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WHEN I WAS YOUNG CHAPTER 1 (Mf, oral; inc, m/g, pedo)
I have had several requests for information about what
I got up to when I was very young, so I think it is
about time I satisfied some curiosity on that score.
Although I have not had the privilege of growing up in
a naturist family, I did have some very interesting
experiences.
I suppose I have something of a dual nationality,
without really feeling I belong to either. I am a
British boy who has been lucky enough to live all his
life in a Mediterranean country with an easygoing way
of life and a beautiful climate. There is quite a
large British community in the capital city here, but
unfortunately few families stay for longer than two or
three years as they are mostly embassy staff or
business people on contracts who are always moving on.
My parents both have permanent jobs in the city, and
it is difficult to make lasting friends when those we
mix with are here only for a year or two. There is a
rather old-fashioned English school in the city that
we children and teenagers all attend. We do have
friends from the local population, but most of our
families tend to yield to the temptation to live and
socialise as a British colony in a foreign country.
Most British families here are lucky enough to live on
enormous properties, in an area where half a hectare
seems small. These are mostly embassy properties, but
we also have a house with grounds almost a hectare in
size, due to my parents' both working and earning
enough money to live the good life. This meant that
I, and my sister Jenny when she came along seven years
after me, did not have perhaps as much parental
attention during the day as we might have had, but we
survived.
My parents are not naturists, so I had an upbringing
that is disappointingly normal in our unenlightened
Western culture. My sister Jenny is more fortunate.
I learned naturist ways at the age of eight, while she
had a dual upbringing, with textile parents and a
brother, aunt and cousin who helped her enjoy the
freedom of naturism.
Because there is such a regular turnover of British
people in the city, we have had numerous friends over
the years with whom we have lost touch as they moved
away. I can remember many children I used to play
with who have disappeared from my life now. After I
became a naturist, we usually enjoyed most playing
with the naturist friends we made at the club because
we could play naked all the time, free and happy. But
few lived near us and most of our companions were
normal `textile' people to whom we could only teach
naturist ways in private - if they were willing.
As both our parents work, we were often fixed up with
other families during the school holidays until I was
considered old enough to look after myself and Jenny
as well. We had quite a number of playmates, both
boys and girls, and my most interesting encounters
were usually those where there were just two of us.
When I was about five or six, we had some embassy
people living next door to us. They had a daughter
named Alison who was nearly two years older than I
was, a rather bossy girl with shortish dark hair and
brown eyes. The parents employed a local woman as a
maid to look after Alison during the day. Local women
have a reputation for slackness as child-minders and
gave us virtually no supervision, although there was
someone on the property if one of us got hurt or
needed something important. So regularly during the
school holidays I was round next door playing with
Alison.
She was quite small for her age and so was only a
little taller than I was. She could be very bossy and
tried to take advantage of me for a while. We had a
few fights, and despite being younger I usually came
off better, as she was armed only with a slap while I
could hit with a fist. She had no support from the
maid as male violence against women is considered
acceptable in this country, as in some other
Mediterranean countries, I gather. After I had given
her a thump in the stomach, which kept her doubled up,
gasping and crying for a few minutes, she treated me
with more respect - physically, at least.
I can remember the very first day I went round to play
at her house. There were just the two of us, as Jenny
had not yet been born and Alison only had an older
sister who was usually out with her friends. Alison
was wearing a light cotton dress with a printed front
and a little red skirt.
We went to play on her climbing frame. As Alison
swung herself up, I had a two-second flash just in
front of my eyes of a big expanse of white panties
with little blue patterns on them - at least, it
looked a big expanse to my young eyes, up close as
well. I may well have enjoyed such visions at an
earlier stage of my life, but this was the first time
it made any real impression on me. At that very young
age I had never before been aware of seeing underwear
this way up a skirt.
It aroused my curiosity. As Alison hung with her arms
hooked over the top bar, legs swinging down, I moved
my head underneath her so that I could stare up her
skirt. I got an even clearer view of those attractive
little panties, with a tiny edging of lace around the
edges at the tops of her legs. I was also close
enough to notice a faint but clear smell of manure.
Alison quickly saw what I was doing. "Don't you dare
look at my panties, you rude little boy," she scolded,
aiming a slap at me. She struck my head a glancing
blow, but I was too fascinated to respond. They were
called panties, were they? I wasn't even aware of
what my mother wore underneath and Shelley was still
very much in nappies at that time. I was very
surprised that Alison should take offence at my
interest and curiosity, and naturally that aroused my
interest and curiosity even more.
Within a minute Alison was swinging herself hand by
hand along the top bar, legs dangling underneath. As
her arms were fully extended above her head, it pulled
her dress up, and I could see her panties sticking
well out underneath the bottom of the skirt - a little
round bottom, pink buttocks peeping out at the edge of
her panties and the material stretched across the
crack in her bottom. I stared, but this time she
couldn't see me as she had her back to me.
I was about to inform her helpfully that I could see
her panties again, but changed my mind just in time.
I had learned that this caused trouble and I think it
also occurred to me that the more I mentioned them,
the less likely I was to be given the chance to see
more of them.
Fascinated, I kept looking for views of Alison's
panties. I saw quite a lot of them on the climbing
frame. Once she hooked her legs over the top bar and
swung underneath, upside down. Her skirt obeyed the
law of gravity and her panties were so fully revealed
that I could see down past her belly button. She must
have felt it flop down, because she tried to reach up
with her hands to push her skirt over her panties
again. When she failed, she quickly swung up,
probably realising that I would be able to see them.
At the same moment I slid off the bar, so fascinated
by the sight that I was not concentrating, and almost
landed on the ground with a thump. Perhaps that
stopped my eyes from giving away my interest.
After about an hour we had a drink of orange squash
and some biscuits together. We sat facing each other
outside the back door, Alison with one knee up under
her chin and her panties revealed again. I stared at
them, seeing a little black opening in the elastic of
one of the legs and wondering what was inside it, if I
could only see. I had seen baby Shelley naked before,
of course, but that was not forbidden, and I couldn't
recall seeing a girl my own age naked - or even being
curious. If Alison had been a naturist, I would have
had no interest whatever in her panties or her vagina,
but the novelty and the fact that she considered it to
be forbidden territory to me instead made me
fascinated.
Alison must have seen the intent look or the gleam in
my eye because she suddenly put her knee down, cutting
off my view, and ordered me sharply, "Stop looking up
my dress, Roy!"
I had the presence of mind to point to her plastic
cup, which she had put down just in front of her, and
say, "Your cup has a crack in it." She looked and saw
that it was true, and there was a little pool of
orange squash next to it to prove it. This had the
value of distracting her straight away and I hoped,
probably in vain, causing her to think I had not after
all been spying.
So that day I learned a valuable lesson I have never
forgotten: to keep a girl's underwear (or nakedness, I
later deduced) open for viewing, never say anything
and never let her catch you looking. Alison treated
me with a bit of suspicion for a while but, since I
never allowed her to see my interest again, soon
forgot and I was able to feast my eyes on her panties
for much of the time we played. In her little skirt,
every time she bent over or jumped or lifted a leg for
some reason, I had a chance to indulge my eyes.
About half an hour later, we were down at the far end
of the garden when I decided I needed to go to the
toilet. Quite unaware that I was doing anything
unusual, as my parents had not yet thought me old
enough to stop me doing that, I just went over to a
nearby tree, reached inside my shorts, pulled out my
little penis and began to urinate. As I did so,
Alison came over to one side and stared at what I was
doing, fascinated - displaying exactly the sort of
behaviour she had disliked in me on the climbing
frame. I felt a bit puzzled and uncomfortable, but
emptied my bladder, shook my penis dry and returned it
to my shorts.
"Stick your wee out again," ordered Alison, staring
after it with wide eyes. Naively I obliged, though I
do remember feeling a little uncomfortable about it.
She bent over and studied it carefully. Then she
said, "It looks funny." After a pause again she
asked, "Do all boys look like that?"
"Yes," I answered, puzzled. It sounded as if she had
never seen the opposite sex naked before, either.
Alison studied it carefully for a few seconds longer,
then said, "Show me your underpants." Helpfully but
still puzzled and rather comfortable, I put my penis
back inside and pulled down my shorts a little way to
show her my white underpants. She studied them
seriously for a few seconds, and then suddenly decided
to continue with our game. So I pulled my shorts up
again, forgot the incident and enjoyed my regular
flashes of panties.
After a while, though, I noticed that every so often
Alison would clutch herself for a moment between her
legs. I guessed that she too now wanted to go to the
toilet, and I wondered if she would use a tree like
me. I wasn't even aware then that girls normally sit
down to urinate. I wondered if I would see her
private parts, but it was at that stage no more than
mild curiosity.
But she was not prepared to share anything with me.
After a few minutes, while we were playing with sticks
on the ground, she suddenly pressed herself between
the legs again, stood up and said commandingly, "Stay
here. I'm coming back."
I was for a moment completely bewildered as to why she
wanted me to stay. Then it began to occur to me that
something private and forbidden was about to happen
and I did not want to be left out. I scrambled up too
and said, "Wait for me, I'm coming too."
She turned on her heel and shouted at me, "No, you're
not! You stay here until I tell you." She stomped
off towards the large garden shed, about twenty metres
away in the back corner, while I trotted after her,
with the feeling that if she was so eager that I
shouldn't be there, I wanted to be.
"I said stay here!" she shouted at me, turning round
and stamping her foot. Obstinately I kept trying to
follow her, convinced that she wanted to urinate, and
to do it without my presence. I was filled with a
strange excitement, the lure of the forbidden once
again. If Alison was so insistent that I should not
see her do it, it must be something very special.
She was getting frustrated with me, but she seemed to
realise that her attitude was only increasing my
interest. She thought for a moment, and then said,
"We'll play hide and seek. You close your eyes and
I'll hide. Then I'll shout when I'm ready and you
come and find me."
I could see that the stalemate was getting us nowhere,
so I agreed. I squatted down and put my hands over my
face. "No peeping," warned Alison foolishly. I could
just see through my fingers as she scampered quickly
towards the shed, glanced back at me and then
disappeared round the side. Immediately I threw
caution to the winds and ran after her. By the time I
reached the corner she had disappeared round the far
side.
That did not bother me. I knew her back garden very
well, although I had never told her. There was a high
wall and a hedge dividing our properties, but I had
long since discovered that right under the hedge there
was a place in the wall where the cement had crumbled
and by moving a few bricks I could squeeze through.
Naturally I had often crept through unobserved by
anybody and explored the back of Alison's garden long
before she had ever moved there.
On the other side of the shed from the one taken by
Alison was a thick hedge. I scampered down the far
side of this hedge and plunged to the ground at the
far end. Underneath the branches and dead leaves I
could just see the shed. Alison's red skirt showed
her position straight away, and with a quick wriggle I
managed to find a space for my eye to get a clear
view.
Alison was obviously very worried that I would be
following her, but it never occurred to her that I
might come down the other side of the shed. Clutching
her red skirt at the front with both hands, revealing
her panties up the front, she quickly sneaked back to
the corner and peeped round. She still wasn't
satisfied at not seeing me there. There was an old
wheelbarrow standing there, so she upended the barrow
between herself and the corner so that if I did come
round it would obstruct my view - or so she obviously
hoped. As I was on the other side, I was able to see
everything. I didn't give a thought as to how strange
it was that she should go to all this trouble when she
could just have gone up to the main house and locked
herself in the toilet there.
I held my breath as she gave a final glance at the
corner and then quickly put her hands under her skirt
and pulled off her panties, squatting at the same
time. I felt a warm thrill well up in my stomach and
I suddenly wanted to urinate again myself. I couldn't
see clearly under her skirt, but then there was a
sudden splashing of urine on the grass under her
bottom for a few seconds. Then she stopped and very
quickly straightened her legs, wiped underneath with
her hand and put on her panties under her dress, most
of the way. Then she stood upright and flicked her
skirt up at the front to finish pulling up her
panties. I thought I had a quick flash of a something
before she pulled her panties right up again, but
frustratingly I could not make out any detail.
Hurriedly she kicked a bit of sand over the urine and
then ran to the corner again, looking round to see if
I was there. I wriggled, amazed to find that my penis
was quite stiff and felt as if I had put sherbet on
it, as I later described it to myself.
I had forgotten that she would be resuming our
hide-and-seek once she had finished. She turned round
and ran straight for the hedge, only a few metres up
from where I was hiding. She wriggled inside and then
called out loudly, "Ready!" If she had crawled right
through to the other side she would surely have seen
my bottom and legs sticking out, but she didn't.
I kept as quiet and still as I could, despite my
throbbing penis, terrified she would see me. When she
did not hear an answering call from where she had left
me, she shouted again, louder, "Ready!"
I still kept quiet, not daring to move. After a few
seconds I heard her mutter to herself, "Where is that
stupid boy?" and then shout louder still, "Ready!
Roy!"
When she still received no reply, I heard her say,
"Bother him!" and scrambled out of the hedge. Through
the leaves I could see her stalking crossly back
towards the place where she had left me to find out
what had happened to me. As soon as she disappeared
from sight I slipped out of the hedge and sneaked
after her.
She spent some time searching for me in that area, so
I quietly slipped round near the back wall until I
came to the fishpond, and decided to play in that for
a while. I thought I would get into trouble if I got
my clothes wet, so in my youthful innocence I just
took them off and left them by the side of the pond.
Alison must have given up searching for me, because it
was quite a long time later that she finally came and
found me there, searching with limited success for
fish among the reeds.
"You're naked!" she exploded when she first saw me,
more from shock than indignation, and staring
unashamedly at my penis.
"I don't want to get my clothes dirty," I explained,
continuing my search. "This is fun."
"You were supposed to be looking for me," she
complained. "We were playing hide and seek."
"You didn't ask me if I wanted to play," I replied
logically.
"Have you found any fish?" she asked curiously.
"I keep seeing them sometimes," I answered. "There's
a big silver one in here sometimes."
"How big?" she wanted to know.
"Like this," I answered, stretching my hands quite
wide and more than doubling the real size of the fish.
Quickly she sat down, whipped off her shoes and socks,
revealing those panties again. I had a sudden burst
of excitement as the thought struck me that she was
going to take off all her clothes as well. But I was
not going to be so lucky. To keep her skirt from
getting wet, she tucked it into her panties, leaving
quite a large area of the gusset visible to my eyes,
but she seemed unaware of that. I took care not to
stare until I could see that she wasn't looking at me.
She stared into the green waters looking for the
fish.
"Let's see if I can get him to come up again," I said,
mischievously stirring the water hard with my feet and
making waves that splashed against Alison's clothes.
"Don't, you'll wet my dress," she ordered me, backing
away just at the moment when I overbalanced and sat
down with a splash. She immediately let out a squeal
of laughter, took a step backwards, caught her foot on
something and sat down herself.
I was roaring with laughter, seated on my bottom, but
as I looked at Alison, sitting there with her dress on
and almost up to her neck in muddy water, I could see
her face beginning to crumple. She was going to cry,
I was sure, and then she would blame me and we would
have a fight, and it might end up with my getting into
trouble. I did what I now consider to be remarkably
quick thinking for someone so young, by distracting
Alison from her own plight and getting her to laugh at
me. I sprang to my feet, muddy water pouring off me,
and stuck my tummy out at her, spreading my arms wide.
"Look at me!" I laughed.
Alison thought for a second, and then she did start to
laugh at me. "I'm all muddy and wet!" I exclaimed,
laughing again, picking up some water in my hands and
letting it splash down over my head. Then I took a
deliberate step backwards and sat down again, with
another splash. I sprang to my feet quickly, yelling,
"Ow! That fish bit me on the bottom!" I turned round
and stuck my bottom out towards Alison to show her,
but of course it was not true.
She was now in fits of laughter, and aimed a slap at
my bottom. "There's no bite there, silly!" she told
me in between giggles. Then she scrambled to her feet
and looked down at herself. "My clothes are all wet,"
she said, much more seriously, probably wondering what
degree of trouble she was likely to get into.
"That's why I took mine off," I told her, adding
without subtlety, "Take yours off and then we can play
properly."
"I'm not having you looking at my fanny," she retorted
indignantly, scrambling out of the pool and uncertain
of what to do. I was busy working out what a fanny
was, not having heard that term before. Then she
started unbuttoning her dress. "You must promise not
to say anything rude about my panties," she insisted
just before slipping her dress off. "Or I'll hit
you."
"Never, never, never," I promised, and then added,
"But I think they're very pretty."
As soon as I had said it I realised I may have made an
awful mistake, but strangely it turned out to be just
the right thing. As unpredictable as any female, she
smiled. "These are new ones," she told me. "They've
got baby rabbits on them." So that was what the blue
patterns were, as I saw when I looked closely as she
showed me, with no inhibitions this time. Not for the
last time, I found the behaviour of girls very
puzzling.
She wasn't about to take her panties off, though.
"Now we can play," she said, stepping back into the
pond wearing only her panties. I noticed the convex
curve of the front of her body, her flat chest and her
tummy, and thought it a thing of beauty. She was not
fat, but she did arch her body so that her tummy stuck
out, with a matching curve the far side, as little
girls often do. Her panties curved tightly under her
legs, puzzling me. My underpants bulged slightly
there, and it looked as if Alison really had nothing
under there at all. Why then was she so worried in
case I saw?
"You'll get your new panties wet," I warned her,
hoping she would take them off.
"It doesn't matter, Maria [the maid] can wash them,"
she replied gaily, splashing around.
We had about ten minutes in the pond, which must have
scared the fish, if there were any. As Alison's
panties grew wetter, they stuck to her body, and
although I couldn't actually see her vagina through
the material, I could see a strange indentation down
the middle as the wet material stuck to the outlines
of the flesh very clearly. Then Maria arrived and
scolded us both, probably afraid she might get into
trouble if we were playing in the pond, for she rarely
took much notice of us otherwise.
I washed myself clean under the tap, but Alison had to
go inside for a shower. I waited outside the bathroom
for her, not daring to try to enter but very curious
about her forbidden area. But when she finally came
out with a towel round her waist, I heard her unlock
the door first, and then she went into her bedroom to
change, ignoring me - I heard the door lock again.
She came out wearing an old blue dress this time and,
I soon discovered, plain white cotton panties.
(To be continued)
WHEN I WAS YOUNG (CHAPTER 2)
That afternoon we were allowed to swim for an hour, as
that was all the time Maria was prepared, and probably
on instruction from Alison's parents, to watch us
while we did so.
"Look, Maria, Roy's changing outside," giggled Alison,
as I stripped off at the poolside as I always did at
home in those days, when there was only family around.
I suddenly remembered that I had been instructed by
my parents to use the changing rooms, and I had
forgotten.
"It's all right," said Maria, not even bothering to
look up from her sewing. The local population is very
casual about changing in public, although nude bathing
above the age of about five is not normally done. I
knew I had to wear my swimming costume, though.
Alison shrugged, and disappeared inside the changing
room while I jumped into the pool with my costume on
the wrong way round, I think. She emerged a few
minutes later in a frilly yellow bikini bottom,
without a top, as is customary in this country for
girls before puberty.
Alison never did expose herself knowingly in my
presence, even though we played together on and off
for another two years. Despite the episode in the
fishpond, she was not generally too happy about my
seeing her panties again either, although I always
kept my mouth shut. I soon learned that if she did
not want me to see her naked, it was perhaps wrong for
her to see me naked, and I quickly became shy about
that. When I needed to urinate while at her house, I
would either go to the toilet in the house or do it
when she was not with me.
But she still continued her habit of telling me to
wait, sometimes when we were in the middle of a game,
and disappeared off behind the shed for a few minutes.
I did not ask to follow her again but pretended I
would wait for her, so there was never any need to
invent another hide-and-seek game. As far as she
knew, I was passively accepting these regular absences
without even wondering what they were all about. I
soon found a way of watching her from under the hedge
and then, the moment after she had pulled up her
panties, slipping out and racing back so as to be
found in the same spot when she returned.
She never squatted directly facing me, so I was never
able to get a clear view of her vagina under her
dress. This only increased my frustration and my
curiosity about seeing girls naked. I could just see
the curve of her bottom and see the stream of urine
splashing on the grass underneath it. Once or twice
when Alison was not around, I sneaked there myself and
uncovered the latest damp patch under the sand,
smelling it with a strange fascination.
In the winter it was different. That is the
Mediterranean rainy season, and we often have cool,
damp days when even I do not want to go naked outside.
Alison often wore dungarees then, and if it rained we
played indoors and used the toilet there, Alison
always locking herself in. I learned to do so as
well, after she burst in once, deliberately I think,
while I was urinating. Embarrassed, I quickly slipped
my penis back inside, but wet my leg as I did so. If
the weather was just cold, we still often went
outside, well wrapped up.
One cold morning while we were out there, Alison as
usual told me to wait, and I followed her to hide in
my usual place in the hedge. With dungarees there was
no skirt to hang down over the essentials, so I held
my breath and felt my penis swell as she put her hands
to the waist of her dungarees and pulled them down to
her ankles. Her panties came down over her round
bottom, and she pulled them down and bent over in a
quick movement that allowed me to see nothing.
But she had a bit of a problem, as with her clothes
around her ankles she was unable to spread her legs
wide enough to keep her balance in such a position
where she could urinate properly. During the summer
we usually walked around in bare feet, but she was
wearing shoes and socks now in the cooler weather.
After struggling for a moment she had to sit down on
her bottom and remove her shoes and socks, then pull
her panties and dungarees off completely. I caught a
glorious view of something that looked like a long
extension of her bottom between her legs as she did
so, a sweet little slit, and my penis throbbed
mercilessly as I stared desperately, eager to see
more.
She squatted to urinate, then sat down again to pull
on her panties and dungarees. As she stood up, bare
from the waist down, and pulled her panties up, I had
my best view ever of her smooth little loins and a
little line at the bottom. Then she had to sit down
again and put on her shoes and socks, giving me plenty
of time to slip silently out of the hedge back to
where she had left me, my heart throbbing wildly. In
one sense, though, I was too late. Alison had the
cheek to come back, look at the wet patch at my
crotch, giggle and say, "Roy, you've pissed in your
trousers."
I often wore long trousers in the colder weather, and
one or two pairs had really difficult zips. After
visiting the toilet, I often found myself going round
with the fly open and my white underpants in view.
Alison teased me in a silly way at times about this,
but I never responded with any remarks about her
panties or any veiled references to what she may do
from time to time behind the shed. I did not want my
source of supply cut off. Anything from me, and
security would have been tightened very quickly.
One day early on in our time together, Alison was
playing with her dolls on the back lawn. I wasn't
very interested but I had nothing else to do, so I
watched and obeyed her instructions occasionally.
This particular time she was bathing them, undressing
them one by one.
I picked up one doll and looked at it, puzzled. "Is
this one a boy or a girl?" I asked.
"A girl. Now put her down," ordered Alison.
"How do you know it's a girl?" I asked daringly.
"It's got nothing between its legs."
"It doesn't have to have. It's a girl," she retorted.
"But everybody has something between their legs," I
reasoned provocatively. "These dolls aren't made
properly."
"Of course they are," snapped Alison. "They just
don't make the rude bits between their legs, that's
all."
I was amazed. That was the first I had ever heard
somebody say that any part of the human body was
actually rude, although I suppose the attitude of my
parents had suggested something of the sort. I knew
that people might think I was rude if I displayed my
penis and that some people could do rude things with
their genitals, just as they can with their tongues.
But nobody ever said the tongue was a rude part of the
body, as Alison was now implying that the genitals
were. "It's not rude," I protested weakly.
"Of course it's rude," scolded Alison. "And I've seen
that rude thing you've got between your legs."
I resisted the temptation to inform her that I had
also seen hers. "Are girls' wees also rude, then?" I
asked.
"Girls don't have any rude parts, only boys," she
retorted, quite indignant that I should even mention
anything private about girls. "Because boys are ugly
there."
"If yours isn't rude, why don't you want people to see
it, then?" I asked logically.
"Because boys aren't meant to see," she retorted.
"It's private and girls don't let boys see, ever."
I was bursting to enlighten her, but I was afraid that
if I did I would never get the pleasure of seeing it
again. So I just said, "I've seen my cousin's wee."
Alison stared at me in disgust. She knew Shelley was
still a baby.
"I've seen her wee, so I don't care if I don't see
yours," I told her untruthfully. "It looks very
pretty, too," I added. I could be sneaky even at that
age.
Alison refused to respond to my subtle encouragement.
"So you see, girls aren't rude, they're pretty," she
concluded. "Boys are only ugly."
Early the following summer, though, I enjoyed my best
sightings of Alison. It was time for our afternoon
swim, and we were discussing very excitedly a film on
sharks we had both seen on television the previous
night. We were very keen to get into the pool and
play sharks, and we were talking about how we would do
it.
I was so enthusiastic I decided to take a risk. By
the side of the pool I slipped down my shorts and
underpants as I talked, confident that she would not
be able to see my penis under my long shirt. Whether
she actually did or not, I don't know, but at least
she didn't say anything. I slipped on my swimming
costume under my shirt, removed my shirt and then
lowered myself into the pool, not diving in as we were
in very animated conversation that I didn't want to
interrupt.
As we talked, Alison sat on the bench by the pool,
just above the level of my head as I stood in the
water, and began to take off her sandals and socks,
which she had been wearing for some reason. Her feet
could barely reach the ground, so she lifted up one
leg, placed it on the edge of the bench and undid her
sandal, dropping it on the ground, and then pulling
off her sock. She did the same to the other leg. Of
course, both times I got a magnificent view of the
lacy pink panties she was wearing that day.
Then, as we kept talking excitedly, instead of going
to the changing room as she had always done before,
she stood up, reached her hands under her dress and
pulled down her panties, just as I had done. Her
enthusiasm for our game obviously overcame her usual
reluctance to let me see her underwear. Leaning her
bottom against the bench, she lifted up first one leg
and then the other to remove her panties, and as she
did so, from my low vantage point in the pool I could
easily see up her dress the slit of her vagina,
although I still did not know the name at that time.
Then she picked up her little bikini bottom, sat on
the bench, talking all the time, and lifted up first
one leg and then the other to place them through the
leg-holes in the costume. Right in front of my eyes,
as she lifted those legs, I had the most brilliant
view of her, all the way from her plump little bottom
up to her bellybutton. Her vagina was really quite
small, no doubt, as I can visualise every detail now,
but to me at the time it looked like the Grand Canyon.
Each time her legs went right up the fleshy lips
parted and I could just glimpse something like a
little white knob sticking down from the top.
My penis exploded, and I pumped some liquid into the
water of the pool. If anybody had been watching me
closely, they would no doubt have observed my staring
eyes and drooling mouth, but Alison was too talkative
to notice. With her bikini bottom in place, she then
slipped off the bench and pulled her dress off over
her head.
I presume we had a very enjoyable game, but I found it
difficult to keep my mind on it. I had just had my
first clear view of female genitalia - I did not count
babies - and I was wildly excited about it, while at
the same time trying desperately and often
unsuccessfully to remember what it actually did look
like.
All the same, when Maria finally ordered us out, I
made one or two suggestions about tomorrow's game to
keep Alison talking. It worked, to an extent,
although the end result frustrated me. The good news
was that Alison, continually talking, dried herself,
put her dress on over her head, pulled off her
costume, dried herself between her legs under her
skirt with the towel and then put on her panties. The
bad news was that I was unable to get in a position to
see. I could no longer get below skirt level in the
pool, and there was not enough room for me to sit
between the bench and the pool without making it
obvious what I was doing. So I did not get to see a
repeat performance, in reverse.
I spent the whole night fantasising and thinking up
new ideas for our game, ready to broach them at just
the right time. I was completely obsessed with
Alison's vagina, the lure of the forbidden. It worked
in exactly the same way the next day, with myself
standing in the water at the side of the pool,
enjoying a ringside seat of Alison's secret place
while she put on her costume and talked.
When our swim was over, I made a new suggestion, that
we play crocodiles and mermaids the following day.
Then, when I had aroused her interest, I walked over
into the shade of a nearby tree, sat down with my back
against the trunk, side on to Alison so she should not
see my penis, and changed there.
"Come over here where we can talk," ordered Alison
from the bench.
"It's too hot in the sun," I complained. "Come and
talk over here."
Heaving an exaggerated sigh of exasperation, Alison
brought her clothes over to change next to me where we
could talk. I had hoped she would sit down to change,
where I would have had a brilliant view, but perhaps
she realised that I would see up her dress if I did
that, or maybe she decided it was just too awkward to
do it that way. Anyway, she stayed standing as she
pulled down her bikini bottom, stepped out of them,
pushed the towel under her skirt and did some drying.
Then she put her panties on the grass, stepped into
them carefully lest she overbalance while standing on
one leg, and pulled them up. Her legs were still
slightly damp, so she pulled them up over her knees
with a little difficulty, and then flicked her dress
up while she took a better grip. I had a quick flash
of a cute little vagina, and then it was gone. I
realised later that I tended to do the same thing when
pulling on my underpants under damp skin, and wondered
if she had seen my penis. Probably not, as she would
no doubt have commented if she had.
Soon I didn't need to think up a thrilling topic of
conversation every day, because Alison seemed to
decide that this was an easier way to change rather
than go into the changing room, and from then on
changed this way all the time. One morning we had
another boy playing with us as well, and he was
obviously highly stimulated by the sight of Alison
pulling down her panties under her dress. He minced
straight up to her, holding his hand out ready to pull
up her skirt and have a look himself. Alison shouted
"No! Stop it!" and backed away, holding her skirt
down. Maria took no notice, as she rarely troubled to
intervene in anything.
I was very agitated, because I could see that if he
succeeded, Alison would never again change outside and
all my excitement would be gone. I yelled out, "Don't
you do that! You're rude!" and splashed water at him
from my position in the pool, very angrily. He was
astonished to see me respond like this and immediately
backed away, leaving Alison in peace. But she went
straight into the changing room, and changed there
after swimming as well, and I was afraid my
entertainment was finished.
The next day, when we were together, Alison asked me,
"Roy, why did you get cross with that boy at the pool
yesterday?"
"He was being rude to you," I explained, an answer I
had already planned were it required. "He wanted to
lift your dress up so I stopped him."
Alison never actually thanked me, but I suppose she
realised that had this boy successfully exposed her, I
would also have seen her vagina (which I did anyway,
but without her knowledge). And when we swam that
afternoon, she changed outside again, obviously sure
she could trust me, although she never went so far as
to let me see her vagina - not intentionally.
I still got to see very little when we changed after
swimming, though, and I couldn't think of anything to
do about it - not regularly, that is. There were no
other benches or anything like that where she could
sit, and she was not prepared to sit on the grass to
change. An occasional brief glimpse was all I got,
but I did once get something better.
One day she was wearing an old purple skirt that had
once been very pretty, but was now too small, and I
noticed how it flounced up at the back whenever she
bent over. I waited until she was poised to take off
her costume, avoiding conversation until then, and
then I pointed out all the different colours of
flowers in the bed on the other side of the pool.
Alison was very interested in flowers, so she turned
round to look.
I cunningly kept her talking about the flowers with
some observations and questions, with her back to me
to look at the flowers. After a few seconds, she
casually reached under her skirt and pulled down her
costume. As she pulled it down to her ankles, her
skirt went up at the back, giving me a glorious
full-moon picture of her bottom. With her legs
slightly apart, a little bulge of flesh, with a line
down the middle, was visible under her legs, looking
in that position I always thought just like a zip
fastener stretching under her body. I could almost
have stretched forward and tickled her there.
She dried herself between her legs under her skirt
while I kept her talking, and then the show was
repeated as she bent down to put on her panties. I
was very pleased with my cunning, but it was not the
sort of thing I could do regularly. Not that I tried
- after a while I grew rather bored even with watching
her urinating and so did not always follow her on her
secret expeditions, by any means.
After about two years Alison's parents' contracts came
to an end and the family was due to return to England.
During the last few days before they left, Alison
became almost unbearable in her attitude towards me,
more bossy and domineering than ever and very
argumentative. This was probably her reaction to the
insecurity of being uprooted, I now think. However,
it did lead to my doing something in revenge that I
still feel ashamed of and have never done before or
since to anyone.
On our final afternoon together, we were playing in
the sandpit when I needed to use the toilet. Without
saying anything and without being questioned, I just
stood up and went off behind a nearby wall to urinate,
as I often did, in the belief that Alison did not know
what I was doing and was not interested anyway.
I was right in the middle of it when a movement caught
my eye. Alison had part of her head round the corner
and was sneakily watching me. Startled, I tried
desperately to get rid of the evidence and the
exhibit, and again managed to urinate down my leg.
She burst into hoots of rude laughter at my
discomfort. "You wee'd down your leg!" she hooted.
"You've wee'd down your leg! And, Roy, I saw your wee
sticking out of your shorts. It's so tiny, you know.
My cousin has a much bigger wee than yours. And I'm
sure you know that only babies wee out in the garden."
This for me was the last straw, especially when I knew
that she also urinated outside and thought I didn't
know about it. In my embarrassment and anger I tried
to hit her, but she could run more quickly than I
could and didn't let me catch her. I sat down under a
tree and looked at her with contempt as she stood ten
metres away from me in safety and told me how much she
had hated my company over the past two years and how
pleased she was that she would never have to see me
again in her whole life.
Typically, soon afterwards she decided she wanted to
play with me again, but I had had enough. I refused,
and continued to sit under the tree. This only caused
her to jeer at me more than ever. Normally I would
have reviled her in return, but I had planned my
revenge and was content to wait. It was late winter,
meaning we were well wrapped up, both of us wearing
jeans. That meant I would get a better view of her,
and also that we both needed to urinate more often in
the cool weather.
Finally the time came. "I'm leaving you, you're so
stupid," sniffed Alison, turning on her heel and
walking away. I watched her from the corner of my eye
while building a pile of pebbles. From about twenty
metres away she glanced back at me to make sure I was
still there, and then walked on towards that familiar
garden shed. I knew where she was going.
Now was my chance for revenge. As soon as she had
disappeared round the corner, I sprang to my feet and
slipped round the other side, behind the hedge. Even
now Alison always took a little care to make sure I
wasn't following her when she went round the back. I
arrived in my usual position under the hedge, heart
panting and penis swelling, just in time to see her
sit down on the soft green grass and slip off the
shoes she was wearing.
I could hardly wait to gain my revenge as she out her
hands up to unzip her jeans. Then, still sitting, she
slid out of her jeans, pulling them off over her feet.
Her white panties followed, and I could see clearly
the slit of her vagina on her bulging mound under her
legs as she lifted her knees. Naked from the waist
downwards, she then squatted and I could see the
familiar steam of urine splashing down from between
her legs.
Now, excited, I took my revenge. I let out a deep
roar, as near to a lion's roar as I could manage.
Alison gave a scream and sprang to her feet, urine
dribbling down her own legs this time as she was
unable to stop. Mouth wide in shock and horror, she
stared in my direction for the source of the noise and
scrambled wildly for her jeans. She thrust them down
to cover her groin and crouched there, face white,
staring towards me. The roar had not fooled her,
though. "Roy, go away! Leave me!" she screeched,
although I'm sure she still hadn't seen me.
I roared again and, with horror written all over her
face, she blurted out again, "Roy, go away or I'll
kill you!"
With a big grin on my face, I wriggled out of the
hedge towards her. She scrambled to her feet and then
shrank back against the wall of the shed, still
clutching her jeans to her groin. "Leave me alone!"
she wailed. "I hate you!"
"You've been so horrible to me today," I accused her,
coming closer to her as she shrank back again,
terrified I would now rip away her jeans. "So it
serves you right. I've been hiding behind that hedge
and watching you do a wee every single day, because
you wanted to keep it such a secret."
"I'll tell my mum," sobbed Alison.
"Tell her, then," I mocked her. "If you tell her,
she'll know you do a wee out here and I'll tell her
you do it every day. Then you'll be in trouble. Only
babies wee out in the garden, I'm sure you know," I
mimicked her.
I wasn't sure how seriously Alison's parents would
take it, but Alison seemed to think it better if they
didn't know. "Go away and leave me, you - you - you
*bloody*!" she wailed, the worst word she knew.
"You shouldn't have been so secret and you shouldn't
have been so horrible," I told her, looking at her
cowering away from me. Then I began to feel ashamed
of having abused my power over her. I felt contempt
more than anything else now for Alison. I could have
stayed for quite a while, exacting every bit of
revenge, and she could have done nothing to stop me
without exposing her vagina again. But I had had more
than enough to satisfy me.
"All right, I'll leave you now, you stinking girl," I
said, my voice filled with contempt, as I turned on my
heel and walked off round the corner of the shed
without a backward glance.
"Bloody, bloody, bloody!" I heard her screaming after
me. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! Bloody,
bloody, bloody!"
Alison didn't come out for a long time - I've no idea
what she was doing. When she finally did emerge from
behind the shed, fully dressed, she ignored me and
went straight into the house. When the time came for
the two of us to part for the last time, she had to be
told to say goodbye to me. She didn't look at me and
muttered the words very sulkily.
I never saw her again. When my parents asked what the
problem was between the two of us, I just told them of
some of the things Alison had said to me, but not of
course about how I got my revenge. I felt very
satisfied at first, but slowly a feeling of guilt
crept in and took over.
I still feel bad about that, provoked as I was.
Nowadays, now that I'm older, I would have handled
everything differently and feel sure I could have
turned Alison quite happily into a naturist. But I
did learn a lot from my time with her. I can still
picture now, though, that stream of urine spurting on
to the grass behind the shed, and that little vagina
so visible, so unknowingly to her, up under her dress
by the pool. Those were my first real thrills, and
I'm sure I would have had little interest had she been
willing to share her nudity with me in a spirit of
trust, as I did with her.
(To be continued)
WHEN I WAS YOUNG (CHAPTER 3)
After Alison and her family left, a new family from
England immediately moved in next door to us. They
were an older couple, who had a boy and a girl at
university in England, and a twelve-year-old daughter
still at home, Emily.
Our families soon became friends, and during our next
school holidays I again found myself going round next
door quite often, to be looked after by Emily. Emily
was to my seven-year-old mind a goddess. She had wavy
sandy hair and green eyes, and a lovely nose
surrounded by light freckles. Since Emily I have
always been attracted by girls whose noses are
freckled. But what I remember most about her is her
laugh. In my memory she was always relaxed and
easy-going, with a wide smile and a rich laugh, not
the light giggles that so many girls have, but a real
laugh, full of the joys of living.
The first time I met her was when my parents invited
them, as soon as they moved in, to come round to
afternoon tea with us. I had no interest beforehand
once I knew there were no children my own age, and
then when they arrived I was immediately awed by this
delightful happy girl who spoke, it seemed to me, with
such confidence and charm, and always that big beaming
smile with wide, laughing eyes. I could do little
more than stare at her and watch all she did. She was
very friendly to me, as indeed she seemed to be to
everyone, and soon had me outside tossing a football
on the lawn, as it was still too cold for swimming.
Every time she caught it she would give that rich
happy laugh of hers, whether my throw was good or bad,
whether she caught it or not.
When the Easter holidays came round, arrangements were
quickly made for me to go next door again while my
parents were working to be looked after by Emily, or
for her to come round to our house. Emily was very
happy to do it, although she had other friends and was
often out with them or entertaining them. I think my
parents insisted on paying her for her baby-sitting
services, but she would happily have done it for
nothing. She was that sort of person, and I was
deeply in love for the first time in a childish,
hero-worshipping way.
It was strange to go round to the next-door house
again with a completely different family, and of
course they had made changes to the place. The
weather was now warmer, so from the start I was keen
to spend a lot of my time in the swimming pool. On
the first morning I was there I dutifully changed into
my swimming costume under my shirt by the side of the
pool as I had always done with Alison.
"Roy, don't you think you're old enough to use the
changing rooms?" Emily asked me with a smile. I took
it as a reproof, though, and fled, quite upset, into
the changing room. After that I always changed in
there whenever Emily was with me, desperately anxious
always to please her - which was easy.
Emily herself dressed more conservatively than other
girls. She wore modest skirts of almost knee length
and in the pool a two-piece costume with about twice
the amount of material that the average bikini
contained. But I so worshipped her that it never
occurred to me to wonder what she wore underneath.
She and Alison were completely different types of
being from each other in my estimation then.
If Emily had any minor hang-ups at all, it was about
nudity, but that is almost universal among people who
are not naturists, to a greater or lesser degree. I
remember on one occasion we were at my house one
morning and for some reason I decided to show her our
family photo albums. I snuggled up next to her on the
sofa, feeling as comfortable as I did with my own
mother with her soft warm body next to mine.
My parents are not such prudes as to object to photos
of small children naked, along with many other textile
families. As I have mentioned in some of my stories,
girls sometimes want to show boys they particularly
like their panties as a gift, or sometimes even their
vaginas. I felt like that with Emily. There were a
few nude photos of myself in that album and I felt a
kind of excited warmth as I prepared to show them to
Emily.
There was my favourite photo of myself just coming out
of the swimming pool, grinning and naked, at the age
of about two, with water dripping off every part of
me, penis included. There was another of me aged
about three, wearing shorts but urinating in the
garden, concentrating intently on putting my fountain
as high as I could. And there was a glorious one of
me smearing my naked body with mud and my white penis
standing out brilliantly in the sunshine because for
some reason at the moment the photo was taken it was
the only part of my lower body I had not yet coated.
I thought Emily would be as delighted with the photo
albums as she was with everything else I showed her,
but I soon sensed she was uncomfortable with it. "I
don't really want to see pictures of you without your
clothes on, Roy," she said uncomfortably.
"I don't mind," I answered in surprise, feeling I was
being rejected. "There's another one here." And I
began looking for it.
"Well, I don't think I want to see it, really," she
answered, although kindly, getting up and leaving me.
I felt quite hurt at having offended her.
I had the idea, at that age, that there were two
different kinds of people, naturists and what we
naturists often call `textiles' - those unenlightened
people who insist on wearing clothes when they don't
have to. My kind of people were naturists and I
actually found it difficult to relate to them with
clothes on, expect for my family, as I was used to
them in both situations. I often failed to recognise
people from our club when I met them in town or
anywhere else with clothes on, and felt embarrassed
speaking to them.
Textiles seem to find it even more embarrassing
meeting anybody at all without their clothes on, and
they don't grow out of it, as I did.
During the time that I knew Emily, I became a
naturist, as I described in my first story, and that
changed my entire outlook on life. Soon I viewed
textiles rather as if they were a race of aliens who
were somehow inhabiting the same planet, but with whom
we had to coexist peacefully. I met them every day at
school, and I was at first amazed to find that they
looked just like me when naked. I knew that they
viewed nudity, and to an extent even the display of
underwear, as something almost shameful and bad,
except in certain designated areas like swimming pool
changing rooms. Unfortunately these aliens ruled the
world, but they did at least allow my minority race to
be as naked as we liked, just as long as they never
found out about it.
Emily was now an alien, a textile, and I viewed her
differently. If she had been a naturist and I had
seen her naked from the start, I would never have
noticed her body any more than I noticed her toes, for
example. Clothes were a bit of an unfortunate barrier
between us, although not a great one. Once I had
discovered the joys of nudity, I wanted to share it
with her. Our clothing prevented me from enjoying the
special intimacy I now had with fellow naturists.
When I excitedly told her about my first visit to the
club, I fully expected her to realise how mistaken she
had been all her life and to be eager to join in.
Instead, she seemed rather shocked by it all and
actually didn't want me to talk to her about it. I
begged her to come with Aunt Sue and myself to the
club, but she just laughingly shook her head and said
it was not for her.
It may be hard to understand, but at the age of eight
I never thought of or visualised her naked at all,
even though I wanted her to be one of us, and wished I
could swim and play with her while I was naked myself.
We had different lifestyles, and while I was with her
I had to adhere to the foreign lifestyle, all the time
wishing she could share mine. But she was a different
being, and I just had to accept that. Which I did,
until the day when a minor incident changed
everything.
As I said earlier, Emily wore quite long dresses,
almost down to her knees, and they were made of quite
solid material, so they didn't flap around in the wind
like many skirts do. If I had ever seen her panties
before the day in question, I was never aware of it.
I can recall sitting opposite her on the grass many
times while we talked or played, with her skirt over
her crossed legs, but could never remember her
revealing her panties when she sat down or rose, as so
many girls did. Nor did she ever push it down to make
sure she was hiding them, or anything like that, or I
would have noticed. She was completely natural with
her skirt, and it just so happened with the type of
skirts or dresses she wore and the way she moved, I
had never noticed anything. At the naïve age of
eight, I had also never for a moment thought about her
underwear at all. After all, she was of an alien
race, even though I adored her so much - and at the
same time she was a superior being, totally worthy of
my worship.
One day, after we had known each other for the best
part of a year, I was in her family's swimming pool
early in the morning, just after our parents had left
for work. I now resented having to wear a swimming
costume, but realised that with Emily being so
unenlightened I had to. Emily did not swim, as it was
now the autumn and she said the water was too cold for
her until later in the day. But I was swimming, doing
tricks and saying, "Watch this, Emily," all the time
as children of that age do, while she applauded. She
was such a positive person, always interested in
everything that concerned me, and very encouraging,
which made me love her all the more.
Suddenly I noticed a little brown frog floating around
in the pool. I thought it was dead at first, but when
I touched it, it wriggled. "Emily, look at this
frog," I said, picking it up and wading over to the
side of the pool towards her. I put it down on the
side of the pool to see if it would hop away, but it
just sat there, sides pulsating.
Interested, as she always was in everything in her
joyous life, Emily came over to look. Her normal way
of looking at anything on the ground was to kneel
down, knees on the ground, and look at it that way, a
method that reveals nothing. As she came to look at
the frog, she was about to do that, but saw that the
cement around the pool was soaked with water. In
fact, there was a slight depression there and the
water had formed a shallow pool.
Not wanting to deposit her knees and possibly some of
her skirt as well - she was wearing a heavy-duty
fawn-coloured skirt that day - in the water, she quite
unselfconsciously squatted on her heels instead, knees
spread apart to give her a better view of the little
frog just in front of her as she lowered her head
between her knees to look. I suddenly realised, from
my position in the pool, that for the very first time
I could see right up her skirt, just as I had with
Alison.
She was looking at the frog, but I felt as if I had
been turned to stone. I had just been presented with
the most glorious vision, one that came out of a
completely different dimension, one that was so far
beyond my experience that I had never imagined it.
Emily to me was a goddess, a completely different kind
of creature. In a naturist camp I would never have
thought anything of it had we been naked together.
Here, completely out of context and completely beyond
my powers of thought or imagination at my age, it was
earth-shattering. It was as if I had opened the door
of our gloomy garden shed and walked straight into
heaven itself.
At first I just saw her bent knees, with her slim
calves spread out on either side. Then, without
consciously meaning to, I looked in between them. It
was in shadow underneath her skirt, which I saw
hanging down in the middle, between her knees, but not
very far. Then my eyes dropped to see the sunshine
sparkling on the cement and behind it the grass,
between her heels and under the back of her skirt.
In between, in shadow, I could see the smooth curve of
her bottom, with an indentation in the middle. It was
encased in plain white panties, the smooth hems, no
lace or frills, curving round her thighs and meeting
in the middle, with a slight bulge, just as I had
noticed my underpants did when they came up against my
then tiny testicles. Her thighs were beautifully
curved right up to the edge of her panties and I could
see they were covered with tiny fair hairs.
I can still remember every minute detail as if I were
seeing it now, even the slight creases in the material
of her panties where her bottom stopped and her mound
began, and the slight parting of the material at the
sides by the crotch between the tendons, but with only
black inside. For the first time I realised that
Emily was actually human after all. I stared at those
gloriously plain smooth white panties, mouth wide open
I'm sure, and it was too much for me.
My penis spurted long and hard into my swimming
costume, and I instinctively grabbed it.
"Poor little thing," I heard Emily say smilingly, as
if from a distance - talking about the frog, not my
penis. She reached down her cupped hands and picked
the frog up gently. Then she stood, her fawn-coloured
skirt dropping down over her thighs again, and the
vision was gone. Once again she was the beautiful if
well-clad Emily, but inside me all was different.
She took the frog over and placed it gently on the
grass, then turned back to me. I must have looked
like a complete zombie, because she looked at me,
laughed and said, "What's up with you, Roy?"
I shook myself metaphorically to my senses. Then I
said, "Uh - I've gotta go to the toilet."
"I thought you went before you swam," she smiled at
me, puzzled, as I hauled myself out of the pool.
"I need to go again," I said, grabbing my towel,
clutching my penis with one hand and drying myself
cursorily with the other. Then I hobbled off inside.
I spent quite some time in the toilet, suffering an
attack of diarrhoea as well, quite overcome as I was
with the splendour I had just so unexpectedly seen.
Emily was human after all! I loved her all the more
for it, and was almost overcome with the desire to see
more.
I was in there so long that Emily came to check that I
was all right. She stood outside the door and called
to me, with unnecessary caution. "I've got
diarrhoea," I told her. "You can come in," I added,
suddenly desiring strongly again for her to see me
naked.
That was hardly an exciting invitation under the
circumstances, and she said she would wait for me
outside, since I needed no help. Having just had a
share of intimacy with her, unbeknown to herself, I
wanted to share myself with her, to let her see me
naked.
When I had finally finished, I decided to take the
bull by the horns. I walked outside again stark
naked, carrying my swimming costume. Emily gasped
when she saw me, and I held it out to her, saying, "I
got some diarrhoea on my swimming costume. Where can
I wash it?"
"Roy, don't come outside - naked!" exclaimed Emily,
with a reproving smile.
"I had to because I had nothing to wear," I explained.
"But I don't mind you seeing me," I hastened to
assure her. As she led me to a garden tap, I added,
"Please may I swim naked? It's such fun!" This was
the first time I had dared to ask, but my passion for
intimacy led me to risk her disapproval.
"No, you mustn't swim naked," Emily replied, turning
the tap on for me. "It's my parents' pool and they
wouldn't allow it."
"Then let's go and use our pool," I suggested,
scrubbing out my swimming costume. "I can always swim
naked in there when my parents are out. Please,
Emily. Let's do it! You'll see! It's such fun and
my parents will let us." I looked at her pleadingly.
"What do you mean, `we'?" she laughed. "I don't want
to swim naked!"
"Well, I do, and I'm allowed in our own pool," I
begged. "Please, Emily."
"Oh, all right, I suppose," she laughed.
"Let's do it now!" I urged. And within ten minutes I
was swimming naked again in our own swimming pool.
Although I had now persuaded Emily to let me swim
naked, and I felt a sense of special intimacy in
allowing her to see all she wanted of my nudity, she
would not be persuaded to swim naked herself. In
fact, she wouldn't even swim with me at all as long as
I was naked, for reasons she wouldn't explain. I
think she just felt too awkward about it.
If I wanted her to swim with me, I had to be wearing
my swimming costume. I did once try to trick her, as
we went into the pool together and I removed my
swimming costume when she wasn't looking. But as soon
as she saw what I had done, she got out of the pool
and laughingly reproved me.
In my longing for intimacy with her, which at that age
virtually began and ended with the sight of nudity, I
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