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From: Carol <cobillard@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Some thoughts on communal nudity and sex
Date: Wed, 16 Oct 2002 13:10:03 -0400
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Some thoughts on nudity and sex "in front of the children", and on nudity
and sex by the teen-agers in front of the rest of the family

   ----------------------------------------------------------------

   -- Recently, a Fort Worth man and woman were arrested for molesting
their children.  They had sex in front of the children -- a 17-year-old
boy, and 15-year-old and 13-year-old girls -- under the guise that they
were teaching the children about sex education. 
<http://www.trnonline.com/archives/1998archives/09271998/SEX_OFFE.html>

   -- Whose business is it anyway?  Whatever happened to a right of
privacy? What damage could have there been to the children?  Is my Mom at
risk of arrest for having had sex in front of me all my life?

   ----------------------------------------------------------------

   My nine previous contributions to this list completed what I wanted to
say about my childhood environment and my adolescent and adult sexuality
and interpersonal relationships -- and by the way about my hopes for my
future life.  I had not envisaged writing a further essay, but now find,
after reviewing some comments by readers, that there are issues which
remain obscure.  I am reminded of a book Mom owns, written long ago by Dr.
Eugene Schoenfeld who wrote medical advice columns, often about sex, for
readers of the underground press (the Berkeley Barb, etc.) in the 60s under
the name "Dr.  HIPpocrates".  After a while, he wrote, the queries got
repetitive: he'd said all he had to say, and it was time to quit.  I cannot
reply to messages individually, so I thought I would write a further essay
specifically about nudity and about "public" sex within the family.  I
think these latter two elements of my growing up contributed so enormously
to my sexual well being that I consider it a pity that they are apparently
unsustainable in open society and in the face of the social engineers,
control freaks and hypocrites who regulate the private lives of American
families and children.  Readers should be aware of the content of my prior
postings (thus: that Mom and her friends loved shared nudity and, proud of
the humanity of sex and its essential contribution to personality, saw to
it that their children could, if they wanted, observe sex and love and,
once at puberty, had the opportunity to enjoy safe sex with their peers).
Mom had left Moses David's Children of God after some years of "flirty
fishing" in Washington, out of which I was born.  She accepted some, and
rejected other, commands of David Berg and she reconstituted her, and my,
lives accordingly.  Many of the "Mo Letter" commands would affect us
forever, not least his predilection for oral sex.  Others we ignored,
including his ban on birth control; and certainly those of his debauched
last years -- by which time Mom had been out of the COG for more than a
decade anyway.  (Among the latter was a change in COG rules that would
allow the taking of money in exchange for sex, something that horrified Mom
and horrifies me.)

   In our homes many younger girls preferred oral sex as somehow safer and
less intrusive.  Indeed, a few who came to stay with us in adolescence saw
some relevance to an argument that oral sex is somehow not sex.  To me
there is no relevance at all, since I reject any meaning to the concept of
virginity.  <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/38266> That, as I have written
before, is even truer today.  For the rest, one has to wonder whether the
ubiquitousness of public "almost-sex" and "quasi-sex" in the movies and on
TV will in due course leading society to tolerate and encourage greater
public (or family) nudity and non-private sex notwithstanding contrary laws
and governmental hysteria trying to equate them to child abuse and
pedophilia.

   Reminiscing over the circumstances of my early environment and
upbringing I've long remarked on how nakedness and lack of inhibitions over
sex affect our sex lives and interpersonal relationships.  After all, it is
said -- but I can't attest to the truth of it -- that in naturist
communities nude people and couples contrive or affect to deny or obscure
the sexual element of their views of and attitudes towards each other. 
Presumably they do not stare, and somehow they avoid arousal.  I wouldn't
know, since the opposite was encouraged in our homes and communities --
within the rules against abuse, coercion and inter-generational or
incestuous relationships that I earlier have mentioned.  In practice, in
our communities, adults -- that is, anyone of 20 or so or older -- and
adolescents kept within their own groups.  Which is not to say that they
abstained from public display of affection, or of sex, or hid an erection
or would be embarrassed by ejaculation in the presence of anyone else, but
rather that, quite naturally, each preferred the company and conversation
-- and music -- of its own kind.  Still, one couldn't be blind to the fact
that the sight of a couple in deep embrace and high arousal followed by
penis in mouth or vagina is bound to stimulate others -- of whatever age --
to similar thoughts and activity.

   I devoted numerous entries in my diary to a boy who came to one of our
dance parties that happened to coincide with a visit his father made to Mom
at our house.  His parents had, apparently, an open marriage.  I'm not sure
exactly what "open" meant in that context, but I know that his parents
divorced eventually.  The boy and I were about 12.  We were close dancing;
the environment was already electric.  He had an erection: his growing
penis was as taut as could be and pressed against my body as we moved.  A
visible erection was, in our home, a cause for celebration and not for
embarrassment.  When I had a relationship with a boy I loved nothing better
than to observe his penis, to fondle it, to love it.  Even when I was not
interested in the boy I enjoyed watching his penis from a distance.  Having
seen from infancy how the penis joins boy and girl in happiness I saw it as
something to treasure, to caress, to keep close to me.  Oral sex seemed the
most natural thing and even as a little girl I never doubted that once I
was ready for sex, I would happily kiss and caress my date's penis with my
mouth.

   By the time I was 11 years old I had already experimented, and I have
written previously how I masturbated a boy to ejaculation and wondered at
the semen which had flowed from the tip of his penis.  And how I lost my
unwanted virginity in a casual tumble during horseplay, while our adults
looked on and smiled.  And how I proceeded to have such a lovely sex life,
and came to love oral sex exactly as I had known I would and how Mom did,
and to love the taste and texture of boys' semen.  But my boy had to love
my vagina equally, and he had to make me shiver with excitement and with
orgasm, and he had to look after me with passion and care and love.

   Now, at this party, my partner and I continued dancing with his stiff
smallish-but-getting-bigger penis against my vulva.  We held each other's
buttocks as we moved, so that we wouldn't separate.  Meanwhile, I wondered,
naīve that I was in such matters, whether it wasn't possible to dance with
his penis in my vagina.  As it happens, it's generally unsatisfactory to
try challenging sex positions with a smaller penis and although it's
obviously possible to have sex standing up, as in a telephone booth or
airline lavatory, I don't know that anyone can dance that way.  If I'm
wrong and there are people who can do it, I'm sure someone will write in
and tell me.  By the time I had realized that it would be an impossible
feat, Dance Party Boy's penis was quite limp and I was embarrassed and
regretful that I had put him through the effort.  I wanted to make it up to
him, and so I kneeled in front of him, rubbed his penis and scrotum with my
hand, and put his penis in my mouth to try to make it hard again.

   The damage had been done, however: he'd lost confidence and perhaps self
esteem.  Fortunately, most of the time oral sex can work successfully even
with a semi-soft penis.  I put the whole thing in my mouth and sucked on
it, running my tongue all over it, which brought it some semblance of
stiffness so that I could run my lips over it, moving my head back and
forth.  I did this very slowly, and held on to the base of his penis with
my fingers so that I could take it completely out of my mouth from time to
time to admire it and to give it a chance to fill up with blood.  I would
lick it around the head and underneath to stimulate the nerve endings, then
put it back in my mouth and press hard against it with my lips, continuing
the cadence.  It was taking a long time, and other couples stopped what
they were doing and watched us.  Right next to us was another, slightly
older, girl whose partner stood behind her, his penis hard against her
back. With one hand her partner was rubbing her breasts; his other hand was
on her crotch, his fingers strumming her clitoris and massaging her vaginal
area.  Slightly Older Girl had a dreamy appearance.  She must have been
dreaming of love; probably she was just waiting for the word to turn and
caress her own partner's penis with her lips.  Time would tell.

   Oral sex on a penis that goes on for longer than, say, ten minutes with
the girl on her knees can get tedious.  But I felt I had a big
responsibility towards this young boy, and anyway I was enjoying teaching
him something.  Besides admiring his lovely young penis, I had a lot to
think about, especially keeping him as stiff as possible.  So in the end
his ejaculation caught me by surprise, and his pubescent quantity of semen
started to drip out on my face.  I quickly put the penis back into my mouth
so I could capture the rest.  I loved the sensation, the consistency, the
taste.  But it was still a bit of a mess.  Since that time I have found
that in similar circumstances, many boys won't be able to reach orgasm at
all until the psychological barrier has been passed.  But on this occasion
Dance Party Boy succeeded in ejaculating.

   Their view of the event must have stimulated and aroused at least some
of the others.  Without much ado, Slightly Older Girl was on the floor with
her legs spread wide apart, her partner poised above her, and her partner's
penis was seeking her vaginal opening.  Every time I see this sight I am
overtaken with feeling: now I remember my dream of helping that gorgeous
penis find its way into 13-year-old Big Breasted Girl's virginal vagina at
another party.  When one sees a tense penis on the verge of entering a wet
vagina, one anticipates that first rush of pleasure in the joining of two
bodies and thinks of the final wrenching shivers of ecstasy that should
complete the event.  I think of how very soon warm white semen will spurt
out, testimony to the achievement of love.  I think of the next time I will
see a similar penis, attached to the boy I love and aimed at my own vagina
and that delightful moment of anticipation just before it enters me.  Now
and here, Slightly Older Girl and her boy were having sex, and I could see
the boy's penis from behind, traveling up and down, his testicles falling
against her body.  I could hear a faint sound from that penis passing along
the wet and lubricated channel.  The penis was working so purposefully, so
beautifully, and it really was a magnificent sight: her boy would thrust
all the way in, then pull out almost completely, revealing its crown.  Once
or twice it slipped out and Slightly Older Girl guided it back to its
place. Slightly Older Girl's partner had lifted his body up so he could
admire her breasts, and at the same time he and she were now able to watch
the movements of his penis, its trajectory in and out, as they felt the
itch of approaching orgasm.  She looked so happy; now it was his turn to
look dreamy.  She tried to play with his penis as it moved; then she put
her hands on her partner's buttocks to measure its pace and show her
approval.  He moved his upper body back down, looking her in the eyes.

   At that point I had to turn my attention back to the Dance Party Boy.  I
thought we'd dance some more, which we did.  His public orgasm had given
him back his confidence and after some time he had his erection back again.
I stroked his penis and smiled approvingly and I knew I wanted to have it
inside me.  So, we kissed, and I put his hand on my breast to encourage him
to caress me, and I sat on a sofa and spread my legs wide apart so he could
see inside, and I put his hand there and told him how to make me feel good.
Every so often I would run my hand softly up and down his penis, and it
stayed hard.  I knew that it was time, and I lay down on the floor the way
Slightly Older Girl had done and we had sex that way.  Dance Party Boy's
penis felt delightful and delicious inside me: I knew it was his first time
and that I had helped him grow up.  Others watching, kids and adults,
seemed to nod approvingly.  Everybody loves young lovers.

   It was soon after that party that Mom and I left the first house and
moved to the old houseboat.  Our life was to be led in a much more confined
space.  We had an unaccustomed privacy, but that wasn't entirely welcome:
we were not used to solitude.  The Dance Party Boy and his dad visited us
there a number of times.  At first it was felt strange for me to find Mom
undressing her boyfriend in front of me, although I don't know why this
should be since I'd seen it all happen before, albeit from a great distance
away.  So perhaps it was just the relatively confined space.  Anyway after
the first time, her actions seemed perfectly natural.  She would make an
event of unzipping and lowering her lover's pants.  She would smile at his
penis and she would put it to her mouth for a kiss.  She would use her
mouth and tongue to make it hard, and would caress and stroke it again and
again.  Her saliva would be all over it and it would shine.  By now it
would be fiercely erect, pulsating, bobbing if he moved.  She would admire
her handiwork; indeed I would be impressed as well.  Dance Party Boy's dad
would undress Mom: remove her bra, feel her big breasts, run his fingers
around her nipples.  When he had exposed her vulva he would kiss it; and
soon they would be having sex on the bed in front of us, more often than
not orally as Mom preferred.

   Meanwhile Dance Party Boy and I would be left to our own devices.  Our
parents were enjoying each other's body next to us on the bed; we knew we
were invited to emulate them.  Mom had always said that an opportunity for
sex passed up is an opportunity for ecstasy forever forgone ("sex passed up
is sex lost forever").  On the first occasion I let Dance Party Boy take
the initiative.  I didn't wear a bra: my top was soon off and Dance Party
Boy was kissing my big nipples.  I was feeling warm and sexy.  His hands
were under my waistband; then my pants were off, my vulva in front of him.
He spread its lips to peek inside, kissed my vaginal opening quickly after
I asked him to.  Then he kissed me deeply on the mouth.

   Our parents were already at sex.  I lowered Dance Party Boy's pants and
played with his penis and his balls.  They had grown in the months since
the dance party but were still so cute.  I loved them.  I dreamed of the
semen that would flow into me; I wanted to taste it, to swallow it.  As
readers will know by now, all my life I had been drawn to the thought of
semen as both source and consequence of adult joy.  Dance Party Boy's penis
was now so hard it seemed it would stay erect forever.  I wanted his dad
and my Mom to look at us, but they were busy together.  We had no
inhibitions; like our parents we felt free to express ourselves, to enjoy
the event.  And how wonderful it was to know our parents loved us and
approved, and wanted us to have every possible feeling and joy and
advantage.  How nice it was to be free to show our sex in front of them, to
have their approval at our most intimate moment.  By now Dance Party Boy's
dad's penis was well into Mom's mouth.  It was bright and beautiful and I
wondered briefly what it would be like to have a fully mature penis inside
me.  No matter: my time would come soon enough.

   I turned back to Dance Party Boy's penis and looked at it and fondled it
some more.  I wanted to study and admire it and kiss it to make it vibrate.
In my mouth it would feel good and strong.  My partner's fingers were at my
vagina, we were tugging at each other, and I turned around and brought him
on top of me.  His penis was in my mouth; my vulva in his.  My lips and
tongue undertook most of the work to stimulate and excite the head of his
penis.  I would want Dance Party Boy's tongue and lips to never let go of
my labia, to never stop stroking my clitoris.  His tongue must find its way
as deeply as possible into my vagina and feel around inside, and then
circle the circumference of its opening.  And he must kiss it and make me
feel wonderful.  I had told him this, and he complied.  His saliva was all
over me, and my vagina was dilated.  Should I have Dance Party Boy
ejaculate into my mouth or into my vagina?  What a wonderful choice.  I
pushed his hips up briefly so I could see the vista of his crotch.  It was
amazing, a miracle of creation.  I took his penis back into my mouth and
squeezed it with my lips.

   I looked over to the side.  By now Dance Party Boy's dad was tense and
Mom's mouth was working studiously on stimulating and exciting that big
penis right below it.  Mom would pull her mouth away and massage her
partner's scrotum; he would sigh, eager to continue, to finish.  She would
kiss the tip of his penis in a tease, and perhaps signal that her partner
should not forget her, should not lose cadence, should not abandon her in
his own search for orgasm.  She said something; I could not hear what. 
Dance Party Boy's dad resumed his work on her vulva and Mom put his penis
back in her mouth.  Suddenly there was a rush of liquid and semen was
everywhere: in her mouth and throat as Mom swallowed repeatedly, all over
the penis, on his scrotum, on the bed.  Mom smiled, her partner sighed
loudly.  Mom moved around and Dance Party Boy's dad slid onto the floor, or
deck rather, his mouth at Mom's vagina.  He would bring her to orgasm that
way.

   We had been interrupted by the excitement, and now we went back to work.
Our parents' movements and happiness had themselves and by themselves
excited me, and before I knew it, with Dance Party Boy's tongue flicking
across my clitoris, I was overtaken to a wave of energy and spasms of
climax.  It was weird and wonderful to be copying our parents, having sex
right next to them, especially oral sex.  It was super to feel that
absolute thrill of sexual stimulation and release under their tutelage.  I
asked Dance Party Boy how he would like to finish.  He didn't answer;
instead he brought his penis close to my mouth and guided it to my lips.  I
parted them, and as he brought his penis closer I kissed it and welcomed it
into my mouth.  We turned around so I was on top.  I would bring my mouth
backwards and forwards, up and down.  Meanwhile I stroked Dance Party Boy's
body, caressing his scrotum, looking at him lovingly.  I had my hands on
his thighs and I resumed a measured cadence of mouth on penis.  Now it was
his turn for orgasm.  I felt a jerk of his penis, a tensing and a
vibration. A flow of semen, more than the last time months ago at the dance
party, filled my lower jaw.  I smiled delightedly.  It tasted heavenly.  I
swallowed.  Then I rose up, moved over and kissed him urgently.  I held him
tight.  I put my hand to his wet penis and felt it over and over again.  It
excited me terribly to feel it and to know what I had done to it.  Mom and
Dance Party Boy's dad, and Dance Party Boy and I went to sleep naked, each
of us in the arms of our respective lover, in the bedroom on the boat.  In
the morning we would have vaginal sex, almost automatically, in response to
the beautiful body next to us.  We would kiss and kiss and kiss.

   Some might wonder at such lack of inhibition.  But I am, after all, an
exhibitionist.  I know that sex is lovely and delightful and delicious, and
I want everybody else to know how I feel.  Mom surely was happy to see me
happy and to know I had learned how to reach nirvana.  Why should I be
surprised or hesitant to have Mom engage in the most elemental act of life
and love next to me?  Even before my peers I have come to love showing off
having sex, and I want to be seen making my boy happy and enjoying his
penis in my mouth and in making him ejaculate; and I want others to see and
to know that his semen has been in my mouth and that I have swallowed it. I
was to do no less years later at that event in the College shower. 
<http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/37604> But I want any who may see me to
know that for me sexual activity is undertaken in the context of love and
respect for the person -- not just his penis -- and his love and respect
for me.  I don't mean, of course, forever-type love, but compatibility,
enjoyment of company, and above all the possibility, however vague, of
forever love.  My standards and my requirements for that sort of commitment
before having sex have grown as I have become older.  I also require more
of my lovers now: this is why, as I have said, that I will almost never
have sex on a first date and why I insist that a male make my vagina happy
with his tongue before I will take his penis into my mouth.  This is not an
immutable rule, as my essays have shown, but it's the standard I have set
as I have gained in experience: "love and learn", one might say.  Compare
the published experience of another:
<http://www.angelfire.com/or3/goodhead/> I had a delightful time with Dance
Party Boy; I had a delightful time with 16-Year-Old Boy.  And I have had
delightful times with others before, in between and after.  And from each I
have learned lessons: how to feel better, how to make better love, how to
encourage my lover to greater satisfaction and delight.

   One may reasonably wonder how any girl can feel so free, yet so
responsible; so liberal and exhibitionist.  My background is special: there
are others like me, but probably not many.  Mom's philosophy and mine come
from an amalgam of religion and liberalism; criteria for physical pleasure
and responsibility for the welfare and delight of the other.  As to the
source of our thinking in sex matters I can draw a number of general
conclusions.  Although the Children of God, like virtually all sects,
depended for the continued loyalty of its adherents on its ability to
stifle their intellectual processes, in fact it was largely populated by
former intellectuals, recruits who had grown up in families that encouraged
and forced them to think for themselves.  Rebelling against that, they
sought out certitude and authority.  Once a COG member came to realize the
dilemma, he or she might be ripe to abandon the sect.  The population of
communes such as we lived in consisted of those who had been attracted to
the COG's sexual freedom notions like Mom and Mom's Friend.  For them, once
free of COG strictures, nudity and exhibitionism might follow naturally
from the idea of sexual liberty.  Only children who had grown up in such an
environment were likely to be fully compatible with the openness we enjoyed
-- that is, coupling the intense pleasure of receiving with the joy of
giving; and fully at home in a communal atmosphere.  There is a common
sexual arrogance in the male psyche that we encountered less often in our
own communities because it would quickly lead to banishment.  But often
enough a young boyfriend visiting from outside would come to think of oral
sex as his right and ignore his obligation to respect the preliminaries,
and indeed to respect the wishes of the moment of his girl.  One had anyway
to be cautious of outsiders because only within our own circle did we know
of the health and safety of our partners.  Few girls are impressed by the
bare sight of a stranger's naked penis; it is a penis as an appendage of an
intellectually, socially and physically attractive boy or man that holds
her interest.  She wants to give pleasure to that penis for what it
represents and not only what it is.  An unwanted penis forced upon a girl
is simply ...  rape.

   I hung around with the Dance Party Boy for some time but dropped him
when he came to show less concern for me than for his penis.  This is
something Mom could sense when he would come to call on us at the boat and
grope me first thing, taking Mom's approval for granted.  Or he would with
me only reluctantly to the mall or for a stroll when what he really wanted
was for me to put my lips around his penis drink his semen, or to get it in
my vagina just as quickly as possible.  Possessiveness and control are as
alien to Mom's and my way of thinking and living and sex as arrogance and
coercion.  Dance Party Boy would have to find that out for himself.  Dance
Party Boy's dad disappeared too after that.  We'd had, Mom and I, such a
good time with them that there were no regrets.  Regarding Dance Party
Boy's "attitudinal problem" as I would call it, it originated with the
state of mind of a father who brings his son into the sexually liberated
scene in early- or mid-puberty, perhaps with the specific intent of getting
the vicarious satisfaction of seeing him experience girl-sex for the first
time and without any particular commitment to the philosophical and
intellectual underpinnings of that liberality.  There was simply no
normative basis for Dance Party Boy to grow beyond the boundaries of his
sex drive in his relations with a girl.  At least not at that age.

   A sexual relationship between a sophisticated, liberated girl and a boy
from outside may possibly work if the boy is sufficiently sensitive
culturally and socially.  He must be able to respond sensitively to his
girl's needs and limits.  A boy who has grown up in a sexually liberal
environment, and for whom sex is not a sudden awakening but rather an
acceptance of a responsibility and a gift that has been before his eyes
from birth, will come by this naturally.  I might add that the outlook of
the parents is equally important.  The traditional social distinction
between the rights and responsibilities of boys and of girls and the
expectation of virginity is damaging and ignorant.  As I have written (or
rather implied, since I didn't use these words) before, the hymen is as
much a useless attribute as the foreskin, and I disdain both.  The parent
who does not accept the right of a girl to blossom at puberty and to
exercise her sexual faculties ought not want or allow more of a boy.

   16-Year-Old Boy lived firmly in our domain and I had dominion over him.
He would not be selfish; that we grew apart was a matter of education and
intellect more than of personality and attitude.  Similarly, at various
times some girls came to live with us who soon enough enjoyed the freedom
and sensuousness of nudity and under parental tutelage shed themselves of
inhibitions, virginity and complexes.  Dance Party Boy, so long as he lived
at his own home, was prisoner of his context and his history.  I wrote him
off as a failed pupil.  Soon enough I would have the fun of meeting the
minds and the bodies of other boys, including the one I wrote about in my
story of Seducing a Boy on the Boat.  There are three billion men and boys
on this planet and more than enough opportunity for me to find sexy and
memorable partners.

   After Dance Party Boy, I stopped caring for a while about any prospect
of long-term relationships and just wanted, myself, to be in control.  I
could enjoy, as many young teens do, the physical side of sex without
worrying about the implications because I made it clear to the target boy
that there was no prospect of his holding on to me.  There could be an
exception to the rule, but he'd have to earn it.  In fact, whatever medium-
or long-term relationships I developed came otherwise than from first sex.
The 16-YearOld Boy, for example, was a relative of Mom's Friend.  The Boy
in the Shower at college was one I'd known in class and in the dorm.  And
so on, in between and later.

   I have written of home environment and sex.  It is not just liberal and
liberated families that have sex in front of each other.  I don't refer
here to all those families all over the world who just happen to live in
oneroom homes or huts, and which have led me to say that there is a certain
banality to sex in public, and that social engineers and religious fanatics
and pedophilia-suppression campaigners should not be making such a big deal
of it.  People simply like to see other people naked, and they like to
confirm that what they themselves are doing is normal; and it's arousing to
see others aroused.  Mom never saw any reason for embarrassment in all the
hundreds of times I have seen her the object of a man's desire, his penis
in her hand, her mouth, her vagina.  I saw nothing but love and passion and
fun and ecstasy.  Of course neither Mom nor I, nor any woman on earth as
far as I know, has an orgasm every time, or even expects or wants one every
time.  But Mom has taught me to maintain enough control to demand respect,
attention, sharing, satisfaction (by which I mean contentment) virtually
all the time.  And if others are watching me they may enjoy watching, they
may support and justify by their presence the demands I make on my boy,
they may indeed protect me by keeping my partner to the implied bargain:
that he should not, now or ever, take undue advantage.  As a young girl
having sex with her friends and family watching I had confidence that I was
not and could not be abused.  I knew I was dearly loved by those about me,
and my partner, knowing that, would take special care of me.

   The conundrum is not related to false modesty or right to privacy but
rather the potential for arousal of an observer -- without his (because we
are talking mostly about boys and men) having any potential partner about.
Since I have never had any interest in group sex as such, resolving this of
course is not my problem.  But one could understand the frustration of
anyone directly implicated; indeed it would occur from time to time that I
would be at a loss for a suitable partner, perhaps for weeks at a time. 
And in a specific instance, where others are having fun and enjoying sex
and you cannot, masturbation may be a poor substitute.  Once I was old
enough to drive a car that would not be problem since we had friends at
other communal homes (some of which were refuges for COG departees, others
just extended liberal families) and several voluntary common residences of
similarly-inclined liberal single parents, like ours.  I could go there to
resume an acquaintance or to meet a new friend.  It never particularly
bothered me to see one boy masturbating while I was having sex with another
some distance away, but it would annoy a few of the girls.  Masturbation,
however, is simply a practical solution to a physical need and I wasn't and
am not embarrassed or annoyed; the more so since I do like to be watched
myself.  It will scarcely arouse me, but that's another matter.

   I mentioned, in my account of my first meeting with the 16-Year-Old Boy
how glad I was to bring him into my life since he served to protect me from
the pestering of younger boys I'd had sex with, and whom I'd realized I'd
outgrown: I had reached the end of my missionary period (when I wanted to
seduce slightly younger boys and introduce them to sex) and I wanted now to
leave to other girls the task, the pleasure and the satisfaction of taking
such boys to their first orgasm with a girl.  It was for those new girls to
receive the boys' wondrous sticky semen and to train and discipline the
boys into respect and reciprocity in carnal matters.  But always, even
today, the thought of holding a reluctant or inexperienced penis in my
mouth, and making that penis so happy that it wants to repeat the event
again and again, inspires me and gives me delight.  To think that I had the
chance to show young boys real ecstasy for the first time; to have an
innocent penis in my mouth or vagina and perhaps taste its first drops of
semen -- this is my fondest memory of puberty and adolescence.  To help a
boy realize his sexual potential as a man -- beautiful event -- made me a
more complete girl.  But that was an adolescent task for a young girl, not
for me as a woman.  Indeed, by age 14 I was glad to meet the 16-Year-Old
Boy and experiment with him to find my further potential.

   I would wish no less of a teacher for my own son, although I have my
doubts that this is possible in my new urban life.  Indeed that part of my
past will probably remain forever a deep secret, known only to my friends
back west.  But who knows -- the sex police and the social meddlers and the
hypocrites may yet lose sway in the new millennium.  Meanwhile I can say
that while I have no interest in seeing strangers having sex or any
stranger masturbating, to see those I love and those with whom I feel
kinship or collegiality enjoying each other's bodies is refreshing and a
happy sight.

   I have written that our elders did not meddle in our sex but that they
did watch over us.  And doubtless they may have been titillated, even
involuntarily, from time to time by the sight of youngsters' fun sex.  It's
hard for anyone, man or woman, girl or boy, not to be impressed by a young
couple, pubescent or youthful, fast dancing then slow dancing, then bodies
pressed together, the boy in a tense erection, the girl's breasts pressed
against him and the girl appreciative for the attention and wanting her
partner's hands, and then his lips, to caress her everywhere.  This is a
scene I would see, and participate in, time and time again.  I wrote of our
swimming party while living at the second house, when the Terrific Girl had
her first sex.  Older Girl and I had told her what to expect and what to
demand, so things were, I think, a bit easier for her than for many
unsupervised girls.  And at our next dance party at that second house she
was Queen of the Party, and so sexy still with her small round breasts with
their prominent nipples, her fluffy mound, her constant smiles and come-on
expression.  She was always finding a new boy and experimenting with him.
Unlike some of the girls for whom we had to assure a date in advance,
Terrific Girl would find someone at every party.  Someone would turn up
seemingly just for her.  She was a magnet for the most dashing boy or young
man.  A boy would stare at her face, lower his gaze to her breasts, then to
her vulva.  He would look back in her eyes seeking an invitation to come
closer, to touch and hold her.  A positive nod from her would make a boy so
happy...

   Terrific Girl danced so well -- far better than I ever could -- and she
had rhythm and style in her sex, too.  She was not only rhythmic but
constantly sensuous.  At one of our parties she was dancing so passionately
with her partner and he seemed so devoted to her.  He would do anything and
everything she wanted of him; but with couples all about engaged in
embrace, not anymore dancing, Terrific Girl was dancing on and he obviously
could scarcely restrain himself.  His penis stood so stiff and bobbing
about as they danced fast, and could be seen snug against her as they
danced slowly: I wondered if she wasn't teasing him unfairly.  But she had
something in mind, as it turned out: teasing would only increase his, and
her, pleasure later.  She would be the last to have sex at this party and
others would have to watch her.  All would see if she hadn't mastered the
art and science of sex.

   At a time of her choosing she pulled away from her beau, and holding his
hand showed their two bodies off to the crowd: her cute breasts and his
throbbing penis stood out.  Together they made a terrific couple.  One
longed to see her take that penis into her body.  I thought of how semen
would flow from it and how the couple would feel such ecstasy and how her
friends would be so happy for her and for him.  Indeed, she looked down on
it and gently ran her closed hand over it, feeling its smoothness, smiling
with anticipation.  She touched her finger to its tip, testing to see if
there wasn't a drop of liquid there.  Terrific Girl then sat down in a
chair, sitting right on the edge of the seat, and she pulled her partner
down to her; as she spread her legs it became obvious what he was to do. 
His fingers tested her vagina; his tongue and his lips moved forward and he
kissed them.  Terrific Girl sighed and leaned her shoulders back and he
continued.  His mouth and tongue went on and on, softly exciting those pink
bits.  Her vagina was dilated.  She seemed breathless.  She moved forward
off the chair and over his body, turned around over him and took his penis
into her mouth: after a minute she moved her head up and massaged his
scrotum, studied the penis closely, popped it back in her mouth and made
sensuous love to it for a couple of minutes more.  Her boy had resumed his
work on her pink parts: as far as they would go they were in his mouth and
he was sucking and licking them while she continued her work.  But he could
not hold out any longer: we could see that streams of semen were flowing
into her mouth and she could not swallow fast enough to take them all:
there was semen on his penis and on his balls, and when Terrific Girl saw
that his orgasm was over she licked at the drips.  And she turned over and
her boy brought her to climax, and we all admired how beautiful it had
been. Her little breasts heaved as she breathed heavily in exhaustion.  Her
boy's penis had remained stiff; she pulled him on top of her and he was
inside her for just a few love strokes, making her feel complete.  Each
stroke of the penis into her vagina caused her to sigh weakly, and as we
saw how it pleased her we shivered in sympathetic joy.  I could all but
taste the wonderful viscous semen.  Its traces were the proof of their fun
and love and delight.

   We had seen Terrific Girl in her acts of sex and it was overwhelmingly
touching and lovely.  I can describe the physical act, but I cannot
faithfully and adequately describe the feelings and the emotions which we
vicariously felt.  My partner and I were struck by the beauty: we wanted
ourselves to connect again, and we did.  But it was the sharing of love
more than the physical sight of sex that had titillated and aroused and
made us want to try for another orgasm of our own.  I had seen how
sensuously Terrific Girl had received her boy's semen and I envied her:
however much my boy had enjoyed his sex I felt I could match neither
Terrific Girl's sensuousness nor her panache.  The climax of the party was
the innocent beauty of Terrific Girl's young and now shapely body engaged
in dynamic sex.  Their sex together that day must have enriched their
lives, separately and collectively, forever, and ours too.  Of course it
may be unfair and unreasonable to hold up the best performers in any life
act like that; we risk making others feel inadequate.  But we always admire
perfection, don't we, and we can aspire to approach it.  If, inevitably, we
cannot recapture our youth, or the innocence of it, or the satisfaction of
learning a new thing, or our first sex.  But we can look ahead, all our
lives, to ever better sex.  I will always think of Terrific Girl when I try
to capture the image of rapturous sexual congress, flowing semen and mutual
ecstasy seen and experienced in my adolescence.  She managed always to look
so sensuous and devoted, most of all when she had in her mouth the penis of
the boy to whom she was giving her love and attention.  Her boy surely owed
her his love, affection and concentration in return.  He owed her ecstasy;
and her beautiful vagina, his for the moment, deserved his finest efforts
and his sincere love.  Of course he would kiss it, and her labia and her
clitoris, and he would give her satisfaction and delight.  She would hold
her partner's penis, and kiss it, and it would be in her mouth or in her
vagina.  As she and her partner would finish and his semen flowed from the
corners of her mouth or from her vulva their delight would be visible to
others too.  Or maybe his penis would be in her vagina, and it would thrust
in and out, her labia responding, the sound of their sex bringing an
electric atmosphere and the boy's ejaculation a common empathy.  Their
smiles would prove their mutual happiness and confirm the lesson,
especially to those younger, that sex is good, that mutual consideration
and respect followed by orgasm is the highest level of human relationship.
This I saw Terrific Girl do again and again; and each time she treated her
partner as if he was her first and only, his penis as if it were forever to
be the object of her undivided attention, his semen as precious life fluid.
She was beautiful and her love was beautiful.  Her sex was beyond
description.  From her first sex at 12 I had seen her grow and develop in
body and spirit and I loved her.  She was terrific.

   Dear reader, you may ask how we avoided constant arousal and weren't we
having sex all day every day in a house where there was constant nudity and
friendly encouragement.  Of course not, because we had other tasks: we had
responsibilities around the house.  In the second house, we owed a duty to
Mom's Friend who was subsidizing our lives there out of her trust fund
bounty.  We had homework obligations: as I wrote, we all had interests, or
at least pretensions, of an nature and we had homework to do, which took
priority.  We had intellectual and musical and sporty interests.  Some of
us had part-time jobs, where our style of life might be a deep secret.  And
especially in Mom's Friend's house there were only two places where nudity
was common: the back yard and the basement.  If one liked to be free of
clothes, or if one liked to look at naked people or wanted relaxation, one
went there.  The house had a study room, a library of sorts; and Mom's
Friend kept the living room "consistent with popular normality" where we
could watch TV or perhaps study (if one was capable of studying with TV in
the background) without distractions unless it was distraction that we
wanted.

   To a certain limited degree -- I say "limited" because I have always
been surprised how immune Mom's Friend remained from official and busybody
attention -- kids who were under restraint at home from displays of
affection and might gravitate to our house.  I opened my last essay with
the quote of a 13-year-old girl who had discovered and delighted in
frequent oral sex with her new boyfriend.  Invariably once such
relationships became fact, kids who were not in trouble in any other way
found they had less to fear from parents than they had thought.  They might
not come back to our place unless they had special reason to visit.  At our
house, following COG practice, drugs hard or soft were not tolerated.  Few
smoked because Mom's Friend scorned anything noxious to health.  Because
Mom's Friend could - out of her financial position -- dictate the rules and
because we feared exposure in other ways, we obeyed her.  She earned our
respect in many ways, large and small, through her generosity and her
sexiness.  Also, it was a matter of recognizing and appreciating just how
lucky we were, under the circumstances of our own lives.  Many of Mom's
Friend's boarders did not stay more than a few months, until they got their
bearings and could find their own accommodation.  Many of them became
constant visitors thereafter, which is why our sexual liberalism maintained
enough contacts and friends to sustain itself.  Parents who wanted a
liberal sexual education for their children really had no place else safe
and secure for them to go.  Dear reader, if you come from the classical
sexually and emotionally suppressed American family you may not appreciate
that other parents see through the cloud of hypocrisy and dearly wish for a
more open environment for their children -- largely in vain.  But, I have
found, the more intellectual the parents the more anxious they are to
escape social hypocrisy and allow their children to frolic naturally and
sexually aware.

   That most families -- and quite probably my own future family -- lack
that opportunity is a shame.  The desire for liberality confronts a
paradox: while a relationship based mostly on sex will have little to
sustain it, it is the relationship built out of an environment where nudity
is generalized and early sex is the rule that has the greatest strength and
diversity.  Finding one's satisfaction and happiness largely from the
sexual part of a relationship is, ironically, less bad in the teen years
than later because one is not, then, seeking a life partner but physical
fulfillment and knowledge about personality and mind -- and the way a
person responds to sex has a lot to contribute to that learning.  Children
from sexually liberated homes and communes seem to do best in this regard,
never taking sex for granted, knowing about others' bodies, learning
gradually about the limit to which sexual pleasure can hide more serious
personality flaws and relational conflicts.  In the transformation to
maturity the individual who has seen sex in practice from the earliest
years and enjoyed it from puberty will have greater self-control,
self-respect, experience and judgment.  Or so it seems to me.  As I have
written, our youngsters were proud of puberty; the growth of bodies, of
breasts of penises was a time for flaunting, for experimentation, for fun,
for frolic.  How will our next generation cope?

   The fact is that children from liberated environments may still envisage
nuclear family life for themselves: so they need to find some compromise
way of maintaining a communal, a liberationist, link -- a way around the
paradox.  The COG had tens of thousands of members; the population of
liberated and liberal groups wanting to bring up their children to know
themselves and their bodies, and to share in life's pleasures and
responsibilities to the fullest, must be of similar dimension, although I
came to know groups totaling fewer than a thousand.  These thinking parents
knew that there is nothing to be gained by keeping the sources of pleasure
and sharing a secret, and that the resentment -- spoken or unspoken -- that
offspring would harbor over their suppression was bound to be divisive of
family and hurtful of spirit.  Indeed, the result is often lifetime
aversion to the best that sex has to offer: embarrassment, shame,
inhibition.  Not every boy and girl who grows up in a home like Mom's
Friend's will turn out to be caring, tender, loving and sharing, but the
environment is supportive of such personality development.  The boy who
thought he had a right to personal satisfaction and aggrandizement was not
long tolerated.  He had a right to personal fulfillment through respect and
through the pleasuring of his partner and congeniality towards others. 
Unfortunately there would be misfits -- socially and sexually inept persons
-- among us as among the population generally.  But they didn't last long.
Sadly, I have no solution to offer for those whose only source of
satisfaction and gratification must be vicarious or visionary or
self-induced.  Some are abrasive, some are arrogant, some are undesired
through no fault or obvious defect of their own; some are just unlucky.

   This leaves the question of what I would want for my own daughter.  I
would want her to grow up as I did, but with greater financial security and
comfort.  That means, unfortunately, living in a more intrusive city
environment.  We were fortunate in our home to be in a situation where
there were always sufficient unrelated kids of both sexes to allow
relationships and experimentation to develop safely.  I have not, or not
yet, constructed a model of how I would or could bring up children so that
they could see and play intimately with unrelated other children and, as
they entered puberty, enjoy their changing bodies and bring themselves
together to show off those lovely new bodies and to enjoy their new
faculties.  I would like for my own daughter, for my own son, the freedom
to experiment, as I did, with masturbating a young partner of the opposite
sex, and then to find, when they are ready, how that fountain of semen
brings even greater pleasure in a girl's mouth and a girl's vagina.  I
would like to be there, or at least nearby, when my daughter or my son has
a first, a second, and a third experience of life's wondrous delight.  And
I would want my child to know how much I approve and will see to it that
she and he are safe and well.  My daughter's and my son's bodies would be
sacred, and recalling consistently with Moses David's writings that
sexuality and spirituality are one, we would hope for them to blossom
beautifully and publicly.  I imagine my pride in my son's erect penis,
bright and glistening before his beautiful and brilliant partner, her
budding breasts teasing him on, her fingers playing with her vaginal lips
as the two of them look in each others' eyes expectantly, then rush
together to bring each other to orgasm.  I want to see my son's semen
flowing freely out of the corner of his girl's mouth, out of her happy wet
vagina.  I dream of my future daughter putting her finger to a vaginal
sticky post-coitus wetness, bringing the semen to her tongue to taste it,
then playfully touching it to her partner's lips just as the Big Breasted
Girl did at the dance party years ago.  Such was my adolescence and I will
want no less for my offspring.  The greatest respect one can give a parent,
the most sincere acknowledgment, is to have no reason to hide one's body
and one's sex from their gaze and approval.

   By way of reminder: my essays were transcriptions and extensions of my
childhood diaries, and I intended to put them into book form.  Subsequently
I was offered a job here in the Capital City and I haven't the time to put
a book together, nor the inclination to put my full name to such a book
right now.  But the time may come when that happens, and when my persona
features in a major motion picture.  Meanwhile, I can't today think of any
reason to write a follow-up to this essay soon.  But I may change my mind.
Every time I leaf through my diaries I see something I would like others to
know.  Every time I glance through the outbox of my e-mail client I note
the absence of something I wish I had said.  For while I scarcely suppose
that I can change a nation's mores by anything I write, I can at least put
on record my belief that I was so much opened and sensitized to life and to
love.  By the openness of my environment, the love of those around me, and
the chance to observer every day and in every way bodies of all shapes and
sizes, beautiful sex parts, flowing semen, wonderful sex.  How can I ever
forget the loveliness of the scene when I, then 4 or 5 years old, was
playing around my mother as she brought her lover to orgasm and he
ejaculated inside her, and his penis withdrew from her and she displayed
that penis to me, slowly shrinking and wrinkling, sticky and wet from his
lovely semen.  And she let me touch it if I wanted to, and then watched me
go as I ran off to play outside.  I would never forget the blissful
expressions of Mom and Mom's partner, how they embraced after sex and how
she kissed his penis and he kissed her vulva.  An expression of affection
after an act of love: the ultimate picture of human beauty and of human
character.

   The events I have described are specimen events, selected because they
support the political points I am trying to make about public hypocrisy.  I
am not Catherine Millet, of whom I've commented before:
<http://books.guardian.co.uk/departments/biography/story/
0,6000,718044,00.htm> <http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0802117163>
Many more things, mundane and exciting, happened in my life.  And not all
of them involved sex.

   So these are only snippets of my past wonderful life.  My future life
will be wonderful too, I think, but in a very different way.  I have in
mind a further essay, but it would involve interviewing many of the girls I
knew in Our Time to ask them to share with you their views on what I've
written.  It won't happen soon.

   Love, Carol 

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