Miranda, Female, 24 (current), 13/14 (flashbacks)

	- Narrator, daughter of Angela and Dan

	- 5'7, beige skin, 125lbs, curly dark red-brown hair over shoulders

Dr. Martin Green, Male, late-40s

	- Sex therapist, husband of Auburn

	- 5'8, ruddy beige skin, 150lbs, short brown hair with grey streaks

Dr. Auburn Green, Female, late-40s

	- Psychologist, wife of Martin

	- 5'10, light-olive skin, 140lbs, shoulder-length auburn hair

Angela, Female, early-30s (flashbacks)

	- Mother of Miranda, wife of Dan

	- 5'7, beige skin, 140obs, dark-red brown hair over shoulders

Dan, Male, early-30s (flashbacks)

	- Father of Miranda, husband of Angela

	- 5'11, tanned beige skin, 175lbs, cropped dirty-blonde hair

Malik, Male, 14 (flashbacks)

	- Student

	- 6'1, dark-brown skin, 185lbs, tightly-curly black hair

“I think moving along is the way I want to go next. I won't bog down in the many things my parents taught me over the next few years,” I told the Greens as they sat with me for another evening session the next day. “You asked me whether I had other lovers, and I think that's where I'll go next.”

“Whenever you are ready,” Martin suggested, readying his pen.

- - -

I was thirteen before I started to have sexual feelings for someone other than my parents. I suppose that, whatever sexual thoughts I had over the previous years, I'd been so satisfied by what I did with Mom and Dad that I really didn't care to see what else I might enjoy. They taught me how to have anal sex, as I've described. They introduced me to strap-ons, first Mom wearing one to penetrate me, then I learned how to do the same for her. I even pegged Dad a few times and enjoyed that as much as he did. I dressed up with them, wearing hose or fishnets, leather skirts, lingerie, kinky outfits, that sort of thing. Whatever we did, I was satisfied and enjoying my life.

What I didn't get wholly from them was romance. Sure, they showered me with love, and it was an amazing comfort during good and bad times, but it wasn't the same sort of love I had felt, briefly and innocently, for Isaac those many years earlier. At thirteen, I started to get crushes again, and my body reacted along with my mind to envision scenarios where I'd welcome boys, or maybe girls, to join me in bed.

I talked about it with my parents. They held no jealousy, at least not outwardly, and encouraged me to date as I approached my fourteenth birthday. They ensured I understood the vital importance of keeping our sex lives secret, and I held fast to my promise never to tell. Still, I came to really like a boy in my class and I asked him if he liked me one day during lunch. We were both in the eighth grade, shared several classes and had become friends over the past year.

Malik was tall, a dark-skinned boy from Egypt. His Mom was Egyptian, his Dad from Zaire, and I thought his smile and dark, curly locks were simply dreamy. When I asked him if he liked me, he shyly told me he did, and we planned to have a 'date' as soon as possible. Mom agreed to chaperone us Friday evening, and I had my first date with Malik at a pizza joint with Mom giving us enough space to talk quietly and laugh together without too much interruption.

The date ended without a kiss, but I knew we both were very interested in each other. Looking back, we were fairly young to have moved as quickly as we did to what came next, but I already had more about five years of sexual experience, so for me, it wasn't fast at all. For Malik, though, I realize now how quickly we were advancing things in our relationship.

I kissed him behind the school one day as we held hands and gazed into each other's eyes. It was just a kiss, but my experienced hands reached for his buttocks, and he jumped a bit when I suggested he might like to see my breasts. He didn't say no, and as we skipped our final class of the day, he spent long moments staring at my naked boobs in the trees behind the gym. Malik even touched them for a while, and I creamed myself imagining we might go much further.

When I reached to stroke his penis through his shorts, he stopped me and acted nervous, saying he didn't want to get caught. I didn't really understand, being so sure of myself and my sexual experiences that I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to stop at that point. But I respected his fears and we kissed a bit more, my breasts open for him to look at as he wished.

Despite them starting to bud by my ninth year, they didn't grow to be very large. I wore an A cup most of the time, though at times when I put on a little weight, the underwires were a bit tight and, had it not been require by the school, I'd have rather gone braless.

Malik and I started to meet after school before my volleyball practice for ten or fifteen minutes of making out in the trees. He finally let me touch his dick, over his pants, and from there, he became hooked. Mom insisted that I always carry condoms in case we decided to have sex, and told me that, even though I was on birth control, there were diseases in the least expected places and I should always protect myself. I believed her and kept two or three in my purse at all times.

I sucked Malik's dick one afternoon a few weeks after I turned fourteen. He came so quickly that I surprised and nearly choked. His dark-brown penis wasn't as long as Dad's, but it was thicker, and it tested my jaws to suck him. I never told him about my prior experience, but I was fairly certain that he was a virgin. I swallowed his cum and played with his balls until I had to go to practice. I promised him something even more special the next time we met.

The following day, I showed him my pussy. My pubic hairs had grown in thicker, no longer held sparsely over my slit and along my labia. I didn't shave, didn't really want to. Mom never did, and I liked the way the hairs looked between my legs. My labia, too, had changed, opening slightly, but still small, perhaps darker where my lips poked through my slit.

Malik was a quick learner when it came to licking me there. He made me cum once, then twice, with a bit of guidance. I sucked him off again, though what I really wanted was to take him inside me.

Even before we had intercourse, I was falling in love with Malik. Not only was our intimate play fun, I really liked him. It was a crush but, unlike my earlier puppy crush over Isaac, this one was more mature, at least as much as any teenage crush could be. Plus, it was being returned. Malik told me he loved me the next afternoon, and I invited him to put his penis inside me.

I was on my back on a blanket I'd stolen from the drama closet, my skirt hiked up high, and my panties down on one ankle. Malik never asked if I was a virgin, and I don't know what I'd have told him if he did. I helped him put the condom on, and guided him between my legs. He stretched me nicely as he slid in. He was thicker than Dad, and at first, I had trouble letting him in. I wasn't used to the condom, and though I was wet, the lubrication wasn't enough. His cock kept sliding out of me.

I suggested he lick me for a few minutes, and after an orgasm, I was ready for him to try again. Malik slid back inside me and I took him a bit easier this time. I was holding my breath. It was almost uncomfortable, but Malik began to move and I moved with him. The discomfort went away and we kissed as he groaned into my mouth and filled his condom inside my vagina.

I told him I loved him as I held him over me, his penis softening slowly and finally slipping out of my body.

- - -

“Everyone knew we were boyfriend and girlfriend a day or two later, and Maggie asked if we were having sex.”

Auburn leaned forward and asked, “and what did you tell her?”

“The truth. She wanted all the details and I told her everything about it what had happened.”

Martin asked, “And how did your parents react to this new love interest? Didn't this make things awkward in your relationship with them?”

I nodded. “Yes. I was so in love with Malik that I told Mom and Dad that I wanted to be exclusive to him. It wasn't really that I wanted to stop having sex with them, but I really did love him, and I'd promised Malik that he was my only boyfriend, the only person I was with, and to me, and I'm sure to him, that meant I wasn't having sex with anyone else. Because of that, I had to stop things with my parents.”

“So what happened with them?” Auburn inquired, “were they angry? Hurt?”

“Hurt, probably, but they were not about to show it to me. They both encouraged me to stand by my decision, even though I secretly knew it wasn't exactly fair to them after so many years sharing their sex lives with me. I asked if it was okay to start sleeping in my own bed again, and they naturally said that was fine. They let me know that I was welcome to join them anytime, but they would not pressure me and I would have to be the one to suggest we once more share intimacy.”

“That had to be an odd moment for them,” Martin said, “and for you.”

“More for them, I think,” I replied, “they had grown used to me being part of that aspect of their lives. I'm sure it stung to no longer share that with me. But as I said, they were really kind about it. They encouraged me to find relationships beyond them, and I think they knew we were at a point where our shared intimacy could severely damage my chances for any sort of normal youthful exploration. If they held fast and kept me to themselves, maybe things would have turned out worse for me. Maybe I'd look back and come to hate them for being selfish, for not letting me have the freedom to learn about others, to find love on my own terms. But they gave me that freedom and accepted my choices, offering me advice and support, but letting me make mistakes and learn what I could without them.”

Both of my listeners were quiet a moment, so I asked, “how might you have handled that moment? If you had a daughter, she fourteen, several years of wonderful close sexual relationships with you both, and you found she needed to experience more than just your bed, what might that have felt like?”

I was genuinely curious. It was something I'd never asked my parents. I suppose I didn't want them to tell me how much it had hurt them to make the right decision for me.

“Well. . . ” Auburn began, looking less certain of things than usual, just a hint of confusion in her brow, “hypothetically, of course, since we never had a child and certainly never had a sexual relationship with one. . . ”

“Hypothetically. . . ” I echoed.

“I imagine that would have been. . . very difficult. Perhaps it might have feel like losing a close loved one, maybe I'd have felt betrayed or abandoned. . . but. . . with Martin with me, I know we'd have made the right decision for our daughter. We had each other, and that should have made it easier to deal with, even if there would have been a loss and a sadness not quickly assuaged.”

I nodded. It was good to hear in her response the acknowledgement of what I suspected my parents had experienced.

Martin added, “I'd agree with my wife. It would have felt like a betrayal of sorts, though that would be terribly unfair to our daughter. It wouldn't have been her fault we'd allowed the sexual relationship between us to grow to the point where my wife and I expected it and needed it regularly. It would have been quite unfair for your parents to have let you see that harm as they were still the adults, no matter how much you'd shared. It was up to them to see that your growth wasn't stunted as a result of their own selfish need to have you to themselves. I think they made the right choice, and I hope Auburn and I would have done the same.”

I nodded again. “Thanks for being honest with me. I've always expected that Mom and Dad felt that way, but like I said, they were careful to keep up a cheerful attitude, and I think it due to that that I came back to them so easily when Malik dumped me.”

“Why did that happen?” Martin asked.

With a shrug, I answered, “why does any teenager dump their partner?”

“That sounds like a dodge, Miranda,” Auburn said in an even tone, “I think you know the answer.”

“Fine. He thought I cheated on him with another boy, but I didn't, it was. . . complicated.”

“Tell us.”

- - -

I should step back and remember that I was quite the princess, and not just to my dad. I loved playing in front of the mirror, dressing up, pretending to be the focus of attention. Some might have called me self-absorbed, at least at times, but I couldn't help that I thought I was beautiful and I loved to work on my hair and my makeup for hours just so I could admire myself in the mirror.

I also took lots of photographs of myself. Over this time, cell phones with cameras became popular and I got one when I was twelve or so. I often filled up the space on my device taking self-portraits, often nude. I saved them on my laptop and cleared them from the phone quickly just so I could take more. Admittedly, some of the pictures of me were rather graphic. I'd take photos of my privates close up, and I loved to see the changes in things down there.

Mom and Dad took pictures, too. Mom even bought a video camera and recorded hundreds of hours of us together along with thousands of still shots of me alone or me with them in the bedroom. I dressed up and then undressed, and loved every moment. They never shared those intimate films and photos of us as far as I know, and they saved them on an encrypted disk on a computer never connected to the outside world. Sometimes, we would sit together and look back through images and clips from when I was nine or ten, just to see how much my body had changed. I can honestly say those were happy times, and I'm thankful they had the foresight to preserve those memories so clearly.

So, like I said, I took pictures of myself on my phone and usually unloaded them onto my laptop so as to clear space. I had snapped a few images of myself naked at some point after I'd started dating Malik, and I forgot to clear them from my phone. Malik fucked me in the woods one afternoon, and afterwards, I crept off to pee, leaving my purse behind.

I came back to find him staring at the screen on my cell. I felt violated, but I wasn't really ashamed that he was seeing naked pictures of me. I mean, he'd just cum in a condom inside my vagina, it's not like he hadn't seen the real thing. I was a bit angry, though, that he had went through my purse and was now going through my phone.

“What is this, Miranda?” Malik demanded. “Who are you sending these to?”

I have no idea why he jumped to that conclusion, but I was angry so I snapped back, “None of your business!”

“How dare you? I thought it was just us! You promised me.” He was standing up, legs shaky, holding my phone out in my direction. “You're cheating on me!”

“Am not! Those are my pictures. That's my phone. It's none of your business what's on there!”

“It is my business if you've been sending this to some other guy!” He was fuming, pulling his pants up with one hand. “I thought you loved me!”

“I do love you, Malik, but this isn't what you think! If you hadn't been snooping through my phone, this wouldn't even mean anything!”

“It's over, Miranda. I can't believe I trusted you.” He dropped my phone on the ground and stormed off.

I was crushed. I was angry. I wanted to run after him and ask him to forgive me, though I'd done nothing wrong. I wanted to yell at him for being so stupid, for being a creepy boy who had just violated my privacy. I wanted to cry, to scream, to run to Malik, to my parents. Instead, I just sank down to my knees and stared at the image on the screen on my phone.

It was me, nude, though you could only see the tops of my breasts. I'd taken it in my bathroom and I was blowing a kiss into the mirror with a sly wink and a smile. I thought it was a pretty cool picture of me. If I'd have known it might be the one to break my heart, or to cause Malik to break my heart, I'd never have taken it.

I was upset and felt sick to my stomach. I went to the gym and told my volleyball coach that I didn't feel well. She excused me from practice, so I called Mom to pick me up early.

On the ride home, I broke down and told Mom what had happened, crying, distraught. She cradled me on the couch at home until Dad got home, and together, they talked to me quietly and said kind things that made me feel a bit better, but there was still a hole in my heart that night.

It took some time to get over Malik. The morning after, before school, Mom made it clear that I had to ensure that I never had such photos on my phone. She didn't prohibit me from taking them, but she explained about child pornography and said that if I got caught by an adult, I might get in trouble. It made no sense to me. They were photos of me. Why I couldn't possess such things was baffling, but I accepted her warning and made certain to always save the pics to my laptop and clear them any time I took them.

After practice, Maggie came home with me and we shut ourselves in my bedroom. She was willing to listen as I cried and yelled about Malik and how stupid he was not to see how much I loved him. I threatened to call him and tell him both ends of how I felt, and Maggie wisely advised me not to do so, to wait for my anger and my hurt to subside a bit. She distracted me for a while by putting on a movie that I liked, and Mom and Dad checked in on me once to make sure I was okay.

Maggie slept in my bed, and even at fourteen and my years of experience, I didn't think anything sexual about her. She was my best friend but not a potential lover. I went to bed in my nightshirt, and she in hers, and I think she even curled up with her arm around me while I slept. It was wholly platonic, I know, but nearly made things terrible when I woke up before sunrise.

My mind wasn't in a great place, to be sure. I was getting over my first real love, more than a crush, more than simple affection, and I didn't quite keep it together. I woke up to feel a warm arm over my body. For some reason, I thought it was Mom. I turned over without opening my eyes and pressed my lips to her face, only to see finally Maggie's face, a look of shock and surprise there that I'll never forget.

I stammered my apologies, started to cry. I think she was weirded out a bit, but she tried not to show it. Both awake, we started talking, and I apologized repeatedly. I really didn't think of her like that, though I admit the kiss, while innocent and closed-mouth, was enjoyable to me even if a shock to her. She forgave me and I tried to explain the complex thoughts still in my head.

It was sometimes hard to talk to Maggie about things. I couldn't tell her about Mom and Dad, and I often had to lie about what I knew, what I'd experienced. I hated that aspect of things, but I wouldn't have chosen otherwise. Once I'd told her I'd had sex with Malik, it opened up, somewhat, my ability to talk to her about sex. Maggie was my confidant, and I knew she would never tell my secrets or betray what I said, so I made it sound like things I'd done with Dad had been with Malik instead. Maggie was a virgin, still, and had not even kissed a boy yet. She was eager to hear what I had to say.

I told her about swallowing cum and how it felt to have Malik cum inside my vagina. Of course, Malik never actually did that since we always used condoms, but Dad had many times, and I wanted Maggie to know what a thrill it was. I needed to share some of my secrets, even if not my biggest ones, and I used Malik as the vehicle to do so.

I described having my pussy licked, and then anal sex, suggesting I'd been the one to ask for it. True, in some manner, only it had been Dad that had filled my ass, not Malik. My former boyfriend had never so much as touched or licked my anus.

Maggie had a million questions, and I loved being able to answer her. Sure, I got turned on talking about such taboo things, but as I said, Maggie was not a potential lover to me. Maybe, if I'm being honest, we might have had a chance to be a couple, but I didn't see her that way, and unless she had made the first move, I wasn't thinking along those lines. Talking to her about sex was arousing in general, but not specifically drawing me to want to make love with Maggie.

It helped to open myself, even if through a fabric of mislabeled partners and unspoken truths, and Maggie and I grew closer as best friends. It helped, too, to heal me a bit. Sure, I still had many days of downcast eyes and emptiness in my heart, but Maggie was always there for me, and she had a way of helping me feel better.

- - -

I looked up to see Auburn looking at Martin with concern. She glanced at me and said, “Miranda. . . these pictures, the films. . . you still possess them?”

I nodded slowly, “I do. . . ”

“Should anyone ever find out—” she began.

“I know, Auburn. I know the risks,” I countered, “but I cannot bring myself to destroy anything, not photos of me, not movies of the three of us together in the bedroom. . . They are about all I have left to remember my parents and the good times we had. Please,” I begged them, looking from Auburn to Martin and back to her again, “please don't tell anyone. Please.”

Martin let out a long-held breath. “I will not. . . ” I could tell he was conflicted. It made him somewhat complicit to know about what was essentially child pornography and to do nothing to alert law enforcement about me owning it.

“Nor will I,” Auburn said evenly, “but I want to ask something of you. . . ”

I narrowed my eyes. “Yes?”

Glancing at her husband briefly, “perhaps it might aid us if you were to share. . . one of those films with us. Perhaps we can see what you saw, see that your story looks the same when viewed from the camera's perspective.”

Martin looked very nervous, and honestly, I felt that way, too. Outside of that one photograph I'd shared with the man, and the one picture Malik had seen, none of the images or movies had ever been seen by anyone besides me, Mom, and Dad.

“Only if you are comfortable, Miranda,” Auburn added, her tone even and direct, “I realize I'm asking you to do something. . . risky. I don't wish to put you at risk.” Her tone changed to one lighter. “No. Forget I asked. I should not have suggested this.”

“I'd like to share it with you.” I really don't know where that thought came from or why it escaped my lips so easily, but there it was. “I have so many. . . is there. . . something you wish to see? An age or what we did?”

Martin jumped in, “anything with the three of you up to this point in your story would be. . . useful.”

“Something you believe best reflects the closeness you shared,” Auburn said, her tone even again, “a recording which captured the essence of your intimate relationship, so that we might see for ourselves that which you describe so vividly.”

I thought for a moment. “I know several. . . I can pick one and bring it to you. . . tonight?”

Auburn nodded. “Do you need a thumb drive?”

I shook my head, “no, I have several.”

“Perfect,” she replied, then as I started to stand, said, “Miranda. . . do you believe you would be more. . . comfortable. . . if the three of us watched it together? I don't wish you to think we are doing this to exploit your life or take a thrill or two from your childhood experiences. . . ”

I wasn't exactly sure where things were leading, but I recognized that the woman was asking if I wanted to watch a pornographic film, of me and my parents, with her and her husband. I had conflicted thoughts about that. Sure, I'd enjoyed the rise I got out of Martin, the way he could barely conceal his arousal, but I wasn't certain I wanted to cross a much deeper line. Still, I agreed this would be something I wished to do, and when Auburn suggested we do it that night, I again agreed. She wrote down their address and I said I'd meet them there in an hour or so.

On the drive home, I grew nervous. Not from fear of being caught with the videos and images, but at the uncertainty of what was happening. I knew what I wanted from my therapy, and in some ways, I suspect that Martin and Auburn did, as well, even if it was still unspoken. I wasn't certain what might change if we watched the things I could show them, the parts of my life that were more visceral than I could ever tell with words. I worried I'd lose my therapist after I shared so much, but part of me wondered what I might gain and how close I might get to what I wanted.

My panties were soaked, and I was sweating. I showered quickly, changed into a blue cotton shirt and blue jeans, put on some makeup, and spritzed my neck with perfume. I had no clue what I was thinking. From jumping into therapy to agreeing to watch, with two people I barely knew, a pornographic film of my parents and me as a child, it was all a blur, a fantasy turning towards reality. I hadn't thought too deeply about where I was allowing all this to go, and now I was acting like I was showing up for the most unusual first date I'd ever known.

I knew exactly the video to watch, or so I told myself. I copied it from my encrypted laptop to the thumb drive, then paused to look at myself in the mirror. I still thought I was beautiful. Twenty-four and slender, I turned to see my small breasts looking perky under my t-shirt, the curve of my hips showing easily in my tight blue jeans. I slid into the car moments later and decided to let fate determine what happened next.