Portrait of a Paedophile

Really more of an experimental prose write. What do you guys think?

Zoe next door: the Pumpkin girl I call her.
Aside from how sweet looking she is, I call her this because she spends all of her free time during the evening wallowing in her backyard, in her mother’s vegetable patch. And I do say, with my own skin lighting a meadow of warmth, the tone of her gorgeous toffee skin puts the flamboyance of the golden and green pumpkin patch to shame. I can only imagine how sweet she might taste, if I could get any closer to her. I often work from home, so I know when she is out and when Mamma is home.
Zoe is a thin yet plump little girl, but in all the right places. For a nine year old, she sure is growing fast; but I don't want her to... for I have seen her devoid of clothes and she is perfectly fine the way she is.
In the winter, the air turns a modest-lavender and marinates me in a post-mortem glow. But Zoe, she likes to dance in her fragile hot-cocoa-gone-cold skin through slippery vines and sing to the fog; whispering tune. Most of the time, she does it after it’s been raining so that the dirt drinks her toes gracefully in a crumbling sludge, usually right before dinner, and when the seagulls are giving the sky one last peck for the day. I like watching her the most when the clouds are as thin as the slits of a slot machine and resting on light fuchsia sky; like the colour of blood washed from white bed sheets. 
Of course she never knew I was there. Otherwise she would duck behind protective bodies of green to hide her swollen mosquito bites, and call out to Mamma. Mamma’s a good friend of mine, but I don’t like the idea of her interfering in my favourite pastime. She has flirted with me before, but alas... she is not really my type.
Zoe’s so thin I can see her entire border through the wooden fence planks. It’s a different story, however, with her hair. It’s like a lampshade of curly hay that accentuates her young figure to that of a young woman’s. I like engaging in secret with her swan’s frolic with the lilacs right beneath my crotch, with the sound of her feet slapping through the earth; softly moaning as she slips into slush.
Mamma’s fireplace breath wafts through the decomposed air of the day; Zoe bends over to untangle her tender ankle from a loose vine bulging from the zip of split ground.
    Stay there, little girl. Stay there, and don't move... or I'll kill you. I let the pulsating snake out of it's cage.
She wiggles a little, side to side, the way a lavender plant would shudder under rainfall as she frees her beautiful heel. Her slit is rich with strawberry's kiss; I grip the fence to silence my shudder.
   By the time Mamma is calling her in for dinner, I have left my spot and left only behind a spoiled leaf; she will be back, and I will know.

Reviews

[Michael G.]

Interesting write.
The content is not my cup of tea; nor do I think it would ever occur to me to write about this subject. (That, and I would be arrested and labeled!) But you have written this well and very believable.

[Alpris]

Thanks Michael. That was my original intention; to dwell into something new, a subject in which many writers would hesitate diving into. As a crime writer, I want to be able to nail many topics of the genre; thank you for reading, and I'm glad you liked it and were able to submerge into the story successfully.

[Michael G.]

I did... and I was. I may not always understand some of your writing... but I like the talent that lies behind them. Keep at it. You are very good.

[Redrascalstrawberry]

Really nicely written! The word usage and the way you have described it is beautiful.
Good!

[Alpris]

Thank you, darlin! I appreciate that.