Awakenings

It's difficult to completely explore the genesis of your own shadowy psychological kinks. One's subconscious can deliberately distort or cleverly camouflage milestones and significant events. Maybe, at the time, such happenings may have been so obscure to have been discounted as irrelevant. During the early flowering of my sexuality I, like many kids, innocently indulged in bondage (kidnap) fantasies, my little girl playmates & I role played 'Dr & Nurse'. I rummaged through my mother's clothes marvelling at her girdles and stockings. At the age of eight I reduced the whole family to unbridled mirth by appearing in my sister's bottle green tights to perform a ballet type comic routine. Whether this act was a precursor of the tendency to fetishise stockings and women's clothing in general is a moot point.

Early, more concrete, signs manifested themselves at the age of 10 to 12. I blame my mother.

A new librarian arrived in our small town, his wife, Megan soon struck up a friendship with my Mum. Aunty M as she became known to my sister and I, had a son and daughter, Richard and Gaynor. Both her offspring would figure in the development of the darker side to my sexual nature. It began in the summer holidays when our parents would have parties and we would sleepover at Aunty M's house whilst the grown ups let there hair down. Richard and I shared his bedroom, he was quite dominant and during childish wrestling matches he would inevitably end up on top pinning me to the floor and dribble saliva onto my wriggling face. One milestone was passed on such a night when during our tussles his erect penis escaped from his pyjama waist band. I had never seen an excited cock before as I hadn't learned the joys of masturbation at that time. So it seemed perfectly reasonable when Richard proferred it to me for inspection that I oblige. From curious examination and with Richard's urging I progressed to kissing and licking his throbbing cock with my tongue. It was such fun seeing it bounce and twitch as my tongue discovered the sensitive parts, I was soon addicted to sucking his young cock, I loved the moaning sounds he made as he jetted his cum into my mouth - it tasted so sweet. By the end of the summer I was used by him for oral sex most weekends - he teased my teeny penis into an erection and wanked my first ejaculation out of me, his hand clamped over my mouth to stifle my surprised squeals as I writhed and squirted my first cum over my pyjama tops.

By the second year of our friendship our games had become more sophisticated as he used me to explore his own kinky feelings.

A second milestone was passed the next Christmas. On a sleepover we caught Gaynor, now a nymphette, in their parents bedroom using Aunty M's make up & perfume. This was strictly forbidden and something which Gaynor had been warned about time and time again. Richard gleefully announced that he would be telling on her, Gaynor fell to bits pleading for us not to tell. I remember feeling sorry for her but also deep down there was another, less sympathetic, emotion stirring in the pit of my belly. As we had burst in she was sitting on the embroidered stool at her mother's dressing table (how apt) wearing her mother' satin robe and rather inexpertly applied lipstick and eyeliner. Liz Taylor's portrayal of Cleopatra that year had given rise to a craze for extreme eye makeup, poor Gaynor's attempts to mimic the Cleopatra 'look' were not so successful. As I gazed at her my eyes were blind to the inexpert application of eyeshadow and lipstick but instead drank in the sheen of the robe defining her back and the curves of her hip, the heady perfume she had liberally applied filled my senses and sparked the first glimmerings of male to female attraction that fuelled the strange excitement I was experiencing. It was not a good first example of sexual attraction. Gaynor wept and clasped her hands together in supplication, the Cleopatra eye-make-up smeared down her tear streaked cheeks. Oh no, this first rush of sexual attraction was anything but normal. The mini drama played out as I watched, Richard manipulate the situation with Machiavellian expertise. He agreed 'not to tell' only if we could tie her up and play 'burglars'. She was owned.....

Having no option Gaynor reluctantly agreed, and lay meekly on her parents bed, Richard rolled her over and used the satin belt of the robe to bind her wrists behind her back. My job was to still the now struggling girl's legs. We rode her bucking, writhing body breathlessly giggling as Gaynor, realising only too late the dire consequences of her capitulation, tried in vain to shake us off. Richard stationed astride the small of her arching back me across her fluttering calves, her fate was sealed. Her squeals were muffled by Richard's hand clamped over her mouth. As her spasms became more violent he allowed her mouth free for gasps of air and to plead to be released he would laugh pushing her head roughly in to the lush pillows. In due course her struggles weakened sufficiently for Richard to deem it timely to flip her on her back so he could indulge in some 'gobbing', that is, dribbling saliva down onto his sister's contorted face. As she arched and twisted I hung on for grim death and the robe slowly but surely slid apart. As the satin parted it revealed, inches from my face, a perfect, hairless 'vee' at the junction of her wriggling legs. Richard's thighs rubbing and gyrating on her breast buds must have awakened new sensations and kick started the sesitivity of her nipples as her bodies undulations and her muffled cries subsided and were reborn into sighs and gasps of confused pleasure. A new, more subtle perfume then mixed with the Chanel No5, it arose from the copious, slippery, slick juice oozing from Gaynor's virgin slit. 

Details are hazy but the ensuing months saw poor Gaynor coerced into letting us do our worst with her; fumbling, teasing, stretching, fingering and licking. Our eager fingers and tongues worked tirelessly in and around her vagina and arsehole. Maybe I'm falsifying my memory but eventually far from resenting her exploitation Gaynor, by the end of summer willingly let us play 'burlgars'. Even our amateur finger and tongue work eventually brought on her first perverted, shuddering girlie orgasm. Perhaps hooked on the intense sexual attention and addicted to orgasming poor perverted Gaynor would often be the instigator. She would act coquettishly or provocatively goading us into chasing and overpowering her. The games developed, the 'Burglars' would make her do more daring things - she would have to kneel at the foot of Richard's bed sucking my cock as he watched or wank us both off simultaneously. After our perverse influence over her I often wonder what kind of dark secret sex life Gaynor led in her adulthood. I'm sure these, not so innocent, games pushed my own libido down a dark side alley to the outer fringes of normal sex. Desires that formed a die from which my later fetishistic approach to sex was cast.