Date: Wed, 26 Jan 2022 08:56:12 +0000 From: Mindy Max Subject: To Nurture Sappho To Nurture Sappho By Mindy Max (mindymax@protonmail.com) Do you remember what it was like the first time you made love to your daughter? Of course you do. Every mother does. We tell the same story, but in different voices, about the excitement, the anticipation, the abject terror of leading a small girl, an extension of yourself, into a larger world. I wasn't born in Virgin Meadows, so I was more afraid than most. The first time I slept with a little girl was so fraught with old world anxieties about this being right and that being wrong that I forgot to enjoy myself. It didn't matter that she screamed into the ceiling for more, more, more! The idea that loving a child in body was the same as hurting them is branded on the soul by outsiders, so deep that it never truly leaves you. But loving girls of any age is a celebration without end. I know it now in my heart of hearts, but not so much then. It was a week after my daughter's sixth birthday. She was no stranger to sex; no girl is in Virgin Meadows, but to that point our exploration ended with fondling and passionate kisses. Though I masturbated in front of her, and fucked half the town in the open (some barely older than her, sometimes two or more at a time) she had no real interest. I was afraid one day she'd be disgusted, but it never happened, thank the goddess. Friends told me she'd come around in time, but I never quite believed them. Then, one day after school, she told me that she'd played with her friend's pussy. You can imagine how surprised I was, and how curious, but I was calm. Sex is as normal and natural for little girls as it is for everyone else, and it's the outside world that inflates something beautiful into something ugly. I asked if she enjoyed it, and she said yes. She also enjoyed the taste of her friend's pussy on her fingers, and her friend's tongue between her legs. The way she told me was the same way a person tells you what time it is, but inside of me was a hurricane. Arousal and fear crashed in a monsoon. Confusion wracked my body. Nobody, not even the other Mommies and their endless wisdom, can prepare you for that moment. That was when my daughter asked the question that would mark the maturing of our relationship. She asked me if we could 'fuck', and while I explained to her that mothers and daughters usually made love, I told her that yes, I would love to share this with her. I didn't tell her then but I've told her since how long I've dreamed of that connection, when she would be the one to ask. It's only right that a little girl should be in charge of her desire, and not her Mommy. We stripped and climbed into bed. I gazed upon her with more love than I knew existed, but for her it was an ordinary day. My daughter laid on her back and invited me to come next to her. She was curious about sensation and delighted with every touch. My fingers brushed her skin, my lips peppered her with kisses. My girl groaned and giggled as I found which corners did what, which tickled and which stoked her libido. I'm not the only Mommy who's been afraid of hurting her little girl. I thought, what if I touch her in the wrong way? What if she's confused and she doesn't want this? Worst of all, what if after this she can't love me anymore the way I do her? All these thoughts and more flew through my mind, but lessened with every one of my daughter's gasps. She did want this. She loved making love, and she loved me making love to her. The only thing that changed was her being ready. Since then we've dived deep, usually between each other's legs. Nothing tastes as sweet as a little girl's juices, but those that belong to your daughter are infinitely more special. One day she was a sexless girl with no thoughts of lust, and the next she was insatiable. She asked me questions about the best places to touch, if her labia would grow to look like mine, how heavy her breasts would be, what to do if her clitoris was sore, how to fuck with her bottom without getting messy, and more. In the few years since I've answered these and more, usually with a demonstration. Making love to and even fucking my daughter is normal now, but never mundane, and always as special as the first time. It's only become better the more we learn about our bodies, the more I let go of the hesitation. We've explored every inch of one another with fingers and tongues, tasting each other's depths and teasing unseen corners. My daughter and I share an even flow of warmth, giving and taking, whipping arousal into a whirlwind until we're sopping and spent. We fuck and we grind and we finger until we're sore, and still go for seconds, thirds. She always leads as she wants to, even when I encourage her, and that's the way it should be. All daughters, and we are all somebody's daughter, have the right to come together on their own shared terms. It can't work any other way. There is nobody in the world I could ever love more than my daughter, Cecily. A long time ago we were two souls sharing a single body, and though we've since divided we re-become with every kiss. Whether it's chaste or charged with lust, they're all as sweet. A part of me hopes that someday, should she choose, she'll have a daughter of her own, and that she'll fall into her eyes and lose herself as only a mother can, and that she'll desire that girl as fully as I do her. And yes, I think long and hard about her wanton exploration of her girl, tasting her little pussy, feeding her a breast, encouraging her girl's chest to swell with age, ravishing her with kisses, and clawing her nails all over. My dreams are filled with the moans of a granddaughter yet to be born, and I feel a pang of guilt, not because it's wrong, but because those fantasies are selfish. That future is Cecily's and Cecily's alone to decide. But a woman can dream. There is nothing I'm more proud of and honored by than bringing my daughter into the world. I am thankful, now and always to my dear Cecily, for choosing me to be her Mommy. -- Tara of Yvette, "Reflections of Sappho", 2021 ================================================================================= To many outsiders, 'Virgin Meadows' was a literal title, given no woman within its borders had known the touch of a man. Others still decided the name to be ironic on account of its sexually insatiable residents. In truth it was from the Greek goddess of the hunt, Artemis, which Amelia of Gertrude lifted the town's name, for Artemis embodied an antiquated virginity meaning one who's not known the constraints of marriage. It was said that outsiders regarded Amelia of Gertrude to be deranged. How such regard came to be was a mystery to those who lived there, including Cecily of Tara, a third generation resident who at nine years old was already certain of the merits of their founder's ideals. To her, it was those steeped in patriarchy that were given to radical thinking, brainwashed by the agendas of self-serving men with undeserved power. Such an existence would cause Cecily to shiver should she ever think on it. The girl strolled carefree down the worn track, kicking her flip-flops in the dirt and humming a tuneless melody, savoring the afternoon breeze under the hem of her dress. She didn't wear panties. No girl did, not even her teacher. They were the oppressive garments of the old world, and Cecily would never give up the air brushing her immature slit. She hummed and half-danced, and mindlessly stroked the fabric dipping under her neckline. Her fingers glided along, conjuring the kisses and touches that made her squeal. Cecily clenched her thighs. She hadn't touched herself all day, and was suddenly overcome with need. She'd been too busy pleasuring her friends at school to see to herself, and her teacher was otherwise occupied. What denial! Her thoughts cycled through the toybox shared with her mother as she came upon the neighbor's house. There in the front yard was Miss Erica tending to her flowers, wearing naught but a sheer robe and a straw hat. Immediately she was taken by the older woman, whose soft but still firm body had been tanned by the sun. Cecily caught her breath and sighed at the greying bush between the woman's legs, made all the more prominent as she knelt in the dirt. "Hello, Cecily!" "Hi, Miss Erica," she chirped, not stopping. "What's the rush, sweetheart?" Cecily bit her lip. "I'm really horny," she all but whimpered. Miss Erica, given an honorific only by virtue of being older, smiled and shook her head. She delighted in the candor of youth. To think there were places in the world a girl could not express something so simple. "Well your mother's not home to help," the woman said. "Perhaps you'd like to come and join me." Cecily skipped over the garden bed without shame or hesitation. The hem of her dress flicked up, revealing her naked thighs, and inspired a smile from her neighbor. Miss Erica took her by the hands and scanned the girl from top to bottom. She couldn't help but shiver. What a joy it was to be seen, to be desired, and by one so beautiful as her. As much as she loved her friends of the same age, there was still something special about the lust of an adult woman. A wave of warmth washed over her as Miss Erica's worn but gentle hands ran up her side. She peeled Cecily's dress upward, giving clear view to the girl's mons. Cecily tensed. She was proud of her pussy and the way its tight little lips made the air heavy for everyone who saw. The woman leaned closer to inspect her inner thigh, cupping the soft flesh, while creeping higher and higher. The scent of Cecily wafted in the breeze like a flower bed in bloom. "Has anyone told you how pretty you are, dear?" Miss Erica asked, never once peering away from the girl's mound. Cecily nodded dumbly. She loved being beautiful, loved how the eyes of girls and women veered toward her. After their eyes followed their hands, then their lips, then the curling of fingers probing the most tender parts of her. The anticipation alone made the nine year old whimper. She caught the wolfish grin as Miss Erica leaned between the bow of her legs, prostrating further to steal toothless bites of the still-forming labia. Her lips, her tongue, lapped at Cecily, hot and wet, stilling the girl's breath. Her hand moved to press down, but Miss Erica guided it away. "You let me take care of that," the woman told her as she rose to her feet. "But first let's get comfortable. What do you say?" Cecily was in no mind to argue. Her body was jelly, as were her thoughts. She wanted to touch, to taste, more than anything in the world. She followed Miss Erica to the swinging chair on her front deck. The woman stole a pillow for her knees, and knelt so she was eye level with the splayed Cecily. She spread her legs as far as she could, offering the woman unfettered access to her pre-adolescent cunt. What a beautiful day it was for a little girl to have a woman tongue-fuck her in the open. "Your Mommy is a lucky woman," Miss Erica purred, "but I'm almost glad she's not here." It wouldn't change much. Cecily had seen her mother and Miss Erica in the throes of passion more times than she could count. On many of those occasions she lay between them, along with others. They say it takes a village to raise a child. From the moment she could express her wants, Cecily, along with everyone she knew, was raised on the tips of fingers belonging to every woman in town. The woman's tongue darted into her. Her mouth slurped the entirety of Cecily's mons, and hardened her tiny clitoris. Heat radiated outward from the girl's belly, whipped with each delicious lap. Cecily was lost in a haze, and barely registered the woman plunging a hand between her own bush. She wrapped her hands behind her knees and pulled as far as she was able, as though to arch back would allow Miss Erica to dive deeper, harder. Her mother had always told her they were lucky to live in Virgin Meadows, and Cecily believed her, now more than ever. Her mouth hung open. Cecily struggled for words. "Miss Erica," she said. "Could... you..." A smile curled as the woman pulled away. "Would you like a finger in your backside?" she asked. Cecily nodded feverishly. She always wanted a finger back there. She always asked, and everyone she'd shared her body with said yes. Miss Erica pulled two digits from her honey pot and fed them to the girl's rear entrance. Erica bristled at the sensation, feeling the wet heat press at her resistance, but not for long. The woman returned to her meal, and ran her tongue to the wall of the preadolescent cunt. Mouth and hand worked in tandem, running the length of the girl's insides. Climax rose like a tidal wave. Cecily could barely contain herself. The phantom urge to pee filled her pelvis, but she knew better than to hold on. Cecily was so lost in the sensation that she could not announce herself as she gushed into the woman's face. Her little pussy spasmed around the pieces inside of her, demanding to hold on. Cecily cried at the top of her lungs without shame or restraint. All of Virgin Meadows needed to hear her cum, from Miss Samantha and her daughters across the road, all the way to the governess' house in the heart of the township. She could hear them in the back of her thoughts, cheering her on, inspired in their own right to reach out and fuck the girl or woman next to them. Miss Erica pulled away slowly, and beamed with pride. Cecily blushed under her gaze. The way the woman looked at her stirred feelings too large to ever fully grasp, all of them good. "Nobody cums like you do," said the woman. Still lost in the haze, Cecily threw herself into her neighbor's lap, clinging to her as best as a ragdoll could, while stealing the taste of herself from the woman's lips. Of all that the girls and women of Virgin Meadows shared, kissing would always be Cecily's favorite. Not the kisses of a child, but the kisses of a lust filled animal, eager to devour the other. Though her body was not yet fully formed, the fire of a kiss made her feel grown. ============================================================================== There is a conceit perpetuated throughout known civilization that a girl child yet to reach maturity is a being without a sexual nature. Such reasoning concludes that the exploration of the erotic with the girl child is demonstrably harmful, and thus it becomes the duty of a society to keep her ignorant of her desires or the appetites of those who will prey upon them. However, notions such as these are confounded by the perspective of the wizened female outsider overlooked in the wider conversation whose eyes are open to the untempered aggression innate in sexual hierarchy and the obstinate refusal to claim ownership for their actions. When one considers the impact of female sexuality denied and the agenda women are called to serve in an oppressive social regime it becomes evident that the agents of patriarchy are without incentive to elevate girls and women to a platform of self-knowledge. It is a fact rarely acknowledged, and outright denied by those in service to patriarchy, that a sexually liberated girl or woman will naturally tend toward members of her own sex. Only by necessity have our mothers, sisters and daughters forcefully acclimated their carnal natures around the whims of that which is other; an injustice that we of a more robust 'lesbian' nature, unable to acquiesce to those dominant social hierarchies, are bound to rectify. To that end, the issue remains as imperative today as it has for time immemorial for femalekind to rekindle a sense of being removed from oppositional definition. Ergo, it behooves our kin of fortitude and means to assert their efforts on behalf of the collective feminine cohort to establish a community, in both the literal and spiritual sense, removed from the corrosive establishment we continue to endure. For such an endeavor to thrive shall require abandoning convention dubbed wisdom in recognition of female capability and ingenuity of all ages while acknowledging every aspect of the female individual in mind and body as she stands kinship with her kind. Through the revolution of separatist escape we are able to determine that the nature of girl children not just in terms of sex but all social arenas blossoms when self-determination is encouraged under the wisdom of the elder. The girl child cum young woman in such circumstances invariably claims the ability to form intimate connection unmoored from the savagery of the self-serving lust common amongst the majority. With this in mind it becomes the further duty of elder women raised with temperance toward her individual desire to provide an example for the liberated girl child who needn't endure the prescribed shame not owned by her. -- Amelia of Gertrude, née Stalwart, "To Nurture Sappho: A Manifesto of Female Liberation", 1910. ============================================================================== Perhaps if other places of learning were like those of Virgin Meadows, more little girls would thirst for education. Reading, writing and mathematics were introductory, of course, but it was there that similarities to teaching in the outside world ended; for learning is the extension of curiosity, and no lessons are more eagerly devoured than those sought by children themselves. In addition, Virgin Meadows had done away with academic scoring, and divisions of class by age. Young and old alike had wisdom to share, and those of even minor experience had the ability to guide those who followed. Cecily smiled at the mentor braiding her hair. Miss Leah was one such figure, who at sixteen spent more time supporting the knowledge of her peers than she spent on study. Academic knowledge, should she desire it, would still be available in the years to come. After all, one never stops learning, and the call to nurture her peers was louder than any other. Like all the others, Cecily swam through Miss Leah's orbit, lost in the radiance of her being. If love, kindness and generosity could be distilled into a human shape it would be in Miss Leah, who in Cecily's eyes was second only to her mother. It was a rare day that Cecily had the chance to be alone with her mentor. As lovely as it was to sit on a blanket under a tree, the other girls simply had too much energy to be still with. And so it came that a girl and a young woman drew together to indulge in quiet, feminine intimacy. They brushed each other's hair and weaved flower crowns, while Cecily backed ever further between Miss Leah's legs, and was delighted by the bare breasts warming her back. "You have such beautiful hair," the teacher said, "like silk. If only I could get mine so soft!" Cecily arched back. "But you have pretty hair too!" Miss Leah chuckled. "Pretty, yes, but nowhere near as smooth or as shiny or..." She sighed, lacking words to encompass the girl. Maybe, Cecily thought, she could invite Miss Leah to walk her home after school. She could ask for some tutoring, not that she needed any. Or she could ask to make love to her. It was unlikely the teacher would say no. She indulged every student to ask, after all. Then again, they needn't go anywhere to share each other. Cecily turned, casting her legs wide over Miss Leah's hips, and stared up into the teen's soft brown eyes. They had no need for words. The scale of their affection was unbridled, and almost always reciprocated. She leaned close, stealing toothless bites of Miss Leah's bottom lip, and reveled in the sudden hands claiming her flat chest. "So beautiful," the older girl hummed, drawing Cecily down on the blanket. The other girls giggled from the other side of the lawn, a few having stopped to admire the view. There was another sound. Pained grunting and whimpering, almost crying. Cecily and Miss Leah both stopped to investigate, worried that somebody had been hurt. They didn't travel far to find its source, for on the other side of the tree was another girl, six year old Katie, forcing herself onto things far too large for her undeveloped pussy. Miss Leah reached out to her, guiding her hands away and easing the wide toy from the girl's entrance. Cecily was in awe. Not even she could handle a dildo like the one Katie had found! No wonder the little girl was on the verge of tears. "Katie, sweetie," Miss Leah said. "Are you okay? What's going on?" "I can't make it fit all the way," the little girl said. Her frown was so deep it put newborn pups to shame. Miss Leah pulled the girl into her arms and rested her head on her breast. Cecily did the same, cuddling the naked Katie from behind. She could practically hear the voice of her mother telling her to slow down, that there was all the time in the world for her to grow up. Then again, Cecily never wasted time when it came to being filled. "That's a big toy," Miss Leah said. "It could hurt you if you're not careful. Even big girls struggle with toys this big." "It's bigger than biggest in my Mommy's drawer," said Cecily, wanting to help. "But if I can't use the big toy, then how can Mommy fuck me?" Miss Leah blinked. She was missing something. "Sweetie, you don't need a monster like this to have sex with your Mommy. There are lots of ways girls can fuck without hurting yourself." "I want her to fuck me like she fucks my cousin, Ruthie." Cecily knew Ruthie, the daughter of Miss Andrea, the baker. She was only a year younger than Miss Leah, and while her sexual affections were restricted to a handful of trusted friends and family, her wanton enthusiasm was well known and admired. Enough, it seemed, to make a little girl jealous. "How does your Mommy fuck Ruthie?" asked Cecily. "Like this," Katie told her, folding her hand into a bulb shape. Cecily caught her breath. 'Fisting' was a game for older girls, and took a lot of time to warm up to. That's what her own mother had told her, and she was happy to wait. Fucking was painful sometimes, and that was okay in small doses, but it could also be too painful. Miss Leah kissed the naked girl's forehead. "Sweetie, you don't need Mommy's hand inside you to be special. Any way you fuck is special, and I know she loves you just as much." But Katie wouldn't be swayed. "Can you help me, Miss Leah?" Cecily jumped at the chance. "All you have to do is practice," she said. "We can help her practice, right, Miss Leah?" The teen shook her head with a smile. "Oh, my little darlings. How can I say no to you? Come on, Katie. Lean back on the blanket and relax. We'll get you warmed up, okay?" Both girls brimmed with excitement. Katie did as she was told, and spread her legs wide. Though her pussy was red and swollen, she didn't for a moment hesitate at the new attention offered to her. Their mentor bent to her knees and smiled. More than a few would be jealous to have the admiration of two little girls, but were one to ask either Katie or Cecily they would say they were the lucky ones. She took the elder girl's chin and guided her into a kiss. Cecily was putty in her hands, and fell into her teacher. Lips washed over each other with subdued lust and the tenderness shared between teacher and pupil. Miss Leah pulled away, prompting a needy gasp from her elder student, and stopped only for a moment to revel in her want. Then she leaned down to offer the same affection to Katie. Miss Leah drew herself away from the younger girl and sat upright. There were to be no more distractions. "Cecily, could you please cup Katie's mons?" Eagerly and obediently, Cecily curved her palm on the dip between Katie's legs. She shivered to feel the warmth against her touch, like steam turned slick between her digits. The little girl's pussy was just like her own, but smaller. "How does that feel?" Miss Leah asked. Katie nodded. The teacher stroked her cheek. "Katie, use your words." "It feels good, Miss Leah," said the girl. "So far, so good. Cecily, would you like to start stroking her? Backward and forward. You know how." Memories of times gone by sent tingles down Cecily's spine, from the first ministrations by her mother to countless family and friends. Every entry into the world of sex was a celebration for girls and women everywhere, and she would never tire of it. Her hand moved back and forth, with a middle finger running through the depth of Katie's nubile labia. Katie moaned, and gripped behind her knees to keep from clasping shut. She peered up to Miss Leah, biting her lip with need, and was met with approval. "How does it feel, Katie?" asked the teacher. She fumbled around the words. "Feels good. Feels yummy." "You are very yummy," said Miss Leah, who dared not fight the temptation to touch the girl's chest. Katie was far from developing breasts, but her baby fat was soft enough for the young woman to knead. "Are you ready for a finger, little one?" "A finger is too easy," Katie whined. "I know, sweetie, but we have to do it slowly," the teacher said. "Nobody, not even your Mommy or your cousin, can fit a hand without warming up first. It's part of the process." It was clear that Katie, who like all little girls demanded immediacy, did not understand. It was only trust in Miss Leah's intent that allowed her to acquiesce. Great pleasure would come in time. "Cecily," said the teacher. The little girl's finger slipped into her friend with no resistance. It curled in the way she'd learned would please most pussies, making sure to glide along the clitoris with each movement. From the look on Katie's face, Cecily had found the right spot. Miss Leah flashed every tooth in her grin. "You're doing so well, sweet girl. Nobody is ever more beautiful than they are when being made love to. Did you know that?" Katie blushed and she burned. One small body could not contain all that feeling. "More please," she begged. Cecily looked to Miss Leah for permission. Miss Leah signaled her, yes. The rhythmic touch of Cecily's hand slowed as a second digit outstretched. It too entered the younger girl without struggle, though prompted a larger gasp than the first. "Still feeling happy, little one?" Katie nodded furiously. Her face was bright red with the culmination of feeling. She clutched her legs higher, determined to invite more of her school friend inside. "Remember to relax," Miss Leah told her. "We all love a tight little cunt, which is why we do our kegels every day, but if you're too tense you could hurt yourself like before. That would be bad, wouldn't it?" "I... I don't want it to hurt," Katie gasped. She felt no pain, but water still welled in her eyes. "You want it to feel good, don't you?" she sang. "Uh huh!" Both Cecily and Miss Leah drank the hazy expression the girl was lost in. Cecily's Mommy called it being 'fuck-dumb', which had always made her giggle. And while forgetting things didn't sound nice, it was worth it to feel the big, happy feelings that came with a lover's touch. Miss Leah's hand reached between her own thighs. Her duty of instruction could only stem her arousal so much. If she had to watch these little girls finger fuck any longer she might have screamed. Instead she hummed, drawing out the sound over what was to be fast won orgasm. The teacher collected her thoughts. "Is she nice and loose?" Cecily nodded, and groped her chest with her free hand. "Are you ready for a third finger, Katie?" The little girl nodded. Cecily didn't wait to be told to pull to the edge and add another digit. She pressed, feeling the tightness around her. Katie let out a small, wounded whimper that one could mistake for pain. "Hold it there, Cecily," Miss Leah told her pupil. Cecily sat with her fingers inside her friends, waiting for her to calm. "Are you alright, little one?" Tears ran down her cheeks, but Katie forced a smile. "Hurts a lil' bit, but I wanna keep going." "And you promise to tell me when it gets too much," said Miss Leah, her tone punctuating that it was not a question. "I know you want to fuck Mommy's hand, but we have all the time in the world for that, okay? She loves you and she's not going anywhere. I know you want to fuck her now, but good things are worth waiting for." Katie twisted in need. "It's not fair!" "I know, honey." Miss Leah said. "But it'll happen in its own time. You know, I was small like you once. It actually wasn't that long ago, but you weren't born yet. My aunty and my grandmamma loved to fill each other with anything and everything, and like you I so wanted to be a part!" The little girl slowed her breathing. "Did you get to play?" "In time," she said, "but there were a million other games we played while I worked my way up to it. And you know something? Taking my time, making sure my little cunt was ready, made it so worth it. It didn't even hurt!" Katie and Cecily smiled as bright as bright could be. It was supposed to hurt, wasn't it? A little bit, the first time. That's what she'd heard, from friends whose ambition was no doubt greater than their need for comfort. "You want it to feel good, don't you?" Katie nodded. Cecily nodded along dumbly, not even realizing. "I want Mommy inside me," the little girl said. "I want it to feel good!" Suddenly she started to convulse. Her pussy spasmed around Cecily's small fingers. Cecily pressed back, stroking her friend's inner wall with an overwhelming hunger. That was all it took to thrust Miss Leah over the edge. Their teen mentor all beat her cunt as wave after wave crashed through her. She screamed for all the field to hear, drawing the attention of every girl to run naked toward her. She gushed over her hand, over her thighs, and over Katie's chubby cheeks. Katie, also, gushed around Cecily's fingers, trying to push them out and cling to them at the same time. Cecily could only watch, left with her unsated desire. It broke her heart to see two potential lovers spent before she'd had the chance to touch herself. "Miss Leah?" Katie asked. Her mentor hummed. "I think you're prettiest when you cum." The teen smiled a dreamy smile, and bent down to steal a kiss from the girl's juice wet lips. She then turned her attention to Cecily. "You know," said Miss Leah, "I don't think it's far that we should get all the fun." A surge of excitement filled little Cecily. Finally, she could have the attention! ============================================================================== Dearest Amelia, I write to you now in giddy anticipation of your response, knowing you to be one of the rare few to appreciate what I'm to commit to paper. With you I've shared a romantic and oft times carnal affection I feared was unique to the two of us. Mother always remarked upon our queer nature. In that, I never imagined that the shape of our desires should be more common than convention allowed us to believe. In the three years since last we met I've befriended a dear woman who for reasons on anonymity I shall refer heretofore as Dorothy. I have assurances that you have shared correspondence with Dorothy in the past, as she considers herself and her daughters chief among those liberated by your manifesto. Upon learning of our familial connection she reports feeling compelled to make my acquaintance, and quickly determined that yes, I was your lover in our girlhood days. As our friendship warmed so was I able to confide in her the details of our affair both chaste and erotic. How can I ever thank you, dear cousin, for the boon of your love? Even apart I continue to be blessed by your presence in this world, for your revolution of the hearts of femalekind yields more with each passing year. Dearest Amelia, I hesitate to divulge what has transpired in more recent times for fear of discovery, but such feelings are diminished by the need to share my story. You write in your manifesto that one must perceive the whole of girls and women, not merely in terms of intellect and skill, but emotional depth and erotic desire. It is as you say, that no love transcends the scale that exists within our sex, and that age is oft times an arbitrary barrier to intimacy. Perhaps once I would have hesitated to admit such a thing aloud despite the burning in my breast and loins. In such things I'd committed to being chaste, fearing the ruination of innocence that cannot be restored. However, such reluctance has long since ebbed following my dalliances with Dorothy's daughters, Constance, who is aged eleven years, and Margaret, seven. They are beautiful children, dear cousin, and ever so sharp. While those of a tender age lack a certain experience and insight, it is a fool who dismisses a clear intelligence. Furthermore, I suspect it is the veneer of an imagined innocence borne from conventional rhetoric that makes us blind to the innate desire of girls. It is a conceit that I too was once privy, but have since abandoned to great elation. It was at Dorothy's behest that I came to taste the fruits of her daughters. I was charged with their care and the understanding that I would make love to her children on an occasion Dorothy had a matter to attend elsewhere. How queer I thought it that a mother would offer her children for the sexual appetites of another. Yet despite being wary all parties and myself consorted with enthusiasm. Do you remember the secluded fresh water spring near to grandfather's estate? Constance had similar ideas to your own at her age, wherein she was swift to abandon her garments and leap into the water. Her sister followed suit, and both were eager throughout the day to put their nubile forms on display. O cousin, what I would have given for a charcoal and pad to capture those divine shapes, of Constance's budding breasts and Margaret's youth. I needn't deny you the knowledge that I was swiftly disrobed and in the water with both girls seeking out excuses to brush their skin. In the afternoon we curled together under a tree with bare flesh pressed together while feeding one another fruit and cheese. We needn't have dried ourselves. The cool water dissipated with our shared warmth. As we ate I wooed the girls with poetry. You remember, dearest Amelia, what I composed in my youth? Those words dedicated to you in the shrine of my heart and celebrating the opening of our respective yonic doorways. You'll be pleased to know that details of our love making left Constance and Margaret both shivering with delight. They begged that I should recreate that experience with them. I was still a girl myself when last I'd tasted one so tender. A lifetime of adult encounters had erased the knowledge from memory, perhaps as a blessing to discover such sweetness a second time. The eagerness of their kiss, hunger for Constance's chest, prompting cries of agony and ecstasy, and the search for the ever so subtle bump under the folds between Margaret's thighs. What bliss! As you've established, dear cousin, this is the marrow female kind has been starving for. I applaud you for your clarion call. What an honor it is to guide our own into the Sapphic threshold. -- Prudence of Hope, née Stalwart, to Amelia of Gertrude, "Letters to Aphrodite", 1912. ============================================================================== Cecily bounded into the cottage wearing nought but a towel around her shoulders, feet slapping the floorboads, and brunette locks dripping. A cool breeze sent goose pimples running down her sun-kissed bottom, prompting her to dry off more quickly. It came as no shock at all to find her mother splayed sideways on the sofa with fingers running idly down her slit. Shame was as distant a concept as any, especially amongst women and girls. What was curious, however, was the album she flipped through while playing with herself. "What're you looking at?" asked the girl. Her mother smiled, and opened her arms and legs to invite her daughter between them. Cecily practically dived into her embrace. There was simply no better way to warm herself than with her Mommy's body. "Just taking a stroll down memory lane," she said wistfully. Cecily peeked at the album, which was open to a portait of family, her mother and grandmother, Mommy and Nana. Nana was younger then, with brighter color in her hair, and skin a little firmer. Her Mommy was barely Cecily's age, flat-chested and yet to sprout pubic hair. The woman in the photo held the girl, cupping one hand around her chest from behind, and the other between the girl's legs. The looks on their faces were frozen in delight for all of time. "I wasn't much younger than you when Nana and I moved to Virgin Meadows," she said. "I know. You told me," Cecily said. She stared at the photograph, caught up by the hunger in her grandmother's eyes, and the sheer ecstacy of her pre-prebescent mother. They were looks she'd seen many, many times, most often when Nana was between her legs, lashing her pussy with her tongue. Just the thought brought the sensation back, causing Cecily to shiver. The girl tilted her head back. "But you can tell me again if you want." Her Mommy wrapped an arm around her and fed her a thirsty kiss. Lips crashed, tongues danced, stoking the fire between familial lovers. Mommy's hand snaked downward, enveloping her daughter's mound and gliding between her immature labia. Cecily clenched her thighs. There was something about her mother's fingers, wet with her own juices, sliding between her daughter's lips that brought her closer. The little girl whined while her little pussy drank from her Mommy's pre-saturated digits. "Once upon a time our love was a secret," Mommy told her. "Your Nana and I fell for each other just like you and I did, except we couldn't tell anybody. There are a lot of people in the world who don't understand us, my love." Cecily gyrated her hips. Warmth stirred in her belly. Her still developing button sent surges through her body. "But Mommies are supposed to make love to their girls," she gasped. "Nobody understands that better than you and I. So does your Nana. But not everyone has love in their heart, especially the kind we have." She knew the answer, but she asked anyway. Cecily pressed down, desperate for a finger to slide into her, but her mother only wanted to tease. "So... how did you... know... to come here?" Mommy sucked her daughter's earlobe, throwing her deeper into a haze, and whispered hotly into her ear. "There was a girl at school. She was a year younger than me, but I found her rubbing her puss in the bathroom." She sighed dreamily. "She was so pretty, but not as pretty as you." Cecily's cheeks flushed. Her face was warm, her belly was warm, happy feelings swirled, and it was all because of her Mommy. Mommy loved her, and showed it in every kiss, every stroke. "We fucked like baby rabbits," Mommy said, finally taking the plunge. "There wasn't a day that went by where I didn't eat her sweet puss. Then I'd go home and be ravaged by Nana. I was in heaven!" The little girl whimpered. Her insides expanded with feeling. Those dizzying sensations sent her tumbling back, further and further into her mother's arms, and ever more open to her eager fingering. "So imagine my surprise when I learned my friend was in love with her Mommy too," she said, "and that her Mommy loved her back, just like Nana loved me, and I love you." She tweaked her daughter's nipple, prompting a squeal. One day they would be swollen and wide. It was a mother's duty to encourage that, even at such a tender age. That they were so turned on by the act was happenstance. "So... then what happened?" Mommy smiled. "Well, Nana had never met another incestuous parent before, and she'd never been able to tell anyone our secret. She was afraid, but not for very long." "Why... why not?" "Because they had two beautiful girls who weren't afraid to fuck in front of them." Cecily didn't see her Mommy beam with pride, but she could feel it. "I imagine those two nubile little bodies were impossible to resist. And why would you want to, hmmm?" Cecily nodded dumbly. Of course Mommies wanted to fuck their daughters. Little girls were beautiful, just like Mommies were beautiful. They had to touch and taste and finger and fuck and caress and kiss and pinch and stroke - all the things that brought Cecily closer and closer to the edge. "And... then what...?" "Then," Mommy told her, "Nana and her new friend found more friends. Then more friends. Lots of mommies and little girls fall in love. We're not always supposed to talk about it, but there are so many of us." Cecily bit her lip. "That's... dumb..." Mommy grinned. "It is dumb. But talking about it is how we learned about Virgin Meadows. The following week we had our bags packed, we moved cross country, and every since we've been making love to beautiful women and little girls, just like you." It was more than Cecily could take. She bit her lip, and with tears pooling in her eyes clasped her legs together. Orgasm after orgasm shot through her like earthquakes, turning her bones into the most warm and delicious jelly she could think of. "Don't hold back, sweetheart," Mommy said, and cupped her mound tighter. She screamed at the top of her lungs, so loud that the whole neighborhood could hear! If she had any thoughts left amidst the waves she might have imagined Miss Erica next door, stealing a touch of their joy for herself. Cecily turned. The tremors eased until she was a most satisfied ragdoll. She rested her head between her mother's breasts and listened to her heartbeat. Without even thinking her little fingers traced circles around Mommy's nipple, perhaps starting what the rest of her couldn't finish. The woman slipped her fingers from her daughter's immature cunt. She fed one finger into the girl's mouth, but kept the other for herself. Cecily was Mommy's girl, and sweet in more ways than one. She kissed the little girl's brow and hummed. "And they lived happily ever after." ============================================================================== It is said that there is no greater love than that which is shared between a mother and daughter. While such truisms might be regarded as subjective at best it rings true with my own experience of motherhood. From the moment my daughter Genevieve entered the world I was overcome with an affection for which no words can ever hope to encompass. If before I had not been steadfast in my beliefs the virtue of her being would have affirmed them for the first time. The notion of innocence diminishes a child and makes romantic the strength and wisdom she's yet to accrue. Mother Nature calls upon us to offer a guiding hand so that she as well can discover the inevitable woman within. Of all the joys afforded by motherhood the ability a child to feed upon the breast is among the most profound. Aches and swelling are but a trifle when balanced with the intimacy of that act which through life-giving milk emulates the umbilical bond that made mother and daughter the sum of one body. Though filled with anguish her vulnerable cries dictate the necessity of our connection and her laugh a confirmation of its goodness. From the time she was a babe and to her early adolescence Genevieve reveled in her feeding the same as I. It is only natural as one whose body served as the vehicle to birth to sustain her for as long as she required. Consider the bitterness among those removed from the fountain of life before their time and you might weep for the delighted child that could have been. It is in my daughter's unburdened smile that my mission is made clear. The only thing of which a child should be ignorant are the cuts of a callous world experienced firsthand. Never did I hide from her for one day her body will be as mine. Her breasts will be bountiful, her hips curved and supple, and the spring between her legs a lush garden where countless desires will be sated. To conceal from her the inevitable pleasures of her maturing is a cruelty one cannot fathom and to stifle the curiosity of a child a crime that will set the course for all her days. I will not deny that there is pleasure in her touch or that the thought of her little fingers running down between my loins stirs heat in my belly. And it is by her invitation alone that I plumb the crease between her legs not only to sate my own desire but to reveal her own. Intimacy by its very nature is not a selfish thing and is established through shared experience. Just as she supped on my breast so too did I ravish hers. The bosom is nature's gift to all femalekind and though the time has not yet come for her to develop it is the elder's duty to pave the way for growth. The march toward womanhood should never be something to fear and it is in my daughters eagerness to celebrate the fact that I find pride. -- Amelia of Gertrude, "Femininity in Bloom", 1917.