted, and we would all be so free and happy, just like the animals…”