Memories of Underdevelopment, I/7
by Estragon

Copyright 1996, 1997
Estragon Productions
For adults only

It was that summer of awakening girls have. I'd just turned
fifteen. That would be eight years ago, going on nine. I had
this best friend, Leila - she was a couple of months older -
and we could say anything to each another and try out any
idea. So that was how we worked out the truth about men
together. Little by little, starting with what we knew about
boys just from instinct, and then imagining things together,
out loud, things we would only have let ourselves imagine in
private before, and then trying some of these things out for
real, on real males, and then building on that.

Leila and I were always building one another up too. Never
missed a chance. If Leila told me I was beautiful, I told her
SHE was gorgeous - right away, and if she laughed it off,
tears of sincerity would fill my eyes. Maybe at the beginning
we didn't really believe we were such stupendous knock-outs,
but we weren't just being up-beat either, because we both
understood how much of a woman's beauty the woman invents for
herself. We were fifteen -not all there yet. But we knew we
had the stuff to work with. I had hips and all, but I wore a
bra that was one step up from a trainer. (I'm fuller now, but
not colossal.) Leila's chest was bigger, but nobody would have
called it huge. We weren't tall either - medium height - but
definitely thin enough to look nice and long in the legs. Our
bodies were similar, but our hair and skin made us look more
different than we were. Leila's hair was strawberry-blond
(more blond than strawberry) and she kept it cut short, but
mine was Asian dark, and I liked it to go half-way down my
back. Leila's skin was light too, but not sickly pale: very
outdoorsy with healthy American freckles. Mine was darker, and
incredibly smooth, like glass, because I'm Korean.

So that's how we looked.

And we'd study impressive women we happened to see on the
street or in department stores, where we liked to hang out and
watch the cosmeticians make pretty women prettier. Then we
would go to a park or coffee-shop and analyze why we thought
this or that particular woman was so awesome and what we could
do to be like her. Soon it came out that all these different
women were alike in one way anyhow: they had this independent
look in their eyes, and there was something a little conceited
about their smile, something confident and hard to please
about them that we could see in their lips. You could tell
that men were just bric-a-brac to them.

Leila and I started wearing lipstick, and I have to say that
we knew a lot more about it from all our watching than most
girls do at fifteen. We loved deep, vivid colors and sharp,
smooth lines you could only make with a brush.

"You wear lipstick," Leila said, "and it makes the slickest
boy feel like a three-year-old." And this was true. Lipstick
turned us into big sexual mysteries. We would go downtown,
where lots of teenagers hung out at a music superstore, and
stand around teasing the boys with our womanly ways. Teasing
was a girl's right, Leila always said. "No-penis gets to tease
penis," she'd say. "Nature's plan."

That summer Leila and I were into being sullen with people -
with boys especially, but with other girls too where the need
arose. We'd just discovered the joy of bitchiness. Fifteen is
the age for that. You're being taught that you have to start
being sweet and womanly, but you want to hold on to that
selfish snoopiness you have as a little girl. There are things
you want to know and you don't see why anything should keep
you from knowing them. But now it's more than old-fashioned
curiosity. It's brimming with sex and the power sex gives a
girl. Bitchiness is nothing but holding on to your little-girl
innocent selfishness when you're not that innocent any more -
when you've started getting periods and wearing a bra...and
fantasizing about being a bitch to boys. It's wanting to keep
on being a princess when you really do have the power to be
one. The people it scares - males, naturally, and females who
are trying not to think about the power in their vadge - call
it bitchiness, so Leila and I called it that too, but it's
nothing but wanting to go on being the girl you always were
now that you finally have the clout to fulfill the wishes you
always had.

Leila and I figured this out together. We helped each other so
that we didn't become insecure the way girls do at that age.
Noneof that insecurity is necessary, in my not-so-humble
opinion.It's what happens when you agree to be something
you're not. Whenyou say, "Okay, now that I'm using tampons I'd
better be nice andsoft and unscarey and be every guy's mom."
Leila and I made sureneither one of us said this or thought
this.

I never had a sister, and neither did Leila, so when we began
toconfide in one another and talk about things like this it
waslike having another self, another Erica, but blond so you
knew itwas another person and not just your own secret self,
to discusseverything with, without any more fear or shame than
if you WEREjust talking to yourself.

"It's amazing that we feel the same about these things," I
saidto Leila one day. "You always know exactly what I'm
talkingabout. Do you feel that way about me?"

"Definitely," Leila said. "Absolutely. But you know what
bothersme? I mean, people - you know, the same sex - can get
to be suchclose friends as this and know everything in the
world about eachother, and still not know certain things.
People can be friendsfor their whole lives and SAY anything,
it doesn't matter howembarrassing, and still never think about
showing the basicthings."

"It's strange," I said. "You're right. Girls let all kinds of
guys they're going to break up with in a week touch them and
learn all about them, and their best friend who they'll love
forever has no idea what their nipples or slot look like...."

"Not to mention their anus," Leila interjected. "Their
ass-hole."

"Okay," I said. "That's right. I mean, wouldn't you think
people,once they became really friendly, would just say,
'Okay, let'sundress now and look one another over,' and it
would be a thingeverybody did?"

"Then it would just be part of what they knew. Then, whenever
we're together or even just talking on the phone, I can think,
oryou can think, 'I know what SHE looks like. I've had a look
ather slot, her ass-hole.' That would be the right
thing....I'dlike to do that, Erica. You?"

So Leila and I headed for her parents' apartment. They both
worked late anyhow (and her brother was gone for the summer),
andLeila had the run of the place. It was hot as hell outside
too.Leila threw on the air-conditioner and then just threw off
herclothes. Right in the living-room.

"I'm so hot," she said, "if you don't mind."

I wanted this. I wanted to see this. But it was shocking too.
The only naked girl I'd ever seen live was me in the mirror -
aside from little glimpses of a tit or pubic patch in the
locker-room. Leila unbuttoned her shirt and shook it off. It
was sleeveless and just fell from her. Then she did the same
kind of thing with her shorts. She was wearing genuine bikini
panties, skimpier than my own, and they had gotten tucked up
her slot. There was pubic hair, light and thin, not a lot of
it, sprouting around the fabric. Leila reached up and undid
her bra and off it came. Her tits were incredibly firm and
high. They looked like perfect round springy cushions and had
rosy puckered nipples in the middle like paste-ons. You
couldn't see a trace of hair in her armpits. She put a finger
into her panties and extricated them from her slot, very
slowly as though it was a risky business, and then pulled them
really fast down her thighs.

"So that's me," Leila said.

"Now me?" I said, sounding a little stupid.

"Well, I guess," Leila said. "Or not, if you don't want." She
sounded a little sad saying this, but she said, "I mean, I'm
glad I'm like this for you anyway, Erica."

I don't think I loved anyone else in the world then. I wasn't
crazy about my parents, or about my little brother, and I
couldn't imagine how you could love any male and feel all
romantic about a person with a stupid penis hanging in front
or, even worse, sticking up at you and begging. But I loved
Leila. I absolutely loved her. Standing there for me to see
with nothing but the hair on her head and the little triangle
of it down under to cover her. She was so thin and bony. You
could count her ribs sticking out under her cushiony boobs,
and her hip-bones jutted out in front like skate-blades just
below her little waist. I loved her and felt over-joyed that
we were both women, and I stripped off my t-shirt and shorts
and undies as fast as I could, just to give my friend the same
kind of knowledge she was giving me.

We stood there staring at each other, up and down, with no
pretending that we weren't looking at what we were. It felt
great, Leila's eyes going down to my tight black triangle and
opening up my shadowy slot, and I could feel it and I could
feel my legs separate a little for her.

"Your pubic hair is so dark and straight," Leila said.

"Asian," I said.

"You look good," Leila said.

"No, you, you do...," I said, "you're the one."

"Can you see?" she said.

"Oh, yes...."

"I mean my vadge and lips and everything?" Leila spread open
her legs and separated her labia with two fingers from each
hand and kind of pushed her pelvis out. "Can you see my vadge
now?" That was her pet word for it, a nice, friendly word
which I started using from then on too.

"And here's me," I said, and did the same. What a sight if a
man could see it. Two fifteen-year-old girls looking like
they're facing off with their cunts. That's how males would
take it. A contest. I have more cunt than you, more crack,
more clit, or something like that. But that wasn't what it
meant at all.

"I want you to touch me," Leila said.

"Oh, yes," I said.

So we went into Leila's room and flopped across her bed, then
sidled right up against each other, our arms and hips and
thighs pressing close, and us staring up at the ceiling, with
our legs dangling over the side of the bed. The interruption
of getting there was just long enough to let us get nervous.
We were taking turns breathing - I would hold my breath and
hear Leila breathing hard and think, Hey, I'd better breathe
too, and I would start again and then Leila would stop and
she'd listen. We weren't really daring to look at one other
either, just staring up.

Then Leila took my hand and laid it right on her little hill,
and she pressed her own hand down on top of mine, and I felt
a girl's soft hair and hard round bone, just like mine, and I
felt incredibly happy that we were the same, two people with
shy little mounds that were really harder than any penis I
could imagine would ever get . Leila put her hand on my
swelling too then, and soon we were slipping our fingers into
each other, exploring clits, then going in pretty deep,
finding out we were both virgins actually. Then we talked
about smelling our fingers, about wanting to and feeling
bashful about it, and then we did smell them. It was
incredible how alike Leila and I smelled, sweet and tangy and
definitely female.

After a while, Leila slipped off the bed and planted her face
on my hill. I spread my thighs for her and she stuck her nose
into my vadge and tasted my lips and slot with her tongue.
Then she let me do the same things to her. Then she asked me
to turn over on my stomach. When I did, Leila held my buttocks
firmly apart, and I could feel the cool air of the room around
my hole. Leila blew on it and it twitched, but she wouldn't
let it close. She squeezed my cheeks wide apart and wouldn't
let go.

"It's so tiny," she said, and pushed her finger in. "I didn't
know how tiny they were." She managed to slip her other hand
under my mound, which brought her thumb right up against my
vadge, so she could slowly massage it at the same time that
she explored my bung-hole.

It mattered to me that a girl was causing all this bliss. As
usual, Leila read my mind.

"It would be a different thing if one of us was a boy," she
said. "Then it would be war. If I were the boy, I'd be getting
even with you for teasing me and being so superior and making
my pants stick out. And if you were the boy..., well, I'd be
turning you into my slave."

"I like that one better," I said. "Especially since I'm safely
NOT a boy."

"I like it better too," Leila said. She got thoughtful, and
stopped stimulating me for a few seconds.

"Oh, don't stop," I pleaded.

Leila resumed the exquisite movements on my vadge and ass-hole
that would be enslaving me if I were a male and my vadge was
a penis instead. "I was just thinking," she said, "how it
would be if we really had a slave. Not a boy either,
maybe...."

"A man," I said firmly. "Definitely someone twice, maybe three
times, our age. A teacher or doctor or something."

"Who'd have to wait on us naked," Leila said, "just to
humiliate him, because...."

"Yes, because a man that old doesn't even believe he deserves
to be naked in front of girls. What does he have to show
them?"

"Hair all over his paunchy stomach and flopping sex organs,"
Leila said. "God, you're totally wet, Erica."

"The fun would be that he couldn't help himself," I said. "He
just had to obey and let himself be humiliated because we had
such power over him." It was hard for me to speak. I was in a
daze thanks to Leila's fingers, and I had to drink in the air
in tremendous gulps.

"I mean, he'd know he didn't do a thing for us with his looks.
He couldn't take his eyes off US - and that's how we get him,
teasing, the usual thing, even if he wanted to resist he
couldn't for long - we're girls, Erica, and that's the whole
reason - but we had to FORCE ourselves to look at him because
we knew it would make him so ashamed and humble to be seen by
us."

"We could make him beg to let him be with us."

"'Five minutes, and that's all,' we could say."

"'Ten, if you get down on your knees and beg politely.'"

"We could make him beg to be even ALLOWED to undress...."

"'Please, girls,' he'd say. 'I'm just a poor, helpless man.
Let me just show you what you do to me. That's all I want. I
promise. Then I'll go quietly. Oh, please, girls. Just let
me.'"

"'That's a privilege you have to earn,' we'd say."

"'Well, it's all up to Leila,' I'd say."

"And I'd say, 'If it's okay with Erica....'"

"We could make him work like a dog first...."

"We could make him crawl like a dog...."

"Then sit on him...."

"Step on him...."

"Pee on him...."

"Pee on him! Fabulous."

"Leila, we have to...."

Leila tucked her face deep between my thighs. I could just
make out her muffled words. "And he'd be looking right up at
us when we did it," she said. "He'd see us, Erica. He'd be
lying there and he'd see it coming. And he'd be thinking,
'It's worth it to have that view.'"

"Or he'd be knocked out," I said. "He wouldn't see a thing. We
wouldn't even give him that. Fast asleep and then he'd wake up
and it would have happened
."

"Wet and girl-smelling...," Leila burbled to my cunt.
"Fabulous."

"Can it really happen, Leila?" I said.

end of part one




    

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