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Ginny, Chapter 1
(Fg, adult woman/young girl, menstural sex, menarche initiation)
by
PlanetDweller
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Standard Disclaimer & Legal Stuff: The following story is adult fiction intended
for private reading by adults over eighteen (18) years of age ONLY or a higher
age if required by the political jurisdiction where you reside . . . if you
are under eighteen years of age, you are required to exit now from your browser
if accessing through a communications network or delete this file if accessing
it through a local disk system . . . the following story depicts sexual acts
which if they were perpetrated in real life would be against the law in all
countries and localities; if merely possessing descriptions of sexual acts
which would be against the law if committed in "real life" is against the
law in the political jurisdiction where you live, you are required to exit
access from this story and/or delete this story immediately . . . the following
story is a work entirely fictitious and the characters, names, places, dates,
acts depicted etc. bear no resemblance to any persons living or dead or
events and acts which may or may not have taken place at some point in time
. . . .the author who is using the pseudonym above retains all rights of
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Uhhhh . . . uhhhmmmm . . . .uhhggghhh . . . oowwww!!!! . . . mmmphhhfffww
. . . ." and some other assorted pained-sounding grunts and muffled cries
echoed from the stall next to me, as I sat on one of the two toilet-partitioned
commodes in the second-floor ladiesroom at the Belk's department store in
beautiful downtown Raleigh. "Urrrgggghhh . . . oowww!!! . . . damn!" I heard
a very youngish-sounding little girl's voice profanely declare, as I tried
to finish reading that morning's edition of The News & Observer. She must
have seen my right shoe near the open bottom edge of her stall, because the
next thing I knew she was calling out to me " . . . lady . . . lady! . .
. LADY! . . . can you help me please?"
I always liked to use this particular public restroom at Belk's because no
one much else seemingly knew about it. It was off from the Young Men's Clothing
& Shoes area, just around the corner from the Customer Service counter, and
most times when I came in to use it, no one else would enter, not even if
I stayed and relaxed some in there for twenty minutes or even half an hour.
But this time, a little someone was in there before me, but I had to go,
so I just ignored the closed stall next to mine and tried to relax and do
my business. Now, a little pipsqueak voice was calling out to me, a total
stranger, to try to help her do something, God know's what.
"Okay . . . " I answered " . . . give me a minute . . . I'll help you . .
. " as I finished wiping myself and pulled and zipped up the new Easter skirt
part of my new Easter outfit I had just bought a bit earlier. Figuring the
little girl in the next stall to me must have her mommy around somewhere,
I was thinking I'd just dart in, see what was wrong, and then go fetch her
mommy for her.
"Open the stall door, Dear-y . . . " I shouted to her, the door being latched
from the inside " . . . it's locked, open up if you want me to help you."
I heard her slide off the commode and pull the latch open, to reveal a mess
to me. The commode she was sitting on was full of diluted menstrual blood,
and several bent Super Tampax's from the Tampax dispenser in the bathroom
littered the pale blue-tiled floor.
"Hi, lady . . . " this little nine or ten year-old girl spoke to me in a
very matter-of-fact way " . . . thanks for helping me . . . you're a life-saver
. . . ".
"Where's your mommy at?"
"I don't have a mommy . . . she died when I was five . . . "
"Oh . . . " I said, momentarily taken aback by that statement " . . . oh,
who are you with . . . who can I go find to help you?" I replied nonchalantly.
"I don't have anyone . . . whassyourname?"
"I'm Carol . . . and yours?"
"Melanie, but call me Ginny, everyone else does . . . " she talked on while
standing in front of me, her thin menstrual blood starting to run down her
left leg.
"Ginny . . . Ginny, who can I go get to help you?" I insisted, not wanting
to get involved in a potentially public scene in a public bathroom of a public
department store.
"Miss Carol, please help me . . . I came here to buy my new Easter outfit
. . . " pointing to a shopping bag full of stuff resting on the floor to
one side of the stall " . . . and my period just started . . . and it's my
first one . . . I've never had one before, and I really don't know what to
do . . . "
"But you were trying to use Tampax's . . . " I again rebutted, again not
wanting to get drawn into something like this.
"Only because my Aunt Emily, my Dad's sister who lives out-of-state, told
me to use them when my first period came, she said napkins were nasty and
unsanitary and that I should only use tampons, when she had a facts-of-life
talk with me last year."
Here I was, debating about what I wasn't quite sure with a ten or eleven-year-old.
She did look so pitiful standing there, her drawers around one ankle, fluid
dripping down her leg, with a hang-dog look that nothing or no one had given
me before save that abandoned puppy that followed me home when I was a kid.
"C'mon, Ginny . . . ." I whispered " . . . let's get you cleaned up, I'll
. . . .I'll help you."
I dampened a wad of toilet paper with warm water from the lavatory and cleaned
the blood off her leg, wiping her pudenda clean as best I could, getting
her to finish wiping her own self off. Fishing a dime from my purse, a boxed
sanitary napkin fell as the crank turned on the ancient san.nap. dispenser.
Ginny protested about what her aunt had told her about pads not being "clean",
but I told her beggars couldn't be choosers as I pinned the pad to her underwear
for her (this was the early 70's, pre-Stayfree days).
"Had any breakfast yet?" I asked.
"No, not yet . . . I was headed to the cafeteria when all this shit happened".
"Ginny, young lady, your language!" I scolded.
"Yeah, Carol, like you don't curse" she replied with a smile with very adult
tone.
"C'mon, let's get something to eat, I'm buying."
She trailed closely behind me down the serving line on the third floor of
Belk's cafeteria, getting a plate of scrambled eggs and a couple of their
famous melt-in-your-mouth homemade biscuits.
"I have my own money, Carol" she mentioned.
"No, it's okay, I'm buying . . . let's find us a booth so we can talk."
My mind wandered back to my childhood "down East" to the family farm near
the Pender County hamlet of Ivanhoe, where I grew up with my three older
brothers, I being the youngest. 'Nam and the draft had taken all three, and
had killed one of them, Billy, my middle brother. Because of my good grades
and the fact that things were really a'changing within the University Of
North Carolina system, to where women were actually being allowed not just
to attend but also apply for scholarship money, my grades and Mrs. Beartaun,
my high school guidance counselor, helped me win a Morehead Scholarship to
UNC-Chapel Hill, where I discovered I didn't like pre-law but like math and
especially business accounting and where, by the sheerest and blindest luck
of the draw I noticed a poster on a bulletin board at Wilson Library that
read "Women's consciousness raising group meets every Tuesday at Womack Hall
Rm 204, call for further information, women only".
That so-called consciousness-raising group was nothing more than a lesbian
coed get-naked-and-masturbate-in-front-of-each-other-in-a-circle group, but
it definitely raised my consciousness, raised it to where I found my own
identity as a lesbian womyn, an identity I didn't know I had before that.
Oh sure, it was 1968 and it was the most liberal college in the South and
it was the times and the times they were a'changing, changing people as well
as people changing times, but the group didn't lead me anywhere I wasn't
already headed anyway, even if I wasn't aware of it at first. And the group
also gave me my first serious female lover, Jillian, who "lead" the supposedly
leaderless group. Even after I and she graduated in 1972, we continued to
see each other, even lived together briefly for a few weeks at my first downtown
Raleigh apartment near my first job working cheap as a green forensic accountant
my new Account Degree in hand for a bunch of corporate lawyers, before Jill
"discovered" she wasn't lesbian at all and ended up dating and eventually
marrying one of the partners of the firm I was working at, a move which made
me leave and wound me up at Grayden & Pulley, which is where I'm still at
right now.
I think almost out of psychic self-defense I started thinking about all the
rough horseplay with my older brothers we used to engage in, the playing
of tackle football in the yard and full-contact basketball in the driveway,
and of taking our father's old jonboat down the Black River looking for poisonous
water mocassin snakes to capture just for the fun of it. Thoughts of all
the womyn back at UNC whose lesbian virginities I took, seemingly hundreds
of them, the blur of memory fuzzing around the details already at age 24,
most of whom were experimenting I knew but I didn't care, taking of their
g-to-g virginities being almost as much of a political act against the patriarchy
of male-dominated American society as it was just plain old woman-to-woman
fun for me. Thoughts of career and dating as a lesbian in a cliquish, hickish
but charming but still very small Southern town if it was more tolerant than
many places of those not obviously of the norm. Thoughts about anything other
than what was racing deep under the waves of the storm in my mind right then.
We couldn't find an empty table at all at first, then a couple at a booth
over back towards the Salisbury Street side got up, and we scooted in before
the dirty dishes could be bused so no one else could claim it first. Pushing
the previous occupant's mess to the edge of the table, we waited in momentary
silence before a busboy cleaned our table off. "Let say grace, Ginny" I asked.
I mumbled my standard meal-prayer of thanks to our Lord for the food before
us and for the friendship of present and past friends, then we both dove
into our food.
"How old are you, Ginny?"
"I'm 10 . . . you?"
"I just turned 24 . . . when's your birthday?"
"July 28 . . . and yours?"
"March 29"
I poured a healthy dose of sugar from the tallish container into my coffee
as Ginny heavily peppered her scrambled eggs and munched on her toast. She
glanced at me, and I made and met and froze momentary eye contact with her.
Stirrings in below my waist were pinging feelings that shouldn't have been
there. Sure, I hadn't been on a real date in almost four months, but except
for the Mousetrap in Raleigh and a couple of other bars in nearby Durham
and Chapel Hill, it's not like the area was Boston or Berkeley or similar,
and the small lesbian community that frequented those bars weren't exactly
what we would call what I've always been but didn't have a name for then,
a "lipstick lesbian", or a lesbian who looks more or less straight to the
outside world and just loves womyn and isn't into a whole lot of role playing.
Ginny's eyes pierced deep into mine, and I audibly if softly gulped.
"Ginny . . . pardon me for asking, but it's unusual for a ten-year-old girl
to be off shopping by herself . . . you said your Mom's dead . . . what about
your dad, what about your brothers and sisters?"
" 'Don't have no brothers and sisters, I'm an only child . . . Dad's just
got his one sister, my Aunt Emily, who lives in Michigan or Minnesota or
someplace like that, she's married to my Uncle Dave, and I've got two cousins,
Pete and Shirley, both about my age, though I've only seen them a few times
growing up . . . ."
"What does you Dad do?"
"He's a trucker . . . he's gone for lotsa days, sometimes I don't see him
for a week or more . . . what do you do, Carol?"
"I'm an accountant for a local firm, Grayden & Pulley, their offices are
just a couple of buildings down . . . 'am working my way towards my CPA .
. . what grade are you in?"
"I'm in 4th . . . "
"I bet you're an 'A' student, aren't you, Ginny?" I asked with a polite smile.
"Well . . . sometimes . . . mostly A's and B's . . . "
An easy silence for a few moment followed, as we tried to finish eating before
our food got cold.
"Where do you live, Ginny?"
"On Maywood Ave., off S. Saunders . . . "
"Oh . . . .yeah, I know where that is . . . "
She made a soft grunting sound that was meant to say "and you?"
"Oh, me? . . . I live in one half of a duplex on the south end of Blount
Street . . . the other half is owned by a nice older retired couple, the
Traytons . . . it's just a few blocks from here . . . "
"I know . . . " Ginny commented while finishing off what was left of her
grits.
Another pregnant pause, then I looked right in the eyes again, and somewhat
boldly asked "how does it feel?"
"How does it feel?"
"How does what feel?"
"You . . . you know . . . " I replied, embarrassed a tiny bit for some unknown
reason.
"Oh, my pad? . . . it feels kind of big . . . big and yucky . . . "
"Yeah . . . " I acknowledged "Ginny . . . if you really want to start using
tampons, especially since you don't have a mom or any girlfriends to help
you, I'll help you . . . "
"Sure, Carol . . . sure . . . that'd be nice of you, Carol"
"Let's go back to my place, Ginny, so I can help you . . . first, let's stop
by McCrory's so I can pick up a pack of Tampax Juniors for you, okay?"
We walked out into the perfect North Carolina Saturday morning, full of food
and good cheer. Walking down the sidewalk along Fayetteville Street to McCrory's,
my arm gently swung towards Ginny on my right, and she easily and unaffectedly
took it, like two sisters innocently holding hands in public. It was innocent
after all, wasn't it?
I picked up some photos I had taken over Christmas at home but had procrastinatedly
waited months to have developed, and some candy bars and a couple of pair
of hose in addition to the box of Tampax Juniors, Ginny asking for and we
also getting a couple of fountain Cokes. I told her that we could take the
bus if she wanted, but she replied "no", that she knew it was only seven
or eight blocks to my place, and she didn't mind the walk.
Inside my old and funky but nice apartment, I bored her with the family photos
taken over last Christmas. She commented on how much she wished she had a
"real" family. I told her I was sure her Dad really loved her, and did what
he did, being on the road so much, because he loved her, she agreeing, saying
of course she knew that. We finished our fountain Cokes from McCrory's, and
I asked if she wanted to watch some TV or something.
"No, Carol . . . if it's okay with you, can we get started?"
"Sure . . . ." I replied " . . . .let's go to the bathroom".
I told her it would probably be easier if we both got naked. Deliciously
evil thoughts raced through my mind. I couldn't help it. I swear to God Almighty
that while I might be a lesbian, I'm not a pedophile, and had never had a
sexual thought about any womyn under eighteen before. But . . . but . . .
but the moment . . . the moment seemed, well, so right. If I'm damned to
Hell because of it, I guess that's the breaks, but it really felt like I
was being carried along by greater forces I didn't understand and couldn't
control.
We went back to my master bedroom, and undressed, she helping me out of my
skirt and blouse, I pulling her print dress over her head once the back was
unzipped. She reached up to help me unfasten my bra, and my breasts plopped
down. She gazed at them intently, evidently never have seen a grown woman's
one's before. I just let her look all she wanted. I wanted her to look at
them. I wanted her to reach out and touch them, I wanted to reach for her
hands and put her small ten-year-old hands on them, but I didn't want to
push things too fast and scare her off, either. I took the cellophane off
the box of 'Jr.'s, reached to put my arm around Ginny, and lead her the five
steps around my bed to the side door entrance to my master bath.
"Watch me, Gin' . . . " I instructed " . . . I'll put one in, you watch closely,
then you try, okay?"
Dipping the tip in the old jar of carbolated vaseline on the commode tank
lid, I had Ginny sit on the edge of the bathtub to get a good view, propped
my right leg up on the closed lid of the commode, spread my pussy as best
I could with my left hand so she could see better, and popped the smallish
tampon in me, easing the applicator out and popping it into the toilet.
"Now, you try".
She blushed just a little, becoming a tad more embarrassed than I think she
thought she might be in this situation, I mean, I was a perfect stranger
to her just a couple of hours ago, as she took one from the box, dipped the
end in the vaseline, and propped one leg up on the toilet before making that
previously-heard series of grunts and moans indicating pain and frustration
and underbreath expletives before bending it. I innocently hugged her close
to me, took another one from the box, and told her I'd help her. As she held
another at the entrance to her microtiny vulva, my hand encompassed hers,
and I tried to help her aim it properly, telling her to try to push it in
as if she was trying to hit the small of her back. Still, no luck. She/we
bent that one, then another one.
"Let's go back to my bedroom and lie on the bed . . . you're simply too tight,
too small . . . " she giving me a look of disappointment " . . . no, it's
okay, it's just you're new to all this, we'll have to work a little, that's
all."
I fetched the two old and somewhat ratty towels from my bathroom linen pantry
that I sometimes use to put under my own butt while sleeping when I'm on
my period as we walked back into my bedroom. Ginny looked really concerned,
but I tried as best I could to reassure her, telling her all young girls
have at least some problems when they first try to use tampons, as I pulled
her close to me, my breast caressing her face, she not minding.
Laying her down on my bed, I scooted the towels under her butt, and had her
prop her legs open for me. Her perfectly saintly pussy, untouched by anyone,
beamed itself before my intent gaze. Her tiny almost imperceptible lips lead
upwards to the most perfect pea-bud of the tiniest clit possible and still
be visible. The slightest gossamer trace of nearly invisible beginnings of
pubic hair glistened atop her mound. A trickle of blood oozed from the pencil-lead-sized
opening in her virginal hymen, her very visible hymen covering her vagina
as if by right. I was entranced by the sight. God help me and forgive me,
I was entranced. An adult lesbian moth drawn to a pre-adolescent virginal
flame. My hand reached for and stroked and played with Ginny's lips. I took
a daub of thin menstrual blood and used as lubrication, rubbing her clit,
as I had with previous adult womyn lovers. She sucked in her breath hard,
her legs stiffened up, her eyes looked first up at the ceiling, and then
right at me.
"Carol . . . Carol . . . CAROL!!! . . . " she finally shouted at me, breaking
my trance " . . . .you're . . . you're not one of those bull-dykes my father
told me about, are you?"
Her language and thoughts expressed of someone twenty years old instead of
ten brought me crashing down to reality. I eased up the bed to put my face
just inches from hers.
"Gin . . . Ginny . . . no, NO, I'm not a 'bull-dyke' . . . a bull-dyke is
a kind of lesbian woman who likes women but usually makes an effort to look
something like a man . . . do I look like I look like a man, or try to?"
"Well, no . . . "
"I am a lesbian, Ginny, to answer your question honestly . . . yes, I'm a
lesbian . . . I like to make love to other women . . . do you know what a
'lesbian' is?"
"Uh-hu . . . Aunt Emily told me last year, and my Dad also told me about
bull-dykes and guy-faggots, too . . . and they both told me about guys who
like little girls, who want to molest them, and that if I ran across one,
to call the police . . . "
I pulled her closer to me. Her face molded into my breasts. She didn't try
to pull away.
"Ginny . . . Ginny?"
She didn't say a word. It felt like she was starting to cry, maybe just a
little bit. I felt something like a tear moisten my breasts as she buried
her face deeper between them.
"Ginny . . . do . . . you want to call the police? . . . Have I molested
you, Ginny?"
She began openly sobbing.
"No, Carol . . . I don't want to call the police . . . " she said through
her crying sobs " . . . I just miss my Mommy so much . . . Carol . . . I
just miss her so much . . . I loved her so much, and she left me and Dad
. . . I know she died and couldn't help it, I just miss her so much . . .
"
"I know . . . I know you do, Baby . . . it's okay . . . just let it all out
. . . it's okay".
She reached over and held me tighter to her, and just cried years and years
of pent-up grief and pain out. I stroked her hair as we just held each other.
Her wails of anger and heartache touched me. I wanted to become her Mommy
now as much or more than her lover, my rising passion now turning as much
into compassion. Her mouth found my right nipple, and she began to suck.
Her hands began to play with both my breasts as she took turns sucking them.
Her crying began to subside as her oral ministrations to my nipples began
definitely making me wet and horny once again. I just held her close and
let her do what she willed.
"Carol . . . Carol!" she sweetly scolded " . . . Carol . . . will you be
my new 'Mommy'?"
I didn't have to think. "Yes, Ginny, I'll be your new Mommy . . . but we're
going to have to keep our relationship secret, it's illegal to do what you
just did to me and what I want to do with you, Sweetie, and I could go to
jail for a very long time if anyone found out about it . . . "
"I know, Carol . . . Mommy . . . I know, Mommy . . . I'll keep the secret,
promise".
A wave of a combination of raw emotions I had never felt before and have
never felt since rolled over me. Passion, compassion, lust, desire, love,
Love, concern, hope, dread, fear, promise, sadness, and happiness all flooded
over like some psychic dam bursting in the room with us. Bending my head
down to kiss my new daughter, I could see in her eyes she was feeling the
same tsunami of emotions that were washing over me. Scooting up, I kissed
that perfect ten-year-old face right on the lips, my tongue parting her facial
horizontals. Right, wrong, sin, virtue, I didn't care anymore. She tried
to kiss me back, trying to push her tongue in my mouth. Her first French
kiss. I grinned and laughed, she laughing too.
"I love you, Mommy . . . " she whispered, and an unexpected orgasm swept
over me from my toes to the hairs on my head. "I love you, too, Baby . .
. " I cooed back at her " . . . anything you don't want to do, or want me
to stop doing, just say so, and I will, promise" I intoned. "I know, Mommy,
I know you will . . . that's why I love my Mommy, my Mommy would never hurt
me".
It felt like I just wanted my soul to leave its skin cocoon and join my precious
new daughter Ginny's somewhere else, somewhere beside here, my emotions were
now so raw and large and blustery. But we still had a task at hand, a task
which had lead us without meaning to our new mutual epiphany.
"My daughter Ginny still needs to learn how to use tampons, remember, you
stinker you?"
She giggled. "I remember, Mommy, I remember".
I had her lay back down flat, looking up at the ceiling, her legs propped
wide open for me. No reason for caution and concern or prim and properness
now. Before me lay my new daughter, who was also my new lover. My mouth found
and sucked furiously on her clit. Gin' gasped for breath, and whispered something
about how that felt so good. My index finger tried to push her open a tiny
bit, but her hymen was so thick and intact and her narrow vaginal entrance
so small that my finger would go in further past the tip.
"Ginny . . . my daughter . . . " I said, role-playing my role and hers for
all it was worth " . . . you're very tight . . . I'm going to have to open
you up some, or you won't be able to get a tampon in . . . okay? . . . it
might hurt some, just be a brave girl and bear with me, okay?"
"Okay, Carol . . . Mommy . . . okay Mommy".
I licked her sugary cuntal lips some to get her relaxed and tried to force
my tongue in her blood-trickling opening, but to no avail.
"Mommy's going to have to force you open a bit . . . just be a brave girl,
okay, my Ginny?"
"I will, promise, I will, Mommy".
She screamed a little scream as my short but sharp pale-polished index finger-nail
tore past her hymen and penetrated into her vagina. I sucked hard on her
clit, trying to distract her, trying to give her some pleasure to offset
the pain I knew she was in. Her virginal vagina viced around my finger. My
finger-stroking inside her was slow, but increased in pace over the next
few minutes. After ten or fifteen minutes, I felt her vaginal barrel begin
to relax, and knew she was fine. Tiny rivulets of blood from her torn hymen
mixed in with the slow but steady stream of menstrual blood from her pussy.
Wiping her residues from mouth and face as to not gross her out so bad, I
scooted back up to her face, and began kissing once again. Taking her hand,
I eased it to my vagina, and she knew what I wanted without asking, her smallish
ten-year-old fingers playing and poking at my pussy. She smiled at me and
I beamed back at her.
"I love you" I huskily whispered to her.
"I love you too, Mommy" she said in hushed tone reply.
"Let's put one of those tampons inside you now, okay?"
"Okay".
Scooting down between her legs to watch and help, the square-tipped Jr. now
slid easily inside her without using vaseline on the tip, she beaming back
at me as she finally began wearing her first tampon. I tugged on the string
to make sure she placed it deep enough inside her, and moved back up to her
face.
"Mommy . . . Carol?"
"Yes, Dear?"
"Is what you were doing to me with your mouth and fingers, is that what is
called 'making love'?"
"Yes, Ginny, my daughter, that's what two women do when they make love".
"Mommy . . . will you show me some more?"
"Of course, my Darling, of course".
The rest of the day we spent in peaceful and unashamed bliss. I had never
had a lover like my Ginny, nor in my wildest perverted dreams I had ever
thought I'd have one, ever. I guess because she had had to be so independent
and self-sufficient for so long, basically taking care of herself since she
was in first grade, what with her Dad being gone for days and even weeks
at a time, she seemed so much older mentally to me than her mere ten years
of chronological age seemed. Older, more confident, more self-assured, more
mature, but still with a ten-year-old's perspective and life experiences
and yes, body. And what a body that I feel in love with, as well as a true
spirit and mind. Just the tiniest little buds for breasts, and nipples lighter
and smaller than a typical boy's. Long, thin legs which supported her 5'2",
100 lb. frame. Her past-shoulder-length, silky, thinnish sandy-brunette hair.
And that smile of hers. That smile which could melt an Antarctic icebeg with
one flash of it.
In all my adult lesbian virgin-taking during my reign on campus of being
the ultimate in womyn pussyhounds, seldom had I run across but a few of them
who were less nervous, more eager, and more willing to just to relax and
let things happen and "go for it" as my Ginny was, and they were all grown
women out on their own. The first time I had Ginny scoot between my spread
legs to give me some head, she didn't wince, she didn't make a face, she
didn't act disgusted, she didn't hesitate, she just dove on it like I had
done to hers previously, and sucked my clit and lips for all she was worth,
while her tiny fingers frigged my cunt. And the kissing. The kissing. We
just held each other, seemingly for hours, and kissed and kissed and kissed,
made out like two love-sick puppies, gently and easily playing with each
other's breasts and pussies while we kissed.
Dusk came and went. Neither one of us wanted to get out of bed. I got up
and fixed and served us hotdogs and fries in bed, but Ginny was more interested
in bonding than eating. We fed each other french fries dipped in ketchup
while sitting in front of each other on the, my, our bed like some honeymooning
couple. I was happy, Gin' was happy, we were happy. Dishes being pushed under
the edge of the bed, we just lay in bed, holding each other. I mentioned
something about her needing to go home, but she said her dad wouldn't be
back for several more days, and as long as she caught her bus on Monday morning
for school, no would care. We flipped and sixty-nined each other for another
long bit of time. The quiet of a Saturday night in our apartment on Blount
Street enveloped us. Happiness enveloped us. Love enveloped us.
Easing back into each other's arms, we dozed for another longish time, both
waking up hungry. Taking my old Pinto the several blocks up to Peace Street,
we luckily caught the "Hot Donuts NOW" sign on at the Krispy Kreme, and claiming
the last two free stools at the counter, proceeded to have a virtual orgy
of hot doughnuts and coffee, as everyone else there was enjoying too.
Back at my, our place, Ginny said she was really tired, and wanted to go
to sleep. I told her that she always need to, regardless of how light or
heavy her flow was to change her tampons at least twice a day, and always
before she went to bed. She went to the bathroom to do so, and I followed
her. I simply couldn't keep my hands off of her. She changed her Jr., and
I dropped to my knees to lick her pussy clean, offering her a raw taste of
her own essence, she accepting.
"I really feel like a woman, now, Mommy . . . I don't feel like a little
girl anymore".
"I know, Baby, I know . . . you're truly a young woman now".
We made out for another longer bit as we snuggled under the covers together,
and feel asleep in each other's arms. At 5AM, the alarm that I had preset
the morning before went off. Damn! It was Easter Sunday. Rousting her up,
I asked Gin' if she still wanted to go to an Easter Service, she replying
"yes".
"What church do you normally go to?"
"I don't go to church that often . . . when I do go, it's usually to Park
Methodist past Montlawn . . . Dad and I aren't members . . . I usually just
go with a neighbor who takes me . . . if I don't answer my door this morning,
they won't care, they'll just go on without me."
"I normally go to Temple Baptist up on Wake Forest Road . . . is that okay?"
"Sure".
Pastor Kenan lead the choir in pageantry choral singing at the Easter sunrise
service at 6:30AM, as my 'daughter' Melanie-call-me-Ginny joined me and my
fellow 300+ church members in greeting not just the new sun of a new day,
but the promise of eternal life through the love and acceptance of Jesus
Christ as our personal Lord and Savior, His perfect Love washing our sins
away, the promise of His resurrection begating the promise of our own into
living eternal life with Him. Our new Easter dresses billowing in the gentle
breeze that wafted through the backyard and softball fields area behind Temple
Baptist that Easter morning, I couldn't help but feel so changed in so many
ways because of the events of the past 24 hours. Yet, in my heart, I think
my Jesus knew and accepted and if necessary forgave me for any sins I might
have committed with or for or against my new daughter, Ginny. Ginny and I
held each other's hands as we joined in singing "The Rock Of Zion" and "Amazing
Grace". Pastor Kenan and several other church members wandered up to us as
we were sauntering back to the front church parking lot, being nosey about
Ginny, I introducing her as my niece.
We stopped by Watkin's Grill around the corner from 'Temple for some breakfast,
and it was packed, had to wait half an hour to be seated with everyone else
filtering in not just from ours but from several other church's sunrise services.
Back home in our apartment, our new Easter dresses were shed like so much
unnecessary snakeskin and back to bed we went. More than with someone older,
I have to admit, I didn't feel a need to hide my emotions, any emotion, from
my Ginny. Everytime she would call me "Mommy" when talking to me, it would
send a happy and pleasant chill down my spine. And when we touched and kissed
and made love, it was as lovers, not mother and daughter.
The sun rose over the sky as that perfect Sunday eased onwards. I showed
her how I masturbated, and taught her how to do the same, encouraging her
to masturbate and dream of me when we were to be apart. As a treat, I also
gave her some analingus, something I don't normally do, except with my special
lovers, but my Ginny couldn't have been more special to me. And, as she watched
some golf show on my TV in the living room, we both knew it was time for
us to be apart once more. I gave her my phone number, and she mine,
I didn't hear from her Monday, or Tuesday, or Wednesday following. I couldn't
help but wonder if it all had been a dream, a wistful fantasy fueled by missing
of my parents and siblings and of not having a steady girlfriend. As I sat
down to eat spaghetti-and-meatballs dinner and watch the evening news that
following Thursday, the phone rang. It was "my" Ginny.
"Hi, Mom . . . " she cooed to me.
"Hi, Baby . . . where have you been? . . . why haven't you called?"
"Dad came home Tuesday morning and just left early this morning . . . and
I didn't call Monday because, well, Mom, I love you, but everything . . .
.everything . . . ."
"I know, Baby, Darling . . . everything was just too much to handle right
then . . . ."
" . . . yeah . . . 'not mad at me, are you, Mommy?"
" . . . of course, not, Baby . . . Mommy's not mad at you . . . " her calling
me "Mommy" making my heart and pussy each time she did so, and she knowing
it, I think.
"Can I come over tonight? . . . Dad's gone for another bunch a' days . .
. could you take me to school on the morning?"
"Sure, Ginny . . . have you eaten supper yet? . . . "
"Not yet".
"I just sat down to eat a big pot of spaghetti-and-meatballs I fixed . .
. sound good?"
"Sure does, Mommy".
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes to pick you up" I happily chirped.
We made happy messes allover our faces as we slurped our pasta in my tiny
but homey apartment. Pouring some sangria from a carafe on the kitchen table
into a wineglass half-filled with water to cut the strength of the alcohol
and taste, my Ginny tasted her first adult beverage. I leaned over the table
to cat-clean her face with my tongue, and we ended up in a deep, passionate
kiss. The fact she was just ten years old mattered no more to me. She had
the center if not the reality of an adult, and I couldn't help but treat
her like one, if I did enjoy her fresh innocence at discovering things new
and wonderful. I washed and she dried the dishes. We gently swapped more
kisses. She felt me up through my blouse. I wanted to go to bed right then,
and ravage my too-young lover, my faux but sincere adopted daughter.
"Let's play a game, Mommy!" she chirped.
Digging an old Monopoly game out from the bottom of my hall closet, we played
for a couple of hours as the TV fireplaced anonymously near us in my living
room. She was a good player, and I tried to win, but she did instead. We
smiled at each other, just making mother/daughter smalltalk all the while,
stopping every now and then to trade nice kisses. I reached under her skirt
playfully and parted the edge of her panties with my finger. I didn't feel
a tampon string.
"I stopped this morning . . . .is that okay, Mommy?"
"Sure, Baby, why wouldn't it be okay? . . . .you've got school tomorrow .
. . almost time for bed . . . want some milk and cookies before bed? . .
. ."
"Sure, Mommy, that'd be neat-o".
We stripped to our buffs and climbed into bed, beginning to make out, she
sucking on my breasts and feeling my pussy some, I gently frigging her vagina,
kissing and kissing all the while.
"Mommy? . . . " Ginny asked in mid-kiss as we held each other in each other's
arms under the covers.
"Yes, Ginny Dear?"
"Will you read me a story?"
That really caught me off-guard. But my Ginny was still a ten-year-old in
reality. I didn't have any children's books to read to her, since I didn't
have any nieces or nephews or friends with little kids that came over. But
I didn't want to break the mood.
"I don't know . . . if I have anything to read to you, Ginny, Baby . . .
"
"Anything at all will be fine, Mommy . . . just read me a story, any story,
okay?"
"Baby . . . I know you haven't had an orgasm . . . remember I explained about
orgasms and such to you last weekend? . . . "
"I remember, Mommy . . . "
" . . . and I haven't had one either yet . . . let's have some more sex first,
so we can both have our orgasms, then I'll read you a story . . . "
"Okay".
She slid around and over me so we could sixty-nine. That precious jewel of
a budding cunt on my "daughter" tasted still so sweet to me. I hunched my
legs up and wide so she could get to my clit and pussy easier. She hadn't
forgotten her lessons from last weekend. Her hand past her wrist entered
me. My tongue lashed out at her clit and barest opening of a vaginal barrel.
The digital alarm clock on my nightstand read "10:58pm", a time I knew was
usually past her bedtime. I held her close to me, asked her to lick me and
fist me even harder, and within a few minutes, I came, then she finally came.
Now for the story. I didn't want to read from the Bible in my nightstand
drawer, that didn't seem quite right, right then. The only other thing I
had was an in-house annual financial report for a local small private company
I was doing a fiscal year year-end audit for, which I had been working on
at night all week. So I read a story, flipping through the dry pages of rows
of numbers and hand-scribbled margin notes I had marked in it, about the
Prince Of A Dry Cleaning Chain who had "borrowed" money from his taxfunds
account and got caught by his Uncle Sam and was made to pay heavy fines and
penalties and was thrown in Uncle Sam's dungeon for a few weeks just to make
a point but who was a decent Prince and treated his Subjects well and now
paid his taxes on time because he didn't want to be thrown back into Uncle
Sam's dungeon. My Ginny lay peacefully asleep next to me in bed as I finished
my story. I threw the report on the floor, cut out the light, snuggled close
to her, pulling her close to me, holding her close in my arms. I was happy.
She was happy. What was wrong with that?
The alarm went off at six-thirty a few hours later. We showered together,
teasing and playing with each other, she pulling off my shower cap, I playfully
scolding her not to do that again, my hair having to look nice for work,
even if it was straight and long and easy to quickly style back. She sat
at my make-up table and I brushed her hair straight, and she mine. We had
become mother and daughter, our own version of a family. What was wrong with
that? She put on a different jumper dress and shoes that she had brought
with her in a grocery sack from home so she could wear them to school. Both
of us slurping down some cold cereal and milk, we dashed out the door just
before seven-thirty. I made the drive down Davie to South Street and down
and around to Vena Wilburn Elementary, dropping her off, before heading back
to downtown and work. Dropping her off in front of the school, as hundreds
of her classmates poured out from buses and cars around us, she lightly leaned
in to kiss me on the lips. As she was walking away as I waited in a line
of vehicles and buses double-parked to leave, a classmate came up to her,
and asked her who I was. Through the narrow crack of the window keeping out
the morning chill, I heard her say "oh, that's Carol, that's my new Mom".
I went to work happy.
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