Message-ID: <37735asstr$1028718606@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <cobillard@hotmail.com> User-Agent: Microsoft-Entourage/10.1.0.2006 From: Carol <cobillard@hotmail.com> X-Original-Message-ID: <B9766E63.6F32%cobillard@hotmail.com> Mime-version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit X-MIME-Autoconverted: from quoted-printable to 8bit by sara.asstr-mirror.org id BAA19088 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Wed, 07 Aug 2002 06:27:47 +0100 Subject: {ASSM} Sex and the Capital City Date: Wed, 7 Aug 2002 07:10:06 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/37735> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, kelly, IceAltar I'm back with one last report for now. Perhaps when I get organized in my new situation I will find the time to sketch out more of my years of diary notes, it's hard to tell. It won't be soon. I've got so much else to do: apartment hunting, clothes borrowing, Boy searching. Editing these pages has not been an easy task: my diary was written as a kid, from a kid's perspective, with a kid's shorthand and vocabulary. At the time, I figured "everybody" knew what I knew, and thought what I thought, felt what I felt. My later writings divide "everybody's thinking" into "girl thinking" and "boy thinking". But many or most nuances are lost; I've got to write them back in. I have rebuilt descriptions of events so that they make sense to the outsider. I have to delete personal names and places. I have to check the references and find a Web link if I think the reader would want one. One conclusion that I can draw from the experience is that a young girl's diary can be a dangerous weapon: truth as a sword, piercing hypocrisy, so to speak. I'm now in temporary digs in the Capital City. I've been given a really grand welcome at my new job and I'm going to be really happy here even if, for the first time ever, I've got to wear a bra every day. They say here that the cosmopolitan Capital City is the center of the universe, but maybe they mean only the center of the region. They say that everywhere else has only primitive life forms, that everywhere else sex is suppressed, life is boring. I could possibly disabuse them of that, but I won't. I'll tell you instead. Now, in this extract from my diary, I'm going to go back to 1994, a good year. I start this account from a time after my story about Seducing a Young Boy on the Boat. We left the houseboat because, for one thing, not only was the vessel not seaworthy but it was not dock-worthy either and it was at risk of falling apart. It also had vermin. And for another thing my mother had ended her affair with the guy who owned it. We moved to a house occupied by a few single parents, men and women, all of whom had, or claimed to have had, some earlier connection with the Children of God. One always wondered whether the former postulant's commitment was out of religion or out of sex. Actually, I never cared which, but one wondered anyway. Our new house was, from the outside, much more conventional than the pre-houseboat era community. But that, in truth, was because unlike the first, it was located in reasonable proximity to neighbors. I think there had once been a complaint to the child welfare authorities concerning nudity. Nothing had come of that, but at least from then on -- then being a time long before we arrived on the scene -- clothes were mostly worn, at least in the home's public spaces. That really didn't reduce anyone's sexuality or urges or practices. Some rooms had no doors, and the doors to those rooms that had them were always open. The curious or the interested would not have to look through keyholes. Sex was still casual, consent the only criterion. I don't know about other COG situations, although I've read what is said on the Internet about sex and children, and of allegations against the Church. (I've also read the counter-allegations.) I do know that in our communities, only loosely tied to any supposed hierarchy anyway, it was accepted that a child could not give consent to an older person. Sometimes I wonder whether our group claimed affiliation with the Church just so that it could claim its style of living and its beliefs, to the extent that anybody argued they were other than mainstream, were protected by the First Amendment. Hadn't a Native American church tried that with hallucinogenic drugs in the Supreme Court in Employment Division v. Smith? Didn't the Church of Lukumi Babalu Aye complain to the Supreme Court about local interference by city officials in Hialeah with its animal sacrifice rituals? Am I being too cynical? It certainly is a more sophisticated strategy than the one used by the 19th Century Mormons who just hived off to Mexico to be in a more permissive climate for practicing polygamy. As before, few persons who didn't have some present or former COG connection were invited into our circle. When one has a distinctive lifestyle it requires too much caution, preparation, evasion and risk to allow possibly critical intrusion by outsiders. To us, what same-age children did between themselves was fine and natural unless one was being a bully. Bullying, especially sexual bullying, would have led quickly to punishment, and even from exclusion in this house, since it was owned by Mom's Friend (or more exactly, by Mom's Friend's trustees) and she could send anyone packing at will. But our permissive environment might not have made the social engineers happy. One had, therefore, to be discreet. Even so, one knew that there were snickers among some outsiders who felt they had "higher standards", but which we understood to mean that they thought sex was "dirty", which in turn meant that they weren't getting enough, or any, of it. We wondered, in fact, whether those outsiders didn't secretly envy our openness, and weren't they hypocrites. After all, we were happy and having fun, and they weren't. We wondered what they did, if anything, behind their closed doors. And if they were so holy, why were they harassing us girls, even demanding sex? At our place there were various permutations of age and gender, but there was no inter-generational sex going on that anyone could see and no possibility of "inadvertent" incest because nobody was related to any potential partner of the opposite sex. Not even by marriage as it happens, but of course that kind of relationship isn't what I mean. You will recall that the first time I touched a boy on purpose, to the extent of masturbating him, was when I was 11. That was not long before I began wanting and expecting to share sex with boys on a regular basis. Other girls, then and before, my age and younger, had talked of mutual masturbation and sex exploration with boys their age -- boys who lived there, or boys who were visiting. I'd seen some of that going on, but it hadn't involved or included me until the day of that experiment. Such was the environment in both of the houses I lived in: permissive, but not pressured. You could go about your own business or play unperturbed. Beyond physical relationships, every group of people living together, like every family, has its internal dynamic, its family politics. In our case, since there was no longer any basis for a theological hierarchy, it was, in a manner that would make George W. Bush proud if he had been there, a matter of "money talks". Those who supported the group the most, who brought in the most money, talked the loudest. Never mind the nominal connection with the spirit of the old COG, it should be unsurprising that, given the publicity coming out about the seedier side of the Church corporate, certain members lost their faith, were skeptics. One of the women, a friend of my mother, the owner of the house and the person who'd invited her in, was a trust fund brat who once upon a time had been taken into the COG and, like my Mom, had got herself pregnant along the way. Badly treated, as she felt, she'd left them. And that was even before David Berg died, which was in 1994, just before we moved in. Of course Mom's Friend's real complaint was that she didn't get proper respect and appreciation from the Church or anyone else who was benefiting from her money. We learned from that, and we were properly appreciative and respectful. Anyway, I at least found her rather nice and rather open. Others, perhaps envious, spoke differently, sometimes behind her back, and that may have led to there being space in the house for us to move in. People who have money do tend to assert right of control, some would say to become control freaks. And another point: in the land of the blind the one-eyed man is king: her trust fund did not bring Mom's Friend a lot of money, but it was more money than anyone else around us had. Mom worked, but not at anything that brought her great salary. Years later when I met my lawyer friend, who knew Mom's Friend, I was told that the best thing her parents had done was to put an anti-alienation clause in her trust fund so that nobody could take away her money; she couldn't even give it away. She only got the income, every month, paid to her at the discretion of some trustee in Delaware. Or maybe it was Alaska. They kept changing, she said. And it's kind of funny, but Mom's Friend had always complained that her trustees had been looking after themselves first and that they'd cheated her. In recent years she complained they hadn't ridden the stock market boom. Now it turns out that the truth is they never bought her any WorldCom, Enron or Global Crossing stock. Her trust fund was in money market stuff and in bonds, and today her EFT still arrives every month, her plastic bank card still magically produces money at the ATM when she wants it. I thought lawyers were supposed to keep secrets. But then I know something about the secrecy of the confessional. It doesn't work. My girlfriends tell me everything. And what they don't know I can probably find out using google.com. This is not a commercial. Anyway, to get back to the main point, the description of our new abode: again, for reasons of efficiency and dearth of rooms, boys and girls lived in separate rooms, bunk beds, etc. But in real life, anybody slept wherever he or she felt like it, which was sometimes doubled up, sometimes not. After all, many beds were too narrow or uncomfortable to accommodate for two people on a long-term basis. As before, we lived without shame for the way we expressed our nature, our urges, our sex. One cause for complaint did not, as I see it from this distance, come not from anything to do with the accommodation but from the fact that more clothes were worn: that meant lots of laundry, and nobody wanted to wash it. As a newcomer, I wound up with diaper duty most of the time, and kitchen work; fortunately the diapers were disposable. I wasn't going to do laundry as well, unless I had to. Least of all to match socks. Of course diaper duty got me back in the habit of seeing nakedness, albeit small nakedness, which doesn't count. I would just look at a boy or a girl baby's sex parts and wonder about how and when that child would come to put them to use. I would powder a baby's penis and blow him a kiss to wish him future happiness and hope that he would bring delight to girls like me. How remarkable, I thought, that this tiny thing would, in just over a decade, be a Big Thing, producing and delivering semen and bringing joy to two people. Did others think and wonder as I did? I never knew. I would immediately think of changeling boys I would meet, how I would have them lie back on a bed, I would pull down their shorts, take their soft big-small penises in my mouth, make them hard, bring the boys to ecstasy, and they would repay me with their semen and the knowledge that they would remember me forever as the girl who had showed them what they were capable of. I would think of my favorite moment: when My Boy would approach and pass his point of no return, when he knew he was about to ejaculate his -- soon to be my -- semen, and I would love him. I would think of how My Boy would be learning from me the secret of life and of sex, and how he would teach other girls what I had taught him, and how the circle of life would go on. As for grand nakedness, or rather nudity of grand, or Beautiful People: as I found, once one has a perfect knowledge of external human anatomy, clothes are little barrier to the imagination. At least for those who transmit and receive magnetism and electricity, the signals are there. I used to worry that My Target might not have an erection when I wanted him to be having one, when I was signaling to him in my subtle way with breasts and hips (and, as you know, "hips", like "legs" is a proxy for "pussy"). I never understood why any boy or man should be embarrassed by his erection any more than I am unembarrassed by my sex parts. Perhaps it relates to the machismo view that men should not display their emotions. Frankly, that's not the kind of man I want to know; I think a man should be proud to display himself. To me, and I think to all my friends, there was no sweeter, no more beautiful, no more manly sight; and this for a male person of any age. In the old place, young as I was, a boy's response to my approaches could be judged and if he was not responding enough, I could take things a step further by slowly moving my legs apart, by attracting his attention with a question or a glance. My body could speak to, relate to, his body from a distance. The worry now was that with you and The Boy wearing clothes, and with him unable to see your beautiful parts, how would you exchange sex signals? How would one get the message? Did this sentence me to celibacy? Of course not. One knew, as I discovered, that even if The Boy did not adjust his clothing (and, sometimes, especially if he did not adjust his clothing) that he had that Hard-On, and that it was for You. Clothing was an excuse to move over next to him, to confirm you suspicions with a touch, and to provide assistance and comfort. And, even in the public spaces, clothes did not have to be worn all the time, or on all parts of the body. Like the old, in the new place kids were taught about their sexuality from the youngest age, leaving it to the kid to pay attention or to ignore the lesson. As I wrote earlier, in other countries where people spend life in one-room houses and where they have animals around who are having sex all the time, kids know almost from birth what sex is all about. The knowledge, and the experimentation which results from it, is good for them. Of course in some religions they are forbidden to do anything about it, but that's another story. The COG had no such inhibitions; it was just the opposite and we were encouraged to have fun. It has always struck me as odd that in the USA kids who grow up on farms are allowed to know so much about reproduction, but kids who grow up in the city aren't, and if their parents allow them to see their siblings being manufactured the morals cops get excited. My lawyer friend told me that she was advised in law school, in her criminal-law class, that if she ever had a sodomy-bestiality defendant she should try to get his case tried before a jury of farmers. Well, I don't know about that, and I mention it only because it supports my point: birds do it, bees do it, etc. As before, the gap was between the sexually active, and those who weren't ready. Of course even the sexually inactive were active in a certain way. More hypocrisy: the "experts" no longer try to ban masturbation and contrive to keep boys perpetually busy and tired. In our place all the boys from, say, 9 years on, and many of those younger, as well as a number of the girls, would masturbate. And, as before, they say no reason not to do it in public because they'd, most of them, been shown how to do it by the very people who would see them. It made an older kid feel wise to have younger ones imitating them. It made the younger kid proud to be imitating the kid a year or so older. After having discovered her- or himself and the wonderful sensitivity and versatility down there, no kid could go more than a few minutes without thinking of sex. The invention of team sports by adults was, of course, something of a conspiracy to keep kids, especially boys, busy and tired all the time so they wouldn't engage in self-abuse. What nonsense. Not the sports of course, which are fun, but the social engineers' motivation in keeping the kids busy and tired all the time. What twisted logic would suggest that touching, or having touched, a penis or a clitoris, yours or someone else's, could be a bad thing? This all made sense to me once, at 11 years of age, I was inspired to push that boy's hand away from his penis and to try my hand at masturbating him, at seeing how good I could make him feel. To see him so ecstatic as semen spurted out of the tip of his penis and onto me made me happy in a way I scarcely understood or could explain. I spent a couple of months ruminating, not so much about the particular event as about the notion of "sex and me", of where I stood in relation to sex. And then, without any obvious epiphany, I was ready. I knew I could interact physically with a boy. My tumble to the floor, and my first occasion of a boy's penis in my vagina, flowed from that. Then, up to the age of 14 or 15 I entered a stage where I thought I should be a missionary and share what I had learned. I had a constant urge to hold and to feel a boy's penis, perhaps to put it in my mouth, but if not, then in my vagina: not any boy, but a boy who appealed to me, whom I wanted to love. I wanted to make that boy and his penis to be dependent upon me. Other girls may have had this urge too, but obviously most managed to suppress it before it reached the state of impulsiveness. I felt a calling to introduce sex to certain sort of boy -- my "natural partner", a quality I could not articulate but which I would recognize at sight. Such a boy desperately needed me too; I was sure of that. By definition, he would be cute and smart, in other words, like me, only a boy. There was an urgency about seeing his penis quickly. I might, if need be, rely on someone else in the house, boy or girl, to mount a plot, to contrive a happening to get the boy's pants off. That could be a game, cooling off on a hot day, a shower, a dare. Once nude, I might make the next move myself, challenging the boy's penis to an erection. How could such a boy, one bound to like me the way I liked him, resist my breasts, my figure, my vagina? Already I was thinking of feeling the boy's ecstasy, his ejaculation, his semen spurting into my body. My scheme for a boy didn't always happen according to script, but it played out often enough for me to feel confident about my attributes, my sexiness, my self-worth. That's helped me ever since. Do not take me for promiscuous because I was not and am not that. I like love, long term or short term, and it's because I like love that I like the physical parts of boys, and what those parts can do. I want to be looked at and admired, but I direct my attentions selectively. I also want to share what I love, and like most people, I'd like others to agree with me, and I'd like to teach the generation following behind me what I know. One of the things I learned to spot early on, something of which many girls never take notice, is the source of the nervousness of a certain type of young boy. Or it could be a young man, because it's true of many, maybe all, sexually inactive males: an identifiable nervousness in the presence of a girl, a nervousness enhanced if the girl is sexy, although perhaps suppressed in some situations and environments but still noticeable if a girl is on guard for it. Such a boy is a fair target for the predatory female, which is, I guess, how I have to describe myself at that age. But he is not a victim; he is rather a beneficiary of her love. Let me add for the benefit of any who don't agree that I lost my vocation in that regard by the age of 15. I like to relate to guys my own age, more or less. I suppose that some age gap can be compensated for by wealth, but I'm not Anna Nicole Smith, and I've not yet had the opportunity to link up with a millionaire. (According to tax-news.com, quoting the World Wealth Report, there are more than seven million millionaires in the world, so there's hope.) And, as my Mom told me, predatory females, few as we are and if that's what I was, are not the risk to health and safety that predatory males are. And Mom has met more than one or two of those in her lifetime. Like all girls, I shared my feelings with my girlfriends: those who grew up in an open environment and were free to explore sex seemed to me to have an inherent advantage, a head start in life. Whatever their views on my eagerness to awaken the latent sex in various boys, they all were leading, themselves, active and happy sex lives. And more, they liked the product of that sex: I have always been dismayed that any girl should be repelled by the thought of swallowing semen. My immediate girlfriends would normally have seen adults, old and young, at sex from an early age and would associated semen and sperm with the ecstasy that produces them. They would have seen semen close-up beginning at puberty, from touching and teasing boys and from being around boys while they masturbated. And of course an early beginning to their own sex lives would have reinforced that positive image. I remember when I was little, and I was playing near my Mom, and she was playing too, on her bed with her boyfriend, and she was so happy and smiling and they fit together so well. And when they were done playing, I walked over to see better what they had been doing, and Mom said I could feel her boyfriend's penis, and it was warm and sticky and began to shrivel as I touched it. I touched it and then ran off to play outside, but I was thinking that the penis, and the stickiness too, had something to do with Mom's happiness. Later she explained to me better how her man's penis worked and why it made her happy. I knew that she loved that penis because I had so often seen her kiss it lovingly. I hadn't realized, then, that she was making it ejaculate and that she was swallowing that same sticky semen. But I new she was making her man happy, too. I think a girl can scarcely have a really fulfilling sex life if she fears or abhors its immediate product. I note, however, that Net Nanny and other barrier software notwithstanding, the Internet may be opening up a whole world of knowledge to young girls, who now have access to information their Puritan parents won't tell them. I am reliably informed that <http://www.oralsextips.com> is a site well visited by pubescent girls. After a young girl told me this, I verified it by checking the cookies on computers girls use. That's hardly scientific proof, but it's plausible. In our early days there I seduced two boys at the new house. Who would complain, in a house committed to liberal principles and to early and full education concerning the body and all its parts? Sex was to be seen and felt; healthy urges were to be responded to and fulfilled. What kids saw, one knew they would imitate when they felt ready for it. Nobody saw anything wrong with that, and I do not today. Parents were always delighted to see their children having fun -- all kinds of fun, sex included. There it simply didn't hold the taboo that it does in other places. In one sense, for us sex was just one new sport to try, albeit one that once tried is not willingly abandoned. One is left curious over how many parents would be happy to watch from the corner of an eye their boy or girl enjoy a first sex experience. I suspect many would, and I do not mean an arranged viewing in the ritualized fashion of Arab mothers attending their daughter's Night Of Defloration. <http://www.renebooks.com/TragedyOfIslamicWomenExcerpt.htm> I mean it rather in a subtler, more discreet and happier way, a boy, especially, happy to share his ecstasy and show his growth and experience. That differs from some pagan ritual of forced bloodletting. How many fathers have been known to fix up their sons with a prostitute as a thirteenth or fourteenth birthday present? It would be better for the son to find his own match from among girls of his own age, without hindrance, resistance or shame. I knew girls outside of our groups who were afraid of or repulsed by hand or mouth contact with semen and sperm. This is something that could never happen if they had not as toddlers and infants been excluded from the places of lovemaking and the sight of lovers, their parents, making love. The point is not to involve them, but not to exclude them from familiarization as if it were a shameful and sinful, rather than a beautiful and sacred, event. To corrupt life- and lovemaking with guilt and shame is a social and psychological tragedy. Regardless of how brought up, just because a boy or a girl is physically and mentally ready does not mean that he or she will have the courage to take the initiative. Someone else may have to point out the obvious. That's what I did, at least for a few, in situations where the joy would surely be mutual. I wasn't a charity or social worker: I was for a brief time in each boy's life, lover and advisor. I not only introduced boys to my body, but I encouraged shy girls to be less bashful and to take charge. There's no reason why the girl cannot assert herself; she doesn't have to wait for a boy to make the move. That's one of the useful things that breasts can do, as it happens. At the changeling age, there may be a problem of emotional and mental readiness and, occasionally, delayed physical maturity. As I discovered, oral sex is perfect for the young boy whose penis is just developing, who sees sex and sexuality around him, and who is otherwise ready for it and wants it, but who is shy. Oral sex is not a challenge for him: he doesn't have to do very much, it isn't so important for him to have a full erection. He is unlikely to wind up in a situation that will embarrass or frustrate him, which will only make things more difficult the next time. Assuming the girl is happy with the situation, who else has standing to complain? My point is that forbidding consensual sex of similarly-aged kids is not just stupid, it's impossible. Sex between contemporaries is not bad, it's good. There's an article from salon.com that supports my point. <http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/2002/04/19/levine_talks/print.html> My views on all of this are borne out by my own experience. It was a few weeks after we'd moved to the house. I had seated myself next to Boy No. 1 because he looked cute, and I thought it was time. But he started to shiver. I'm sure he didn't know why, but I did: he was feeling my proximity, my warmth, my sexuality. He was responding to me as nature intended; it's just that he hadn't expected it to happen that day. So I touched him, admired his haircut or something, rumpled his hair. I found some reason for my breasts to rub against him. He said something hesitantly and nervously, I don't remember what; but I reminded him that he'd seen breasts before, in fact he saw them every day of his life, and Didn't he like mine? And I took off my top and drew his hand over to them. He didn't pull away. I think if he had he would have lost face with the other kids there, and the adults too. Nobody around us told me to stop. I think they pretended not to notice. So he caressed my breasts in his boyish way, and in doing that he realized that he loved touching breasts, that it was making his penis stir. And I moved my hand to his penis, which was indeed halfway erect. I feared that if I tried to put his penis in my vagina he might lose his erection. It was much better idea for me to put that penis in my mouth. Although a semi-mature penis doesn't have to be fully erect to fit in a mature vagina, at least not in mine as I found on several occasions, it may still takes some patience to see it through, and it could be embarrassing to the boy who has been led by insensitive society to believe he must be Potent at all times. Yet once a boy has had happy and successful oral sex his self-confidence will carry him along and help him keep his erection though intercourse thereafter. Or so I found. Therefore usually I would just slide a Target Boy's penis in my mouth at whatever stage of erection I found it and take it from there. Nearly all the time I would be rewarded, in due course, with as much semen as he had available to offer me. I would always savor that, and make the boy aware that I loved its taste and smell and viscosity. Because I did, and I do. But only, it goes without saying, if the boy is loving, respectful, appreciative, gentle. So on this occasion I slid my hand behind Boy No. 1's waistband, and I started to massage his penis and his scrotum. He cooperated in my effort: he slid back in his chair a bit and sucked in his tummy to give me easier access. I could then easily grasp his testicles in my hand, warming and caressing them, feeling the soft and wrinkly skin of his scrotum, before running my hand along the length of his penis, massaging and tickling it. I encouraged him to caress and play with my breasts. And then, when I felt his penis to be hard I told him in an excited way that I wanted to see it. I finished unfastening his jeans. He was 13 years old, but late to mature, and I knew him to be self-conscious about his still-smallish penis and his lack of experience. I wanted this to be a positive event. I slid his underpants off. Anybody who cared to look away from the television screen could see the object of my project: an erect penis finding its vocation, a penis still in mid-puberty proud and ready to show its potential to me and to everyone. This is not an awkward exercise in creative writing; it is exactly how I felt at the time. And understand, Dear Reader, that these words, transcribed today, represent as accurately as my notes allow me to discern, my thoughts more than eight years ago, when I was 13 years old. Boy No. 1's penis had become irresistible to me. I was genuinely excited in every sense of the word as I held it and worked with my mouth towards bringing it to ejaculation: his first orgasm with a girl. I wanted his flowing semen in my mouth to enjoy. My own building up of emotion must have been clear to him and clear to all in the room, watching television or keeping track of us. His penis looked so vibrant, his scrotum gorgeous. I felt his wisps of pubic hair. We all had seen the boy unclothed many times before, and we knew where he was in his passage to adulthood. But his half-nudity here and now was different. He faced a rite of passage, a sort of graduation. It might not be proper protocol for those around to stare, but they could glimpse and perhaps smile. They could admire him and make him feel good. I do not think anyone could have kept from smiling: really, everybody was happy for Boy No. 1, and for me as well as they saw me in my anticipation. The person with the next most critical interest in the event was casual about it. Boy No. 1's father glanced over, nodded, and went back to watching television. From his point of view, from the house's point of view, Boy No. 1 and I were just engaged in a game or sport like any other, harmless fun. But had I seen the boy's Dad rubbing his own penis now, or was he just scratching? Meanwhile, I stroked the boy's tight and bouncy erection. It confirmed to me that I was needed, and it made me want to have it more deeply. I moved over, kneeled in front of his chair and took his half-big penis in my mouth. I went to work on it with confidence. As I did so, I sensed others in the room were starting to look at each other in a different way, some couples approaching each other, touching ... touching. Sexual electricity was now to be felt, and I had caused it, just as I later was to cause it in the shower incident at college. And I was still only 13. I needed to proceed with caution. I didn't want Boy No. 1 to lose his erection, something that could happen if he lost courage. His orgasm would be better if his penis remained at maximum stiffness, and a firm erection would also add to his self-confidence. I therefore went about my work slowly and deliberately. I took his penis out of my mouth every so often to let it regenerate its blood supply. I inspected it closely each time. I told Boy No., 1 how handsome it was and how I loved it and him. It did not matter that he was not fully mature; I loved him the way he was. Anyway, we were close in age. I resumed my strokes of lips and tongue along Boy No. 1's penis, maintaining a steady cadence. I kissed the tip, licked the glans, slid my lips over the shaft. I used my tongue to massage the most sensitive parts, especially the underside below the crown. Boy No. 1 gained in confidence as I proceeded; now relaxed, he watched me intensely and intimately. I looked him in the eyes. After just a few more minutes, when his body and his penis tensed once more I knew ejaculation was imminent. Seconds later he had erupted: his semen was in my mouth. I collected it on my tongue and opened my mouth so that it could be seen. It was a small amount, but it was a source of pride for us both. I swallowed. I always knew how important it was first boy-girl sex be good sex. A boy can control the pace and friction of his masturbation with absolute precision, a self-induced, masturbatory orgasm will invariably be good, because the boy will always continue stroking until the last spurt of semen has passed. A girl, unless knowledgeable or told, might not know that. Likewise, in oral sex if she is not giving the penis her full attention and if she stops too soon the boy's orgasm may be curtailed. A girl must continue to press with her lips against the penis, and continue her movements as the boy ejaculates. A full ejaculation, with a maximum number of spurts of semen, depends on continuous massaging of the glans until the boy has finished ejaculating. To interrupt the cycle interrupts the pleasure. I knew that: I had had discussed with boys how to maximize their pleasure right from the time of my first sex. One of the problems with "deep throat" and "aggressive" blow jobs is that they are really theater, not sex. A girl should want to be sexy; being sexy means being modest and slow, not aggressive and adversarial, not showing off. She should want to give and to receive optimum pleasure and shouldn't allow herself to be taken advantage of. That said, giving pleasure can be its own reward. In my environment, no boy or girl would hesitate to explain, to share knowledge, to help another, especially with something so important in life as sex. As it was, Boy No. 1 may have ejaculated very little semen, but now he knew he could have sex with a woman, he knew that his body functioned properly, that he was normal. He would get bigger, and he would have a lifetime of opportunity. Early years suppressed are years missed, never to be recaptured. Therefore, to get a head start on sex activity, even before full maturity, is a fantastic opportunity, and for those around a boy or girl it is a sacred obligation to facilitate it without in any circumstances forcing it. I much enjoyed my encounter with Boy No. 1's cute penis. Boys do not remain at that stage long. He will remember the event forever, and he will always hold a bit of love for me I his heart. In the coming months I loved watching him, and watching his penis grow, seeing him join his peers and becoming girl-competitive. I knew I had helped him, in a way that only a girl could have done. And, interestingly, a girl growing up doesn't need that kind of help from any boy: what she needs is support and advice from other girls so that she can know what to get from her Target Boy, what initiative to encourage him to take. Now that's an oxymoron, but you get my point. The circumstances of Boy No. 2 were different. I had found him in the bathroom when I went in to take a shower. There wasn't a functioning lock on the door and I hadn't knocked. I had walked from my room to the bathroom fully nude with just a towel around my neck, so when I opened the door Boy No. 2 and I were face to face, both of us naked. I always walk about as if I am being noticed, as my Mom told me to from an early age. That's because I want to be noticed, I want my body to be admired, even by those who can't have access to it. As I have written, I want every boy to have an erection in my presence and to want me to love him. Whether I will or not is up to me; I will decide that when things have progressed. Mom knew that since we were nude much of the time we had only our bodies to show off, not fancy clothes, and that we should therefore carry ourselves well. I walk the way I would like people to see me: with my breasts forward and high, my legs just slightly apart to emphasize my pubis. If I am standing naked, I may touch my vulva from time to time, pat my pubic hair so that attention will be drawn to it. If I think it serves my purpose I might run my finger along the split of my vulva and absentmindedly touch my clitoris. I always remember Mom's admonition to watch my posture, her warning that if I slouched so would my breasts. On this occasion, as I entered the bathroom I surprised the boy in the process of fondling his scrotum and his penis. His penis was already semi-erect; it stood straight out, pointing at me. He was not the least embarrassed. I had seen naked boys do this uncountable times; I could only smile in response to the sight. Seeing a boy at work that way always made me smile, and for the past couple of years it had made me want to help. Under the circumstances, with Boy No. 2 aroused and with me in front of him nude, things took their natural course. I walked over close to him, hugged him, pressed my breasts against his body by way of assurance, and told him how lovely his body was. Still holding him close and without any objection from him I took his penis in my left hand, then moved my hand lower to his scrotum. I watched his eyes for a signal; he was smiling, encouraging, happy. I dropped to my knees and put his big-small penis in my mouth. It all happened quite fast. Neither of us needed any further warm-up. After a minute or so of fellating him, his penis sliding in and out of my mouth, my tongue rubbing against it, flicking across its tip as it passed, I thought it might be nice to have mutual oral sex. I didn't so much ask him as just lead him to the floor and have him lie on his back. I mounted him, my mouth above his penis and my vagina above his mouth. I put his penis back in my mouth and continued doing what I had been doing before. The challenge for him was now to figure out what he had to do to me when I couldn't tell him. (Actually, with a younger, smaller penis it works best with the boy on top, but that requires somewhat more experience on his part.) While he was lying beneath me, puzzled, one of the older girls walked by. With the bathroom door still open, she could see his frustration. She tried to give Boy No. 2 an anatomy lesson and instructions on how to caress a girl's vagina and clitoris with his mouth and his tongue, but her interference turned out to be disconcerting for both of us. All the time she was talking ("kibitzing", Mom used to call it) I had his penis in my mouth and was trying to concentrate on bringing him to ejaculation. But he was having trouble with his concentration because she was telling him so loudly what to do, and was criticizing him for missing the right places. Boy No. 2's penis threatened to become flaccid. A boy walked by, and even he saw the problem and told her to stop. She didn't and I had to take Boy No. 2's penis from my mouth just to shout at her. I told her that she could watch if she wanted but not to interfere, and she went away. With that, Boy No. 2 got stiff again, and in due course he had his orgasm. As usual, I could tell it was coming as he and his penis became tense and shivery. Semen didn't exactly spurt; he hadn't developed enough for that yet and it dribbled out in a small quantity, which I caught with my tongue. I told him to wait a minute, then slid off and sat beside him. I made sure he saw the semen on my tongue and that he saw I was happy to swallow it. I wanted him to know I thought it was precious. I suggested it might now be easier if I lay on the floor on my back and he could have a go at my vagina from below. I picked up with his instruction from where the other girl had left off and he proceeded to put his tongue deep inside my vagina, then massage my vaginal opening with it, flick over my clitoris, and massage my labia with his mouth the way the girl had told him. It was easier for him this way and it didn't take me long to reach a climax. In fact, I had been almost there already just from having his penis in my mouth all that time and enjoying his flavor. I didn't invite him to put his penis in my vagina at that point, although I would have liked to and although I was really well lubricated with his saliva and my mucus, and it was fully dilated from his efforts. It seemed unlikely that his erection was up to it. We had vaginal sex the next day; it was not so good for me but he enjoyed it. I really didn't have to have an orgasm in the bathroom any more than any girl needs or even wants an orgasm every time: I was satisfied just to lead Boy No. 2 to his first girl-sex. But I thought, and still think, that his seeing himself able to bring a girl to climax is an important life event, perhaps in the scheme of things one of the most important life events. That significance to him outweighs, not just compensates for, any selfish insistence on my part. It was for the same reason that I was happy to have vaginal sex with him later, even though our relationship had to stop there: an affair was out of the question. Boy No. 2 was a perfect example of how a healthy exposure to happy sex prepares children and adolescents for a happy and well-adjusted life. I would not have approached Boy No. 2 if I hadn't known with absolute certainty that he was ready for girl-sex, just too shy to ask. I wanted to help him out of his shyness. If he could masturbate, he could have sex, at least oral sex. Not long after his event with me he connected with another girl in the house, a girl just a bit younger than he. That is the way it should be. I would see them masturbating each other: she knew her own mind, and that obviously was what she wanted to do, and it was the limit of what she wanted at the time. There was never any compulsion in the places where I lived. That was forbidden; sex was to enjoy and there should be no sense of obligation. Perhaps for married couples there is special sort commitment not to be read as "sex on demand", but that subject is a legal and philosophical minefield, isn't it, and, not being married anyway, I won't pursue it. Besides, there were no married couples in Mom's Friend's house. The two stories raise an important point of general interest. I read in the autobiography of a prostitute some years ago (I dearly wish I could find it again, or remember who wrote it, because it contained a wealth of good points) including that (1) smallish, or at least other than large, penises are better for oral sex (in fact that's easy to see: just look at any Internet free porn site and see the distorted mouths of the models with giant penises in their mouths and tell me if they're having fun. I don't think sex should ever hurt or distort), (2) oral sex is the best kind to have with young and small penises. This latter statement is, surprisingly, not because a girl can't get a proper orgasm with a small penis (the answer seems to be "it depends") but that is owner -- if you let him know how happy you are with him and with his penis -- will be motivated to give you the best orgasm of your life, each and every time, each one better than the one before. You are unlikely to be the target of the sexual arrogance that every girl has to suffer through too much of the time. (When I do encounter arrogance I wonder to myself how arrogant the guy will be after he starts needing Viagra.) Anyway, I read that 85% percent of adult penises are "average", whatever that means. <http://www.terranovamed.com/ArticlePages/PenisSize.html> I don't think it means anything, but if contrary to my view it does mean something it has to be that Darwinian selection has concluded that average is best. All of this is not something I dwell on, but it seems to be important to some. For my steady relationships I preferred boys my own age or a little older, with mature bodies and a bit more education than adolescents are likely to have on offer. After all, my body compares favorably with any girl's, and I want a boy to have chosen me over all those other girls that he could be associating with. Using age as an excuse avoided the problem of destructive competition within the house. Even in an environment of open and free sex there can be serious conflicts, not only over sex, and somebody might have to leave. That person would likely have been me, with Mom included, which we couldn't afford to let happen. And the adolescents were not likely to get in the way of a 16-year-old. One of them came to live at the house ("for a while"; in fact he stayed a year) very soon after; he was related in some way to the Mom's Friend, and he became my next Target Boy. Right away the younger boys knew they were excluded from my particular attention and they didn't get in our way. I did sense sexual tension in their demeanor, and they made no secret of masturbating, I thought sometimes to make me sorry for them and make me want to help out. My lawyer friend told me about the lawsuit brought by the farmer who'd gone walking on his land and left a corral gate open. A bull heifer was able to get out through the open gate and have sex with the cows; from then on, having experienced cow sex, he was ruined for whatever other purpose the farmer had in mind, and probably much more difficult to manage, to keep in the corral. It's not all that much different with boys, and I needed the 16-year-old to keep me from being pestered. I want sex only with the person of my choice, and only at the time of my choosing. I will try to be civil, even cheerful, in saying no, but my no does not mean maybe. That's my story: it was not intended to shock, or really to be an exposé: just to present what I think is a legitimate point of view, but one that is suppressed. It's suppressed by the threat of being mistaken for the promotion of pedophilia, which, as I've explained, is something completely different. In fact, those who decry pedophilia the most -- and I'm not talking about pedophilia in the sense of horrendous cases of murder, torture, forced sex and children used as sex objects, but of plain sex education, open-mindedness and refusal to close doors -- tend to be pushing their own agenda and using the cudgel of political correctness to do it. I am appalled at the miscarriages of justice that have occurred because of the venality of prosecutors, the private agendas of wicked, spurious professionals, and the incompetence of defense counsel. There has been a fraudulent expansion of the definition of pedophilia to include happy, consenting sexual relationships between minors of approximately the same age, brought about by silence of the majority, fearful of themselves becoming targets if they speak up to point out the obvious. As a result some of the innocent, loving acts I have described could not be allowed to occur by parents or older siblings today, at least in their presence. Kids, young people, will have to do "underground" and out of sight what they are anyway going to be doing. They may do it less safely, perhaps even too aggressively, because out of parental observation and control. The whole point of "permissiveness" was to ban "obligation" and to prevent any child or other person from being forced to do anything against her (or his) will. To criminalize sex is to return to an earlier dark age. Under the "new rules" I can still talk to and advise any kids I might one day have. But I must not watch, even from afar if they wish to express their loves and desires the way I did, and at the age I did it. They cannot freely enjoy the natural experiences I would sincerely wish for them. They will have to pretend that they, and their friends are without sexual capacity and sexual urges; or they will have to act in secret and in guilt. And, when they are young, if I am to allow them to see me in coitus or oral sex, I have to be careful to make it look like an accident. Which means it can't be a regular opportunity for them to learn and reinforce their knowledge of important life processes and human feelings. If I in fact allow them to observe, for example by leaving the door ajar, like Richard Nixon I must try to maintain plausible denial: I must pretend that the dog opened the door. Society has regressed. It might be useful for me to add that most of my friends from childhood were similarly minded: they had the same background. At college, girls' attitudes were predictably more variable, but those with whom I had most in common tended to be liberal in such things. I wrote earlier that I'm not going to have much time to keep up with the project to of memorializing my old diary. Landing in the Capital City, I am starting a new life, going out, having fun. I started writing this at the airport and on the plane, but as soon as I landed there were things to do. I must be the only person I know who got a real entry-level job with prospects of a career after graduation. I'm not flipping burgers here. I was one of a handful hired by this organization out of thousands who applied. They expect me to keep studying, and to get qualifications. It all takes so much time. So little time, so much to do. There are other disclaimers I want to make: this has been a stylized expansion of my diary, and that diary was mostly written when I was a kid. I don't want to see myself quoted in some sociology textbook or in the press as an authority on the COG or on anything else except my taste, or the lack thereof. It should be obvious to anyone that I've left out descriptions of people who weren't Beautiful People: there were lots around who were, well, fat and ugly, droopy and sagging, who had emotional problems, who were only there for the sex, who were unwell or perpetually cranky. OK, people get like that sometimes just by reason of getting older; but they don't make a Beautiful Story, which is what I was trying to make. So also I don't much discuss clothed people because it wasn't the focus of the points I was first trying to make, and I just carried on from there. I don't talk much about girls and boys who didn't like oral sex, or who insisted on spitting, not swallowing, because I'm not Virginia Johnson (of Masters and Johnson), and I like to write about folks like me, who like what I like, which is not the kinky stuff either. Some might say that kinky is in the eyes of the beholder; let them say that. To me it's objective. It may be that not everybody happens to share my enjoyment of oral sex, but I know that much of my generation does, all my friends do, and a generation of girls now in middle and high school does, as the press has reported and as I have earlier discussed. In my diary I didn't write about the internal politics of each place, the rivalries and the other Games People Play. Therefore I'm not writing about that now. I didn't discuss the problem of sex and age balance in the houses, or of kids and adults who had to, or chose to, look for partners from outside, frequently from like-minded or other COG groups. In reality that's what happened most of the time. Don't assume that people were undressed most or all the time, even in the first house, even if my story said they were. They were naked if they felt like it. The earlier stories have been based on "kid's truth" as I wrote it down, which might not be absolute truth. And it depended upon bits of fact that struck me at that age as important. What I would encourage the reader to draw from my stories would be the anecdotal evidence of lifestyle propagation: the effects in youth and young adulthood of growing up amidst sexual permissiveness. It's anecdotal rather than scientific because I have written only of the surroundings I knew, and only about myself and my housemates. I did not want to be too repetitive in my exposition even though sex is, at base, a repetitive act. One finds, if you are all watching television naked, and a girl is sitting on the floor and a boy she likes is seated next to her, there's going to be a boring part of the movie or the baseball game or whatever, and she's going to look over at him, and her head is going to be at the level of his penis, and that penis may wind up in her mouth so that she can get his attention diverted from that TV to her. Because when a boy's penis is in your mouth you have his Undivided Attention. Trust me on that. The Event can also be distracting for everyone around, unless others happen to be tuned to that frequency. Such an incident occurred in my presence, indeed at my instigation, more than once. It's not always as in the story of the shower (a story by the way which happened only last year, and thus is fresh in my mind and accurately reported) that the others who are present get turned on too and follow your lead. But that happens often enough when conditions are right. The old stories were true to the spirit of what was going on, as that spirit affected me contemporaneously. But as a kid I was little concerned with Church issues, especially as we began to have such a tenuous connection with the COG. If you want a comprehensive account of the history of the COG there are serious Web sites for that (although I found all of them biased and distorted in one way or another). Meanwhile, if you want to know about the Church's practices with infant sex apart from the show and tell aspect, and if you want to know about small children masturbating themselves or masturbating each other, there are Web sites for that, too. Unless I was babysitting, or a small child myself, I didn't pay much attention and it didn't get into my diary. As for the future: You may watch this space, but it may be a long while before I can get back here. Transcribing my diary has turned out to be very time consuming, and I really am busy getting on with my life. I started the project during a week of boredom after leaving college and before flying off to my new job. I thought I really might get a book written soon, and I didn't quite know what to do with the sexiest parts. I hadn't realized I would be so busy in the Capital City. I've got to choose my priorities. Also, I need to justify a nice bonus for myself next January: I've got to impress people at work as well as at play. People say there won't be any, or much, bonus this year; but I've got to go for it. Of course, one isn't supposed to ask about bonuses or promotion the first week on the job, is one? I'm just over a week away from my first paycheck. (Talk about being one paycheck away from penury and insolvency!) I don't need to copy Karyn of <http://www.savekaryn.com> and do Internet begging. Even if I did, I have my pride, which takes priority even over my student loan. Meanwhile it's been fun trying out my diary transcription style. I can benefit from the practice if I ever do get to try writing a print version of my do-and-tell diary. Dear Readers, some few of you may be reading my writing in the future, my writing for my new employer, reporting on subjects very different. Only you will never know. If it happens to be a serious essay written by Carol So-and-So, all you can do is to wonder if it's really by me. It's been fun. Bye & Love, Carol ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Epilog I finished the above last weekend. This week I have been busy being processed for my new job, meeting everybody, getting my first assignments. I could cry. Mom and Mom's Friend walked out on their families on a matter of religious principle, to follow a Prophet. Today, some call him a false prophet. Mom lived in penury forever after that. I was lucky enough to be able to go to college, and to recapture some of the culture Mom had left behind. I never expected to get this far. But here I am. And my new colleagues have so much: a fun job, travel to Europe, money to buy clothes, theatre and concerts, dinners in fine restaurants, nice wines. Like the old song about trying to keep them down on the farm after they've seen Paree... I am reminded of the boy from Our Town who got into the Air Force Academy and never came back to Our Town, out of shame. His parents had to go visit him in Colorado. I have set forth my beliefs in this series. But I have to say that I will not be a martyr for anyone or for any principle. My potential here in the Capital City is unlimited. I have been told to get a passport. Next week I am being sent with a few other trainees to New York for training. I have invitations from men to go to dinner, to shows, to concerts, to parties ... invitations from men with no straw behind their ears. When I went home after graduation, it seemed that the two years I'd spent at College would turn out to be just a brief cultural and scholarly interlude. Now, for the first time, I see that it may prove to be the key to a better life for me and for my future children. I may have to compromise with my philosophy of sex. I already see that there is Sex in the Capital City: happy sex, legal sex, ecstatic sex. Rich, sexy men for me. For the rest I shall have to work out my philosophy as I go along. Shall I find parallels in Gigi (daughter of a courtesan made good?), Gypsy (of Witchita's One and Only Burlesque House?) or is it just out of gender equality that I've got my education and am on the verge of making it in the Capital City and does nobody need to know my secrets? My likes and my politics are unlikely to change, but the price of my new opportunity is, I think, discretion. How many other apparently mainstream people have a secret inner soul? All? Many? A Few? I am sooo happy. I hope you are too. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+