Message-ID: <41026asstr$1046005805@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <20030223051552.53312.qmail@web14507.mail.yahoo.com> From: Valerie First Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sun, 23 Feb 2003 05:15:52 +0000 (GMT) Subject: {ASSM} Memories of a Child Prostitute (ped preteen bg+ nc-mild no-sex ScFi) x-asstr-message-id-hack: 41026 Date: Sun, 23 Feb 2003 08:10:05 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, newsman PREAMBLE The story that follows is a fantasy. It is not intended to motivate or encourage sexual activities with underage children and should not be interpreted as such. It is purely a prose exploration, a fictional expression of one of the sexual orientations found in humanity. Leave it at that. If you ever come close to acting out anything in this story, get help fast. This story is intended for people who are ADULT in body and mind. If you are under the legal age of consent in your local jurisdiction, or if you are offended by stories involving children and sex, do yourself and us a favour : STOP READINGNOW. DON'T HURT CHILDREN. Some humans are born with a different eye -- they march to a different drum. That doesn't give them the right or the reason to abuse other living things ... above all, it doesn't excuse hurting children. Hurt can be in many ways -- physical, mental, emotional, developmental. Children are the most beautiful creations on this Earth and should be guided, loved, cosseted and protected from pressure that their physical and mental strengths cannot yet handle. A green bough is easily bent from its natural course of development -- enjoy the rose bud on the bush as it grows ... pick it and it dies -- quicksilver cannot be confined without losing the very beauty that attracted you. Please comment on this story -- about the quality as a story ... about the grammar, the plot, the use of language, the style, the scientific rationale, the behaviour ascribed to the characters (particularly the children) ... about EVERYTHING! As a writer, I'd really like to hear from you. Be brutal if you want ... it all helps to improve my skill. Send comments to, preferably -- alt.sex.stories.d -- OR -- wankery2003@yahoo.co.uk -- I'll answer every letter. -------------------------------------------------- Memories of a Child Prostitute ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1 -- Prologue -- Wherein Is Told How I, Danna Jorge, Came into the World of Sexual Licence. 2 -- Introduction -- My First Day in Alice's Wonderland. 3 -- The Start of Love. I Meet Counsellor Marytanya. 4 -- Indoctrination Begins -- The Beginnings of My Total Loss of Modesty. I meet Madalana Vatonder & Johnrey. 5 -- Marytanya is Unyielding, Nevertheless Comforts & Explains Further. I cross a Rubicon of sorts. 6 -- Curiosity Is Awakened Again & Somewhat Satisfied; Alarmed at Involuntary Exhibitionism. 6a -- Transition; naked in the shower with Madalana & Johnrey. 7 -- Academic School Starts; I meet other children. 7a -- Marytanya; More about our relationship. 8 -- Prologue: General Comments About the Sexual Conditioning. 9 -- Student, Teach Thyself. 9a -- Transition. 10 -- My Career at Hand. ---------------------------------------- PROLOGUE Strange how the mind works. My memories of the early years are as vivid in my head as the cabin around me now is in my eyes, yet the things that happened in my middle years are already fading away. What's more, I hardly care about later events -- it's that wonderful, terrible, fantastic time between turning seven and 17 that made me what I am today. Many events, some extending over hours, even days, are almost holographic in their accuracy. I now experience, and have succumbed to, the temptation to recount what happened to that frightened little girl who was one of the very few humans rescued by the evacuating Marines when the Vorgoth destroyed Earth's pioneer colony on Titan. I have decided to accept the offer from the Space Historical Society to travel to Barnard's Star -- which, as we all should know, was Earth's first stellar colony -- and, not expecting to return (at 125, a natural thought), it seems good to me that the whole truth be told. My family, and multitudinous hangers-on, won't be pleased -- but, to Hell with them. I was the one who suffered, learnt and survived. My early childhood life, up to the time of my parents death, has been told in my chapter in Vogus Drannell's book, Last Days of a Colony. The month after the scramble to escape from Titan was confused, to say the least. My destiny was decided by chance, and childish choices. Some of that is in the book mentioned above. When the Marine troop carrier, damaged by Vorgoth shells, made an emergency landing on Earth's Moon, the first to drill through into the survival pod, into which I and six others had been bundled by the Marine crew, looked exactly to me, like Vorgoth soldiers. Carried, because I was practically catatonic, I was taken by various stages, none of which I remember because my eyes were tight shut, to the habitat dome of the scientists. That, expecting imminent attack by Vorgoth, was in a state of chaos. Very much overcrowded by refugees, systems strained, discipline irregular, procedures followed in a haphazard fashion. All that I learned only later by degrees; then, I knew I was in the lair of the devil. I was deposited in a large room packed with terror stricken people of all ages and sexes. For a moment nobody was paying any attention to me -- and the door was open. I ran; to where I didn't consider: my only thought was to hide. That, of course, was a mistake but remember, I was not yet seven and had just experienced the horrors of a full scale military attack on civilians -- I was scared into quivering silence, haunted by images and horror stories of the alien menace, (who I had never actually seen), and now again in the middle of death and destruction. There weren't many places that felt secure and after some time of dodging what I saw as horrible creatures who screamed and clutched at me, I settled for a small bare cubical. That those who pursued me were soldiers from the human military base guarding the astronomical facilities on the Moon never entered my head. If I had stayed where I was left ... well, leave alone what I might have done -- I didn't stay put and thus entered a new time-line. ... ... ... ... ... Let me just briefly digress in order to explain something about the life of children at that time. In the late 20th Century, and the first few decades of the new millennium, children's sexuality was something denied by society and simultaneously exploited by the entertainment and advertising media. Then, in about 2020, the pendulum swung to the opposite extreme and sexual activity by children became a 'natural good'. Adult involvement, so long as it was non-coercive, was tolerated, (in the homosexual community, actually encouraged). Another 30 years and again the wheel turned back to repression of everything to do with children's bodies. However, reliable and relatively cheap access to the other real estate of our solar system and points between, had been achieved in the interim. As happens in cultures expanding wildly, the current concept of illegal became blurred and all sorts of things could happen in the cracks between the old morality and the new. Children became very vulnerable because the law was erratic and corrupt. In some places the strictest anti-pedophile legislation was rigorously enforced ... in others, the rights of children were non-existent and they were simply goods and chattels. So, should a child anywhere slip through into the underworld, he or she were in extreme danger of ending up in the very worst that the evil side of humanity could imagine. I was lucky. ... ... ... ... ... I remained huddled in a corner for an indeterminate time. Then someone came into the room. I was going to die; that I was sure of, the only question was how much would I be tortured first. After a time, probably only seconds but feeling like hours to that small demoralised child, I could no longer withstand the suspense. I peeked between the fingers clamped over my face. Standing in the hatch-way, instead of the battle-armoured giant I expected, (all I had been seeing for the past month), was an ordinary, rather short and tubby human male dressed in standard habitat gear, (loose fitting soft shorts and shirt). I let out a cry of relief and jumped to my feet. "Goodness," he said, "who are you?" "I'm Danna Jorge." Then something broke. For the first time since the roof exploded off our farm-house on Titan, I began to cry. Hysterically and with total abandonment. I sank down into a limp bundle of quivering child on the cold metal floor. When he picked me up I was so glad to be in the hands of a human being, instead of a steel ogre, that I threw my arms round his neck and my legs round his waist in a grip fierce enough to make him grunt with shock. For a moment he stood still, then he went out of the room with me still clinging to him like a barnacle, and ran along the corridor. I wasn't thinking about where he was taking me, indeed, for some time now coherent thoughts had been entirely absent from my head. What made him take me? I could hardly have appealed to his aesthetic senses. Years later I asked him this question and he couldn't answer except to say that it wasn't planned. He, (James Quinlan, I found out later, publicly an astrophysicist, privately a member of the Circle), they, had no idea that I was there. Naturally, he always had an eye for children, specially girl children, but just then he wasn't looking for children; that was ridiculous, considering the shambolic situation. He would have seen a small child, rather scrawny at that, dirty brown hair tangled and matted halfway down my back, (funny, that worried me more than anything else!). Bare feet, scratched and bruised legs, hollow cheeks (it was only somewhat later that I realised how agonisingly hungry I was), and wide staring haunted blue eyes. I was wearing only the cotton night-dress I'd put on that evening when the universe abandoned me. There wasn't much of it left between the cuts and tears. I had tried to keep myself covered, well aware that I had on underneath only a pantywaist, but my childish resolve was difficult to maintain under the fear and stress of life underfoot of half a hundred men, (perhaps even more frightened than I because they understood the situation). I was covered in blood, (some of it mine), fresh and congealed, scars, scabs -- every possible hurt short of life threatening injury. He saw something in me ... . Again there is a hiatus in my memory of events. This isn't important because it was simply a journey without further incident. The Vorgoth never came closer to Earth than the orbit of Jupiter and the evacuation of non-combatants, although chaotic, proceeded to the various destinations, mine being chosen for me by a simple perversion of a primal urge. My next memory was of being bathed by a tight-lipped elderly woman in nurse's whites. I was scrubbed, rubbed dry with a coarse towel, disinfected, inoculated, anointed with germicides and antibiotics, bundled into plain, clean clothes, (cotton panties, a dress like a sack; both a drab olive green), had my nails and hair trimmed, (oh, the joy!) -- an hour of being treated like a doll. I was fed, (thick vegetable soup and plain brown bread), told to brush my teeth and hair, (I welcomed the order, the first words she spoke to me, and almost the last), after which, I was led by the hand to an adjoining tiny room with a bed and bureau. "Sleep," my attendant said. She walked to the door we had entered from. "Please ...," I said. "Where am I? Where is my mother?" Turning, she looked at me with a strange expression that softened her features and shook her head. "I don't know." Then she smiled and said, "You are a pretty child; that helps. Tomorrow someone else will come for you." Perhaps ashamed of being so talkative, she scowled at me and banged the door shut behind her. I tried to open the door but it was locked. There was nothing to do but obey; however, curiosity got me so far as to find that the bureau drawers held only another pair of panties, (white), a blue polka-dot dress, anklets and plastic sandals, then all at once, I was drowning in sleepiness. There was no time to undress, let alone look for pyjamas -- I fell down on the bed and the world went away. I stirred only once, with tears streaming down my face but without consciously knowing why. When I did awake completely I was at first only aware of a great need for a toilet. I found it behind a screen previously unnoticed. Only after that relief did I notice my totally naked state. During the time I was dead to the world, somebody must have stripped me. The room was very warm, so, although there weren't any covers, I wouldn't have been woken by being chilled but why they, whoever, had done it, and why they had left me bare, I couldn't understand. My skin crawled with embarrassment and fear. I nearly curled into a protective ball as I did when my mother came at me for some barely understood modesty transgression. What was I going to do now -- for a moment I was panic stricken into trembling paralysis. Then I remembered the bureau. Frantically I fumbled myself into the fresh clothes, (those of yesterday having disappeared), and sat down on the bed, out of breath. As I regained my self-control the smell of food caught my attention and suddenly I was ravenous. Hunger made me attack the door. It was unlocked. In the room beyond was another attendant, slightly more forthcoming: she said, "Good morning. Sit down and eat." Wanting to ask again where this place was and where my mother was, I hesitated. She frowned. "Don't talk." I obeyed. There was a large plate of coarsely-ground pale yellow porridge, dark sticky sugar, thick creamy milk, slabs of brown bread and golden butter. It was quite unlike the breakfast table at a home already becoming a memory. I didn't stop stuffing my mouth until the plate was empty. Then I looked round: on the table were bottles, tubs: jams and stuff I couldn't identify but that looked delicious. Much later I stopped eating, sighed with regret and sat back. Whatever was going to happen to me, I didn't seem destined for starvation. The new attendant was gazing at me in amusement mixed with wonder. "You certainly were hungry," she said, then snapped her mouth shut. Teeth brushed, hair combed, another visit to the toilet made, (after using the paper, I was told to wash my bottom , something new to me), and the sandals added to my attire, I was told to sit still and wait, (the eternal instruction to children!). ---------------------------------------- 2 -- ALICE's WONDERLAND Again the attendant I was beginning to wish would stay and become friendly left, replaced by a rather odd looking older man with a mustache. "Hello Danna," he said. "I want to do some tests with you." "Where am I?" I said quickly, before he, too, went away. "Is my mother dead?" I remember feeling quite sure that she was and strangely detached about it. "Sorry, I don't know anything except your name. Someone else will have to tell you that. Now, sit down here and let's begin --there's lots to do." For what seemed like hours I filled in little boxes on sheets of paper, fitted shapes into holes, did sums, completed sentences like, 'Jane had ... (eaten, ate, eats) her food already.', loopy riddles where they gave the answers but wanted to know why it was right (sometimes I didn't think it was the best answer), little stories about people doing things but did I think they should have done something else ... and so on and so on. Just when I got really cross he stopped and gave me food and drink. Then we started again. Now I had to watch a big Tri-D with lots of little ones around and when the main actor in the big one got stuck I had to quickly say which little one had the answer for the problem. That was fun but I got confused. And then there was something else to drink and I became sleepy. I was carried back into the bedroom and knew nothing further till waking; which was, the talkative attendant said, the next day. This went on for about a week. Half-way he introduced something new. I would be sat down in a comfortable chair and a nondescript man sitting closely in front would talk to me for a long time. He spoke softly and slowly, moving his hands in languid circular patterns but kept repeating the same things which I was told I had to remember. It really made me drowsy! At first I tried hard to keep alert but it became more and more difficult so when he said it was okay to the sleepy, I just drifted away. Towards the end of these sessions I must have been falling asleep almost immediately because I don't remember anything about them except the initial greeting. Apart from those induced sleepy periods, I slept a great deal and ate enormous meals. Much later in my career I discovered that this was standard therapy for traumatised and/or malnourished children in any given intake. The sleepiness was caused by sedatives combined with mild hallucinogens, (to encourage the subconscious into discarding painful memories by identifying the experiences with obvious fantasies). Every day the tests continued; sometimes only 30 minutes or so, other occasions most of the waking time was occupied. My nocturnal crying reduced and my weight increased. Towards the end of this period, the testing was reduced and instead I had many lengthy chats with a plump motherly woman who asked me endless questions about my previous life. It took a few days but gradually I accepted my surprising feeling of trust, (up to now, confiding in people, especially adults, hadn't brought me much satisfaction), and began talking. It was like opening flood-gates -- I babbled on about my mother, absent father, school, toys, and fears, (which were manifold and really not trivial). She evaded my questions and I learnt nothing about her or the surroundings. However, I really liked her and was disappointed when she told me that our sessions were ended; I cried and was comforted which made me cry some more from the pleasure of being cosseted. The one thing I couldn't become blas, about was the occurrence every time I slept of having my clothes removed. Waking up naked did become less upsetting as the days past: I stopped being quite so fearful of being found in that evil state by my mother, (even a small child would notice that mother never appeared!). After time the frustration of not knowing, and not being informed about why and by who the deed was done, exceeded the emotional distress. One day, after spending the period before lunch in doing more tests, two new people arrived. One I assumed to be a doctor since he wore stereotyped Tri-D hospital garb and had a body-scope round his neck. The other, every millimetre a nurse, complete with thermometer in her pocket, a fob watch and stiff white cap, gave me a drink. This I knew by now would make me sleepy but the effects weren't unpleasant so I never protested, (at least, not much!), but this was different. Yes, I did become sleepy, although, thinking back it wasn't quite like that, no, more like I was floating. Couldn't keep thinking of any one thing for even a minute but quite alert and able to logic. Then I was told to take all my clothes off. It was so weird. I knew that wasn't right -- goodness, I wasn't allowed at home to be naked even alone by myself, except, very quickly, in the bathroom -- but my thinking was so slippery I couldn't find the right words. I'd just spent days upon days of breaking that rule, so my confusion was great. Besides, one never said no to an adult; well, whenever that happened before, my mother slapped me hard -- so, I didn't want to do it and I couldn't disobey, so I only got as far as asking why, and that in a jumbled stammer. The man patted me on the head and 'explained' that they wanted to do a complete physical conspectus. "We just want to make sure that you are completely healthy and set up a physiological profile before anything else happens. It may be a little uncomfortable but we won't hurt you, promise. It has to be done so be a good girl and don't make it more difficult. You can't enter the gymnasium unless we have this database sorted out." That meant nothing to me. But my questioning gave my thoughts something to hold onto and I got as far as saying no, in a slow dreamy voice. They held a little rod under my nose and a sweet smell rose up into my head. I seemed to float away, up into a vague 'there' and I couldn't think why I was upset. Then they 'helped' undress me. A tiny thread of thought scolded me in my mother's voice. 'Below' me I saw a little girl, scrawny and wide-eyed, blushing furiously and making half-hearted attempts to cover her groin with fluttering hands, as she was placed on her back, on a high examination table. Impossible, even with the verbal abilities of an adult, to describe what I felt. Part of 'me' knew that child to be myself, 'I' felt in 'myself' what 'she' was experiencing yet that part of my personality that analysed and judged was detached from reality. My ego was a spectator in a drama where my body and emotions experienced. My mother's voice faded away. That 'other' child's hands were firmly grasped by the woman while the man poked the body-scope into 'her' ears and mouth, after which each eye was inspected. All in silence. Then the woman, still holding on, lay across the small body, pinning 'her' against the table and the man lifted and separated 'that' child's knees. Why they took these precautions is a mystery -- the child I was observing didn't try closing 'her' legs -- in me there was no impulse to do anything, not shout or struggle or cry. He extended a rod from the body-scope, fiddled with a tub of clear gel. He pressed something into the tiny anus, a foofy-hole, as I called it. Although it wasn't 'me', in a conscious sense, sensations, (indescribable really), flooded through me. Feelings, in me but coming from her, of 'her' inner body being entered, of rejection and acceptance intermingled, left no shred of logic or habit alive. It seemed to go on forever, sliding in, deeper and deeper. There was no pain and, really, no discomfort, but the intensity was shocking. After a while the insertion stopped. For an endless time he moved the instrument slightly this way and that, dictating incomprehensible words into his computer. Then he withdrew it, causing a fresh set of repugnant, exciting feelings to flood through me. Again, a pause but their hold on 'her' limbs didn't relax. He did something with a cloth; there came a strong antiseptic smell; cold wetness against 'her' -- 'our' ? -- buttocks, into the cleft, scrubbing. Again the clear gel. Again something pushed into 'her' , this time into down 'there' where I knew nice feelings could be found but I'd never thought there was a hole. That it was a deep place was obvious from the impression that something big was going a long way into ... who? Where? Into! How could that be? The sensations were different but no less upsetting. I 'knew' that, for the child I was so passively observing, the short hairs on 'her' neck were standing up and prickling waves of uncontrollable muscle spasms were pricking all over a burning, sweating skin. This time 'she' managed to protest, a little, even as I tried to understand why, when 'I' should hate what they were doing to 'her', I wanted 'her' to experience them some more. The feeble struggles didn't help much. Again the movements, the dictation followed by a feeling of 'her' being emptied as the rod was pulled out. Now they carried the limp small body, limbs awkward, across to a proper bed and laid it down, slowly releasing their control. I watched, still detached, as 'she' curled into a ball. Quietly, without any emotion, large tears welled up under closed eyelids and trickled down pale cheeks. Slowly, after what was a timeless interval, I felt myself drifting 'toward' the familiar child 'below' me. As I came closer feelings of loss, uncertainty and confusion began to distress me. But, before I could reach 'her', I must have fallen into a deep sleep because my next awareness was of another place and other people. Perhaps I should explain something. Despite my puritanical upbringing I had somehow not learnt to be ashamed of my body, but I had surely been taught a very strong sense of, not quite privacy, (although that sense was certainly there), no, it was rather a knowing that secrecy was required. I knew nothing about adult bodies, apart from the obvious female breasts. I had access to a friend's digital encyclopaedia, once, for exactly one goggle-eyed hour, after which time mother found me in front of the house AI's display panel. Lost to me instantly was a friend and a certain direction in (self) education. I was taught by example and chastisement that being naked was wrong. One had to undress in order to change clothes and one had to wash (cleanliness was a just a trifle below godliness), so there were times when nudity couldn't be avoided. However, on other occasions it was a symptom of licentiousness. I was regarded as 'difficult' in this regard. One particular will suffice to illustrate the general. Perhaps a year ago, on my way to bed, having had for some reason a rare unsupervised shower, I saw myself from the waist up in the dressing-shelf mirror, recently added to my cubical. My hair was tangled and as I raised my hands to push it flat, the towel wrapped round my chest under my armpits came unstuck and fell to the floor around my feet. Suddenly I was seeing my naked body in the fairly bright light at the bedside. At first in wonderment at the novelty, I was soon lost in admiration of my clean, lithe young limbs. Very pale, (we couldn't afford much time in the sun-room besides being opposed to the practice of near and total nudity by most colonists enjoying the artificial sun-spectrum lights), my skin seemed to shine. My chest was quite flat but I was enchanted by seeing, for the first time, my nipples. They were pink with a brown circle around the little nub. Bending closer to the glass I pinched one between thumb and forefinger. A thrill shot down my spine and I was hooked. How long I stood there, fingering my nipple and stroking the surrounding softer area! Rubbing the little bud with the palm of one hand was particularly pleasant and I was quite unaware of the door opening. The stinging slap on my bare buttocks shocked me back to reality and taught me a lesson never forgotten. My mother didn't waste words, then; she knocked me flat across the narrow little bed and struck me with the flat of her large hand till I felt raw. The first few blows I managed to take in silence, perhaps because of bewilderment, but soon I was screaming. In the midst of my pain I can remember increasing fear that she wouldn't stop until I was dead. When she did, I was almost hysterical, no longer screaming but making a continuous keening sound, rocking back and forth as I curled into a ball. The lecture began the next day and continued for weeks. I never again was allowed to be alone in the shower area and was always checked on when dressing and undressing. Where my psyche would have gone had I progressed through an entire childhood and adolescence cannot be said. Why my mother was so fanatically afraid, (yes, fear, I'm sure, lay at the root of her abhorrence), I only discovered many, many years later and even then it could only be a deduction not certainty. Although I retained a degree of balance, nevertheless I became intensely secretive about everything, especially my body. I wouldn't tell them when I was ill, or had a stomach bug for example. I became grubby, being anxious at touching myself. But indignation was also part of my emotional reaction. What had I done that was wrong? The endless forceful admonishments told me a great deal about a multitude of terrible consequences of "self-abuse", (whatever that meant), but very little about why. Time and again I would say, in childish terms, yes, okay Mother, terrible harm or danger will come on me if I caress my naked body -- but why? The only result was to teach me to keep my mouth shut because I would be shouted at or even given another hiding. I went past mere shame into outright fear of being seen naked. Publicly, officially, I became a prude -- undercover, I became a rampant prurient. Terrified into trembling wariness I nevertheless could not resist the temptation to explore myself at night. Moving very cautiously my hands slowly felt around and into every hill and dale of my angular body. Notwithstanding that I would have had to stand on a chair to see, I remember feeling annoyed that at the mirror, that fateful day, I hadn't looked at the rest of me rather than spending all those precious minutes on my chest. The delight found between my thighs was frustratingly disconnected from a mental picture. I learned where pleasure could be found, but at a price, that of suppressing every outward show of emotion and pleasure during my self-discovery. Masturbating became my solace from every trouble and indignity. I didn't use the word masturbation, of course and neither did I defile such a wonderful activity by taking on my mother's label of self-abuse. No, I thought of it as 'joyance', although I've no idea where that word came from. I didn't progress to orgasm, probably because of the great caution I had to observe, but clearly remember, indeed still feel myself wandering those days over the quivering foothills leading to that awesome mountain -- and I strove through hours of tantalising pleasure to reach something I sensed was just the other side of ... what? There were days that I drifted through school and home chores half asleep from spending hours at night with my hand between my thighs. Luckily this was usually after some misdemeanour was discovered and punished so my dazed attitude was taken as either sullenness, (earning me another slap), or remorse. I found other ways to pleasure myself: squeezing my thighs together was good and, if I had a few minutes alone, rocking astride the arm of an easy chair could almost bring me to the mystery -- in fact I had to be careful not to get too close to that terra incognito for fear that I would lose control of my outward display. In reality, looking back, I probably had little occasion to really concentrate and explore my sensual nature. Children on Titan were regimented. I'm sure I was typical: woken at 5,30 a.m., made my bed, tidied my room, ate a Spartan breakfast and was in school by 7,30 -- lunch -- school from 1 till 4 p.m. -- cleaning the classrooms and home by 5,30 -- 6,30 till 8,30 evening school in front of the computer -- 9 shower and bed. We had no weekends in the sense known by Earth children -- everybody worked at communal duties, even children as young as five were given simple chores. Entertainment consisted of three hours once a week in the Community Centre rehearsing and/or presenting theatricals, sometimes extremely serious major works. We obeyed orders and smiled. Perhaps you are wondering where was my father in all this -- he was, quite simply, absent! I have a vague picture in my mind of a short slender dark haired man with a neat beard but there is no face and no emotional connection. Mother refused to talk about him and I soon learned to avoid the question since it was usually followed by an extended period of bad temper from her side. Apart from the vague memory all I know is that from about my fourth birthday he was gone. To resume my story. I came to my senses after the medical episode lying on a couch in what appeared to be a study. Books -- yes, real physical paper and print, not e-books -- lined the walls, there were several chairs and a desk, and, sitting quite relaxed near me, a plump grey-haired woman. It was the person I'd met during the testing sessions! Overjoyed, I swung my feet to the floor and sat up. I was quite naked, as usual. For an instant happiness at meeting my companion again almost overcame my dread -- then I became conscious of my nudity and shrank back into a huddle. She got to her feet and handed me a bundle of cloth. "Danna! I'm so pleased you made it through the selection process. Here, dress yourself in this. When you are with me, I will allow clothing, for the time being. It must be very difficult for you to accept yourself being naked." The bundle was a simple lemon-yellow cotton frock, quite short, reaching just to the top of my knees after I'd dropped it over my head, with a length of the same material as a belt. There was no nothing for my feet and no vest or panties. I stared at her but she remained silent. Surprisingly, this didn't worry me, (usually, when adults were silent I worried), and for several minutes we just sat, regarding each other. Then she spoke, in a quiet, rather deep voice. "My report said you would make an excellent child-lover: you have the necessary stoicism and are extremely pretty and beautifully proportioned. But first, do you remember, I am Counsellor Marytanya?" I drew a deep breath. "Of course." Then, "They did things ... ," I stopped, astonished. "It was me! But, I, she ... oh! I don't understand." "Congratulations. It is unusual for the child given Detach to discover the truth. You and the child you were looking at are just two sides of the same person." She must have seen my puzzlement because a soft warm smile transformed her face and she reached out to touch my cheek. "Never mind; one day you may understand. Yes, they did things to you that the old Danna would fear." "Why? Where am I? I don't know anything about this place ... everything is strange ... I don't like being confused. Where is my mother?" "Goodness! So many questions. Let's start. I can't make it easy -- your mother was certainly killed when the Vorgoth attacked Titan. Nobody was left alive there and we have identified every human that escaped. From now on we are your only family; remember that and make your happiness with us. This place is called Alice's Wonderland and it is on Lazy Fair 1." That didn't mean anything to me. I later found out that the Lazy Fair 1 was an artificial satellite in a Trojan relationship with Earth and the Sun. Partly illegal and partly an attempt by human society to quarantine antisocial people and behaviour, it was governed, (by a board appointed from it's floating population by Earth), with rigid observance of its Charter. This enforced democratic rule of law but, paradoxically, allowed every vice and aberration known to human-kind -- yet an establishment like this could flourish. There was no anarchy, no oppression by a dictator, very little crime (understandable, when ejection into space was the punishment for even relatively minor misdemeanours), the politics were reasonably clean, private property and enterprise were strictly protected and a Bill of Rights was memorised by every school child. "I don't understand," I repeated. The news about my mother left me feeling nothing beyond a sense of having lost some connection with the familiar -- it didn't make me happy, just more afraid what might happen to me ... which hadn't been particularly pleasant recently. "This is a school, a special double school. The first part is to teach you just like your normal school but teach you better and further into mankind's treasure of knowledge. The second part is to train you as a child prostitute. It is the more important because without it you have no way to survive in mankind's current society." "Pros...ti...tute ... ?" "There are men and woman who desire to play with children's bodies -- we rent out children to those sort of people. You will be taught how to give pleasure to them. That isn't just allowing them to fondle you, not even submitting to sexual intercourse. No, it's an attitude of mind. You will give the client your body and find delight in whatever they choose to do with it. We will remove all shame and privacy from your personality. Satisfaction of every physical enjoyment will be your duty and you will delight in abandoning yourself to carnality." Again, I didn't understand and my perplexity must have been writ large on my face because she smiled. It was a slow crinkling of her whole expression into a welcoming tender invitation to the sort of intimacy friends enjoy. My whole being warmed to her. Of course, I didn't reason all this -- I just wanted to be close to her. I actually came to my feet and took a step toward her. Then the bitterly learned habit of safety-first halted me. "Come," she murmured, and held out her open arms. I was trembling violently when I entered her embrace but she simply pulled me onto her ample lap and folded her arms loosely round me. If she had hugged me with any degree of strength I would probably have bolted. As it was, I buried my face against a generous bosom and began crying. How long I stayed with her this way I don't know but after a long time I stopped shivering and crying. I sat up and looked at her. She had in that space of time become my source of love and security. No matter what happened I never lost the unthinking, absolutely trust -- not in her ability to prevent bad things happening to me, no, despite an instinctive knowledge that she was there to care for a valuable slave, I loved her and knew she loved me. Why this contradiction didn't destroy my psyche I don't know and have no interest in analysing -- in my deepest misery I would go to her and even as she led me back into indignity, my burden, my shame, my disgrace was removed and I submitted gladly to the loss of mental, emotional and physical privacy. ---------------------------------------- 3 -- COUNSELLOR MARYTANYA "I don't understand ... " I began but she laid a finger on my lips. "Surely you don't -- but that will change. I'll tell you enough to start and for the rest, well, the training will teach you by itself." She stroked my hair. "In a little while, when I call them, one of the Duty Prefects will come for you. He or she will take you to your rooms and show you enough to manage the daily routine." "Will they tell me all the things I don't understand?" "No, not officially anyway. Probably everybody you meet will tell you something but often it will be wrong in some way. I am the only one you can trust to tell you the absolute truth. Remember, even if I say things you don't like, talk about bad stuff or make you obey when you hate it, I am, always, the only one that will never, ever lie to you." She put a hand to either side of my face and kissed me gently on the mouth. An intense regret burned through me -- if only my mother had been like this. Again I burst into tears and again she simply held me without saying a word. As I think back, her lack of questions and explanations were comforting in themselves -- I could simply cry without someone telling why I shouldn't be such a stupid, bad cry-baby. When I stopped crying, having prolonged the enjoyable sense of not needing to control myself, she patted the couch beside us and shifted me over to sit next to her. "Coun, Council ... Mrs Marytanya ... ," I floundered. "Call me Marytanya or just Mary." "Can I call you Mama?" "You can call me any name you like, dear Danna." "Mama, I think I won't like what I'm supposed to learn. Will they hurt me?" "Not to your body and your psyche will only be damaged if you resist. It's not easy to explain when you don't know the right words." She smiled again at my expression. "You will not be beaten or made to do things that will make you feel sore in your body. Okay? Right; next -- your heart or head, the stuff that goes on inside your thinking will only hurt if you fight against what we tell or teach you. You will be shown, like in a school, how to do sexual things with men and woman. If you push against your teachers, if you let hate into your head, you will be poisoned in your heart. The best way is to float, like a grav-sled; go where you are sent. If you are one of the lucky ones, you will learn to do your job well but, more than that, you will learn to find pleasure in the doing." She took my hands between hers. "Now, listen carefully. No matter what you do, there is no escape from here except to a very worse place. Very, very much worse. In those other places they will hurt you and it will not end till you are utterly ruined. Please, Danna, please make this your home and us your family. Learn to enjoy this life. It is a life of giving yourself completely to the use of other people but it is the best you can ever hope for. I am telling you the truth, as I said I would." "Sexual -- what's that?" I certainly didn't understand everything but for one: she said I must be obedient. That I knew all about and it wasn't so difficult -- well, I had survived my mother! Then, it seemed to me nothing could be worse. "The feelings you get when your body is touched in certain places are sexual." She paused and continued when I didn't react. "On your chest are two little bumps; when you touch them, isn't it nice? And, down between your legs, that must be a very nice place to touch, not so?" I was shocked rigid. How did she know about such things? I must be very careful in case they found out about me. "I see you don't answer? Haven't you ever touched yourself, anywhere? Surely, when you bath, or are dressing and undressing, you touch yourself, even by accident, even on other places, not so? Stroking your tummy or just your legs, sometimes isn't that more nice than other times?" My jaw seemed locked, my mouth wouldn't work to say the things my mind wanted to pour out. After a few moments while Marytanya stroked my hand and just waited in silence, I managed to stutter a few words. "Mother says that is very bad. I mustn't ever touch myself anywhere." "But you do ... don't you?" Again I struggled; like trying to move while invisible hands held me back. She turned my face to hers and suddenly the words came in a breathless rush. "One day I saw myself undressed and touched myself up here ... it was -- was, nice ... but mother beat me very hard ... then mother watched me and shouted at me and beat me even if I didn't do anything like that ... and ... ," I ground to a halt, then, "I got angry and thought I'd feel myself just because ... and it was nice ... and I put my hands down ... there ... in the night in bed ... that was very nice it felt like I was going to fly up into the air ... and burst like fireworks ... but I couldn't exactly get to that ... then I would wake up in the morning ... I suppose I fell asleep ... please don't beat me." I huddled into as small a bundle as possible, not hiding or defending since that I knew from experience was impossible, but merely to present as small a target as possible. Marytanya simply stroked that part of my hair she could reach and didn't say anything. After many minutes my thinking ability reasserted itself and I realised that for some strange reason I wasn't going to be punished. Unwinding myself I looked at her and stretched out my hand to her cheek. "In this place you will never be punished for enjoying your own body." Marytanya smiled, "That is a good start. Now," she rose to her feet and tugged me up to stand beside her, "it's time to start your new life." ---------------------------------------- 4 -- THE TRAINING BEGINS The Duty Prefect was an man with a halo of white hair and a very stooped posture wearing an orange-coloured jump-suit. He took my hand, his skin so wrinkled I was fascinated despite my apprehension. With a final pat on my shoulder, and a whisper in my ear, "Remember, if you want me, just shout my name!", Marytanya was gone and I found myself standing in the familiar unfriendly corridors I had traversed before. As uncommunicative as everybody, except Marytanya, I'd met so far, the Prefect walked me round a bend in the corridor, and into another room. "This is where you will live now. This door, we came in by, will be locked. Forget about shouting, here is a button to press if you want your Counsellor. Those doors, on the other side of the room, are where most people will come and go; your food and education areas also that side. You can call me; use this button here. If you misbehave or get into trouble, I'll come quickly enough." With that he stepped back through the door and closed it. The closed door was something like metal, painted pale blue; there were four buttons : three had names, one was mine; the fourth button was titled Duty Prefect and coloured bright red. The door wouldn't open. I was quite alone; although aware of a sense of freedom, this was also the first time in a very long while that nobody was near me. Looking round quickly, the strangeness overcame my nervousness. I was in a room I later paced out at 12 by 15 of my strides; quite the biggest I'd ever being in, except for communal areas. Smack in the middle was a colossal bed. Along the wall behind it were three sets of cupboards, painted different shades of blue. Near me was a completely transparent box-like structure, reaching from floor to ceiling -- inside was a toilet seat and pipes ran from floor upwards behind the white bowl. I shook my head in wonder. In the corner beyond were more cupboards painted in wild shapes and colours, with tables and chairs in various sizes scattered on a large square of fluffy carpet. Against one large expanse of wall were ceiling to floor bookshelf stuffed with digital, and, real books in a confusion of sizes and order. Pictures were all over the open wall spaces; the nearest showed ... I caught my breath and looked away but not before I'd seen it was of a naked child standing in a field of flowered grasses; even in profile, it was obviously not a girl. Feeling the familiar sense of dread at anything that had bought me into conflict with my mother, I tried to find something else to look at. In the corner opposite the, yes, obviously, the play area, were several doors painted grey. Skipping across to them, I found they wouldn't open either. In fact, every wall had at least one door, all locked. Turning to inspect the cupboards, I was unable to avoid noticing that all the pictures on the wall were of naked people, youngsters and adults; no modesty was evident in any of the postures and many were so explicit that I felt panic arising in me, (explicit to me, then, was anything without clothes; genitals were so unknown that depiction of them, which these pictures only indirectly showed, passed me by). I couldn't stay here -- with such pictures -- what if an adult found me? -- yet I couldn't get out. Perhaps I could hide. Casting round, the only place was in one corner behind a big chair. But, before I could move, the blue door opened and two children entered, accompanied by a man and woman; the adults being dressed exactly as the Prefect who brought me here. Standing to one side, they didn't seem to notice me as the same message was conveyed and the door again closed. The children looked round, as I had done. One was a boy, the other a girl, both about my size; both wore the same coloured clothes as myself, pants and shirt for him, short dress for her; he was very fair, with red hair while she had a light brown complexion with dark hair hanging below her shoulders. Their gaze reached me and for a long moment we stared at each other. "Who are you?" the boy said. "Danna Jorge." "My name is Madalana Vatonder and his name is Johnrey," the girl volunteered. I walked up to them. It was better than being alone in this strange room. "I come from Titan," I said. "I don't know why I'm here and I don't want to stay." "We come from Earth, from South Africa. All our families were killed together in one bomb explosion so they put us in a home. That wasn't very nice so maybe this can be better. Anyway, there's no way to get out and ... nobody cares." Without warning she began crying silently. For a moment bewildered, I just stood, staring at the big tear drops running down her cheeks. Then, slowly, hesitantly, I stepped forward and took her hand. "Never mind, come meet my Counsellor; she is very nice. She does care." Again I was surprised as she flung her arms round me and burst out into loud sobs, head pressed against my shoulder. I struggled with my fright and managed to put my arms round her as well. Then, to my own amazement, I began crying too. We stood, hugging each other, swaying slightly, howling like bedraggled kittens. How long this went on I don't know but we were, I suspect, thoroughly enjoying the warmth and comfort of another lost-soul. Then the boy spoke up. "Sissy girls! I want a pee." I watched him walk over to the glass box and, after a moment, find and open a door. That he was being observed didn't seem to bother him. He stood in front of the bowl and dropped his pants. At that point I was overtaken by a feeling of intense alarm. Although, mercifully, my mother hadn't inculcated an aversion for my body's waste or the actions required, to 'go' meant being more or less naked. That was wrong, even if it was necessary; and, to look or be seen, punishable. With a shudder of fear, I turned away and, felt a need in me arise which brought an cold sweat out over my skin. Now I wanted to go! I needed to go, suddenly, very badly. Involuntarily, I let out an wail of consternation. What was I going to do now? It was unthinkable for me to use that transparent box; impossible to hold out very long. Madalana jumped in shock at my cry. "What's wrong!" "No! I can't, I won't," I squeaked. For a long, terrible moment, I was mentally unbalanced: I had to choose but neither course was endurable -- then I remembered Marytanya's promise. As though ill, I stumbled to the door, bawling like a child in pain, as indeed I was, and smashed my hand against the button with my name. Madalana was dragged along, unable, as she later described, to release my fear-strengthened grasp. Ages, minutes, later I felt arms enclose me. I listened without hearing as Marytanya's voice said something and my fingers were pried off Madalana's arm. Still in a daze I was carried away somewhere. ---------------------------------------- 5 -- AN UNYIELDING MARYTANYA Again I came to my senses in Marytanya's study. She was sitting opposite where I lay curled into a foetal position; in her hands were two thin sticks and caught up in them was a long coloured string. For a moment I listened to the clicking sounds. Then, my bladder stabbed at my innards. "I gotta go!" I gasped and jumped to my feet, arms firmly clamped across under my stomach. "Through that door," she pointed. Only when I lifted my dress was I reminded that I had no underclothes. I finished the chore and stalked back into the study In a state of mulish irritation mixed with unfocused apprehension. "I want proper clothes," I yammered. Arms akimbo, I glowered at a placid figure. Then, as my eyes met her steady gaze, I wilted and collapsed onto the couch. "Oh, M ... Mama; what must I do? How can I go in that see-through thing? Mother said its a very, very secret thing. But, that boy -- he would look at me and, and I didn't even have panties on, haven't even now. It's not right to be without panties and vest, and socks ... and shoes." Putting my hands to my face I burst into tears. Marytanya came across and sat down beside me; putting her warm, plump arms round me she began to murmur soft nonsense syllables. "It was so sore, holding in!" I sobbed. "Can't I stay here with you ... please? I'll be very good and do everything you say. There's bad pictures on the walls there; they make me feel funny." "No, I'm really sorry but that can't happen. You have work to do and the people that put money and effort into rescuing you from worse places expect that you will do that work. Better get used to wearing very little clothing from now on. And, you will do more than just sit on a toilet while others look at you. No," she slapped my hand lightly as I gave out with a howl, "it's no use to try and make me feel sorry for you -- I already am. But, this is going to be your life from now and I can't change that. All I can do is make it as easy as possible. That means you must accept these changes that make you anxious and apprehensive." She stood up and lifted me to my feet. "I will not again allow you to use my private toilet -- at least not before your prudish modesty is forgotten. Listen to me, Danna, this is important. You must forget everything your mother taught you. You must lose all your shyness. You are going back to your quarters now; come." I was marched along the corridor, whimpering and protesting, all to no avail, and firmly propelled back into the room with the transparent toilet. Soon as I heard the door close behind me and the two children, playing at some game on the carpeted area, turned to stare at me, my tears stopped. Without putting it into words, I didn't want them to see me in my predicament. Squaring my shoulders I trotted across to them. ---------------------------------------- 6a -- CURIOSITY AWAKENS "Well, I've told them I don't like that toilet," I said, not quite managing the self-assured tone I wanted. The two stared at me without speaking and for a horrible moment I wondered whether I was to be rejected for some transgression against an unknown rule. Then the girl smiled. "Come and play," she said. They were playing a holographic game where one had to poke light-sticks through multicoloured donuts. After a while I lost some of my shyness and the noise level rose considerably. When us girls tired of that we explored the toy cupboard. There were several different dolls of varying sophistication, one of which could maintain a lengthy and remarkably intelligent conversation about personal cleanliness which became rather embarrassing, (if only to 'little Miss Prudish'). There were also some naked dolls that had body parts I didn't know much about but the other two didn't show much interest; Madalana preferred to 'ooh and aah' over her wardrobe while Johnrey immediately picked up a diminutive working violin -- and I was much too inhibited to ask questions, so, in my ignorance, resolved to investigate as soon as I was alone. Madalana got up and said a very polite, "Pardon me." She went straight across and into the, 'rude-box', (as I had named it to myself). I watched as she wriggled her bottom onto the white seat, lifting her short dress as she did so and sat for several minutes, gazing abstractedly across the room. My head was spinning; how could she do that, knowing we could see her ... ? Hadn't she been taught any better? But, why was I watching -- I should be ashamed of myself. I peeped at Johnrey; he was inspecting the tuning knobs of the little violin. Even as I looked at him he glanced up in the direction of the toilet but his gaze didn't linger; the instrument he held was obviously of greater interest than the little girl urinating so calmly in the transparent cabinet. Perhaps that moment was crucial to my education. My curiosity took over -- after all, I'd been artificially kept away from knowledge of my growing body, and from the discovery delights other children take for granted -- now the volcano was rumbling. I stopped judging and just observed; amazingly, I began to enjoy the novelty of not having someone watching me. Madalana slipped forward off the toilet seat and taking a length of paper, casually reached between her thighs, rubbing vigorously as she held her dress up against her chest. Half seen, half grasped wonders ... boney knees, thighs, flat child's stomach, shadowed triangle with a line running down. She was not wearing panties. Like myself. A cold shiver ran over me: once I'd have been paralysed with fear at not wearing underclothes -- now, I'd almost forgotten that under this short dress I was quite naked. I shrank into a crouch, but, nobody was there to discipline me! Even as I stood up, blushing at my panic attack, Madalana was back with us. She reached for my hand. "Why were you looking at me," she whispered in my ear. "I know I haven't got any brooks on. Let's look in our clothes cupboard." I was enchanted with the clothing in the wardrobe I got after the other two, bolder than I, had each chosen one, and couldn't quite believe it was all mine. Dresses, skirts, tops galore ... shorts, track-suits ... frilly party blouses ... socks, shoes, animal slippers -- I was drowning in the colours, the plenitude of differing styles, the wealth of textures. One of the grey doors opened. A tall angular figure came through, pushing a trolley. "Food! Come and get it." I realised I was famished when my mouth started watering at the sight of loaded plates. Perhaps I should finish off the subject of food by saying that in general and throughout my subservience to Alice's Wonderland the food was plain and simple but wholesome and plentiful. Half an hour later, replete and becoming sleepy, my mind turned back to the clothing issue but, and again it was a shock to realise it, somehow the lack of modesty didn't seem quite so disastrous. What was important was my growing need to empty both bowel and bladder. A cold sweat broke out over my body; the time before was only too painfully fresh in my memory. I couldn't help glancing repeatedly at the 'rude-box' with a shudder. My agitation must have been visible because Madalana turned to me and, with a hand on my shoulder, spoke softly. "Go and I'll keep Johnrey busy." "No, never mind; I don't really need to go now." "Well, okay -- just tell me and don't have an accident. With no brooks, your wee-wee will run on the floor". Madalana giggled to herself, then trotted over to the games cupboard and, pulling out several brightly coloured boxes, called Johnrey. Heads together they opened a box and began laying out bits. I wondered why the two children that shared this madhouse with me seemed quite indifferent to the transparency of the rude-box. Unable to order my thoughts I walked toward the rude-box and away again; after several minutes I wandered back to the other children. There was no answer that I could find. Tears were very close; I felt my whole world slipping: nothing I'd learnt at home seemed to work here. My mother had forced if not persuaded me of the rules to be followed but they were clearly impossible. I glanced longingly at the outside door but turned away almost in a paradoxical panic: Marytanya had left no uncertainty in my heart ... she would not rescue me again, thus if I tried her and was rejected, that would be my very last hope of sanctuary gone. Madalana looked at me curiously. "Are you okay?" "Yes ... I think ... but I think I'm going crazy." Johnrey laughed and suddenly my anger at being pulled every which way boiled over. Stepping forward I lifted both hands and bashed Johnrey on the chest. Utter amazement on his face, he fell backwards and sat down heavily on the floor. Shocked at myself, I covered my face and burst into tears. "You ... shouldn't make ... fun of me," I sobbed, "Now look what I've done. Oh, I'm sorry, sorry ... ." Before any of us could do or say more, the grey door opened again and the food lady appeared. Not noticing or ignoring the situation, she bustled around, tidying up and chattering away. "Bed time, children. Just remember, tomorrow school starts. And, from now you put away your things yourself. Come on, into bed." "Don't we wash?" I said. "Not tonight. It's a holiday; you can stink -- all three together in the bed. Won't it be a change ... ?" I didn't like such novelties but the other two were already getting undressed -- without any obvious concern for modesty. As they turned and moved I could clearly see Johnrey wasn't shaped like Madalana; I'd never seen myself but just as evidently from memories of my bedtime explorations I didn't have what he had. My vision was brief but enough to see a floppy pink sack and a short fat worm sticking out above. I found myself breathless from fascinated concentration; I suddenly went cold with the realisation that I was almost, almost, stepping forward to see better, almost about to comment. Shaking with fright at the moral precipice I'd so nearly fallen over, and about which my mother had warned me, vigorously if vaguely, I blundered over to Johnrey's cupboard and grabbed one of his shorts. He said something which I didn't understand and made to take my arm. I gave him a glare which must have been much more intimidating than I actually felt because he backed away and left me with the booty. "If I'm not covered by bed-clothes, I'm not wearing just a sleep-shirt with no brooks. So you can give me these." Madalana told me later that my face was red and I seemed about to hit him -- she sounded quite impressed and not at all sympathetic to the poor boy. I pulled the shorts up under my dress, staring defiantly at the disconsolate Johnrey. At that moment I didn't care -- not for me the accidental exposure that a sleep-shirt offered. I wanted to look at them, particularly Johnrey, but my nakedness was still a private thing to me. It would take me a long time to understand that in this strange world nudity was commonplace but one day I would discover that I too had become shameless. We all lay down; myself lying flat on my back, arms and legs well away from any contact. A problem I was becoming only too familiar with prevented any rest: I really did need to go!. The only plan I could think of was to wait for them both to be asleep but they rolled and fidgeted on and on till I wanted to scream. But, perhaps I was more tired than I knew, because suddenly I awoke into silence. Without hesitating I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I knew in my heart that if I delayed I'd lose whatever courage I had and turn hysterical again -- besides making a real mess. I ran to the rude-box and, with no more than the slightest hesitation over whether Johnrey, or even Madalana, for that matter, was sneaking a peek at me, I dropped the shorts and slipped my bottom onto the cold toilet seat. The relief was ecstasy. As I finished wiping myself a sense of weirdness took hold of me. Only a little while ago this scenario -- half naked in a toilet open to view of other people -- would not have entered my head. I literally couldn't have had such thoughts. I bent double, holding my stomach as a wild urge to laugh and cry simultaneously overcame me. Elation won the battle but I bit a knuckle and managed to remain silent. I lifted my head and was startled by my image in the plastiglass. It was fairly dark in the room outside this well lit enclosure and that made for rather a good makeshift mirror. For perhaps as long as 5 minutes, I stared at myself -- clutching the skimpy dress to my boney chest, shorts crumpled round my ankles -- I was looking at a practically naked myself. The first time ever I'd seen this much of my own body and, apart from a simple prurient curiosity, my chief emotion was of admiration. "Why," I thought, "I'm pretty." Which wasn't really true at that time. Filling a cup from the hand washbasin I gulped the water down, but my eyes were magnetised by the reflection: the gangly legs, rounded face, the shadowed triangle between my thighs with an intriguing dimpled cleft. But -- I was half afraid of that ultimate exploration of forbidden terrain -- that was a place I'd discovered before and been robbed of. Almost of their own volition my fingers lifted to the little bumps on my chest. As I touched a deep shudder shook my young body and a sense of falling made me dizzy for a second. The last time I'd touched there, my mother had driven, had beaten me back into a small corner of my expanding consciousness. In that place I had huddled, shut-in -- kept away from self knowledge and emotional growth. Although I, not yet 7, could not define such abstract ideas, the sensation was that of release, of escape. Suddenly I began rubbing myself -- almost roughly, without restraint. The feeling of my tiny nipples rolling in the my sweaty palms sent a flood of warm weakness through me. I nearly cried out with the unexpected pleasure and had to sit down on the toilet else I'd have fallen. Catching my breath with a gasp, I drew in several vast gulps of air -- then, deliberately and with concentration, began playing with myself. I rolled the little nubs between thumb and forefinger, and sighed with amazement as they became harder and bigger. Running my fingertips around them was so pleasurable that I almost went into a hypnotic state. Flushed and hot with nascent eroticism, my whole body was damp with perspiration so that skin slipped over skin like wet silk -- my skin. It felt so good; I was completely rapt into myself. This was where I was going, that terrible day, then, caught before my mirror and imprisoned -- now the sense of liberty was intoxicating. I could do this, and seemingly nobody would stop me, (it wasn't sexual, simply that this was my body, my curiosity being so delightfully satisfied). After a time unknown a small sound from outside intruded. A coldness swept over me and I was back in the real world. Tears flooded out over my cheeks as I dropped my dress down over my nakedness and frantically jerked the shorts up. Gone the buoyant freedom, the courage, the immunity from censure. Now I realised, in shame and fear, that this wasn't a safe haven; it was a place where I was vulnerable because exposed -- perhaps they had been watching me all along. I ran back to the big communal bed -- there was nowhere else, and besides, it was chilly. (One of their little tricks: the room was cooled to make sure we became accustomed to the bodily warmth, the closeness of others). Again I lay as near the edge of the bed, legs together, elbows tucked in. Neither of the other two children gave any sign of being awake. Slowly the fright of being caught caressing myself abated -- it was obvious that no immediate punishment was my lot -- and I began enjoying the experience in the safety of my head. A movement next to me made me turn my head. Madalana's face was almost touching mine. She had moved near me during the time I slept -- I remember clearly wondering whether I liked that and deciding, with surprise, that at least I didn't want to reject her presence. From the beginning Madalana had attached herself to me. I didn't know how to be friends with children of any age, so her approaches could have been disastrous. However, I often felt lost and afraid, and so was emotionally open to making friends ... I'm ashamed to admit that she was often also a punching bag when everything I'd known clashed with my new life. Fears and frustrations would boil over and Madalana, dear timid, comfortable little girl as she was (still is), took the brunt of my dumping. Quite suddenly she turned toward me so that she was touching me ... chest, arms, hips and thighs, knees, legs, feet -- touching me everywhere! I went rigid with shock. "Please," she whispered in my ear, warm breath tickling my hair. "Please let me cuddle you; I'm lonely and scared." A flood of thoughts and emotions filled my head but through the confusion I found, astonishingly, that I really rather wanted to have a cuddle myself. Twisting against her I clasped my arms round her thin little body and hugged so fiercely that the breath hissed from her mouth. "Oh," she gasped as soon as she drew breath again, "thank you!" As though we were working it out we both wriggled till we were as tightly together as possible, (so I thought then). Her flat chest and flatter stomach were pressed against me and one knee pushed between my legs. The pressure on my secret place was alarming, and pleasurable, but I didn't have time to sort it out. Without knowing I drifted into sleep myself, then to be woken by the toilet being flushed. That, of course, made me aware of my soon-to-be need. I sighed in exasperation -- if only I hadn't had a drink during the night. Madalana began disentangling herself from our clinch and as soon has Johnrey came back onto the bed, she dashed over to the rude-box. On her return she turned to me and said, "Your turn; better be quick's 'cause it's about morning -- must be, see they've made the lights bright -- then people will be coming in." "Why," I asked, "don't you feel shy about doing stuff in that glass box?" "Shy from being naked!" Madalana giggled. "I'm wondering, why are you so shy? In the Home we got used to that." She sat up on one elbow. "In the beginning it was sort of okay but later everything went wrong and nobody looked after us or fixed things like pipes and toilets and electric. They didn't come to wash our clothes so some of us did that and some, the older ones, cooked. When we could find food. But, most of us just ran around and if you didn't care or you didn't have clothes enough, you didn't worry. Everybody looked at everybody else -- I was curious about other girls and other boys ... so my friend let me look up close when I wanted and Johnrey also; sometimes he didn't even mind me watching when he played with his winkie." ---------------------------------------- 6b -- TRANSITION: NAKED IN THE SHOWER WITH MADALANA & JOHNREY. I didn't have time to mentally digest her story -- it wasn't a case of belief or doubt, I didn't understand -- when the person I had tagged as 'The Boss Lady' came into the room. "Okay, you kids. School's up -- not much time to fool around now. Get into the shower and back here to dress and eat." She began putting plates, jugs, utensils, etc., out on the table. Madalana and Johnrey, with loud screams of mock fear, immediately leapt up and, throwing off their clothing, dashed through the grey door the woman indicated. I, of course, shrank back into a huddle. It wasn't possible to become naked, thus exposed and vulnerable, in front of anyone. As for showering, naked with two other naked children ... my mind simply stopped considering the idea. Until the stern looking woman came up to me and smacked me smartly on a bare thigh. A flush of heat coursed through me and I cried out, not from pain because the slap had caused nothing more than a sting, no, from shame and fright. To be chastised by an adult was a portent of much worse to come. To the woman it was in the nature of a playful wake-up call but I jumped off the bed as though I'd received an electric shock. For a moment I stood across from her, wide-eyed and nonplussed. Then she shook her finger at me. I ran for the shower, retaining just enough presence of mind to wait until I was as far from her as possible before pulling my dress up over my head. Frantic thoughts jostled in my head -- was she really angry ... what did she hate most, my disobedience or my nudity ... what was I to do when the other children stared at me ... why was I feeling excited rather than terrified ... what did they look like, completely bare ... what did I look like ... ? Beyond the door was just a white-tiled room, big enough for ten children, filled with clouds of steam through which two pink and white bodies danced indistinctly. I stood at the door, hesitant -- then I realised that they could see me clearly whilst they were hidden. Besides, the splashing and shouting were inviting as was the water itself. Giddy with mixed trepidation and eagerness I stepped forward, at first cautiously then, as though abandoning some shackles, I plunged into the fog. In the middle a constant spray of hot water descended from the ceiling with Johnrey and Madalana making a game of running through, whooping andlaughing. Perhaps, I thought hopefully, they wouldn't take notice of quiet little me. No such luck! Within seconds the two were running rings round me, shouting gibberish and, oh, the indignity, I felt a slap on my bare bottom. Bewildered and horrified, intoxicated and seduced -- I hovered on the edge of running away; but, it was so nice to feel the clean, hot water sluicing down my skin; such fun to be playing with other children; so provocative to catch glimpses of their young bodies; so exciting to know they could see mine; so safe to think that the steam made clear vision impossible ... I was learning to play and experience sensuality. Suddenly the water stopped. "That's enough fooling around; get dressed." It was the Boss Lady shouting from the bedroom. The steam was abating ... the other two ran out ... I was visibly stark naked. Perhaps the only thing that saved my sanity was the sight of a large towel hanging near the door. With this wrapped round me I felt safe enough to venture back into the bedroom. Madalana and Johnrey were busy dressing, giggling and talking to the Boss Lady, absolutely without shyness. For minutes on end I fretted and fidgeted, unable to make a plan -- dry and dress myself I had been ordered to do but how to do that without revealing myself? The very idea was making me more and more conscious of my nakedness, and of theirs, and of us all being so openly, flagrantly exposed. Eventually, it became impossible to delay. I sidled past them, toward my wardrobedoor. "Oh, never mind looking there," the Boss Lady called to me, "I've put out your school clothes on the bed." Flustered by the attention drawn to me, I began inspecting the clothing. There was a cotton shirt and shorts set in pale green, white anklet socks with black shoes, and, panties -- wonderful day! -- in a darker shade than the outer clothes, full cut with narrow buff-coloured lace round the waist and legs, they were so pretty. Without further consideration I dropped the towel and pulled the flimsy things up round my skinny legs and firmbottom. "Wow!" Johnrey shouted, "Missy Shy forgot to cover up." Red-faced, I grabbed the shorts and began hopping on one leg, trying with more haste than speed to get them on me. "I can see your titty bumps ... titty bumps ... titty bumps ...." His infuriating litany was cut short by a solid slap on a shoulder by the Boss Lady. "Okay, stop that before Danna thumps you," she said. Several thoughts were jostling for space in my head. Anger at Johnrey, (and, him adding insult to injury by referring blatantly to what I thought off as a personal, rather delicious secret), gratitude for the rescue, (I was just about to hide or attack; not sure which, but neither was likely to help my situation), and, a deep wonder at myself. His taunt was valid -- where had my obsessive modesty gone? Was I becoming bad? But the badness didn't seem to be at all in the bareness of my body, anyone's body ... it was a headache; I finished dressing in an increasing state of confusion. "See," Madalana said, overacting her model's pose, "We all have the same style but different colours." "Are you really so worried about being bare?" Johnrey said to me. "Must be nice to have brookies on again." I looked suspiciously at him but his tone and expression were both quite innocent. "In my house we never ever went without clothes," I said, trying to be conciliatory. That was as far as that conversation went, because the Boss Lady took charge by setting out a breakfast, which we were made to eat without talking, and as soon as we were finished, shepherding us all out through yet another of the mysterious grey doors. ---------------------------------------- 7 -- ACADEMIC SCHOOL. Now, what can one say about school? Every child goes to school and the experience is hardly interesting, per se, so I'll just cover the significant bits. Nearly everything that brought me to this point in my life was learnt outside of formal schooling, (which is not unknown either). Firstly, the academic standard was extremely high. No matter where or in what field of endeavour a graduate of Alice's Wonderland schooling found him- or herself, in terms of knowledge and how to apply that education, they were always highly regarded. We covered technical, scientific and cultural curriculum and that thoroughly. I wasn't much good at mathematics, (calculus was and remained an impenetrable mystery), but I can play piano and cello, (pretty well, too!), sew a dress, paint a picture and cook a meal, besides knowing something about raising children, (surprised?), and discuss politics with the best of them. We attended school six days a week, from 8 till 11 a.m. with a break for a mid-morning snack -- then had lunch and a lie-down till 1 p.m. followed by one hour of study/repetition. We used the very latest teaching machines and had enthusiastic coaches. Tests were held on a weekly basis and lack of performance was indeed punished, both physically, (a broad strap applied across the buttocks was powerful motivation), and by withholding of rewards and/or privileges. The actual days of the week were quite irrelevant, of course, but served to define our ritual. Saturdays, after a shortened school session, we expected to be entertained by Tri-D thrillers, junk food and expeditions to exciting places, (like the marvellous simulations we enjoyed several times -- these included a wild animal reserve, a farm, a sandy beach with what seemed a real ocean, etc.). Sundays were for track and field sports and were purposefully made very enjoyable. One similarity to 'normal' schooling was that we wore a full kit of clothing but this, in our world, was unusual. Every school-morning a clean set was available: neat black shoes, white knee-high socks, cotton panties/underpants, (pale pink for girls, pale blue for boys -- yes, I checked), blouse/shirt and shorts, (I've never quite understood why all sexes were given shorts; perhaps to underscore the formality of school). Outer clothing varied in colour and style, (although not remarkably so), mostly pastel warm shades for girls tops and similarly in blues and greens for boys; while darker matching fabric was used for bottoms. Every day when formal schooling was over, these clothes were removed and the other part of our education began with new garb: insubstantial and casual. I often had angry or sad tears ready to spill at being deprived of my precious, proper apparel. There were ten children in my class. Because we were together only during lessons, I didn't learn to make friends with them; besides, it was a shifting population. About five didn't stay throughout; but, I'll come to describe the reasons for this later. We sat at individual computer workstations in a bright airy room with at least one, often two or even three coaches in attendance. And, we worked! There wasn't any time for fooling around. That was that! When I graduated, (a very average pass), at age 15 I knew with a very deep melancholy that my childhood was well and truly gone although I had been working on a regular if part-time schedule for Alice's Wonderland for many years already. So much for school ... from here on my story is about the real learning. By far more interesting and significant to the theme of this book and certainly more relevant to my growing into the person writing it. I didn't consciously think or analyse those years but now it's quite clear that I enjoyed, generally speaking, the process exceedingly much. Of course, many tears were shed, many painful lessons were driven into my psyche, many regrets hurt me even now, yet looking back, I can't imagine myself as happy, as fulfilled had I followed any other route. This was the best framework for my personality. ---------------------------------------- 8a -- PROLOGUE: GENERAL COMMENTS ABOUT THE SEXUAL TRAINING. Academic school is easy to describe. The rest, the preparation and training for our central reason to be in Alice's Wonderland isn't so simple. At my age I didn't analyse much but some activities were fairly obviously aimed at a particular knowledge; others I couldn't have fathomed out. Each of us was coached separately and each started at a different point in their personal development. At some watershed distinguishable by our masters we became 'ripe', were plucked from the tree of innocence and pressure-cooked into a delectable morsel. That understood, nevertheless each child experienced basically the same syllabus with minor variations. There was, most clearly distinguishable, the teaching about our physical bodies -- we were taught in-depth about human anatomy. There was, less easily identified, information and studies on thoughts and emotions -- we were told how the adults that found their pleasures in us were feeling and thinking about themselves and us -- also, we were guided as to how we might react and the safest way to handle and direct our own mental and psychological responses. There were the ways to find our own satisfaction and development within the boundaries of the job. There was motivational prodding and conditioning, some blatant and some so subtle that even today I'm not quite sure about the logic behind some routines. For instance, when we went to bed the room was over-warm, (to encourage shedding of clothes and bed linen), by morning the heat was turned down to the point of being quite chilly, (so that we would cuddle together in our sleep); Academic School was cool, (aiding mental work, discouraging clothing discomfort), Sex School was hot, (inflaming more than just our bodies and encouraging acceptance of the skimpy clothing). However, there was another dimension to our education -- one that was probably more important to my conversion from a prudish, fearful, secretive little girl into one that was lascivious, confident, and open -- and this was the influence of my immediate surroundings and the two children that interacted with me there. Although my mother had enforced rigid rules about certain behaviours, for the rest, I basically did, or didn't! just as I pleased. Now, although I delighted in the company of other children my age, accepting their moods and idiosyncrasies even when my mood was otherwise took considerable learning, some of it the hard way. This taught me to be less individualistic, to find enjoyment and satisfaction in doing things at the bidding of another. I was somewhat of a leader in our group but that paradoxically taught me to subordinate my immediate wishes and emotions to the needs of the situation while still guiding activities in a given direction. Our teachers were much wiser than we gave them credit for. For me, the first session of Sex Class didn't take place until some months after proper school started, (I was the slow one; my child companions had already moved on). By that time my debauching was well on its way. I didn't, by hindsight, need much convincing! Perhaps a description of my first double-school day will be the best way to illustrate how the process worked. By the way, one of the instructions given at the very beginning of Academic School was to keep a diary, and I, by a quirk of character, have written something every day since then. Obviously, as a child just turned seven years old, my scribblings were hardly literary masterpieces let alone of much length and depth, but they serve me well as an aide-m,moire. In the first beginning only a few awkward words are found but by my teenage years I was filling pages! So, I'm sure logically as well as emotionally, that my story reads true. ---------------------------------------- 8b -- MARYTANYA. Marytanya was exceedingly important to my well-being, so, let's have an interlude detailing this aspect of my life. However, her influence was indirect and not of the stuff drama is made of. The exciting, character re-building happenings took place away from her -- but, without her explaining and guiding my life would have been tormented by fears and punishments unhealthy for a young child. We had a standing appointment: every Sunday after Spiritual Instruction, (presented in the Socratian/maieutic style). These meetings were fairly formal: we sat opposite each other at a table and she asked me about my week; I would wend my childish way through the events and puzzles; she would explain, teach and instruct. However, whenever I was particularly mystified I'd ring the bell on the entrance door and someone would take me to see Marytanya. I tried to limit these occasions on the half formed logic that if I bothered her she might stop seeing me completely. That was a terrifying thought. The requested meetings were casual. She would be reclining on a small settee and always started with a hug and a extended cuddle after which I'd be invited to have a snack and something to drink. Only after all that would I be asked what my problem was. In the early days my anxieties were usually over the lack of modesty in our daily routine but that changed to more specific sexual challenges and towards my adult years turned on relationship and philosophic issues important to a teenager. The pictures on our bedroom walls concerned me greatly. They were changed frequent but all featured naked children in various settings; initially not too explicitly but nevertheless shocking and frightening to the repressed child I was. As the days passed and I began losing my modesty, the pictures became increasingly lewd. At the end of our training the illustrations were outright pornography. Marytanya never beat around the bush. To my question why the pictures were so 'rude', she said forthrightly, "We show you bare bodies to teach you what other children look like under their clothes, and to take away your shyness. Most children will be modest by nature and you more so because of the way your mother taught you to hate nudity. In Alice's Wonderland to be shocked by bare skin is a definite no-no so we want to make you naughty as quick as possible." Me: "Why is the toilet see-through?" Marytanya: "The ways our bodies work are not dirty or evil. We want you to get used to seeing other people pee and shit. Soon nothing our bodies can do will be strange to you. After your training, one day you will almost certainly be hired by customers more interested in your body wastes than your sexuality." Me: "Why shower together?" Marytanya: "You must unlearn shame to be useful as a child prostitute. We make you do those things so that you become used to being naked. Not just naked when you are alone, but any time, any where, in any company. Quite soon you won't even think about being naked or clothed." Me: "What is Johnrey doing with his winkie and why?" This was part of an ongoing curiosity about not only Johnrey's activities but also why Madalana wanted to cuddle so closely and continually in bed, usually accompanied by attempts to put a knee between my thighs, and/or even her hands, 'down there', as I thought of it. Marytanya: "It gives him pleasure; it's very nice and relaxes him. Madalana probably is going to be bisexual or even homosexual: she wants to love you but not just in words; she wants those same nice feelings to exchange between you and her. A boy gets those good feelings by rubbing his penis, usually up and down but there are many different ways. We will teach you all about how boys and girls masturbate." Me: "Is it wrong to touch myself when I'm finished peeing and I'm using toilet paper but what about after the shower, with the towel ... even in the shower with the soap. The other night I wanted to feel something, down there, like, like I was curious but didn't want to go in the rude-box, so could I do it in the bed?" My interest in my body was growing beyond control by the conditioning imposed by my mother; this was not desire for sexual pleasure per se, (I didn't know what that was, let alone be conscious of it as a distinct activity); no, although I was certainly deriving increasing enjoyment in the sensual delights offered by my body, I was genuinely and objectively curious. Marytanya: "Its never wrong to enjoy your own body -- it's yours! Rub yourself with anything that feels good ... be careful with soap but only because too much can dry your skin and make you itch. Bed is the best place because it's easy to spread out and be comfortable." ---------------------------------------- 9 -- STUDENT, TEACH THYSELF! One might well wonder, though, at my ready acceptance of the change from a puritan upbringing to a sexually untrammelled professional hedonism. When the sexual training started, why didn't I rebel or at least, protest loudly at the explicit sexual actions? Even an outburst of dismay and fear, or freezing into horrified withdrawal? Remember, I'd been broken away from the root and stem of my baby conditioning by the Vorgoth disaster -- including the sharp removal of my prosecutor-judge-mother. The escape from Titan was so traumatic that in some way it was like being brain-washed. Then, for the past eight or ten weeks, I'd been living a life of constant sexual conditioning. It was indirect but pervasive and increasingly attractive, dominating our environment, physically and socially. At the end of my training, sexual activity was all I did, all I thought about, all I wanted -- nothing else more than a passing interest. Looking back it is amazing how quickly we turned to pleasuring ourselves quite openly. There were several influences, (for sure, not accidentally so): for instance-- we slept in the same bed, used the same toilet and bathroom, (often collectively and always without secrecy), dressed/undressed in view of each other -- but, more subtly, simply the way we were constantly together. We saw and heard another's praise or punishment, smelt each others body odours, observed every difference between us, whether in shape or size, skin texture, bearing, mannerisms -- we had no secrets from each other, mental or physical; we were intimate emotionally long before the word held any sexual meaning for us. Our circumstances were lesson enough! We were submerged, psychologically and physically, in a carefully plotted high intensity campaign to remove all inhibitions regarding sensual pleasures. I'll describe a few, but keep in mind that all of these, and more, were going on simultaneously. A ... The wall holograms -- aroused curiosity, B ... Clothing peekaboo. C ... The transparent toilet. D ... Communal showering. E ... Sleeping together. F ... Companion masturbation. G ... Loving Madalana. A. The wall holograms -- These were beautifully created photographs that promoted curiosity about naked bodies and interesting games involving the sexual areas; their increasingly uninhibited nature gradually habituated us into lack of personal bodily modesty and acceptance of open enjoyment of sexual play. When I arrived they were innocent enough; naked children in domestic and garden scenes but not explicitly revealing of their private parts. To me, of course, they were shocking, indeed I was scared to be seen looking. But, I did! As the weeks went past they changed. Every day at least one was taken away and replaced by another ... and each substitution was just a little more immodest. My child companions took a keen interest in the progression and would discuss the ever more candid poses with gusto. Madalana and Johnrey usually paid attention similarly -- both more interested in the girl-children -- but the implication of this didn't occur to me till much later. I pretended angry dislike but sooner or later I'd be seized by a curiosity too great to be resisted. Example. Sometimes the same children would present an ongoing story, like a serial. Week 1. A child somewhat younger than myself standing in a garden, on tiptoe, smelling at a rose, (I decided it was a girl because of the hair hanging below the shoulders). She was facing away from the camera, and almost naked, wearing just calf-high boots and a short vest which didn't cover her buttocks. I was fascinated by her chubby little bottom, never having seen mine or any one else's until living with Madalana and Johnrey -- I remember staring at her and reaching round behind myself to feel what I was like ... then running away as fear of the consequences reminded me of my upbringing. Week 2. The same child in the same situation but completely naked. The next day this had changed slightly to show her looking back over her shoulder with a impish grin. Week 3. She was joined by another child -- with short hair -- facing away so I couldn't decide on the gender despite considerable study. Both Johnrey and Madalana said it was a boy, because 'the legs and arms look hard'. Week 5. The girl now turned right round. The other child, still facing away, was standing in such a way as to hide his/her pubic area from our viewpoint. They were looking at each other with their noses almost touching. I couldn't stop looking at her naked body, like a rabbit mesmerised by a snake. Her muffy was fat, with chubby lips and a large dimple at the top. Johnrey caught me looking and started teasing, chanting, "Cunty, cunty, cunty ... !", until I lost my temper and shouted, "It's beautiful; don't be rude, or I'll hit you." Johnrey, although bigger than me, was intimidated by my temper which was usually on a hair-trigger, so he shut-up. Week 6/9. Now she and the other child spent three appearances romping on a lawn. Each picture revealed just a little more of their bodies but still the other child's sex was not clear. The girl's poses were quite shameless; week nine had her on her back with both legs wide spread and held up by the other child kneeling between her legs with his/her face close to the girl's private parts. Even my companions, much more advanced than myself, were silenced by this brazen attitude. The little girl's face, turned to the side facing the camera, held a strange expression. I couldn't fathom it out: it seemed to be a blend of anticipation, invitation and challenge. Week 10. They had changed places, (it was indeed a boy): now the girl was kneeling between his knees: one hand pushing up and open his further leg. Again, his expression was fascinating: pride, eagerness, a show-off smirk. I spent hours looking at his little pink shaft and the round bag below; it was clearly divided into two halves and didn't hang loosely as did Johnrey's after showering. His 'worm' (I thought of it so), was pointing straight up, just like Johnrey's when I saw him playing with himself. There seemed to be a sort of collar near the tip with a small knob just showing. This was most intriguing, and even more so because the girl's other hand was extended, palm up, as though to take hold of it! That was the last in the series; when it started I had been in Alice's Wonderland a little more than one week: naive, innocent, frightened; now, going on three months later, I no longer feared parental displeasure and thought I knew everything. B. Clothing peekaboo -- Another brainwashing technique involved our clothing. Items would be taken away at random and later returned or replaced by others. By item I mean classes ... I would go to my wardrobe in the morning and find, say, every pair of outer pants gone, (including day and night wear, jeans, slacks, sports and exercise-shorts, etc.), leaving me only with panties. There was absolutely no pattern to the giving and taking. Sometimes everything would disappear. In the later weeks, absence of clothing became the rule and we were often stark naked the entire 24 hours. However our teachers didn't only remove clothing types -- that would simply have left us eventually stark naked. They also gave us clothing, usually mundane stuff to replace whatever had previously disappeared, but we were often given special items. The purpose and consequence was that anticipating some degree of nudity became a habit; the actual nakedness was therefore defused, as it were, and became just another talking point. Furthermore, it implanted in us the sense that clothing wasn't for hiding bodies but as adornment -- being covered or exposed ceased to have moral or virtuous significance. I think this erratic process did more to remove my inhibitions than direct forcing of nudity would have been. As it was, there wasn't one single major act upon which I could focus resentment or use as a rallying point for my emotions. Examples ... It started in the third week of my training. I found no socks in my cupboard when changing into casual clothes after school. I accused Johnrey of hiding them but he vehemently denied this and even my best attempt at intimidation couldn't force him into producing the goods. I went through the rest of the day bare-foot because the Boss Lady said one couldn't wear shoes without socks. This was the cause of much discussion. None of us considered this an accident: already we knew everything that happened here was purposeful. Once I was given the most wonderful dress I'd ever seen. It was long, down to my feet and featured, from the waist down, layer upon layer of diaphanous tulle. The colouring started off as very pale yellow but each layer darkened till the bottom-most was almost orange. Although each layer was almost transparent the combined effect was to hide any detail of my body. Above the waist were also layers running vertical, like a jabot, in front and with a single layer of stronger, but still very revealing material round the back. These ruffles were all a butter-yellow. With the dress came honey-coloured long socks and panties ... these last had pure white lace round the legs and waist-band. I loved that dress with a passion beyond words! I tried to wear it all day and every day, but it was hardly suitable for mundane life so, when prevented from doing so, (by the Boss Lady which made me hate her as only a child can hate), I would time and again go to the wardrobe and run my hands over every centimetre. Imagine then my misery when this beautiful thing disappeared. I stood in front of the wardrobe, silent tears pouring down my cheeks, and nothing anybody could say or do would console me. Indeed, I sniffed and sulked for two weeks -- when another stunning set of clothing appeared like magic. But, to this day, I feel aggrieved at that loss. I was rendered almost hysterical when my shorts vanished for a whole day. I remember kneeling by my cupboard, frantically going into every corner. I begged Madalana to lend me one of hers but upon looking in her clothes, there wasn't a spare. The Boss Lady asked me why it was such a disaster. I had never really understood my mother's wild lectures so my answer consisted of little more than repeating that being bare was wrong. After a few minutes, she hugged me warmly and wiped my tears away ... but, she made it quite clear that no rescue was to be expected, and, besides, 'your little brookies are so pretty'. In fact, I had been given a complete set of new panties -- very soft cotton in lovely colours and decorated with lace and cute printed pictures -- which did in fact make me feel slightly better. However, I still spent the entire time tugging my shirt down. The first time I was without any clothing at all, I huddled in a corner -- until hunger and need for the toilet intervened. Something changed in me ... I stood up and walked straight over to the Rude Box, then washed my hands and sat down at the supper table. In a sense, a psychological 'gear-lever' had shifted ... I lost most of my old fear of exposure. C ... The transparent toilet and D ... communal showering -- I've dealt with these, so suffice it now to say that we, (really, only me), were faced with an antinomy: the privacy for personal hygiene so highly valued by good manners was absolutely denied us : yet the demands of cleanliness and body waste disposal couldn't be denied ... the consequences for me were a blas, attitude to personal exposure combined with increased awareness and curiosity about the workings of my body. The discovery of sensual pleasures available from such primary activities was a revelation! Children love the sensation of water sluicing over their naked skin ... but, there is another element: adults forget or deny the joy of emptying an over-full bladder; and, we may squirm away from honesty, but isn't there an element of narcissistic titillation in extruding a large turd? E. Sleeping together -- For me the lack of privacy didn't extend only to the toilet and shower -- merely sharing a bedroom was strange and disturbing, and as for the communal bed ...! More directly relevant to my training as a child prostitute, was the influence of close bodily contact with two lively, sensual children who were themselves being strongly stimulated by our sexual hotbed. Simply touching another person's body, no matter how accidentally, broke down psychological barriers my mother had erected. At the beginning, I was shy to touch either of them, at the end, kissing, cuddling and purposeful intimate explorations were commonplace expressions of personal pleasures, quite spontaneous and entirely unremarkable by us. For me this was a major change. Intimacy of even the most platonic variety was previously unknown to me in my seven years in this indifferent universe. F ... Companion masturbation -- From this still very innocent and spontaneous play it was easy to slip into much more direct sexual activity but it was still a natural, rather naive seeking after pleasure. Rather strangely, I don't recall Madalana pleasuring herself during this stage of our training. So it was my boy companion who stimulated my curiosity as to the delights offered by one's own body. Johnrey was an old hand at masturbation -- he well knew the fun of rubbing his penis and scrotum. At first he would do so at night, and turning his back, but later on he didn't bother to hide his activity. I was ignorant and simply irritated initially at being woken by the movements he made. Then, curiosity surfaced, so one night I persuaded Madalana to sleep on the outside and made sure I was facing Johnrey's side of the bed. It wasn't long before the familiar regular motions began. In the semi-dark one couldn't see detail but that his hands were busy, 'down there', was obvious. "What is he doing?" I asked softly. "Playing with his winkie. He does it often," she said, sounding impatient with my ignorance. "You know, his wee-wee, his, his thing between his legs." Of course, I didn't know but wasn't about to push my shortcomings. The glimpses I'd had of Johnrey's penis, (a word I only discovered later), was inadequate to visualise the action Madalana was obviously familiar with. So, I just lay quietly and listened to the male orgasm unfolding beside us. Johnrey must have been close to his climax, (again, I must emphasise that I didn't know then what was happening), since he was making considerable noise and energetic movements. Then, he gave out a muffled squeal, the mattress bounced and, with a long drawn-out sigh, he became still. Within moments his breathing sounded as though he was asleep Gradually I became so interested in his body and the differences between us that simple curiosity overcame my mother's prohibitions against looking at other people, 'in that way'. Then, I began wondering -- how it might feel to have such floppy bits attached to one -- why did he love to touch himself there -- why did he go all stiff and shake at the end -- what did it feel like touching myself, through my clothing, direct on my skin, on my stomach, my chest, my thighs, my muffy -- and so, quite unintentionally, Johnrey opened me to abandonment of puritanical concerns. G ... Loving Madalana -- It's ironic that, although I'm born heterosexual, it was not Johnrey's machismo but Madalana's childish shy lesbian character that led me tenderly down the road to intimacy and unashamed sexual pleasure. Don't mistake me: none of us ever consciously directed our activities towards a goal except insofar as pleasure was the object. From the very first day, Madalana attached herself to me. After an initial confused period, I embraced Madalana and her love with eager abandon. To be physically close with a friend was a fresh and quite enchanting experience for me, certainly gave her pleasure, and so soon became habit for both of us and we simply drew together whenever possible. Remember, too, that the night-time temperature in our communal bedroom was deliberately kept very low, which encouraged bodily contact. At first it was simply a matter of hugging and cuddling but as I grew to enjoy, and to recognise my need for affection, Madalana would as a matter of course, walk beside me with an arm clasped round my waist ... squeeze into the same armchair ... roll over against me in bed ... curl her legs and arms round mine during the night. Then, she took a big step across an erotic divide between the sensual and the lascivious. In bed one night, faces close together, whispering about our friendship, suddenly she began brushing her lips to mine and it wasn't long before the touch was a kiss. At first I demurred half-heartedly which only made her pause briefly before trying again. Looking at my diary, I see that after three days of hesitating, I gave in to my own desires and returned her kiss. Aware now, subconsciously, that I was becoming ripe, she began kissing me more directly. If my face was turned away, she no longer contented herself with pressing soft lips against my cheek, now, with calm persistence, she would turn my head and plant her child's mouth firmly on mine. At first the kisses, (during non-school hours ... of course!), were playful rather than passionate but slowly, during the days and weeks of consent erotic stimulation, our minds and bodies became fixated on sensual pleasures. Then, we became eager, we kissed deliberately, knowingly, we looked forward to bedtime because no mundane activities would intervene. I so utterly abandoned myself to Madalana's mouth that it became a common joke between us three that I didn't need to brush my teeth. Madalana almost seems, in retrospect, to have followed a carefully plotted script. Of course, that is quite the wrong idea. We were both little children, myself not yet seven and she a few months younger than I. She was ahead of me in knowledge of the pleasures of the body, but her actions, like those of myself and Johnrey, were unpremeditated responses to sexual forces growing within us. She was simply continuing on her own course -- one day she announced, quite firmly, as we lay entwined in bed, that she was going to kiss me, 'properly'. I didn't have time to inquire further. Rolling slightly over me, she began licking my mouth with a very wet tongue. I was startled and pushed her away. She said, "Danna, don't stop me, please! I love you and I want to do this." But my thoughts and emotions were totally confused and I turned away from her. Madalana was quite still for a few minutes. Then she flopped down against my back and, through body-shaking sobs, began apologising and asking for my forgiveness. This made me feel that I was being cruel and I immediately turned to her and said, "I love you, too, Maddie; of course you can kiss me any way you like." And, she did! The next advance of this gentle temptress was to stroke me, first along my face, arms, thighs ... then up and down my back, my sides and stomach. Initially I resisted, intimate touch being quite unknown in my upbringing but soon yielded another portion of my virginity, doubt quickly becoming eagerness. The inevitable consequence of my surrender and her single-minded attention to physical pleasure was that Madalana took ownership of my body. She began touching and stroking not just on my arms or legs, not just on the outside of my clothing ... now she, quite unabashed and with an air of assurance, would push her hands in under my night-vest and explore. My ribs, spinal bumps, naval and, most often, most delightfully, my little nipples. Rather surprisingly, she didn't, until much later, show curiosity about what lay under my sleep-shorts. One day, after playing with my nipples for a while, (with me in a semi-trance of hedonistic abandonment), she crossed one of my legs over the other and, straddling my raised thigh, began rocking backwards and forwards, slowly becoming lost in some internal enchantment. Of course, this was the beginnings of masturbation; an artless, unafraid physical seeking after pleasure and relief from incessant desire. Neither of us had words to describe what was happening, indeed, we didn't think about it much, we did it in a mood of delight and experimentation. So, step by step my shyness and conditioned secrecy were broken down. By the time I was moved on to specific training, no trace of modesty remained to any of us. My body became a sensual, sexual pleasure toy, enjoyed quite casually by myself or my companions as the mood took me. But, more than this -- it was as though I lost the concept of privacy ... I found nothing strange in exposing every intimate part and detail of my body to whoever cared to look or touch. Even that doesn't convey the meaning. I'm struggling to describe the fundamental reversal in the psyche of the children that went through Alice's Wonderland -- the word 'exposing' suggests a conscious revealing of something. This wasn't the case at all. I didn't think about it. If I had found a pretty cotton panties, I'd wear them and ask for compliments. Later, Johnrey might ask to rub his penis along my little cleft and I'd just as casually take them off. The other two children moved quickly towards unrestrained sexual activities. Within a short time, Johnrey was masturbating openly at night and not long after that, during daytime play. Madalana was more cautious but soon ceased masturbating indirectly only with myself and became bolder; she, almost absentmindedly, would slip her hand under her skirt, if wearing anything at all and start the process. She also favoured straddling the rocking-horse, the big teddy-bear, the corner of the bed, and a little bit later, purposefully select and place a pillow over the arm of a chair and ride it with unblushing enthusiasm. In the beginning we avoided talking about what we were doing but it wasn't long before Madalana and Johnrey began, cheerfully and candidly, to discuss their games with each other and myself, particularly the seeking after orgasm. The 'fizz' as we named it, was rather a hit and miss attempt, which resulted in some surprisingly sophisticated technical and emotional techniques being tried out by one or another, with the others watching gleefully and usually lending a hand, (literally!). I've mentioned Johnrey rubbing his penis against me ... I should explain, as background, our attitudes to full sexual intercourse. It was confused, to say the least! I, of course, knew nothing whatsoever beyond what the other two told me. Both Johnrey and Madalana, during their stay in the orphanage, had witnessed the sex act several times. Their experiences weren't pleasurable nor particularly informative because the few explicit episodes had been that of rape, and the rest happened under bedclothes, in the overgrown gardens, etc., where clear sight was impossible. The rapes left both with a fear of adults but fortunately were not connected in their minds with the lovemaking. Oh, when forced to logic it out, they readily admitted the similarity of the physical side, but stubbornly insisted that the two activities were completely different -- and, who shall know better than my child companions who had witnessed both again and again? To return to my explanation ... Madalana and Johnrey knew that the boy's penis could be inserted into the girl, somewhere 'down there', but that this was an act of violence. Again, they also knew that boys and girls did 'soppy' things which mimicked the other, rape, situation and seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves. But, neither knew how to do this in practice. Okay, stupid to an adult, but these were little children who had learnt half truths the harsh way. So, when Johnrey rubbed his small pink worm along my pudding, (Madalana's term; etymology obvious), he was exploring a new world, in more ways than one. I enjoyed this, but did it rather more as granting a boon than as a pleasure to myself. Often I'd allow it to continue only till Johnrey became excited before deliberately turning to Madalana for 'real fun', as I would then enjoy saying to taunt the crestfallen little boy. In many ways I wasn't a nice child! I seemed for a long while content to allow Madalana to pleasure me but slowly drifted into self-love, caressing my body more and more frequently and after a while I stopped trying to hide my activities although it took quite some time before I would pleasure myself openly. Even I, as thoughtless as any seven year old child might be, recognised and wondered about the revolution in my personality. This was the hothouse we had been put into. Exotic flowers for the decadent wealthy indeed. Such was the life we lived during 'acclimatisation', which ended when 'they' judged it was time to separate the sheep from the goats. Some children, judged to be unsuited to a prostitute's life, didn't continue into the next sexual phase: of these, all were offered careers within Alice's Wonderland. No child was ever expelled; some left voluntarily, but life outside for a child without protection was short and brutal. Everybody within the organisation would have started as a child trainee. Some, like myself, went on to become full-time prostitutes but all the children and many adults became participants in candid Tri-D pay channels. Those interested in such matters could subscribe to the view from a particular camera, a given room or even of an individual child/adult. ... ... ... For myself, although I was as shamelessly intent on the delights of sexual play as Madalana and Johnrey, nevertheless a degree of reserve remained to me, if only in that deep inside me something was thinking about what was happening. An itch of emotional aloofness, if you would. The influences and inducements detailed above had brought me to the verge of a particular state of mind our owners knew was a necessary precursor for further sexual training. This, as I later learnt, took different expressions in various children. Sometimes the behaviour before and after crossing the line -- if indeed it was crossed -- was very similar, in other children their entire personality seemed to shift. In my case, it was more like a change of viewpoint and it happened without me being aware of a transition. ---------------------------------------- 9a -- TRANSITION Two months since starting school and I had settled down to routine, almost blas, about the situation. There were no signs full of portent in those last few days. If I haven't raised the subject much later, quite casually, with Marytanya I might never have recognised the trigger. The fateful day was a Sunday afternoon after a busier than usual 'weekend'. The day before, Saturday, we had been taken to an archaic farm. It seemed quite natural, i.e., biologicals, not androids and I was completely captivated by the smells, textures and sounds of the animals. I was probably misled about their origin, or else some clever scheduling had taken place because most of the creatures were in heat. In all our previous visits, poultry, dogs and cats had been on show but this was the first time that we saw the larger animals being sexually active. We watched, with attendant commentary from our tour guide, a gigantic bull copulating with abandon. The physical exertions and the sizes of the genitals were astounding to us and excited emotions ranging from fear to prurience. It was the horses that were the first step in my promotion ... or, downfall, judge as you would. Back home in our big nursery (both meanings), that Saturday afternoon, I happened to awake from a doze to find Johnrey, lying next to me on our bed, eyeing his little boy penis as he stretched it upwards. My mouth, having as usual, a devil in charge, made me utter a rather nasty comment. "Be careful, Johnny, you'll break it just now. Might as well stop, 'cause even if we all pull on it, you'll never ever get as big as that horse. Probably never even as big as the littlest pig, which is a pity since you're one anyway." Johnrey immediately burst into tears and ran to Madalana for comfort. Despite her being of his age, she had assumed the role of mother in his life. Madalana did her best for him and then came over to me and gave me one of her rare rebukes. She had a very mild personality and even as a little child was remarkably tolerant, but this time I was quite taken aback by her stern accusation of being stupid and unkind. That night I didn't sleep well, which was unusual for me. For one thing, I felt very restless, as though waiting for an overdue event -- for another, after our routine communal showering, I didn't dress in as much clothing as the powers that be might have allowed us, but had lain down stark naked, something not a habit with me. In my diary there is no comment beyond, "I lay down without clothes." Looking back, I am amazed at my sudden indifference to personal nudity, which hadn't quite left me up till then, despite the efforts of our owners. It was as though the wearing of clothes had become separated from the question of body privacy. I kept waking up and expecting to find Johnrey playing with himself, but he didn't, which was unusual for him. Most days Madalana and I kept to a pattern wherein we would pleasure ourselves in one or two periods of horny activity, but Johnrey seemed to need the sensations, or the relief, every few hours. The last time I woke up was some hours before we would expect to be roused by the Boss Lady and, again, Johnrey was lying quite still. This time I crawled over to him and found that he was wide awake. "Johnrey! What's wrong with you? You never played with your winkie, not even once, since yesterday. Are you sick or something?" But, I knew, if not logically, what plagued him. It was my doing and my penance. "I'm sorry," I began a rather lame apology, "I really was rude. I'm sorry about that. Really, your winkie is very nice." He turned his head and looked at me, a quite mournful expression on his face, then turned over away from me. Perhaps, if I'd left the issue there, my future might have been quite different. As it was, an intense curiosity asserted itself and I took the left hand of the forked road. The way we were lying, my face was close beside his left hip -- his penis was so short that it didn't even appear floppy, just a little nub, very wrinkled; but the boyish scrotum below was beautifully pink and smooth -- my fingers twitched -- I wanted to touch him, not casually in play, as many times before, but with an immediate urgency, strange and unsettling. What was this, this thing, so humble yet so potent in Johnrey's life? What could I do with it ... to it ... to please him, persuade him ... what enjoyment for me did it offer ...? "No, come on, Johnrey; I do want to be sorry properly. Let me make you feel better again. Please, can I touch it -- then you can tell me how to make you feel good?" I got to my knees and shuffled round to face him. He was wearing short white cotton socks and a T-shirt which only came down to his hips. Without waiting for permission, I reached out and took hold of his nubbin between thumb and forefinger. I didn't do anything because I was surprised by feeling it stir and begin to grow under my touch. Although I'd seen him both limp and erect times without number, I'd never taken much notice of it changing and was immediately enchanted by the experience. Without letting go I gazed, enthralled as a little miracle happened right in front of my nose. Within minutes the softness became a yielding hardness some five centimetre long. I slipped my fingers down to the base; it sprang straight out of a springy cushion just above the tight slightly divided bag below. In my dumbfounded state I was clumsy, couldn't decide where to place my fingers, how to bend my wrist; now too forceful, next second letting the springy thing pop out of my grip. Then I moved my fingers back up to the tip; he was circumcised and for the first time I wondered -- why the difference between him and some of the wall pictures? Why did he shiver when I touched the upside down vee on the underside? That was interesting ... I squeezed the now firm penis, (in my ignorance, I was too rough)... why did the bag below seem to tighten and lift? I lifted my head to ask, and stopped with my mouth open. Johnrey had his eyes closed and a rather grim set to his mouth. "What's wrong, Johnrey? I'm not hurting you, am I?" Without waiting I took my fingers away. "No, no, please, Danna ... don't stop; I can't, can't, talk now. Rub up and down ... that's nice." So I shut my mouth and began sliding my thumb and first finger -- it just felt right! -- along the rigid column from the very bottom to the ridge of his quite red helmet and down again. Johnrey shuddered alarmingly and groaned. Was he okay? But, he wanted me to do this, I thought to myself -- besides, I was so intrigued that I didn't want to stop. The skin was soft to touch, but the small rod was amazingly solid. What would happen if I bent it? I flexed it but he flinched and I realised it was much too stiff to try harder ... I was feeling rather fond of Johnrey right then and didn't want to hurt him. I'd settled into a steady rhythm and the little boy under my fingers was breathing in a funny way -- deep but irregular breaths interspersed with short panting gasps and an occasional shiver and sharp catch in his breathing. It was all so exciting! This was quite different to our spontaneous and thoughtless games. Without putting it into words -- at my age, not quite seven, I didn't have the words! -- I was playing an instrument of pleasure and intently thinking of what I was doing and seeing. Sensations rushed in on me. His skin had been quite dry and downy but was fast becoming damp ... we were both starting to perspire. The way wrinkles and folds came and went as my hand pushed up then down was so interesting ... my nose was almost touching Johnrey's little spar as I studied it. What if I moved my hand faster -- or slower -- or put all my fingers round it -- or gripped tighter -- or very loosely ...? Ideas and questions rushed through my head faster than I could even think of trying them out. I'd almost forgotten why this was happening and in my enthusiasm became over vigorous. First, my clenched fist must have been thumping against his ball-bag much too strongly, because he put out his hand and tried to protect the tightly drawn up scrotum. Madalana called out, "Not so hard, Danna!" Despite her preference for me, as the only girl available, she would often give in to Johnrey's invitations to a rubbing, as he referred to it. Later Madalana told me how funny I appeared, with a red face, deep furrows on my forehead, tongue between my teeth and breathing as though running the treadmill. Perspiration was pouring off me and now my hand kept slipping off the end of his shaft. Every time this happened, Johnrey would protest with a sigh or stifled wail. My confidence was waning rapidly and I was about to abandon the game, when, all of a sudden, Johnrey's small body stiffened. His legs jerked out straight and he cried out in pleasure as his orgasm swept him away. For what felt like a very long time, I watched, mesmerised as ecstasy took control of this little boy. Eyes tight shut and fingers curled into white knuckled fists, his pelvis bucking upwards with every spasm, Johnrey was alarming me, the little girl that had brought him to this. But again I was distracted by this strange curiosity that ruled me now. His penis, swelled to a quite impressive length and girth, was moving under my fingers, still clamped round him. With every powerful shudder that shook Johnrey, this usually so insignificant organ swelled and stiffened in a most surprising way. And, I noticed with amazed delight, the skin of his ball-bag was alive! Its texture and colour changed second by second, again following his bursts of physical joy. Slowly at first, then quickly Johnrey returned to being the small boy I bossed around at will. My fingers were still clamped round his penis -- but this was also fast becoming a winkie again, shrinking and turning a pale pink. The really interesting bag below slackened and became again a floppy softness. Johnrey sighed and his breathing deepened, slowed; he was about to fall asleep. I released him and rolled onto my back. For a space I simply lay quietly, trying to understand myself as much as thinking about what I had just done. My body was flushed and yet I was shivering slightly; my little pussy felt swollen, pulsating. I put my hand down to my cleft; it was hot and wet. Then Madalana was on me, her skilled fingers slipping into my vulva, sending electric streams of delight along every nerve I had, her lips seeking out my mouth. I groaned and abandoned myself to an ecstasy never before experienced to such degree. Then, without returning the pleasure to Madalana, which was rather ungrateful of me, I floated into a deep sleep. You may be wondering ... yes, I had seen this before, even rubbed and fondled Johnrey into the same state, many times. Words fail me in attempting to explain. I don't quite know myself why this time was different. Perhaps because of my deliberate choice to make amends by pleasuring him precisely through the boyhood I had denigrated. Always before, we were careless, thoughtless children spontaneously playing fun games. For the first time I dimly, wordlessly became conscious of sexual pleasure as something which could be given and taken with a purpose beyond the immediate skin gratification. ---------------------------------------- 10 -- MY CAREER AT HAND The next morning, the last day of my 'real' childhood started completely normally and continued in its mundane way until we came out of school. We bundled back into our communal 'house', happy to get away from the teaching-machines ... and, hungry. We certainly weren't ever overfed! I dumped my school paraphernalia, (portable computer, Scribbler, etc.), in my wardrobe and undressed. What a simple statement to cover a fundamental change in my reaction to life! I was no longer upset by the simple state of being naked and no longer turned my back to where Madalana and Johnrey were also stripping. They were ahead of me in this game of amorality and some extremely personal, often lewd observations about each other were freely offered and giggled about. Then, we were all in the shower room, larking about and doing quite a lot of touching and feeling. I rushed through the soaping and rinsing and scampered out into the bedroom, naked pink. I heard Madalana squeal, "Oh, Johnny, your winkie is sticking right out at me!", and turned my head. The tone was mock offence but her face was smiling. Indeed, his little stub was well and truly erect, a state that brought pride to his bearing. I'd seen much of this and it didn't shock me now; in fact, I rather enjoyed seeing the differences in his equipment from moment to moment. My sea change during the night before was as yet below conscious awareness and I'd scarcely thought about it during the day. Apart from a certain restlessness, a weird sense of bewilderment ... I was just me! My stomach growled: sexual pleasures weren't the only influences on our childish decisions! As always the games table had been cleared and set out with plates of thick sandwiches. The Boss Lady ate with us, probably to maintain order and ensure nourishment. "Danna, today things will change for you," she said without preamble. Her expression was rather gloomy and I stared at her in alarm. "Oh, Councillor Marytanya will explain, but it's nothing to be scared about," she hastened on. "I know you'll enjoy it so I'm going to be happy for you ... just, you're moving on and I'll miss you." Perhaps my face still showed disquiet because she suddenly laughed. "Sorry I've scared you! Really, it's just the start of your job training. From now on you'll start learning the work of Alice's Wonderland." I glanced at the other two children; where was I going that they had to stay behind? This was scary. What would I do without Madalana and Johnrey? The person I was now had been shaped through months of never being without their company -- we had cried, sulked and laughed together ... shared and fought in changing patterns but always coming back to the strength of a triangle ... what I lacked in softness and cheek they gave me as I returned curiosity and aggression ... we had learned the delights of sensual young bodies and the security of learning what we were sexually. About to burst into tears, I felt the Boss Lady's arms enfoldme. "Don't cry, my little love, it's not the end of your friendship; just a change. We will not separate you three completely. Only, now you won't live together but have holiday visits. Anyway, there is nothing you can do about it -- your time for growing has come. So, eat up and brush your teeth; you should visit the toilet as well. A Monitor will come to fetch you in about 30 minutes." ------------------ End of "Memories" Book One ---------------------- EPILOGUE Books Two, Three and Four - which haven't been written yet - will deal, respectively, with Danna's training in detail, interesting individual encounters with clients and finally wind up with her transition into adulthood, psychological healing and departure from Earth. --------------------------------- With Yahoo! Mail you can get a bigger mailbox -- choose a size that fits your needs <1st attachment begin> <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ ------- ASSM Moderation System Notice-------- This post has been reformatted by the ASSM Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at Hosted by | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+