A child who doesn't know you

At this critical hour, you think back to the shameful circumstances of your first child's conception. It started like many other nights, with you sipping weak beer at the nearby inn. It was the only inn nearby, and it wasn't too bad of a place. You knew a lot of the regulars, and they knew you. They sometimes made for good conversation over a drink, and maybe a game of cards. But most importantly, you came to see Giselle. Giselle was the bar wench, and would go around bringing drink orders. She was popular for her bawdy nature, tending to let loose with the patrons. More than that, she was popular for her looks. She had light blonde hair and blue eyes. Tantalizing cleavage showed through from her lacy bodice, and her derriere wasn't too bad either. You would often sit in the corner, burning with silent jealousy as the other men pawed at her, only to get playfully slapped away by the ever-flirtatious girl.

However, that night was unusual. The owner of the inn had gone into town. Free from her boss, Giselle took the drinks some of the patrons offered to buy for her. You stayed and watched for hours as she got progressively drunker. Eventually, she got so drunk she could barely walk. Quick as a flash, you jumped out of your seat to catch her as she stumbled near you. "Thanksh handshome" she said, smiling up at you drunkenly, eyes unfocused. "I think it's time she went home" you announce to the group. Those bothering to pay attention mumbled assent, and you took her out into the night. You walked her to her place, a small cottage nearby, doing your best to prevent her from falling on her face. "Thanksh, why don't you come inside" she said, deeply ****. You had to make a decision, and you don't know if you made the right one. You stepped through the door, crossing the threshold. There were only two rooms in the cottage, a living room and a bedroom. You laid her down on her bed and stared at her for a while. Here she was, the girl you had fantasized about for years, prone in front of you. "Whatsh a matter, whishkey dick?" she said, smiling, barely conscious. No, not at all.

You undressed slowly, fearfully. Once you were naked, except for your undershirt, you began gingerly removing her dress. Your mouth watered and you cock stiffened as you uncovered her perky breasts and golden-haired honeyhole. Burning with shame, your desires overcame your better sentiments. Spreading her long, lithe legs, you pierced into her. You moved painfully slowly to keep from waking her up, sliding in and out of her hot insides carefully, enjoying the feel of her tight folds for the first and last time. You have no idea how long it took, but in due time you sated your lusts and shot your essence into her. You repeated this shameful act several times that night before you were fulfilled. Done, you redressed and slunk out of the house.

Your regretful fears were confirmed about nine months later, when she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. She became the talk of the town, a story used to scare young girls away from the ills of fornication. She always claimed she had no idea who the father was, nor even how the child was conceived. She stopped working at the bar, and somebody suggested to the local priest that she should not be shunned, but forgiven and made the recipient of Christian charity. Last you knew, she and the child, now a toddler, were getting by on donations.

You fled the responsibility then, just as you flee now.