Perverts 'R' Us

Jessica

By NotAPeep ( F/g, inc-mom/dau, mast, con )

Author's note: I met Jessica in an online chat room. Over the course of a few months, she gradually opened up to me and told me this story. She felt like she needed to tell someone, and I guess I was a sympathetic ear. I can't say for sure that it's true, but she told it with such simple clarity and conviction that it's hard for me to believe she made it up. But you'll need to decide for yourself - I'm just the messenger.

My name is Jessica, and this is my story. It's a true story, although I expect that many people will think it's just a fantasy. I guess I can't control that. All I know is that I need to write it down.

If you do believe that my story is true, you may find it disturbing. You might hate me and think I'd be better off dead. I guess I can't control that either. I still need to write it.

I was born in 1968 near Madison, Wisconsin, to parents that I can best describe as hippies. I don't mean this in a derogative sense - in their own way, my parents loved me and gave me a great home. They got high a lot, but were otherwise stable and kind. They were both intellectuals who were involved at the university, my father as a professor of history and my mother as a part time research assistant. The situation had all the makings of a totally normal life, and in most ways it was.

What was quite different from other families, but I didn't recognize until I was about 10, was my parents' attitude about sex. Casual nudity was common in our house, and some aspects of sex were very open. Some of my earliest memories, although fuzzy, center around this.

My mother was very active and intensely supportive in the La Leche League, an organization that promotes breast-feeding and other natural child-rearing practices, including "family sleeping". At age 4, I was still welcome at my mother's breast, and to climb into my parents' bed whenever I wanted. I had my own room and my own bed, and I usually slept there. But a few times a week, if I felt lonely or out of sorts, I would climb in with them. Whichever of my parents were in bed, they were usually naked, but it wasn't anything I saw as unusual. I usually wore a long t-shirt, sometimes with underpants, sometimes without.

Often at these times I would suckle a little, even after my mother had stopped lactating. It was a comfort for me, and she never objected in any way. Her breasts were lovely, on the small side, and beautiful, I thought. So soft, but also firm in a pleasant way.

As I held her nipple in my mouth, I gradually became aware of its various states. Normally quite small, even dainty, my mother's nipples could swell impressively and become truly as hard as rock. Even at 4, I became fascinated with this phenomenon. I would stop sucking to watch its tumescence fade, then reapply my lips and tongue until it was fully engorged again. Sometimes I made eye contact with my mother while I was doing this, and she always gave me a gentle smile in response.

It was in the bathtub that my mother and I really began a sexual relationship. She would almost always bathe with me. She would sit behind me, and I would face away from her. If her legs were together, I would be sitting in her lap. If they were apart, I would have my bottom nestled between them. She was a small woman, 5 feet 4 inches, and petite, so we fit comfortably in the tub together. It was by far my favorite part of the day, lying there in the warm water, my head resting back on her chest.

She always washed me from head to toe, starting with my hair and working down. After working in the shampoo (is there any nicer feeling than having someone else wash your hair?) she would rinse it thoroughly using the flexible shower head in the tub. Then she'd soap up a louffa and briskly give me a scrubbing, face, shoulders, back, and arms.

When she reached the cleft between my legs, the scrubbing became much gentler, but still business-like. She didn't shy away from my pussy, but in the early days she didn't really linger there, either. She's have me flip over so she could wash my bottom - again, she wasn't shy about it at all. Then I'd lift my knees up so she could scrub my legs.

The last phase of the bath was a favorite. I would turn around and move to the other end of the tub, facing her, and put my feet up in her lap so she could wash my toes. We often spent a long time like this, her gentle soaping and sometimes tickling my feet, and talking. It was during one of these interludes that I started asking sex questions. After all, I was sitting a foot away from her spread pussy, and looking at it reminded me there were things I didn't understand. My mother trimmed her pubic hair into a very short, neat patch above her lips - enough for me to know there was something there I didn't have, but not enough to be intimidating or scary. As was her nature, she didn't hesitate to answer all of my questions.

I already knew that I had come out of that opening. That in itself was a great mystery, and I was still absorbing her simple explanation - "You were much smaller then, and it stretches." But a new, even more puzzling thing had occurred to me.

"Mommy, how did I get in there?" She was very eloquent, in her own way. "Your daddy planted a seed inside me, and it grew into you. When you were ready, you came out." That satisfied me for about a week.

I suppose the next question was obvious. "How did daddy plant the seed?" The explanation was quite astonishing for me. "He put his penis deep inside me. When a man does that to a woman, he makes something called sperm. That's the seed that starts a baby." I remember that I laughed out loud, and in response my mother did too. She said, "I know, it sounds silly, but it's a very special thing for a mommy and daddy."

I'd seen my father's penis may times - as I mentioned, nudity was common at our house. I frankly thought his penis was sort of ridiculous, and it hardly seemed capable of such an impressive feat. My mother offered, "Daddy's penis can get very stiff. That's how he can put it inside." I continued to push for details. "How does it get stiff?"

Here the conversation took a turn that had a major influence on the rest of my life. I'm probably over-analyzing it, and maybe not even recalling it correctly. The memory seems very clear though. I think I was simply asking how the penis worked, mechanically - was it like a balloon, or a crane? I didn't understand how it could get stiff. My mother took my question in a different way. She said, "Well, I hold daddy's penis, and that makes it get stiff."

I thought about that for a few seconds, and made an important connection. "You mean like your nipple gets stiff?" And she smiled and said, "Yes, something like that." Given my intimate knowledge of my mother's nipple, my mind leapt ahead. "Do you put it in your mouth?" I asked, innocently.

It was one of the few times I've seen my mother really blush. To her liberal credit, though, she didn't miss a beat. "Sometimes," she said. I must have made a funny face, like "ewwww". She just smiled and said, "It's something that tells Daddy how much I love him. We both like sharing that way."

"So you only did it once, I guess." I drew this conclusion from the fact that I didn't have any brothers or sisters.

"Well, no, honey. We share that way because it feels nice, even if we don't make a baby."

I was relentless. "So how many times did you do it?"

"Many times, sweetie. Now, let's get out of the tub before we get totally pruned."

A few months passed, and I turned 6. I was still curious, but was busy with what kids of that age get busy with. For me, that was mostly running amok in our yard with sprinklers, soccer balls, and our dog Silas Marner. (My parents actually called him that - they'd yell out the door "Silas Marner, get in here!" I always just called him Silas. And don't worry - Silas won't play any major role in this story. My parents were odd, but not that odd.) I did tend to knowingly giggle whenever I saw my father's penis. My father became a bit more guarded. My mother just shrugged.

The bath-time routine remained essentially the same, but at some point there emerged a significant difference for me. When my mother reached her hand between my legs and gave me a gentle scrub, her hand covered in a washcloth, I started to feel something. At first it was just a hint, a brief feeling of warmth. Over the next few weeks it grew into something more, something indescribable.

I didn't say anything to my mother about it, even though we were usually very open about everything. I had some sense that this was a secret pleasure that might go away if I talked about it. I certainly didn't want her to stop washing me there. But eventually my body gave me away. As the washcloth moved over my clit, I gasped audibly and my hips instinctively pushed upward against her hand. She stopped immediately, afraid that she'd hurt me. "Are you OK, Sweetie?" she asked. I just nodded. "Did I hurt you?" she persisted. I shook my head, and she resumed washing, but much more softly than usual.

She was quiet for a few minutes as she finished the usual scrubbing. When I turned around and offered her my feet, she had a thoughtful look on her face. I was afraid to say anything. Finally she asked, "Did you feel something when I washed you?" She didn't say where, but she was looking directly at my pussy. I carefully nodded. "Was it a nice feeling? A warm feeling?" I nodded again.

She smiled a little. "It's OK, honey. I just didn't expect you to start feeling that way until you were older." My confused look prompted her to say more. "You remember we talked about making babies?" I certainly did. "Remember that I said it feels nice?" Mostly I remembered the part about her putting Daddy's penis in her mouth, and then planting the seed, but I vaguely remembered the other part too. "Well, it seems you're starting to have those feelings."

"Does that mean I can have a baby?" I was always getting way ahead of things.

She laughed. "No, Jessie. Not until you're much older. But your body has some things already kind of built in, so they'll be there when the time is right."

"I thought a daddy had to plant the seed with his penis."

She answered, "To make a baby, that's true. And it feels very nice when he does. But your body doesn't know the difference between a penis touching you, or something else."

"So you can have the feeling without making a baby?"

"Yes, honey."

"Or even without a daddy?"

"Yes"

"Wow."

We just sat in silence as she slowly tickled my toes.

In the weeks that followed, a number of important things happened. First, I began a full-force, concentrated exploration of my pussy. There were two strong motivations. One was that it felt great, and I soon started to identify exactly where it felt the greatest. There were no real orgasms then - more a general sense of warmth that would build and fade, build and fade. Sometimes I did it for hours.

Second, I thought I was getting myself ready to make babies. I didn't have any real sense of time, so when my mother said that I needed to be "much older", I assumed she meant like eight or nine years old. Within a few days of the conversation with my mother, I was committed to masturbation as a major part of my daily routine. I can't deny that this is still true of me today.

My mom was confused by this. She noticed, but she didn't really say anything. She did, however, tell me that I was old enough now to start taking baths on my own.

I was devastated. I assumed that I'd ruined my favorite thing in the world by revealing "the secret". I cried. A lot. During this time, she wouldn't get in the bathtub with me anymore. She would kneel by the side, and wash my hair for me, and then talk to me some, and then leave me on my own. When she left, I sat there screaming for 10 minutes until she came and got me out. I gradually calmed down as she dried me off, and she told me that I was being silly, and that big girls can take their own baths. At one point, I remember saying, "Of course I can, mommy, I just don't want to!"

She held out for about a week. I guess she assumed that I'd get over it quickly, but I wasn't showing any signs. I started acting out in other ways, including my first-ever nuclear meltdown tantrum in public. Kicking and screaming and rolling on the floor, right there at K-mart for everyone to see. She had to carry me out to the car, and I gave her a few bruises on the way.

I can only assume that my mother made a decision that she thought would be best for me. You may disagree, but I thank her for it. The day after the public tantrum, at about my bedtime, we were sitting on the coach and she whispered in my ear, "Would you let me take a bath with you tonight, honey?"

"Like we used to?" I whispered back.

"Like we used to," she said. I nodded eagerly, and she took me by the hand and led me upstairs.

When we got to the bathroom, she did something she'd never done before when we took a bath - she closed the door. It had always stayed open, and sometime my dad would poke his head in and say hello to "his girls". It was never a big deal. This bath felt different.

As she ran the water, and we both undressed, she started talking to me in a way she really hadn't ever before. She addressed me like a person, an adult, but still in a very loving way. She said, "Jessie, I don't want you to grow up like I did. I wasn't close to my mother. We never had what you and I have, and I don't ever want to lose that. I wasn't sure how to handle what happened the last time we were in the tub together. But now I know what to do."

We got in the tub, and she washed my hair like usual, chatting and laughing away. I was in heaven. I felt forgiven, although I wasn't sure for what, or why. When she was done rinsing my hair, I laid my head back against her chest and closed my eyes in bliss. She washed me quickly, and then whispered that I should slide down to the other end of the tub. I turned and put my feet up in her lap like always, and she distractedly pulled my toes, one by one.

"Jessie, I want to talk to you about your body, and show you some things. But we need to talk about a few rules first, OK?" I nodded slowly. Rules were boring, but I was intrigued by the overall premise. "First, your body is yours, and you can do what you want with it. Nobody should touch you or tell you to do anything you don't want to do with your body. Do you understand?" I didn't, really, but I said yes.

"Touching yourself here," she reached down and slid her finger between the lips of her pussy, "feels nice, and it's something you can do as much as you want. There's nothing wrong with it. I do it myself quite a lot." I had never seen her touch herself there in that way, and it immediately lifted a huge weight from me. What I'd been doing for the last two weeks was not only OK, it was something my mother did!

"Some people think it's bad to touch yourself. My mom thought that way, and she made me feel terrible about it. I don't want that for you, Jessie. So, let's talk about it." She paused and took a deep breath, and gently spread my legs with her hands, so that my feet were to the sides. She lifted her own legs and spread them. Our pussies squinted at each other through the grey water.

"You know what this is called, right honey?" She rubbed her palm between her legs as she spoke.

"Vagina?" I said, tentatively.

"That's right, but there's a lot more to the story. The vagina is really just the part inside, here." She spread the lips with her fingers, and slowly slid her index finger inside. I started to do the same, but she said, "Wait, Jessie. Let's finish our talk first, OK?"

"The vagina is where a man puts his penis. It looks small from the outside, but it can stretch." She slid another finger inside herself to show me. "It goes all the way up into a special place below your tummy called the womb. That's where babies grow."

"But you also need to know about the other parts. They're actually the ones that feel the best when you touch them." Using two fingers, she spread her lips apart. "The outside is called the 'labia', but it's easier to just call them 'lips'. Inside there are two smaller lips." I could easily see her inner lips, but I could honestly say I hadn't noticed mine before. She went on, "But the most important part of all is right here." She put the index finger of her right hand on her clit. "Right above where your pee comes out. It's a little bump called the 'clitoris'. Go ahead, Sweetie."

I parted my lips like hers. I already knew all about that particular bump. I hadn't known it had a name though. I put my finger on my clit as well, and we smiled at each other. She started tracing small circles around hers with her finger. "Do what I'm doing, Jess." I readily complied.

We spent the next little while rubbing ourselves, comparing our bodies in infinite detail, chatting and giggling like we were both 6 years old. I've never felt closer to my mother than I did then. But as she was drying me, she gave me a serious look. "Jessie, I want you to know that it's OK to touch yourself like this. You can do it as much as you want. But you can only do it in private, like in your room or in the bathtub. It's not something you share with other people."

I nodded, but I was still a bit confused. "Except you, right Mommy? I can share it with you."

She smiled. "Yes, Honey, you can share it with me."

Masturbation became a regular part of our bath routine. As I lay back against my mother's chest, and she began washing me from the top down, my fingers would invariably stray between my legs. I would slowly rub myself, enjoying her touch and the warm water. I could easily fall asleep that way, and often dozed off for a few seconds at a time.

When her washing reached my waist, I moved my hand away to make room for hers. Unlike before, when her washing there was perfunctory, she now took her time. With each bath, it seemed she took a little more time. As she touched me, I noticed her breathing changing along with mine. Her fingers would probe me gently, and then settle into a slow rhythm around my clit. I would wiggle in her lap, pressing my hips up into her hand to intensify the feelings. My pleasure would come in little waves, but it never really built up to any sort of climax. Still, I could have stayed there with her for hours.

I hadn't really paid any attention to what my mother's other hand was doing during these times. So I was surprised and concerned when one day in the bath, with her fingers busy between my legs, my mother groaned loudly and her body shuddered. I turned around to see her left hand buried in her own pussy, two fingers inside and her thumb pressing on her clit. Her eyes were closed tightly.

"Mommy, are you OK?"

She opened her eyes slowly and saw me staring at her, my own eyes very wide. She blushed a little.

"Yes, honey, I feel great. I just had an orgasm, that's all."

I stared at her, not understanding. "When you touch yourself, the good feelings can build up and up until they all sort of crash together. It's the best feeling in the world, and sometimes you just can't help making some noises when it happens."

I frowned. "Oh."

"I think you're still too little to have that happen to you, Sweetheart."

"Oh."

"Did you ever have a feeling like it was just too good and that something was going to let loose inside you?"

"Not really. It just gets more and less."

"Someday it will just happen, honey. Be patient. You'll know it when it does." She giggled and hugged me. "Let's get dried off."

This was a new challenge. I wanted to be like my mother in every way, so of course I wanted these things called "orgasms". And as I've said before, I had no sense of time. If I was too little this week, surely by next week I'd be big enough. I applied new enthusiasm to my daily explorations of my pussy, but wasn't really making progress.

My mother noticed this, especially when she saw me inserting my fingers as deeply as I could. After that bath, she told me she wanted to check something to be sure that I wasn't going to hurt myself. She laid me on the bed, and had me put my knees up. From the drawer in her nightstand she took out a tube of something, and put some on her fingers. Then she gently spread my pussy open and tried to look inside.

"What are you doing, mommy?"

"Just relax, honey. I'm looking for your hymen."

"What's that?"

"It's a piece of skin that most girls have inside their vagina. If you put things inside, you could tear it, and that would hurt and it could bleed or even get infected."

"Do you have one, Mommy?"

"Not anymore, Sweetheart."

"What do you mean?"

"Mine got broken the first time Daddy put his penis inside me."

I was silent for a little while as she continued to probe me. It was starting to feel good, actually.

"Did it hurt, Mommy?"

"Just for a second."

"Was that when you made me?"

"I think it was, Sweetheart." I still believe that. They were an old-fashioned couple in some ways, somehow blending ideas from both the 50's and 60's.

I looked down, and was surprised to see my mother's middle finger buried inside me all the way. She was gently exploring my insides. I could occasionally see the outline of her finger poke up through my lower belly.

After a few minutes, she slid her finger out and looked at me curiously. "Well, Jessie, as near as I can tell you either never had one, or it's already been broken somehow." I had mixed feelings about this. "Is that OK, Mommy?"

"It's fine, Honey. You don't have to worry about putting your fingers up there. Just don't put anything else inside, OK? You could still hurt yourself that way."

Anything else? The idea had never occurred to me. What else could you possibly put in there? I wanted to ask, but thought of something more important.

"Why can't I have a thingy?"

"Thingy?" She looked concerned. In retrospect she probably thought I meant "a penis".

"What you had in the tub. A 'gasm."

She was visibly relieved. "Oh, an 'orgasm'. I told you, Jessie. You need to be a little older."

"You said it was the best feeling in the world."

"Well, I exaggerated. Hugging you is the best feeling in the world." And she hugged me, and at that moment, I agreed with her totally.

To be continued…

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