Darling don’t touch yourself there — it’s naughty!
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Darling don’t touch yourself there — it’s naughty!
Juliet and I shared our first-time stories. She asked me not to tell anyone hers, but I’ll tell you mine. My first time with a girl.
Darling don’t it’s naughty!
My mother would say this to me so often the idea almost infected my mind. Thankfully I had other ideas. I looked up the word naughty early on in my curiosities. It was used in my presence for so many reasons, so I wanted to know how it applied to the one part of me that seemed to get the most attention.
I liked the singularity of the word. In its informal meaning; to be mildly rude or indecent. Rude; referring to seχ. Indecent; not following acceptable standards of behavior in relation to seχual matters. Me, conform, surely not?
Other words I frequently looked up when at school were, Seχ, meaning; seχual intercourse (everyone’s favorite). Les6ian, meaning; a woman who is seχually attracted to other women. The last word was a difficult one at school, only spoken openly as in spats with those we didn’t like. But after a certain age, when the lights went out at night in the dorm girls just wanted other girls in their beds.
One of the girls I knew wrote a story about a woman living in Paris during the 1930’s who was addicted to seχ and how she lived her life. Most of the girls openly hated the story, but I thought it was the best thing I’d read at school. I asked her where she got her ideas, Anais Nin she told me. My life changed.
She loaned me her well-thumbed copy of Little Birds. The cover alone excited me. She let me take it home for the summer.
My sister complained every day that I was spending too much time in bed. She would be leaving for University in September and wanted my help to prepare. I wanted to spend my summer in bed reading Anais Nin and exploring myself. Darling don’t it’s naughty! Who knew?
Sad to say, I couldn’t wait to get back to school with the word Naughty felt-tipped like a tattoo just below my pantie line.
I took the train back to school after summer break — leading up to and during that summer I had developed, and rode the train with the weather still scorching hot through the window. I had the top buttons of my blouse open, enough to show what I had grown.
I was enjoying the attention and got the eye of three of the senior girls who were either mocking or admiring — it was hard to tell when I faked so much disinterest. My mother had taught me that art form well enough.
When I walked through the school gates my buttons were done up, but the strain on the fabric was clear to see, and it wasn’t too long before I got in trouble. But it certainly got me noticed!
Valerie was older and now the head girl. She had her eye on me. With my sister, no longer at the school to mother me in her usual style, I was vulnerable and exposed. I welcomed it.
Armed with my new-found knowledge and burning desire to explore and experience my future seχ life, I made a play for the top spot. The senior girls talked about me and news got around I was game.
She made me wait a week or was it the other way around; I’m not sure. One of the seniors woke me and escorted me up to the top floor and to Valerie’s bed where she pulled me in.
She was naked and smelt like my summer bed at home. She told me to strip off and then she rubbed my hands warm. A romantic gesture.
I’d been touching myself for as long as I could remember, hence the word naughty — which had driven my self-exploration underground to the privacy of my room.
It was now my first time touching someone else’s parts — until that point, it was so easy and so innocent. We’d all practiced k1ssing, and us girls enjoyed it and now what were we doing, boys weren’t built that way so what were we practicing now.
Were we all just kidding ourselves that this was a rehearsal for future encounters with the opposite seχ? Or was this what we wanted, not content with just touching ourselves we were destined to touch others.
I think it may have been the aroma of the shared living space that had us all fired up. So much so, I once toyed with the idea of becoming a student teacher at the end of school so I could continue the hypnotic practice, but there were a million things wrong with my plan.
“I think I’m in love with you,” she whispered. She was the oldest senior, and I’d just turned…I was more than ready. I’d experimented on myself with everything imaginable, and I mean everything and I wanted to do it with her. She never hesitated for a minute. My finger slipped inside her so easily. I k1ssed her, and she k1ssed back, and then I swear she fell asleep.
I went down lower, so I could look at what I was doing, it was hopeless, I wished I’d thought to bring my torch. Her pnssy was so wet she must have been playing with it for hours before she sent for me.
I wanted to taste her, and as I did, she woke up again. About a month into our special friendship she told me she’d fainted during our first time; she was so worked up at finally making her move on me it was all too much. Imagine that I thought, little old me making Valerie faint.
She let me play with her, and I did. Well, that is until she told me to stop making so much noise and go back to my bed. I did reluctantly, but I couldn’t sleep – I was aching for more, and to this day it still keeps me up at night. I either wanted to do it, have seχ that is or write about it.
Valerie and I got into lots of trouble during our school days, and word soon got around that we were together. She protected me from most of the insults, but in the end, it made me the person I am today. One of the greatest lessons she taught me which I will always remember. Do what you want when you want. Simple!
We are still good friends to this day. And I think I’m still in love with her, weird, but true. She’s married with a family and Valerie is not her real name. We still share secrets. Apart from my sister she knows more about me than anyone else, she even knows my real name, or should I say she knows me by this name.
Neither one of us stuck to just girls and we both discovered men. Shared a few too, a story for another time. It’s been a long time since we shared a bed, she refused to ask her husband’s permission to play the field with me, so to speak.
Therefore, we have this gap in our life which is a shame because she had and still has the best b00bs I’ve ever seen. You don’t get to be the head girl without them.
My fascination with Anais Nin goes on to this day, and it’s a strange one too. I believe I should have lived with her in her time and been one of her lovers so she could have taught me herself. My obsession runs deep within me. It’s that bad; I sometimes cry myself to sleep thinking of her. I know I need help and if you know me, then you know I get it on a regular basis. Empathy is what I have for her life.
To me, she had an innocence about her seχ life. Her moral approach to intimate relationships was relaxed and reflected in one of her quotes “The truly faithless one is the one who makes love to only a fraction of you. And denies the rest.”
She died in 1977. If she were alive today and in her youth, she would be one of the heroes of our time. Anais Nin would have produced work to change our thinking even more than E. L. James managed to achieve with Fifty Shades of Grey. Love them or hate them they both changed us all.
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