Date: Tue, 08 Feb 2000 14:34:08 CST
From: C. Larkin <larkin47@hotmail.com>
Subject: My Early Years

"My Early Years"

A Fictional Memoir

By C. Larkin

I don't quite recall when I had my first sexual awakening. Perhaps it
occurred when I was a five year-old, taking a bath. I remember toys floating
around in the warm soapy water, jostling and bumping my wet, sensitive skin.
When they occasionally rubbed between my legs as I played, I felt a small,
but delicious tickle. I remember trying to sit on one or two, holding them
under the water and then letting them slip out from under me and laughing as
they popped out of the water, making a little splash.

Some of the toys I sat on were softer and smoother than others, and these I
would sit on longer, squirming around as their rubber texture pressed up
against my privates, creating a tingling feeling that didn't make me laugh,
but felt oh, so pleasant.

I definitely awakened sexually when I was six (or was I seven?), and Mrs.
James, our baby sitter, would bathe me. She was an attractive, but quiet
woman, with brown hair. Divorced, she sat for me on certain evenings to make
some extra money. I remember she would take an active interest in my bath
time, helping me to undress and having me stand naked next to her as she
filled the tub with warm water. She liked to wash me, stroking my upper
torso with the wet wash cloth as she talked and I played with the toys.
Then, Mrs. James would have me stand while she washed my legs and finally
between my legs, first with the cloth and then, "to get really clean" she
would say, with her bare hands and soap.

I giggled the first time she did this. But later on, I remember feeling
flush and giddy, as Mrs. James rhythmically washed me down there. Her soapy
hands would glide back and forth, gently caressing my tender pubic area and
then further down, finally touching my little rosebud in the rear.
Sometimes, when she washed me this way for a while, I felt a sensation well
up inside that made me want to pee. My little hips would be begin to move
and buck against her hand and eventually I would feel quite breathless.

After this happened, Mrs. James would smile and quietly tell me that I was
now quite clean and the bath was over. I would then jump out of the bath and
run around the house naked. Finally, Mrs. James would corner and grab me,
laughing and giggling the entire time. She would pick me up and then sit
down in a chair with me in her lap. Sometimes she read books, other times
she told stories, but always she would cuddle my nude body to her bosom.

Once, just once during my bath, I got silly and filled my palms with soap
suds and brushed them on to Mrs. James shirt, right over her breasts. Very
calmly, she said, "Oh my, you've gotten me wet. I guess I'll have to take my
shirt off." I watched in amazement as she stripped to her waist, and
continued to bathe me, her slightly sagging breasts hanging over the side of
the tub. Feeling bolder, I reached down and grabbed two more handfuls of
suds and brushed them over her nipples. She just laughed and suggested I
wash them off with my hands.

I rubbed my hands over the warm skin of her breasts, picking up and holding
them in my small palms. I watched how her nipples began to protrude when I
stroked them with soap. All the time, Mrs James laughed and joked with me,
never stopping me as I played with her. After the bath, Mrs. James asked
that I keep our bath time fun a secret. But one day, I somehow let it slip
out to my mother that I had seen Mrs. James' breasts. A few more questions
and everything came tumbling out. That was the last I saw of Mrs. James.

Without my favorite babysitter, I was on my own for a while. I continued
playing with my toys in the bath and washed myself quite thoroughly between
the legs, but it wasn't quite the same. Later I discovered that by
straddling some furniture and rubbing them between my legs,I could bring on
"that urge to pee," I felt when Mrs. James used to bathe me.

Once, my mother caught me doing this and told me it was naughty and to stop.
But all her harsh words did was make me more careful. If mom was in the
backyard or downstairs doing wash, I would tiptoe into the living room and
straddle a certain chair, which had a velvet-like armrest. My thoughts would
turn dreamy as I brushed my little clit back and forth across the textured
cloth, bringing out a tingling sensation that warmed the insides of my
thighs.

When I was eleven, I became good friends with Linda, who was a year older
and much more worldly than I. One day, she told me how she had seen her
mother and father naked in bed. "What were they doing," I asked excitedly.
"Something to do with having babies," she replied. Then Linda described in
lurid detail how her father put his penis, which she said was enormous, much
bigger than her little brother's, between her mom's legs and laid on top of
her, and began moving around.

"What else happened," I asked with increasing curiosity. Linda, her eyes
gleaming, said her mom kept sighing and then cried out. She thought her dad
had hurt her mom, but later her mom kept saying how good how good it felt,
so Linda knew she was alright. My imagination was inflamed by Linda's
narrative. I kept picturing naked bodies rubbing against each other. It made
me feel flush and warm. My thighs began to tingle. Then Linda suggested I
come to her house for a sleepover and maybe we could spy on her parents. The
next few days were a whirl of anticipation, my mind feverish with thoughts
of seeing naked grownups cavorting about Linda's house.

Finally, the sleep over arrived and Linda and I, dressed in our nighties,
waited in her room, giggling, laughing and talking in hushed voices about
what we might see. As the evening wore on and nothing happened, our patience
grew thinner, while my own frustration began to mount. Finally, I grew tired
and fell asleep. It seemed like hours later, but actually no more than 30 or
40 minutes had passed when Linda shook me, telling me to come on, she heard
something.  Still groggy, I followed her and soon we were tiptoeing down the
hallway. We crept up to her parent's door and stopped.

Behind the door, I could hear a slight scrunching or squeaking noise and a
muffled voice that was repeating something rhythmically. Ever so quietly,
Linda crawled over to the keyhole and peeked in. She looked for what seemed
like an eternity until finally, she put her finger to her lips and beckoned
me to come over.

I put my eyes to the hole and for a moment saw nothing, yet could clearly
hear somebody grunting. Slowly, with my heart beating wildly, my eyes began
to adjust to the low light and I could make out moving shapes. Finally, when
everything came into focus, I found myself confused. Expecting to see
Linda's father lying naked on top of her mom, I was quite surprised to see
just the opposite: Linda's mom sitting on top of her dad, her legs
straddling his waist. Mostly, she was leaning over, so I just saw her rear
end moving up and down. As she rose up, I could vaguely make out something
thick and long between her. It appeared and disappeared as her rear end rose
and fell. I guessed this was the father's penis. Throughout it all, I heard
voices, one panting, the other grunting and occasionally sighing. Meanwhile,
Linda was rapidly tapping and pulling on shoulder.

Reluctantly, I moved aside as Linda retook her position by the keyhole. My
excitement was indescribable, as I waited for my turn to peek. Soon, I could
hear the grunting and sighing grow louder, followed by someone murmuring,
"Oh God, yes," over and over. Linda moved away from the keyhole and I got up
to take my turn, but as she turned, she whispered, "They're finished, let's
go."

Disappointed, but worried that I might get caught peeking, I quickly
followed Linda back to her bedroom. We jumped into bed and for a moment
neither of us said a thing. I realized I was shaking from what I had
witnessed. I had a terrible urge to rub myself and I thought surely Linda
felt the same. What happened next caused my head to spin even more.

I can't quite recall who suggested it first, but somehow, with our young
bodies excited by the spectacle, we decided to copy Linda's parents. In the
dark, we removed our night shirts and panties. Linda instructed me to lie
down and open my legs wide. She took the man's position and lay on top of
me. Slowly, awkwardly, Linda began sliding her warm, naked body over mine.
"I saw my parents kiss," she whispered and then kissed me lightly on the
lips.

We didn't know what we were doing, but it was the most thrilling thing I had
ever experienced in my life. As Linda lay on top of me, we kissed and
touched each other. Occasionally, our pubes would rub against each other and
I would feel a jolt of pleasure as it happened. The experience was exciting,
forbidding, and for Linda quite orgasmic. I remember lying there, looking up
at Linda her eyes gleaming in the soft, night light that streamed in from
her window. She continued to rub her herself against me and I noticed she
was beginning to sigh and moan softly just as her mother did. Then her
eyelids fluttered and she moved spasmodically, as her body shuddered several
times. Finally, she lay still and just said, "Wow!"

Several more times that year, Linda and I acted out our  lovemaking during
sleepovers. We took turns lying on top, moving our naked bodies back and
forth and kissing each other. Once, when it was my turn to be on top, I
copied what I saw through the keyhole, and straddled Linda. I liked it,
because I could bring more pressure to bear between my legs and, for the
first time, was able to achieve an orgasm in this position.

Later, back at home, I tried to recreate what happened by using pillows for
Linda's body. I experimented and finally found that sitting on top of two
fluffy pillows did the trick. I would pull off my panties and slowly glide
my clit across the soft pillows between my legs. The light brushing action
was just enough to excite my nerves and bring on a satisfactory climax.  The
only drawback was that the pillow case was often wet from my juices by the
time I was done.

My friendship with Linda drifted apart when she began to show interest in
boys, while I remained indifferent to the opposite sex. Once again, I was on
my own, but had become quite adept at masturbating. Because my mother began
wondering aloud why my pillows smelled funny, I began using my fingers
regularly. By the time I was thirteen, my body was undergoing changes and
often I would strip naked and gaze at myself in the full-length mirror which
hung in my room.

It wasn't long before I added a new dimension to my world of self-pleasure,
which was to masturbate in front of the mirror. I liked watching how my body
would flicker with the heat of sexual passion as I aroused myself. I could
watch my nipples grow erect, my neck and throat turn flush red and, most
excitingly, my clit and pussy swell ever so slightly. Finally, as the climax
approached, I would watch my face contort and my hips buck uncontrollably as
the pleasure washed over me.

Like any hot-blooded teenager, thoughts of sex and masturbation played a
leading role in my life, but it remained intensly private. I lacked the
looks to attract boys and was too timid to pursue them myself. Quite
honestly, they didn't interest me too much. Instead, I fantasized about my
friendship with Linda, which, by now, seemed so long ago.

One day, while in a store, I accidentally bumped into a customer and when
our eyes met, I saw a face from my past. "Oh, Mrs. James, what I surprise,"
I said, with a catch in my voice. I was 17 now, and despite nearly 10 years
since I last saw her, she looked remarkably the same. I guessed she was now
in her late forties, but was still an attractive woman. She, of course,
didn't recognize me at first and was quite flabbergasted to realize who I
was.

We exchanged bits of information about each other, and I blushed when she
asked how my mother was. I never knew what my mother had said to her to
terminate her baby sitting job with us. She, on the other hand, showed no
sign of embarrassment about the past. As I said goodbye, She paused and
pulled out a pen and quickly scribbled her phone number on a piece of paper
and handed it to me. "Call if you ever feel like talking," she said and then
turned and left the store.

For the next week, I debated what to do. There was no misunderstanding what
her invitation might mean. When I realized I couldn't stop thinking about
her, I finally called. She invited me over for tea next Saturday. I borrowed
my parents car that day and drove to her home, which was on the other side
of town, where the houses were smaller and less expensive.

My pulse was racing when I arrived, but Mrs. James soon put me at ease,
offering cakes and cookies with tea. I talked about all I had been up to for
the past 10 years and my still, unfocused plans for the future. She beamed
at me, and remarked more than once on how much I had changed and grown

Slowly, we began to run out of things to say and I felt the mystery of our
reunion was about to evaporate, when she asked if I remembered the baths she
used to give me. I blushed and said yes, they had been fun and I was sorry
she stopped coming. Then I confessed to her that I had gotten her fired when
I accidentally mentioned to my mother how I got her shirt wet.

Mrs. James could see I was a little agitated, and told me not to worry, she
had soon found work elsewhere, even though she missed me. Then, Mrs. James
came over and sat down next to me and, touching me hair and hands, asked
ever so quietly, if I still thought about the baths. I hesitated, and then
nervously nodded my head.

Without saying another word, she took my hand and led me to her bathroom.
"Fill the tub, while I change," she instructed and then closed the door with
a smile. When she returned several minutes later, she had on a bathrobe and
nothing else. I had filled the bath with hot water, taken my clothes off and
stepped in.

"No toys this time," she said. "Let me just help you wash." And so, like a
flashback, I found myself once again in a bathtub with Mrs. James leaning
over the edge, gently washing me. First she washed my upper torso, including
my breasts. When she gestured for me to stand so she could wash my legs, I
realized I was much too tall, so I knelt in front of her. I placed my hands
on her shoulders to steady myself as.her soapy hands gently stroked my
thighs and finally my now dripping slit.

My body shook and shivered from the excitement of what was happening. It was
like old times, only better. Finally, unable to hold back any longer, I
gently pulled down her robe and for the second time began touching Mrs.
James' breasts. They looked just as beautiful as I remembered. I lifted one
in my hand, leaned over, and began sucking on the nipple.

Mrs. James sighed, yet continued to massage her soapy hands between my legs.
I could feel the tension build inside me as her stroking became rhythmic.
Just like when I was a child, my hips began bucking involuntarily against
her hands and suddenly I moaned deeply and pulled her close to me as I felt
the waves of orgasmic pleasure convulse through my body.

When I calmed down, Mrs. James led me from the bathroom to her bed and
there, she removed her robe and lay down. I instinctively knew what to do,
and so parted her legs and began making love with my tongue. Within minutes,
Mrs. James was sighing, while her body heaved and her legs locked me tightly
to her as she came over and over. By the time I finally stopped, my mouth
was dripping with the nectar released by her pussy in the throes of passion.

I pulled myself between her quivering thighs and, as Linda and I once did, I
lay on top of Mrs. James, kissing her deeply and passionately, my hands
fondling her breasts, tweaking and pulling the nipples until they were
erect. We embraced each other tightly and then rolled over on to our sides,
allowing our hands and fingers room to play with other's inflamed buttons
until our bodies once again shook with the fever of passion and desire. It
went on and on. Each orgasmic peak seemed to top the last one until I cried
out, "Oh my god, yes," over and over, just as I had heard Linda's mother
utter while I peeped through the bedroom keyhole. Finally, at some point, I
fell asleep in Mrs. James arms, like so many years ago, naked, snuggled
closely to her bosom.

The End