By Misty Meadow
I’m picking my daughter Holly up from school and looking for a parking space when she comes hurtling out from the school gate and streaks across the road without looking. Horns honk and tires screech.
She flings the car door open and leaps inside, excitement written all over her face. I’m about to start a lecture on pedestrian traffic safety when she bursts out, “Guess what! M & M were suspended today ‘cos they were caught in a stall in the bathroom with no clothes on and a girl in the next stall heard them and they were saying all sorts of stuff about undressing and fingering each other and she reported them and…” All this comes out in one breath. She’s referring to her two classmates Maia and Morgan, inseparable best friends.
“Hold on,” I say, pulling out into congested traffic. “Slow down. Start at the beginning and tell me what happened.”
“All I know is that this girl reported what she’d overheard and M & M were taken out of class and then we heard they’d been suspended. I haven’t had a chance to talk to either of them yet.”
“Don’t get too excited, Holly. To me it just sounds like two young girls having a bit of naughty fun in the bathroom. I did that sort of thing at your age. Don’t make it a bigger thing than it already is.”
“But the whole school’s talking about it! When they come back to school, everyone’s gonna be laughing at them.”
“Except you.”
“Exactly! Except me. They’re both my best friends and I feel so bad for them.”
“When we get home, you can call them. You can invite them to your birthday party on Saturday.”
“My birthday’s not until next month.”
“So, we’ll bring it forward, just to show them we appreciate them and we’re still good friends. Who else do you wanna invite?”
“Miss Lane.”
Oh, this is perfect! She’s Holly’s gymnastics coach and from what Holly tells me, she’s probably gay and I’m guessing Holly has a crush on her. To be honest, I’ve been interested in Miss Lane for some time now, but never had a chance to talk to her for more than a few minutes.
“Fine. We’ll call her, too. Is it true what they say about her?”
“Oh, yes, I’m pretty sure. She’s always touching us, positioning our limbs and bodies correctly in the gym class. It all looks accidental, but she’s brushed my crotch more than once. Oh, Mom, this is gonna be so cool!”
*****
Everyone hates paedophiles (well not me, I’m hardly in a position to). Most people think of paedophiles as dirty old men in raincoats who hang around outside the school gates with bags of candy in their hands, enticing young girls into their windowless vans and coercing them to have sex, and if the child is unwilling, violently force them to perform ugly acts of depravity. I don’t think that’s quite an accurate picture. Those creeps are the exception and yes, kids need to be protected from them, but there’s a bigger picture. We shouldn’t forget women paedophiles.
Originally the word meant “lover of children,” and in that sense, paedophilia’s widespread, maybe universal, an admirable condition, to be encouraged. But the word’s taken on a sinister connotation, giving rise to images of molested youngsters, damaged for life, so now paedophilia comes somewhere between war crimes and genocide on the acceptability scale.
Almost all little girls are cute in the way that puppy dogs and koala bears are cute which triggers in us a desire to protect them, hug them, kiss them, reassure them, tell them that they’re beautiful and loved, rub their bellies and scratch their ears… sorry, that’s puppies again. But sometimes the wires get crossed, and a child’s cuteness, in addition to arousing protective instincts, arouses sexual urges. Maybe it’s a kind of synesthesia, the blending of two senses, like people who hear colors and taste shapes. The sexual urge is perfectly fine as long as one doesn’t act on it, but if the arousal is enough to overpower one’s restraint, then we have a problem.
But there must be millions of men and women out there who see school letting out, with hordes of young teens and preteens streaming out of the school gates in their uniforms and white socks, and who sigh with longing, but never act on their feelings. Most of them would tell you that the thought of forcing themselves on a kid is horrifying and that all they want is to make a child happy. This might come across as the excuse of an accused offender, but what if it’s true? What if there’s a silent majority out there whose secret desire is to arouse children and who are never discovered? What if the number of underage boys and girls who have sex with an adult and enjoy it and thus never talk about it, is huge? There’s no way to know.
I’m not a paedophile exclusively. My brief marriage was disaster, even though the sex was hot. He was violent and I soon got rid of him and was lucky enough to keep custody of his kid, my darling Holly, now eleven years old. So, strictly speaking, she’s my stepdaughter and I love her to bits. And I’m finished with men.
My obsession with young girls started with little Vicky, a neighbour’s kid whom I babysat when she was ten and I was thirteen. She seduced me, signalling her desire for intimacy by showing off her underwear in so many lewd ways, that she might as well have used semaphore. I took her into the bathroom and was only slightly surprised when she demanded that I get in the shower with her to “soap her back” and then insisted that I lather her all over, including the naughty bits.
“Do it again!” she begged after I’d pushed my soapy finger inside her. Then she proceeded to wash my cunt in exactly the same way. She was the first girl to ever make me come. Over the summer we repeated our adventure several times until, to my dismay, the family moved away. She was in tears when we finally said goodbye, and she never told anyone about how her hymen came to be ruptured.
Kids have sex with kids. Didn’t you? Does that make us all paedophiles? Remember the words of Juliette’s father: “…she hath not yet reached her thirteenth birthday.” Romeo couldn’t have been much older, but you don’t hear audiences at the Globe yelling, “Hey, Romeo, you fucking child molester! Get off the fucking stage!”
Think about this for a moment. Is paedophilia now where homosexuality was a century ago — illegal, immoral, unnatural and deserving of the most extreme punishment? So, does the future hold a golden age in which having consensual sex with an underage person is considered perfectly normal, like gay marriage has become?
*****
Holly and I went shopping in Oxford Street for a party dress for her. On the way home, on the tube, a woman sitting opposite was staring at Holly. Guessing why, I looked sideways at my daughter and sure enough, there she was, sprawled as usual with her legs carelessly spread. The woman had a delicious view up her dress.
I wasn’t surprised. Holly is an incurable exhibitionist. I was the same at her age so it doesn’t bother me, in fact I feel a little thrill when she acts lewdly in front of strangers. Exiting the tube station, I mentioned it and we giggled together like two naughty little girls.
We’ve settled on a simple black dress in a kind of wispy material which would be see-through were it not for the slip that lines it. It would be nice to see her in it without the slip. It’s deliciously short, showing off her slender thighs and it flares out revealingly when she pirouettes. White ankle socks add a “little girl” touch. We also bought a pair of pink silk knickers, split down the front from waist to crotch and tied with a little bow. She looks adorable.
Maia and Morgan arrive, followed minutes later by Miss Lane, who’s dressed in white linen slacks and a cream silk blouse through which I can see a lacy camisole. She looks even more attractive than I remember.
“I’m Misty,” I say, shaking her hand and eyeing her up and down, “we met at the PTA.”
“I remember. Call me Kelly. Hear that, girls? We’re Kelly and Misty this afternoon. You can be formal on Monday, back at school. That’s a nice dress, Holly.”
I know exactly what’ll happen next. Holly pirouettes in a full circle, reverses and spins the other way. Her dress arcs out and reveals her naughty pink knickers beneath. “Oh, what gorgeous knickers,” says her teacher, grinning. “Who gets to pull the little bow?”
“That’s up to Holly,” I say.
“What color knickers are you wearing, M & M?” Kelly asks Holly’s friends.
Without hesitation, they lift up the fronts of their sun dresses. Maia’s are pale blue and Morgan’s are plain white cotton. My pulse quickens. When little girls lift their dresses, it makes my knees go weak.
“What about yours?” they ask us. It’s a fair question. I lift up my skirt and show everyone my white nylon almost see-through knickers. Not to be outdone, Kelly unfastens her slacks at the side and lets them fall. She’s wearing white silk tap pants with lace trimmed legs that match the lace on the camisole I can see through her blouse. She looks tastefully sexy.
“I might as well leave them off,” she says, folding her slacks over the back of a chair. We’re getting off to a good start.
We go into the living room. Presents are given, and soon the girls are sitting on the floor surrounded by wrapping paper, oohing and aahing at the gifts, while Kelly and I relax on the couch. When three eleven-year-old girls in skirts are squatting on the carpet preoccupied with something, you can be sure that you’ll get to see plenty of underwear.
“Aren’t they just adorable!” Kelly breathes, staring at the display.
When the gifts have been thoroughly inspected by all three girls, they dash upstairs to Holly’s room and slam the door.
“So tell me,” I ask Kelly, “what was the suspension all about?”
“M & M were fingering each other in the bathroom stall and were overheard. They were quoted as saying, ‘Oh, that feels nice,’ and ‘Push it in further’, and ‘Pretend I’m a boy and kiss me’. I suspect they’re no strangers to pussy touching.”
“Wow, they’re only eleven.”
“When I was their age I was up to all sorts of naughty stuff, just like that. Weren’t you?”
“Well, I had a lot of sexual fantasies, but I never got to touching until I was thirteen.” I tell her about little Vicky, the memory still fresh in my mind.
“Oh, you bad girl!” she says, mockingly. “So you like young girls, too?”
“Little girls, yes, but big girls as well.”
A gentle smile lights up her face. This might be the moment to make a move on her, but I hear the girls running down the stairs. Never mind, we can continue this conversation later.
“Time to swim, guys,” I call. “Last one in’s a rotten egg.”
“We don’t have our swim suits,” Morgan protests.
“We don’t bother with swim suits in this house. We’re gonna skinny dip.”
“Cool!” say Maia and Morgan in unison, their faces lighting up.
The kids dash out across the patio to the pool in the middle of the lawn and Kelly and I follow at a more leisurely pace, wineglasses in our hands. We sit on the patio steps and watch the girls undress. I’d have liked to see them strip off slowly, one at a time, but in under five seconds, they’re all naked, pulling their ankle socks off, leaving dresses and knickers scattered all over the lawn. They all jump into the pool, swim to the deep end and cluster in a group, laughing and giggling.
I look at Kelly, stand, drop my short skirt and pull my cotton tank over my head. I wait for a beat, letting her look at me, then slide my nylon knickers down and step out of them. Her gaze is riveted on me. I watch her unbutton her blouse, take it off, and let the shoulder straps of her camisole fall from her shoulders. She pushes it down, together with her tap pants, in one smooth movement and steps out of them. Her pussy, like mine, is perfectly shaved. Her tits are small and perfectly shaped, with no need for a bra.
She grins, saying, “There’s not a pubic hair between the five of us.”
She takes me by the hand and together we jump into the pool. She does a few laps then we all gather in the middle of the pool. That’s when the fun begins. The girls invent a game where they swim underwater between our legs as we stand facing each other. I feel arms and legs and hands brushing against my inner thighs and little thrills run through my body. We move farther apart with each pass until we’re well spaced and the girls can no longer manage to stay under long enough. Then they go off to the deep end again and huddle, whispering to each other.
Kelly and I stand in the shallow end, then she hoists herself up on to the pool edge and sits, leaning back on her elbows, legs invitingly spread. I stand, waist deep, in front of her, as close as I dare, admiring her slender body. Whether deliberate or not, her pose is quite lewd. She sees me staring at her pussy with its big floppy lips and amazingly large clit. It must be almost half an inch long.
I have an almost irresistible urge to press my face between her thighs, but manage to control myself. She lifts her heels and puts them on the drain that runs round the pool at the waterline and lets her legs fall open.
“Do you like my cunt?” she asks, bluntly. Most girls would call it a pussy, but the word ‘cunt’ has a nice crude ring to it.
I lean in to inspect it more closely. “You have an amazing clit.”
She grins. “Wanna touch it?”
I glance over my shoulder to where the girls are still huddled. “They might see.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. When I was doing laps, I could see that they were touching each other underwater. That’s why they were giggling.”
“Wow! Really? My girl, too?”
“All of them.”
I look again to see the girls preoccupied, and reach out with both hands to spread her lips, revealing a bright pink cavern. Then I take her clit between my forefinger and thumb and gently pinch it. She lets out a little gasp of pleasure. I look over my shoulder again and see Holly swimming towards me, so I let go and step back.
“Mom!” she says, surfacing beside us. “Were you touching Miss Lane’s… sorry… Kelly’s cunt?”
Her teacher doesn’t seem shocked by Holly’s use of the ‘C’ word. I dodge the question. M & M swim over to us.
“I’m getting cold,” I say, hoisting myself up on the edge and standing. All three girls stare up at us with expressions of… well not quite adoration, but certainly with interest. Kelly stands up and together we collect all the discarded garments from the grass. We go over to where the table and chaise lounges are, in the shade of a big tree. I put the dresses on the table and carefully fold Maia’s pale blue knickers and Morgan’s white ones, pressing them against my cheek. Kelly laughs. We start to dry ourselves with big bath towels.
“So you appreciate knickers too, huh?” She picks up Holly’s pink ones and holds them up. “Someone pulled the bow, look.” The split front gapes wide, the two ribbons hanging down. “I wonder who it was.”
We sit and sip our wine until the girls climb out of the pool and I fold Holly in a towel and rub her body all over, pressing my hand between her legs. I no longer care if M & M see, we’re all complicit. Kelly does the same, first with Morgan, then with Maia, her own hand lingering between the girls’ thighs, until they step away and sit on their respective lounges.
“So, girls,” Kelly asks, “Who pulled the bow?”
M & M look at each other, grinning.
“We both did,” says Maia. “We each took an end of the ribbon and slowly pulled it until the bow came undone and then we spread her knickers open and looked at her cunt.” Is Holly blushing, or is it my imagination?
“Oh, my God!” Kelly breathes. “That must’ve been so exciting. I wish I’d been there.”
“We could re-enact it.” I can hardly believe I’m saying that. It’s one thing to have my own preteen daughter fooling about with other kids, but Kelly is a grown woman, a lesbian to boot and I cold be starting something that might get out of hand.
I expect Holly to be reluctant, a bit shy perhaps, but she eagerly agrees. So I pick up her knickers and carefully tie the bow, making sure the two edges are firmly together, then hold them open for her to step into. She slowly pulls them up her thighs.
“Let Kelly pull the bow,” she says. “Maia, Morgan, you guys have had your turn.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Go for it, Kelly!”
She drops to her knees in front of my daughter and we all stare as she slowly tugs on the bow. We watch breathlessly as the knot slowly comes undone and Kelly reaches with her fingers and spreads the gap wide, revealing my little girl’s cunt in all its glory. Holly smiles at us, then as Kelly leans back out of the way, she spreads the gap even wider with her own fingertips, gazing down at herself, then just as we think we’ve seen it all, she spreads her cunt lips, deliberately displaying the pinkness inside. Kelly sits back on her heels, transfixed.
Holly looks up at her. “D’you like my cunt?”
“Oh, my God, it’s heavenly!” Kelly gasps, her face flushed with excitement.
Holly steps over to me and I carefully re-tie the bow, closing the gates of heaven. “Always leave them wanting more,” I whisper to her.
“Jesus, I nearly came,” Kelly murmurs to me. “It’s no good denying it, I think your little girl’s adorable.”
I lean in close and quietly ask, “Have you ever touched her in the gym class? Not that I’m complaining, but you’d be taking a helluva risk.”
“Oh, the occasional accidental touch, nothing that could be construed as inappropriate.” She keeps her voice low, so the girls can’t hear.
“They don’t mind?”
“No. I think some of them have crushes on me.”
I feel a surge of jealousy. “Does Holly?”
“If she wants to tell you, then she will.”
“If you ever think about retiring, let me know. I want your job.”
She laughs.
I pick up Maia’s blue knickers and hold them for her to step into, but Morgan gets there first. “Maia and I are gonna swap knickers,” she says.
“We are?” says Maia. “Okay, if you want to.”
I pull the knickers up Morgan’s legs and then hold her knickers for Maia. She pulls them all the way up to form a distinctive camel toe. Then I take Kelly’s silk tap pants and look at her. She reads my mind and nods. I pull them on. All four of them make appreciative noises. Kelly tells me I can keep her tap pants as a gift, then takes my knickers and dons them.
“You’re the only one wearing your own knickers,” I say to Holly.
She murmurs something which might be, “Not for long,” then adds, “Let’s go to my room.” The girls run indoors and upstairs.
“While they’re having fun, we’ll go to my room,” I say, taking Kelly’s hand.
Continue on to Part Two