Bo and Me, Chapter 1 — “It” (f, mast)

**Chapter 1 —** ***It***

I love the library. We go almost every Saturday — Mom, my little sister Bo and me. Even Dad tags along sometimes, but today he’s gone fishing with friends, so it’s just us girls.

The library’s almost on the other side of town, but since it’s a small town, it’s just a twenty-minute walk, most of it through the park. We cross the river twice, stopping on the bridges to look out for some fish of our own so we can tell Dad about it later. Mom’s really good at spotting them “sitting” in the stream. Sometimes it takes Bo and me half a minute or so to see them even after she’s pointed them out.

They built the library on the top two floors of an old monastery. I mean *really* old — it was built in the year 803. Last year, there was a festival celebrating its 1,200th anniversary. They had a booksale and a big cook-off, and at night they played movies on a large screen in the garden.

I love the way the library smells — like books, obviously, but there’s also the distinct smell of the wooden pillars, and when you go up the stairs to the top floor, wooden beams arch across the entire ceiling. It kind of looks the way I imagine Noah’s Ark was constructed.

Mom strolls around downstairs for a bit where they have non-fiction and older books, but Bo and I hurry upstairs right away for the more exciting stuff. Children’s books and comics are on the left; fantasy, thrillers and horror books on the right.

This week, it’s Bo who tasks herself with picking out a new array of comics for the four of us (Mom and Dad love to read them, too). By now, we’ve gone through most of the ones they have at the library. Our favourites are Garfield, Peanuts, Lucky Luke, Asterix, and the Disney comics by Carl Barks.

I browse through the fantasy and thriller sections for a bit, but find myself drawn away after a few minutes. I decide I want to take a look at the horror section. It feels kind of naughty, like I’m crossing a line, so I look around for suspicious adults before I muster up the courage to walk around to the back aisle. It’s the smallest section upstairs — no wonder, it’s kind of a peculiar genre. Why would anybody *want* to be scared?

And yet, here I am — already scared before I’ve even opened a book… but curious. I stop when I pass by a name that sounds familiar — Stephen King. At random, I pick up a book called simply *It*. Even the cover is spooky, and as vague as the title — a derelict stone building with a cross on top, like a decaying church.

Opening up the book on the first page, I start to read it right there. Standing between the shelves for a good ten minutes, I absorb the entire opening chapter in which five-year-old George Denbrough is brutally murdered by an ancient monster posing as a circus clown. Cold shivers run down my spine. I’m absolutely terrified, but still curious… even more so than before.

Looking around again and seeing no one, I sneak the book in my basket of stuff to check out and walk back towards the staircase. At the center of the top floor, where the ceiling is at its highest, there’s an elevated platform resembling a treehouse. I walk up the steep wooden stairs and find myself in the small, cozy reading room. It’s mostly little kids who come up here, but even they seem to respect the quiet of this sacred space. There are no chairs, just a bunch of cushions and pillows. I don’t recognize any of the faces and claim a little corner spot for myself.

The book absorbs me completely. I read about Adrian Mellon who’s thrown into a river by teenage bullies. He seeks refuge under a bridge, but suddenly the whole underside of the bridge fills up with thousands of balloons. The clown finds Adrian, opens up Its jaws full of razor-sharp fangs and bites him dead.

The town’s librarian seems to be the only one who knows what’s really going on in Derry. He’s haunted by nightmares about his childhood and memories of the summer of 1958 that he spent with his friends, the Losers’ Club.

I’m only interrupted once — by Bo, who comes up the platform looking for me. I quickly put away my book, but thankfully, Bo doesn’t care about it one bit. She spreads out all the comics from her basket, silently presenting some to me that we haven’t read yet. I try to look excited, and part of me is, but my mind is still in Derry. Eventually, Bo puts everything back in her basket and climbs down the stairs to go browse for other stuff.

Some time later, Mom comes up the stairs and finds me alone. “Hey, Lisa,” she says. “We’re getting ready to leave.”

“Oh, already?”

She grins. “We’ve been here for two hours!”

If I was in a chair, I would’ve fallen out of it. It hasn’t even felt like *one* hour. Mom takes a curious look at my empty basket and the book in my lap.

“You’ve only got one book?” she asks. “What is it?”

“It’s called, uh, *It*. It’s a little creepy, but I like it so far.” Reluctantly, I show it to her.

As Mom looks at it, she starts to frown. “Lisa, I don’t think this is a book for thirteen-year-old girls,” she says. “I think I’ve seen bits of the movie. It was about demons and stuff like that.”

“I’ve read the first chapter and it wasn’t that scary. Maybe they turned it up a notch for the movie.”

It isn’t like me to lie. It feels like the book’s got me under a spell.

“What if a demon lives inside it?” Mom says. “I remember hearing stuff like that in congregation. What would Jehovah think about you reading this?”

We are Jehovah’s Witnesses… or used to be. That’s how Mom and Dad raised Bo and me, but we haven’t gone to congregation for a year or two now. After getting married, our parents went from door to door to preach the good news — instead of pursuing careers, they tried to save people from the imminent end of the world. I’m not entirely sure why we’ve stopped going to congregation, but I think it has something to do with Mom and Dad having expected the End Times to come sooner.

We don’t really talk about God at home anymore, but we still believe in the Bible, and sometimes it feels like God is watching me… like right now, for instance. At the same time, I think it’s convenient for Mom to bring him up just when I’ve stumbled upon something exciting.

“How about this?” I suggest. “If the book starts to get way creepy and demon-y and I feel like I shouldn’t read it, I’ll stop? You know you can trust me.”

I almost believe it myself. Mom still looks doubtful, but she says okay.

When we check out our stuff, the head librarian gives me a curious look as I put my single book on the counter. Mr. Jenicz is young for a librarian, maybe thirty. He has long hair and a goatee. Mom once told me that he plays in a rock band. We often chat with him as he scans our books. He’s good at recommending stuff. I like him.

“I read *It* when I was about sixteen,” he tells me. “I loved it, but it gave me some sleepless nights.”

“Do you think Lisa should read it?” Mom asks him as she puts her own books in her backpack.

“I read the first chapter and I wasn’t that scared,” I tell Mr. Jenicz, pleading with my eyes. I hope Mom doesn’t notice.

“Well,” he says after a while. “If you’re feeling brave, have a go at it. I think you’re old enough to know that it’s all made up, anyway. And if it gets too scary, you can always stop… right?”

It sounds like he’s teasing me.

***

Turns out I couldn’t just stop, even though *It* got creepy and demon-y pretty fast. I’ve had a few sleepless nights myself by now, but I’ve been absolutely hooked. The Losers’ Club is a group of ten- and eleven-year-olds, six boys and a girl who live in a small town like mine… except that Derry is haunted by an evil shape-shifting monster that feeds on children.

Of course, monsters aren’t real (*are they?*), but nonetheless, the book feels so… *true*. It seems like I *know* these kids, like I’m one of them. Derry with its long history and all its inhabitants feels so real that when I looked it up on the internet, I was totally shocked to find out that it’s fictional.

*It* is a long book, over a thousand pages. I’ve had to renew it on the library’s web page a couple times, but after two months or so, I’m almost through now. A lot of scenes made my skin crawl, but the chapter I’ve read just now is the most shocking one so far even though there aren’t any demons or dead kids in it. The Losers’ Club have killed It in Its lair deep beneath the sewers of Derry (or so they think), but they get horribly lost trying to find their way out. Eventually, Beverly says she knows what to do. Silently, she seduces the boys in the dark, one after another. All six of them end up having sex with her.

My mind is still reeling. Mom and Dad would be horrified if they knew I read a book with a sex scene, which would be bad enough for a pious girl. But more than that, this is a sex scene about *children having sex with children*. All of them are two or three years younger than me, too. How did this even get published?

And yet the way it’s written makes it sound so tender, emotional, beautiful. None of it feels ugly to me. When Beverly has her orgasm, she has a vision of thousands of spring-time birds returning to Derry after the winter, settling down on the roofs. Beverly and the boys love each other. I know this kind of thing is considered taboo, but I’m not sure why.

I hide the book in my desk drawer (still half afraid that Mom might be right about something evil literally living inside it) and turn off the light. Lying in bed, the love scene from the book plays itself out again in my mind. In the dark, with my eyes closed, I can see it even more clearly than when I was reading the book. Without thinking about it, I slip out of my pyjama pants.

The softness of the blanket on my naked legs feels amazing. I shiver even though I’m warm. The palm of my hand slides between my legs and comes to rest on top of my panties, right above my kitty. I can feel my heart pulsing in my chest. There’s an unfamiliar warmth inside me, radiating out from my pelvis.

I hook one thumb underneath the waistband of my panties, nestling it between the cotton and my skin. I savour the feeling for a while before I slide in the other thumb and take hold of the waistband, lifting up and pulling my panties down between my knees where I leave them. Slowly, my fingers move back up my thigh. I start stroking my kitty.

It’s late at night. Bo’s already asleep in her room next door. There are no conscious thoughts on my mind. I just lie there, softly stroking myself. I keep going and going, gently and slowly, building up to some kind of release.

It feels like an hour has passed (*but it can’t have been that long, right?*) when I finally go over the edge and come. I squint my eyes and squeeze my legs, trapping my fingers there. The feeling is so intense that it’s painful, but I didn’t know that pain could feel this beautiful. It only lasts three or four seconds.

I realize I’ve been holding my breath and exhale forcefully, relaxing every muscle in my body. I open my eyes in the dark, panting a little, staring in the general direction of the ceiling. I can’t be sure, though, since “up” and “down” are concepts that are fuzzy around the edges right now.

Once I’m back in my body, I start to reflect. I realize that what I’ve just done is called masturbating. I’ve given myself an orgasm! We talked about this in Biology class just a few months ago. Our teacher said that masturbating was okay and that orgasms could feel beautiful, but back then, I was disgusted at the idea of people doing it — and right now, after the fact, I feel awkward and ashamed.

When I was about ten, Mom explained puberty and sex to me in a straightforward way. Last year, when I started my period, I felt pretty well prepared for it — if you could ever *really* be prepared for bleeding from your kitty for the first time, anyway. I felt comfortable talking about my body with Mom, but she never brought up the topic of masturbation.

I don’t think the subject was ever mentioned in congregation, either, but they told us on other occasions that we couldn’t trust everything we’re taught in Biology, like the theory of evolution. Masturbating definitely seems like the kind of thing that God would disapprove of. Once again, I feel like he might be watching me right now, probably frowning.

At the same time, the sensation felt so sweet, so good… just like it did for Beverly. I have the uneasy feeling that I’m going to do it again. It would be something that’s just for me, only for when I’m alone.

My mind is racing, my body glowing. I slowly melt into the universe.

***

I hear Mom getting up from the living room couch and plodding over towards the lobby where I am, using her computer as Bo and I often do. The sound of her footsteps tells me she’s tired. It’s Friday night, just after nine. Bo’s already in bed upstairs and Dad isn’t home. He works for a company that stocks building centres, so he travels a lot.

Sure enough, when Mom comes through the door, she says, “I’m heading to bed. I think you should go to sleep soon, too.”

Right now, I’m talking to friends I’ve made on Gorillaz-Unofficial, an online forum and chat-room about one of my favourite bands. A lot of the forum’s members live in America, but I feel closer to them than most of the people in my class at school. G-U is like a second home for me.

“I’m still chatting with my friends overseas,” I tell Mom. “I can’t talk to them when it’s daytime over here. Please, can I stay up for another hour… or two? It’s the weekend, anyway.”

Mom thinks about it. “Okay. Just don’t stay up past midnight.”

Thrilled, I get up and hug her. “Thank you, Mom! Good night, sleep well. Now off you go.”

She laughs. “Night, Lisa.”

As I hear her climbing the stairs to her bedroom, I sit down again and find myself closing all of the Gorillaz-related browser windows. I feel bad about lying to Mom… but I didn’t even mean to — I *was* excited to chat with my friends.

It’s just that now that Mom is out of the picture, my mind is going other places… places I’ve been thinking about ever since that first time I masturbated about two months ago. I haven’t done it since, but I keep thinking about it. What I did that night still makes me feel shameful, but at the same time I can’t help being fascinated… and curious.

A few days after that first night, I started to browse the internet for certain information whenever no one was looking. I found websites about female masturbation with stories and tips from older girls. Among other things, I learned about the function of the clitoris — a body part that was never discussed in Biology class, oddly enough.

At first, somewhere inside me, I still felt like I wasn’t normal, but over the course of my online sessions, I realized that a lot of girls masturbated… maybe even most of them. None of them seemed to think it was bad, so eventually, I became more comfortable with the idea. I decided that masturbation probably wasn’t a bad thing, but that it would be best to keep my interest in it hidden from Mom and Dad. Thankfully, I know how to clear a browser cache… in fact, I don’t think my parents even know what a browser cache is.

Lately, my reason for reading masturbation stories has changed from sheer curiosity into something more. When I read them now, I often feel that same sensation of warmth radiating out from my lower body that I experienced that first night, right before I started touching myself. Sometimes it almost starts to ache as I keep on reading. In the back of my mind, I know what I’d have to do for relief, but even though I’ve come to think of it as acceptable, I still feel scared to actually go through with it.

By the time I hear Mom closing her bedroom door upstairs, I’ve already typed in the web address of my favourite female masturbation forum. I click on a thread titled, “What gets you in the mood?” and start reading the comments.

“Thinking about this boy I like.”

“Soaping up in the shower.”

“I don’t know, it just keeps happening to me randomly. Without even thinking about anything sexy, I suddenly become aware of my pussy and how good it would feel to touch it right now. It’s almost creepy!”

I feel like that last girl has it exactly right. Thinking about masturbation and reading this forum is what gets me in the mood… *turns me on*, as the older girls call it. It’s a self-perpetuating thing, seemingly without a connection to everyday life, mysterious.

Maybe that’s why the thought of it is so exciting — because that sense of mystery makes it feel powerful, almost spiritual… even more so since I’ve only been indulging in the concept of it, withholding from the act itself.

Just pondering that last girl’s comment has got my body started. My head feels too warm and I’m getting dizzy. My temples are pulsing. I can feel my nipples stiffening against my pyjama top. Most importantly, there’s a throbbing in my lower body that is both sweet and aching. It almost makes me nauseous.

I scroll down the page. One girl has posted a link. “This video always turns me on. I just love watching other people enjoy themselves,” she wrote. I feel something swirling and rumbling in the back of my brain. *This is a porno. I’m definitely not supposed to watch pornos.*

The sound of the mouse button scares me. The only other sound in the lobby is the constant low hum of the computer fan. I’ve clicked the link. A new browser window opens up and a page with a video starts to load. Alarmed, I immediately hit the pause button and check the speakers. The green LED is glowing. I turn them off.

*I could get my headphones from my room,* a voice in the back of my brain says.

*Wait, Lisa, are you really gonna watch that video?* my rational side replies.

*I’m just saying.*

*Mom only just went to bed. Wouldn’t she think it was weird if she heard you walking to your room, just after you asked her to stay up to talk to your friends?*

*What if I needed to get my headphones to listen to a song that somebody showed me?*

*Fair enough.* I gulp.

The video is only two and a half minutes long, but our DSL connection is slow. From the progress bar, I can tell that it’ll take around five minutes to buffer fully.

*Look*, I tell myself, *why don’t you go upstairs, snag your headphones, and when you come back, you can still decide if you wanna watch it?*

*Yeah, why don’t you?* the other voice taunts.

I climb the stairs as quietly as possible. Maybe Mom’s already asleep. Either way, I don’t want to disturb her. I go to my room, turn on the light and find my headphones. I pick them up and look at them blankly.

*What would I hear if I watched that video?*

*Why don’t you go back and find out?* the other voice whispers.

As I pass by Mom’s room again, I try to hear if she’s snoring, but everything is quiet. By the time I’ve made my way back downstairs, the video has buffered more than halfway. It’s paused on the first frame — a girl in just a t-shirt and panties sitting cross-legged on a bed, looking above the camera, probably at the person behind it.

The girl is cute. She looks to be in her twenties, maybe thirty? Not like she’s up to anything evil. I plug my headphones into the computer. The video’s almost fully buffered.

I make up my mind. *I’m gonna watch a porno, I’m gonna watch a porno, I’m gonna watch a porno,* my brain keeps on repeating. I click the play button.

“Hi,” the girl says, waving at the camera. Her voice is a little shaky.

“Tell them your name,” a man’s voice says. He sounds friendly.

“I’m Melanie.”

“Take off your clothes, Mel.”

Melanie takes off her shirt. Her boobs aren’t big, but they’re mesmerizing to me. I follow their motion as Melanie straightens her legs, lifts up her butt and takes off her panties. She looks at the cameraman again, grins, and flings the panties in his direction. “Hey,” he protests, then they both laugh.

The camera zooms in on her a little. She’s sitting with her arms wrapped around her legs, swaying a little. “Come on, Mel,” the guy says softly. Melanie smiles, lets go of her legs and props herself up against a huge pillow behind her. She relaxes and slowly opens her legs.

When her vulva comes into view, I feel like my head is about to explode. I’ve never seen an aroused pussy before. Melanie’s labia are deep red, slightly open and glistening with a soft sheen.

I only get a full view for about two seconds before Mel’s hand covers her pussy. She starts petting her labia, but then she looks up at the camera for a second, laughs and turns her head, closing up her legs around her hand.

“Mel,” the guy says.

“Don’t look at me,” she protests.

“Okay,” he chuckles.

Melanie glances at him. He must have turned the other way, because she opens her legs again.

She drags her index finger between her lips, then starts circling her clit with it, cautious at first. When she seems sure that the guy isn’t looking, she relaxes some more and focuses on her task. She’s using all of her fingers now, gently stroking her pussy in circles. I can feel my own pussy pulsating. It almost hurts.

As Melanie picks up speed, she starts to moan softly. With the headphones, it sounds like she’s moaning right next to me. I shudder. My heart feels like it’s melting in my chest.

“Oh, oh, oh!” she says, then she comes. Her hand stops moving and her face scrunches up. Her butt lifts slightly off the bed, and she lets out a long, sighing moan. “Oooh.”

“That was beautiful,” the guy says. Melanie’s eyes are still closed, but she smiles. Her cheeks are flushed. The video cuts out.

I’m really worked up now. My breath is coming fast. I can feel sweat gathering on my forehead, in my palms. My face feels flushed, my toes are curled up and my pelvis feels like it’s filled with hot jelly. Clinging to the edge of the chair, I click the replay button.

I watch the video all over again, but this time, when Melanie starts playing with her pussy, I put one hand in my pyjama pants, over my panties, and cup my own pussy. I might be imagining it, but I feel like it’s pulsing along with my heartbeat.

I put my hand inside my panties, on my pussy. It’s almost like touching a hot stove. I’m getting really light-headed. I keep my hand nestled against my pussy until the end of the video.

When the sound stops, I realize I’m panting. I just sit there with my hand in my panties for half a minute or so, then I take off my headphones, close the webpage and turn off the computer.

I pick up my headphones and walk upstairs. Still feeling lightheaded, I need to hold on to the rail. As I pass by Mom’s bedroom, I force myself to breathe through my nose to make less noise.

When I get to my room, my thoughts are racing again, but there’s only one voice this time. *I’m gonna touch myself. I’m gonna masturbate. I’m gonna play with my pussy. I’m horny. I need to tend to this urge. If I don’t touch myself, I’m gonna explode.*

I strip down naked in front of my bed and crawl underneath the blanket. I’m still panting. When my hand finds my pussy, I whimper a little. This isn’t gonna be like the first time, sweet and slow. This time, it’s urgent.

I use my left hand to spread my pussy lips, then touch my clit with the right. The direct contact feels like a bolt of lightning zapping through my body and I jerk. I realize that I’m making voiced “huh” sounds and force myself to be quiet.

My hand is trembling as I brush my fingers lightly but more and more rapidly over my clit. It only takes half a minute until I come. I squeeze my legs together tightly with my hand clamped over my pussy and let out a quiet, high-pitched wail.

My whole being is wrapped up in the orgasm. It’s the best feeling I’ve ever had. I stay on the plateau for a while, try to cling to it. It subsides and I think it’s over, but then a smaller second wave comes over me, like a miniature version of the first one.

The aftershock fades, too, but my mind is still going. *I watched a porno, I masturbated again, I watched Melanie play with her pussy, then I did the same, I was horny, I watched a porno, it’s forbidden, I touched my clit, and I came, and I watched a porno, and I masturbated.* Then my lights go out.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/m0o1oo/bo_and_me_chapter_1_it_f_mast