The brilliant spring sunshine streamed in through the large open bay window. A soft, pleasant breeze was rustling the trees, most of them tall oaks in this part of Evanston, and their shadows danced energetically against the far wall of young June Donovan's room.

June turned over on the bed, squinting and shielding her eyes from the brightness that played over her sleep-softened twelve year old face.

Her long glossy blonde hair cascaded over the pillow, forming a soft honey-colored cushion for her head which lay prettily framed against it. Only a thin sheet protected her ripely maturing young body from that cooling breeze blowing in gentle and warm through the open window.

June stretched and yawned, her shapely young breasts dislodging the sheet with their movement. She had the body of a lush young Venus which any interested observer could have traced in detail through the clinging sheet only barely concealing the high-set, rounded breasts whose taut-tipped nipples showed so clearly through the thin cotton fabric. The sheet tapered down over a tiny, girlish waist to round hourglass hips of newly acquired proportions. Her belly was flat and smooth, and the soft little mound of her pussy swelled gently upward between full well-shaped thighs. From there her long shapely legs tapered downward to the very tips of her toes poking high under the covering sheet.

June had the sort of developing body that would have attracted attention on any street – admiring attention from the most discriminating of men, envious attention from too-old women who had not looked that good even when they were twelve. Wherever she went, eyes were always on her depravity-inciting young body, her long blonde hair and her fine-boned, pouty-lipped features. It would have been asking too much to expect people not to stare, even though June was only twelve years old.