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From: "Carol Cobillard" <cobillard@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} On puberty
Date: Mon,  2 Sep 2002 16:10:03 -0400
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   <1st attachment, "puberty.txt" begin>

   "I didn't know what puberty was till I was almost past it."

   -- Albert Peterson, Conrad Birdie's agent (and if you don't know who
they are, look them up on Google)

   I have written about my encounters with two boys, Boy No.  1 and Boy No.
2, whom I seduced when they were 11 years old and in mid-puberty, and I was
slightly older.

  
<http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/
37735>

   I make no apologies for my single-minded approach to boys in those Days,
although I admit that my focus on sex for its own sake, rather than as the
end product of a minuet of flirtation and romance was immature.  The fact
is that I was bored, and there was, in my family lifestyle, no impediment
to physical expression of that boredom in my relations with representatives
of the opposite sex.  Being bored, and thinking that Boy No.  1 had a nice
penis that would be fun to play with, being in a girlishly teasing mood,
and also suspecting that he was too shy to approach me on his own with a
view to passion, I took the initiative one day in front of the television,
even while his father sat nearby.  I gather that his father was nothing if
not proud to attend his son's rite of passage.  I have found most parents
happy to know of the satisfactory outcome of a pubescent child's first sex,
and to know that it happened under joyous, not sordid circumstances.  The
spurting of Boy No.  1's semen into my mouth as my tongue ran along the
bottom of his penis and my lips pressed against its crown was nothing if
not joyous.  For him, for me, and for any and all who happened to see.

   I ran into Boy No.  2, almost literally, when I opened the door of the
bathroom and found him fondling himself, his penis pointing right at me.  I
thought I could do better for him.  It wasn't that masturbation is a
particular turn-on, because it isn't.  It's that Boy No.  2, including
especially his penis, was so cute.  I wanted him to feel what a difference
a girl would make.  I brought him to his first orgasm that way, and I was
proud of having done it.  The only negative was the kibitzing of the girl
who passed by, trying to tell Boy No.  2 how to get his tongue inside me,
and only ending up by frustrating the both of us because of the
distraction. In the end we did OK orally and the next day I had sex with
him again in the missionary position.

   While the two boys may have seen nude girls in their daily lives in our
rather unconventional communal home, this was their introduction to
intimate female contact and it was by oral sex, the most fantastic
experience any boy can have.  If the boy is properly appreciative and sexy
it's a delight for the girl too.  At that time, 14 or 15 years old myself,
I was just reaching the end of what I call my missionary stage (a term not
related to the position mentioned above), a period of years following my
own sexual awakening and happy defloration when I felt it to be my calling
to show the mysteries of sex, by example and by participation, to pubescent
and post-pubescent kids.  I was inviting them to join the sexually active
community; it was left to me to do it simply because no other girl had
presented herself to them yet.  It was exciting for me to be the first girl
to have their body.  I wanted to feel the flow of their semen and to sense,
vicariously, their ecstasy.  I love to look in the eyes of a boy whom I
love as he ejaculates into my mouth a liquid that is dear to me.  At my age
then, the pleasure for him and for me was magnified when it was his first
time.  But I was getting older, and losing interest in younger boys.  I was
now looking more for romance and passion than for sex.  The emotional
element, rather than the physical, began to take priority.

   Readers of my six earlier memoirs will recall that it was just after my
encounters with the two boys that a 16-year old nephew of Mom's Friend came
to live with us following a family break-up.  The break-up was apparently
bitter and prolonged and The 16-Year-Old Boy stayed for more than a year,
apparently unwilling to live with either of his parents.  Mom's Friend had
been estranged from her own family for years, since her involvement with
the Children of God, but The 16Year-Old-Boy had sought her out, and Mom's
Friend was always helping people.  I took to The 16-Year-Old Boy right
away, but he was initially rather insecure, unsure of his own position in a
"family" he knew rather little about and which was clearly unconventional,
with a dozen or more unrelated adults and their offspring running around,
naked much of the time.

   I was in the basement reading, and a couple of smaller children were in
a corner of the room naked and playing sex games when The 16-YearOld Boy
first came to appreciate how different this house was.  He must have known
about our sexy lifestyle; this was known even in the farthest reaches of
Mom's Friend's family and meant that even though she had abandoned her
active membership in the Children of God that they derided as a cult, her
estrangement from her family did not end.  At least her parents had
provided for her somewhat through a trust fund, so she had the house and
she would never be destitute.  It also meant that she had the means to
accommodate The 16-Year-Old Boy when he needed a home.  Whatever the state
of The 16-Year-Old Boy's prior knowledge of his new surroundings, he now
showed his surprise in a "what is wrong with this picture" glance.  My
response was to tease him, stripping off my shirt and taking off my shorts,
leaving myself naked; I had been wearing no underwear.  Our basement was
anyway a place of easy nudity.  We had an unwritten rule that clothing
would be worn in the living room, and probably I would have gone there
instead except that I was supposed to be babysitting for two kids who were
playing in the basement.  I could see The 16-Year-Old Boy's demeanor
changing from incomprehension to arousal.  I figured there was an
opportunity for still more fun.  Perhaps The 16-Year-Old Boy was a virgin?
Were there any 16-year old virgins in 1995?  I walked over to The
16-Year-Old Boy and stood before him provocatively.  I took him by the hand
over to where the younger kids were and reminded him that this was an early
learning house.  A boy and girl of eight or so, my charges of the day, were
playing their version of house, fondling each other's genitals.  They
weren't about to stop just because someone was looking, or because the
onlooker was astonished at their behavior.  Their backbrounds would have
provided no basis for such inhibition.  I knew their parents didn't mind,
and neither did I.  They were, after all, children of free love, like us.
They didn't live with us; rather they belonged to two friends of Mom's
Friend.  Hence my babysitting assignment.  Once finished with their play I
knew they would do their homework with less distraction.

   I put my hand over The 16-Year-Old Boy's penis and through his jeans I
felt it stirring with the promise of action.  Had any girl done this to him
before?  In suitably ambiguous terms I suggested he take a shower.  I went
back to reading a novel; I even remember what it was, Jane Eyre.  There was
another couple in the room: the girl I have earlier described as the Older
Girl in my memoir about the sleeping boy, and her boy friend.

  
<http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/
37631>

   She was Mom's Friend's daughter and they were playing cards.  They saw
The 16-Year-Old Boy's initial confusion and, amused, took advantage of the
fact that even though The 16-Year-Old Boy and she were cousins of some
sort, they had never been properly introduced.  The 16-Year-Old Boy
apparently didn't know much about her or about her lifestyle.  Taking an
in-your-face attitude, the couple stopped what they were doing and started
having sex.  Perhaps they had been building up to it before, but there was
no foreplay here: just a drop to the floor and penis in vagina, ignoring
the intruder.  As for the 16-Year-Old Boy, it did not take great insight to
see his consternation, nor his arousal.  He kept adjusting his pants. 
After due reflection, he seems to have interpreted my instructions in the
manner most likely to satisfy his urge, already approaching panic.  He went
off to shower and promptly returned naked without even a towel in hand.  I
saw his penis for the first time.  I wanted it.  I wanted to touch, and
stroke and kiss it, and I wanted to make it respond to me and to give up
its semen at my command.  I wanted it erect and taut, quivering with
excitement.  I wanted to feel it inside me, doing its job.  Then I wanted
to see and feel it wet and sticky and glad of my attentions.

   I thought that if I did not assert myself from the beginning I could
lose control of the situation and the relationship and I determined not to
let that happen.  Following Mom's early advice, based I think on her own
perceived mistakes flirty fishing for The Family, to avoid being taken
advantage of or taken for granted I would always stay in charge of a
relationship.  With due respect for my partner I would put my own pleasure
and my own safety first.  When The 16-Year-Old Boy reentered the basement I
was seated at the edge of a chair, my legs spread apart, my vagina exposed.
I reminded The 16-Year-Old Boy, now standing naked before me, that girls
did not get aroused as quickly as boys and that he might need to go to some
effort to turn me on and to make me ready for him.  I'm not even sure he
knew what exactly he was expected to do.  I guess in 1995 many girls were
still pliable, or desperate, enough to let a boy have his own way, not to
put him to any test or any trouble.  Maybe many still are.  Or The
16-Year-Old Boy may only have known only girls who would "just say no". 
The 16-Year-Old Boy, while obviously inexperienced, untrained and
unsophisticated, seemed game to try to please me.  He kneeled in front of
me, staring at my pink parts.  His penis was upright, its circumcised head
bobbed playfully.  I reached down, flicked it with my hand, and it bounced
back.  I knew I would kiss it, but not just yet.  He brought his face
closer to my crotch and stared.  I responded by moving closer to him,
grasping the sides of his head, and bringing his mouth to my vagina. 
Whatever his surprise at that, he began dutifully to lick at my labia,
tentatively at first, then with more gusto.  He extended the reach of his
tongue to the inside of my vagina and circled its outer rim.  He ran his
tongue up and down the slit of my vulva.  It was as if he was finding that
it didn't taste at all bad, that his preconceptions had maybe let him down
and that he had found a true calling.

   His expression changed from apprehension to enjoyment.  After a couple
of minutes he began to tailor his caresses to my sighs.  I told him he
should also use his lips and that he didn't have to worry about hurting me.
As he proceeded and as my clitoris became more sensitive, I decided it was
time to move on to the main event.  My vagina was now fully dilated and
very wet with his saliva.  I was aroused and shivery.  I could see his
penis pulsating, following his heartbeat.  He panted with expectation.  I
slid onto the floor, and he followed me.  I pulled him on top and searched
for his penis to guide it into my vagina.  It went in effortlessly.  I
moved my feet over his legs to lock his body into place.  He maintained a
slow cadence with his penis, just the way I like it.  Like Mae West, "I
like a guy what takes his time".  (She Done Him Wrong, 1933) I always
complain if a male person goes too fast; it chafes me and it slows my
response.  I want a man to make giving me maximum pleasure his first
priority.

   By now The 16-Year-Old Boy's demeanor suggested to me that he was
working hard to "catch the ring", that the promise of orgasm had been
racing ahead of him, that distractions -- perhaps his trying too hard or
his worrying about pleasing me -- had kept it just out of reach.  He would
need to concentrate more, to concentrate his energies and his attention on
getting to that point of no return on the horizon where a boy can relax
knowing that his ejaculation is assured and just a thrust or two away.  We
were both eager for the excitement and pleasure of that rush of semen.  I
laughed, and he looked me in the eyes to see if I was possibly mocking him
or whether it was rather a laugh of joy.  I smiled at him reassuringly,
kissed him, put my hands on his buttocks and guided his thrusts.  My
approval canceled out his doubt.  Suddenly I saw a look of recognition and
relief; his body tensed, he delayed his next thrust for a millisecond; then
his pace resumed and repeated spurts of warm semen went from his penis into
me.  There was vibration in his penis, increased liquidity in my vagina.  I
heard his grunts of joy and relief.  We kissed.  I felt really good, almost
as if I had taught the secrets of sex to another virginal pubescent boy. 
If I had not quite reached orgasm it no longer mattered.  A girl doesn't
need orgasm every time to feel satisfied and happy and complete.  He needed
me and I loved him.  I loved him even though we had just met, and that was
enough.  When The 16-Year-Old Boy dismounted and sat beside me, I grasped
his penis and held him in place with it.  Now I was ready to kiss it.  I
put my mouth over it to wring and to suck out from it all traces of semen
that remained.  Licking its outside I tasted our joint pleasure.  It was
wonderful.  I knew that a billion people around the world were having sex
today too and I felt in good company.  I felt some of his semen leaking out
of me and I touched it.  It covered my fingers.  I put them to my mouth. 
They tasted good.  I knew that tomorrow I would want to have more.

   I was glad to have a new boyfriend, a protector who came at an opportune
time to avoid a competition for my affections by two jealous 11-year-olds.
They were too young for me; I should be leaving to a younger generation of
girls the task of awakening younger boys from their pre-pubescent
somnolence.  The 16-Year-Old Boy would be an eminently suitable mate for me
for the time being.  We were to stay together for over a year.  Many days
we would have mutual oral sex.  Coming home from school, as a break from
homework, or to show off to others, I liked nothing better than to see the
dormant, wrinkled penis of The 16-Year-Old Boy notice me and become erect.
Oral sex, while perhaps difficult to vary in written description, is highly
variable in fact and in sensation and in the emotions and pleasure it
generates: depending upon partner, upon time of day and especially upon
position.  It is always fantastically good, so good that I never want to
waste a drop of the semen that it produces.  Although others complain that
mutual oral sex has disadvantages of angle of approach and a propensity to
lead one or both partners to distraction from concentrating on what they
should be doing, I have never had cause to complain.  There is nothing more
emotionally charging than mutual sexual stimulation and the possibility of
simultaneous orgasm, much easier to arrange in oral than in vaginal sex, at
least for my partners and me.  There is a cost: maximization of pleasure
does require an attentiveness that is virtually impossible when one is
concerned also with her own climax.  As it happens, for most boys and men
the most fabulous orgasm is the most difficult to achieve because it not
only requires single-minded application on the part of the girl but
restraint to an almost impossible degree by the boy: the girl must use the
end of her tongue to massage just the bottom of the glans of the penis, at
its crown.  This can take 30-45 minutes and while it will bring
incalculable ecstasy and wave upon wave of semen, it means that the boy has
withstood all those opportunities and temptations to bring things to an
earlier conclusion by pressing his penis forward into her mouth.  In my
experience the boy will usually succumb to that temptation halfway through
the slow exercise.  And I, for one, am not likely to resist his thrusting
penis entering my mouth nor the promise of an onrush of the semen I love so
much.

   In matters of mutual oral sex, girl on top and girl on bottom each has
specific advantages.  Girl on the bottom gives the boy greater opportunity
to adjust the friction on his penis because he can move it in and out in
complement to the girl's massaging of its glans with her tongue and lips.
Mostly I like to have the boy turn around and put his penis in my vagina
just when I have reached orgasm, and I find my orgasm will continue to its
maximum force this way.  As you will see presently, Dear Reader, I have
taught this principle to others.  I made the rules for my relationship with
The 16-Year-Old Boy then and still I do so today with new lovers.  Girl on
top provides a much better show for viewers, with her pink parts open to
their examination and admiration and her excitement clearly visible.  It
also provides, usually, quicker release for the girl.  On the other hand,
her tongue is not in the ideal position for stimulating her boy's penis
from its underside and she has to try to accomplish that with her upper
lip.

   And her boy does not have the leverage to move his penis in and out of
her mouth in support of her movements of mouth and tongue.  So he may
possibly take longer to ejaculate, even while his access to her most
sensitive parts can bring her to climax more quickly.  The 16-Year-Old Boy
had an uncanny ability I have not encountered with others to ejaculate
apparently at will most of the time: to wait until I reached the point of
orgasm and then to let go his streams of his semen to spurt into my mouth.
He knew that I loved it.  We were something of exhibitionists.  If someone
is watching and I am on the bottom I would collect semen in my mouth and
let some run down my cheek before swallowing the rest.  If on top, I would
let just a stream run down The 16-Year-Old Boy's penis onto his scrotum. 
An orgasm must be felt, but it may, even should, also be seen by others as
a picture of absolute beauty and a manifestation of pure art.

  
<http://news.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2002/08/29/uart.xml>

   The fact is that people love to see other people naked, and it's so sad
that public displays of affection, not to speak of public displays of sex
acts, should be deemed by so many to be lewd and lascivious rather than
beautiful and romantic.  It is also hypocritical, as disclosures of the
private lives of many of those critics of modernity have revealed.  The
very ones who criticize most harshly are the ones most likely to have the
darkest secrets in their lives.

   The 16-Year-Old Boy wanted me to sleep with him in his bed, and I did
sometimes accede.  Although the bed was narrow, I liked him lying behind
me, both of us naked, his hand on my breast, his erection in my back.  But
often his hand would slip down to my vulva, and he would caress my vagina
and want to have sex, and he would keep me awake.

   Eventually his possessiveness would become too much to bear, but that
was more than a year later and by then he would have finished high school
and be on the verge of leaving Mom's Friend's house anyway.  It was time
for a change; his altered situation was a fortuitous intervention.

   I would not again to this day have a relationship last that long.  By my
manner of writing, I leave open the possibility that you, Dear Reader, may
think me cheap or lewd.  Know that I am not, and have never been,
promiscuous.  To love and enjoy and have sex is not, by itself,
promiscuity. If one values oneself and values and respects her partner, the
dance of sex is part of the dance of life.  For a child or an adolescent,
sex is learning.  The danger is that one may be taken advantage of, abused.
To protect ourselves against this we were perfectly trained.  I have not
written about all the boys and men I have declined and turned away.  The
ones I have welcomed, whose penises I have loved and enjoyed, are so much
more interesting.  I do not dwell on boring things but on the interesting
and happy ones.

   I loved The 16-Year-Old Boy and I loved his penis and I wanted always to
be seeing and holding it.  It was good to be naked with him and I was glad
we could freely be naked in the house, although nudity was in fact
restricted to the basement and to the bedrooms and to our private back
garden.  It was good to have somebody more mature than a pre-teen to be my
escort and sex partner.  It was good to hold his penis when I wanted, and
to watch it rise to erection when lustful and shrivel when satisfied.  The
16-Year-Old Boy loved my vagina as he loved me.  He would kiss my vagina
and press at my clitoris with his tongue and make me feel good whenever he
detected that I needed loving.  We had sex constantly even through my
periods.  He catered to me when I was cranky and humored me when I was
unreasonable.  He loved and cared for me in sickness and in health, in
beauty and in disarray.  And, as I had retired from courting pubescent
teens directly, The 16-Year-Old Boy joined me in a more general mission to
show those younger than we what fun they too could have with their peers of
the opposite sex.  In our house, all would have seen parents and teens
having sex in the open and happily showing off method and results.  Little
kids would be running around in the same room with adults and teens in the
midst of sex.  As I have described, it was our credo that there was nothing
shameful, sinful, secret or private about penis in mouth or penis in
vagina. Beautiful acts were to be seen, even flaunted; and the young
learned to have and to give pleasure by mimicking the older.  Even a child
would learn, as I had early learned, that the sticky wet penis leaving
Mom's vagina or Mom's mouth had brought happiness to both her and to her
partner, that orgasm was a mysterious but not a secret wonder.  Semen was a
magical substance of life and love.  Youngsters needed to be told and shown
how it was the manifestation of a curious, mysterious mutual affection,
love, caressing and ecstasy.  They needed to banish guilt and to appreciate
the meaning of orgasm from the earliest possible age.  Then, when they were
ready for sex, at whatever age that might be, they would be free of
inhibitions and guilt and fear of sin.  In our extended family a parent or
older supportive friend was always on hand, to guide, advise, protect and
share experience.  Children were dealing with their peers so chance of
abuse and of a younger person being taking advantage of by an older, was
minimized.

   There was in our house no pressure to have early sex, only the
opportunity, the encouragement and the welcome.  And, contrary to
accusations directed by some at the Children of God, there was never incest
or inter-generational sex in our group.  In conventional society puberty
happens in secret, and often it is a source of embarrassment, sometimes of
shame.  This is particularly true for children, especially girls, who reach
puberty very early.  In our house it was quickly resolved, because the
child would have an immediate opportunity to use and appreciate her new
capacities, always in a manner consistent with her mental and emotional, as
well as her physical development.  She would therefore be self-assured and
confident and know how to handle herself both with her peers and those
older, as well as with boys and men.

   In a more conventional upbringing, bystanders can only surmise, based on
a change in outward appearance and the growth of breasts that a child is
entering that mysterious time.  As often as not the child is treated
patronizingly, rather than having her new capacities recognized, honored,
welcomed and used.  We girls new even before our first periods what bodily
changes meant for our ability to relate to those of the opposite sex and
what they meant for physical pleasure and satisfaction, because we had seen
sex performed openly all our lives, we had seen those just above us in age
starting their own sexual activity without fear or hesitation.  With common
nudity and free sex, puberty is a shared event, a source of pride,
congratulation, shared joy and beginning ecstasy.  I remember to this day
the pride I felt to see for the first time a boy staring now at my new,
small breasts, now at my vulva with its wisps of pubic hair, his penis
standing straight up and a somewhat embarrassed grin on his face.  I knew
that boy wanted me, but he would have to wait.  The timing of my first sex
was my prerogative, not his.  While many of the children I knew began their
sex lives even earlier, most started during puberty.  I always told younger
girls that in the earlier stages of puberty mutual oral sex was best: less
likely to hurt and more fun anyway.  Most pre-pubescent girls I knew seemed
uninterested in having sex as such but did want to know all the facts
concerning it, did want to watch it from a distance, and might experiment
just a little bit.  They might touch and caress, might masturbate a boy,
might even go further on occasion if so inspired.  But relationships as
such were unlikely beyond the occasional reach by a boy for a girl's
vagina, or by a girl for a boy's penis as a tease, a dare, an experiment.
Even small boys and girls could touch and play with each other's genitals
in an innocent way, and they could feel pleasure as a result of it.  But
puberty was the general threshold, when play turned to passion.  This is
only natural.

   There were always visitors at our house, almost all, unlike The
16Year-Old Boy himself when he arrived, from sexually-aware and -open
families.  Most of the relationships our teens had were with peers that
they had met socially through such visits.  The 16-Year-Old Boy was the
only new arrival or guest that I can remember expressing surprise at our
lifestyle.  Once he came to terms with that, he and I were always together
and in agreement as to what we wanted to do with each other's body. 
Occasionally when we started sex teasing and I would begin playing with The
16-Year-Old Boy's penis, a couple of kids would copy us: on more than one
occasion I'm sure we inspired the introduction of a young and smooth penis
into the mouth of a sexually awakening young girl and the start of a happy
sex life.  In a nudist colony or at a topless beach, boys see breasts in a
supposedly non-sexual way.  At our house they saw them also as what they
are -- sex signals -- and both as targets and as bystanders we girls
watched boys' eyes and their penises for return signals.  As visitors from
other open families came by, I was constantly testing and teasing their
boys.  At my own young age, I had loved to hold and to feel and to kiss the
growing penis of a boy going through puberty.  I have written before about
some of the boys I seduced.  It was a game, it was learning, it was fun. 
It goes without saying that for a boy to feel his penis rising for the
first time at the solicitation and provocation of a nude girl and then for
the first time ever entering a girl's mouth or a girl's vagina is the event
of a lifetime, one scarcely believable even as it is happening.  I wanted
such occasions always to be without humiliation or embarrassment or
frustration: just orgasm, happiness and unforgettable memory.  As it
happens, I never knew a girl to change her mind in midstream; we all knew
our own minds and our own bodies.  As for inability to proceed, I usually
was able to resolve a situation where a boy's fears got in the way of an
erection when I was having sex.  This would be an issue sometimes when it
was a young boy's first time, and I learned how to deal with it, and to
reassure the boy, and finally to make him happy.  After all, a boy doesn't
need a fully erect penis to reach orgasm in a girl's mouth, and a smaller
penis can be at less than maximum stiffness and still penetrate a
fully-grown vagina.  As I went from 14 to 15, however, the age gap between
the pubescent boy and me became untenable; I outgrew the interest in
seducing them and turned my attention to boys my age and older.

   A girl realizes early on that her developing breasts are a source of
interest and attention to boys and men, and hence a source of power and
control.  It is really only for the open family and for the sexually aware
community that one can automatically expect a girl on the verge of puberty
to be intellectually and emotionally ready for sex and to welcome the
opportunity to participate in it.  I think that as soon as she is
physically able to act without pain, and as soon as she wants to do so on
her own accord and without pressure from others, a girl ought to start
seeking a worthy partner of her own age for sex.  Every girl is entitled to
make her own decision, and it certainly shouldn't be some boy who makes it
for her or anybody else who coerces her.  I began at age 11, but I was
barely 11 when I first awoke to the possibilities.  It just took me some
months to go further than just the curious admiration for a boy's erect
penis and my masturbating him so he ejaculated into my eye and onto my
hand. I needed to learn the mechanics of the penis and see how benign it
was.  And then I realized, all of a sudden and in the accident of a tumble
in naked horseplay, that I wanted a penis in my vagina and I wanted to make
sex a regular part of my life.

  
<http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/
37616>

   I wanted semen inside of me and I wanted to look into a boy's eyes as he
ejaculated into my body.  Not into my hand as months before, but into my
vagina and my mouth.  I wanted to feel and fondle and caress his penis and
his scrotum afterwards, to kiss them wrinkled and wet and sticky.  I wanted
the boy to know that I would want his penis in my body again later; I would
want to bring it to erection and to make it ejaculate again.  The best sex
is that enjoyed with the expectation of more and better to come.  My
feelings and wants were no different from those of my girlfriends.  It will
come as no surprise that we were constantly comparing ourselves and sharing
our feelings, worries, hopes and accomplishments.  Like girls in the
general population we wanted to be noticed and wanted and loved; but as
members of a very special circle we also wanted to be included in a
physical way in the love and in the sex we saw around us.  We never sought
to impose our way of life on the general population, but we resented any
attempt by them to restrain us in our search for fulfilment.  I respect the
right of another to choose to be chaste and virginal, but just as I would
not try to intervene in that person's choice of religious values, she or he
should have the decency to leave me alone.  Sex was part of my religious
values as a child, and it remains so.  But sex involves myriad choices.  In
our environment, it implied one lover at a time.  In some ways, our sexual
lifestyle was more conservative than today's mainstream.  It just started
at an earlier age.  We were raised to accept and to want sex as soon as we
were physically and emotionally capable of enjoying it.  But this implies
also certain social skills.  One needs to be able to manage one's partner.

   I was glad to have a regular partner, to have The 16-Year-Old Boy
looking after me.  He made me feel secure and made me feel good.  If the
regularity of our sex took away the challenge and the surprise of the games
teens normally play, it satisfied our needs.  The round, smooth head of his
penis became an object of longing for me and I thought about it constantly.
I wanted him to be naked with me: in my bedroom with other girls around, in
the basement with anybody or nobody there, out in the backyard sunning or
reading or having a barbecue.  I loved looking at his penis and kissing it
and I thought of the semen it gave me as a measure of love.  Its production
was one of the mysteries of life and live.  It was out of that love, the
love for penis in mouth and penis in vagina, and most of all my love for
having it make love to me that came my love for the feel and texture and
flavor of semen, and my happiness to swallow it.  Early learning and
understanding helped too, and my Mom's support and love, to shield me from
the popular, and wrong, reticence to fully enjoy it.  But then shame, and
to a large extent repugnance, have to be learned, they are not innate or
genetic.

   Sex in puberty is different from later sex.  For young kids, not love,
romance nor lengthy foreplay -- nor, unfortunately, mutual respect and
tenderness -- has the role it will later have.  I started to feel their
lack, or at least the lack of the first two, early enough after my
relationship with The 16-Year-Old Boy started, and this destined it to end
sooner or later.  The openness of sex at our house and the lack of any
inhibitions at all meant that I learned early enough the different pace of
boys from that of girls.  I didn't need sex every day, it just happened;
and more often than not, even if I wasn't in the mood it was easier to
accede than to refuse.  Such is the lot of most women.  I may love to feel
the semen of My Man spurting inside my body, but it is an event of less
urgency for me than it is for him.  And the price I exact is respect and
attention to intellect, romance and culture.  But of course I did not know
this when I was 11 or even 15: that came later.  For the girl in puberty,
sex is a novelty.  For those outside of our kind of background, it is
forbidden territory and the result is taboos, shame and secrecy that I
never had to experience.  Puberty is a physical awakening to the
possibility of sex; the actuality of sex is a treasure that ought to go
with it but for most does so only in secret.  Except in my kind of world.
That my kind of experience is natural and normal is evidenced by the
commonality today of pubescent oral sex: but that it should be hidden and
criticized is proof enough of the hypocrisy of society's rules.  Sex
education, bowdlerized, either titillates or dissimulates.  The child who
has had the early opportunity to see sex in the flesh will have learned
from it responsibility as well as source of enjoyment; the need for love
and for respect; the lack of anything in it repellant or bad or sinful.  I
find only joy and goodness in pleasure that comes naturally.

   I have written that when I arrived at Mom's Friend's House one of my
household responsibilities was "diaper duty" -- looking after the babies
and toddlers.

  
<http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/
37735>

   I was especially close to a small boy and girl whose respective single
mothers had lived with Mom's Friend since their babies were born.  They had
known each other as church workers in the Children of God, and I guess had
suffered some of the same disillusionment.  One time, about two years after
my arrival, I was sunning myself on a chaise longue in the garden when the
two kids, who had been playing and talking together, asked me, as little
kids will, what "those things are for", pointing to my naked breasts.  I
explained that they were there to give milk to any babies I might have, and
to look pretty to men, who love to see them, and didn't they think my big
nipples were pretty too?  Would they like to touch them?  I said that of
course the girl would have breasts too when she got older, and look, she
had little nipples already.  Boys had nipples but they didn't do anything.

   Then the boy pointed to my vulva and asked why it was different from his
friend's and why did it have hair?  I explained that both he and she would
get hair when they got older, about 10, 11, 12 or 13, and that his friend's
vagina would grow too, and would they like to see mine?  I moved my legs
apart and spread my vulva lips so they could see inside.  I told them they
could feel it if they liked and they could put a finger in; and see, it
didn't hurt at all.  "But what's it for?" the boy asked.  I said that when
he got bigger, his penis would grow a lot, and he could put it the big
vagina of a girl like me or his friend, and it would feel good, and semen
would come out.  He didn't make semen yet, but he would later.  And I told
them that babies could be conceived and born after sex but only if they
were wanted, the way he and his friend were so very much wanted and loved.
And also that they had seen others and me in the house having sex, hadn't
they?

   Of course kids want to be reminded and reassured of everything.  Shortly
afterwards The 16-Year-Old-Boy came into the yard and I called the two
children over and said we would show them how it worked.  I took The
16-Year-Old-Boy's soft penis into my mouth and kissed and massaged it until
it was very hard and big.  And I lay back and had him kiss and massage my
vagina opening until it was really wet.  Then he moved up and I guided his
penis into my vagina.  His lower body moved up and down slowly, his penis
traveling its full length.  Occasionally it would slip out of my vagina and
I would put it back in.  After a while he started moving more purposefully
and I knew he was coming to orgasm.  I felt faintly the spurting semen, the
increased wetness and slipperiness of my vagina and I and smiled and looked
over at the two children standing there transfixed.  The 16-Year-Old-Boy
moved off me and we both got up.  I led The 16-Year-Old-Boy over to the
chaise longue and we both sat down on it.  I picked up The
16-Year-Old-Boy's now-limp penis and said, "see, his semen has come out and
he has felt very good.  You may touch his penis if you like." I spread my
legs wide and showed them the sticky wetness seeping out of my vagina from
all the semen, and told them to see how my vagina was different now and
that they could touch it if they wanted to, that the semen in it was there
because we loved each other, The 16-Year-Old Boy and I.

   A few days later, the kids came back to us and said they'd like to see
us do it again.  I told them that this time we'd do it differently, that
there were lots of ways to have fun with sex, especially when you get
bigger.  The 16-Year-Old-Boy lay on the grass and I got on top, his penis
in my mouth and my vagina over his mouth.  With my rear up in the air,
every part of me was exposed.  The kids could see all of my sex parts and
they could see The 16-Year-Old-Boy's tongue darting in and out of my vagina
and kissing and licking everything around it.  They could see that sex was
clean and sex was fun and sex was beautiful.  They could see that I loved
what was being done to me.  Moving over towards my head they could see me
making love to his penis, kissing the tip and then taking it in my mouth
and moving my head up and down meanwhile stroking it with my tongue.  I
would take the penis out of my mouth every so often so they could see how
it pulsated and how lovely it was, and I would run my tongue around its
head and kiss it repeatedly and tell them that I was making The
16-Year-Old-Boy incredibly happy by what I was doing, and I would put the
penis back in my mouth and love it some more.  After a while, I felt my
orgasm coming on.  I shivered and I reached ecstasy and I sighed.  The
16-YearOld-Boy then let himself go, exercising that control over his
ejaculation that was unique to him.  Within a brief moment his semen was
flowing in spurts into my mouth.  The kids could see lines of semen
streaming out of the edges of my mouth.  I didn't swallow what was left
inside.  Instead, I got up and opened my mouth so they could see all that
was collected there, and I told them, as best I could with a mouth full of
semen, how lovely it was and that I was going to swallow it because it made
me so happy.  Then I swallowed it and told them again how good it tasted
and how lovely it was and how I loved to make The 16-Year-Old-Boy feel so
good, and he liked to make me feel good too and surely they would do the
same to each other or to other partners when they were bigger.

   The kids occasionally watched us having sex after that but I do not
remember them asking more questions about it.  But very recently, when I
was back in Our Town for a long weekend, I was sunning myself in the garden
along with Mom, both of us nude, when the girl and the boy, now almost 12,
came dancing out holding each other's hand.  They told me they had
something they wanted to show me.  The boy and girl were both in mid
puberty.  I could see her cute little breasts and her wisps of pubic hair;
I could see his penis in mid-growth and that he too had just a bit of hair
there.  They held hands and smiled, and then he was on the ground on his
back and she was reversed above him, her mouth at his penis, just as I had
shown them so many years ago.  Her legs were spread wide apart, knees on
the ground at either side of his head.  All of her vaginal area was
exposed, a lovely 11-1/2-year-old pubescent, angelic vagina, and the boy
had his tongue already in it moving in and out and around and his lips were
sucking on her labia, her clitoris, her vulva.  She was sucking on his
penis and it was growing hard; she started moving her head up and down its
not-yet fully-grown length.  She meanwhile groaned with obvious pleasure.
After several minutes had passed she cried out "now" and did a gymnastic
flip, landing on her back alongside the boy, her legs wide apart with knees
bent, her vagina open, waiting expectantly.  The boy quickly turned over
and around and mounted her, his penis sticking out downwards very stiff,
wet from her saliva.  She guided his penis into her vagina, and he
proceeded to pump her as she acknowledged his thrusts with more sighs. 
After a couple of minutes of slow thrusts he speeded up his pace, grunted,
gasped and rolled over next to her, sitting up.  He caught his breath, rose
and pulled her to her feet with one hand.  The two of them skipped over to
Mom and me.  I was so happy for them.  I hugged them closely.  The boy's
penis was glistening wet all over.  Not five inches long, it remained
erect, quivering.  I wanted to close my hand around it and squeeze it
tenderly, to stroke its glowing tip, to cup his cute testicles.  A drop of
liquid flowed out of the little opening.  I would touch it, it would stick
to my finger, and I would put it on my tongue and smile.  I kissed the boy
and the girl on their cheeks and told them I loved them both, that they
were beautiful.  It was one of the most fabulous moments of my life.

   Later I asked Mom if anything was being done about birth control for the
girl.  It seems that the children's mothers were afraid to take her to a
doctor for fear of accusation of child abuse.  As far as I know
contraceptive pills are safe for all ages, including girls in puberty. 
Nobody needs to know for whom they are intended.  I have made the point
before, but this highlights the hypocrisy of the politically correct
brigade fixated on their perception of pedophilia -- a genuine problem but
one which they misconstrue, misrepresent, and harmfully extend to include
innocent play among peers.  Those who suppose that denying access to birth
control will eliminate out-of-wedlock sex and sex between children are
stupid, or they are hypocrites.  Of course the brigade gets even more upset
about oral sex, but that, too, is an unstoppable part of today's youth
culture.  On the other hand, I worried that the beauty and innocence of the
children could open them up to victimization by sex predators.  Mom's
answer to that was that the kids loved only each other and their extended
family, and she thought they were hardly likely to trust strangers since
they'd grown up knowing that they would always have to keep their family
lifestyle a secret.

   I think I ought to point out here that I feel no need for me to follow
here Vladimir Nabokov's precedent in recording our subject's precise
measurements.

   <http://www.libraries.psu.edu/iasweb/nabokov/coutur3.htm>

   The girl had as much capacity as I did at her age to have and to hold
and to enjoy and to treasure her boy's penis.  She was not being assaulted
by a dirty old man like Humbert Humbert.  Like my first sex, her liaison
was a matter of her own free will and love, an informed choice based on her
mental, emotional and physical capacity.  Like me, she is smart.  And that
she loved her boy, one of her peers, and her boy's penis and oral sex is
perfectly compatible with contemporary mores.

   <http://www.agi-usa.org/media/pdf/news2002/0326_clip.pdf>

   Unless one is in the military.

   <http://dont.stanford.edu/cases/fagg.pdf>

   To digress further and discuss the issue from a feminist standpoint, I
am dismayed and angered by those who deliberately set out to demean and to
belittle women by declaring to be a slut the woman who fellates a man and
who swallows his semen; and to taunt and mock young girls who are paid to
perform oral sex for publishers of porn.  The facts are otherwise and it is
obscene that men should so deride and ridicule women who provide, with or
without pay, the gratification they crave.  Actors and paid sex workers are
just that -- people working for an honest living or, sadly, sometimes under
the domination of pimps and scoundrels.  Oral sex for love is quite
something else.  We know that the best educated and the most intellectual
couples are those with the greatest propensity to show each other the love
and give each other the ecstasy that mutual (simultaneous or successive)
oral sex provides.  What must be derided, demeaned and prosecuted is the
pernicious act of the cynical and evil man who would force or coerce or
deceive or bribe a girl or a woman to perform an unwilling or a paid act.
In any case, I would never put my mouth to the penis of a man who would
not, then or another time when it was important to me and when I felt the
need, have his tongue in my vagina or otherwise than for affection.  More
than that, I demand of a man respect, intelligence, patience,
understanding, romance and the possibility of love.  The rest do not merit
my serious attention.

   The 16-Year-Old Boy and I liked occasionally to arrange nude dance
parties for kids of our house and for likeminded families and communes in
the area, including those from the first house Mom and I had lived in. 
There is nothing sexier or happier than nude dancing: in fast dancing the
view of a partner's swift sexiness and in slow dancing the pressing of two
bodies' most sensitive and sexy parts.  To dance closely with a boy with
his penis in maximum erection is a delight and a promise of ecstasy soon.
To press your breasts against his chest and to feel his arousal is
precious. To move your hands to his buttocks and to press his penis and his
testicles to your vaginal area as a sign of approval and of love is bound
to leave you both breathless and eager.  Nude dancing is participation
sport and exhibition and display of love.  Sex in open sight among
likeminded youngsters is a common expression of common love and common
delight.  For us as organizers, the knowledge that virtually everyone will
end up having fun and having sex is exciting and arousing.  I have always
felt that mutual oral sex -- the soixante-neuf of French lore -- is the
ultimate show of love of body and soul, irresistible to the viewer as well
as the participant.  That's why The 16-Year-Old Boy and I would often try
to stimulate and arouse by doing that early in the evening, when guests had
already been dancing a while, were susceptible to being aroused, and the
ice needed to be broken.  I have never liked pornography, and in fact when
I am watching a couple having sex, it is their faces that I like most to
watch, not their genitals.  I love to see the amazement on a boy's face, in
his eyes, as he realizes he is about to ejaculate, or a girl as she feels
the satisfaction of her own orgasm and that of her lover.  For a girl to
expose and entrust her most sensitive parts to the mouth of a boy and to
the vision of bystanders is a dramatic event.  And of course it will almost
always bring her to fabulous orgasm, as long as the boy doesn't lose
concentration and cadence.

   In my diary I wrote of a nude party that we arranged for close friends
and friends of friends.  There had been a lot of close dancing and the
atmosphere was electric.  I was with The 16-Year-Old Boy.  He had an
erection that had lasted forever.  In a break in the music I grasped it,
and I fondled his scrotum, teasing him.  He played with my breasts, tickled
my big nipples.  He put his mouth to mine and we kissed deeply and
romantically.  We knew what we had to do next in order to satisfy our
mutual itch and to make us feel happy and satisfied.  We tugged each other
to the floor and I moved on top of him with my vagina over his face and I
took his penis in my mouth.  I rubbed his balls with my hand and at the
same time I felt The 16-Year-Old Boy's tongue begin to stroke my vulva, my
labia, my vagina, my clitoris, his saliva lubricating them.  I felt his
lips massaging all my pink parts.  I tried not to be so distracted as to
break the regularity of the strokes of my mouth on his penis.  Even so, I
could not help glancing at two bystanders who were watching us closely.  A
young, big-breasted girl stood near my head, leaning over, her date behind
her, his penis fully erect.  Whether the evident arousal of the date of The
Big-Breasted Girl was from watching us or from fondling her, or from both,
I couldn't know.  He was caressing now her breasts, now her vagina, running
his hand around her nipples, cupping her breasts, then down to her vulva
and along its crack.  Her inner labia were visible as he pushed his finger
inside and sought her clitoris.  The Big-Breasted Girl herself was
following our moves, obviously interested, apparently ignoring the boy who
was trying to excite her.  Still, she was becoming increasingly aroused
herself; her vagina opened to his fingers and her nipples heaved in time to
her hard breathing.  Yet she seemed apprehensive, unsure, unaccustomed. 
Her eyes expressed doubt.  I wondered what she was thinking.

   I went back to the job at hand, trying to concentrate on my own climax
while keeping up a steady pace with my lips and tongue on The 16-YearOld
Boy's penis.  The 16-Year-Old Boy had his tongue as deeply as it would go
into my vagina, and he then flicked the tip of his tongue against my
clitoris, ran it around my vaginal opening, drew all the soft parts into
his mouth to suck on them.  I felt orgasm coming on.  I tried to rush The
16-Year-Old Boy to ejaculation but this time he lagged behind me.  I had
tried not to be distracted by my cascading pleasure but perhaps I had
broken step rather than maintaining a steady pace on his penis.  As it was
I was tingling everywhere, shivering although the room was warm.  Now that
I was giving The 16Year-Old Boy's penis my undivided attention and his
ejaculation should not be far away.  Indeed, in just a couple of minutes
more The 16-YearOld Boy came.  I felt a rush of semen up and out of his
penis, waves of liquid spurting against the back of my mouth, filling it
up. I tasted and savored and loved and swallowed it.  I wanted anyone
watching to see how much I loved it and loved him.  As so often, I allowed
some semen to come out of the corner of my mouth, to roll down his penis,
scrotum and leg, I looked up, smiling at the watching couple, at the
Big-Breasted Girl.  I got up, breathless from my efforts, and spoke to her.
She was 13 and had never had sex before.  Her eyes moved to my vulva, to
where there was a wetness of saliva and the hair was matted.  They moved to
my face, where there was still a trail of semen.  I wiped it away with my
hand and smiled, maybe a bit too sheepishly.

   The Big-Breasted Girl obviously loved her date and wanted to please him.
She wanted to do as I had done.  She was eager to begin having sex but she
was apprehensive.  I told her to be calm and warned her that her first time
might be disappointing but that it should not be painful.  I got her some
contraceptive foam and helped her insert it.  I got her a pillow.  I urged
her to relax.  I told her date what he had to do: that he should kiss and
lubricate her vagina as The 16-Year-Old Boy had done to mine.  After a
slight hesitation, he went to work.  He kissed and sucked and massaged her
vaginal opening, perhaps a bit too aggressively.  When she seemed ready for
him to proceed, when the state of her vagina showed arousal, I told him he
should embrace and kiss her and to try to make her less tense.  He did so,
but now his pulsating erect penis was positioned above her vagina, stiff as
could be, glistening, ready to move downwards.  His breathing and his eyes
suggested an inability to restrain himself any longer.  His penis, poised
for entry, was gorgeous: circumcised, shiny, smooth, just a tiny drop of
liquid at its tip.  The boy held it with two fingers and pointed it where
he thought it should go; then he lowered his hips.  The girl cried out
weakly.  He had hit the wrong place.  I reassured them.  I have a vision of
putting a bit of my saliva on the end of his penis with my fingers and then
guiding the penis to its destination as he again thrust his lower body
downwards.  There was an electric moment, one of realized anticipation.  As
the penis entered her vagina, the girl moaned slightly.  Perhaps she had
felt her hymen rupture.  Then she smiled.  Her date seemed to gain in
confidence, and he began moving his penis in and out with a steady cadence.
He lifted himself by his elbows and looked down, as if to reassure himself
that his penis was indeed in her vagina, and that he was truly having sex.
He looked back up, gratified; his eyes met hers; they gazed at each other
intently.

   He moved one hand to caress her breasts, circling her nipples, then
resumed his thrusts.  I continued watching him as his expression turned
incredulous: I think he was finding it hard to believe the sensations his
penis was bringing him, that this girl was giving herself to him, that
there could exist such an experience of escalating pleasure building upon
itself.  Then, it seems, he began feeling the approach of orgasm, he was
passing the point of no return.  His ejaculation began.  The girl felt it:
the spurting of semen that a woman senses but which is felt faintly enough
to leave room for doubt.  That is why a girl asks her boy if he has come
yet.  Her boy sat up beside her, some of his semen leaking out of her
vagina onto the pillow.  He gazed wondrously at it, looked up at her face,
then back at her vagina; touched it and felt its slipperiness, tested it
with his finger.  She took his finger and put it in her mouth, then,
playfully, to his lips.  He kissed the girl passionately, hugged her,
fondled her breasts again.  I told the girl to play with his penis, to
familiarize herself with it, to make it her friend, to put it in her mouth
if she liked.  I told him to masturbate her to climax or maybe to use his
tongue for that, and always to think of his girl as well as himself.  I
told him how lucky he was to have her.  Then I went back to our other
guests.  I don't know if he did what I told him to or not; and as it
happens I never saw the couple again.  I hope they were happy.  I'm sure
they were.  They had made a beautiful couple and they had made beautiful
young sex.  I will always remember the sight of his ready penis,
glistening, throbbing, promising joy to two youngsters.  I will remember
the Big-Breasted Girl's eagerness to please and to be pleased.  I will
always remember how the penis was guided into her vagina and how she sighed
and how she moaned and how she loved.  I will remember the quite different
beauty of his penis as, once satisfied, it emerged from her vagina leaving
a trail of semen behind.  I will remember the pleasure the act gave to them
both and to me and anyone else who had cared to watch.  Both the concept
and the sight are beautiful, and those who would interfere with its
consummation are misguided.  Sex is a repeatable joy, a renewable resource,
that with precautions and with maintenance of control by the female means
only love and the promise and more love.

   Others at the party had seemed impressed both with my earlier
demonstration of oral sex and with the advice and help I had given to the
new couple.  The Big-Breasted Girl and her partner obviously were not from
a COG or any openly sexy family; somebody had invited them.  Their first
sex experience would affect their approach to sex for a long time, perhaps
forever.  I was happy that it went well.  One doesn't expect to spend the
rest of one's life with one's first love, but a bad first relationship can
be devastating.  There is nothing worse than an ignorant, arrogant boy; and
no girl should ever think she has to settle for one.  With luck, each
should be better than the one before, and each sexual experience too.  A
girl shouldn't look back; and she shouldn't want to or have to.  Recently I
ran into The 16-Year-Old Boy on a visit to Our Town to visit Mom, who
hasn't been well.  He asked me to share a drink.  A few minutes spent with
him reminded me why I'll never go to a school reunion.  Thomas Wolfe wrote
"You Can't Go Home Again", and the title is apt for me, and not just
because I've written these stories.  I've grown out of Our Town and the
people I knew.  The 16-Year-Old Boy, now 24 years old, is an air
conditioning and refrigeration salesman.  He wanted to talk about Freon 12
and how the Russian Mafia is involved in smuggling and re-labeling.  He
didn't want to talk about poetry, George Eliot or Gilbert and Sullivan.  He
wanted to explain to me how a gas-fired refrigerator works.  Actually, I'd
like to know how it works, only just not from him.  I'll look it up in the
encyclopedia, or on Google, or maybe someone will write in to explain it.
My tastes in boys has changed since I went off to college.

  
<http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/
37604>

   The problem is that boring and ignorant men don't know how boring and
ignorant they are.  So many think that just because they possess a penis
they own the highway to a girl's heart.  I say to them: "Get a life!"
Worse, a girl dares not be kind to a hopeless loser for fear he get the
wrong impression.  Such men can become stalkers.  A man who is cultured
(but preferably not famous or too rich, because that breeds arrogance, lack
of compassion and, usually, unconcern with his girl's happiness and sexual
satisfaction) is probably good in bed.  He's worth a try, anyway.

   Arranging and contriving partners for "mixers" for young- and preteens
is not easy.  We had to reach out, but with some care and concern for
discretion, to other like-minded families and groups; but the number of
trusted families was limited.  Neither Mom nor Mom's Friend ever tolerated
incest or abuse, and they included in their ban adultchild relationships or
any age gap of over, say, three years as presumptively abusive.  I had
mentioned the Terrific Girl who had attended, with the Older Girl, my
nighttime experiment to see if I could bring a boy orally to ejaculation in
his sleep.  At my signal, she and the older girl had disrobed in the
background, their silhouettes beautiful in the moonlight.  That was in
winter.  The Terrific Girl, then aged 10 or so, was the daughter of the
boyfriend of Mom's Friend, a man who worked as consultant to major
companies and was away a lot.  He had to entrust her to us when he was
away, and the Older Girl became her confidante.  Months later, The Terrific
Girl, her breasts now clearly formed but still small, her hips and curves
still growing, had a romantic character and wanted to attract boys but none
of the local kids suited her.  We set up a swimming party for her, a dozen
kids in the backyard of a house out in the country.  The Older Girl drove
us there.  It was an aboveground pool, with a couple of poolside tables
with umbrellas and chairs on a patio and several chaises longues in the
area of the pool itself.

   Introductions and the first minutes were the usual awkward stuff at that
age.  Some kids were more comfortable than others with disrobing
spontaneously in unknown surroundings, but eventually we were all in the
pool naked.  The Older Girl and her boyfriend had done the pairing off of
those not already in relationships.  She arranged some icebreaking games in
the pool, which was a good idea because it involved a lot of touching and
incidental sex contact and arousal.  After a while she called us out for
barbecued hot dogs and pitchers of sangria.  This gave us a chance for a
closer and more complete look at each other; the sangria made us a bit
mellower.  I thought I should do something to make the scene a bit sexier.
I was still 14, talking to a boy about the same age.  The 16-Year-Old Boy
had not yet arrived at our house and I was unattached and paired with a boy
I had not seen before and who, as it happens, I would never see again.  We
were seated at one of the tables, in plastic chairs, facing each other.  My
legs were apart while I talked to the boy; he was looking not at my eyes
but at the pink parts in between my legs.  If he was going to be that rude,
I would do the same: I stared at his penis.  It was kind of funny, its
round head wider than the rest of it.  When erect it would have something
of a mushroom appearance.  He made an excuse for his staring, saying he
wanted to see something.  I didn't particularly mind; this was, I thought,
a new kind of come-on line, lame and crude maybe but there's nothing
unusual about that.  More as a matter of duty than out of any particular
attraction to this boy, and because I was feeling good and the sight of
other couples fondling each other was making me feel sexy, I accepted the
boy's gropes.  Surprisingly, since even then I was perfectly capable of
saying no if things weren't perfect, I let things proceed, but subject to
my own conditions.  Even by that age I had determined to refuse sex if a
boy did not propose to include kissing and licking my vagina as part of
foreplay, Anyway, I wound up seated on the edge of a table with my legs
wide apart and he was licking my vagina.  Then, I think even before I was
really ready he was standing up, mounted I think on a cinder block, but
anyway elevated to the extent needed to get his penis at the correct
height. His held his erect penis and moved his body in my direction.  He
looked around to see if anyone was watching, perhaps hoping for a large
audience.  The head of his penis made contact with my vagina; then he
pushed it home.  He would move back, pulling his penis out of me so that
the crown of its tip was visible, then push it back in.  He didn't look me
in the eyes; instead he watched his own penis, and fondled and massaged my
genitals awkwardly with his fingers.  It was a curious sex, and strangely I
started to lose interest in midstream and just wish it were over.  In due
course, he ejaculated and his penis exited my vagina, leaving a trail of
semen on me and on the table.  I don't think I spoke much to that boy for
rest of the afternoon and I don't even remember his name.  And as I said, I
never saw him again.  But at least the ice had been broken.  Perhaps some
of the other kids were inspired to prove they could do it better, and
that's why they started to embrace and have sex.  The day was certainly not
spoiled for me; only my own sex event was below expectations.  The purpose
of the event was, after all, to honor The Terrific Girl.

   The Terrific Girl had seen me on the table and apparently she confirmed
in her own mind what she wanted to do and, just as likely, what she didn't
want to do.  I'm not sure if she appreciated my own disappointment because
I think I had hidden it as well as I could under the circumstances.  I
didn't fake an orgasm -- I never do that -- but I did smile and stay
cheerful.  After all, there will always be another chance for orgasm and I
have lots of self-confidence and selfesteem.  The Terrific Girl was sitting
in a chaise longue with her legs over the edge of the long part, and her
arranged partner was seated opposite her at the end; they were talking
about nothing in particular.  Anyway she couldn't remember later what they
might have talked about.  But under the circumstances her attentions must
have been elsewhere.  She knew that in our environment, protocol allowed
her to take the initiative with a boy's penis if she felt like it; but
today she wanted to be more traditional even if she and the boy were
already naked and together.  The Boy moved close and dared to kiss her.  He
must have been around 12 years old, not finished with puberty himself, his
penis not fully grown but with a good growth of hair around its base, and
his voice was just breaking.  Soon the boy was fondling The Terrific Girl's
diminutive breasts and making her smile; then he had one hand at her
vagina. They were kissing passionately.  The Terrific Girl showed her
approval by grasping and stroking her boy's stiff penis.  The Older Girl
had suggested that she start with oral sex -- either for its own sake or to
make vaginal entry easier and perhaps painless.  She had said, correctly,
that oral sex avoids some of the stress of the first physical relationship.
Brought up to think of sex as wholesome and sex parts as beautiful, we were
all spared the trauma of those who have to overcome an indoctrinated
repellence or a presumption of dirtiness.  Anyhow, whether because he had
been told in advance to do it, or because Terrific Girl guided his head
there, or as a spontaneous act of his own her boy had slid Terrific Girl's
hips a bit down the chair and his mouth was over her vagina, kissing and
wetting it.  Terrific Girl was running her fingers through his hair as she
felt the wondrous sensations his tongue was causing; every so often he
would look up at her.  She gazed lovingly at him.  Her experience was
clearly better than mine that day.  Her boy moved his body upwards to
release his big-small penis from its confinement.  He took a sip of
sangria. When he rose from the chair Terrific Girl could better see his
state of excitement, his penis standing straight up, straining, pulsating.
She leaned over and grasped it, ran her hand around his testicles, looked
him in the eye.  Then, wordlessly, she put her mouth to the penis, kissed
it and ran her tongue over its tip, licked it and moistened the glans with
her lips.  She looked at him in the face again and nodded: she was ready.
She lay back, and as she did so she pulled the boy up by his armpits,
positioning him exactly so his penis met her vagina.  Her legs were wide
apart her calves bent over the edges of the chair.  Very wet and dilated,
her vagina, if still less than mature was very ready for that penis to
enter it.  She guided it on its way.  The Terrific Girl was panting and
expectant; her face showed love and anticipation.  Then the penis was
inside her, her hymen had given way and the two youngsters were having sex.
If there had been any pain, The Terrific Girl did not show it.  She wanted
to get on with it.  She lay her hands on the boy's buttocks as he rode her,
up and down, in and out.  She smiled, almost laughed, gazing in the boy's
eyes.  She kissed him passionately.  She moved her hands to his penis,
grasped his testicles and held them as the boy continued his movement.  The
boy ejaculated and I could see semen seeping out of The Terrific Girl's
vagina; but he did not stop his thrusts yet.  He waited until The Terrific
Girl signed deeply and signaled that she had had enough.  Later she said
that she'd had a rush of pleasure and wasn't entirely sure whether it was
an orgasm or not, but she'd loved it.  And, indeed, she would tell us in
later weeks and months that she'd found sex better each time, that she'd
learned what to expect and what to demand of a boy.  And that, for a girl,
some girls anyway and her in particular, orgasm is a subjective thing and
ecstasy is relative.

   When her boy had pulled his penis out of her, The Terrific Girl explored
it closely.  She touched its tip with her finger; making a spider-web
string out of the few drops of semen still there.  She licked the glans,
sucked it into her mouth and tasted that trace of semen.  Her tongue danced
over it: I could see her tongue break through her lips every so often as it
stroked the penis and as she breathed inwards through her mouth.  After a
while, removing it from her mouth, she told the boy to play with her some
more: she wanted more afterplay.  He spent long minutes fondling her
breasts and her vagina, labia, clitoris, outer vulva.  He moved his head
down and began licking her clitoral area again until she told him to stop.
For the rest of the afternoon they exchanged deep, knowing smiles, even as
they played with the others in the swimming pool or chatted over more
sangria.  Most everybody else had been engaged in something or other
without attracting the attention of anybody, but Terrific Girl had
attracted everybody's attention with her romantic demeanor and her innocent
love.  She had also got what she wanted, something she had determined to
have since the previous winter when she had watched me at midnight as I
pulled off the sheets and opened the pajamas of that sleeping boy to put
his growing penis in my mouth and bring him to ejaculation while he
half-slept.  She had wanted to join the rest of us in making physical and
emotional romance and joy and love a part of our daily lives.  She wanted
to enjoy, as her peers did, close relationships with boys.  She wanted to
make magic with a boy's penis, to feel it inside her, to make it give up
its semen to her.  She wanted to explore herself and to explore life.  She
didn't want to wait forever to enjoy those things.  But she had needed to
ready herself for the event.  She wanted it to be super, for her and for
her boy.  She is a terrific girl.  She will have a life of satisfying sex
and rewarding love.

   My childhood stories relate to a time now passed, to the growth and
adolescence of the daughter of a child of the 60s.  The risk of AIDS, the
new fixation with pedophilia and child abuse, redefined to as to include
parental openness and sex education by demonstration, have made a
continuance of our type of living risky, even impossible.  Denunciation by
Nosey Parkers, as I have discussed in previous memoirs, is a constant risk
for those who would stray from the mainstream.  Even innocent photographs
could become damning evidence, and although I have never been one to take
pictures of people in a state of undress, the knowledge of prosecutions
elsewhere based on family snapshots and computer files is chilling.  The
problem is that the State has been unable to define in any sensible way the
crime it seeks to prosecute so that intent or reckless disregard in matters
of harm to children have not become its true criteria as they should be. 
The "welfare of the child" is, correctly, nearly universal legal measure of
the Court's concern but that measure has failed to be applied coherently in
practice.  Rather, the spiteful and the too-clever have misapplied and
abused that criterion and successfully alleged unproved and unprovable
"facts" which, based on the cry "believe the children" become taken as
proved "beyond a reasonable doubt" even when what the children say may have
been taught them by rote by ignorant and spiteful campaigners with a
private agenda and a warped notion of human rights.

   David Berg is dead.  It is hard to know whether, as Mom and her friends
once thought, he was ever holy, just and reasonable, and whether it was
under pressure of others or in aged decadence that COG principles came to
be abused and warped.  For all I know, for I never met him, he may have
gone mad, like King George III; but even if this is so his Church, his
Family, cleaned up their act before I entered the scene, as courts have
found.  Anyway, Mom had left the Church by 1981 and lived with others who
like her kept only those religious and sexual precepts they found good and
just and wholesome.  In our first house, in the country, we were naked
almost all the time.  On the houseboat, where I lived just with Mom, I was
introduced to conventional dress and public behavior.

  
<http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/
37597>

   Our second house, owned by Mom's Friend, was at the edge of Our Town,
near enough to neighbors so that we had to be discreet.  But we lived our
lives the way we wanted behind closed doors and shutters.  Only when I went
away for my last two years of college did I have to learn to adhere to a
code of relative conventionality.  When I lived at home conventionality was
just for school and street.  Today I am left to wonder if we, children of
that life, are not all becoming mainstream and conventional by force of
circumstances.  We have to go to work, we look for good-paying jobs; most
of us presumably want to find partners, to settle down and raise families.
It remains to be seen how we all bring up our own kids.  I suspect it will
be free in spirit, with as much education and demonstration as we dare, but
focusing always on the line the social engineers want to enforce lest they
find excuse to intervene.

   The nude dance party I described above was a success because it was
still possible then in the mid-90s to be free.  We did not use drugs; we
did not make excessive noise; the authorities would have been unlikely to
notice us then.  Today, I don't know: the authorities are more intrusive. I
have written above on attitudes to puberty, a time of transformation that
is one of the most basic wonders of human existence.  I found it wonderful,
reassuring and sexy to go through puberty naked with other girls and boys
and to touch and feel them and to be touched and felt.  I wanted my growing
breasts to be admired and I did not want to hide them.  I would not have
been satisfied with a naturist look-but-don't-touch philosophy.  Right
away, older adolescents invited me into their circle.  Boys would look at
me in a different light and want to be one with me.  I wanted to be admired
and wanted.  As soon as I gained confidence, I wanted to touch and feel and
taste boys, I wanted them to touch and feel and taste me, and I wanted to
know passion and romance.  I have always regretted that I cannot grasp a
penis, a scrotum, without this gesture immediately leading to sex, because
I would love to feel and to touch and to caress them just out of curiosity
and companionship.  I would like to enjoy contact with a penis out of
sensitivity and romance, with sex a possibility but not a foregone
conclusion.  But boys and men are not made that way.  I do love to see a
man whose penis is erect in hope and expectation ...  of me.  But since I
insist on the right to decide whom I shall have close to me and inside of
me, there is, I guess, inevitable unfairness there too.

   This is an essay on puberty.  There were at least a dozen pubescent
couples at the dance party, as well as many older teens.  I wrote of the
13-year-old Big-Breasted Girl who had her first sex after watching me with
The 16-Year-Old Boy.  Many other youngsters must have enjoyed sex at the
party, some maybe also for the first time.  We do not keep score; we are
there to help and advise if help and advice are wanted.  What is so lovely
is to see the outpouring of affection and the reassurance that comes from
knowing that there is so much love about, and that the proximity of others
makes that love safe.  Imagine a party of youngsters where close touching
and passionate kissing is constant, and the touching and caressing includes
sex.  Erections and sex are the highlight of the party, not something
hidden in dark rooms.  It is only natural that boys and girls dancing
closely should want to take off their clothes and to have their bodies
connect.  The electricity of sex may take control, but it's a natural and
lovely control.  Girls and boys could see their peers in a state of
ecstasy. These youngsters were the product of the same background of
freedom and encouragement I enjoyed, had the same sort of parent who
welcomed a child attending her act of love and took the trouble to show
that it was pleasurable and sacred, without embarrassment, shame or sin. 
My Mom had always been so happy after sex, had always been ready to show
off her man's penis as the instrument of her happiness and the semen
flowing from her own vagina as the product of that happiness.  She never
closed the door to my view of her taking her man's penis into her vagina or
her mouth because she was proud of her ability to please and to be pleased.
I wanted to copy her, and I did.  I wanted to experience her ecstasy and I
have and I do.  I wish the same for every girl.  Law and policy in some
places recognizes a "right" to sex, at least in some circumstances.  In the
United States "loss of consortium" seems only to constitute a right of
action for a married man.  In Holland, the age for sex is 12 and the
national health service affords handicapped men visits by professional sex
workers.  In England, the age of consent is sixteen but nobody gets
prosecuted for earlier sex.  Under Canon law the age of sex -- of marriage
-- is 12 for girls, 14 for boys.

   <http://membres.lycos.fr/numa/major.html>

   Many prison systems abroad allow conjugal visits.  Only the right of the
adult-minded minor is compromised; the long-term damage of that, in fear,
shame, ignorance, pregnancy and disease are immeasurable.  The purpose of
these memoirs is to make that point, and not to titillate.  No doubt the
Authorities would use these stories in a quite different manner.

   I am sure that our pre-teens and teens had a better time than their
outside friends who went to parties where there were clothes and chaperones
and frustrated urges.  Our children were taught respect of body, mind and
person.  I know of no unwanted groping in our house.  Nobody I know was
ever raped.  I know of no unwanted sex nor any sex act that a participant
found unpleasant.  Of course "unwanted" is relative, isn't it: deception
and seduction are common currency among clothed as well as nude people. 
And people make wrong choices under influence of drink, or passion, or
stupidity, or plain bad judgment.  Girls sometimes felt sorry for a boy
with an unrequited erection, but they needn't have and shouldn't have.  As
far as I am concerned a boy can always masturbate his tension away, or he
can find some other girl.  As for the party, if a girl accepts a date to a
nude party she must have some idea of the likely outcome.  I know there
were a couple of guests from outside the scope of our free circle; but they
would surely have walked out the door if deceived or disappointed, and they
never did.  Most couples seemed to follow our lead and engage in oral sex.
It was just a very sexy evening and a great way to grow up.  If early sex
is satisfying and happy, that satisfaction and happiness should continue
forever, throughout life.  I am appalled that the issue of "swallow or
spit" should be so much spoken of; in fact I am appalled that it should
even arise because I find semen such a happy medium for exchange of
emotion, passion, love.  But I concede that what others do consensually or
decline to do as a matter of preference is none of my business.  To have
aroused a man and made his penis erect with the promise of love, and to
deliver that love and receive that semen in return is the ultimate measure
of devotion.  But it is a debt owed to no man: the man must earn and
deserve it, he must promise and deliver on those promises; he must merit
that specific girl out of culture and interest and knowledge and respect
and tenderness and love.

   I have written of the past.  My present is different.  Whatever reason
it may give for regret, I shall have other opportunities.  I have moved to
the Capital City.  I have been to New York and to Paris in the first six
weeks of my new job.  (I was in France for a 3-day conference!  And I met a
girl from our London office who invited me to stay with her for my next
vacation!!  How lucky can I get???) I am taken out to fine restaurants and
I meet men who, as I said in an earlier story, have no straw behind their
ears and who can converse on cultural matters, on reasoned politics and
economics, on philosophy.  I will, in principle, no longer have sex on the
first date because now I want to know my man better first and these are
risky times; but I still have fun and I have sex.  I have stored up the
lessons of my childhood and my adolescence.  While I see no way to offer
the same opportunities to any family I may have, I can at least offer the
openness and the tolerance; invite the enjoyment and the self-expression. I
hope for honesty and happiness, but the world and society are complex and
beyond my control.

   For those who may not have read my six prior memoirs: These collected
articles are personal vignettes, selected from diaries I kept over the
years, of my life with Mom, a woman who had been with the Children of God
and thereafter lived in two communities of mostly single parents who had
similar backgrounds and briefly alone with me on a houseboat.  The memoirs
have the political aim of showing how open and free sex enriched our lives.
Events as portrayed are somewhat stylized (obviously, since I was a child,
was not taking detailed notes, and can only remember the most personal
details of sex in which I personally participated) and compressed in time.
We did not have sex all the time, every day.  We played games, went to
school, did our homework, went shopping at the mall, had outside
activities, got sick and got better; and we actually wore clothes much of
the time, especially when we were cold.  I love sex, but I also love other
things, like good food, a nice bottle of Bourgogne AligotŽ, playing piano,
listening to Mozart, looking at a Dégas, hiking in the mountains, canoeing
on a lake, going to the films or an opera and going to work at a great job.
This is why I find Our Town so confining now.

   Most of the adults at our house went out to jobs of one sort or another.
They were not always having sex, whatever contrary impression my memoirs
may give.  Indeed, except for those in serious relationships, they perhaps
had sex even less often than the general population because we were
somewhat isolated by our lifestyle and adults and children both had to keep
the facts of that lifestyle a secret from outsiders.  In my memoirs I don't
much talk about the activities of the adults because as kids we weren't
paying close attention; we saw them usually out of the corner of an eye. 
We heard them when they told us what to do and what not to do.  Kids or
adults who didn't fit in to the sexy lifestyle did not stay long; but there
were few of those because who would come to live with us in the first place
who did not agree with our philosophy of life?  I don't dwell on the
internal frictions and politics of communal life either because that is not
the point of the memoirs.  I do not know for sure if I will publish further
installments, first because now that I have a great job I don't have the
time, and second because much of the content of my diaries is boring -- the
usual kid stuff complaining about boys who won't pay attention and girls
who are being mean -- and I am running out of material.  But I do hope
eventually to record more of the views of others, chiefly my childhood
girlfriends, if I can interview them with that in mind.  Anyway, watch this
space: I am hoping to invite a group of girlfriends from Our Town over to
my apartment in the Capital City for a long weekend of talking over old
times, and maybe we can, together, find suitable reminiscences.  Some day,
I still hope to write my life story, the story of the child of a child of
the 60s, with the accounts of my sex life as only one aspect.  When that
happens, you will know that you read it first here.  And you thought the
account of my life and loves was good, you can tell me by buying my book
... or seeing it on the screen 'cause it's sure to be a major motion
picture!  By the standards of Catherine Millet, my life has been a tame
one. ("Her memoir details her sex life, from masturbation as a child to an
adulthood where she was propelled by a predilection for group sex."

  
<http://books.guardian.co.uk/departments/biography/story/0,6000,718044,00.h
tml>)

   I also want to write a few further essays, in the immediate future ones
on the feminine and feminist perspectives of oral sex and virginity,
respectively.

   I have railed against confusing with pedophilia and child abuse open and
free sexuality in front of the children and tolerance and encouragement of
innocent, natural behavior.  The New York Times recently had an article
that clarifies the issue of what is pedophilia and who are the abusers.  I
commend that article to you, "Who Would Abduct a Child?  Previous Cases
Offer Clues", Aug.  27,

   2002:<http://www.nytimes.com/2002/08/27/health/psychology/27CHIL.html>

   On a further, personal, note, as I wrote above in connection with the
excited demonstration by the boy and girl of what they'd learned from me
and how they had started a happy sex life together, I was recently back in
Our Town.  Mom has been unwell, and Mom's Friend told me to come.  She said
Mom would not be getting better, and probably could never go back to work,
but that she would see that she's cared for and that she could stay with
her indefinitely for free.  When Mom's COBRA runs out she can probably get
Medicaid.  She may get SSDI when her sick pay runs out and she could get
Medicare two years after that if she lives that long.  Mom's Friend also
wanted to tell me that years ago she'd made Mom buy life insurance to pay
for my college tuition if she'd died, and that the policy was still in
force and I was the beneficiary, so that after Mom dies there will be
enough money for me to use as a down payment to buy a nice apartment in the
Capital City.  It was really so sad and I am devastated.  If I did not have
Mom's Friend to lean on I would be in despair.  I know there are those who
would say that Mom's Friend, and all of us as well, have harmed children
and "endangered their morals".  But they are wrong on their Victorian,
straitlaced rules for bringing up children, and they are wrong about Mom's
Friend.  My great regret is that Mom will not live to see me have a family,
and will never see any of her grandchildren.  I didn't talk to Mom about
any of this, and I don't even know how much she is aware of the situation.
I know, however, that she would never be bitter and that she has no
regrets, even over her early choices with respect to the COG.  After all,
if it weren't for her flirty liaisons with the movers and shakers in
Washington all those years ago, I would never have been born.  I love her
and I love you too.

   Love, Carol

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