Alan D, who in adulthood became an award winning journalist (apparently I had good taste at the age of 7!) was my first. He would coax me to climb over the fence at the bottom of my yard, into the bottom of his yard, where stood the infamous coal shed. About 4’ x 4’ x 3’ – it provided plenty of room to hide behind, out of sight from parents and nannies. Once there, he would lift my skirt or pull down my pink or turquoise panties, sometimes my shorts, to reveal my little pink, fleshy mound.
I liked the attention. I did not stop him. He continued to pry my strong suntanned legs apart to look at the little hole where I peed. I watched as he did this and it sent a warm glow through me. What was this 9 or 10 year old boy doing? I did not know. I was not confused. I was too busy enjoying something: an initiation into pleasure. Apparently something very magical lay between my two legs. He would spread me and put fingers in the crevice. They felt good. I liked those big boy fingers jammed up inside me, hard sometimes. It spoke to his intensity of desire to be deep inside me. At 7, I felt, “oh good, he “likes” me”.