Young stirrings: An intro to Pleasure

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”.

Mind fuck: A tale of desire

The Present

Crashed while taking a rest before going to dance blues fusion. What’s a girl to do having missed a night of wonderful dancing and all that body contact?

I think for a while. All the thoughts are, naturally, about sensuality, beauty, kink, human interaction and sex. I’m the definition of a half time, full tilt, hedonist. Some say “slut”, some say “whore”. Call me what you will. I answer to all of them.

I don’t feel like masturbating. My thoughts, however, are masturbatory. Instead, I find myself pulling hard at my nipples, wanting his strong hands to pull hard so they reach their pain threshold. My thoughts switch to my last orgasm. Spreading myself wide open, my labia pulled tight to the side to be as exposed as possible. He asked me to do it. I love the words “open yourself for me”, or the command “open up!”. Those words flip a switch in my brain. He likes me to do the exact thing that just happens to get my temperature to rise. Next thing, I’m “half way there”. The mental part – being so open, so totally revealed and vulnerable – a desire to be virtually turned inside out. I WANT, on the inside. Not your dick, per se, though nothing wrong with that. No, something much, much hotter. I want your desire. It’s tentacles reaching into my core, taking hold and rattling me from the inside.