This is a not a story. 
 
It is more of a recollection, an accounting of what i am: what I was brought up to be.  I have removed as much personally identifiable information as possible; only the few people who know me in real life might guess some of the names, the whens, and the wheres.  If so, I trust they will keep that information to themselves. 

This may not feed your particular needs.  I enjoyed some of the memories and must live with the nightmares caused by others.  Overall, I wish I had known more as a child so I could have made myself readily available to the people who would have delighted in me.  

If you have any comments or requests, please feel free to e-mail them to me at fantasian_moon@yahoo.com.  

The Click of the Shutter

Click:  I am very small, barely fourteen months old, lying in my bed.  It is a sultry summer night; a bare breeze teases the window sheers in a fairy-dance.  The yard light outside throws a faint shadow onto the pale walls of the bedroom.  A car's headlights brighten the room--a splash of angry light--angry voices in the next room.  Screaming, raised voices.  A man, a woman, a child in the room.  Father, mother, child.  A clear Tupperware container sitting on the small Formica table overflows and bleeds dismembered frog's legs onto the surface while pink water runs down the sides, onto the table,  and drips onto the dirty floor below.  One of my parent's friends is there. He picks me up and takes me into my bedroom to tuck me in.    He unpins my diaper and I start to cry--he kisses me on the mouth to quiet me. The world goes dark.

Click: I am two, lying in my bed.  Tonight is not summer; there is no breeze because the window is closed.  The yard light outside throws a faint shadow onto the pale walls of the bedroom.  I can see my baby brother's crib; he is fast asleep.  A man is in the room.  He has long, long hair: golden or red or golden red.  He looks like Jesus; he is Jesus, and I cannot see his face as he leans down, down, dragging his hair in my face as he reaches down to slip his hand inside my panties, whispering my name: Kimberly.  It is the same man as before.  My mother's new boyfriend....was Jesus.  For the rest of my life, the face of Jesus in every church I enter will be the face of the man leaning over me now.  
The world goes dark.  

Click:  I am four, being placed by a man into a bathtub of scalding water.  Screaming, the blisteringly hot water turns my skin red and ugly.  The water runs, the man is mumbling under his breath.  The water runs, but not fast enough for him--he makes trips out and in, bringing more water, hot water.  Pouring it over my head.  I cannot breathe; I scream and scream and scream...and choke on water.  The world goes dark.

CPS manages to find my grandparents, who take in my brother and me for the next four years.  

Click: I am six, my cousin is visiting with my grandparents and me for two weeks.  He's older; twelve years old.  He wants to show me something: a kiss.  My first kiss, as he buried his tongue in my mouth, my throat, and pulled me up into his lap.  He wants to show me something: his dick.  He calls it a dick, which is funny--Dick is a man name! He wants to see something: my pussy.  I didn't know it had a name.  Pussy.  I like that--I like cats--we have one we call pussy.   Giggling at the thought of having a kitty between my legs, I pull my panties off and show him, opening, spreading the pretty pink pussycat lips back so he can see or touch if he wants.  I have done this before; it is nothing new to show or let someone touch me.  He puts my small hand on his dick.  I have done this before--for someone else.  For Jesus.  It is nothing new.  I have no shame; this is what I am for.  The world explodes in light just before it goes dark.

When my mother remarries, brother and I are sent to live with them in another state.

Click:  I am eight, and one of the neighborhood boys is thirteen.  He has a magazine he wants me to look at with him.  He says it is his dad's.  He brings it into our special hideout, inside a tangle of honeysuckle vines, beneath the vines and deeper inside is a room the neighborhood children have hollowed out to play in.  I am happy, because he wants to share something with me, just me, away from the others.  He pulls me into his lap and opens the magazine.  It's a lady; she's beautiful and naked.  I have seen naked ladies before.  This is nothing new.  He shows me how she is spread open.  This is new; I have never seen a naked woman spread open before, and I wonder if I look like that too.  I ask him and he tells me to show him and he'll tell me what he sees.  I pull off all my clothes,quickly and with excitement, there under the bushes with an older boy who has his dad's magazine.  I spread my legs wide and bend at the knees until I feel my pussy open and he runs one finger from the top of my kitty to the bottom and back up.  He strokes and pushes one finger inside, just barely.  It doesn't hurt.  It hurt once, a long time ago, I remember.  Jesus hurt me.  I wiggle, so he'll keep touching.  He looks close for a very long time.  He smiles at me and says it looks just like in the picture.  I am very happy, because the lady in the picture is beautiful.  He tells me I am beautiful too!

Click:  It's one week later.  I am sitting behind the house, holding the magazine on my lap and pinch-pulling kitty's lips with my small fingers.  There are cartoons in the back of the magazine, and I want to read them.  The boy told me I could learn a lot by looking at the pictures and reading the cartoons.  The cartoon girl's name was Honey.  Honey Hooker.  What a funny name!  Honey has a jar of pickles and her mama is pushing one up inside her pussy.  The cartoon mama tells her it will make her pussy pucker tight, like when I suck on a pickle and it is really sour and my mouth puckers like for a kiss.  I am giggling about a pussy all puckered up when the neighbor man who lives behind us snatches the magazine from me and starts yelling.  I did not hear him walking over to see what I was looking at.   I sit frozen as his voice rises and he hits me with the magazine, asking if I know what I am looking at...I am terrified of adults and answer truthfully, "yes", in a soft, low voice.  I am looking at cartoons, I know that.  Can't he see?  He lowers the magazine and opens it to a close up picture of a naked woman's kitty.  He is angry and his voice is ominous as he asks me what it is and I tell him.  He says I am a dirty little girl and he reaches for me.  The world goes dark.

My brother and I share a bedroom and a bed.  Mother says it's so she can close off one of the other bedrooms and save on heating.  My brother and I play games in the dark; I feel his tiny dick and he tries to push it up inside me where it belongs.  Once, he was on top of me, rubbing it inside and the tingly thing happened for the very first time.  It scared me; I thought something was wrong because I could feel my kitty opening and closing--and my brother could feel it too!  

Click:  I am nine and with friends at a birthday party.  We have spent the afternoon at the skating rink, skating 'round and 'round in circles under throbbing lights and a glistening mirrored disco ball.  There is a boy there, he's fourteen, and he likes me.  My friends are giggling and push me over to him.  He reaches out and circles my small waist with his hands, lifting me up to sit on his lap.  I am wearing a dress and it flows over the sides of his legs.  My pussycat is bare; I don't wear panties anymore.  The room is hot and loud; the music thumps and vibrates through the floor, through the bench we are sitting on, through me.  I enjoy his hands wrapped around my waist, and he slips one hand down to lay on my knee.  He is listening to the music and watching the other kids skate and starts stroking up and down my thigh.   Between the soft stroking of his hand, the heat of his lap and the dampness weeping between my thighs, I cum, scared because I don't know what is happening, only that it feels so good.  Later, when my friend's mom has picked up up from the rink and taken us out for pizza, I am thinking about that good, warm, tingly feeling from sitting on his warm lap and it happens again.  I hold very still and look around the table, checking my friends' faces and the adults' faces--did anyone notice?  No.  Today is special for me in more than one way.  I just didn't know how special.

Click: I am ten now. My mother and her husband go out drinking a few nights a week.  They usually hire one of the teenaged neighbors to babysit my brother and me.  She lives two doors down and doesn't charge much. And she brings her brother with her.  The first time she brought him, he volunteered to "keep me entertained" and she thought it was cute.  He took me into my bedroom and closed the door.  My radio was on and we sat on the bed to talk.  I don't know if the other older boy in the neighborhood had told him anything about me or not, but he seemed to know enough and they were the same age--fifteen now.  He was big, tall, cute--dark wavy hair, just a touch too long, and beautiful blue eyes.  He put his hand on my shoulder and pushed me back on the bed, telling me to "relax" while he started petting me.  This is not new...I lay back and breath quietly, silently afraid because I know he wants something from me.  He strokes and pets up underneath my nightie, pushing a finger up inside my bare pussy, stroking, petting.  He doesn't go any further than that, but I wish he would do something more--I'm feeling like I need to move, I need him to do something else, but I don't know what.  I pretend to fall asleep, and the finger in my kitty strokes, keeps stroking, until I really do fall asleep.  After that, he always comes with his sister when she babysits.  I am glad he doesn't do more, even though I want him to.   I am confused by these wants.  I need him to.  I am ten and I come close to begging for the neighbor boy to do something to me.  If he had tried, I would have let him do anything he wanted and he could have had me 4-5 afternoons a week as well..  I wish he had known that; it's what I'm for.  

My brother and I have introduced our friends in the neighborhood to some new games.  I have seen every one of my friends naked.  Last week we had a pageant!  One of the boys called it "Miss Bush Country" and the few of us girls were hooted at and encouraged to show our kitties.  I didn't win, but I enjoyed showing off for them.  I am always glad when one of the boys wants to push a finger up inside me or sometimes take a quick lick at my kitty.  It tickles, and everyone wants to watch.  I spread my legs further apart or sometimes the boys hold them for me.  Braver boys work their fingers into my small butt--that hurt, until one of the older boys figured out they could use butter to make their fingers slicker.  

My family spends a lot of time with another family now.  They are really nice.  The woman is pregnant and they have two little boys who are a lot younger than me.  Sometimes I feel like their babysitter, but they are small and don't want to touch me, so I leave them alone.  The man is especially nice to me, he smiles and talks to me.  I made him a little pillow and he gave me a hug and patted my bottom.  Because the adults were drinking, we spent the night.  The man took me upstairs to a bedroom so I could go to sleep.  He sat on the bed beside me and started to pull the covers up.  I asked him if he was going to kiss me goodnight.  He stopped...and stared at me.  "Please?", I asked.  He was hesitating.  Finally, he leaned over and kissed me on the forehead.  I was disappointed; I thought he was going to give me a real kiss, not a baby kiss.  He more or less fled the room and kept distance between us after that.

Click:  At the age of eleven I am playing "truth or dare" and "strip poker" with my brother and all his friends.  Sometimes there are eight or nine at the house that summer.  They tease me because I would start out in just a belted robe and drop the robe before taking off the belt!  We all laugh and have a good time playing.  I get to be naked a lot around them.     

Click:  I sleep bare all the time now; it makes it easier to reach my pussy when it needs touched.  It needs touched a lot.  I use my fingers, the handle of a small nail brush, and pencils.  I push the eraser end in first--and can put as many as twelve into my pussy at the same time.  I love the feeling of being held open; it feels so good to stretch my pussy open.  Sometimes I take one of my pencils to school and use it to write with--I can smell my pussy's special smell on it.  I can even get most of my hand pushed in there now.  If it weren't for my wrist not turning, I think I could get my whole hand into my koochy.  That's a new word one of the boys taught me for my pussy.  I like it.  Koochy-koochy-koo.  I wish I could push my whole hand up there; I wonder what it would feel like?  There is something else too:  baby pacifiers are popular this year and all the kids at junior high are wearing a pacifier around their neck on a necklace.  I have a pacifier, but I don't wear it around my neck.  It feels better when I push the rubber pacifier up inside my pussy.  I have to fold it over to get the big, round, flat part inside, but it keeps it from popping out at school.  Only the little handle sticks out, just a little bit.  When I go to the bathroom at school, I like to pull it out and let my pussy juices slobber out before I push it back in again.  When I get home from school I can masturbate again.  That's a new word I learned from the books I've been borrowing from the school guidance councilor.  I've been reading "everything you ever wanted to know about sex".  One of my friends brought me a book of her mom's too; it's about Xavier Hollander and is called "the happy hooker".  There's a part where she is trying to get a dog to put its dick into her pussy but ends up putting its dick into her mouth instead.  It's funny and makes my pussy drool and twitch.  I wonder what it would feel like to have a dog's slime-coated red dick inside my pussy?  I don't know, but I think about it a lot when I have things inside my pussy.

Click: Now I'm thirteen.  It is summer and very hot outside so all the kids gather at our house because our parents are not there and no one would interrupt our games. Once, one of the boys dared me to let him push an ice cube up inside my pussy.  It was so cold my kitty started shivering!  It would tighten up and then loosen and then tighten up again.  It was really cold, but the boys liked it a lot so everyone had a turn to push ice cubes up as far inside of pussy as their fingers could reach, then watch them melt out--they took turns so each boy could get really close and see my kitty shiver.  
This summer I got brave and pushed a perfume bottle up inside my cunt for the first time.  That's a new word, but I'm not really sure it's the right word, because one of the boys told me the names have something to do with size.  So maybe it's not a cunt yet, but I like the word.  Maybe someday it will be a cunt instead of a pussy.  The bottle I use has a diamond pattern cut into the glass.  It is about 1" across and is maybe 6 inches long.  I like to push it all the way in until only the little sprayer button is still outside.  Sometimes I don't use anything but my fingers to masturbate and one of my favorite things to do when I cum is to reach down and use two fingers of each hand to pull my pussy open as wide as I can while it twitches and tries to close.  It feels so good when it can't close.  I wish I had something bigger to use.  I think about my pussy all the time now; it feels so good to touch it and to have one of the boys touch it.  They like it too, I think, because they are always asking if they can.  The asking surprises me; why do they feel like they need to ask?  They know they can.

Click: I am at a campground with my mother, one year old sister, and younger brother.  Mother's employer is having a summer picnic at the campground.  I have my sister on my hip, wading in the pool.  A man smiles at me and strikes up a conversation.  We talk, and maybe I said or did something, I don't remember, but he asked me if I would like to go back to his tent with him.  My mother yelled to bring her the baby right then, so I didn't get to go.  Why do men waste time asking when they know what a pussycat is for?  

Click: Fourteen years old, and I have moved to another state, away from my mother, sister, brother.  I am still fucking myself--another new word--but have to be very, very quiet.  The walls in this house are thin and the trundle bed I sleep on has metal springs so it squeaks.  I am responsible for making my own bed, so I don't have to worry so much about the wet spot my pussy dribbles onto the sheets or what soaks into the mattress.  It's usually dry by the next night anyway.  I like the way it makes my room smell. I am still using the bottle, pencils, and pacifier.  I hide them on the pop-up bed underneath that is part of the trundle.  I have started playing with other things too; a nail polish bottle; popping it in and out of my pussy.  There is like a muscle or something in there that I can push really hard through and then yank back.  It makes a "pop" sound and makes my pussy so wet it splashes.  Sometimes I tighten up as much as I can and force the bottle in.  It hurts a little, but feels a whole lot better.  If I do that for a minute or two, I get to cum.  I have tried mascara tubes, but it's too smooth and I can't feel anything.  Mostly, I push my fingers in.  I have a sorta-steady boyfriend here now; we break up and get back together every few months for four years.  He touched my tits the other night at the movies. Our sixth date! I held my breath to see if he would do anything else, but he stopped.  Later that night, he was kissing me and pulled me hard against him. I could feel his dick and rubbed myself against him, hoping he'd take the hint.  He made a joke instead:  "that's not a pocketknife in my pocket".  I was confused by his comment; I knew what was in his pants.  We had several places we would go parking at to make out or so I could blow him.  My favorite place was in a cemetery.  At our cemetery, he made me beg for him to fuck me for the first time.  He had four fingers from one hand and three from the other buried in my sopping pussy, on the brink of cumming for him, panting like a bitch in heat, hot and so wet that the car was tropical with humidity. He told me to beg, and I did...I begged and pleaded and whimpered and moaned...and he wouldn't.  Because he didn't have a rubber.  I hate rubbers!  I swallowed so much of his cum that I could still smell it anytime I peed, even three days later.

Click: French kissing on the city bus and rubbing my fingers over a boy's hard dick.

Click: A man on a motorcycle, asking if I wanted a ride--and me telling him only if he would ride me too!

Click: Flirting with a married man at the bus stop for months.  One day he pulled up in his Trans am and took me to school, stopping to kiss and play a little before dropping me off.  He wouldn't do any more than that though, so I stopped talking to him.

Click: Out on a parking date at a local lake with a boy I knew was a virgin; scared him when I begged him to fuck me in between kisses.  It took over an hour of searching for somewhere he could buy a rubber, and I wondered why he was bothering.  Finally, he gave up and drove back to the lake.  It was funny because the car was small and he had both doors open, trying to keep the lights shut off by pressing in the sensor switch,  while fucking me.  My head was hanging outside the door on one side and his feet were outside the door on the other.  FUNNY! I don't cum when fucked  unless I've been fingered to cum first, but it's his cum I wanted.  Disappointed.   I didn't get it because he pulled out when he came--white sticky sperm splattered all over the inside of his windshield instead of inside of me where it belonged.  He had a towel in the car and mopped it up.  Turning, he asked me, "what should I do with this?".  Like I cared!  I told him he could always save it to show to his children someday:  "look what I did!".   I hated him right then, for pulling out and wasting the cream I need.  A few days later a dead body was found not twenty feet from where we were parked.  

Click: In a city park tree house at night with a boy while his parents walked in the park below us--he couldn't line up enough to get inside of my pussy.  He cried.  I cried too.

Click:  Another boy, parked in a car.  He couldn't stay hard long enough to get in.  I gave my very first blow job to a soft dick.  It didn't work for him.

Click:  A boy I didn't like who enjoyed helping me with my little problem.  A lot and frequently.  In his bedroom with his parents on the other side of the door, the hood of his car, and one time on a concrete picnic table in a city park.  It hurt and I lost some skin, but didn't care because I got what I needed. 

Click:  A guy who didn't go to my school, but was a friend of a former boyfriend.  After the third time, he ran out of condoms and wouldn't do anymore without one.  That was the last time I talked to him, even though he called and called.

Click: I went to visit a friend and ended up naked with a stranger in an apartment two floors below.  Boy, was his girlfriend mad!  

Click: walking to the city bus stop from home on a school day, there is an enormous (to my eyes) double-headed dildo laying on the ground.  The kids I'm walking with are making jokes about it; I am wondering if I could somehow sneak it back home and clean it up for use without their knowing.

Click: My first job as a waitress.  The grill cook was in his 30s and cute.  We flirted a lot--he took me in  the storage room over  the back of a chair, then dropped my skirt, patted my ass,  and we went back to work. Three or four nights a week.  

Click: A trip to visit my mother ended with me and another virgin boy--this time in the upstairs freezer of an ice company.

Click: The pattern continues with an increasing need to be used.

What I know about myself today:

I am a slut who needs to be owned and controlled, though not extensively punished gratuitously.  I always try to please.  There will be times when I may balk through fear;  help me through that using whatever methods necessary.

I am a high-end submissive as a result of my childhood.  I am not sure if I am a slave or not.  There has not been an opportunity for me to discover.

The "perfect" owner is in control of him- or herself, knows s/he is in control, and can keep control of me.  A rare owner; many think they are this person, but lack the control of themselves and the ability to control without cruelty.  I do not need to be hurt; I have extensive emotional and internal scars that drop me into frozen-panic mode when yelled at or abused emotionally/physically.  I am fearful of angry adults.

Although I do not think of myself as bi-sexual, I have no preference as to whether the owner is male or female.

Unowned and uncontrolled, I will sleep with anyone at anytime for any reason.  Or no reason.  I do not need to feel any attraction towards the person.  I am not selective.

If it fits, if I can get it in, even if it hurts, I will work it into pussy.

Pussy would always have something in it: a cock, or other item when not being used.

The thought of being loose, stretched out, and gaping has a huge (joke) emotional appeal.  A well-used pussy should show it.

A hand in the bush is worth two birds....   =)

Anal sex is good for the soul.

I love the taste, feel, smell of cum.  It is the perfect food.  I like to push my fingers into pussy and feel it--use a mirror and see it--lick fingers for a "treat".

The "perfect" owner would know s/he could use me whenever, wherever, however.  S/he would keep my pussy lubed with cum to the point it would run down the insides of my thighs:  his, someone else's, maybe an animal's.  Depends on the owner, it's up to her/him, though I'm willing.  I'm always willing.

I have fantasized about being used as a bitch in a breeding kennel, training for ponies,  and of being inseminated by pressure tube with bull semen until it runs out of my pussy and pools on the floor. 

I have wanted to be impregnated/knocked up since I was a little girl.  I think that's why I hate rubbers so much.  Being told that I would be bred (one "friend" used to call it that, "breeding", turns me on so much my knees go weak and I can almost cum from the words alone.   I am almost too old for this now, but the thought, the idea of it,  remains a tremendous turn-on that usually pushes me over the edge.  My need spikes dramatically during fertile periods; a man who can't--not doesn't want to, but who physically is not able to --impregnate me is frustrating and heart breaking.  I will cry.  Sorry.  Can't help it.  And I will ask for it.  Can't seem to help that either.   I have been both fortunate and distressed to have only experienced pregnancy one time--after marriage.  I was EXTREMELY lucky; most girls don't have over 100 loads of cum shot into them without ever getting pregnant.  Especially when the only birth control used is a calendar....

I'm not sure if I could be raped; I need cock too much for even an attacker to be more than I can handle.  I have been "raped" before--at a bus stop when I was seventeen. I cooperated fully, trying to make it good for him.  I am not sure he realized I was enjoying it more than he was.

I would like to be gang banged at least once for the experience.

Porn doesn't excite my body; I have a tendency to study the films for techniques I can add to my own skills.  I do read a lot of erotica, particularly that found at asstr.org.  My reading choices are influenced heavily by my childhood and strong sexual urges.

Child molesters still find me enchanting.  Because I can't or don't say no and feel so vulnerable and young when one approaches me, can only believe it is a direct result of (you guessed it) my childhood.  I think they see that, sense it somehow.

The one strongly developed fear I have is that I will be out somewhere, maybe a shop or downtown on the sidewalk, and a man or woman will look at me, recognize what I am and point to the ground by his/her feet.    It would mean the destruction of my marriage to a very nice, safe man.  I am terrified by this prospect, yet at the same time I long for the day someone sees me, really sees me.

I'm going to stop here.  I imagine you are disgusted and think I'm sick by now.  Maybe I am.  But I know my sickness, and I need it.  I need it all the time.




