Fate of a Man

She had walked past me swaying her behind. They were enticing. She had walked three majestic steps and thrown a backward glance at me, after seductively pulling back strands of hair with her pointing finger.

I had shaken my head. It was wrong. She was a child. She was seventeen years old.

I had visited her mother. She had just lost her husband, a very close friend. Me and her mother had dated once. I had ended it and she had been so mad that she married my closest friend.

She still loved me, she always said.

What was the daughter doing now?

Every time I visited, even when my friend was alive, she always sat by my side, laughing at any joke I coughed, no matter how dry it would be. Some times she could hug me goodbye happily, in front of her parents. I loved spending time with her.

And now she came back. She had gone to throw out the trash. I had shaken my head again, to fight all the erotic thoughts that were clouding my head.

"Uncle, I have prepared tea for you," she had said, "just the way you like it."

Then she had licked her lips, her eyes never leaving mine. Her mother was not home.

She had entered her bedroom and come back wearing the most provoking dress I had ever seen. She had swung around and asked me how she looked.

"You look very sexy." I had to say that word. My voice was as husky as it could get. My conscious mind reminded me again that she was seventeen, but that part of the mind had been subdued at the moment.

She had come to where I sat and, sitting on my lap, she had whispered, "I am glad you like it."

That whisper must have driven all sanity out of me, because I couldn't avoid kissing her. And she kissed me back. And we rolled to the carpeted floor. And her dress wasn't hiding any part that needed to be hidden anymore. And my pants went down. And her thighs were against my waist. And whatever happened, happened.

The judge was looking at me.

"Any final words, Mr. Komuso?" She repeated for the third time now.

My charges were paramount, and my sentence would not be showing signs of mercy. Raping an underage girl was not a small thing.

Before I could answer, I turned around to where she sat in the auditorium. She was shedding tears and blowing her nose every few seconds. Was she crying for my demise, or was it an act to gain the judge's pity?

The sex had been good. And for a moment, I had felt like I wanted her again and again. I think I had even fantasized about making her my wife some day.

Now I hated her. There was nothing in this world that I hated more than her.

"I have nothing to say, Your Honor. I plead guilty." I said and awaited the judge's rule.

I was guilty alright. For I was the adult. I was supposed to resist when she approached.

Her mother's hatred could be seen clearly on the glare that she planted on me throughout the court's proceedings.

I was taken away. Thirty years in jail with no chance of pardon. My life had been wasted by that one mistake.