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From: Carol <cobillard@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The  Blond-Haired Boy returns
Date: Sat,  3 Jan 2004 18:10:03 -0500
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     This time with your mouth on my clitoris, I will not think
     he does not like the taste of me. I lift the purplish hood back
     from the pale white berry. It stands alone on its thousand branches.
     I lift the skin like the layers of taffeta of a lady's skirt.
     How shy the clitoris is, like a young girl
     who must be coaxed by tenderness.

     -- Toi Derricotte, "Clitoris" (1997)
        http://authors.aalbc.com/toi.htm
        http://tinyurl.com/2g8sq


A year and a half ago, I wrote an essay, taken from my childhood diaries,
about "seducing a young boy on the boat"
http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/37597
in which I set out how, when I was twelve, I seduced a young boy who had
come down to the pier in Our Town to look at the boats. We lived in a
houseboat for that year. This story begins in 1993, when I was 13. It would
be an account just like the last one, about my seducing a boy and making him
very happy; except that it has a coincidence for a climax, and it hasn't
ended yet. So the story isn't redundant, and perhaps it holds a moral or a
lesson, as well as a philosophy.

In my adolescent relationships I generally followed my Mom's advice and
stuck with boys my own age. Pedophilia and sexual abuse of children hadn't
had the publicity it has since had, but Mom did warn me about dirty old men,
and as far as she was concerned "old" started about two years above my own
age. (This would cause a problem with respect to the 16-Year-Old-Boy I
suppose, but in his case it was just over two years, and he was a relative
of Mom's Friend.) Another criterion of mine was to stick to boys who were
intellectual, who read books. Or at least had a library card. That was how I
picked up the Blond-Haired Boy. Well, he also looked something like me
except for being a boy, and he could talk about interesting things. Mom was
away at work on this particular day. Although it was her early day to come
home, I knew she would be out shopping, and I was bored. So I invited the
boy to see my new CD player on board, and to listen to some music with me
and watch the pleasure boats as they drifted by.

The houseboat was rather cramped, as it happens. Besides the head and the
galley, there was the main living room where Mom and I slept in a big bed,
and another room which was a work area, dining alcove: call it what you want
because it was the only other usable room. The bedroom-living room was where
we had our TV and spent most of our time. So I took the boy there and left
the door slightly ajar; nobody on shore could see in anyway.

I don't remember what we talked about; it probably was school and films
(which I've always loved), or maybe vacations. Mom and I hadn't been on any
in a long time, and I liked to hear about trips others took. As we talked,
though, I noticed the Blond-Haired-Boy was getting increasingly restless and
fidgety. I knew what was troubling him from the oblique glances he made
towards my chest. Not that he could see anything through my T-shirt,
although I wasn't wearing a bra. And, too, I could see some slight movement
behind the zipper of his jeans. I asked him if he would like to dance, and
he said he really didn't know how; so I told him (for obvious reasons of my
own) that I could teach him slow dancing in five minutes. I put on some
appropriate music and took charge of his body. Then, when I caught him
trying to look down the neck of my much-too-big T shirt at my breasts, I
pretended to get mad and stripped off my T shirt to give him a look. He just
stared at them, transfixed like a deer before headlights while I told him
that I now was entitled to see what he had, and I pulled down his shorts and
underpants in one two-handed motion. His penis was sticking straight out,
half hard. I thought it was so cute.

The boy was clearly embarrassed beyond description and his penis began
immediately to droop. I told him his penis was lovely and not to be ashamed
I held him close and kissed him, tenderly I thought, while I massaged his
penis and his balls. I led him over to the bed, hobbled by the shorts around
his ankles, and I sat him down, knelt in front of him and alternated my gaze
between his penis and his face. I put his penis into my mouth and sucked on
it, drawing it in and out of my mouth slowly and deliberately, then taking
time to gaze at it and appreciate its beauty as it filled with blood. The
boy was too startled to react. He was in early mid-puberty, I judged. His
penis was perhaps 3/4 inch thick, maybe 5 inches long. He had some small
amount of blond pubic hair. And I was the first girl to see this penis and
engage it in an act of love.

While the boy's penis was in my mouth and while the two of us were having
fun, the Blond-Haired Boy by now having awakened to the fun sensation of my
tongue caressing the head of his penis, Mom came in. She hadn't known we
were there, and she undressed as she walked. Maybe she would have done that
anyway, who knows. By the time we each noticed the presence of the other,
Mom was stark naked, looking at us and about to put on her bathing suit to
take some sun on the deck. Mom, then in her 30s, had beautiful big and firm
breasts and a bushy light-brown pubic area. I'm afraid she intimidated the
Blond-Haired Boy even though she tried to be welcoming, encouraging and
supportive. She was never shy or modest, so I was not surprised that she
took no steps to cover her nudity but rather walked halfway towards us to
speak. In due course, she slipped on her bathing suit. She apologized for
having interrupted our fun, but there was damage done: the Blond-Haired
Boy's tentative erection had been lost. Mom mumbled to me to try putting his
penis in my vagina, pointing to her own lest I not get the message. I knew
what I had to do. 

After Mom had left, I told the boy that he was wonderful and that now he
should put his penis into my vagina, and the only way to do that was to kiss
and lick my vagina until it opened up enough for him to put it in. I showed
him the various parts of my anatomy, and told him that a boy could never be
a good lover if he didn't think that vaginas were beautiful; that most girls
could not reach orgasm without oral sex; and that it was the essence of
foreplay for couples to arouse each other orally. I needed to explain
"foreplay" for him, but then he was game. I lay back on the bed, my legs
wide apart and my knees a bit bent, and the boy spread apart my labia with
his fingers and began to kiss and suck my vagina and lick my clitoris, and
it was lovely. I tried hard to speed things up, thinking of his lovely
growing penis and then, suddenly it happened and I shrieked -- frightening
the boy a bit; but before his penis could shrink again I'd pulled him up by
his armpits and guided it, stuffed it actually, into my vagina. The boy
caught on quickly, and soon he was moving his hips up and down at his own
pace, his penis going in and out of my vagina. I wished I could see what was
happening. I told him to put his hands under my buttocks. His doing so
raised up my vaginal opening a bit and improved the contact between his
penis and my slippery vaginal walls and increased the friction a bit,
improving the sensation for his still-small penis and for me. I tried to
keep the boy gazing into my eyes, and I tried to kiss him often, but he
became distracted easily. This was, after all his first sexual effort and
experience. After a few minutes I caught the first signs of coming ecstasy
-- his eyes distantly focused and no longer looking into mine even if turned
in my direction -- and then the Blond-Haired Boy had his first orgasm, and
it was in my vagina. His facial expression, the look in his eyes of
wonderment and appreciation, were unforgettable. I had him lie back on the
bed, and I stroked him all over and I kissed his penis. I told the boy this
was "afterplay", and I invited him to inspect and caress my body and to make
friends with my breasts and every part of my body. And when we were done,
and he had to go, we arranged to meet again in a week, for a film, and a
snack and, perhaps, another round of lovemaking.

We did meet again, and after going to the mall we undressed each other, and
I taught the Blond-Haired Boy how to do mutual oral sex with him on top. I
could take his penis in my mouth, and with my tongue and lips work on the
glans. He would move his hips just enough to signal when the strokes of my
tongue felt the best. I had to remind him once or twice not to stop licking
my clitoris, and I think that embarrassed him. Maybe because of my greater
experience I reached climax first, and I turned the boy over and slowly
fellated him until he came in my mouth, ejaculating just a few drops of
semen, and I told him how much I loved his semen and how precious he was.

We exchanged telephone numbers and were going to meet again, but about that
time Mom and I were evicted from the houseboat and somehow another meeting
never happened. By the time I found the paper with boy's number again it was
months later and he'd moved away. Only in December 2003 did I find out the
details.

Last November, my lawyer friend in the Capital City was interviewing
candidates for summer associates at her firm and she discovered, on reading
the various résumés, that one of the candidates had a connection with Our
Town. (Summer associate jobs are so scarce that students send résumés to
every law firm in town, sometimes to every big law firm in the country, so
the coincidence here is less than meets the eye.) In an administrative
interview she gave prior to the real one with the law firm's partners, my
friend asked him if he know this certain girl -- Carol -- who was a friend
of hers, also from Our Town. Apparently there was a minute of silence, and
then an expression of interest: this was the Blond-Haired Boy, who'd moved
away because his Dad had sold his consulting (as I think it was) business to
a dot-com outfit. As it happens, his father had cashed out long before the
dot-com crash, and the boy had gone to an Ivy League college and was now in
his second year at a national law school. And yes, he'd like to see me.

A couple of weeks later, I went out to dinner with the Blond-Haired Boy on a
Friday evening after work. I guess we were eager to size each other up, so
to speak, after so many years. He took me to a posh, expensive restaurant
(hey, we had foie gras crême brulée, and I'm wiling to bet no reader of
these words has ever head of or tasted it, and don't waste your time
Googling it because it's not there yet) and we had such a good time, and
drank so much wine that we had to leave his car behind and take a taxi home
I didn't want to have my Afghan roommate embarrassed by what might happen,
or have her and her novelty interfere with the normal course of events,
i.e., passion and romance and nudity and sex. So I agreed to go to the
Blond-Haired Boy's apartment for coffee or a drink and supposed out loud
that I would take a taxi home from there.

Of course what I really wanted to do was to see how the Blond-Haired Boy had
grown up. I wanted to see him naked, I wanted to inspect his penis and see
how it, too, had grown since I had last made love to it. I wanted him to see
and make love to and in my secret garden, to explore my vagina. I wanted the
measure of his semen. But, more than that, in the course of the evening I
realized I wanted to know more of him, and to get to know him better,
because it seemed that we had so much in common. We still looked alike, sort
of. One time we were asked us if we were brother and sister, and I was so
pleased when the Blond-Haired Boy answered, "no, we were childhood
sweethearts".

We talked and talked, and listened to music (jazz: Thelonius Monk and other
greats) and drank more wine (Aloxe Corton, for those who care), and soon the
Blond-Haired Boy had my blouse and my bra off, and he was playing with my
breasts and, I suppose, thinking of how they had grown and matured since
we'd last met. I hoped he liked my nipples, which only proves how
superficial one can be at such times. By now I wanted desperately for this
to go further. Somehow I suggested, and we agreed, that we should shower
together. For whatever reason, we started to undress then and there, which
in my case meant just removing my shoes, skirt and pantyhose. Suddenly there
I was seated on the sofa, and the Blond-Haired Boy had taken off his shoes,
tie, shirt, and pants and I was looking straight in front of me at the bulge
of his penis in his Jockey shorts. You, Dear Reader, cannot imagine how much
I needed, at that one moment, to see what was behind those shorts. I needed
desperately to see and to embrace his penis. So, just like that other time
years before, I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and pulled
them down to his ankles, touching his penis with my forehead on the way
down, and tickling it lightly with my tongue has I raised my head up again.
We both laughed, remembering that other event and anticipating what we were
about to do and our likely mutual pleasure in doing it.

The Blond-Haired Boy's penis was naked in front of me, much bigger now than
the last time I'd seen it, his pubic hair still blond but a bit darker and
much thicker, his balls bigger too. I leaned over and kissed his penis more
firmly and we walked together to the bathroom, where he got out two
bathrobes. We showered, and we renewed our acquaintance of each other's
body. We went to the bed, and his penis was once more in my mouth, quite
stiff. When it was totally erect, I took it out and I admired it, and all at
once I thought back to the story of the Second Annual Best Penis Award, an
event at college and a funny story that I haven't yet published at this
venue but hope to do soon. Suffice to say that if the Blond Haired Boy had
been a contestant in that event, I would have contrived to have him awarded
the Best Penis of 2000 prize that we awarded to some other boy. This only
proves, I suppose, that when it comes to assessing the beauty of a penis
(or, for that matter, of a vagina) beauty is in the eye of the beholder. One
cannot avoid taking a holistic attitude towards the job: a penis is
beautiful beyond dreams in large part when its owner has a beautiful
personality. The proof of this: at the time of which I write the
Blond-Haired Boy hadn't yet passed the final test for that award, which
would be putting his penis to work and bringing his girl to climax. But (and
this would disqualify an honest judge in any contest) I had known this penis
before and I was prepared to take its functional competence for granted. It
is not that "biggest is best-est", because as I have often said, that is
simply untrue. In fact, the size of the Blond-Haired Boy's penis back then
when he was 13 was optimal, in some respects, for oral sex; one can reach
every part of it, indeed fit all of it in one's mouth with no trouble. And I
have a theory that erections are easier and sensations more intense,
although I have no scientific or medical evidence to support this. A friend
has provided me with a picture that she says proves the point, although I
think her reasoning dubious. Still, the picture's nice enough:
http://carol8010.tripod.com/sam.pdf

Overall, I have found that average size is best all around for both oral and
vaginal sex and that magnum (or should that be magni) penises breed magnum
egos and inadequate performance -- something I've said often enough before.
Anyway, before me now was a beautiful smooth penis tight in its skin, topped
with a beautiful, symmetric round head, the selfsame penis I'd kissed and
sucked and loved years before during our adolescent tryst. Still my feelings
for it and for its owner were by far the most important issue; I was just so
glad to be back together with him. I thought that Mom would have been so
happy for me if she had been present. And I told my boy that "if only Mom
could see you now all grown up" and "wouldn't it be nice if we could go to
Our Town and show her". And, somewhat surprisingly, he answered, "why not?"
I'm not positive we understood each other correctly, but I'll find out in
due course. 

Mom had never imposed her sex acts on me, which is to say that while she
never closed her door or concealed the fact that she was making love neither
did she suggest I should watch. She only told me, often enough, that she had
no secrets from me, and that she had no reason to want privacy. That she and
her partner might be nude in front of me and that he might have an erection
was just a normal fact of life and love in the places where we lived. Beyond
that, Mom wanted me to be aware of her having fun, and she did want me to
learn about orgasm and semen and she wanted me to expect that, as I grew up,
I'd be doing the same things she did. Still, as a little girl I saw no
reason to hang about the adults. Playing with kids my own age was always a
more attractive option, and at the places we lived (except for the
houseboat) there were always several families and lots of kids about. Yet,
like all kids, I had an insatiable curiosity and even if I did not make
myself obvious I saw, or at least knew, what was going on. Somehow I knew
that I was welcome to touch, if I wanted to, a sticky penis just out of a
vagina; yet knowing that it was sticky and that I could have touched it if I
wanted to was quite enough for me.

As I developed the first signs of breasts and public hair Mom acknowledged
both, but made no sign of wanting or encouraging me to experiment with sex.
In fact I think she was sorry that I had my first sex in that accidental
way, in a tumble with a boy, at age 11. Perhaps she would rather my have had
a little party at my defloration; indeed that would have been nice. As it
happens, the event doesn't seem to have meant much to the boy either.
Anyway, soon after I would have a more dramatic debut in oral sex, and in
future months and years I would often take the trouble to show off my
partners to Mom. A boy from outside might be nonplussed for me to stroke his
penis and make it erect for Mom, although I did that on occasion. But to a
boy living with us it would be quite common and a source of satisfaction as
well as a cause to anticipate my taking it into my body right away after.
After all, if we were in the back yard, all of us, Mom would probably have a
partner by her side and in a whimsical act would probably take her own
partner's penis to arousal and ejaculation just to prove that a woman in her
30s or 40s can be quite as sexy as any teen.

Mom's religious background called for teens to think about sex when they
reached puberty. (Indeed, Moses David was accused of involving even younger
kids in sex, and if true it was probably something that influenced Mom's
departure from the sect.) Mom herself thought that 12 or 13 was quite old
enough. Well, all kids dream of sex by age 11 or 12 at the latest, whether
they ever heard of Moses David or not; but many or most kids from the
Children of God -- at least the ones who lived communally -- lacked the
inhibitions and restraints that plague (or are supposed to plague)
mainstream kids. Kids love to show off, to their peers, to their family. And
that includes their sex activities -- when they are not made ashamed and
when they do not have false modesty imposed upon them. It is stupid and
damaging for kids to be left to compete with each other of the same sex on
the size of their genitals and their breasts. Better, much better, for them
to take pleasure and satisfaction in giving and getting bigger and better
orgasms, and being seen to do so. It is my firm conviction that competing,
or striving, for excellence in something over which one has control is
better than a false-beauty contest based on size alone. As Judge Judy
Scheindlin has pointed out, "Beauty Fades -- Dumb is Forever".
http://www.writeronlinebooks.com/book/beautyfades.htm
But sex is what they call a "lifetime sport". My greater fear is that, as
some (not including Mom) say, women's libido fades with advancing age, and
their capacity for sex too. (Is that the source of the expression "dirty old
man", because men's libido does not fade likewise and if it does, Viagra and
the other drugs are there to reactivate it? And is that the source of men
abandoning their wives after 50? Well, I have more than 25 years to figure
out the answers to those questions.)

As we grew up, we came to be more discreet: not secretive, just inclined to
what might be called better taste, or a kind of family sexual etiquette. In
our first house this was lacking, as readers of my early essays may have
noticed; it was, I think now, a "60s revival" commune atmosphere where free
sex was encouraged all over the house and where a girl was made to feel
unfriendly and inadequate if she said "no" to sex: a denial, I think, of the
concept of the primacy of the voluntary, consensual, non-coerced act. My
recollection is that the very oldest teens and most of the adults pretty
much had random sex, but even when I wrote the earlier essays in this series
I wasn't sure. Mom's Friend and Mom have, by contrast, a certain class and a
certain dignity even if they like and approve of sex as much as anybody.
They equate intercourse with holy communion, and I think they are correct in
that: there is no more wonderful experience in God's universe than a penis
offering it's semen to the girl that has brought it to excitement and
orgasm. And if it is holy, then it cannot be wrong to swallow it. But any
sex act has to be voluntary, wanted, and it has to be mutual: if the sight
of a girl's mouth dripping with semen from the penis that has just exited it
is lovely, it is lovely because we knew that the boy had already brought her
to climax via cunnilingus, or that he soon surely would do so. And given the
precepts of consent and reciprocity, the stricture of common age and the
assurance of safety, there is no reason for kids not to start having sex
from the moment of. Seeing their peers and their elders having sex, oral sex
especially, and loving it frees them from submission and ignorance.

Early sex means uninhibited sex for life, a naturalness of oral sex, and a
concern with the mutuality of delight. And a respect and a love for semen,
the "holiest of fluids". Doesn't it take consummation, reception of semen,
to finalize a marriage solemnization? It is exciting for a parent or an
older sibling to see a child growing up and to watch her or him grow in
body, spirit and genitals. It's a shame that genital growth happens in
secret within most families, that boys masturbate in secret, that girls
play-act in secret. There is, to me, something indecent about pretending at
sex with pictures rather than enjoying real sex with real peers. And seeing
the development of children, physically, mentally and sexually -- all
together, holistically -- is heartwarming. To see a boy with an erection and
a girl in a state of high arousal, ministering to the penis before her when
you have known both since toddlerhood is delightful. I wrote about that
earlier
http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/38098
and I repeat the story here because it's so delightful and so natural:

"I was sunning myself in the garden along with Mom, both of us nude, when
the girl and the boy, now almost 12, came dancing out holding each other's
hand. They told me they had something they wanted to show me. The boy and
girl were both in mid puberty. I could see her cute little breasts and her
wisps of pubic hair; I could see his penis in mid-growth and that he too had
just a bit of hair there. They held hands and smiled, and then he was on the
ground on his back and she was reversed above him, her mouth at his penis,
just as I had shown them so many years ago. Her legs were spread wide apart,
knees on the ground at either side of his head. All of her vaginal area was
exposed, a lovely 11-1/2-year-old pubescent, angelic vagina, and the boy had
his tongue already in it moving in and out and around and his lips were
sucking on her labia, her clitoris, her vulva. She was sucking on his penis
and it was growing hard; she started moving her head up and down its not-yet
fully-grown length. She meanwhile groaned with obvious pleasure. After
several minutes had passed she cried out "now" and did a gymnastic flip,
landing on her back alongside the boy, her legs wide apart with knees bent,
her vagina open, waiting expectantly. The boy quickly turned over and around
and mounted her, his penis sticking out downwards very stiff, wet from her
saliva. She guided his penis into her vagina, and he proceeded to pump her
as she acknowledged his thrusts with more sighs. After a couple of minutes
of slow thrusts he speeded up his pace, grunted, gasped and rolled over next
to her, sitting up. He caught his breath, rose and pulled her to her feet
with one hand. The two of them skipped over to Mom and me. I was so happy
for them. I hugged them closely. The boy's penis was glistening wet all
over. Not five inches long, it remained erect, quivering. I wanted to close
my hand around it and squeeze it tenderly, to stroke its glowing tip, to cup
his cute testicles. A drop of liquid flowed out of the little opening. I
would touch it, it would stick to my finger, and I would put it on my tongue
and smile. I kissed the boy and the girl on their cheeks and told them I
loved them both, that they were beautiful. It was one of the most fabulous
moments of my life."

This is neither pornography nor child abuse: it is parental teaching, love,
protection and care. Meanwhile, the whole issue of child abuse is so wrought
with confusion, arrogance, fraudulent self-promotion and miscarriage of
justice
http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/1999/06/02/48hours/main2435.shtml
http://www.ags.uci.edu/~dehill/witchhunt/ccla/pages/swan.htm
that one fears for those who try to put into practice sensible
sexually-aware parenting. For a parent to have the opportunity to see his or
her children growing up sexually and enjoying themselves intimately is
wonderful, and it's a pity that this experience is limited, in America, to a
few tens of thousands of families out of a hundred million. The real child
abuse is, I think, suppression of natural instincts. I have written of
defloration parties where mothers and grandmothers supported their daughters
who had felt so free to discuss the subject that they had announced their
want and need to make love. I have written of how a boy's mother might
escort her son to the girl's bed, how upon seeing the girl nude with radiant
face and breasts, with legs akimbo and mother at her side, the boys' penis
would strain at his underpants and he and mother would take them down and
show infinite maternal pride in her boy's erection. (I have remarked often
of the mystical bond between a mother and her boy's penis.) How the two
young lovers would embrace, and, most likely, follow Mom's Friend's recipe
for mutuality of first orgasm: oral sex on the girl until her vagina was so
lubricated, dilated and ready and the girl, on the verge of climax, cried
for the boy's penis to enter her and break her hymen. Alternatively, and
perhaps better in today's hair-trigger "child abuse" climate, Rev. Mary
promoted peer-advised defloration, where a girl's friends would orchestrate
a girls-only event for the adolescent girl, the girl's mother and the chosen
boy partner. Modern "sex education" fails to address what kids need to know
most: the truth, and not just the truth about disease and contraception (for
which "abstinence only" does nothing except harm) but the whole truth: the
hows and the whys and the joys of oral sex -- something readily available
today at university and feminist web sites. If first-time fears lead often
to impotence on the part of the boy and fright on the part of the girl, peer
support does much to avoid them. Knowing how to stimulate a frightened penis
to erection and how to urge a semi-rigid penis into a wet vagina are far
more useful bits of knowledge than arrogant admonitions not to have sex at
all.

It is no secret that sexually-active teenagers encourage their peers to
follow them. It is no secret that many mothers coach their daughters in sex
technique and tell them that oral sex is the key to finding and keeping a
husband. There is nothing unusual about a boy or a girl showing off in front
of a parent and there is nothing outrageous or perverted if this happens to
involve sex. Furthermore, it is wonderful and it is totally normal for a
parent to take pride in and to give support to a son's or a daughter's first
heterosexual experience, to feel vicarious pleasure as the girl kisses her
boy's penis, then guides it into her vagina in a public discarding of a
concept of virginity imposed by hypocritical religions and stupid social
engineers. The times I have seen a girl take her beau's penis, sticky with
his semen, her mucus and her blood, into her mouth have been the holiest
times I have known. For the two of them then to share a deep kiss seals
their lifetime bond. Whether or not they ever have intercourse again, the
two of them, they are bound in a mystical, holy and romantic bond that all
those nearby and watching must share for their lifetimes. I have written
about this too: how progressive parents are happy to be in the same room
with a daughter in the throes of lovemaking: the mutual honesty and the
shared delight are so obviously correct to me that I find contrary pretense
to be both dishonest and outrageous. I've known lots of households where the
teens, but not the parents, strutted around nude much of the time in their
own space and might or might not bother to dress when on an errand to the
kitchen or to speak to the parents. In short, why shouldn't kids make love
on the sofa and why should a boy have to hide his erection or his sticky
post-coital penis when these must be a source of pride to any parent? If a
daughter has beautiful breasts and beautiful vagina, as most do, it is the
highest compliment to her parents for her to let them share the view. There
is, it goes without saying, a protocol for the parents to observe: the sight
of adolescents at sex is not to be prurient -- even if it leads the parents
themselves to go off in an embrace, disrobing and having intercourse. And
the adults present don't (or don't usually, since if the kids are showing
off then parental observation is the whole point) stare at the kids having
fun; or if they do, it's out of the corner of an eye or behind sunglasses. I
read somewhere the military have a 3-second rule, under which gazing at
someone for more than 3 seconds can be deemed sexual harassment. This is
something like that. Still, it's hard to ignore the sight of an excited
penis with a drop of pre-cum at its tip and a loving girl waiting to receive
it! And making a fuss over two kids who have just run up to you for
approval, penis and vagina dripping with semen, is something quite
different: this is parental support and affection. I am thinking more of the
instance I wrote about in my last essay where I was seated with the parents
and their daughter was across the room with her boyfriend, and somehow they
gradually became naked and before long she was leaning over, kissing his
penis and then bringing him laboriously to a loud orgasm and ejaculation.
Yet, afterwards the girl looked over in our direction, seemingly hoping we'd
noticed details of her performance. So sometimes sex can be a public
performance, I guess, and sometimes not. As it happened, those kids were
fond of discussing the intimate details of their sex and it wouldn't have
been the only time I've seen a girl open up her boy's pants to show her
parents something funny or delightful about his penis; or a boy demanding of
his parents whether his naked girl's breasts aren't the best in the world.
Well, as I've written, I like to be topless, or at least bra-less, and my
breasts can argue for themselves: not too big, but nicely round and with
very friendly and enjoyable nipples. No boy's mother has ever found reason
to criticize my nude body. Or so I've been led to believe; if one has the
boy has been silent about it to me.

Anyway at that moment when I was face to face again with the Blond-Haired
Boy's penis I thought, too, of all those lovely nude dances where boys and
girls, from mid-puberty to age 18, pressed against each other's bodies, felt
the arousal of dancing in contact with a partner's breasts, a partner's
stiff penis, until they could stand it no longer and in sight of other
couples would express their passion and romance with penis in mouth and
penis in vagina. That a girl might want to show off the semen in her mouth
before she swallowed was just one aspect of the shared experience; but it
was proof also of her affection for the act, and her devotion to the boy,
perhaps for one night, perhaps forever. There is no denying that boys like
girls to swallow their semen, and I discovered that girls who begin oral sex
at a young age tend to enjoy both the oral sex and the semen for the rest of
their lives. It's sort of like learning languages: once you are firmly past
puberty the ability to become a native speaker, to acquire a native accent,
is lost to most people. Experience first sex too late in life and one loses
the ability to appreciate all its nuances. For those who find this shocking
or bizarre I can only reply that it does not seem to me that advancing the
age of sexual awareness by a few months or a year or two, and supplanting or
supplementing masturbation by wholesome heterosexual physical pleasure is at
all a bad thing. And that widening sexual horizons to include oral sex as
foreplay contributes more to sexual well-being and life satisfaction than
sex educators and priests are willing to admit. And while, following Mom, I
have rejected much of the doctrine promoted by Moses David and the Children
of God, the concepts of sex as religious expression, of family solidarity
and support and love, of sharing and openness are valid and good and Godly.
The inhibitions and restraints imposed by the traditional Christian churches
and, above all, by the Catholic Church,
http://www.presentationministries.com/brochures/OralSex.asp
have nothing to do with Christianity and everything to do with secular
social engineering. Once one recognizes that Jesus had a brother Joseph born
of Joseph and Mary having sex -- a fact disputed by no church but rather
concealed in the archives and only begrudgingly admitted upon confrontation
with historical fact -- the rest is obvious. Failing to rejoice in the sight
of the voluntary union of two adolescents, happily sharing semen who would
gladly share their joy and resent being forced to do what they do on the
sly, in the shadows, unhealthily and unsafely, is at the root of modern
hypocrisy, sexual dysfunction and, indeed, disease. Anyway, we are reminded
that "Scripture is silent on the topic of oral sex":
http://www.beliefnet.com/story/114/story_11408_1.html
On the other hand, there are those who interpret Jesus's words on adultery
and fornication (Matthew 19:4-9) on adultery and fornication to forbid
pederasty (homosexuality), onanism (masturbation) and sodomy (oral & anal
sex and bestiality, among other things).
http://www.religioustolerance.org/div_noway.htm
http://tinyurl.com/yu4uf
("My own view [says the writer of that Web page] is that it [oral sex] is
immature, but if your husband needs it, then it is better than adultery")
Well, I'd like to know what makes her think oral sex is "immature", unless
she has taken the side of those misogynists who -- together with the men and
women who mutilate their girls' genitals by cutting off their clitorises and
worse -- want to deny women their birthright sexual pleasure.
(Sujata Bhatt, "The Stinking Rose" (1995): "And another woman in another
country / makes sure that her seven-year-old daughter / has her clitoris
sliced off / with a razor blade. / This is what they will show us /
tonight--prime time--/ We're advised not to let our children watch this."
http://tinyurl.com/ys9qg )

I need to remind you, Dear Reader, that one doesn't need to be a Christian
to have stupid notions of sin foisted upon you. Here's a fatwa from some
Muslim or other:
http://www.themodernreligion.com/misc/sex/sex-oral.html
("Regarding the issue of oral sex, if it can be done in such a way that no
filth is involved, then from the perspective of lawful and prohibited it in
and of itself would be considered lawful. But the term "oral sex" covers a
wide range of activities, and there are differences between the various
schools of fiqh regarding the purity and filth of bodily fluids, namely:
sperm and vaginal secretions...")

Apparently a Jewish woman can perform and receive oral sex so long as she
deposits the semen from her mouth into her vagina thereafter and that the
couple doesn't have sex during her forbidden period.
http://tinyurl.com/3dcpr

Well, I don't see sex and semen as dirty in the first place, and the
so-called "laws" I've referred to above are man-made (not "woman-made",
except in that one unsupported analysis above) interpretations of scripture
and other holy writ, and they have gained credence only by constant
repetition by others of the same ilk.

In my mind's eye, and in these essays, I come back so often to practical,
rather than theoretical holiness. I see the lovely image of that boy's stiff
penis hovering over the vagina of the Big-Breasted Girl,
http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/38098
then being lowered inside the "virginal" vagina to making the girl whole,
complete, fully female, sexually adult. (I don't know in fact that the
lovely couple stayed together, but in my dream they did.) I think of the
semen that dripped from her vagina when they were done and how the two
adolescents playfully tasted it. I think of those two young kids at Mom's
Friend's House, whose story I repeated above, playing with each other
innocently as toddlers and children, often in the nude. Then, when they
puberty, they were ready and eager, after years of watching adults and teens
in the back yard, to take up sex on their own, together. Indeed, it seems
they practice secretly to surprise us, and then they wanted to show Mom and
me and their parents how much pleasure they could give each other. Penis in
mouth, penis in vagina, skipping over to us for approval, penis sticky and
wet and high in the air: this is natural freedom and natural lovemaking.
They had seen me with the 16-Year-Old Boy, and they had seen how much I
adored taking his penis into my body and making it give me semen. And why
should they not do likewise? And what's to hide?

(Do not allow my constant writing about early sex to lead you to think that
(1) sex was the be-all and end-all of our young lives (for we enjoyed
culture and sport as much as any), or that (2) we were sex-addicts, as to
which I refer you to a blog:
http://www.xanga.com/item.aspx?user=SuSu&uid=1772954&tab=weblogs
which suggests that such an "addiction" is not necessarily soul-damaging
and Eric Griffin-Shelly's book "Adolescent Sex and Love Addicts"
http://tinyurl.com/2mq6o
which supposes it's an sickness, or perhaps a social illness, a stupid
conclusion which I attribute to self-delusional aggrandizement and a desire
on the part of the author to carve a profitable professional niche for
himself much like that horrid, evil charlatan Sir Roy Meadows
http://www.innocent.org.uk/cases/sallyclark/
in his lying, contrived testimony about child abuse in England (his case is
under investigation by the General Medical Council and he may be "struck
off" as a doctor) and those lying liars in the Swan case above and the
self-promoting, pseudo-scientific Dr. Roland "Believe the Children" Summit
http://members.shaw.ca/imaginarycrimes/believechildren.htm
http://users.cybercity.dk/files/Authors/cc/wwwc44406/smwane/Summit.html
http://www.tesserae.org/tess/prose/tunnels.html
There is certainly plenty of child abuse in America and abroad
http://members.fortunecity.com/mastercrime/thecrimeweb/id23.html
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/3312551.stm
but neither the self-styled and court-approved "experts" nor the police nor
the prosecutors nor the judges are doing anything to stop it.)

These thoughts ran through my mind. Those other child couples, the
Big-Breasted Girl and her lover and the two kids from Mom's Friend's House,
had been devoted to each other, seemingly to the exclusion of all others. If
the Blond-Haired Boy and I had not lost touch, would we have been the same?
Have we missed a decade of bliss by hazard of fate? Can we make up for it
now? Hard to know of course: for one thing, I still don't know where his
parents stand on the matter of early sex, although it seems after his
experience with me he had no trouble finding other girls to play with and to
inseminate. And for another, I don't really know where he stands with
respect to me, nor I to him. But I cannot help even now musing whether in
loving many boys, in giving pleasure to many penises, have I lost a decade
of special, exclusive love with this boy? He is, as the fairytale says, the
handsomest prince of them all.

There, on that occasion, was his penis, big, strong and very erect in front
of me. It was there just for me and ready for making love. I wished others
could see and envy me, could admire him and me. I wanted to feel and to see
and others to see too, semen flow out of that lovely little slit at its end
and into me.

We were on the bed together, I grasped his penis, stiff as it was, and I
looked closely at its tip, marveling at it. I licked all around the crown,
the edge of the glans, and then over the top catching, as I thought, just a
hint of seminal fluid leaking out. I admired the circumcision scar and all
the veins and the smoothness of the skin. I fondled his scrotum and caressed
his balls. Then I took the penis between my lips and I worked on it
methodically looking my boy often in his eyes, and keeping my own eyes
always open. In due course I brought him to orgasm, and streams of semen
went into my mouth. I savored it and I wished again that the world could see
my delight as I tasted it and him. I remembered the few drops he'd given me
that last time, when he was 13. Now, the semen was thick and viscous and
there wasn't a lot of it but I felt I was custodian for my boy's DNA, that I
held in my mouth the potential for the loveliest little baby boys and girls,
and it made me feel proud and good, if somehow regretful, to swallow it. I
held it in my mouth for the longest time, and I looked in my boy's eyes,
trying to share his own ecstasy. And I thought again how, for a girl, the
beauty of the penis is in the beauty of the boy and his spirit and his
personality. The penis is just our channel for communicating directly with
the spirit of the boy and the spirit of God at the same time. This is why
coerced sex of any kind is so awful while wanted sex is so lovely: there is
no oxymoron, conflict or inconsistency there. The explanation is that the
girl wants to please her boy because that boy wants to please her. The
ultimate test is whether, after she has brought him to ejaculation with her
mouth, he will -- not grudgingly and out of obligation but out of desire and
with delight -- bring her to climax with his mouth and feel and believe all
the while that her vagina is the most beautiful thing on earth.

The Blond-Haired Boy would not disappoint me, I could see it in his eyes. He
would want to share my pleasure and I shared his. Usually, I make an unknown
boy bring me to climax orally before I will let him come because,
notwithstanding my comments above, so many men are thoughtless and lose
interest once they have ejaculated. But the kind of boy I will love is one
who, without prompting, thinks of his girl's welfare and pleasure. Reminding
me that I had taught him all he needed to know about vaginas, my boy
proceeding to kiss and lick and excite me until I let out involuntary cries
of delight and orgasm. And by then his penis was again fiercely erect and
then his body was over mine and his penis was in my vagina and he was
kissing me and it was the most heavenly sex I had ever had. When we were
finished we both wanted to see his penis still in my vagina, and we
contorted a bit so that we had a view of it that we could cherish. At that
point I loved him and hoped he loved me.

Indeed, he invited me to Las Vegas for a weekend, and we went and we had sex
at least a half-dozen times, and we saw the shows and ate the meals and
drank the wine. And he has telephoned me every day since. My own experience
proves, to the extent that any anecdotal experience can prove it, that Mom's
Friend's Philosophy of child raising is scarcely inconsistent with
mainstream normality: that we are, all of us, genetically disposed to
coupling with a view to permanence. Our adolescent sex is the selfsame "Sex
and the City" minuet, only a few years younger. Maybe, before her wasting
illness overcomes her, Mom will see me established. That would be nice.

Love,
Carol

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