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 ORIGIN by Della Carla Noble
   Chapter One
   You seem like one who would be interested in why I got into wearing
lingerie so young?  Before dolls, before I could read?  I always wanted
burlesque clothes and to be a stripper even at primary school.  Quite a
time ago, my grandad had noticed things about me no-one else had, or had
laughed off.  I was only a couple of weeks shy of four years old, but I was
TOTALLY in seventh heaven watching as the girl next door sunbathed in what
could just pass for a bikini.  He seemed to be in seventh heaven watching
me and very admiring of the huge bulge my shorts barely contained.  Though
no-one touched the other, firm self-strokes and squeezes had followed and
orgasms were soon crashing after them in waves of gut-wrenching excitement.
Before I could read I was fluent in what to do with a man's pride!  One
week, in the mid-80s, I had to stay over the entire time my mum was in
labour with my younger brother.  There were then complications post-birth,
so I wound up being looked after by my grandparents for over three weeks.
So it was, about 9pm one quiet Thursday evening, my grandad called me out
to the living room when my grandmother was visiting her sister.  There was
a lovely fire in the grate, curtains drawn, the clothes were laid out,
along with a few open copies of Playboy which I picked up on sight - and he
was crafty enough to let me look at uninterrupted for a few minutes before
getting down to what he wanted.  I was looking at the peachy buttocks, the
huge boobs and was lost in a world of my own as I began to ache unbearably
right up inside my crotch.  But no-one made me do what was suggested,
'dress up' as he called it, though it was a LOT of fun!  When I was little
in the 80s my hair was long, past my shoulder, but with a fringe.  This
suited my blue eyes, full red lips already given to pouting, and
androgynous looks.  My grandad got me to dress up in the whole lot,
stockings, duffel coat, everything.  The coat was a dark camel colour, the
stockings opaque and black.  The suspender belt was likewise black but a
very strong elastine type material crossed with nylon.
   Both stockings AND belt felt so weird when I first wore them!  I had
expected them to be flimsier, but instead felt secured, constrained, and
turned on.  Along with a close-fitting white satin blouse, basically
see-through, my grandad had got a black A-line skirt for me to wear.  A
pair of black satin french knickers plus a shiny black AA-cup bra with a
red detail.  Then then a black A-Line skirt, and the blouse.  PLUS he had
black suede pixie boots.  I had to put my hair in bunches, have him make up
my face - which he did brilliantly.  I remember thinking I looked about
sixteen years old, instead of six.  Years later, I realised he must have
had a life in the theatre, probably Soho and Picadilly.  It was in this
large garage with no car, just work benches, a radio, record player, a
delapidated setée and two armchairs in a similar state, that I first heard
jazz, smelled reefer and saw pics of sexually aroused naked men (to a
lesser extent women too) stacked hundreds thick.  It was a private place
that none of the family ever went in, and was mind-bogglingly exciting.  My
grandad taught me how to strip slowly to all kinds of dance steps:
everything, incorporating all the strip-tease moves tossing away the
clothes.  He seemed genuinely astonished by my eagerness to learn and the
speed I was doing so.  After just over a week, early one Sunday morning
around 8am three men - himself, the local barber Sidney and some other
faceless wet guy who worked with Sidney's son - met in the private drive,
my grandad opened the garage, letting everyone in before looking around and
locking up again behind him.  Drinks were opened, pipes and tobacco lit and
ridiculously sleazy Hammond organ jazz gently oozed out of the one speaker.
I was so glad when my mum went in to labour, because it meant I would never
have got to get to stay over and do all this really awful naughty stuff
under everyone's nose.  I bet those old gentlemen were transported to
heaven as I did a 'Hot Gossip' sexy dance routine like the barely dressed
women on Top of The Pops, winding up with a naked perfect arse framed by
stocking tops, and huge, thick, protruding, veined stiff cock - I was six
years old when this secret meeting thing there and then became quite a
regular occurrence.  My cock was even then only just under 6" long and
thick too when erect.  I was born a freak of nature.  It just happened,
though it had been building up with 'art' magazines and 'sculpture' and
Page 3 before that.  Gotta love dirty old men!  A dying breed.  Spent some
of the happiest years of my life watching these connoisseurs of smut, filth
and deviance looking up at me enraptured, as I stood there on a coffee
table a perfect ersatz stage - a good size for a large garage surround by
deck chairs; only my aunt's opaque black stockings, her suspender belt and
the tight bra top on, my erection SO hard and so big...and them just
moaning, really on the verge of crying, just looking at this cute face on
this child, the bright red lips and shadowed and eyelined eyes . . .  and
the throbbing hard cock: how much this boy (me) was enjoying it.  I stood
there, hands on hips, doing the barest bit of gyrating as they really
BEGGED me to turn around, then all started groaning filthily afresh as I
positioned my pert cheeks about three feet from their faces and continued
working the coffee table, my stage for these dirty little secret soirées!
But it was turning back around, and the gasp of seeing an asexual cherubim,
made up like a cheap tart - shoulder length blonde hair, red lipstick, blue
eye shadow, black mascara - and then with a reptilian, engorged cock - who
is clearly underage . . .  I never forgot how thrilled they were.  I made a
point of always being good.
   It's my grandad - my mum's dad - I have to thank for that.  The other
grandfather, Grampy, had a good few full colour booklets ('Color Climax'
was one I remember well, and 'Rodox') stashed behind the old toilet cistern
. . .  probably at least 20.  He didn't notice or mention the four I stole
to anyone.  Then suddenly I had been left at my maternal gran & grandads'
again cos my parents were attenting this ball at the drop of a hat and they
were staying over two nights - so exciting.  I didn't realise consciously
at the time, that while my grandad at least made a show of being hetero-
now and again, he was actually gay.  Instinct, of course is another matter.
As crazy as it may sound in this day and age, I had no conscious idea of
'gay', 'homosexual', or anything.  I basically preferred girls, but both
sets of sex organs, body lay-out etc.  did something for me.  For me, there
was no difference.  I heard my grandad pass the corridor which turned off
to my room, puffing slightly.  After a couple of minutes, I went into the
bathroom/loo and waited for him to head out the back with the compost
scraps like he did every night.  The whole side of the room was nearly one
window.  It's worth mentioning my grandparents lived in a four house hamlet
in a bungalow, detached . . .  so it really didn't matter that the bathroom
light pinged on with me stood on the closed toilet seat lid at about
10:30pm.  I was probably 'sleep walking' according to my gran if she'd seen
it, even though I had 'Color Climax' open with a pic of a blonde and a cock
stuffed down her throat.  That was out of the sight of anyone outside the
windows, on the sill, itself less that two feet off the floor.  The privacy
of the whole room was utterly reliant on the frosted glass and the care of
anyone foolish enough to go near the huge venetian blind.  Oh . . .  and
their sense to have got dressed before they swtiched on the wonderful 100
watt tungsten bulb in the ceiling.  When I accidentally jerked the cord on
the blind too hard and the whole lot came crashing down, it was purely
coincidental that I was naked from the waist down and wearing only my
pyjama top, that I had undone and tied in the centre like Daisy Duke.  It
exposed my midriff and a lot of my chest.  By the time I had my 'mishap'
with the cord, my dick had gone from being quite reticent due to nerves, to
fully erect - pulsing dark red hues, veins bulging.  The whole electrifying
experience had probably only taken about 90 seconds.  Not even two minutes
and it was done, light out.  But it changed everything!  It was ninety
seconds of extreme sexual tension and I adored it.  The sheer visceral
thrill was phenomenal.  And my grandad was over a quarter of an hour late
coming back in from the compost heap!
   Such a shame - they ARE a dying breed.  They would NEVER swear in front
a woman, but have them oiled or draped about things totally nude in 'art'
photography magazines.  Only the continentals openly have sex, supposedly .
. .  but then one could wander Saturday lunchtime to the cricket pavilion -
or wherever the nearest decent Gents was - and find amazing dirty stories
to read and filthy drawings to admire.  If I didn't have a magazine or
booklet - I rarely did (remembering one summer specifically.  It was a copy
of 'Rustler' someone had left in a cubicle.  Lots of cock AND cunt Lol) a
Gent's Convenience was always worth 2p to get in a cubicle.  Other boys
were into gambling, playing with cars, movies.  I went and read the most
disgusting pornographic filth on toilet walls and then drawing and writing
my own, discovered spy holes between the cubicles . . .  then as I rode on
my BMX sometimes I went further afield, alone and discovered my first glory
hole at nine years old - often there were wonderfully detailed drawings
too! My mum thought she was sending me off cycling each day when our family
was located in Dorset.  But while other boys were learning to play
football, I was downtown in the glory hole cubicles in a car park or on the
front (thanks for the bike, folks!), fishnet tights rolled down just far
enough to expose my goods, learning how to suck a cock properly!  
  
ORIGIN Chapter 1