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From: Carol <cobillard@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Some further reminiscences of parents and children and sex
Date: Sun, 11 May 2003 09:10:03 -0400
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The issue of my childhood that generated more interest, concern and, in some
cases disbelief, was parental guidance and encouragement in children's
sexual activity. My discussion of defloration parties and mothers' presence
and support at their girl's first teenage sex experience brought several
responses, not so much of outrage as wonderment and disbelief. I don't know
why this should be: whether people want to admit it or not, large sectors of
society are sexually liberal and many parents grant their children maximum
autonomy. Some stand by, some involve themselves more actively: to encourage
or to protect or to teach. Few of them make public their proclivities and
their philosophies. Indeed, I felt free to embark on this expansion of my
childhood diaries only because my stories are in fact so old, the leading
characters deceased, or dispersed but unlikely to complain and very unlikely
to sue. For the premise of my argument is that the kind of life we led was
good, and that it led to well-rounded, well-adjusted, happy adults.

There are many, many cultural enclaves in the USA and Canada (and Mexico,
where some have fled to) that do not share, indeed that flout, conventional
mores. Polygamy. Child marriage. Community-based free-sex. As well as the
"primitive" (generally abusive to women) customs and cultures of Africa and
the Middle East (Ethiopia, Nigeria, Guinea, Yemen, Sudan, Somalia) where
young girls are sent "home" first to have their genitals mutilated and then
for marriage to a local (and, perhaps, later immigration of an extended
family to the USA or Europe).
http://mwia.regional.org.au/papers/papers/21_jorgensen.htm

That parents and siblings and friends should take special delight in a
girl's or a boy's coming of age, that they should delight in seeing each
other naked at all ages and remark on the first pubic hairs, breast buds,
erect penis, on the rediscovery by a girl of her clitoris, is scarcely
inconsistent with human rights or the rights of the child. Yet, like many of
the more outrageous US subcultures, we maintain even now privacy and secrecy
in our (past) lives, and try to stay under the social and government radar.
You will not see any exposés from among us, although you certainly will see
such books, stories and web sites about the Children of God generally, and
about the commune movement of the 60s.

I knew little girls who happened to mature young, and who tried to hide
their developing breasts and their first periods because they felt
embarrassed. These were girls I knew at school, not at our house or at other
liberated communities. I can envisage a problem where a girl of 9 or 10
looks much older but has the mind of a 9- or a 10-year-old, and the boys
around her are immature both mentally and physically. I have to say that Mom
celebrated my first sign of puberty, and gave me a close hug and a promise
of support and invited me to look more closely at her body to see my own
future. She discussed the problem I just mentioned, and we agreed in effect,
that I would "wait". She pointed out to me boys at various stages of
development, and she told me to be happy about my future. And I was. Indeed,
the more I write (in this series) and reflect on how I came to have sex the
first time, the more I regret having deprived Mom the reward of her concern
and love and care during those difficult months. In retrospect, my
defloration could have been celebrated, with my Mom and my friends all about
and a select boy, a boy chosen because -- unlike the boy I had that tumble
with -- he didn't take me for granted. And, why not, a boy with a lovely,
sculpted penis that I could visualize for the rest of my life. Well, it
didn't happen that way for me, but it could have. My friends, like Older
Girl, who had a little celebration over the rupturing of their hymen, don't
talk about it much. But I know they glow at the thought. Because not only
was their physical introduction to sex beautiful, but they were taught
enough over the years to know how to make the most of sex, how to make it
safe, how to assure themselves orgasm, how to use sex properly as part of
romance and part of life and not just a physical bodily function. If we
treat semen as some sort of mystical life force, well that's not far from
the truth, is it, and it's more sensible than the concept of
transubstantiation, over which more than a few heretics have been burned at
the stake.

It is true that under the particular circumstances of my upbringing and the
common home where I lived, it was inevitable that I would start at sex just
as soon as my mental and emotional capacity matched my physical -- and there
were suitable boys about. As I have written, my first sex wasn't planned; it
just happened. We were constantly naked as children and young people;
certain rooms of the house, and our secluded back yard, were clothes-free
zones. (Ah! Readers should recall that one of the aims of the early
promoters of boys' team sports was to keep boys outdoors and their minds off
their penises -- to keep them from masturbating.) That pubescent kids were
constantly -- overtly or incidentally -- showing off their penises and their
breasts, and were looking for approval or at least happy to have the
reassurance that their bodies were normal and that they had the right to
enjoy them, was indisputable. Some were trying to stimulate and arouse
others, taunting even adults, is a fact that is only obvious to me in
retrospect. Fortunately Mom and the other parents knew enough to control
that. It seemed then, and it was probably mostly true, that our nudity led
mostly to innocent play, even innocent physical contact. In my case it just
happened that one day while horsing around I tumbled, and a boy fell on top
of me, and he had an erection, and I failed to react in any particular way,
and somehow his penis found its way into my vagina and we had sex. My Mom
knew almost immediately. Although I imagine she regretted not being
involved, not seeing it happen, not celebrating it with our friends, she
never expressed disappointment or suggested I had done anything wrong. In
one way it gave her pleasure because she had, since her enlistment into the
Children of God, grown with them as they developed their sexual theology,
that children are sexual beings and can enjoy sex, even intercourse. She
had, after all, been sent east to do their flirty fishing and to lobby for
them. She left the Church when I was a baby, but many of her friends stayed
longer, and had kids start their education in that environment. After my Mom
left, Moses David is said to have moved towards pedophilia. Mom and her
friends went the other way: inter-generational sex was forbidden, coercion
was banned. But they had come to see sex as a manifestation of a religious
communion, just as many other sects and communes of the 1960s had done. Much
more than Moses David did, they practiced communal nudity and public sex, as
couples but in the presence of others and in the sight of anyone who cared
to watch, including the children. If a girl or a boy, having reached
puberty, and, seeing sex freely engaged in about him, elected -- at whatever
post-pubescent age -- to seek a partner, this was cause for celebration.
Other girls I knew waited until much later: 14, 15, 16 perhaps. Children who
are interested simply don't observe. Just as my Mom had sex in my presence,
or at least within my view, when I was a toddler, and invited to me took at,
even touch, her partner's penis, once I had satisfied my curiosity I lost
interest in the subject for almost a decade. This is no different from my
babysitting for those two kids, the ones I call the 12-Year-Olds, when the
16-Year-Old Boy and I had sex, and I invited the kids to look inside my
vagina and to see that putting a finger in, just like putting a penis in,
didn't hurt at all, once a vagina was grown up.

Other parents, in other families, sects and groups, took a more active role
in sex education than my Mom, and, indeed not only encouraged but urged them
to have sex and perhaps to celebrate their defloration with friends and
family. Depending on the degree of urging, and assuming that it does not
amount to coercion, I see nothing wrong with that. I edited Jeremiah's
story, and his account of a wildly promiscuous sect has an element that I
saw time and time again, and that is so familiar in primitive cultures that
one has to accept that it is innate in humanity. While I have some
hesitation to refer to it because it seems to have become a bible and
justification for pedophiles, Bronislaw Malinowski's "The Sexual Life of
Savages" is worth referring to.
http://www.paedosexualitaet.de/ethno/malinowski.html
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0807046078/103-6649984-3957429

I suspect that only social taboos and controls prevent the generalization of
pubescent and adolescent sexual activity in the open. Certainly television
and films have advertised the joy of sex to younger and younger audiences;
it can be no wonder that illicit and clandestine oral sex is so widespread.
But why illicit and clandestine? If a young boy, or a girl for that matter,
saw fit to masturbate with others around, perhaps in response to an older
couple having sex, that child's parent would surely smile with
encouragement. When a child was ready for sex, he or she would signal that
in some unmistakable manner. Maybe a slightly older child of the opposite
sex would take charge. I did that often enough, and it was and is not
uncommon for a 13- or a 14- or a 15-year-old girl to notice a slightly
younger boy who is anxious and uncomfortable in her presence because he
doesn't understand the magic the girl's sexuality is working on him. In the
absence of such a girl, one who would smile and proffer her breasts and her
body, ideally, an adult would notice and would intervene to formalize an
introduction, to bring two kids of similar ages and backgrounds together.
(Well, my response to that situation is well known. I would bring my body
into the nervous boy's personal space, and he would be unable to ignore my
breasts because I'd take his hand and put it on them; and soon we'd be
kissing and my hand would be on his penis ... and we'd go all the way. Read
on.)

As I well know, the insecure and anxious boy quickly ceases to be insecure
and anxious when respect is paid to his penis. This should be done
tactfully, subtly. But when kids are nude together it's easy. Once a shy boy
realizes his glances at my breasts are welcome, and his hands too, his
interest deepens. If I want to go further, and if he doesn't have a
spontaneous erection, I know what to do with kisses and caresses and licks.
The younger girl or boy will spend little or no time on foreplay and will go
directly to oral or vaginal sex. In some ways that's a pity, but it's a
matter of their needs and their impatience, and since I was that way too I'm
scarcely going to criticize the younger generation now. The end goal at any
age is ejaculation, and delight of both partners. I have written before, and
I repeat below, comments on how when I was 12 to 14 I loved to meet
pubescent boys and take their growing penises in my mouth, and show them how
wonderful their semen was. Because, sadly, most boys are left to think their
semen is disgusting and that a girl who would swallow it must, herself, be
disgusting. Nothing could be further from the truth. Anyway I came to learn
the signals of the naďve but cute boy, and to know when I should take the
initiative. If I thought a boy's body was cute I could approach and talk to
him; since we were both nude he would immediately be faced with my breasts
and chances are that's where his gaze would focus, not on my eyes. Once that
happened, I knew I'd won the game. If he seemed interesting I could signal
my further interest with flirting glances and he would shift restlessly in
his chair. Typically he would move forward a bit, and that would mean his
penis was more accessible, drooping over the edge. He would probably, in his
discomfort, touch and move it repeatedly, without realizing exactly what he
was doing and signaling. My tactic then would be to get him to spread his
legs a bit, to open all his crotch area to my gaze. A light touch on his leg
or thigh by way of emphasis of a point of conversation should do it. By this
time it would be I who was staring, judging the beauty of his genitals: his
pubic hair, his penis, his scrotum. But I would be talking of something
else: of film, of music, of theater, of books. And in doing that I would
find some reason to sit on the floor, or if outside on the ground, and I
would be looking up at him and, gradually, moving closer, forcing his legs
wide apart. Perhaps to emphasize some irrelevant point I was making I would
get on my knees. Then, of course I could confront his penis, finding some
excuse to touch it and then going further and kissing it. I would tell him
how, to me, his erection is the greatest compliment and an invitation to
love and I would kiss it, and then draw close to him to kiss him on the lips
and cause him to caress me all over; and of course the minuet would end with
his semen in my body and his heart in my hand.

Reading this essay it may appear strange, but in fact the strategy does
work. I could divert both my gaze and my conversation to the boy's penis
quite easily because what I would have been doing in the minutes before was
calming his nervousness and his apprehension. For example, I might say that
I had studied art appreciation and sculpture and I had been to museums, and
did he know that artistic standards called for the penis of a marble statue
to be proportionately smaller than real life. And I would say that I can see
that from looking at him, and in fact his penis is really better sculpted
than any sculptor can achieve, and I have to look more closely. By the time
I have his penis in hand it will have grown, and my point has been made:
see, this is larger than life and I love it, and it's so lovely I'm going to
kiss it. On the other hand, it may be possible to stimulate his erection
wordlessly, mainly through my breasts and through flirty glances. At that
point it has to be clear the erection is for my benefit, and that I own it.
I will have won that round, and I can do what I like with his penis to make
it produce the semen I want from it in the place where I want it to go,
perhaps kissing it and making it ejaculate into my mouth, perhaps guiding
his body over mine, his legs between mine, his penis between my labia, his
semen into my cervix.

That sort of flirting works less well with young boys, and anyway I didn't
have the intellectual sophistication to pull it off when I was 13 or 14 or
15. But it works now, and it works far better than the cruder system I used
when I was living on the houseboat, which was basically to have a wet T
shirt or something like that, and to strike up a conversation with a cute
and virginal boy and get him undressed as quickly as possible. As readers of
my earlier essays will know, I continued my seduction of changelings for a
couple of years after the boat incident, and I especially loved to do it
when a boy's parents were watching. As with the case (discussed below) of
the changeling in the backyard with the involuntary erection, I just loved
to shock, or even better to please, a parent who had no idea her or his son
was ready and able and willing to have sex. I loved to watch the face of the
parent as their boy I had just seduced gave me a mouthful of semen and I
would always make sure that not only the boy but the father and mother saw
it before I swallowed. Almost always these were parents who themselves had
grown up in some commune environment but had been unable, or afraid, to
raise their kids with equally open sexuality. If they were shocked, it was
because they had lost their cultural and ethical origins. They tried to make
up for it as soon as their daughter, or more commonly their son, reached
puberty. But they could not escape, perhaps, from the damaging influence of
those social engineers who, believing that all sex is bad, legislate that
children in particular must be excluded from its sight and sound and
feeling. Other parents, perhaps too eager to make up for their kids' loss --
for what they failed to teach and to show their kids about the reality and
the fun of sex, push them in a way that doesn't succeed. There must have
been a dozen mothers, graduates of the commune movement or the COG, who
brought their 13-year-old daughters to visit thinking their girls could
capture in a weekend or a week or a school vacation what we had learned in a
lifetime. Such girls could easily become nudists and enjoy disrobing in the
back yard. But only some could be drawn into the beauty of active sex:
indeed others would be so judgmental as to deem me and my friends slutty for
doing exactly what made those same girls laugh with delight on television
and in film. Other times a girl would be entranced with a particular boy, or
even with the concept of intercourse, and it was lovely to work with her
over a week or a month and perhaps see her ceremoniously deflowered.
Deflowered, but deeply enriched. While I never captured the delightful magic
of that spontaneous piercing of the Big-Breasted Girl's hymen, the occasions
were all memorable. Older Girl and I would usually try to spend days
introducing the girl to her new partner, and remembering the way I started
out learning about sex at age 11, I always thought it clever to have her
play with the boy's penis and masturbate it and see the spurting semen a day
before her event. Most of those girls would not have seen sex at all --
except in films perhaps -- before coming to us, so I always thought an
experienced, perhaps older by a year or so, boy was a better prospect for
her. Once or twice I myself would have oral sex with that or another boy in
front of her in the days before, and my thinking was that since oral sex
allowed me to control the boy's response, I could bring him to a really
impressive orgasm that would show her the effect she could have on men.

Those were girls who lived in the conventional world. They typically would
be 13, maybe 14 before even an eager parent would think of widening their
sexual horizons. Their breasts would be full and their genitals mature. At
least in our nude environment parents could easily detect the onset of
puberty, could judge the sexual awareness and readiness of their children
and they didn't need to wait for big breasts or wide hips. The only risk was
that the development was so gradual that they might miss the threshold of
sexuality and if the girl "didn't know what puberty was until [she] was
almost past it", well an opportunity was lost. And worse, the girl might
just have sex on a whim and there would be no party and no public
celebration and no lifetime vision of the first penis to penetrate her
vagina, to christen her with semen, to recognize her loveliness and her
early sexuality. There must have been a couple of times when it was only
through my suggestion to the girl that she insisted her mom make it a formal
occasion and that her friends be there to support and love her. Through peer
pressure, a girl with nice breasts and a lovely pubic mound could not escape
the urge to have boys inside her.

For boys, at least, this matter of growing up and having sex was less of an
issue. Just as noticing the moment of sexual awakening and predicting the
timing of a boy's first intercourse is harder than doing the same for a
girl, so is the party element for the boy of less significance. Ideally, the
boy at a defloration, of a sexually sophisticated girl at least, would be a
virgin too and they could share their mutual conquest and discovery. But
even at such dual-defloration events the fussing and the compliments were
always reserved for the girl. The boy's fine and grand and virginal penis
was the instrument of her coming of age and her holy communion and parents
and friends were always impressed by his erection. But once the boy had
ejaculated, his semen belonged to her, mingled with her blood, led to kisses
and hugs for her. The boy's penis, first erect, then sticky and wet, was
admired; but it was the girl who, body and soul, was the focus of attention
and delight. That, I saw later, was what I missed. I tried to make up for it
with a public display of oral sex, and I did get attention and I did arouse
my friends to sexual celebration, but it wasn't quite the same.

A child's coming of age was in a way, like a marriage ceremony: the Children
of God never having put much stock in formal marriages, our parents didn't
either. Relationships were romance, and sex, and love; but they could
change. In the COG girl's first sex was not marked by any celebration; it
was merely a rite of passage, if that, and taken for granted in any case by
the boy -- who would typically be, if you were young and pretty, someone
with political power in the movement's leadership. Given the arrogance of
the leaders of the COG and their abuse of power, it is likely that many
girls pretended not to be virgins at all, even when they were. We, here and
now, might try to banish virginity as a concept, but the event of sex, of
penis entering vagina and mouth, and streaming semen into the girl: that is
memorable even if the bit of flesh that is called hymen is an irrelevance
that we are well rid of. It is, rather, because I think girls are best off
rid of their hymens as early as convenient that I want to reward them with
recognition. The occasions I saw, at least, were no cause for regret, and
the girls were eager. If there was no turning back it was not out of
coercion by a parent or a peer, it was out of personal desire. A girl might
have to be prompted to arrange her body just so on the bed, but that is not
out of ignorance but out of excitement and anticipation. There is, I can
attest, nothing so lovely as a girl on the verge of making love for the
first time with her loved ones all about her by way of support. It is nice
to have a mom or a friend about to worry about details; the girl has enough
on her mind to encourage her boy, to be romantic with him, to delight in his
erection, and to guide his penis where it should go. A painful experience
would spoil everything; yet, if it is the boy's first time as well one
cannot expect him to appreciate all the girl's needs. Least of all, at a
nude dance or party, can one count on the other guests, who are vitally
concerned on the occasion with their own happiness, anticipating their own
sexual adventures that day. The Big Breasted Girl needed my help at the
dance simply because she had doubts, and although she could see and be
aroused by other couples, her lack of experience and education left her
apprehensive.

I attended quite a few defloration parties and events; I have written about
a couple of them. And on other occasions I was there for a defloration that
wasn't part of a party, but just happened. Needless to say not all the
"deflowered" girls and boys were true virgins (although I'm sure those I
have written about are), but this only demonstrates my point. These essays
are drawn from my childhood diaries, where I briefly recorded all these
events. I have written a number of essays, expanding, sometimes generously
on those diaries. I wrote several times of how many parents drew real
satisfaction from seeing their offsprings' first participation in sexual
activity, their first penis in vagina, first ejaculation. I have seen
parents admire the sticky and still-erect penis of their son just after
intercourse and the vagina of their daughter with semen dripping from it.
Whether at a defloration or not, I recall parents calling a son over on some
pretext, moments after he has dismounted from his girl, and without even
allowing him time for afterplay. My own judgment is that they are not only
asserting themselves as parents, but they want to assure themselves of their
boy's virility, and to see his penis as it deflates from orgasm, first stiff
and wet and sticky and then shrunken and soft, reminds them of their own
fecundity and is a last expression of control: a parent retains rights over
the unmarried minor child who has sex, rights that end with emancipation and
marriage, or with the passage of the age of majority. So many parents are
anxious over their boys' sexuality, desperately afraid that he might be gay.
Perhaps they are misled by false statistics, since it seems to be
politically incorrect to minimize the number of gay people, to cite a
percentage close to reality, say 1% to 2% of men. To me, it is fine if my
boy rushes to show me with pride -- as the 12-year-old boy did -- his
still-stiff and still-wet penis and his girl's drippy vagina. But it is
quite another for a parent to spoil the child's own sex play, the child's
own priorities by not only watching, but disturbing.

Yet perhaps parental intervention of some kind is good. Lots of kids put off
sex because of apprehension, because of ignorance, because of social
propaganda. I can understand it if their peer group restrains them, or their
religion or something like that. But if they are unrestrained by family
circumstances and still don't have sex they are missing a lot, and their
frustration damages them psychologically and materially I think. Some of the
loveliest events I have seen were those scripted by a mother for her
daughter's defloration, arranging for a chosen boy to make love to her
before family and friends, laying her out beautifully so everyone can admire
her loveliness and her innate sexuality. And, of course, appreciate how the
semen of joy completes that sexiness of hers, and demonstrates her capacity
to share it. There is something about the innocence of the virginal girl --
not, I hasten to add, a quality of superiority, just of inexperience -- that
captures the imagination of every viewer. A flicker of surprised delight, an
absence of artificiality in style and makeup, an eagerness in the eyes,
youthfulness of breasts, and of course an unpracticed, perhaps sealed,
vagina. A parent can set the scene far more graciously and dramatically than
any girl and boy without their help. The approach of the boy will be
dramatic, tactful and exciting; his erection made all the more impressive by
the number of eyes fixed on it. For most Americans, parental help and
encouragement in the choreography and the execution of this beautiful coming
together would cross a shocking taboo, but for me it is somehow both natural
and normal. One looks at the girl, ready, legs spread apart, perhaps knees
bent, perhaps the pink of her labia showing through; and then one's gaze
moves to the erection of the boy about to mount her, and each and every time
I want to cry with joy. Being in loco parentis I was so happy to see the
12-year-olds at Mom's house that time, making love and showing off that
love. It is even more beautiful when you know the girl is committed to
joining you, the audience of sexually active joy givers and sharers. She is
about to gain the capacity for romance, and the semen that spurts into her
is symbolic of that.

I have said, and it's true, that I dearly hope I can be there when my son or
my daughter have their first love, first orgasms, first flowing semen. One
day a child is pre-pubescent, a few months or a year later there is constant
thought of romance and sex. The process is fascinating. I know that fathers,
in clothed families, don't often notice their daughters' start of sexuality.
Even among us, the gradualness of it all, the imperceptibility from day to
day, made it likely that parents would overlook the physical process: a
girl's breasts grew, and perhaps her hips and her vagina kept pace, and she
was having periods, and then she wanted to have sex, as her elders and her
friends did, and as she saw them doing. I wondered if any scientist had ever
taken time-lapse photography of boys' and girls' development, they way that
photographers do of flowers opening. How fascinating and delightful it would
be to see, and for the same demonstrative and scientific reasons. I know
that when I see a youngster in the first stages of puberty I get excited and
I want to see that child time and time again and hurry her or him along, and
catch the instant when desire for sex develops and sex becomes a reality.

Parental involvement for most of my friends was usually just tacit consent,
encouragement in the form of advice given since infancy on how to assure
mutual pleasure and safety, demonstration given by adults and teens having
sex openly, proudly, happily. That was how the two 12-year-olds came to have
intercourse. They were already an item, and probably a defloration party
would have been redundant, even though the girl was still, in fact, a
virgin. But sometimes a parent felt that her daughter or son needed more
support, that she or he was socially immature or unnecessarily apprehensive.
This was true even of Mom's Friend when her daughter Older Girl made love
for the first time. I have satisfied myself that much of the difficulty
about adolescence is due to the sexual prudery and hypocrisy forced on them,
and that if all kids were free to have sex the way we did, many emotional
problems would disappear.

We children knew that we should not discuss our lifestyles with others,
except those we met as family and friends. Sometimes an encounter at a party
or gathering would surprise us: we would see someone we knew from school or
elsewhere, now for the first time naked and sexually active. There were,
after all, not a few parents who thought that Mom and her friends were too
liberal: that an older age -- whether 13 or 16 or somewhere in between --
was the "right" age for first sex. The trouble is, as I was to find, that
these things really can't be controlled; liberality, liberalism,
libertarianism, libertinism find their own threshold. Still, for some
parents we knew, watching their girl's breasts and hips develop and seeing
her with pubic hair brought visions of her sensuality and an urge and
urgency to see her in sexual embrace with a boy. A parent felt guilty
sheltering her not from harm but from beauty and delight. A girl would
inevitably awaken to the significance of her body in due course; and I don't
think it really matters whether she has grown up around nudity and freedom
of sexual expression or not. But suddenly she will appreciate the effect she
is having on boys and men, and she will want to get close to that effect, to
touch, feel and use a boy's mind and his penis. An aware parent enhances her
education, her experience, her love. Sex, orgasm, forgone is lost forever.
(I might add that the parent, the mother, is there too for help in other
ways, not least in mundane things like yeast and bacterial infections and
advice on STDs. Serious problems among our group were almost nonexistent,
and the awareness of parents and the openness of the parent-child
relationship was behind this.)

Having discussed my philosophy, I will now try to support it anecdotally.
When I was 14, one of my school friends told me her parents were giving her
a party. Having no idea that she knew much of my own background, I was
astonished when she described it later as a sex party, as her coming out
party. So it happened, that on the occasion of the Red Haired Girl's first
time, I was there. Including the two principals there were eight kids, all
aged around 14 or 15, perhaps slightly younger.

A party had been set up in the basement of her house. Her parents were
dressed; they had to mind the door and arrange for the food and so on. The
teens were all nude. While we were, most of us, accustomed to regular nudity
there were a few who were clearly ill at ease, including the Red Haired Girl
at first. We sat around and talked. Then, after a while, the girl's mother
called us to come upstairs. She escorted her daughter upstairs, her arm
around her daughter's waist, and led us all into the master bedroom. The
covers had been drawn back on the queen-size bed, and the mother had the Red
Haired girl lie down on it. From somewhere, a woman I had not seen before
brought over a boy, clearly apprehensive, adolescent, gangly, pimply. I
looked at his face; he was smiling, but unsure. I looked at his crotch and I
thought how gorgeous his penis looked, flaccid as it was, so recently grown
to maturity. His penis was wider at the tip than at the base; he had lovely
pubic hair; his testicles were largish and hung loose in their scrotum. I
had to restrain an impulse to feel and to fondle them, they were really
kissable. I had a boy of my own across the room but he was ignoring me; he
was watching instead the Red Haired Girl.

I had been raised to have a positive view of the penis and had come to love
to watch penises as they become aroused. But I have never gotten over my
fascination in watching from a distance pubescent and adolescent boys and
their discovery of sex, and the priority they give to their girl's
happiness, a matter that older boys and men too often take for granted.
Anyway, I was eager to see this penis erect, and I longed to see it enter
the Red Haired Girl's vagina. I was only a year or so older than the boy
myself, so it cannot be said that there was anything untoward about my
fascination with his private parts. And anyway, it would turn out that even
his mother would come to be admiring his erection, finding an excuse later
to touch and wipe it.

The Red Haired Girl's mom told her to sit up and look at her boy, to take
his hand. Meanwhile, her mom moved the girl's legs apart; now we could just
see her labia and some of her pink bits. The boy's mom whispered in his ear;
he sat down on the bed and embraced the girl, kissing her awkwardly, moving
his hands to her cute and very round breasts. He craned his neck to look
between her thighs, and he touched her labia tentatively. At that, the girl,
with prompting from her mom, moved over to inspect her boy's penis; it
tickled him and he seemed about to brush her hand away until told not to.
Instead, he grasped his soft penis by its base and held the tip out towards
her, and she kissed it lightly. Then the kids took the initiative. The boy
got up on his knees upon the bed, bringing his penis to the level of the Red
Haired Girl's mouth. She didn't respond right away, she just stared. Her
mother told her to hold it, to bring it close to her, to kiss it again, to
take it in her mouth, and she did. Her tongue stroked it tentatively and it
began to stiffen. At that point, the Red Haired Girl's mom told her daughter
to lie back on the bed and to spread her legs, and the mom brought out some
contraceptive foam which she inserted into her girl's vagina. The girl cried
out briefly as the applicator entered her; then it came out, now empty. Her
mother spread the daughter's labia apart to check, if she could, that all
was well. The girl lay back, still not fully relaxed, and her mother kissed
her, and positioned her legs apart and her arms at her side. Her vagina was
again in sight, her small triangle of pubic hair puffy and cute. The mother
brushed away some imaginary speck of lint from her daughter's pubic hair and
moved back. The girl lay there, her little breasts heaving, looking at her
mother. I thought it was so beautiful, so touching, for her mother to be
caring for her in this way, to be looking after her when she was most
vulnerable and yet so susceptible to joy, too. I thought I saw anticipation
in the girl's eyes. Her father was just outside the room, looking on, saying
nothing. He must have been proud to see her lovely body.

Now some more words were whispered in the boy's ear. The girl moved her head
and watched him. I wondered when the boy would achieve an erection. He must
have wondered too, and he started running his hand up and down his penis,
putting saliva on the palm of his hand to make the process easier. It
started to respond. I had thought his penis so cute and lovable when it had
been limp; now it was semi-erect and starting to look aggressive. As he
moved his body over the girl it stiffened further, pointing at her. The
boy's demeanor became tense. His eyes were on her breasts. He moved his legs
between hers. I watched the purplish glans as it throbbed and his penis
moved about. The Red Haired Girl's mom, still beside her, told her to take
the boy's penis in her hand and guide it into her. The girl did so, in a
moment it was all the way inside her vagina. The girl cried out almost
imperceptibly as it went, and we sighed collectively at that point as if our
support task was finished. The event seemed so beautiful to me, virginal
penis entering virginal vagina, pubic hairs knitting together. Now, from
behind, his scrotum seemed tighter, his balls closer to his body. They moved
as his hips rose and fell. Their genitals were so smooth and so lovely, the
pleasure for them so obvious to us. The girl put her hands on her boys rear,
feeling its rise and fall. Seeing this happening, I felt an excitement and a
vicarious pleasure just as if that penis had been inside me. It is just such
a lovely event, every time, young people with penis in vagina. My only
regret is that I can't watch my own vagina when the penis I love is making
love to it. Well, at that point I looked around for my partner of the day,
and I sat up, jutting out my breasts, trying to signal to him and his penis,
to draw their attention to me, make them ready for me. But he was still
watching the Red Haired Girl and the boy on top of her, watching the rise
and fall of the penis in vagina. They, that boy's penis, was center stage,
performing for us, principal actor. But my boy was himself becoming aroused.
He would soon need me. I walked over to him and stood next to his chair. My
vagina was at the level of his head. He looked at it, reminding himself of
his own prospects for fun. And, teasingly, he took the fingers of two hands
and spread my labia, and moved his face closer and stuck his tongue in, just
lightly caressing labia and clitoris. Then he looked back at the bed.

The two kids on the bed looked delightful and delighted. The boy's lower
body continued up and down, his penis entered and withdrew from the round
vaginal opening which squeezed against it. Everybody in the room watched its
steady rhythm. Once the penis came out completely and sprung close to the
boy's body and the Red Haired Girl guided it back, her vagina now very
lubricated and wet. I wished she could have seen it, the lovely pink head
all glistening, the sticky shaft. The penis went back in easily and
continued its up and down, in and out, trajectory. From time to time the boy
would kiss his girl; he would look down at her breasts, then up to her face
as his penis continued traveling. We felt vicarious delight at the
sensuousness and the beauty of it all and hoped the Red Haired Girl was
feeling its full pleasure.

After about five minutes, the boy gasped, and his rhythm changed. I could
see his penis shaft wet with semen; he kept on for some time until it at
last penis started to soften. He pulled out and lay beside her, his penis
very wet. His mom told him he had to massage his girl's clitoris. He did
that, but awkwardly, and seemed to make no progress bringing her to climax.
His mom told him to try with his tongue; first she brought forth a damp
washcloth and wiped the girl's vulva. This was, I thought, a shame, because
it wiped away the flowing evidence of the sex they had just enjoyed. But
then the boy's face and tongue were at the Red Haired Girl's vagina and we
couldn't see much because his head was in the way. The Red Haired Girl's
mother told her to guide him. Once or twice the girl said something. I could
see the boy, trying to please, moving his head about. And from the side one
could see his lips and his tongue searching for a target -- the clitoris? a
G-spot? -- that he really knew little or nothing about. And then the Red
Haired Girl sighed very loudly and fell back limp. Notwithstanding her
wiping up the external traces of semen, I was happy that neither the mother
nor the boy had thought that his dripping semen inside the Red Haired Girl's
vagina should be cause for hesitation in his oral sex. But then that was the
environment in which I lived, the kind of views we shared. I can tell you
from my own experience that much as a boy may like to see me dripping his
semen for up to an hour after we have had sex, it can be a pain, and the
more so just because of our nudity. That I'm afraid, is a cost of our way of
life, and, I might add, feminine solicitude. Boys are impressed by their own
semen, and they like to see it savored and swallowed or dripping from a
vagina. That has something to do with narcissism, and we all know what
happened to Narcissus.
http://www.koolpages.com/almalaika/narcissus.html
(description in English of the Original Greek version)
http://userwww.service.emory.edu/~cjcampb/sourcedocs/narcissus.html
(J.-J. Rousseau's version)

After the Red Haired Girl had reached her climax and was smiling broadly,
the two mothers, all excited, came forth to kiss and hug their children. The
boy had a smile, a smirk even, fixed on his face. His mother could not have
been more proud and I saw her staring at his penis, again erect. She moved
behind him, and her naked breasts pressed against his back as she took the
washcloth and wiped his penis with it and smiled up at him. I thought of how
she must have done this for him as a baby, wiped his tiny penis and balls,
powdered them and loved them and imagined their future roles. Here, she was
of course just finding an excuse to sort of fondle him and to demonstrate
her motherly pride; but it was an unusual act nonetheless. Not sexual, at
least not obviously sexual, but motherly and solicitous, with her naked
breasts, her big nipples, reminding us, me anyway, of their function as
source of milk rather than their function as source of sexual attraction.
The Red Haired Girl watched, with an enigmatic smile. She had come of age,
she wanted us to admire her and to recognize what she had done. She had sat
up against the backboard of the bed, and her breasts stood out. All of a
sudden I saw that her nipples too were very grand, relatively large and dark
I thought for her 14 years. I thought they would be even more beautiful in a
few years' time, the way her mothers' were even now.

It was time for the rest of us to respond to what we had seen, but we
probably made less of a fuss over the Red Haired Girl than she wanted or
expected. We were, after all, at a defloration party, and we expected to
have sex ourselves now. Always a show-off, I wanted mutual oral sex that
day. My date was new to me, I would have to instruct him. Arranging "dates"
on these occasions constitutes in fact a major ordeal, because one mustn't
spoil the party by "arranging" totally incompatible couples, or couples that
know and dislike each other. There has to be an approximation of age and
stature and experience, and so on. A lot of the time one can just ask or
rely on friends, but this was a rather special occasion, and the mother of
the girl and the sister of the boy seem to have taken charge of invitations.
As I said, I hadn't known the girl was a candidate for this sort of event,
so there is obviously a channel of information and gossip that I was unaware
of. As it happens, my boy was cute. We had already chatted a bit, and I'd
tried to get close to him when I was feeling the sexual magnetism of her
boy's penis first approaching the Red Haired Girl's vagina. Now, at last, I
had his undivided attention. I had the challenge of looking him in the eyes
while we spoke, while also trying to watch his penis, which, since I
couldn't have the Red Haired Girl's boy's, I wanted very much to fondle and
caress.

I took over the place on the big bed of the Red Haired Girl and her boy. Now
I positioned my boy the way I wanted him, and wondered if he thought of my
doing that as a reprise of what the Red Haired Girl's mom had done in
positioning her for sex. My boy seemed pliable and eager enough. He knew
that whatever I had planned had to be good fun. I got on top over him and
with my head positioned over his groin I pushed my vulva down to his mouth
until he took notice of what I wanted and his tongue found its way inside. I
grasped his penis and stroked it, and felt his scrotum; then I watched his
penis harden, and I looked at it again, and gave it a few licks to see if I
could taste any pre-cum. Then I took it more fully into my mouth and tasted
it more urgently, circling its head with my tongue, running my tongue along
the groove, kissing it and sucking any nectar from it. The fraction of a
drop that I caught was delicious, and it was a taste of more to come. I
loved the shape, the texture, the pulse of his glans. The sculpted upper
edge of the glans, the corona, was gorgeous. Approaching him from above, I
could run my tongue over it again and again, while using my upper lip to
stimulate the underside of the penis, just below the channel leading to the
slit of an opening. The slit is so darling, so promising. It conceals that
secret opening that the delicious semen will spurt from; after which it
shuts again. It is inscrutable, the slit atop a penis; this is something I
have thought ever since I was so surprised by the spurting semen of the boy
I masturbated all those years ago. Now the trace of seminal fluid made me
feel wanted and eager to continue. I'm sure I was making him deliriously
happy. I looked briefly around: I wanted to be watched, but nobody was
watching. I went back to working with my mouth and tongue on the tip of his
penis, leaving its shaft visible to bystanders if any should come. Moving my
head rhythmically up and down, I knew I was delighting my boy. He tried to
keep pace, licking and sucking and running his tongue in and around my
vagina and over my clitoris. But the biology of my vaginal area was
complicated, and I feared he would not master cunnilingus in a single
liaison.

 From time to time I would take his penis out of my mouth to examine it
again, reminding myself of how cute it was, the very special shape of its
head, that slit at its tip that would give me semen. A girl does this mostly
when she wants her friends to admire the shiny head of a penis she has been
fellating; unfortunately there was nobody about. This was the Red Haired
Girl's party, not mine, and quite correctly she had been the center of
attention and when she had left, the others had gone off on their own since
we were now occupying the bed. I was used to be seen at sex and I was
vaguely disappointed to be ignored. The Red Haired Girl was already
downstairs, her parents were making a fuss over her, one by one the rest of
us would be joining them once we finished making love. We would be expected
to make the Red Haired Girl feel good on her day, to let her know how lovely
she was: her face, her breasts, her vagina, her sex. We would all kiss her
and hug her and sense the warmth of her body and her soul.

Now I was having fun and I had my boy's undivided attention, something I
always like to have. I kept kissing and sucking his glans, trying to keep to
a constant cadence. I knew he would come before me and I would have to make
him finish his cunnilingus from below; but it would be easier for me to
reach climax that way and I knew that this being a sex party he would oblige
me. My date's tongue darted in and out of my vagina, and flicked over my
clitoris; it felt grand and then I briefly thought I might reach climax that
way. But as he approached his own orgasm he forgot about me and his licking
became perfunctory. I didn't want to risk interrupting his rising orgasm,
and so I kept to my pace and brought him directly to ejaculation. Several
spurts of semen poured into my mouth and I swallowed. I didn't need to show
him; he knew. He dutifully moved around below me as I lightly guided his
head, and he put his head to my crotch and took all my soft parts into his
mouth. He kissed and sucked and massaged them, putting his tongue as far
into my vagina as it would go, tasting no doubt the traces of my period -- I
wondered if he knew. I climaxed, and we sat together, and I looked at his
penis and I fondled it for a while and put it quickly in my mouth by way of
thanks for my climax and to recover any semen left there. Then we joined the
others who were going downstairs to the basement for cake and champagne.

We had all seen the Red Haired Girl deflowered, and she had been so sexy and
it had made us want sex ourselves, as we knew -- and her parents knew -- was
inevitable. The Red Haired Girl's parents were so gracious. They were happy
that we had been there to witness their daughter's happiness. I really
couldn't complain that neither they nor anyone else had watched me at sex.
Her father, his bodily paleness set off by a mass of pubic hair and a short,
very thick penis, had charge of the champagne. Her mother cut the cake and
offered it all around. She had the red hair of her daughter, and, like her
daughter, a mass of red pubic hair too, and pretty breasts despite her
middle age. I saw the parents, however, not as sexual beings but as loving,
caring, mother and father showing pride and delight in their daughter's
growing up. The Red Haired Girl herself was glowing; her boy could not keep
his hands off her cute breasts and his penis was again erect. The sight of
his excitement made us all feel good. We thought not of cake but of sex.

The rest of us were standing about enjoying cake and champagne. The Red
Haired Girl had some, but her boy, with his penis still erect, seemed more
interested in fondling her breasts, in standing behind her and running his
fingers along her vagina to feel his own semen, and in kissing her on the
lips. She really wanted to finish her cake, and so she said she would kiss
his penis, and she did, just kissing and licking its tip for a moment. It
disappeared into her mouth for just a second, and then came out wet. We
thought she might take the time to put it in her mouth fully and earnestly,
to bring him to orgasm that way, but she didn't. She told him she loved him,
she signaled to him in a girly sort of way with her cute breasts, promised
him something later. I had to join the other two girls in giggling over
this.

Meanwhile, the Red Haired Girl's parents having undressed to watch, support
and help their daughter in her sex event, marveled to each other and to us
how their daughter was now mature and a member of mature society and she was
free to enjoy her body, and wasn't it nice they could all be nude as a
family together and be seen by others that way. I'm not sure what they
meant, if anything, but then I don't know exactly what their lifestyle was,
and how often they had been nude in front of their daughter, or whether they
had sex in front of her. Maybe I'm just cynical, but I thought that the
father was in some subtle way trying to brag about his own sex. I thought to
myself his effort would be better spent making love to his wife there, but I
kept that thought to myself. And perhaps it was just as well that he did
not, since parents should not be in competition with their kids, and there
was no need for him to prove himself to me, or to his daughter.

The three parents left us and went upstairs. I didn't see the boy's mother
again; perhaps she went home. The girls parents presumably reclaimed their
bedroom. The rest of us danced, nude as we were, and it was sexy and as
always I loved dancing with a boy having a fierce hard-on while rubbing my
breasts against him, and every so often I would run my hand around his penis
and under his scrotum and I would kiss him, and we would embrace. Finally,
towards the end of the party, he drew me aside and onto the floor, and his
penis was inside me and we had sex again and we kissed and held each other
for a terribly long time. I was happy having made my boy happy, knowing that
as he ejaculated he needed me so, and I needed him. Having to get dressed to
leave brought regret, and it's the unfortunate part of teen sex: it's
part-time sex, and after we had our fun we went back to our parents. At
least, unlike other kids, we could share our joy with our parents, who be
glad for us and would make us feel good about ourselves and about what we
had done. I read now about 12- to 14-year old kids who are having oral sex
in secret, or not in secret and on the school bus or in the school
stairwells and I feel sorry for them, that they have not been exposed to our
way of living and loving; that implicitly and obviously their parents
wouldn't approve. But I have to admit that today, as the memory of the 60s
communes fade and the religious and sexual experimentation of those years
ceases to have impact or be relevant, few families and few homes can live as
we did. Probably there are sexually liberal and sexually free families
about, but I have lost touch. The two kids at Mom's Friend's house are the
only youngsters I see that way now: loving each other, making love to each
other, and proud to show it in exquisite detail to their friends and family.

We saw the Red Haired Girl and her boy, together or with others, a number of
times after that. On one occasion soon after I was talking about oral sex
and she said she had never touched semen or thought about bringing a boy to
ejaculation in her mouth, and I was very surprised. I told her that she must
have tasted it when she kissed her boy's penis after her defloration and
took it in her mouth; apparently that hadn't occurred to her. I also told
her that oral sex is absolutely the greatest, and that it is a real source
of control for women to exercise. I talked to her a bit about my poetic view
of that slit at the end of the penis, and she nodded. I suspected that later
she would want to study the physiology of the penis some more. As for oral
sex, her point seemed to be not that she didn't want ever to do it, but that
she hadn't had the right opportunity. From our standpoint, of course, at
about 14 she was a latecomer to sex. She had not lived in a home with lots
of kids of different ages, most of them having sex within view of the others
a couple of times a week. She may not have been a virgin anymore, but for
her sex was still a novelty.

I would have thought that parents so solicitous of their daughter's sex
education would have discussed oral sex, if only as a kind of foreplay.
True, the mother of the Red Haired Girl had told her to kiss her boy's
penis; but she could have gone further and really excited him with her
mouth. If parents themselves are uneasy about sex, or about certain sex
practices, one cannot expect their children to benefit fully from an
otherwise free atmosphere. Anyway, in her outward relationship with boys I
felt I could tell the difference in her demeanor, that she was now sexually
knowledgeable and experienced. I wondered if everybody could see that, if
her teachers knew. Surely not, but I imagined it nonetheless. She carried
herself, her breasts, somehow differently, I imagined. I thought her eyes
regarded boys in a different way, and that, like me, she thought of their
penises as they thought of her breasts. But most girls are not, in fact, as
fixated as I was at that age, and I probably imagined it all. My judgment
anyway had to be clouded by the fact that I saw her after that not only at
school, clothed and demure, but at Mom's Friend's House, nude legs apart, a
penis inside her, and very happy. Since there were no boys at her place, she
had to come to ours. But this was long after the event that I describe,
after her defloration. As I write about the occasion I have had some
insights that escaped me at the time. Clearly the two Moms had discussed the
event in advance, and the way they were guiding, placing and touching their
kids suggests that they really hadn't told them much about what would be
happening. I will be that the boy's mother was fully ready to do what I did
for the 13-Year-Old Boy, and to take hold of his penis and guide it herself
into the girl's vagina. But intervention to that degree wasn't necessary,
and I suppose mine wasn't either on that other occasion. To be honest, I was
probably just looking for an excuse to hold that exquisite, firm penis that
somehow had entranced me more than the penis of my own date.

There are some girls you know will be a delight to have as a guest, that
either because of intelligence and wit or because of physical attractiveness
when nude, they will help make your party a success. The Red Haired Girl was
fine on both counts. With respect to her sex life, I think her parents had
seen their role as leading her to a happy and promising defloration, and
leaving her to her own devices, but available to offer advice if asked
thereafter. The defloration party clearly hadn't been a sexually arousing
event for them, the parents; certainly her father never showed it, at least
his penis didn't. You can't always tell, but I looked closely enough at his
penis for signs of arousal, and didn't find any; and I have to say that
hasn't been true of all fathers watching their daughter's first time. I have
seen one or two fatherly erections under circumstances where it was just as
well that his wife was close at hand to make love with him. Her parents were
simply filling the responsibility they felt they had to help her to grow up.
Nobody can reasonably deny that having sex is part of growing up; the
argument, if there is one, concerns the role of parents in that event. I
suppose society, has developed its taboos to deal with parental misconduct,
but that is something I never saw. Moses David in his later years, and his
clique of that time, were accused of incest and child abuse, but to us these
were unknown sins. The Red Haired Girl's parents had located a fine first
partner for her, a boy who was properly solicitous, if inexperienced. We had
all watched his penis become erect for her; we had seen him romance her in
an inexperienced and tentative sort of way. Her parents especially had
proudly watched that penis it penetrate her and ejaculate inside her.
Probably they would not go out of their way to watch her again at sex; it
was enough that she had shown she had learned to make love in a fulfilling
way. She had kissed her boy's penis; another day she would be ready for oral
sex, a mystery and surprise in its own right. It's funny because of course
one can't see the difference in a girl's vagina before and after her first
sex; sometimes there is no difference at all. But the girl is now changed
forever, a member of different social stratum. Who but a parent can best
tell when a child is ready for that transformation? From my standpoint, she
still had much to learn and to experience; but she had passed the greatest
hurdle, even if it's only a psychological one. Or perhaps it's a social one:
and now that her parents had given their approval she could enjoy sex
whenever she wanted.

It is such a lovely sight to see youngsters at sex and feeling joy and
learning sensuality. But no more than they can be present each time can
parents teach their kids everything about sex, which is so mysterious and
surprising, even as it is repeated day by day throughout one's life. Most of
all, they can banish inhibitions, embarrassment, shame, guilt and complexes,
and this is something they can do from the earliest age. I have written so
often that the boy who has reason to be embarrassed because he is seen with
his penis in a state of erection by his mom or his sister has had an
unfortunate upbringing. It is not that an erection, or masturbation, would
be a source of arousal for a girl or a woman, but she should appreciate the
boy's needs and sexuality, different from hers, and be glad that he has no
embarrassment in expressing it. I know I would tell a son to be proud and
happy with every part of his body, and to be kind and sharing in sex. I
would tell him about sex and about masturbation and show him from the
earliest age how his penis will grow and will give him joy. Still, I don't
think it's necessary and appropriate for a mother to demonstrate to her son
how to masturbate, although I have heard of such things. If he is doing it,
if a stream of semen spurts from his penis in front of her, she can smile
knowingly and encouragingly: that is enough. Of course she should never seek
to embarrass, because he has just shown her that he has no reason to hide
his most important impulses and pleasures from her. A mother can consider
herself a trusted parent if the boy proceeds to try it out in front of her
and being without a penis herself, I don't think she has cause to criticize,
unless maybe he makes a mess on the floor and doesn't clean it up. The
hands-off but live-and-let-live proposition is less relevant, of course, for
a curious girl, as when I wound up masturbating a boy of about my own age. I
will mention and leave without discussion or condemnation the stories I
heard of curious older sisters teaching their brothers to masturbate just so
they could see how it was done and see if they yet had the capacity to
ejaculate.

I would prefer to devote my attention to boy-girl sex of the classic
variety. The thought of an adolescent boy of my own one day standing facing
his girl and in front of me, both of them nude and excited and my boy with a
tight erection and perhaps an anticipatory drop of nectar at its tip, the
two of them excitedly ready to make love, is the most delightful image in my
mind's eye, one that comes to my mind whenever I think of my chances of
having a family. I would like to think that my children would know in
advance they have my approval for sex, that I will help in any way possible,
and that they are rewarding me for that by letting me see it happen. I would
hope my kids would come to their own favorable conclusion to take advantage
of their growing genitals. I know I shall be watching their growth, and
congratulating them on the first appearance of "secondary sex
characteristics", telling them about the possibilities -- indeed telling my
girls about the significance and the delight of those drops of pre-coital
nectar -- introducing them to children at a similar stage of development,
offering help and support and love. The most precious image for me is my
son's penis sliding for the first time into his girl's vagina, the two of
them discovering the meaning of life in the communion of blood and semen. I
would know that he loves me enough to share this moment of his delight with
me, to let me be as close as possible, to feel the warmth and the
excitement. For my daughter I would want little different, just the
opportunity to see that her hair and her body are just right, that she is
positioned just so and made ready and matched with a boy considerate enough
to assure her an orgasm. A lovely erect and throbbing penis coming into her
view to excite her, then hovering over her vagina, then entering her after
she has been made ready and is fully lubricated; her accompanying sighs:
these are my dream for my daughter when she reaches puberty. It is a
repeatable joy, and if she is lucky she will have a full sex life beginning
from the earliest time she is able. Surely there are other likeminded
parents whose children could share the experience with mine.

I would not want a repeat of my own accidental defloration because I think
the parties and the celebration were nice and I would have liked to be the
center of attraction at one, to have my friends and family value my vagina
and watch it on its first use, it's first semen. I think that in robust
answer to the cloaca syndrome one should show off a girl's vagina and
celebrate its first sexual fulfillment. And one should preserve, in the
mind's eye of her family, the sight of her spread on the bed, and a boy's
penis coming erect to meet and to enter her, and to give her love and to
stream semen into her. That image -- penis poised to enter, penis
penetrating, wet penis emerging trailing dripping semen -- has nothing
whatsoever to do with pornography. It is a mental picture, and it not with
the intent to arouse or entice, nor obviously is it for financial gain. It
is the kids' own sexual being and expression and act, a realization of a
childhood expectation and a human right, at which parents, siblings and
friends are loving witnesses. Children are entitled to privacy if they want
it; the challenge for the parent is to be so emotionally close and
supportive that the child rejects privacy and is happy to be seen nude,
happy to be seen during the most important act she or he will ever perform,
happy to be seen in ecstasy. To see my son's penis growing, and then at
erection and then held in awe by a girl; to be close enough to see on that
first occasion semen leak out of a girl's vagina, semen produced by my own
son, this is my constant hope. And I wish for no less for any daughter of
mine, but at least I can bring her up based on my experiences, rather than
just my hopes. There is absolute reciprocity and equality in the act of sex,
rightly performed. I no less respect a daughter's semen-filled vagina than a
son's wet and sticky penis. I want my children to be so proud and loving and
confident of me that they want to show me their discovery of the source of
greatest ecstasy. 

Our sex grows perhaps more sophisticated as we get out of adolescence. But
it does not necessarily become better. Even today I often think, in the
midst of sex, how it used to be with a younger, more adventurous teen, when
we were experimenting and learning about each other's bodies. The young boys
I knew were neither arrogant nor aggressive. While I had no wish to
dominate, I did enjoy leading, and indeed I was still, at the time of the
Red Haired Girl's defloration, happy to take a strange 12-year-old boy aside
as I had on the pier and on the houseboat. I would strike up, or at least
bring about, a conversation, and I would get close to him, entering his
private space. I would enjoy it as the boy, inexperienced, fumbled and
became at a loss for speech from the proximity of breasts. He would notice I
was not wearing a bra, and he would be embarrassed. I would giggle and grasp
his hand and put it to my nipple and not let him pull away, and I would ask
him if he was afraid of girls and of course he would deny it. And soon we
would be seated together and I would catch him looking at my breasts through
the neck of my shirt, and I would take it off. And the boy might get an
erection and I would demand to see it. Or else I would say that turn about
is fair play and I needed to see his penis and I would remove his pants and
play with his penis. I liked it when the boy was only half-grown, still in
puberty. Perhaps he had not ever masturbated. I liked to feel his growing
penis get stiff to my order. I would rub his balls, feel his sparse pubic
hair, smile at him, kiss his penis. I would lick the head of the penis, and
excite the boy terribly, and soon it would be in my mouth and he would be so
startled at the sensations, about the feelings taking command of his body.
He would ejaculate for the first time in a girl, and it would be in my
mouth, and I would be so happy for him and for myself. I would show it to
him, and swallow it. And kiss him. And like the bull heifer who escaped into
the cow's pasture, he would be spoiled for sex, but he would have to find
another girl next time. We would dress, and he would go on his way. I
remember those penises, all different and yet all the same. I write about
these occasions more than my later and more frequent liaisons with bigger
and more mature boys because they were so delightful and remarkable, and
because I know they marked those boys' lives forever, for the better.

The interest and encouragement shown by such parents in their adolescent
children's sex lives astonishes many, but it should not. Indeed, others from
completely outside the sexually free world I knew have confided in me that
their parents, too, were anxious that they not find frustration and
disappointment in sex. This is especially true of fathers toward their sons,
but it is true of girls as well, mostly between girls and their mothers.
Fathers are often afraid to intervene, but they should not be. Many fathers
are embarrassed by their daughters' sexuality, and even by their daughters'
bodies. While of course I never knew my father, I would not have hesitated
to undress before him or to be undressed around him. I would have been
flattered if he had stared at my breasts or my vulva; and I would have felt
as free to watch his penis, even at sex and in ejaculation, just as I would
have been proud for him to watch me with a boy's penis in my mouth or my
vagina. Expression of support for a daughter's sexuality and sexual
expression is not illicit intervention but love and kindness. Many parents
out of simple liberalism and integrity, out of openness and a refusal ever
to condemn, earn their kids' respect and loyalty. A child who has never,
ever been mocked and whose parents have been honest about their own
sexuality and honest with the own bodies and bodily functions may well
approach parents before and after each new life adventure. It's unsurprising
that kids of similar backgrounds are attracted. If I, as a teenager, could
be inspired to oral sex with adults about and feel no inhibitions in acting
out my romantic impulse, why not other girls and boys? The event, of course,
may well not be stage-managed or celebrated; it might just happen.

Although as it happens I disposed of my virginity before I began to date, I
never felt any inhibitions or embarrassment in whatever I did, or was done
to me, with Mom around. Of course I take more initiative than many or most
girls, and if a boy was going to remove my bra -- if I happened to be
wearing one -- chances were that I would want to remove his underpants. I
have,  in fact, done that on more than one occasion, with interesting
results. If Mom was about to see our antics, so much the better: I have
always liked to be seen taking a boy's penis inside me and exciting him and
making him give me his semen. I will not do this on film: I think sex should
be recognized as a fleeting but repeatable asset. But I do like to be
watched in the flesh and I want people to see how I make boys respect my
vagina and I insist on my right to orgasm. There was, in any event, a
distinct advantage to having adults within view. Not every boy was going to
have, or be able to find, a partner on demand; and having sex in front of a
boy without an available partner may frustrate him. More than once Mom's
friend, or another adult, would remind such a boy that for him to masturbate
would be a compliment to the couple that had aroused him, and that we would
all love to see him happy. The corollary is that the boy should not be left
alone to try to find suitable partners, and that the community must help.
But as a matter of fact we were always able to find dates for our boys, at
least for the nude parties and dances.

Lack of inhibitions on our part did have one disadvantage. It deprived us of
some of the pleasure and agony of anticipation, since our romantic encounter
would go from start to finish with less delay. It was a rare incident that a
couple ended the party without having sex, at least oral sex. Outside or in
the basement, where our friends and visitors would be leaving their clothes
at the door, the urge to touch and to feel and to excite was always present.
As at our nude dances, it would only take one eager couple to start off the
rest in sexual encounter. One thought of a Greek bath, with couples in
embrace all about. But the joy was magnified by being shared. Much of sex is
visual. It is rather obvious when a girl is ready; others have at least a
few moments notice out of a corner of an eye that a couple is getting into
position. First-time sex as a social event is really only a representation
of what we encountered every day. When one knows that a girl is about to
receive her boy's penis in her vagina, there is an electricity in the air,
and we would all watch. The penis is poised above her -- unless of course
the couple is trying something more acrobatic -- and there is an
anticipation and a collectively held breath. Then the penis enters, and we
would all breathe again and go back our own pursuits, whether reading,
listening or embracing. It is a world different, and far more human, indeed
far holier too, than the suppressed environment of the nudist where an
erection is a source of embarrassment and there is a pretense that genitals
are not a source of arousal and that sex is, or should be, a embarrassing
secret. I, for one, would be embarrassed if the sight of me did not arouse a
boy. His erection is a demonstration of his human and social qualities. The
important thing is that it not be a source of aggression, and that sex acts
be based on romance and mutual desire. A boy with an erection might have
approached me, but I had the right to reject him. Mom always said that a
refusal to accept rejection was one of the greatest social ills, and whether
or not it had its origins in mental aberration in a particular case, girls
had to be sensitive to the risk and protect themselves from such boys and
men.

It must be said that our customs and our norms had practical advantages,
too. The social minuet, preening, teasing, and all the rest, take up a great
deal of time, and often -- mostly -- end in sexual frustration and anxiety
for the girls and boys involved. We recognized our meeting for its inherent
bodily purpose, which was embracing and having sex. Once that need
addressed, we all became studious and got our work done. For the rest of the
afternoon we were social ornaments, but the beauty of our bodies no longer
distracted from the substance of what we were supposed to be doing for
school. Meanwhile, pre-pubescent children knew what we were doing, but
except for the occasional glance they kept off to themselves and played
their own, more innocent, games. I always thought this was the most fabulous
sort of sex education, and that when they were older and physically
developed and ready they would join us. But as I said, it all would happen
so quickly: a boy or a girl would be a child, and then almost before we
noticed that same child would be sexually mature and eager, and sex would
just happen.

It was, of course, somewhat artificial, then, for those parents to pluck a
developing child from that environment and to schedule a defloration;
although those kids who did it that way seemed to enjoy the attention. I
have heard that it is quite natural to want to show off and perform sex in
public although most people obviously suppress the urges inside them. There
are said to be particular country sites known as hospitable to voyeurs. If
that is so, and I don't know how widespread it might be, then our own
practice would have been all the more understandable.

I suppose the motivation for some kids, from outside our own immediate
circle, to seek us out experiment with sex at our dances and at one of our
homes was the insecurity of going it alone. I wrote about the Big-Breasted
Girl. She was about 13, too; I have no idea whether her parents were
involved -- as so many were -- in bringing her to our home; if they were,
they must have known something of her plans. It happens that on that
occasion I took the place of the girl's mother in helping her make her first
sex a success. Indeed, to this day, I think of her standing there shyly
watching me at sex, and I think of her boy's wonderful and wondrous penis as
it stood there ready to deflower her, and I held and guided it into her
vagina, and she and he showed such bliss. As it turns out, I performed all
the tasks I would expect a mother to undertake at a daughter's defloration,
and, of course, equally I took satisfaction from doing so. The image is just
so beautiful of the girl lying back, desperately wanting her boy's stiff
penis inside her for the first time, and then achieving that. I wrote:

"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."
http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/38098

I did not see the girl again, but I am sure that our dance party even today
must be one of the highlights of her life. To see her excitement afterwards,
to see her exchange loving smiles with her partner, to see her great breasts
and her wet vulva: that was the proof. And in re-reading the account, I
think I should add that what made the event so sensuous and memorable was
the girl's desire as well as the boy's libido. His penis slid in so easily,
despite her virginity, because she was so fully dilated and her vagina so
well lubricated with his saliva. You know, when you see a stiff penis about
to enter a dilated vagina that the penis is wanted, terribly wanted. It is
proof of love, of romance, and of mutuality of pleasure. The only thing left
is to await ejaculation and (one hopes and expects) the feminine sighs of
delight and climax.

When they write of teen-age love, when Nat King Cole sang his song, "They
Tried to Tell Us We're Too Young", they are speaking of events like that.
Lovely introductions to love that are too precious to be hidden from view
and not shared with friends and family. And where age is a false barrier, a
lame excuse for social control that has little or nothing to do with the
true well-being of children but rather with the prerogative of adults -- and
not parents necessarily, but social workers, campaigners on the religious
right, hypocritical or sexually inadequate politicians, and so on.

I do not read sex stories in this forum; they are of little or no girly
interest. I have, however, noticed titles and introductions of some in this
library. The preoccupation with incest is simply wrong. (I'm not talking of
cousins, that happens all the time, and while there are medical problems
sometimes, they are less significant than many think. Except maybe in Saudi
Arabia.)
http://www.nytimes.com/2003/05/01/international/middleeast/01GENE.html
I did not know many cousins who had sex together, but I know there were one
or two such couples about; after all marriage between cousins is legal in
many places. 
http://www.cuddleinternational.org/laws/law-index.html
While in our home there were no families that included biological brothers
and sisters, we certainly knew nuclear families that lived and loved freely
and naked within the confines of their homes, and with similarly-inclined
friends. I don't think there was any incest; Mom would have been horrified
if she had heard of any. It was more common, as in the case of the Red
Haired Girl's boy, that a brother and sister would show off to each other,
and learn from each other, and rejoice in each other's happy sex. For those
without siblings or other children in the family or the home, like the Red
Haired Girl, there would be mostly adult nakedness to see, plus whatever she
saw while visiting similarly-inclined friends. This, of course, is why there
were always so many visitors at Mom's Friend's House, especially in good
weather when they knew they could sun themselves outside, and it is why our
nude dance parties were so popular. These were families who had known Mom's
Friend a long time, and they brought their kids because they firmly
believed, as Moses David had repeatedly said, that children have sexual
existence too, and that they should be allowed to express it. Mom's Friend
had coupled that with family nudity, and added her own rules which to most
people seemed quite reasonable. For most of the kids who came, though, it
was a sometime thing. They would be exposed at home to our kind of social
and sexual theory, but have no outlet. Thus for the Red Haired Girl
expectations regarding defloration came only from parental guidance: she had
never seen it happen. She would have been raised to look forward to her
defloration as the opening of a new chapter in her life without knowing what
it was like for other girls. True, the guests at a defloration party were
never virgins -- if they were they would take away the glamour and the
attention from the main girl. But these girls would show and tell younger
ones: indeed for most that's how a girl came to know she was ready: she saw
foreplay and sex, she saw lovely bodies exploring each other, she saw
ejaculation, and she wanted to experience it. A mother would respond right
away to a daughter who confided in her, because it was obvious that the girl
was going to become sexually active anyway, and here was an opportunity to
make it a beautiful and safe event for her. Even more beautiful, as far as I
am concerned, is the fact that so many girls had enough confidence in their
mothers to tell them and to want them alongside for the event. Readers will
understand that this is the most special and the most precious relationship
between mother and daughter, and one that is very rare indeed. Importantly,
without exception it was not just a mother-daughter relationship but one in
which the father was equally important and equally involved. The daughter's
attitude towards a penis, the willingness and eagerness of a girl sometimes
as young as 12 or 13, to have sex came because she was physically developed,
even overdeveloped, and because her father (or a man standing in the place
of a father) had set a good example for her, and family nudity and sex by
parents and perhaps older siblings was unrestrained and unhidden. A college
thesis was recently written the subject of preparing adolescent girls for
their first sexual experience. Readers may be able to download it at
http://www.linnander-seminare.de/Bilder/tessis.pdf
A Google archive in unformatted html is at
http://snurl.com/1bq7
In some respects it is supportive of ideas I've drawn from life, but it is
written in psychology jargon and is largely victim to accepted dogma of the
professional establishment. And one might question whether a middle school
course in preparation for defloration isn't too formal and rigid and
unromantic, and whether it isn't too late for the girl to abate her fear of
the penis and her loathing of the vagina, if in fact she has acquired those
impediments to healthy sexual relations. Even the thesis admits that many
middle-school girls will have had sex before they get there.

I know that the Red Haired Girl's boyfriend of the day, the boy who
deflowered her, had an older sister. She was often at our nude dances and
later I would think how nice it was that she had been able to watch her
younger brother's little penis gradually grow big, and that she could see it
making love and making girls happy, and she could see her own family's DNA
spurt from its tip and other girls take it into their bodies. I wished that
I had such a brother too. Sometimes she would dance with her partner with
her brother and his date dancing nearby. I thought it poetic when, during
close dancing, both her partner and her brother had erections, and both were
facing her directly. I remember once noticing her looking his way and I
suspected that she was sending a signal to the girl who was dancing with her
younger brother. When the music stopped, the sister ignored her brother and
began looking at and then approaching and finally touch her partner's penis.
The boy got excited and drew her aside, her brother watched. The boy sat
down on a chair, just at the edge, his legs wide apart and his balls hanging
off the edge and penis high in front of her. She put his penis in her mouth
and kissed it. Her brother was visibly moved and excited, and stood nearby
with his date, who seemed less interested in the sight but kept talking to
him about something. But the brother remained standing behind his date,
holding her breasts, pressing his stiff penis against her. Now the seated
boy started to buck in his chair, semen spurted into the sister's mouth. She
turned to the rest of us and to her brother, and showed us her mouth full of
her boy's semen, and she smiled delightedly before drinking it down. (Even
had she wanted to, the atmosphere would not have allowed her to spit that
semen out).  By now the brother was on the floor with his girl, kissing and
sucking her vagina, and soon his penis was hovering over the vagina, and
then it was inside, and I could see it sliding in and out of her vagina,
squeezing the vaginal walls, making love to it. My date was as interested as
I was in watching, but then we'd had enough and wanted sex for ourselves and
it was our turn and I had my date's penis in my mouth, and he was coming in
my mouth and I loved the warmth and the viscosity of it. I swallowed it --
something I virtually always do -- and somehow it's one of those times that
I still recall with particular pleasure. As a group, we had no illusions
about love, we looked for romance. This, in terms of modern American social
customs is a good thing. At that time, for that occasion, I knew, however,
that my boy loved me. His semen was his gift of love.

Later on I wondered how many families were so close as to appreciate each
other's sexuality and each other's sexual pleasure as ours. I would like to
know that my son or daughter could see me with my mouth full of semen and be
happy for me, as my relationship with my Mom was.

I have heard of high school and college sex clubs; surely our experience was
little different from that, except we had the fullest support of our
parents. Those clubs are probably more promiscuous than we were: we almost
always stayed with the same partner at least for a day, and certainly for an
event. Typically, sex clubs are composed of groups of kids who want to
experiment, especially with oral sex, and of course with multiple, but safe,
partners. I wrote an essay on oral sex, and it is scarcely an anomaly or
fetish today, or any time since the 1920s. I welcome any means for
popularizing it even more whether by parental advice or kids' own social
groups, or sex education. This is being tried, it seems, in England.
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2-585546,00.html
There are several university-based pages of oral sex advice, and a
commercial site conveniently named oralsextips.com . That one dates from
1998, and perhaps it's already obsolete. I'm sure any kid who is curious can
find good, honest advice; but when I was younger we only had our parents and
our friends to turn to. Happily my Mom and the girls I lived with never
scowled or rebuked even at the most naďve question, and were happy to reply
to a sex question with a demonstration. I have to say that I saw oral sex
close up long before I had any inclination to try it myself.

Amazingly, given that oral sex is now so mainstream and the need for such a
"club" is mystifying, I found some accounts of oral sex clubs on the
Internet, but as they report nothing we are not all fully aware of, there is
no need to cite them here. In fact, it seems to be a tendentious name
applied to rather ordinary social clubs that practice open sex, but that's
not really important. One interesting thing is that it is said that
typically there is an initiation where the boy must perform cunnilingus
during a girl's period; and the girl must perform fellatio and swallow the
boy's semen. At one time, those might have been shocking things to do, but
not in my lifetime. On reflection, the emphasis of the "oral" in sex is not
a bad thing. I like nothing better than to be naked with my lover, and after
we have embraced a long time I sit in front of his fiercely stiff penis. But
I want to know that he is aware that he needs to deserve, to earn, my making
love to his penis. I want to know that he will gladly bring me to climax
orally and have fun and pleasure doing it. Then I will delight in the
smoothness and the roundness and the promise of that pink or purple tip with
the slit on top. Perhaps a drop or two of nectar will float out to welcome
me. And with every stroke of my tongue and my lips -- my loving and sensuous
strokes, not the aggressive kind in the movies -- he will love me more and
think of my vagina. Sadly, I think most boys have to be raised from babyhood
to be like that, to subordinate their own sex demands to those of their
partner. Girls who read this will know what I mean.

Different kids and adults have particular sources of fascination and
pleasure. They can be fetishes or not. I have written about the cloaca
syndrome, which finds its epitome in the disgust with which some men -- and
some religions -- view menstruation. I've always respected the boys who were
happy to give me oral sex during my period; it certainly never stopped me
from attending a dance because I was wearing a tampon. There are discreet
ways of disposing of it, even when one is nude. And some boys think it's
sexy and like to watch.

In reflecting upon the possible disadvantages of our sexually open lifestyle
one that comes to mind is that once we had sex, there was a tendency for us
to congregate in same-sex groups. So it could get much like a Muslim
wedding, where men and women don't mix. And of course girls get catty under
those circumstances. I suppose boys get their revenge in their own way, but
what that is has never been revealed to me. I just saw them in their own
corner of the room, or during a break in dancing off to one side. Mom's
Friend, if she came down to see how we were doing, would try to get us to
mix again, and sometimes it worked. I think Mom's Friend always took it as a
personal success if she could bring a boy and a girl together, and something
clicked, and they had sex. I wasn't there, of course, when Older Girl had
her first sex. This was her story as I recorded it in an earlier essay:
http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2003/41630

"I could always talk with absolute openness to my mom, and one day I just
said that I thought it was time, that I wanted to be like all the other
older girls. We were both in the back yard and nude, which was our habit
there, and she sort of looked at me up and down and just said "OK". A few
weeks later we fixed a date, and one week after that there was a party
scheduled anyway and it would be after my next period was over. When the
time came, I'd been told, we should spend a lot of time on foreplay. The boy
was not a virgin; I think he was from a nuclear family in fact, but there
were lots of boys sent to us from families. A few girls, but lots of boys;
we turned many away. It is far better to have equal numbers, or maybe one
extra girl at a sex party or in a sexually-oriented community; the extra
girl can manage, she can take the role of leader and referee and policewoman
and she can have fun with the other girls when they're not dancing or having
sex. But boys get mad if they can't find a willing partner and they have to
masturbate. They feel rejected, which isn't necessarily the case, and of
course boys, even nice boys, can be aggressive when their sexual needs are
suppressed.

"I think that many fathers are afraid that if their sons don't start
heterosexual sex early they're going to wind up gay. Anyway my boy was
there, and naked, and he just came up to me as said 'Hi', and we took it
from there. After a couple of minutes, it couldn't have been more, I was
looking at his penis, holding it and then licking it up and down while
massaging his balls, which I thought were cute. In retrospect I'm surprised
I reached that stage so quickly. I guess my mom must have prompted me from
the sidelines. I had touched boys before in fact, because my mom had
encouraged me to do that. I remember I was about ten, and some older boy was
masturbating, and my mom asked me if I knew what he was doing, and she
explained it. I'd seen it before, and thought I knew, but she told me more,
and told me to go over and look more closely, and that if I wanted I could
put my hand on his penis. I touched it with my finger, that was all.

"Well, now my day had come. I was fondling the boy's penis like a valuable
heirloom, and after a while he told me he'd like me to put it in my mouth
and that he'd do the same for me in a minute. I did that, and tasted a drop
of something come out of it and I looked up at him and he was smiling. He
told me to move my head up and down, which I did. I could feel the boy's
heart pounding, his pulse racing through the shaft of his penis and his
penis vibrating as it got harder and harder. Then, after a minute or so, he
lifted up my head, pulled me to my feet and escorted me by the hand to a
bed, where he pushed me down gently, spread my legs and started to kiss and
suck around my vagina. Mom had nearby and followed, along with some kids who
just watched without saying anything because when one did speak, she was
hushed up by Mom. Finally I decided it was time and I said so. The room
tensed, people stiffened, and the boy moved up over me, and he told me to
take his penis and guide it into my vagina if I was ready to have it. But it
hurt too much when he tried to push it in, and I cried out. Mom came over
right away, and then she put a pillow under me, and she kissed me and held
my hand and told the boy something, and moved his body a little, touching
his penis I think, and he tried harder and his penis went inside me. It hurt
a lot for a minute, and I told him to stop. He didn't, though; the boy kept
moving up and down, his penis going in and out of my vagina, but the pain
subsided. After a few minutes he sort of gasped, and then he came inside me
and he was finished. Mom told him to keep massaging my clitoris and he did
that for a while. I thought I was going to climax right then, but then I got
too distracted and it got sore for me. To show him he hadn't done anything
wrong, though, I made him lie back and I spent a really long time having fun
with his penis. It tasted like me and it tasted like him, and I loved it. I
didn't care that it was only half stiff, that corrected itself anyway within
a few minutes. I just licked it like a lollipop and got every bit of juice
from it. The boy was amazed. After about twenty minutes, I think, he had
another orgasm, just a little one, and some semen came out for me. Just for
me, I was thinking. And I was not yet 13! By that time Mom had left the room
and the girls were talking among themselves.

"I had sex again the next day, and it was great. And it's been great ever
since. So, it really wasn't much of a step from my first sex, to my second,
or third, and so on."

So, again, a parent was there, assuring her daughter, seeing to it that they
boy gave proper attention to her daughter's needs and feelings. Like Mom's
Friend, who has said as much, I have always been astonished that a parent
could be angry over a daughter's sexual adventures, over her defloration. To
be there are not depends upon their mutual trust, their personal
relationship. But to be angry because she has chosen to have sex now, and
not wait? This is incomprehensible. I think, rather of the Big-Breasted
Girl, and I think of the Twelve Year Olds at Mom's Friend's House, after
their display of soixante-neuf, and their gymnastic flip, and their penis in
vagina, and their standing beside me, the boy's penis stiff and wet and
sticky and so cute and lovely and kissable, a penis that I have, since the
account described, watched with appreciation grow to adulthood and greater
loveliness:

"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."
http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/38098

They are lucky, of course, to be a pair, to have found each other under the
same roof. They are older now, and still attached at the hip. I wonder
whether others, outsiders, detect their sexual nature, the electricity
between them. I suppose not; most doubtless see them as innocent childhood
sweethearts. For me, to see them doing homework on a recent visit to Our
Town, and to see the boy distracted by his girl's clothed breasts, and then
suddenly to see her unfastening his pants and his penis in her mouth, and
then him sighing in delight and ejaculating into her mouth: they were an
item, a couple, in some way mutually understanding as much as old marrieds
would be. The girl knew what he needed, and then they got back to work. And
I had another glimpse of his lovely penis and could see that he had become a
man. He smiled at me while his girl's mouth worked on and over his penis;
this performance was for me, too. He wanted me to see that his penis was
fully grown, and he wanted me to see his semen in his girl's mouth. She
reminded me of myself; and obviously she had learned from me. I adored her
and they way she used her figure so coquettishly, making the boy desire her
intensely always. 

I knew he would pleasure her too, but she didn't need it just then. They
went back to their schoolwork. Why, I asked Mom afterwards, would anyone
want to suppress such beauty, to impose guilt and secrecy upon children? In
tribal cultures that could never be; a parent would be more likely to
delight, as we did, in children's orgasms, and in their early autonomy.
Mom's Friend thought we could trace the origins of that to control:
political, social, economic control. And to the use of religion to justify
that control. Our religious beliefs, she reminded us, were more natural,
responding to nature rather than suppressing it. One did not need to worship
a penis to respect its power to please and to generate love and life. Mom's
Friend asked me whether I didn't think that the moments of holding a man's
penis and giving him pleasure didn't amount to control of another sort, and
whether that wasn't the basis for feminism, less contentiously expressed as
"girl power". Perhaps it is. Anyway, looking at the two kids, nude in the
back yard another time, their bodies were a perfect picture and one wanted
always to see them in embrace, and the boys penis often in the girl's
vagina, to make them complete and whole. I had the feeling that my presence
alone was enough to make them think of sex, for the boy to have an erection
and for the girl to welcome his penis inside her. But I've only been there a
couple of times in the past year, so what would I know.

For me, however, his penis is not like the 16-Year-Old boy's penis, or any
other I have known and have had inside me, or even like that gorgeous penis
that I watched enter the Big-Breasted Girl that time: it is like the penis
of a son of my own, and I love it in a motherly, affectionate sort of way,
just as I think his girl's body -- her breasts, her lovely pubic area and
her vulva -- are precious. For me, the ultimate in sexuality is when I see
the girl cuddling her boy's penis, perhaps deciding whether it belongs at
that moment in her mouth or in her vagina. The two of them need and deserve
my love and I need to see them, perhaps as a reassurance that my past is
good. Anyway, there is nothing wrong about admiring a young boy with a
lovely big or a well-shaped penis nor a girl with a good figure. I suspect
that my feelings and needs in this regard are related to my regret at not
having a time-lapse photo of puberty, because these are the children whom I
saw through childhood and puberty, whom I saw develop into sexual beings,
and who learned from me how sex could be beautiful and delightful, and not
just for those engaged in it, but for the family standing by to observe, as
well.

I have often pointed out that however outré our lifestyle was when we lived
it -- which is to say that in the 60s it would have been tolerated as a
minor, unthreatening subculture -- later it fell victim to social engineers
and false perceptions about family fault in matters of pedophilia. In the
80s and 90s, when I was growing up, attention had been drawn to "children's
rights" as articulated not by their parents but by professional social
workers and self-appointed "protectors of children". Whereas children have
access to all kinds of knowledge about sex and their bodies and are
encouraged to be sexual, they are forbidden to touch. Yet, if they do, so
long as it is in private and out of sight of their parents they are probably
immune to prosecution for sex between consenting children. Parents have been
made the agents of society to suppress their children's natural instincts,
and that's a shame. Of course many avoid the conundrum by staying out of
sight. The parent most likely to interfere, I have found, is the parent who
herself or himself is sexually insecure and inadequate. In that, the age of
the child is irrelevant; the father will not want to see his daughter naked
or the mother her son at any age, it seems. What a pity that is. It is a
good thing the 12-year olds (well, they're not 12 anymore, but that's how
I'll identify them) are still together. Even at their present age they would
not likely find new partners for relationships of the sort they've known.

By the time I was in community college, still living at home, the social
restrictions were lifted; and of course by the end of my first year I was 18
and free from any legal restraint over sex. But even then, many of my
friends preferred to come to our place where they could do as they liked, be
dressed or not, and enjoy sexual stimulation. Just as our parents had in the
60s, those of my friends who had grown up in a "normally suppressed
household" reacted in exaggerated ways to new freedoms, particularly the
freedom of a girl to take the initiative and publicly enjoy her boy's, or
any willing boy's body. But the innocence of teen sex was, of course, gone.
Whatever their methodology, at some point older kids, and college students
particularly, have some agenda, commonly a search for commitment. Even I
have reached that stage now that I have started work. It doesn't stop me
from enjoying short relationships, but I am aware that there is an overlay
to them that was not present before. "Is this the penis I want to spend the
rest of my life with?", you might say, however crudely.

On the other hand, my early training and experience have, I think, made me
more sensitive, responsive and at the same time selective. I feel no need,
or at least no hurry, to prove myself with any particular boy. Vacations
aside, because we all shed certain inhibitions (and standards?) away from
home, I am more subtle and, I think, more demanding, than girls with less
self-confidence and, shall I say, wisdom in the matter. I know enough to
worry about the man, typically a loser, who imagines a relationship where
there is not, and who could become dangerous in his frustrations. Meanwhile,
I found the environment of nudity one that forced boys of college age and
older to reveal their characters and their personalities early on. I doubt
that the nudity made sex more likely for me than it otherwise would have
been with any particular male guest. The reason why I want and love a penis
is not for itself, but for its attachment to the brain and emotions and
feelings of the particular boy. Having others about, in fact, is a
protection against coercion and abuse. The boy is not only physically naked,
but mentally so as well. Others, my loved ones, are watching. That is, of
course, the best reason for encouraging and not criminalizing the presence
of parents when their children are exploring and enjoying sex. Those who
would condemn 11- or 12- or 13-year olds for embracing nude, and measure the
impropriety and illegality by the stiffness of the boy's penis, are
bizarrely perverse. I suppose it goes back to the misogynist suppression of
girls and women -- a suppression and oppression that, like female genital
mutilation, is perpetrated and perpetuated mainly by women themselves.
There's a document on the Web that discusses the demographics of adolescent
sex. While I don't think it's pertinent to our families (and it's wildly
improbable that I would have told the truth if interviewed years ago), it
does, I think, support various arguments I have made.
http://www.advocatesforyouth.org/publications/factsheet/fsbehdem.htm

When it comes down to it, our own comportment as teens did not differ so
much from that of adults, as I found not long ago when invited to a similar
adult party in the Capital City. (Often it is said that the danger in
children having sex is their lack of emotional readiness and commitment, and
their economic insecurity and the risk of pregnancy and disease. Most of
these issues are spurious, and the others were resolved, in our case, by our
parents being there for support.) There was more arrogance among some of the
men; but as I said before, that is something that comes with age. The party
came about by means of an introduction from Mom's Friend to another
ex-flirty fisher here in town, who leads something of a double life. While
Mom's Friend refused to compromise with her views -- and didn't need to
since she was a trust fund brat -- her friend works for the government, and
one would never guess her past. I suppose the FBI could find out, but so
what? It was, in a sense, like back home. An older woman and the female
friend she lives with had arranged a party for the daughter of one and the
son of the other and their friends and acquaintances. The only artificiality
came from the format: a sort of a blind-date agglomeration of
twenty-something men and women, all nude.

On the other hand, unlike my childhood, where alcohol (barring the
occasional sangria or champagne) was not generally on hand, we had drinks to
dispose of any inhibitions we didn't lose while undressing. One problem as I
saw it was that as kids we had no concern with status -- i.e., money --
whereas here, even though there were no clothes to label us, and finding a
business card meant inconvenient searching for a bag -- a conversation
partner would judge us as much by our economic and social prospects
determined by some tactless questioning as by our bodies and our native wit.
Well, perhaps it's fair and just that money should be a possible
counterweight to or compensation for lack of a perfect body. Fortunately my
body is reasonably attractive and that was not an issue. As it happens, I
carried on with a law student. As I understand there are many unemployed
lawyers these days (I read of one, female as it happens, who walks dogs for
a living) it's not clear that just any law student is a good prospect for a
social-climbing girl, but there you are.
http://online.wsj.com/article_email/0,,SB105155378448295000,00.html
Anyway, he looked cute in the nude, and was well spoken, and I concentrated
on being attractive for him. He was, he said, interested in human rights;
but then many or most law students say they are, but when they get out they
go into commercial law, or tax law, or bankruptcy law where there is money
but no principle and not too much that is interesting to talk about. Family
law, at least, offers interesting gossip. One guy at work (not a lawyer, by
the way) told me of a divorce case he knew about from New York in the 1950s
when the only ground for divorce was adultery, and a man, now long dead of
course, had hired a private detective to document his wife's infidelity. The
private detective testified as to 50 separate occasions of adultery by the
wife, including once with the detective himself. That kind of law story
interests me.

Mom's Friend's friend was, in a way, a classic party giver. Not, certainly,
at the level of Pearl Mesta ("Call Me Madam"), but you know what I mean. She
was nude, but as a joke I suppose, wore a maid's costume, a frilly lace
apron and a collar, neither concealing her sex parts, and passed around
drinks and hors d'oeuvres. After a while her daughter put on some music, and
there was dancing, and it was just like the old days, if noticeably more
inhibited because more adult, at least at first. The friend's lodger bustled
about seeing that couples were together and, as I suspect in retrospect,
watching for signs of arousal and excitement. I think she embarrassed her
son because she saw that he had an erection and told the son's dance partner
pointblank that she should do something about it. I said something sexy to
my own partner, and while he was staring at my breasts I caressed his penis
lightly, and of course I started something. But that had been my intention.
I wanted people to see his penis stiffening and I wanted people to see me
take it in my mouth. I thought of the time at college when I had done this
in the shower, and it was happening again, if with somewhat less subtlety.
But here it was the same, at least in the sense that I gave a boy an
erection and them made him want me, and in the process aroused all those
about me and made them think -- sooner than they otherwise would have -- of
sex.

I didn't continue to stroke his penis long enough for him to come in my
mouth. I know that the risk, on a first occasion, of the boy not
reciprocating by going down on me is too great. I want to get to know him a
bit, unless of course I don't mind not having a climax of my own on that
particular occasion. So, I just told him after a while that it was my turn,
and I moved him off his chair and sat down in his place with my legs spread
very wide apart. When he started, I got to thinking he might not ever have
done this before, and I gave him some tactful guidance. If it was in fact
his first time, he learned fast and made me very happy, and I made sure
everybody in the room knew that. I really wanted his penis in my vagina at
that point, and so it was, and that's where he ejaculated. I would normally
have had him use a condom, and I suppose he would normally have volunteered
to use one; but somehow things ran away with us, and that's a risk inherent
in quick emotional and physical entanglements. In retrospect the risk is
infinitesimally low in our particular case, but I'll be more careful next
time. Maybe the friend should have been looking out for such things. When we
finished, we just lay back on the floor, and his penis was still stiff and I
just admired his semen as it glistened all over, and I felt good and we
smiled at each other and talked of nothing in particular and I played with a
little pool of semen at the tip of his penis, lifting my finger as if making
a spider web, and I enjoyed myself. Then I wanted the boy to hold me, and he
did. The hostess came by from time to time, but she didn't disturb us but
only smiled. Eventually we arose and had another glass of Chablis. Somehow I
felt very important, the way I had when I was young and accomplishing sex
for the first time, learning how to make a boy ejaculate in my mouth so
others could see and share our joy, being sensuous and being admired by my
peers. I wanted to stand next to my boy, to show ourselves off the way the
12-Year Olds had done that day in the back yard. But of course all the
others had enjoyed themselves today too, and we really didn't need their
approval at all, we just needed each other for the evening.

I think the friend was quite glad that I had known how to get things moving,
and I'm sure I'll be invited back, and I might even accept the invitation.
On the other hand, I've been trying to compartmentalize my libertine past,
and be more conventional here in the Capital City. I think, after all,
that's where my future lies. We'll see: the law student has called me, but
we haven't had a chance to get together again since that day.

I had to wonder about the motivation of that friend of Mom's Friend, though.
I guess she just got vicarious pleasure at seeing her son have sex. I don't
think it's a useful exercise to judge penises by size and shape, with
certain exceptions of which I discuss one further along in this essay,
because within a certain range of normality my own judgment is that such
things don't matter much, any more than the size, shape or texture of a
woman's breast is really relevant to its capacity for lactation. Within a
certain range of youthfulness and rigidity it will be highly attractive to
most men; but even unattractive people can enjoy great sex and can attract
each other; and, beyond that, wealth can be a substitute for attractiveness.
It can also pay for plastic surgery, but that's a separate issue.

I did see, finally, the hostess's son's penis at work but I watched his
mother more than I watched his penis. Her expression of satisfaction was
relevant to the topic of this essay. I really thought she was feeling the
pleasure of each stroke. Certainly when she saw his semen dripping out of
his girl later on she was seeing her own DNA, so I guess she was entitled to
be pleased. He seemed to take a long time at his sex; but then I have known
boys -- the 16-Year-Old Boy in particular -- who had the ability to delay
their ejaculation until the girl was optimally ready for it. Words need not
be exchanged; such boys just look in your eyes and know. The trouble with
the 16-Year-Old Boy lay elsewhere, of course: he was boring. That returns us
to the point I was trying to make: even the best sex is not enough to
sustain a relationship if your partner is otherwise terribly useless.

As to the hostess's motivation, I asked my Mom her views. She stated the
obvious: while people can enjoy sex at any age, absent physical infirmity,
its urgency, at least for most women, decreases with menopause. The
vicarious pleasure of seeing a child in desire and fulfillment exists
irrespective of age, however. The degree to which a parent dares to intrude
on a child's sex life has to depend entirely on their relationship, which
brings us back to the importance of developing and maintaining such a
relationship of trust and confidence from the earliest age. She added that
intellectually there is no reason why any son, when surprised with an
erection by his mother, should do otherwise than show it to best advantage,
and be proud of it. This is what I said earlier myself. An erection can be
taken as aggressive, but not of course by one's Mom. Vestiges of Victorian
prudery make it constitutionally impossible for most mothers to react
decently to the situation of seeing their grown boy nude and ready for sex.
For us it is different: just as Mom and I rejoiced at the stiff and sticky
penis of the 12-year old boy in our back yard that day when he and his girl
showed it off to us after sex, a wise parent will treat his or her children
and every part of the body with respect and love. Accomplishing successful
sex is little different, except perhaps in degree of preparation, from
obtaining a piano certificate or a high school diploma. In any of those
cases, the child should be raised to welcome a mother's being there, to be
proud of his body, his penis, her breasts, their sex.

While much is made, even within my own essays, of the girl's defloration one
has to recognize that the event of first sex may be even more traumatic for
the boy. Most girls have encountered boys too frightened to accomplish an
erection right away, and this is even more likely with other, possibly
critical, kids about. I like to think that I am more understanding and
solicitous than most girls, and of course this comes, too, from my
background. I always knew that to ridicule a boy only halfway through
puberty because his penis was not fully developed would be cruel. To be
patronizing is equally wicked. Stage of development is equally irrelevant in
most cases, since a boy from the start of puberty is perfectly capable of
sex, the more so oral sex. And in oral sex, a fierce erection is scarcely
necessary. Most times I found that even a nervous boy could be calmed with a
few strokes of my lips and tongue on his penis, and an occasional reassuring
smile. It is unusual for a healthy boy not to be stimulated to erection by
oral sex. If I wanted the penis in my vagina, there was plenty of time for
that; if I wanted his mouth at my vagina, I would already have won his
undying gratitude and loyalty, and I could have that. Having seen oral sex
as normal and fun, boys and girls I knew had no hesitation to try it. I
never knew or heard of the cloaca syndrome, or semen as "dirty", until after
I left Our Town. I didn't invent mutual oral sex, but I found early on that
it is wondrously delightful, and that kids are naturally good at it. The
boy's state of development is less at issue, he will normally get an full
erection in the course of it, and even if he doesn't very likely the wetness
in the vagina and the smaller size of a half-grown penis will mean that it
can slide quite nicely in my vagina only half erect. With a bit of attention
and encouragement it will become fully erect after a few thrusts. I remember
one mother, staying in Mom's Friend's house after leaving an abusive
relationship. She was completely taken by surprise that I had seduced her
son. 

After our first time, at mutual oral sex, I wanted to have conventional sex
with him. The boy didn't want to have sex in front of his mother, but I
insisted and told him it was that or nothing. Although he must have been
close to 13 he was just entering puberty: his voice was unchanged, his face
smooth, only a bit of pubic hair, and his penis and balls were just half
grown and very smooth and cute; lovely, in fact, just small. Our first sex
happened on a whim of mine. We had been out sunning in the back yard, and I
had seen him with an involuntary erection, and I wanted him. We were not, in
fact, far apart in age, but of course I was sexually mature, experienced and
sophisticated and he was not. I went over to him and touched his erection,
and he was somewhat embarrassed but didn't stop me from approaching his
penis and caressing it, first with my hand and then with my mouth. Soon it
was entirely in my mouth and I was stroking the circumcised tip aggressively
with my tongue. Once I had started the friction of my lips and tongue on his
glans, I knew he would let me finish. But I wanted to introduce him to my
vagina. I wanted him to see my body as a sensuous thing, I wanted him to see
my sexual being.

I moved over on my back and told him to look at me, to see and feel my
breasts, and to look inside my labia. And then I had him get on top of me,
and kiss and suck my vagina. He did that dutifully and without objection,
sort of finding his own way down there. I found it's easier to perform
soixante-neuf in that configuration, girl on the bottom, when the boy's
penis is still small. Now the boy helped me pleasure him by raising and
lowering his thighs as I moved my lips around the glans. He quickly learned
how to make it feel good for him, pushing and pulling his penis in and out
of my mouth as I circled it with my tongue. After a while he had an orgasm,
and just a few drops came out. It must have been something he had never felt
before, because the excitement seemed to overwhelm him. We could do nothing
but smile at each other guiltily. His penis shrank again, his balls were
tight up against his body. I played with them, telling him they were
gorgeous, that I wanted to watch them grow and I wanted to see them with
more hair and I wanted to see him with an erection again and again. We
stayed outside, and when his Mom came home I became mischievous and made him
tell. He thought she would be angry, but of course she wasn't; what could
she do at that point? I told him we should have sex again, right there, and
I showed him how to lubricate my vagina by kissing it, and I gave him an
erection again by sucking his penis, and then the penis was inside my
vagina. After just a couple of strokes he knew what to do. It was a bit
loose, but not less exciting for that. He just had to go slower, to press
his penis against the side of my vagina, to achieve enough friction to
satisfy him. I clasped my feet around his ankles and calves and I watched
him learn to measure his pace. Then he had another orgasm. His mother had to
watch us, but she was inscrutable and I'm not sure whether she approved. I
knew that if she didn't she had only Mom's Friend and Mom to complain to,
and they would talk her out of her objection. It was, after all, they, and
particularly Mom's Friend, who set the rules, one of which was nudity in the
back yard. She wanted, as she said, to see her charges free to explore, and
free to be beautiful. Sometimes she would join us, and she loved to talk
about boys and girls, and admire our sex parts and we knew she was hoping we
would have sex.

Anyway, if the boy's mother hadn't wanted him to grow up, she wouldn't have
moved into our home, would she? Older kids had come home and were having sex
too, so nobody could say anything. At that particular time I can't recall
any couples going steady or limiting their sex to any particular partner; it
was sort of a daily flirting party, and setting out to arouse a potential
partner you thought was cute. Naturists studiously ignore other kids' sex
parts; our difference was that we both enjoyed looking at them and being
seen to look at them and being stimulated by their sight. It would be hard
to ignore a boy you liked and were talking to, if after a while his penis
became erect without your having touched it. You knew he wanted you, and if
you felt likewise nothing stopped you from embracing.

Those were the days when Mom's Friend's House was quite full of lodgers and
there were many kids about. It's not like that any more. The two of us had
sex often for the next couple of months, until he and his mom left Our Town.
I knew that in a year or so his penis would be fine and large, and I really
hoped to meet up with him again, but it hasn't ever happened. As with many
of the pubescent boys I had sex with, I dreamed somehow that my sucking on
the boy's penis would help it grow. Of course that's as spurious as those
penis-enlargement devices they sell, but I know that psychologically and
emotionally and socially I did help those boys grow, and their lives were
better for it. The few that I was able to watch over time gained in
self-confidence and sought other girls; instead of thinking only of putting
their penis in the girl's mouth and instead of concerning themselves with
their own ejaculation and only that, I taught boys to be more considerate,
and by and large they would realize that male sexual psychology dictates
that in oral sex the boy should bring the girl to climax first, and that
then she will be more than happy to reciprocate in mouth or in vagina. Boys,
not universally but commonly, lose interest after they have come; and while
they may meet the girl's needs, their thoughts will be elsewhere. Some are
even resentful that the girl is slower to respond: but isn't that their own
fault if they ignore the rules about foreplay? And isn't oral sex just
foreplay, and ejaculation in mouth just foreplay gone to extremes? Yes they
are.

Stays at Mom's Friend's House by transient families provided some of my most
interesting relationships, and gave me the opportunity to observe the
attitude of parents, mothers mostly, who usually but not always had a COG
background, but generally had no later communal living experience and in any
case had not given the children  until their stay with us  the opportunity
to observe and inter-react nude with children of varying ages. If I could
draw the children outdoors, they would be expected to undress; and
inevitably sex would become part of their lives. I became friendly with
another 15-year old girl in that way, and inevitably she became curious of
our lifestyle. Her discomfort at my having sex next to her passed reasonably
quickly, and in due course the ease of attracting boys while nude, and their
persistent interest in her, disposed of any inhibitions she had. For her it
was not a formal ceremony, she just acceded, just said "yes", and the rest
of us scurried to make her comfortable and create a nice setting. The
question was whether to call her mother to come out and see, a mother who
rarely came outside, probably because she felt self-conscious in the nude.
It was left to Older Girl to arrange, on a blanket on the lawn, a
defloration at short notice and to get the girl's mother to approve, even to
take satisfaction, from the event. I suspect that Older Girl got her own
mother, Mom's Friend, to tell the guest mother that her girl was of age,
even past age, and that the mother might as well make the best of it. So she
sat in a lawn chair while her daughter was laid out as a virginal "bride",
arms and legs wide apart, smiling sweetly, her body ready for the lover she
had chosen. 

In this case, as in a number of others, the initiative came from us; the
girl was somewhat older, 15, the mother was more a guest than a promoter and
hostess of the event. She sat in her chair with a drink, naked herself, with
her daughter in that vulnerable position while being admired by girls and
boys, and her boy kneeled by her to share his love and his body. It was nice
to see them kiss, to see him fondle her breasts, then finally caress inside
her vulva. The fact was that the girl was still too apprehensive to be very
active in the event. I told the boy he was going to have to be direct and
kiss her vagina. He spread her vaginal lips and put his face to them and
spent some time arousing her, and indeed we could see her relax, and
supposed that was a sign she was ready. Older Girl whispered something to
her and she smiled, and she bent her knees and lifted her spread legs so now
all of us could see into her vaginal opening. She looked so lovely, a cute
15-year old with a pretty face, long hair, adult breasts, and her labia now
prominent and vaginal opening visible. As the boy rose from the ground his
own stiff erection came into view and a couple of the smaller kids shouted
and pointed. The sight was making some of the boys who were watching
uncomfortable. Unlike a planned defloration party, there was no guest list,
and no arrangements had been made for the kids watching to pair off. I could
see that this was going to cause a problem. As it turned out I would have my
choice of boys, and I picked one who had been paying a lot of attention to
me and who deserved my attentions, I thought.

Older Girl came over and asked the girl if she wanted to play with her boy's
penis first. She drew the boy over and grasped his erect penis as if to put
it in the 15-Year-Old's hand, but she said she'd rather get on with it.
Again, my own impression is that it was a pity that the girl had not been
encouraged by her mother over the years to see the penis as a source of
love, rather than as a threat. I don't know that she felt threatened, but
her apprehension up until that moment suggested that he did. I, of course,
even at a younger age would have wanted to kiss and lick a penis that was
going to enter me. That was less likely if a girl hadn't been taught to
appreciate genitals as things of beauty; once a kid gets to her mid-teens
it's usually too late for that. Be that as it may, the boy moved back
between the girl's legs and drew himself up along her body. When his face
reached hers, he kissed her lightly by way of distraction, put some saliva
on his fingers and spread it on the head of his penis, and pointing his
penis directly over her vagina lowered it into her and deflowered her. If
she felt pain, she did not show it, and later it was difficult to detect
whether any of her blood had mixed with the semen because so much of it was
discharged. The kids watching gasped or sighed or smiled or shrieked as the
case may be, and the boy's penis, after a very brief hesitation, began its
in-and-out movement, which of course we could watch from below. The boy was
solicitous, and talked to her throughout as his penis entered and left her
vagina, but Older Girl could see that she was not ready for climax. From the
standpoint of the kids watching, it was beautiful sex, and the substantial
stream of semen from her vagina when the boy was through was a lovely thing
to see. Indeed, whether it makes sense or not, semen leaking visibly from a
vagina is always taken as a sign of the success of the event, even though it
has little or no bearing on whether the girl was satisfied. It seemed to me
that the girl should have had a chance for climax and the boy should either
have spent more time on foreplay or should have given her clitoris oral
stimulation afterwards. At that time, and at her age then, Older Girl simply
didn't command the authority to get the boy to defer to his girl's needs,
and from that standpoint the event was a disappointment. Later we were able
to get the girl to assert herself and to get the boy to spend enough time
with her clitoris and her vaginal area so that she could have an orgasm
either even before she let the boy enter her, or soon after. But the
difference is really the non-involvement of the girl's mother, who should
have asserted herself in her daughter's interest. That she did not is a fact
of her lack of familiarity with our customs: she stayed with us because she
needed the accommodation, and not because she was committed to our
lifestyle. Perhaps all this doesn't matter: the girl began her sex life, she
learned how to assert her rights. But her big event was less than it might
have been with better planning. And while I contrived to have her near me
when I engaged in oral sex, and I was perhaps too ostentatious in that by
sitting myself at the edge of a chair while I had a boy bring me to climax
that way, and then did the same to him in such a way that she could see him
ejaculating into my mouth, the 15-Year-Old Girl never seemed to accomplish
it with style. I suppose that doesn't really matter, and we ought never
consider sex a competitive sport, but I have no other way of describing the
lack of something indescribable, sensuousness maybe. I thought it was a
measure of that that the 15-Year-Old Girl seemed uninterested in either the
boy's penis or the semen it had left inside her: unlike some girls, she
didn't feel or taste it, or even go out of her way to show off her vagina
afterwards, as she could have by leaving her legs spread widely. Or she
could have played with her boy's penis afterwards, and tasted a bit of the
two of them as it coated the penis's head and shaft. Perhaps it's not a
mother's task to raise her children as sexual beings, but it is a gift to
them when she accomplishes that. It can be done by example, by explanation,
by environment. Including, of course, exposure to bodies in action. Not
necessarily constantly, as we had, but liberally, casually and reasonably
frequently. The kinds of expression of delight in sex that I just mentioned
were typical of what we girls who were native to Mom's Friend's House would
do: girls like Older Girl and Terrific Girl. I daresay even the Big-Breasted
Girl, whom we barely knew, had style, although I know nothing of her
background and can't suggest how she acquired it. I'm only speculating here,
but just as misogyny in general is perpetrated as much by women as by men,
so the cloaca syndrome is allowed by too many girls and women to stunt their
sexual growth and their sexual expression. To show off to an audience of my
peers, my Mom and my children my post-coital vagina and the penis that has
made me happy is a sign of my self-confidence.

As for my own sex that day, with the boy I'd chosen from among the boys in
the audience: since I was in demand, and there were more boys than girls, I
decided to try out an oral sex trick that Mom had once explained to me. She
had wanted to show me with the penis of one of her lovers, but none ever had
the patience to finish. I got this 14-year-old boy seated in a chair, and I
made his penis very stiff, and then I proceeded to lick just the underside
of his penis, just running my tongue over the channel through the corona and
up to the tip, repeating this over and over and over again for 30 minutes or
more until the boy ejaculated violently -- and I mean violently, with semen
streaming everywhere and a boy-orgasm neither of us had ever experienced
before. Only then did I take his penis into my mouth, at least the top half
of it, and that was only to retrieve what was left of the semen, to clean
off his penis and to enjoy the taste of his sex. When I told Mom about what
I'd accomplished she was really sorry she hadn't been there to watch. Others
had gotten bored watching, but several kids were sitting around, having long
before finished their own sex, and they did see the explosion and hear the
boy's shriek of delight. I felt as if I had made a new discovery; on the
other hand it took a lot of time and effort. And I didn't get an orgasm of
my own out of it either. Still, it was lots of fun as well as a new
experience. It's too bad, too, that they weren't looking on because with
this kind of oral sex, the ejaculation is in full view of those watching and
not hidden away behind your lips. I haven't done that again in quite the
same way, although I often use the technique to stimulate an erection, or to
tease. As for the 14-year old, he wanted to be my friend for life, but while
I really liked his penis, and was convinced his penis would one day go on to
great and glorious deeds, I did not care to limit my horizons at that young
age. What was funny, though, was that the boy could barely look at me after
that without getting a tight erection. Everybody noticed and commented on
it. We had sex sometimes, but mostly the ordinary way; or else I would make
him bring me to orgasm orally and perhaps start fellating him with just my
tongue, but after a couple of minutes, when he would be tense and excited
but still far from ejaculation, relent and put the whole head of his penis
in my mouth and bring him to orgasm normally and swiftly.

Those who have written in the past questioning how kids could grow up free,
sisters, brothers and friends, to see each other nude and at sex, need to
follow some of the links in my past essays. I have discussed those
subcultures all over America that represent foreign cultures, local sects,
dissenting points of view. I am not a Hmong, or a Yemenite or a Samoan (and
I have no idea what those cultures believe or do, except that the Yemenites
mutilate their women's genitals). My childhood is quite simply the last
manifestation of a 60s lifestyle that was quite common, and very
sympathetically viewed at the time. The kind of sexual freedom that
Jeremiah's commune pursued, with a change in partners every day, was well
known. I don't think that many formalized defloration the way Pops did,
taking each 14-year-old girl onto the dais where he would pronounce a
sermon, undress the girl, spread her out on the floor and ritually insert
his penis into her vagina in front of the congregation with his legs
stretched out towards the audience so they could best see her vagina,
deflowering her and making her available in future days to all the male
members in turn, including her own male family members. As I have said, I'm
not sure that the formalizing of the defloration is the bad part, although
I'm repelled by its accomplishment by an old clergyman and father figure and
not by a nice boy her own age. Of course we all place stories we read and
hear in our own universe and with our own worldview, so I like to think of
the nice image, of a happy girl with her legs apart towards the audience,
celebrating a big penis as it shattered her hymen. But, I'm afraid, Jeremiah
probably used poetic license, or that as a man he misread or misunderstood
female psychology. Or his story may be largely fictionalized, although I am
sure there is some truth in it, and we know that sex-based religions did
exist and that their priests, like Moses David and Jim Jones and the early
popes, used their clerical position to extort sex from women.

As for Jeremiah's story, I don't think that event was really fun for the
girl; I think it would have been coercive: in a word, rape. Our experiences
of sex were initiated by the girl, who knew that when it was time they could
call on their mother. But of course, more often than not they didn't and
became victims of their own romantic illusions or just of accident. As in my
case. So I don't have a lovely memory of my first sex; I replace it with
lovely memories that belong to others. Perhaps that's why I make so much of
the Big-Breasted Girl's story, because somehow her boy's penis was the
handsomest I ever saw. And why that should be is anyone's guess, since while
penises may be different, still they're all the same and, extremes apart,
the differences don't mean much. (In some ways, I argue, the shape and
length of the male tongue is more important to a girl's happiness...) But
there's more: one is not really witness to one's own defloration. A girl's
thoughts are elsewhere (and I don't mean on a new hat. or on England). She
does not see close up the penis penetrating her and the semen mixing with
blood, and perhaps flowing out so that Mom and the others see the evidence
of her growing up and her delight. But she does see the face of her lover,
and she can imagine a romantic future and many, many returns of the happy
day. It's because she can't see the boy's penis inside her that I always
told younger girls to spend time before and after playing and kissing her
boy's penis. The Red Haired Girl made a joke of it when she kissed her boy's
penis, and I think that was wrong. He had a full erection 15 minutes after
their first sex, and I would have thought she should have brought him to
ejaculation in her mouth. It would have made the day more memorable for them
both; the guests would have delighted in it, and she would have become
familiar with semen, something she seemed still fearful of when we later
spoke. But it was her day, not mine, and I didn't interfere. For what it's
worth, the eyes of all four boys scarcely left her body that day, and the
other girls, including me, felt slighted. The Red Haired Girl was and is the
most beautiful girl on the block, clothed or nude. And, unlike many other
girls, even sexier and cuter when she lies back with a boy's penis in her
vagina. That may be because she doesn't shave her pubic hair; I never much
cared for shaved pussies even if it means compromise when buying a bathing
suit.

 From my research I know that many communes felt, in that time before DNA,
that it was wrong to seek to establish paternity: one knew the mother, but
the father was God or the commune collectively. My previous essays contain a
number of references and links, and I won't repeat them here. Of course the
60s gave way in due course to the greedy 80s and 90s and the bankrupt 00s,
but that's another story, supportive however of my argument that my
childhood can scarcely be repeated. One can be open and sincere with one's
children, perhaps, if discreet, one can express one's sexuality in front of
them. An incautious word, however, can bring the wrath of the authorities
down upon the family. I do not know how I will deal with the sexuality of
kids I have, and it's a question that gnaws at me. I have to concede that I
am making my own pact with the devil in favor of a nice job in a
cosmopolitan city. Both Mom and I know that I have definitively rejected her
life, but hers is not a life she would want for me because she is paying for
her early mistake in joining a sect. She is frank about the hypocrisy she
discovered there, and she made the best of things later and did well for me.
We are both grateful that Mom's Friend has been there to help her.

As for replicating our sexy home life in Our Town, that is impossible today,
the more so in the Capital City or any city. The nude dance party I went to
here, where I met the cute law student, doesn't change that proposition: it
was a just a one-off reunion of people who loved to be nude and to show and
share their bodies and their ecstasy, not the renewal of a lost lifestyle,
which was our daily lives, our mindset and our fundamental existence. It was
just a brief gathering and of course had nothing to do with the essence of
how we lived, which focused not on adults having social and sexual fun but
on helping children grow up and taking satisfaction from seeing them develop
in character and in body. That's a shame. Although I am unlikely to
encounter it, or to find it suitable for me if I did I suspect that
somewhere out there on the fringes of conventional nudism is a subculture
that does preserve children's sexual identity and freedoms. Such a group
would not deny sexuality within the family and, while prohibiting incest
encourage (unrelated) adolescents of a certain age and capacity to
experiment with each other. It is the insistence upon privacy and secrecy,
in conventional society which creates the hazard for children, by not giving
them the natural outlet they need, and the knowledge to discriminate and to
protect themselves. At our home, a child who might be confused yet aroused
and sexually needy was immediately noticed and helped. We had no outcasts.
This was easy to assure at our home, with unrelated kids all about and girls
like myself fascinated by changeling boys and eager to take their penises in
hand, so to speak. I only wish the issues could be more openly debated, and
the facts set out without fear of retribution and prosecution. The measure
of social acceptance, I think, will be when parents can include without fear
or hesitation in their family photo album a picture of a nude son with an
erection. This is simply realism: an erection is not, without more, a sex
act, it is not in itself pornography. It is a physical response to
stimulation. (The proof is the story above of the small boy with the
involuntary erection; I surely took advantage of him in kissing and sucking
his penis when surely that erection had nothing to do with an expectation of
sex. Fortunately, everything worked out happily for us in the end.) When I
was in Paris last year for a conference I saw in a French bookshop a series
of sex education books for kids of various age groups. The books showed
families in the nude, and, to the degree it was thought the particular age
group could understand, it illustrated with photographs and drawings how sex
was done, and its consequences. I have never seen anything so explicit,
educational or helpful in America.

I did not have the opportunity or the temerity to ask Mom's Friend's friend
about her son's and her friend's daughter's first sex experiences. Mom's
Friend told me later that in fact the two women had lived together for
years, since leaving the COG, and that she thinks they might have arranged
some kind of formal defloration for the two of them. I imagined that it
would have been an event like the one I attended for the Red Haired Girl,
with the daughter guided to the bed, spreading her legs apart to reveal her
stunning vulva and vagina, and her chosen boy mounting her and his penis
making her whole, all before admiring and encouraging and loving friends and
family. (Really, we had to envy the Red Haired Girl at the time, to think
she was about to experience for the first time life's greatest event, to be
approached by a penis that had the seal of approval of every man and boy and
woman and girl present.) When I saw them at the recent party, son and the
daughter were with other partners and they were older; but there was clear
warmth between them. There is, of course, no reason why a couple selected to
be deflowered together should stay together; only that the event does
provide a lifetime association. I thought of this because those two mothers'
enjoyment at their grown offsprings' sex lives is relevant to what I was
arguing: that there is some beauty and some logic in parental encouragement
and involvement to protect children at their first sex experiences. It
seemed to me that the particular boy and girl acted now more as step-brother
and step-sister, delighting in each other's orgasm but without sexual
electricity or attraction for each other. If I have guessed correctly, that
is an interesting evolution in their relationship but I suppose no more
startling than that between any divorced couple that continue to meet
socially in their new relationships.

The relationship between the boy and the girl and the two mothers is anyway
consistent with all my experiences in Our Town: pride and self-confidence at
sex, and happiness that family and friends should watch. Joy at an erection,
and vicarious pleasure at an ejaculation. I suppose in today's milieu
nothing I have written about or experienced, not even the exhibitionism and
the voyeurism within the family, is shocking except the ages at which they
first occurred. It's too late to complain now; except for those two kids
together back home we have all grown up.

There is a separate issue that I do not have time or space to explore fully
here. Assuming the reader has conceded the special, yet quite natural,
relationship between a mother and her son's penis, and likewise the
father-daughter relationship (both being at the same time sexual yet
non-intrusive and certainly not violative) what about the quality of peer
observation of adolescent sex? One might -- from all the hype and the dollar
volume of sales of pornography -- assume that boys are the voyeurs. This
just isn't so. Girls were constantly trying to fix up their friends with
boys. And for them, the measure of success was getting the girl to want and
need to kiss and love the penis of her special date. The result was that
girls were watching intently the developing relationship of a new boy and a
girl from our group. Of course much depended on the boy's background. While
seducing a boy is admittedly less complex a project than seducing a girl
because the social and practical implications are less, consummation of the
date depended on compatibility. If the boy's penis did not enter the girl's
vagina within a few hours or at worst a couple of days after their meeting,
he project was an abject failure. Remember, that nudity, at least in Mom's
Friend's House, was limited to certain areas, which is not to say that
public displays of affection did not occur elsewhere, but that they were
incidental and occasional. So the first hurdle for the girls who were trying
to match a couple was to bring them outside, or downstairs. If the boy was
from a background of easy nudity and easy sex, all this was a non-issue and
he would know how to handle himself among a crowd of nude teens, even if the
match failed and he took his semen home with him.

I suppose that some boys were not at all unnerved by the challenge of trying
to make love to a girl while she is surrounded by her friends, all of them
intently watching his penis and hoping to see it penetrate the girl's
vagina. More than once a boy I was with had trouble with that, and in my
usual problem-solving way I would make it up to him by taking his penis in
my mouth and loving it to bits. As I said before, an insecure boy who does
not get an erection at the mere sight of your body is not a hopeless case!
One can be discussing anything -- sports, music, schoolwork, life -- and in
the process draw the boy to the edge of his chair, his penis and balls
hanging down. This is the best position for gaining access, and I can be
talking to him while nonchalantly admiring and caressing and then kissing
his penis, giving him confidence and love. It was then my option whether to
pull him down over me on the floor and enjoy vaginal sex, or to enjoy his
penis right there with my mouth. The fact is that my choice often had little
to do with my relationship with the boy, but rather my relationship with the
voyeuses around me. Somehow most of those matchmaker girls did not take oral
sex -- wonderful as it is, and despite its capacity for sensuousness and
glamour, and for a display of semen dripping from penis and mouth and being
lovingly consumed -- as criterion for a successful match. I might turn
towards them with a mouthful of semen, with semen dripping from my tongue,
and challenge them to recognize my sexual conquest. But for them, the boy
had not come inside me, they had not seen him penetrate me, and by their
measure our date was not consummated. We were, it would seem, at the cusp of
the oral-sex-as-not-real-sex debate. Anyway, how I dealt with a particular
situation depended upon the dynamics of the day, and how I felt about the
penis, since if a penis is really grand and not so large as to be a
nuisance, it is really nice to kiss and suck it and feel its responsiveness
in a way that your vagina cannot do. I have said before that I never close
my eyes during sex, and I always attribute to girls who do a certain
distaste for what they are doing and for the boy they are doing it with. If
I had a boy's penis in my mouth, and girls were around me trying to be smart
with me, I could look them in the eye, forsaking for the moment the face of
my boy, and challenge them. After all, I had a boy that night and they,
presumably, did not. The display of semen, indeed on occasion sticking out
my tongue coated with semen and then ostentatiously swallowing it, was, for
me, the ultimate victory lap. It isn't that the girls wouldn't do that too,
it's that they were trying to be controlling in a subtle (?) sort of way --
over our sex. And as the reader will know, I tend to take charge in matters
of sex and reject the boy who dissents from my leadership. Few do, in fact:
I'm scarcely unkind or unromantic. And I usually know more about the boy's
body, and certainly more about sex, than he does.

The above discussion raises an interesting point. I think I have made clear
that one of the best access angles for viewing, playing with, exciting,
sucking a penis is seated on the floor between the spread legs of a boy, who
himself is seated at the edge of his chair. I have often remarked that
within a reasonable range of the median, the size of a penis is not
critical. And I have discussed how, in fact, a smaller penis is best for
oral sex when the girl is underneath. I don't like clichés, and I
particularly don't like supporting the sponsors of e-mail spam (well, that
snake oil doesn't do any good anyway, does it, and you're pretty well stuck
with the sex parts you were born with unless you want to risk a complete
destruction of your sex life by some quack, or poisoning by some Chinese
herb). But in my favorite scenario, with the boy at the edge of the chair,
and his penis still flaccid, I can balance it on my tongue, and make it
dance and with luck give me some seminal nectar. And it will expand in size
and in strength and soon I will be feeling the boy's pulse through it. And
then I can make serious love. With other girls watching me, I found that a
heavy penis -- meaning a fatter one, but one that is not too long to
manipulate properly with just your tongue -- made for a far better show. I
want to relate back to the time I spent a half-hour bringing the boy to
ejaculation just by rubbing with my tongue that one area below the corona of
his penis. It is this part the one should excite by gently running her
tongue back and forth under the penis near the indentation in the corona and
along the little sculpted channel leading to that lovely slit. That's the
place where, Mom had shown me, I could create that explosive orgasm; but
what I am doing now is not a half-hour or more of sensuous but repetitive
licking of a penis I hold in my hand. Rather I'm performing for my boy and
for an audience and so the penis has to be just right, and heavy enough so I
don't have to hold it and hide a good part of it from sight.

The point is to show, for yourself and for those looking, and of course for
your boy, the penis in all its phases: quiescent, then gradually enlarging
in response to your tactile stimulation, then larger than  life and,
finally, rewarding you with its excitement and its liquid. Making the penis
erect in this performance is a mini-ballet; for the rest the girl has to
compromise between the boy's maximum pleasure and letting the onlookers see
the denouement. Normally you would want to bring it into your mouth, and
close your mouth around the head to begin a slow but steady cadence back and
forth. If people are watching, they will want to see the round, circumcised
head of the penis, the part of beauty, repeatedly passing your lips, but
then you will probably have to hold on the penis, at least at its base, to
support it. You can keep the boy from losing pace by stroking underneath
with your tongue. However, the most exciting part, the semen streaming out
of that little slit, is the most difficult to display without greatly
reducing your boy's pleasure. You must be rubbing his glans all over at the
very moment of his spurts of ejaculation and to do that of course the slit,
and the stream of semen, are hidden. Forget the urban legend of deep throat:
the boy or man will be brought to uncontrollable excitement, and if you have
spent sufficient time and effort in stimulation you will be rewarded with
streams and streams of semen as you follow up the initial arousal, at the
nerve center underneath, with sensuous friction evenly applied over the
surface of the boy's glans.

As I said, you need a penis of substantial weight to perform that tongue
dance and to make it look lovely for the girls watching you. Not, however, a
penis that stretches the capacity of your lips, but the normal, or slightly
larger, penis of a grown man. The initial tickling of the underside should
stimulate the production of seminal fluid, and with luck that will give you
an advance taste, a few drops secreted onto your tongue. Later, the rushing
semen will be thinner, thin enough to spread around your mouth, run through
your teeth, coat your tongue with to show the other girls, and then swallow.
Lovely. And you will own that boy forever. It is not, I hasten to note, the
size of the penis or the testicles that determines the output of semen, but
the prostate -- and of course that is invisible to us. But manipulating a
really nice penis, with my friends admiring me (and it), and then drawing
forth spurts of DNA-bearing liquid is a super reward for my efforts. There
are, though, other issues to consider. If I want the penis in my vagina,
having already exhausted it in my mouth means I may be disappointed unless
my lover has stamina, consideration for his partner (me), and romantic
character. Those qualities are most compatible with adolescence. So, in this
as in so much else in life, compromise is necessary. One of those
compromises is, of course, simply a matter of the one-upmanship, the
showman(-woman?)ship with due to my girlfriends' watching me -- and
implicitly claiming they could do better. I want to excite and please the
boy, but I also want to impress my friends, the voyeuses. Another compromise
is that one of my best "exhibits" in oral sex is drawing the penis out of my
mouth covered with a thick coating of semen. But if the girl has stimulated
her boy's prostate enough to produce really a lot of semen, the semen will
be thinner and will drip. So the show is spoiled. Well, all of that said I
have to emphasize that I am only an amateur at this, and my real job is ...
macroeconomic research. So don't take my word for any of it.

I don't know why I have been telling you all of this. I'm not writing a sex
manual, and the point of my biographical essays isn't even to tell sex
stories but to try to examine the motivation of children and adults who,
from the 60s (at least) until not too many years ago lived an open secret --
common nudity and freedom to express (within fair limitations) their sexual
nature and their need for sexual release early and often. I have been more
descriptive of how we did than I originally meant to be when I started
writing last year, but that's because in this forum at least one can be
unrestrained in describing sex, and really an ejaculation is easier to
envisage and appreciate than the emotional and social development going on
in the mind of the adolescent who is flirting, experimenting with a boy's
penis or chatting with her friends and companions about her wants, needs and
feelings. Obviously that last item is what we were doing most of the time.
We were not in a state of constant arousal, notwithstanding anything I have
led you to believe by dwelling on particular incidents. Our parents were
interested in our sex lives, but they were also interested in our piano
lessons and our hockey games and in getting us to wash the car. And now, in
my early 20s, if you saw me (except maybe that recent day at the party with
the law student) you would not guess my secret past, nor the secret garden
of my thoughts. I really can talk about art and literature and history and
almost certainly if we met you would need to have something to say about
Rothko the painter and Joyce the writer; about the Vogels and the Cones,
collectors; about Friedman the economist and Friedmann the law scholar;
about Margaret Mead, anthropologist and Anthony Powell, novelist. Not to
forget the diplomatic and economic prospects for the Turkish Republic of
Northern Cyprus in the context of the Republic of Cyprus entering the
European Union. I'm not just a pretty face and sex is not free; you earn it
by being interesting and witty and charming and useful to people. That goes
for the boys to whom I am attracted as well, as those who read about my
recent trip to Benidorm will know. I appreciate a lovely penis but there are
so many of them; behind it, and before touching it, I want to discern a
lovely mind. THAT is what we really learned back home: Moses David and the
others of his ilk were wrong; giving up culture and worldly awareness
blindly to follow a prophet leads only to the Taliban and the destruction of
the Standing Buddhas; but blindly fighting a usurper leads to the looting
and the destruction of the National Museum of Baghdad. What I am saying is
that singlemindedness is arrogant folly, the enemy of democracy and the
enemy of love and sex and beauty.
(The Benidorm story is at
http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2003/41616 )

I've received a couple of e-mails over the past year asking whether we
really lived like that, and, in effect, whether the writer could live like
that too, or whether, if he were 12 again, he could ... well, you know what
I mean. Neither the COG nor its offshoots, nor the communes and communities
and homes that sprang from it were, say, Zoroastrians -- which I mention
because it is a religion that absolutely no outsider can join. But with the
exception of a dozen or so random boy victims of my experiments in oral sex
and of a few other occasions (mostly occurring when we were of legal age)
that were totally outside the realm of our normal social and home life, we
kept our ideas and actions within our own circle. One had to come from a
similar background and be comfortable with sex as an instrument of religion,
and total respect between parents and children, and total respect for the
body. Of course one could join, and Mom's Friend, for one, sheltered many
single mothers, and many of those stayed for months and years and adopted
our ways. It was, after all, an antidote to spousal and child abuse as they
had known it. And it tends to prove my point: that children were safer with
us, and that consensual and knowledgeable and mutually delightful sex is
never abusive, either for child or for woman. And that in insisting that sex
be private and secret we miss out on its greatest capacity: to delight
vicariously, to excite, to stimulate, to entrance, to draw love to those
makers of love.

I keep thinking every essay will be my last. And every few weeks or months I
am reminded of something that I think is important. Perhaps I shall return,
perhaps not. I wrote much of this essay aboard a train, so it lacks the
volume of links to web sites that other essays had; but the reader can
easily look up my prior essays if need be. Somewhat to my embarrassment, I
have found that these essays on my sexual existence live forever in
cyberspace. Even my typos and a few factual errors and anomalies.

Since writing the above, my Mom has suffered a stroke and I am leaving for
Our Town. I hadn't intended to submit this essay now; I would have preferred
to hold it for a while and perhaps edit and improve it. But as I shall have
other things on my mind, here it is. I can only hope and pray for the best.
Normally I like to edit my essays. I reserve the right to re-submit this
sometime in the future with, as the Congresspersons say, "revised and
extended remarks". At 34 pages of 10-point type, I have said a lot about my
early life and loves. Maybe too much.

Love,
Carol

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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