by Blake Dawson* <firstname.lastname@example.org>
From the Preface to Chapter 1:
If you like to read this kind of story but are concerned about possible legal implications, work to change the law! If you don’t, why are you here?
*Blake Dawson is the person the otherwise anonymous author would be if “trading places” became magically possible.
When I was turning eight I had much simpler ways of dealing with the complexities of the world. The one risk I learnt to assess was the risk of being found out—not because my mum was ever into cramping my style, but because the loose knit gang of kids I hung out with tended to confirm a belief that there were lots of things we could do for fun which we would be better off if we kept to ourselves. Looking back I can see that what really drew us together was a shared need to entertain ourselves without loose cash in our pockets but with plenty of time on our hands and interesting places to explore. My mum and most of the other kids’ folks had chosen to live in modest premises that were a good walk from some of Sydney’s lower eastern beaches and give us three good meals a day which left little money over with which we could become habituated consumers, save for the odd treat on special occasions. This was not the kind of life that the TV of the late ’80s prepared you for, so we learnt to make our own fun.
I have heard many claim that their sexual awakening was their earliest vivid memory from their childhood—but that certainly wasn’t the case for me. Our gang had discovered the potential of sex to relieve boredom before anything I can remember and we equated it on our scale of risk of being found out climbing cliffs, roofs and trees. Not that sex for us was all that much like the passions of teen years, mostly it was just a couple of boys tugging each other’s dicks until we got there, although we did find out about the differences in girls’ anatomies, the pleasures of slipping dicks into various bodily entrances, and the possibilities for groups of three or more to entertain themselves at home alone on a rainy day. In those years, tugging myself was clearly less intense than experiencing one of the gang’s less predictable handling, because I, and I am sure the others, had not got into romantic fantasising. So while I cannot titillate you with any details of my sexual awakening, the one vivid memory I have of turning eight was my first awakening to the romantic potential of our sexual games.
Jacky Ng and I were sleeping over a Saturday night at Robbie Vander’s place. We had spent most of the evening taking turn about with Robbie’s new Nintendo, but tiredness eventually won out and I decided to crash a bit before the other two game boys. For that I was directed to use the spare bed in Robbie’s young sister Cherie’s room and was assured by Jacky that she was cool. Cherie was still drifting around between her parents and the TV in the front room and watching over our shoulders in Robbie’s room. Finding my way into her room, I was faced with twin beds turned down ready for use and assumed the spare was the one nearer the door. I pulled pyjamas out of my bag but was being overcome by tiredness, so chucked them on the bed head, threw my clothes on the floor and climbed in starkers the way I always did at home in the absence of visitors. Despite my tiredness, sleep didn’t come instantly, the luxuriously unfamiliar feel of this fresh bed keeping my consciousness ticking until I half noticed the slender figure of Cherie glide in through the half light from the hallway.
My first thought was to reach for my PJs and put them on under the blankets, but she was quickly in front of my face, two fingers to her lips shushing me and gently blocking my hand from reaching towards the PJs while shaking her head. I stopped in my tracks, more in appreciation of the elegant shimmering of her back-lit blond curls swaying in the half light than in response to her explicit signals. With at least my eyes fully awake, I watched her flick on a night light in the other bed head, dance back to shut and latch the door, kicking my clothes way under my bed on the way past and dancing out of her own clobber to some unheard music. Down to just panties and a tee-shirt, she caught my gaze as she danced again past my pillow, and paused briefly to run a finger gently across my forehead and kiss me softly between the eyes. Ms Cherie, four going on five, was clearly from a species I had never met before—one which touched some hardwiring I had not noticed inside my brain. Gliding away, she neatly folded her discarded clothes onto her own bed, wriggled out of the tee-shirt which joined them and out of her panties which she neatly flung that way from right in front of my face, before sliding in beside me into a space I had made without thinking.
Our eyes locked in the faint glow from the distant night light. Her smile grabbed me and her fingers gently touched my cheek for a moment, then traced lightly down my neck, over my shoulder, down the full length of my arm and hand until she reached and squeezed my finger tips. I moved my face closer and closer to hers until our noses touched. We rubbed them together and giggled almost silently, touched our lips together lightly then rubbed noses again. I swapped the hand she was holding and used my freed fingers to trace shapes on her bare chest, kissing her quiet when she almost started to laugh out loud, swapped hands back again, laid back and cradled her head against the side of my chest. She slipped her upper leg across me, rubbing my very hard dick with the inside of her knee and I squeezed her closer before another wave of tiredness took my consciousness away.
Sometime when it was still dark I awoke with my arm under her chest almost numb. When I started to flex my fingers to get some circulation back, she grabbed my hand in both of hers and pulled my fingers to her lips, gently sucking their tips. I rolled onto my side behind her, placed my free hand around her and pulled her body back against mine. She sucked my middle finger deep into her mouth and rolled her tongue around it. I reached my other middle finger lower and lower until it probed her slit, at the same time slipping my again rock hard dick between her buttocks. My face buried in her long golden locks as I kissed and sucked on the side of her neck and ear lobe, and her cunt seemed to suck in my probing finger. We sucked and rubbed until we climaxed and were rapidly swept back into the land of nod.
I stirred again in the half light of dawn to see Cherie still sleeping next to me on her back with my arm still under her neck and covered with those golden locks. I knew without thinking how she would want me to wake her. As gently as she had to me, I stroked her face until a smile crossed her lips and her eyes turned towards me and half opened. I moved my lips to hers and we kissed in ways I had never imagined. She threw her arms around my neck and stretched her legs wide apart so my knee could step me across the leg she had thrust almost under me and I found myself overlying her, from where I lowered myself into missionary penetration. We fucked, I climaxed, but she would not let go with her arms, legs or mouth, so we fucked some more and some more until I got there for the third time and collapsed almost limp on top of her. She held me tight and kissed me deeply then finally started to wriggle out from under, which I was happy though almost unable to assist with. I was quite surprised to find I was past going back to sleep so we resumed the gentle, affectionate and non-explicit touching which she had taught me to properly appreciate, until it really was time for us to be up and dressed before the rest of the household stirred.
We managed to get together quite a few more times during that winter, and while the sex never surpassed that first Sunday dawn time, we invented more and more ways of being romantic. Before the year was out, our relationship had progressed to being pure romantic fun, but still something private and very precious between us, yet we both knew implicitly that it could be no more after she started at my school the next year. Though the bond and the warmth has never left us, actually getting together became just a happy memory. The other inspiration that Cherie brought me was that I should not find it hard to also seduce somebody older with whom I was infatuated.