Robin's Solution

In 1924, a14-year-old girl is being abused by her stepfather. She decides if she's going to become pregnant, she'd rather have 18-year-old Thomas be the father!

Part One

My name is Thomas McKay. I was born in 1906 in a small town in Ohio. Its population was somewhere between 4,000 and 5,000 inhabitants. My parents ran the equivalent of a country store. It carried a huge variety of items for public consumption: groceries, hardware, clothing, tools, farm implements—the whole gamut of merchandise for both the city dwellers and the country folks.

I started working part time at the store in 1920 when I was 14. My mother and father believed I was a natural-born merchant. Not only was I good at arithmetic in keeping track of inventory and calculating profits, I also had an easygoing way with people that made most of them very fond of me—which, in turn, made them buy things they probably would not have otherwise. I enjoyed the work, too, which always made the days at the store seem like fun.

Two of the customers whom I liked to serve were the stepdaughters of somebody I despised. His name was Will Conrad. He was a miserable drunk, but he was loaded with money because his late father had invested wisely in steel and oil stocks—and he inherited them all some 20 years ago. According to a banker friend of our family, his dividends every month allowed him to live a lavish lifestyle, but he seldom spent a penny on anything resembling a luxury. In his forties, Mr. Conrad had somehow persuaded a rather attractive 28-year-old widow to marry him. It was her daughters, Robin and Mabel, who were the aforementioned customers I was always glad to see. They were seven and four respectively when their mother remarried that man who was generally unpleasant and seemed downright creepy.

Often the girls and their mother came into the store to buy supplies, primarily groceries, but occasionally also to purchase materials for making clothing by hand. The girls were not allowed to buy any type of candy, but that didn’t stop me from sneaking the occasional peppermint stick or lollipop into their hands. They were always grateful. “You are such a nice boy, Thomas!” 10-year-old Robin would exclaim whenever I gave her and her sister a treat.

Rumors circulated around town that Will Conrad was a monster to his new wife and stepdaughters. He was quite often drunk. His wife, Sarah, seemed to be thoroughly scared of him and feared his wrath. She knew that he could throw her out of his house at any time, leaving her, Robin and Mabel penniless. Furthermore, there were stories that Will Conrad was abusing the girls in the worst way imaginable. I preferred not to think about that because I had grown very fond of both Robin and Mabel. To me, they were like beloved sisters I never had.

One day when I was 18, 14-year-old Robin came into the store to make purchases. It was highly unusual for her to be alone, but she explained that her mother had given her money to buy a large amount of groceries while she herself tended to her husband. Apparently, he had fallen down a flight of stairs in a drunken stupor and had somehow managed to twist his ankle and open a bloody gash on his forehead in the same mishap.

“It’s not often I ever see you alone, Robin,” I told her. “This might be a first.”

“I think you are right, Thomas. I’m just so happy to be away from that awful man, even for just a short time. He is unbearable.”

That confession caught my attention. There was no one else in the store, so I offered her a bottle of cola on the house—which she happily accepted—and asked her to sit down and tell me her troubles.

“Thomas, I fear going home; I really do!” she told me. Tears were welling in her eyes. “Mr. Conrad, that’s how he insists my sister and I address him, is a terrible person. He’s mean and he’s often drunk and abusive.”

I asked for more details from Robin about her home life. “When you say, ‘abusive,’ Robin, what exactly do you mean? Does he beat you?”

Robin stated, “On occasion, yes, he does beat me and Mabel if we do something that displeases him. What we hate the most, though, is that he comes into our bedrooms when we are sleeping. He wakes us up and does things to us that he shouldn’t. Ever since we’ve known him, he’s been this way. He touches our private parts constantly. Since I turned 11 three years ago, he’s crawled on top of me and stuck his willie in my vagina regularly. I told mom about it, but she thinks Mabel and I are exaggerating. She’s too scared of him to do anything to protect us. Now when he comes into my bed he often says, ‘I want you to have a baby with me.’ He’s saying the same thing to Mabel now, too—and she just turned 11 last week. We’re both very scared of getting pregnant by him.”

I was seething at what Robin was saying to me. She and her little sister were being systematically sexually violated by her stepfather—and she had no one to protect her. My first instinct was to contact the police. Robin vetoed that idea, however. “He’d kill all three of us—Mom included—if the police got involved in our lives,” Robin stated as tears rolled down her eyes. “He’s said that to us more than once.”

“There must be some way for me to help,” I said. “Robin, I’d kill this guy for you if you asked me to do it. That’s how much I care about you and Mabel.”

She squeezed my hand affectionately but said, “Thank you, Thomas, but no. That solution is too extreme, but I do have another idea. It’s a bit crazy, but I’m desperate.”

“What is it, Robin? Maybe I can help you with it,” I suggested.

Without hesitation, Robin said to me, “I was thinking last night after Mr. Conrad violated me again, that the best way I can avoid having his baby is by having someone else’s.”

“Huh?” was all I could think of saying.

“After he comes inside me, Mr. Conrad immediately leaves my bedroom. That’s when I do everything I can to expel his sperm from my vagina to prevent a pregnancy. There are some womanly tricks that help that I’ve learned from my mother and other females. Everything I’ve done in that respect has worked for three years, so far.”

“Okay, I understand that,” I said.

“My plan, if you’ll help me, is to get pregnant by you! That way Mr. Conrad thinks he’s the father, but it will really be your child. At least that won’t be so bad as me having his baby.”

“That really is a crazy idea,” I told Robin, “but it does appeal to me.”

Robin’s face lit up. “Really, Thomas? You’d honestly consider helping me this way? I’d be grateful to you forever!”

I decided to be fully honest with this desperate 14-year-old girl. “Robin, the first time I saw you in this store it was four years ago when I was 14 and you were 10. I thought to myself, ‘I could do worse than making this pretty little girl my wife someday.’ I’ve loved you from afar for a long time. I cannot bear to hear what a nightmare your home life is. Therefore, yes, I’ll do my best to get you pregnant so you can escape from that horrid man. When and where should we start?”

“The sooner, the better, I suppose,” Robin said.

“I was just about to shut down the store to take a 30-minute break,” I told Robin. “We could go into the supply room for half an hour. Will that do?”

“Anywhere will do!” Robin answered. She also gave me a tremendously sexy smile.

Part Two

I locked the store’s front door and put up the “Closed for a Few Minutes” sign in case any customers showed up in the interim. I took Robin by the hand and led her to the storage room at the rear of the building. The closest thing we had to a bed were huge stacks of sacks containing flour and oats. It occurred to me that until that moment I had never had any physical contact with Robin during the four years I had known her. None at all. Now, all of a sudden, we were going to be as intimate as humanly possible. Accordingly, I figured we better begin with a few kisses. Robin was totally agreeable to that. She was very enthusiastic—and it was a wonderful, affectionate start. I truly wished we had more than 30 minutes to do what needed to be done.

I was quickly aroused. Prior to this moment, in my life I had just a single sexual encounter with a girl—and that was five years before when Mary Ann Myers and I went skinny dipping on a hot day. Unfortunately, my excitement got the better of me before I could place my equipment in the proper place of her lovely anatomy. I had to do better this time! Robin was counting on me!

We wasted no time disrobing. Robin was a beautiful girl from head to toe. She had wavy blonde hair and a fine figure for a 14-year-old girl. She stood about 5’4”. On some level, I could understand why her creepy stepfather visited her bedroom so often. I grabbed her by the waist and set her against the stacks of flour that were almost as big as she was. Her round breasts caught my attention, so they were her first body parts that I fondled. Licking and sucking proceeded shortly thereafter. I was turned on by how quickly Robin’s nipples became hard. This was all so very new to me—and I felt so very rushed.

Robin stroked my penis, congratulated me on attaining a fine erection so quickly—an involuntary action to be sure—and informed me as sweetly as possible that she was ready to be impregnated. Being far more of a sexual veteran than I was, she guided my dick to the proper crevice in her lower abdomen. We both said, “Ah!” as I entered her. If I lasted a minute before ejaculating, it was exactly that—and not 61 seconds. I apologized for my lack of sexual stamina, but Robin said I had done just fine in her opinion. Unlike her stepfather’s rape sessions with her, Robin instructed me not to withdraw my penis from her vagina quickly. “The longer you stay inside me, the better chance I have to conceive,” she stated. I didn’t know if that was medically accurate or not, but I did not object. After about three minutes, I withdrew, kissed her long and passionately, and put my trousers back on. I hoped I had succeeded in my pleasurable task.

“I’ll see if I can come back tomorrow for another fuck, Thomas,” Robin told me. “We need to do this as much as possible, every day if we can. The more sperm you shoot inside me, the better chance you have of being a daddy.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint you!” I said sincerely.

Robin gave me one final, passionate kiss and left the store. For old times’ sake, before she departed, I handed her two peppermint sticks, one for her and one to relay to her sister, Mabel.

Part Three

Robin did return to the store the next day. My parents were both present, so it seemed impossible for Robin and I to have a repeat sexual performance. I wasn’t going to be dissuaded, though. I told them, “Robin wants to see how things are organized in the storage room. Is that okay with everyone?”

“Sure,” my mother said. “Take your time. Give her the grand tour, Thomas.” The grand tour took about three minutes. We didn’t even bother to get completely undressed. I dropped my pants and underwear to the floor, exposing another fine erection. Robin removed her panties. We went to the sacks of flour again, and copulated as quietly as we could. I was pleased to last two minutes this time before having an orgasm.

“Longer and better!” Robin said in critiquing my screwing technique and duration. I thanked her for the compliment.

I didn’t see Robin for the next two days. When she did finally make an appearance at the store, she told me that, despite his injuries, Mr. Conrad, had continued to visit both her and Mabel’s bedrooms, alternating venues each night. Robin could hear Mabel’s whimpering during his sexual dalliances with her sister. She was in tears when she told me, “Mabel is a tiny girl for her age. He’s too big for her. He’s hurting Mabel!” I was becoming infuriated with this creep’s despicable actions!

Robin bought more groceries and other supplies than she could carry, so I got permission from my father to borrow a wheelbarrow to transport her purchases the six blocks to her home. Before I left the store on my errand, Dad took me aside and said, “The more I think of it, son, I believe Robin is the girl for you. I can’t abide her stepfather, but Robin is a down-to-earth girl, very nice, and easy on the eyes. You could do a lot worse than marry her. You should see a lot more of her.”

I replied with a pun that, of course, he did not pick up, “Lately, I’ve been seeing about as much of her as possible, Dad!” Then I happily concurred with his sentiments. “Yes, Dad, I’ve thought the same thing about Robin for years. Yes, she’d make a fine wife for me. There’s no disputing that.”

On the way to her house, Robin continued to be worried about her sister’s welfare more than her own. I stupidly said, “Maybe I should try to impregnate Mabel, too.” I immediately regretted it, because of how it sounded. “Robin, I meant it as a means of escape for her, not as a fun sexual encounter for me.”

“I know you did,” she said, once again squeezing my hand affectionately. “And it was sweet of you to say it. But Mabel is only 11 years old. You would be in big trouble with the law if you fathered a baby with her.” Robin was absolutely correct about that, of course.

When we got to her home, her mother and stepfather were out of the house. Mabel explained they had gone to see a doctor regarding Mr. Conrad’s recuperation from his injuries. Robin and I quickly realized we had an opportunity for a comfortable screw in her bedroom instead of on a pile of flour sacks. We immediately disrobed. I mounted her and gave her a thorough fucking. I also enjoyed caressing her beautiful tits for an extended time. They were marvelous things. (I hoped she’d soon be putting them to practical use.) This encounter lasted about eight minutes and produced my strongest ejaculation yet. I figured Robin had to be pregnant now. I just sensed it.

Robin had told Mabel about our sexual plans as soon as we started to try to make a baby together to spite Mr. Conrad—which made her sister a little bit jealous. When I was about to leave the house, Mabel asked Robin. “Can’t Thomas fuck me, too? I don’t want to have Mr. Conrad’s baby—I’d much rather carry Thomas’ baby. He’s such a nice young man.”

“You two both think alike!” Robin told her little sister with a chuckle. “You’re just 11, Mabel. I hope you can’t get pregnant at all.”

I was genuinely flattered that Mabel had come up with the same idea that I had. In recognition, I gave her a long kiss as a consolation offering. “Mabel, that kiss will have to do—for now!” I told her. “Maybe three or four years from now when the law wouldn’t be against it…” I left my sentence unfinished.

Two days later, Robin rushed into the store to tell me she had made a secret visit to the same doctor who had been treating her stepfather’s injuries. He had confirmed that Robin was pregnant! Of course, there was no scientific way to determine who the father was, but Robin was certain it was me. “I just know you’re the daddy, Thomas. Now I can get out of that awful situation at home.”

I summoned my parents to give them the news—and all the associated details. My puritanical mother was stunned into silence, but my father was completely sympathetic when he was told of the exceptional circumstances that led to Robin’s surprise pregnancy.

“This is an odd situation son, to be sure” he commented, “but I can’t really fault either of you for coming up with this plan. You’re both old enough to marry according to state law. I have some pull with the local government officials. I’ll take you in my car to the town hall, arrange for a marriage license, and get a justice of the peace to marry the two of you today.”

We both agreed with alacrity. It had to be the shortest engagement in history. A few hours later, Robin was legally my wife. Now we just had to tell Mr. Conrad that Robin was now married to me and would be sharing my home from now on.

Mr. Conrad did not take the news well. He came at me with murderous intent, but I was a strapping 18-year-old who could take care of myself in a physical altercation. My repeated lifting of heavy bags of oats and flour every day of the week for four years had developed my muscles nicely. When Mr. Conrad charged at me, I connected with a solid right-hand punch to his jaw that floored him. The absolute rage I had built up against this demonic person overflowed. I literally stomped on him, punched him a dozen more times when he was already unconscious, and flung him down the same flight of stairs where he had hurt himself a week earlier. He was dead.

Robin’s mother wisely told me to vanish. She telephoned the police moments after I was gone. The officer who arrived on the scene hated Mr. Conrad, too. His laughable investigation, based on three bogus reports that Mr. Conrad had accidentally fallen down the stairs in a drunken stupor, was good enough for the authorities to accept as gospel. The deceased was quickly put into a cheap coffin at buried at the local cemetery before sunset. No marker was ever placed on the grave. Mr. Conrad died intestate. With no valid will, his widow automatically inherited his fortune. My new wife was suddenly an heiress.

About 8½ months later, my son Harold was born. He had my blue eyes and my Roman nose. Robin and her loathsome, deceased stepfather both had brown eyes. Anyone could plainly see I was Harold’s daddy. My parents loved their grandson and my beautiful new wife. I was pleased that Robin was putting her best physical assets to work. Harold was breast-fed.

Harold was named after Robin’s father who had died young from a ruptured appendix. He was a doting dad. The only time he ever laid a finger on Robin or Rachel was to embrace his two daughters lovingly. Robin and I playfully gave our son the middle name Miller. That name didn’t come from any family connection whatsoever, so people often wondered how and why we chose it. The reason stayed our little secret for four decades.

For our fortieth wedding anniversary in 1964, our three children threw us a huge, well-attended party. During the speeches that were made by friends and family, many of them demanded to know the origin of Harold’s mysterious middle name. Robin and I jointly decided that it was time for our secret to be revealed. I stood up and confessed, “Miller was the name of the flour company whose sacks had been the place where Harold had been conceived in expediency.” The room erupted with laughter. Harold laughed the loudest of anyone.