Summer in Ridgewick was hazy and idyllic. The city had the down-home atmosphere of a Norman Rockwell print; a sleepy patchwork of tree-lined avenues and painfully green lawns. The streets droned with cicadas and the ponds with dragonflies, their streamlined bodies glittering like emeralds in the morning sun. Its picket-fence suburbs were perhaps the most American of the regional townships. On a fine, clear day, you could smell the heady aroma of apple pie drifting down the sidewalk; a cinnamon wave exhaled from a thousand kitchen windows.

Kings Domain extended over the eastern ridge of the city, bordered by Memorial Drive on one side and the Midland Ranges on the other. A large, rambling parkland crisscrossed by jogging paths and pine groves, it claimed a history dating back to pre-revolutionary times (hence the anachronistic title). The Commemorative Fountain at the middle of the Park was a favored meeting place with the Sole Parents Society, mainly due to its close proximity to the Adventure Playground.

Bradley Wilson couldn't be described as a sole parent, although he'd recently 'inherited' responsibility for a twelve year old child. His young cousin Angie Raymond had adopted him as a defacto father over the past few months, a role he'd grown into with a certain degree of rueful satisfaction. A second year photography student, Brad had originally joined Sole Parents hoping to free up his weekends via the care-giver exchange. Much to his surprise, he'd discovered a network of support entirely missing from his immediate family. He'd made several friends within the Society - mostly women his own age, quietly sympathetic towards his unusual situation. His weekends were still as busy as ever, but the hidden benefits were more than adequate. If nothing else, it had provided numerous playdates for Angie, the proverbial blessing in disguise from Brad's viewpoint.

The air was crisp and still as they made their way through Memorial Gardens. They were cutting through the Wildlands, a low, rolling pine glade riddled with bike tracks and mystery walks.

Most Saturday mornings, the Playground was overrun by hordes of yowling children. Brad could hear their excited howls echoing along the trail. Sounded like a full scale riot, even at this distance. The majority would be little girls from the Heights district; pixie-faced angels decked out in pastel pinks and yellows.

Angie scampered along beside him, swinging happily from his right arm. Her bright red sun-frock clung to her waifish figure, hemline sweeping about her knees with each capering step. She'd been looking forward to this outing all week; most of her friends from playgroup were going to be there, along with some of the girls from her school.

It was shaping up to be a wonderful day. They were going to have a picnic on the grass with the ladies from Sole Parents, followed by a splash in the Fountain and a game of hunt 'n' catch in the Fort.

Best of all, Bradley had brought his DIGITAL CAMCORDER (that was how she actually thought of it; in capitals and italics), the one with the LCD DISPLAY and the AUTOZOOM. Brad had bought it down at Radio Shack a couple of weeks ago so he could tape her playing on the swings and slides and monkey bars. They often watched it on Brad's DVD before she went to bed; it was becoming something of a family tradition.

"Are you going to film me playing in the Fort?" she chortled, betraying her impatience to get the morning underway.

"Sure will," Brad replied offhand, glancing off into the pinewoods.

"What about Lindy? Are you gonna film her too?" Angie demanded, tugging energetically at his hand.

"Sure," he answered.

"What about Jane?" she inquired, bouncing about at the end of his arm.

"Who?" Brad asked, raising a laconic eyebrow.

"You know - Jane!" Angie exclaimed in all seriousness, "the one who wears the blue Scottish skirt with the big safety pin!!"

"Oh, that Jane" Brad nodded, in vague amusement. He knew exactly who Angie was talking about, but he never tired of feigning ignorance to raise her ire. Anyway, he could be forgiven for misplacing the odd face or two; all of Angie's friends looked identical to him.

"Let me swing on your arm again!" Angie suddenly demanded in a complete non-sequitur.

"OK, then," Brad agreed magnanimously, as if conferring some vast favor. Flexing the tendons along his forearm, Brad hefted the girl off the ground, dangling her from his wrist with her legs waving in mid-air. He carried her along the trail for some twenty odd paces, then dropped her lightly onto her feet. She skipped along the path singing a hopscotch chant he recalled from his childhood:

"Tom-and-Becky, sitting-in-a-tree-K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First-comes-love, then-comes-marriage, then-comes-Tom-with-a-baby-CARRIAGE!"

"What are you – six?" Brad asked, raising another eyebrow in wry amusement.

"You already know how old I am," Angie replied without breaking stride. They walked on a little further until they came to a sunlit clearing with a log bench at one side. Bradley took a seat, turning the digicam over in his hands and flipping the cover off the lens. Angie ambled on for several paces, then looked around when she realized she was walking alone. Turning back to join him at the bench, she scrutinized the tall boy with a quizzical expression.

"What're you doing?" she asked.

"I think it's time we took a white balance," he answered, looking experimentally through the viewfinder. Angie knew what he was talking about, he'd been teaching her how to use the camera around the house. The white balance was the first thing you did after you switched the power on. Trouble was, they couldn't set the highlights out here on the bike trail. Everything was the wrong color.

"We forgot to bring the big white card," she said, absently kicking her feet through the woodchips.

"Well, we'll just have to use something else then, won't we?" Brad replied, snapping open the LCD.

Angie's expression changed. Her little mouth gaped open, her cheeks flushed with surprise as she registered his words. Her skin started to tingle, a storm of butterflies erupted through her belly. Her fingers dropped protectively to the front of her dress, as if it were preparing to spring up by itself. She knew exactly what he wanted her to do, and it made her head spin with embarrassment.

"Brad!" she cried, looking 'round the pine-glade, "we can't do THAT!" Her voice dissolved into a stream of helpless giggles. He couldn't be serious. Not here, not now.

"Why not?" Brad asked, testing the autofocus, "I've seen your undies before."

"Yeah, well THAT'S different!" she protested in righteous indignation (although he was completely right: he HAD seen her underwear like a zillion times before).

"How?" Brad retorted, arching one eyebrow inquiringly.

"I don't know, it just is," Angie sputtered in girlish exasperation, "anyway, you can't set the white-balance off my panties."

"They're white aren't they?" Brad asked reasonably enough.

"Well, yeah ..." she replied, blushing wildly. He was teasing her, she could see that now, but she sensed something beneath the good-natured ribbing. This was more like the games they played some nights just before bedtime. Angie loved Brad's games; they were always cute and funny and deliciously naughty. Three nights ago, he'd filled her tummy button with chocolate sauce (putting a cherry on top for good measure). The sauce had been unbearably cold, but she'd enjoyed it immensely - especially after Brad started licking it out. She'd screamed and kicked and squirmed in his arms, but after he'd finished, she'd begged him to do it again. And again. And again.

"Well, yeah ... they are," she finished, shuffling from foot to foot in an agony of indecision. .

"Well, I guess it's settled then," Bradley said, lifting the camera to eye-level.

Angie could feel her defenses crumbling; Brad was waiting expectantly, and part of her secretly wanted to play along. She was already tugging at her hemline, raising the dress to mid-thigh.

Her arms were buzzing with gooseflesh, her heart drum-rolling with anticipation. It was so incredibly naughty: despite her apparently tender years, Angie knew that young girls didn't just lift their skirts in public.

Not on purpose, anyway. But then again...

It wasn't much different to when Bradley filmed her hanging upside down from the Jungle Gym. Or when she came down the High Slide with her frock sailing around her waist. Or when she showed her friends how to do cartwheels on the grass. As a matter of fact, Brad had a small library of AVIs dedicated to his cousin: Angie getting dressed in the morning. Angie putting on her babydoll. Angie doing handstands in the backyard. Angie modeling her new underwear in front of the mirror; Angie dancing in her new underwear in front of the mirror.

"OK – little higher now," Brad said, dropping to one knee in front of her. Angie looked down and discovered that she'd been twisting the frock between her fingers, unconsciously hoisting the curtain, so to speak. The hem was less that an inch from the tip of her panties. Her legs were trim and rather shapely, the skin as pale as an English carnation. Angie stared up in round-lipped surprise, struggling to suppress her high, tinkling laughter. What was she DOING?!

"Bradley!" she sniggled breathlessly, unable to believe she was actually doing this. The front of Angie's skirt began to rise, just the barest flittering of red cotton. A sense of exhilaration filled her veins. She glanced away in childish denial, her cheeks glowing maraschino red. This was soooo embarrassing! Why did he always do this to her?

"Come on, no need to be shy," Brad coaxed, gesturing with the camera, "we'll show all your friends next time they come over."

This was too much for Angie. Sputtering with repressed mirth, she hiked her dress up over her waist, dissolving into a stream of helpless giggles. White satin panties flashed into view, gleaming with an alabaster finish in the sunlight. Tight elastic trimmings dimpled her pearly flesh, floral lace insets embellished the hips.

"All right, now – big smile for the camera," Brad instructed, pressing the zoom, "skirt right up to your chin."

"Nooooooo!" Angie moaned, but the dress climbed up her bare torso all the same. Waves of sweet humiliation rolled through her tummy. He only needed her panties for the white-balance: why did she have to hold her frock so high? He didn't need to see her whole body, did he? Giggling uncontrollably, she posed for the digicam with her sleek, supple figure on exhibition. Brad tracked the camera up and down, marveling at the lush expanse of naked midriff spread out before him.

Well, a promise was a promise, and Angie had earned her reward. He didn't want to disappoint her. Besides which, he needed new footage for the archive. Lowering his sights fractionally, Brad zoomed in on the girl's navel.

Angie had one of those painfully cute belly-buttons that curved in like a tiny thimble. He'd always found it one of her most appealing features, and never lost an opportunity to explore it with a gently probing finger-tip. Even now, he couldn't resist tracing an index around its softly pursed rim. Reaching out with his right hand, he dipped his pointer inside her tummy-cup. Angie jumped in galvanic reaction.

"Bradley, don't!" she squealed, jiggling her pantied hips, "that TICKLES!!"

"Really?" he inquired politely, "well, how about this, then?"

"Noooo!! Stop it! Dooooon't!!" Angie screamed at the top of her lungs. This was out and out torture (though she made no attempt to run away; that would have spoiled all the fun). The skirt remained poised at her shoulders, waving from side to side like a can-can dancer's petticoats. Chuckling under his breath, Brad continued spidering his fingers around her tummy, ignoring her shrieks and pleas. Stamping her little feet, Angie whipped her head from side to side, golden ringlets swishing around her face.

"Bradley! Stop! Don't! It TICKLES! Noooo!"

The torture went on for close to a minute (and would have gone on considerably longer if not for the imminent risk of discovery). By the time they finished, Angie was trembling from crown to heel, pink-faced, short of breath and somewhat short of temper. He hadn't needed to do a white-balance at all! He'd just wanted to tickle her belly button while her skirt was up.

"You ain't no pervert!" she said crossly, dropping her frock back to a more dignified position (for some inexplicable reason, this hadn't occurred to her earlier), "you're just mean!" Her hair was a mass of wild blond curls and her left shoulder strap had slipped half-way down her arm. She slid it back over her shoulder, pushing out her lower lip in a classic teenie-pout. "You always tickle me too much, Bradley!"

"Hardly tickled you at all," Brad remarked, closing the LDC with an echoing click.

"Yes, you did! And it wasn't funny."

"You look so cute when you're sulking."

"I'm not sulking!"

"Come over here."

"No!" she refused decisively, but her eyes were twinkling with anticipation. She hadn't really been angry with him: like all girls her age, she adored a good tickling in the arms of big, strong man; especially when she had no choice in the matter. She just wanted him to make it up to her was all. And yes, she wanted to give him a kiss – along with a cuddle and a great big hug – but first, she wanted an apology. Fortunately, Brad could read her mind as easily as he could read her expression.

"All right, that's it!" Brad said, rearing up off the ground with his arms outstretched, "I think it's time for a SPANKING."

Angie screamed and ran down the path, woodchips scattering in every direction. She wasn't sure if he was really going to spank her, but the only thing better than being chased was being caught. Her toes scarcely touched earth as she bolted out of the clearing, but fast as she was - Bradley was on her in an instant.

To be continued

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