Where to buy Elsa, a girl, without scruples
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A girl, without scruples
It was a sizzling day and the tiny puppy on the backseat that we'd just picked up from the breeder made a plaintiff squeaking sound. My mother had wasted no time telling me that she had been dragged into this decision but, for me, this was one of the happiest moments of my life.
The puppy was light brown, had big doleful eyes and an adorable little tail. Once home, he was instantly put into a box. I felt sorry for my new friendas mum insisted as otherwise the dog would chew everything to pieces with its little sharp teeth. To make up for his imprisonment, I vowed to take him out for a walk every day.
One Sunday, my parents and I went to the beach. Mum and Dad walked hand in hand and I followed with my pup on a lead. He just never stopped pulling, a habit we never managed to resolve, though I now realize it was our own fault as we never trained him properly. We had never envisaged it being so difficult, so impossible to control a puppy or teach him how to behave. In no time his box was torn to pieces giving the little rascal his freedom. This gave my mother more reason to grumble as the beast chewed everything he could get his teeth into. After a year, he was still piddling everywhere and my mother repeatedly threatened to give him away to someone who could better control a difficult dog.
Despite the problems of a naughty puppy, this was a very pleasant time of my life. My father adored me and nothing was too much trouble for him where I was concerned. My mother did too in her own quiet way. My father often took me to interesting places freeing up my mother so that she could get on with the things she wanted to do at home. Her life revolved around these chores and our house was where she was happiest.
I often went to the meadows near our house with a little boyfriend of mine. I must have been four years old, my friend a year or so older. One day, my dog pulled so fiercely that I couldn't hold on to the lead anymore and he ran off into the distance. He was so fast we couldn't keep up and, only after a long and stressful search, did we finally find him. He was hiding behind some bushes in the company of another dog. They were playing a game I had never seen before. My dog was wildly riding on the back of the other one and did not respond to my calling. What in heaven's name was he doing? I was afraid that he was hurting the other dog because I also saw that he was biting its neck. The other dog wasn’t protesting, in fact strangely it seemed to be enjoying itself.
My friend, sounding rather like a wise old man, announced that the two dogs were ‘having sex’ - apparently ‘perfectly normal behaviour’. I was fascinated. When they’d eventually finished their ‘game', I saw a strange long pink thing under my dog's belly and I started screaming thinking there was something wrong with him. My friend tried to calm me down telling me it was just a willy. I screamed even louder and yelled at my dog, ordering him to come back. However, he just glanced at me for a second with a slightly crazed look and scampered off again.
I ran back home crying and told my mum what had happened. The sun was already setting and so we went for a walk in the darkening streets. She calmed me down promising that she would put an ad in the local paper asking for the safe return of my little dog
That night I had a terrible nightmare about a monster who climbed on my back and jumped up and down so aggressively, that it hurt me and made me cry out in my sleep. My mother rushed to my room and comforted me again, holding me tight while I fell back to sleep. However, my little dog was gone. When I was out walking or playing with my friend, I never stopped hoping to catch a glimpse of my dog. It took me a long time to forget about him totally.
I used to have a lot of fun with my friend. We played together and laughed about everything we saw. Most of the time, when we were walking along together, we held hands because we were ‘engaged.' After a year or so of this innocent friendship, things changed. One day, with no warning, he dragged me behind some bushes and told me to be very quiet. I fell onto the grass and then he asked me if I would like to see his willy. As I remember, I was a little shocked but also intrigued and felt rather honoured. He asked me if I would show him mine first which l didn't mind as it seemed a reasonable deal. When I dropped my pants, I could feel his face close up as he studied my vagina. ‘What a tiny slit!’ he exclaimed. Then he showed me his little willy, nothing like the thing I’d seen dangling under my dog. Afterwards we trotted home, hopping and skipping along as if nothing abnormal had happened.
This event that had begun so innocently, marked the time when I began to fantasize about the male sexual organ. This boy had showed me something sacrosanct that I would never forget. This was our secret and, from that day on, we ritually looked at each other's ‘parts’ every time we met.
Time passed and my boyfriend moved house to another town. I was devastated, first losing my dog and then my best friend. We saw each other once a month instead of every day when my father drove me to his parents' house. I would stay the night and then his mother would take me home the next day. Everyone assumed that we were playing together nicely, inventing make believe games and generally doing what nice children do. No one could imagine there was anything unusual going on between us, but that was not the case.
My friend often showed me sleazy books that belonged to his elder brother. These books revealed photos of men with huge willies and women with big breasts. Some photos showed them behaving in the same strange way as my little dog. Sometimes they did other things to and with each other that I found disgusting, like the man putting his massive thing in the woman's mouth. I was only six or seven at the time and could not imagine that these things happened in real life. I was shocked but also fascinated by what I saw and looked forward to staying over with my friend when we could freely look and giggle at the pornography.
Then he told me about a big thing he had found in his mother's cupboard that started to vibrate when you switched it on. He later retrieved it and announced rather uncertainly that he thought it was supposed to be a penis. We had to laugh about this funny idea.
I became more and more obsessed with the male sex organ and we practiced things we'd seen in the books. We switched the vibrator on so that it tickled our hands and genitals. When I tried it, I experienced a strange pleasant feeling. My friend tried to copy what he'd seen in the books. He held his thing next to my vagina. However, unlike the stiff, big ones on display in the photos, his remained limp and soft.
As the years passed, we saw less and less of each other and other friendship waned. Moreover I'd discovered my father's desk in which there were many secrets for my entertainment. Whenever I had the chance, I'd sneak into his room and look at his dirty books. Again I was repelled and attracted at the same time. I started to touch my vagina when I looked at the pictures and experienced a lovely, tickling sensation. It stimulated my body and my imagination. I was sure my mother was ignorant about these sleazy books and I certainly wasn’t going to tell her.
I cut out photos of gorgeous looking men from my mother's magazines and stuck them in a scrapbook. I fantasized that every man was my special friend and I even made up a competition between several handsome faces, creating a top ten. Every man was graded, one to ten, and sometimes I even kissed their paper lips. I’ve kept this scrapbook and, when I look at it, it evokes warm memories of that time.
One night, when a friend came for a sleepover, I told her my secret. We crept into my father's room that was supposedly ‘out of bounds’ so we were very nervous as we didn't want to get caught. My friend had never seen pictures like these claiming her father didn’t have them. I wasn’t so convinced and thought it was probably just that she had never found them
Whenever she stayed over, we managed a sneaky look at the pictures and made funny jokes about the things we saw. When I stayed at her house, we searched for her dad's secrets but always in vain.
When summer came, we put up a tent in our garden. As it grew dark so we became more excited. We talked and giggled and heard all kinds of strange noises outside the tent. I needed a wee but was too frightened to go out of the tent alone so we agreed to go together. As I opened the tent, I felt my friend's hand rub my lower back. I was about eleven years old and my body was already reshaping into that of a woman. I was shocked and shrieked, ‘What are you doing?' to which she replied, ‘Don't you like it?' While I peed, she was watched me and told me I was really pretty. Back in the tent on our airbed, she came up close and whispered, ‘May I lie on top of you?' I was nervous and asked what she intended to do. ‘Well,' she said,' just the things we have seen in your father’s books. My body started to tingle with anticipation and I told her it was fine with me. She gently climbed on top of me and started to stroke my arms and neck. Then she kissed me on the mouth. She wanted to push her tongue between my lips but I kept my mouth firmly shut. I pushed her away yelling: ‘Are you insane?'
At the weekends, we often had sleepovers but it was only about three months later that anything happened again. She asked me if she could lie on me again saying that she often fantasized about me. It may have been because she was a year older but she had a lot of influence over me. She was very persuasive and I didn’t resist as I was curious. My body shook all over as she touched me and started to kiss me. This time I let her put her tongue in my mouth and I reciprocated. She touched my small breasts that were already nicely shaped. It was a sensational feeling.
The second time we did this, she also touched my vagina and I discovered it gave me a lot of pleasure. However, I could not satisfy her by doing the same to her. We did it several more times, mainly because my friend wanted it. Even for me it was an interesting new experience. We were so young and curious about our changing bodies.
At this age I was rarely without a boyfriend. Typically, they were the nicest looking boys in the neighbourhood. I soon realized that I wanted to go further than the other children of my age. It was probably my previous experience that made me more sexually mature than my peers. I became less restrained and changed boyfriends as often as other girls changed clothes. One week I was kissing one boy, the next week someone else. Most of my girlfriends were happy just holding hands with the boys they liked. I had already started my periods and, by twelve, my breasts were very well developed. I noticed that boys were very attracted to my breasts and it made me ever more aware of my femininity.
I still wonder why I was so fascinated with boys and their bodies. Perhaps I inherited the trait from my father who was very obsessed by the beauty of women, and not just my mother. Whenever we were out in a public place, he would gape at other women, his eyes on stalks. He would make lewd remarks about their breasts, or butts, or extremely long legs and short skirts. Sometimes he became so obsessed by these tantalizing objects of beauty, he didn't notice that my mum or I had just asked him a question. He behaved like a teenager and would whistle at girls in the street. I soon got used to his irritating remarks about passersby and, before long, I began to copy him. He looked at women, I looked at men. It didn’t matter what age they were as long as they weren’t grey or wrinkled. They were all victims of our critical appraisal.
On occasions my father stayed away from home over the weekend. When my mother explained that he was away on business and I had no reason to disbelieve her. One day, I found a pair of briefs wedged between his dirty books. I was shocked as they were so tiny and sexy. I'd never seen anything like them before as my mother’s underpants were decent and unremarkable, certainly not like those. Now I had the burden of one more secret. My father must have suspected something as, from that day, his cupboard was kept locked. At least he thought so. My heightened curiosity was enough encouragement for me to find the key.
With my mother it was a different matter. She seemed to be in her own little world: cooking and cleaning the house. She didn’t have any outside interests and seemed quite content with her life of toil. Sometimes I helped her clean and we loved baking together. I had a lot of friends come to the house and, to them, our family looked perfectly normal and content.
I no longer saw the friend who had lain on top of me and kissed me so fervently. When I told her I didn’t want to carry on doing things like that, she was bitter and so incensed that she ended our friendship. It didn’t bother me too much as I still had a laugh with my other friends. Sometimes there would be up to seven girls in our attic: all chatting and gossiping about other girls and the boys we fancied until we finally fell asleep, often when the sun was already rising in the sky.
Our house was always welcoming and meticulously clean with my dad's shirts laundered and ironed like clockwork. My mother didn’t notice that my father took advantage of her and was fooling around doing whatever he wanted without ever considering her needs. She never complained and never hinted that she knew what was going on. I knew and it bothered me but I never let on. Perhaps I should have said something. Even now I feel guilty that I never tried to get them together to talk and bring things out in the open so that they could sort things out.
We often went to our holiday house by the lake. My father had a good job and so money wasn’t short. He had bought himself a yacht the two of us would often go out sailing and fishing. After a while I found it boring but put up with it as I enjoyed having my dad’s sole attention and company. Mum would generally stay in the house slaving away to keep it immaculate. Once, when I was alone with my father, I came close to asking him about the tiny underpants that I'd found but I never quite plucked up enough courage.
One day, out of the blue, he asked me if I knew about contraceptives. He told me, that if a boy wanted to fuck me, I should make him use a condom. He even advised me to always carry some condoms in the event of something happening. He told me not to say a word about our conversation to my mother, adding, ‘She doesn't understand anything!’ The fact that I was already taking this precaution led me to the conclusion that my father and I had a lot in common.
With time I noticed that, more often than not, my father went sailing alone and stayed out for one or even two nights. Mother and I never discussed it though her way of dealing with these peculiar absences was to manically polish every piece of copper over and over again. The already sparkling windows were cleaned repeatedly. I thought she must have known what my father was up to but she never uttered a word of complaint. When I asked her whether she found it strange that my father was absent from home so often, she reacted indifferently and, instead of expressing concern, she tried to defend him by saying that he probably needed to be alone sometimes.
My parents argued frequently, Dad accusing Mum of always being tired and never giving him the attention he needed. She would initially deny this and then later agree explaining that, after a day’s hard work cleaning, cooking and doing the laundry, she was exhausted.
After one of these rows and during one of my raids through his stash of sleazy material, I found several photos of my dad with another woman. They were smiling in a restaurant, on a beach and also kissing each other. There were also photos of a naked woman, much younger than my father, with big shapely breasts and a shaven crotch. I was dumbfounded and wondered whether I should tell my mother. But she seemed happy enough and I was worried that exposing her to the truth of my father’s double life would only cause her distress.
One Thursday night my mother was out with friends at her regular book club that normally ended long after midnight. Dad suggested we should watch a film that night and I agreed liking the idea of us sitting companionably on the sofa together. Just after the film started a woman walked into the sitting room.
She was very pretty with her long black hair, beautiful eyes and an amazing figure. She can only have been ten years older than me and I recognized her as being the woman in the photograph with the shaven pussy. Dad introduced her and she sat down very close to him. I panicked and wanted to leave the room as quickly as I could but Dad told me to stay. At around eleven, they went outside for an hour or so and then my father came back alone. He gave me some money and told me to keep my mouth shut.
From that day on my father’s fuck friend came every Thursday. Each time I had to stay in their company feeling very uncomfortable and disloyal to my mother. One night I saw his hand disappear under her skirt. Her tongue started licking her pouting lips while her eyes rolled in their sockets. It all became too much for me so I feigned a headache and slipped out of the room so quickly that any protests went unheeded. However, even with my bedroom door closed, I could hear them making noises that were reminiscent of dirty films I'd seen. I sobbed uncontrollably and hated my father. How could he! I felt trapped knowing all this and yet unable to tell my poor mother.
In time I discovered that I had needs that were similar to my father’s. I didn’t understand what they were until I started secondary school. My friends and I used to have regular parties in the cellar of our school gym. During one of these parties I got off with a guy who was so unimaginably gorgeous it’s difficult to describe. I had seen him at school before but he’d not given me the slightest attention. That night however was different. Our eyes met several times and he gave me a distinctly lustful look of appreciation. I was dancing passionately to the disco beat, shaking my bum to the rhythm, when I felt two hands on my hips. I thought the floor had disappeared from under me. The boy bent over, put his mouth to my ear and whispered, ‘Does that feel good?’ What could I say? I hardly knew him and, although this normally wouldn’t have been an obstacle, this guy who was several years my senior, had affected me irrevocably. My body tensed and I felt a tingling feeling between my legs. Even though I had only just met him, I knew I wanted him in a way I couldn’t explain. Our bodies moved together following the rhythm of the music. He pushed his enlarged penis against my bum. The excitement was almost unbearable. We let ourselves go and it was electrifying. My head started to float and I remembered that I hadn't answered his question. We moved from side to side and he held me tightly. I could feel him harden more, ‘Yes, I d..do like it,’ I stuttered, a bit stupidly. We kept dancing with his warm body firmly pressed against my back. He circled his arms around my waist and kissed me on my neck. I wanted to cry out but kept still not wanting to destroy the moment. I looked up and saw two girls, Liz and Ans, giggling as they walked passed. It didn’t bother me as I was in heaven. We slowly shuffled towards the wall that was already pretty busy with all kinds of kissing couples. We just blended in.
I had kissed other boys many times before but this felt different, more intense and far more invasive. I felt completely out of control and it made me quite anxious. I was confused. It was a fabulous feeling and my body started to shake; yet I felt very unsure of myself, and of what I wanted. He was so grown up and muscular. His strong arms turned me around and he started kissing me on my mouth. He wanted to put his tongue inside my mouth but I kept my lips tightly pursed together while my eyes searched his. The way he looked made my pants wet. Lord, he was gorgeous. My mouth opened in response to his increasingly urgent kisses and we stood there engrossed in each other for some time. His hands groped my back and slipped inside my jeans reaching for my bottom. Then he pressed me against the wall. I felt his hard penis against me once more. I was in a dreamlike state aware that this crazy game had to stop. I didn't know his name. I'd never even had a conversation with him. The whole thing was ridiculous yet amazing.
I had often fantasized about guys. The colour of hair wasn’t important, dark, blond or mousey. They were all the same. The first thing I thought about was how their penis’ would look in the flesh. Maybe that's why it was so easy for guys to impress and seduce me. This boy’s eyes were so deeply penetrating and dominating, reaching deeply into my very being so I that I felt naked and vulnerable.
I was terrified of this new emotion. All at once, I stopped kissing him, turned and ran away towards the exit and to my bike. Without saying goodbye to my girlfriends, I cycled home in a downpour of rain without my coat that I had forgotten in the rush. That was the least of my problems. I had behaved like a slut but had enjoyed it. That piercing gaze really unsettled me and I had never kissed a boy before so intensely or felt like this before.
It was one thing to be footloose and fancy-free having a laugh with my friends with a bit of flirting and boy/girl stuff on the side. Up until now, I had never been particularly passionate or even close to being ‘in love’. I didn’t really know what it meant. Kissing had been a pastime to make life a bit more interesting. But this time, kissing had made my heart change beat. I couldn’t get the memory out of my mind, the feeling of his strong muscular arms, his hard genitals pressing so urgently against me or his piercing gaze wantonly undressing me without even asking my name.
Images of Maxim kept flashing through my mind but I managed to suppress them pretty quickly. Maxim had been an earlier boyfriend but much younger than this one. We had met over the summer holiday before I went to high school and I had fancied him, but now he was history. Maxim had also moved on as I had seen him since with other girls. When I saw Maxim with someone else I felt a pang of regret that I hadn’t persevered with him as he was amazingly good-looking. But we were young and in an experimental phase, swapping boyfriends and girlfriends like dirty underwear.
When I got home I slipped in via the back door and snuck upstairs to my bedroom. Unfortunately this didn’t go unnoticed as my mother appeared soon after asking why I was home early – well before my 11.30 curfew. I feigned a headache. After a hot shower I jumped into bed and pulled the sheet up as far as my nose. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t get the image of this Adonis out of my mind and stared desperately at the ceiling trying to distract myself. Eventually I slept but my dreams meant it was a very restless sleep. I dreamt of him and his stunning blue eyes. His hands on the small of my back, his hands that eased my pants to the ground, his hands that touched my naked breasts and nipples, and his naked body against mine. When I woke up, I noticed that my hand was in my pants and I was soaking as if I'd wet myself. I'd never dreamt like that before. I wondered what I would do at school on Monday if we bumped into each other. I was terrified that he wouldn’t recognize me or, god forbid, completely ignore me. I tried to distract myself by concentrating on my homework. During dinner I was very quiet. My mother asked if there was anything troubling me. I made out that everything was fine but I just had a lot of homework that was giving me a headache. If she had asked me what had happened at the party I would have no doubt blushed calling for more interrogation but fortunately her interest waned. I felt troubled by my thoughts and feelings unsure whether I was indeed hopelessly in love. I certainly didn’t want to be.
My father was away as usual and his absences seemed to be getting longer than ever. It was obviously making my mother unhappy but she kept herself going by believing that he would come home when he was ready and eventually he did. One time the period lasted for two weeks after which he suddenly appeared at the door proffering a huge bouquet of roses. He kissed my mother, mumbling some pathetic excuse that he had been unimaginably busy with an unavoidable flight to London.
You would have to be very stupid to believe this but my mother did. She loved him blindly and her eyes visibly shone whenever he stood close to her. I was livid as I knew he was lying. A paltry gift of flowers and a peck on the cheek might have been enough to persuade my mum of his sincerity, but not me. He even tried to assuage his guilt with me by giving me a new outfit.
Despite my outrage, I had to admit that my father had excellent taste. My mother wasn’t quite so impressed remarking, ‘It’s rather promiscuous, surely she’s a bit young to be wearing those?' My father disagreed saying proudly that it was high time for his child to start looking like a woman. That same day he took me to his favourite bar insisting that I wore my new clothes. My mother’s protestations went unheard. Clearly my father’s ideas about me weren’t negotiable.
The bar was full of my dad’s friends and colleagues who all commented on how good I looked and stared at me as if I was the latest ‘Miss World’. I was thrilled with all the attention and began to really enjoy myself. One man, who must have been at least twenty years older than me, wouldn’t let me out of his sight. He was funny and I couldn’t help laughing at his jokes. Then he put his hand on my knee and drooled in my ear saying that I made him feel really horny. Horrified, I fled to the toilets but he followed me. Fortunately my father had been watching and quickly pursued us. He apprehended the man and threatened him, ‘Fuck off friend, or I will personally make sure that you can never get laid again’. I was shocked to the core that my father could use this language and so aggressively too. The whole situation was horrible and I pleaded with my father to get me home as soon as possible. It was after a few more beers that he finally conceded, only agreeing because I had school the next morning. With all that had happened, by the time we got home, I had forgotten my boy-angst of the night before. My mother had been waiting up for us and looked very agitated when we came in slightly bleary eyed and smelling of beer and cigarettes.
Later standing in the shower, the comment by my older assailant, ‘I love young girls’, came back to haunt me. I was angry and felt revolted by him -surely castration would be the solution. Then I could hear raised voices downstairs, my parents were fighting as usual. I heard a bang and the sound of breaking glass. My father’s voice penetrated upstairs and into the bathroom, ‘You bore me senseless. Fortunately your daughter doesn't take after you, she's always game for an adventure!' My mother yelled back saying that they had to think about my education and that I was much too young to be hanging around in bars with my irresponsible father. He screamed back reproaching her for only being concerned about the house and so driving him into the arms of other women. It was awful. I crept into bed sobbing and pulled the pillow over my head deafening my ears to a tirade of terrible accusations. I don’t know how long the argument went on for. It seemed like hours. I was aware of Mum crying and begging my father not to fool around anymore. Finally I fell asleep and woke up the next morning with a genuinely terrible headache.
Unusually, Mum didn’t appear at breakfast. She was still in bed by the time I was ready to go to school so I went up to kiss her goodbye. I thought she was asleep so kissed her lightly on the cheek but then noticed that she had tears trickling out of her closed eyes. I kissed her again, this time more firmly imploring her not to worry about me.
After all this, I was late for school. I rushed out of the house meeting rather a grumpy Ans who was still waiting for me. I apologized profusely explaining that I had not slept well and she soon forgave me. She had waited for me to get some answers. She wanted to know why I had disappeared so quickly on Saturday night. She saw me kissing a handsome boy but, after I’d left, he had apparently turned his amorous attention to another girl within minutes. ‘What a dickhead’, declared Ans. ‘‘The two of them went outside and you don't need much imagination to work out what they were up to.’ This news made me feel very depressed. What a jerk, I thought furiously. I couldn’t get the image of the boy out of my mind. Also the events in the pub with my father plagued me for the rest of the day. And the argument I had heard between my raging parents, the worst yet, all added to my growing hatred of men. My mother did not deserve such callous treatment. Granted she wasn’t a sex god, but this couldn’t be the only thing that men wanted. Was it only my father who behaved like this? But then, thinking about it, surely I was behaving in the same way with boys? I would kiss them, then turn my back and dump them like a piece of litter. Ans was my friend but, if truth be told, I was really annoyed with her. Why did she have to tell me what had happened after I’d left the party and ruin all my passionate memories? It was not going to be a good day. However, as I was unlocking my bike, I felt someone right behind me sending an electric shock through my spine. I turned round to find a pair of dazzling blue eyes grinning at me with a look of amusement. I gulped and yelled ‘You bastard’, dropping my school bag, its contents spilling out over the asphalt. I had to get away, and quickly. So I sprinted out of the school grounds, glancing back briefly to see him walk away chuckling with a girl on his arm.
The day just couldn’t get any worse. Why did I react so strongly in this guy’s presence? How dare he treat me with such disdain, one minute kissing me and muttering sexy things in my ear making my heart flutter, and the next sneaking off to snog another girl.
Another friend, Simone, saw me standing outside the school gates looking a little lost and forlorn, and asked what was the matter. She hadn’t been at the party and so didn't know what’d happened. After I had retrieved my bike, books and bag, we cycled home together and I told her the saga. She laughed explaining it was predictable to fall in love with such a good-looking boy, even if he was an idiot! At home, my mother was cooking dinner as if nothing untoward had happened last night or this morning. I didn't say anything but went straight up to my room to do my homework.
The next day, I tried not to think about the boy and to concentrate on my lessons. In morning break I messed around with Simone and Renate, giggling as we told each other silly jokes. The boy was nowhere to be seen though I looked out for him surreptitiously without the other girls noticing. Renate was particularly prudish when it came to boys and, if she had known about the condom in my purse, she would have had a hissy fit. I needed the loo but the toilets in the hall were all occupied so I had to go upstairs to the top floor. The toilet was at the end of long dark corridor, and it was very quiet as none of the classrooms were in use up there. It was a bit creepy. There was only one cubicle and it was in use so I had to wait. I was a bit worried as my class was about to start. I would have to hurry. I looked up from my reverie and, to my amazement, there he was. We stood looking at each other motionless for more than a minute. Feeling awkward, I broke our trance and moved to let him pass. As there wasn’t much room, he brushed me with his arm but then grabbed me and pressed his lips against mine. We heard a sound from the corridor so he pushed me inside the toilet and locked the door. In a bit of a flutter, I asked, ‘What's your name?' ‘Michael,' he said with a husky voice. He stroked my hair with one hand and touched my body with the other. My heart raced so fast I wondered whether he could hear it. Then he kissed me and I kissed him back. He was very tender and, when his tongue slipped into my mouth, I didn’t resist, instead, I reciprocated. Then he kissed my nose and my closed eyelids. It was heavenly and so utterly romantic. No one had ever kissed me like this. I could not believe that this same boy was constantly kissing different girls. The way he kissed me made me feel so special. It can only have happened to me, surely. The corridor was quiet again and so Michael opened the door and walked away without saying anything. I remembered I needed a wee. As I was already ten minutes late, I decided to skip my lesson. ‘Michael!' I let his name roll over my tongue. It sounded so cool, so grown up. I thought it was strange he hadn’t given me his surname, even stranger that he hadn’t asked me mine.
I decided to go home complaining of a terrible stomachache and retire to bed as soon as I could. The shed was full and it took me a while before I found my bike. The weather was stormy and it was raining hard. In a whirl, I loosely threw my coat over my shoulders and, after twenty minutes cycling against a strong wind, I arrived home looking very bedraggled.
My mother looked worried when she saw me. I told her I felt really ill and suggested she should phone the school to say I’d come home sick. She quizzed me asking why I hadn’t covered myself up properly, ‘Did I want to catch pneumonia?’ When my reaction was dull and lifeless, she realized I wasn’t myself and sent me to bed with a cup of tea.
I stayed at home for the next two days and mopped around the house. I was sick all right but it was the love-sick kind. My mother knew I wasn’t actually ill and encouraged me to go back to school. Ans picked me up and we cycled to school in silence. I couldn’t work out why she wasn’t talking to me and thought perhaps she was in one of her moods. Wanting to break the ice, I suddenly blurted out: ‘My father's gone away. I don't think he’s coming back.' Ans was visibility shocked and looked away. I continued: ‘I think there's another woman?' To my horror she replied, ‘Well, daughter like father!' ‘Where had this come from?’ I asked myself. She was supposed to be my friend.
As I was locking up my bike, I was aware of someone watching me. It was Michael again. He smiled and came close enough to whisper, ‘How about getting together later on the top floor? Ten fifty at the end of morning break?' Then he was gone. Ans looked at me skeptically and asked, ‘What did he say to you?' ‘Oh, nothing special,’ I lied. I was still offended by her remark earlier and couldn’t trust her with the truth. ‘Oh, he just asked me to go to a party with him,' I said casually. She looked incredulous, ‘Are you crazy? I presume you said no? You know he changes girls every week. Yeah! Yesterday I saw him with someone from the third year!’ I didn’t believe her. I thought she was trying to bully me or was jealous. She then added: ‘..and… they seemed to be enjoying themselves!’ What else could I say other than, ‘You idiot, of course I won't go with him, what do you think I am, stupid?'
Morning break seemed to go on forever. When the bell went, Simone asked curiously if I was still in love. ‘Oh that's over and done with,' I said dismissively, waving my hand. ‘That’s my girl,’ she laughed. She recounted some of her latest dirty jokes and we laughed until the tears ran down our faces. What would I do without her sense of humour - probably fall into a state of permanent gloom? Annemarie joined us and started a conversation with Simone making the way clear to escape. I ran up the stairs, two at a time, to the top floor toilet where everything was quiet. Breathless, sweat dripping from my forehead, I crept into the tiny cubicle. It was empty! ‘What was I doing?’ I wondered as I put my hand in a pocket and felt the condom my father had given me. I remembered his advice: ‘Always carry it with you, you never know when you might need it.'
My thoughts were very mixed and disturbed. I asked myself, why am I here, why is my heart beating in anticipation of a guy who is apparently unfaithful, luring many girls into his arms. A lot of my friends fancied Michael even if they didn’t admit it. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a wild frenzied face. I tried to reshape my hair a little and then realized how stupid I’d been. I really should get back to my lessons straight away and forget about this boy once and for all.
Just as I turned to leave I heard footsteps in the corridor…. and there he was. We almost collided. He was wearing a tightly fitted red sweater and jeans that really enhanced his well-shaped body. He chuckled, took my hand and led me back to the toilet. ‘What's the hurry?' he asked grinning. He leant his body heavily against mine, ignoring my protestations and we kissed. He stroked my body, touching my breasts with his hands but he didn't try to undress me. His hands knew exactly how and what places to touch. His tongue was in my mouth and I could smell his body odour: tobacco and sweat. I loved it! He turned me around, pushed my face towards the wall and pressed his hard penis against my buttocks. His warm breath on my neck became more and more ragged. He put his tongue in my ear and I felt wet and sticky between my legs. I told him I had a condom in my pocket. He stopped for a second and I got the impression that he'd started to chortle. However, he continued with his explorative touching whilst riding up against me until he stopped abruptly as he came with a moan. I was a bit bewildered and wondered if everything was how it should be. It seemed strange that I’d offered him more and yet this was how he wanted to satisfy himself. Yuk! Now he would have to walk around with dirty underpants.
At two minutes to eleven, he kissed me on the nose, turned and was gone, like before, with no parting comment. There I was, all alone, sexually frustrated and so terribly disappointed.
I ran as fast as I could to my classroom and was relieved that the door was still open allowing me to slip unnoticed behind my desk. It was impossible to concentrate. My mind wasn't on the lesson as my thoughts were driving me crazy. Why did he do what he did? Why did he want so little when I longed for so much more?
Our secret rendezvouses continued like this day after day, and every day the same events would unfold. One night, when I was in the bath having a long soak, I pointed the strong jet from the shower attachment at my vagina. I found it gave me a surprisingly nice feeling. It was erotic in a way I had never experienced before. I had no control since my body was controlling my mind. My mind kept reverting to Michael and I imagined that the jet of water stimulating me was in fact his enlarged penis. Ultimately the sensation was so extreme, it hurt. But I kept it up until the point I was flying in the seventh heaven. I didn’t want it to ever stop.
My friends at school were suspicious about my mysterious disappearances during break, especially when I returned with rosy cheeks. Of course they had their suspicions about what was going on. They quizzed me repeatedly but I always denied everything. A couple of my more intuitive friends would announce, ‘It's Michael isn’t it? Oh my God, you're so stupid! He fucks every girl!'. I comforted myself with the fact that I knew different. I knew that he could’ve had me too but, when I offered, he seemed to be treating me differently. Perhaps he was sparing me from a greater insult.
Generally I didn’t lie to my friends as we were an open bunch and sharing our innermost feelings was part of what we did. However, on this occasion, I kept myself to myself and didn’t discuss Michael with anyone as it was none of their business. Especially odd was Michael’s penchant for climaxing against my body rather than in it. Whilst this seemed ridiculous and unpleasant on the one hand, on the other, its very strangeness was somehow kinky.
Michael continued to say nothing. Every time we met, he kissed and cuddled me, did his horse-riding act, came and then disappeared like a ghost in the night, leaving me sweaty and dissatisfied. I didn’t mention the condom again and I didn’t want to repeat the humiliation it had generated the first time. I never asked why our ‘relationship’ was such a strange one or whether we had a relationship at all. It was very one sided as he never satiated my needs, only his own. He was selfish all right, yet when he touched me, I was utterly mesmerized. When he left me, I was so sexually aroused that I had to relieve my own tension with a small vibrator that became my best friend. When Michael had done his business and gone, I would take my little friend out of my purse and achieve what he'd failed to do. This friend had been a gift from my father on Christmas Eve wrapped in nice paper with a note: Now you're a young woman, your life will change forever. Enjoy!
At first I was incensed at my father’s audacity in giving me such a disgusting present and had thrown it in the corner of the room. My mother was rendered speechless, and it sent my grandfather into great coughing spasms. My grandmother, who didn’t know what it was, just said it was very nicely shaped which made the coughing even worse.
Now I was happy it was mine to play with. The trembling thing slithered between my legs into my wet pussy, touching my most delicate spot. The buzzing filled the small room and I started to groan. I was careful to control any noise as I was worried someone would hear me. As the vibrator slid over my clitoris, my body involuntarily bent against the wall with the force of my climax.
This was all because of Michael, self-centred Michael but sends-me-crazy Michael. I was frustrated that I couldn’t tell anyone how I felt, how he made me feel without actually satisfying me. I was addicted to him. He seemed so grown up and worldly wise. He was six years my senior having repeated his current school year twice. This was his last chance to pass his final exams and then he would leave school and my life. This awful realization filled me with horror.
One day I went to school wearing a short skirt instead of the trousers I usually wore. I thought that this would make it easier for him to slip his hand into my pants. On this particular occasion, I asked him, condom in hand and with desperation in my voice, ‘Please, fuck me!' He looked me in the face and said flatly, in a tone that almost made me cry, ‘You're too young!' I could have disappeared down a hole in the floor, what a stupid thing to ask of him. It was illegal. What was wrong with me? I had portrayed myself as cheap and vulgar, a slut. I said ‘Fuck!’ As if things couldn’t get worse, he was laughing at me.
Nevertheless, I was also relieved. At least he had some shred of decency. My friends would not have believed that he possessed any such scruples. I wanted to run away but he held me tightly and began to kiss and fondle me more passionately than ever. We never had a lot of time. This time though Michael did manage to tell me I was beautiful and that I should wear short skirts more often. He stroked my buttocks and I realized I was sodden between my legs. He traced his finger along the edge of my pants until it found my pubic hair, caressing his way towards my sensitive little spot. My body reacted violently and I pushed myself against him. His finger slid over and into my vagina. He moaned and quickly took his finger out. He pushed hard against me and came without a sound. His breathing was fast and he kissed me behind my ear. I wanted to ask him, how could we carry on as the holidays were imminent and he was about to take his finals. We didn’t know anything about each other. He didn’t even know my name. Yet I didn’t dare ask as his beautiful blue eyes seemed to suggest that there was nothing worthy of discussion.
This time when I stood alone, I didn’t want to use my little friend. I didn’t join my lesson, I was too distraught. I ran down the stairs and out to the bicycle shed with tears blurring my vision making it difficult to see where I was going. Not that I cared. I was so mixed up. I cycled away from school to the canal and sat on the bank where I could watch the ducks swimming attentively with their ducklings. I envied them as they seemed so content, the mother in front and her babies following behind. Occasionally she would circle round to scoop up the stragglers. I was miserable and couldn’t stop sobbing. Why did Michael carry on with this stupid charade? Did he not want to touch my naked body and have me? Was I not attractive enough or was there something else wrong with me?
Since I'd been with him, I never looked at or thought about other guys, not even Maxim, who I'd met last summer. I didn't see my friends, I didn't eat properly and I’d lost weight, about 5 kilos. My mother had noticed this change in me prompting her to continually nag me to eat, but I couldn’t. My throat felt constricted so I couldn’t swallow. When I got home, for the second time complaining of a stomachache, my mother once again sent me to bed with a nice cup of tea, and phoned the school. I could tell she was becoming increasingly concerned about me but I couldn’t talk to her.
After a week in bed, I had to get up. I needed to study for end of year exams. The school year was almost over and the holidays would be starting soon. Instead of looking forward to them, I was dreading them as I knew wouldn’t see Michael again. My heart ached and my mind was in turmoil. As an act of self-preservation, I stopped my daily jaunts upstairs and didn’t bump into Michael in the bike shed either. He seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. I was desperate to see him. I made some hesitant enquires with one of his peers. The girl just laughed at me, turned her back and walked away turning just before she rounded the corridor to yell, ‘Michael! He’s rather tied up with other matters...!' What could I make of that? What did she mean? What kind of matters? I didn't dare probe further as I didn’t want to arouse suspicion. Fortunately the exam week gave me little time to think. I tried to focus on my work but only scraped a pass. I had previously been a good student and so my mentor called home to ask if I anything was bothering me. My mother agreed I wasn’t myself but put it down to me going through puberty.
The holidays started but I felt empty. Those taunting words haunted me, Michael! He’s tied up with other matters. That Saturday I went to town with my mother shopping for a bikini as I had grown out of my old ones. I came out of the fitting room wearing a bikini that I had just tried on to show my mother, and there he was. Michael was there in the shop with a girl. She was stunning and had an amazing figure, slim with big breasts; and was glamorously attired in a short dress and heels. She was a real beauty and, although younger than Michael, she looked very mature.
I’m sure he saw me but acted as if he hadn't. My head felt like it was on fire. I jumped back into the fitting room and quickly put on my dress. Mum asked how I was getting on and was I ready to show her the bikini? I was stuck in the changing room, not daring to come out. I was very reluctant to show my face again. I felt sick and sweaty; my heart was thumping so loudly, I thought everyone in the shop would be able to hear it. After a pause, my mother enquired, ‘What’s the matter Elsa? You've put on your dress without showing me any of the bikinis. Don’t you like them?’ I mumbled that it could wait as I wasn’t in the right mood and we quickly left the shop. Despite this hasty exit, I couldn’t help noticing that Michael was admiring his bikini-clad friend, whilst ignoring me completely. What a creep. I decided then that I would never let another boy take advantage of me again.
A few months later my parents separated. My father was seeing another woman who he’d met at work. Although she was equally young, it was a different woman to the Thursday tart. I couldn’t understand what attracted them to my greying father who had the beginning of a middle-aged paunch. The latest version wasn’t particularly pretty but was always well-dressed with long manicured nails that were not conducive to lots of housework. She would often accompany my father to London on business. My father would try to justify this explaining, 'She understands my needs and she's a good listener.’
His behaviour appalled me. I vowed that I would never betray my partner like he did. My mother became more and more distressed. One day she sobbed down the phone to her sister for hours recounting the horror of finding my father in bed with this slut when she returned from a shopping trip. Until then she had tried to ignore my father’s strange disappearances. This discovery had made my father’s intent clear. She now understood that he had been messing around but had no idea how long it had been going on for. Once caught in the act, and to my relief, my father left for good. His departure, whilst removing a certain amount of angst, left us financially much worse off.
In the past when my father had been supporting us, we'd had a comfortable lifestyle with a lakeside holiday house complete with boat. I was able to host groups of friends who came over to sail and generally have fun. Out of my friends, I had the nicest and obviously most expensive clothes. My father, despite his terrible treatment of my mother, had always spoilt me buying me anything I asked for. This wealth didn’t go unnoticed with the boys and certainly contributed to the unrivalled attention they gave me. I could have had any number of them but there was only one boy who really interested me.
He had been sitting alone on the waterfront. I could see that he had curly brown hair, brown eyes and a well-shaped body. I was instantly attracted to him as there was something refreshingly innocent about him. He was so shy that, when I casually asked him if he wanted to join us on the boat, he looked embarrassed and politely refused the offer.
That night when my friends and I were walking to the nearest town for a drink, we bumped into the same boy. His skinny jeans showed off his genitals so heightening my interest. I smiled at him and he smiled back. This time he accepted my offer to join us. His name was Maxim but I didn’t get much chance to chat that night as he remained on the periphery of our group. His shyness made him all the more desirable. We said goodbye and agreed to meet up the next day at the beach.
The next day we all went swimming. It was a hot day and it didn’t take long for the girls to strip down to our sparse bikinis, while the boys donned their tightly fitting trunks. We hastily divided ourselves into two mixed teams and began a very heated game of water-polo. It was great fun and became more and more boisterous. The boys were stronger than the girls and better at getting the ball. This meant that the girls had to rely on ever more devious methods to gain possession and our tactics created lots of opportunity for physical contact with each other. Our scantily clad bodies would brush up against each other, and groping hands would often go astray. The game became wilder and less restrained. At one point, I was hanging on to Maxim’s back trying to overpower him and get the ball. In a daring bid to get his reaction, I pulled down his trunks. Though it was difficult to see in the swirling water, I got sight of a hefty white thing. He quickly pulled up his trunks and I saw his face redden. I laughed loudly to diffuse the situation.
After an hour in the water we were all tired, our shoulders and backs scorched by the sun. We all spread out on our towels and I asked Maxim if he'd ever been to a nudist beach as I had with my parents. Again he blushed and struggled to answer. It was clear that he was not used to the attention I was giving him, something I found strange as he must have been three years older than me. Clearly embarrassed, he got up and started to play football with the other boys. I couldn't take my eyes off him, and stared at him lustfully. Whether he liked it or not, I wanted him and fantasized about him kicking the ball naked. I shivered briefly ashamed that my mind so often reverted to sex and male bodies.
I then thought wistfully about my friend, Liz. She was away on holiday in Portugal and had just texted me her news. It was all about a gorgeous boy she had just met. She had spent the whole day with him walking, swimming and exploring the area on a scooter. In the evening, they had made a large fire and roasted a whole pig. Even though they didn’t speak the same language, they were inseparable. Suddenly her summer seemed so much more exciting than my own. I felt a twinge of envy and this fuelled my own boredom with the same old lake and boat. I told Liz about Maxim and how I dreamt of us joining them in Portugal, maybe on a nudist beach? She chastised me for always thinking about one thing and told me I had to be patient and wait for true love, warning me not to rush into anything. But I had no time for her sensible boring advice. I wanted it all and now! This was going to be difficult when Maxim didn't show any initiative.
A few days later, when we were at the lake, suddenly a distressed cry for help came from the water. Maxim didn't hesitate for a second and dived in. I saw his fit body slide through the water and reach for the girl who was floundering out of her depth. With the now unconscious girl in his arms, he swam back, lifted her onto the beach and gave her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I wondered if I should try to drown myself to get the same attention. The girl then vomited and came back to her senses. I think she was about seventeen, so four years older than I was. She was very pretty with long black hair, a tiny waist and pert breasts. Her face was very pale and she seemed confused. In the meantime one of us had called 911 and, when the ambulance arrived, Maxim went with her to the hospital.
The next day Maxim was in the local paper labelled a local hero: FIFTEEN YEAR OLD BOY SAVES LIFE OF DROWNING SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD. I had mixed feelings of pride and envy that I hadn’t been that girl. She stayed in the hospital for two nights under observation and, during all that time, I didn't see Maxim. I tried to phone him but he didn't answer. Then with no warning, Maxim appeared before me like an apparition. My eyes seemed to have a mind of their own lowering to his crotch area – my senses heightened, my appetite titillated. The reaction was automatic, I was on self-pilot, completely obsessed by the male genitals.
My big problem was that I was impatient. In the short period of Maxim’s heroic absence, I had become hitched to one of his friends. It was nothing serious, just a friendly dance at a disco that had turned into a snog. Obviously word had got around so unsurprisingly Maxim greeted me very coolly and with little emotion. I understood that the rescued girl was still in a bad way and that he was worried about her. However when I heard he was seeing rather a lot of her, I felt cheated. Despite my own philandering, I felt very possessive towards Maxim believing his loyalties should have rightfully been mine. Anything else was clearly a mistake.
To make matters worse, that evening I received a long text from Liz saying, ‘ We’ve done it! It was awesome! He makes me crazy. What a lover! I am never coming back to Holland again!’ She was only thirteen. What would her parents say if they found out? Probably castrate her Portuguese boyfriend. I was impressed though insanely jealous. I congratulated her and told her of my own love life, or lack of it. She replied saying she thought I should forget Maxim making my predicament even worse. The fact that I couldn’t have him on a plate, made him all the more desirable. Liz then went into considerable detail about her deflowering. How Alex had invited her home when his parents were out, how after a few drinks he had gently led her into his parents bathroom, slowly undressed her and then showered her using a lot of very luxurious soap. First her back, then her front so that she was melting with desire and spellbound watching his beautiful brown body rippling with muscles. How when she felt his excitement on her back, he had asked something incomprehensible in Portuguese and she had simply muttered ‘yes’. Then he toweled her dry, lifted her onto the bed and smeared her with a heavenly-scented oil. And then … Liz’s description came to an abrupt end as she wasn’t prepared to share the rest, accentuating my frustration
The next day I agreed to go to Amsterdam for the day with a group of friends including Maxim’s crowd. It was going to be a long day requiring parental consent and we all met punctually at the station in an atmosphere of excited anticipation. Maxim was the last to arrive and he seemed quiet. When we got to Amsterdam, it was drizzling so we walked along in a huddle collectively sharing the few umbrellas we had. Awkwardly I found myself next to Maxim. My snogging partner tried to claim me but I stayed put enjoying the proximity of Maxim. As Maxim and I walked along chatting, we became more comfortable with each other and my arm slipped into his. To onlookers, we must have seemed like a couple. When we walked through the red-light district, the boys all goggled at the scantily clad women advertising themselves. They made lots of lewd jokes but it was clear that, underneath the bravado, they felt uncomfortable surrounded by all the debauched frivolity. I remained quiet yet sensed that Maxim and I were becoming closer as he was loosening up a bit with me.
The drizzle turned to a downpour and so we all piled into a bar for shelter. We started drinking and soon felt the effects as our moods became steadily more raucous. I was really too young for such binges but my looks defied my age so I got away with it. Also I wasn’t exactly subject to model parenting and had been allowed my freedom from an early age. Maxim was in a jolly mood, frolicking around and letting his hair down. I saw my chance and took it, stroking his chest. He clasped me by the waist and finally we were kissing. We were interrupted by his mobile, the second call in an hour. Maxim mumbled an excuse and disappeared outside to answer it. When he came back, he gently dismissed me saying I was too young to kiss and too young for him. A few moments later, another crowd came into the bar including his drowned rat. Before my eyes and with no hesitation, Maxim walked up to her and planted a kiss squarely on her lips. I felt the blood rising to my cheeks. What a bastard! How could he treat me so badly. I could have torn the girl’s eyes out and, for a moment, wished she had drowned. Later, when I’d calmed down, I realized that Maxim owed me nothing. He had only kissed me, and only once. Yet I really hankered after him and became very depressed at his rejection. I was so infatuated with him, I became withdrawn, and missed out on the rest of the evening.
A few days later, a trip had been planned to our local nudist beach. We all met at ten outside the supermarket with our bikes. We waited for an extra quarter of an hour for Maxim to show up but eventually left without him. Everyone was excited, happily chatting and joking, except me. I was fed up and felt let down and dejected. I honestly thought that Maxim had agreed to come and I would get to see him, all of him at last.
The swimming was delightful. It was very different and liberating swimming without a costume. It was strange to see everyone naked but we were all fairly uninhibited and soon relaxed as we got used to it. We were all messing around in the water and, at one stage, I felt something soft against my leg. I wondered if this was going to lead to anything but nothing came of it. Then a group of people arrived including a red head who instantly showed an interest in me. He was fun to talk to and before long had me eating his words. He coaxed me into taking a stroll with him along the beach. He took my hand and led me towards the dunes. It was very quiet and the further we got, the less people we saw. I began to feel nervous and asked to go back. He didn’t seem to hear me, just held my hand tighter and carried on. Without warning, he pushed me down in the sand behind some bushes. His penis was erect and his eyes were flashing. I didn’t fancy him and wanted no part of this. He grabbed my breasts that were already painful from too much sun. I screamed. He tried to lie on top of me but I scratched his face close to his eye. He started calling me obscene names still trying to penetrate me. I pushed him away with an almighty shove and lashed out kicking him in the balls. He withdrew wincing in pain allowing me to leap up and flea back up the beach. When I met up with my friends, I told them about this attempted rape but they just laughed saying it was my fault. I knew they were right. I had led this idiot on and now I was the idiot. I burned with shame as well as a sunburnt body. How stupid of me not to protect myself with sun cream, how stupid of me to make myself so vulnerable by walking off, on my own and naked, with a stranger. The question was, was I learning from my mistakes or acquiring more dangerous traits through the bad experiences that I was bringing upon myself.
The summer was drawing to a close. Liz didn’t respond to my texts anymore. Her mind was obviously on better things. Maxim had vanished into thin air, as thankfully had the red-head. I’d experienced a lot of new things that summer, some good, some bad. They were all part of growing up but what I was learning wasn’t clear.
That summer was the last with my parents under the same roof. The last happy holiday by the lake. They got divorced, Dad sold the boat and our holiday house was put on the market.
A year later I had moved into a small fifth floor apartment in the suburbs of Utrecht with my mother. Money was tight and so we had to live very frugally. She continued to grant me huge amounts of freedom and agreed I could join Liz in Portugal the following summer, a blessing now that there was no boat or lakeside home. My mother was so undemanding. She would have preferred for me to stay at home with her to keep her company and to help redecorate her dingy apartment. However, my enjoyment was foremost in her mind and she didn’t want to spoil my fun.
My father, in comparison, lived very comfortably in Amsterdam in a flat so big that I could have my own room and bathroom. I had been allowed to decorate it in my own style at the time, black and purple walls with mirrors all around so that I could look at myself from every angle. I chose black chairs, a fitted wardrobe and a double bed – no questions asked. The room also contained a tailor’s dummy that I redressed regularly using clothes from my extensive wardrobe.
He had moved in with his new girlfriend, Marie Angela, who was pregnant and her belly was growing fast. She still managed to dress up, always looking glamorous and appealing to my father. You could see the attraction in his eyes whenever he looked at her. In fact he couldn’t keep his hands off her despite her fragile state. I often caught them in the act, it was difficult not to as they did ‘it’ with noisy gusto. I think my father actually enjoyed showing off his virility and got a kick when I witnessed their exuberant lovemaking. He was weird like that and he took no account of the baby and Marie Angela’s growing fatigue. Despite all this, Marie seemed to satisfy my father’s needs and I could see that he was happier with her than he had ever been with Mum.
I alternated homes every week, an arrangement that seemed to work well enough until my father decided to arrange his engagement party during my allocated week at Mum’s. He insisted that I should attend but Mum was not happy. She believed he was ‘a bad influence on me, encouraging me to smoke and drink at only fourteen, and also dress like a ‘common hussy’. When the time came, I went to the party dressed as my mother had predicted: in a short shirt, high heels and wearing lots of make up. It made me look far older than fourteen but I wanted to impress my father and his friends.
I travelled by train and received a lot of admiring looks and wolf-whistles as I walked along the platform wiggling my bum provocatively. The train was packed so I had to stand holding the pole in the middle of the train. Someway into the journey, I felt someone behind me rub my bum cheeks with their stiff dick. Initially, I enjoyed the sensation. However, when I turned around, there was an old man leering at me with yellowed teeth. I shouted abuse at him and, fortunately, the train stopped at a station and he was gone. I was left trembling, feeling stupid and ashamed at my excitement. I then had a 30 minute walk from the station to the party still attracting attention that was now unwelcomed. My feet hurt with the heels so that I dreamt of walking bare foot. I got to the apartment sweaty and disheveled only to find that my father was out collecting Marie Angela’s older brother who was five years her senior. Marie Angela couldn’t explain why Dad hadn’t offered to collect me, a mere teenager, instead of a grown up man but she shrugged and invited me in with a friendly smile. She had lots of siblings and they were all going to be at the party as opposed to my side of the family. My grandparents had flatly refused to come not wanting to see my father with his ‘slut’, while my mother hadn’t been invited.
I busied myself helping Marie Angela get everything ready. She was already huge and finding things a chore. When the doorbell rang, I ran to greet the guests, take their coats and direct them through to the living room. Towards the end of this onslaught, I had a nice surprise when I opened the door to find my grandfather standing on the doormat grinning at me. He had changed his mind at the last minute and had come alone. He hugged me exclaiming, ‘My goodness Elsa, I hardly recognize you. You’ve blossomed into a young lady! Where’s my little girl gone? Your mother must be very proud of you. How time flies!’ This seemed to exhaust him as he promptly fell into a chair and didn’t move for the rest of the evening.
Dad’s large apartment was soon full. He himself was the last to arrive accompanied by the infamous brother, Thomas, who took one look at me and then disappeared into the throng and the arms of his welcoming family. I noticed how quickly he downed his beer, two bottles in about quarter of an hour. The music started and the party became even noisier. I was one of the first to dance allowing my body to sway to the rhythm of the beat, but others followed and soon the room was full of swaying, rocking and jiving bodies. There were a lot of people, all quite young, and actually no one I knew. I think my father was the oldest discounting my grandfather.
The music got steadily louder. I indulgently moved to the beat and gravitated around the room from arm to arm. Every now and then I felt a kiss on my neck or hands on my body. Several hours had passed when I noticed that my grandpa obviously wanted to leave. He stood at the front door waiting for a chance to say to goodbye. My father was nowhere to be seen but, after a song or two, Marie Angela appeared adjusting her skirt, my father in her wake. Grandpa stood patiently waiting though he must have realized that they'd just had sex. There was talk of Grandma's absence with Grandpa making some excuse that she had high blood pressure and had to take it easy. Dad called a cab and Grandpa left the heaving male-dominated party, friends of my parents excluding the wives who objected on the grounds that they were friends of my mother.
The party continued to get noisier and it was a miracle the neighbours didn’t object. Tables and chairs had been pushed aside for the dancing while copious beer empty beer bottles mounted up littering every surface: the ground, window sills, mantelpiece, even the bathroom. Couples lay smooching on the sofa or on the ground in passionate embrace. I had never been to such a sleazy party before, let alone in my own home.
At around twelve I went to the kitchen to start clearing up. It was at the other side of the building and was nice and quiet. Marie Angela had already escaped to bed exhausted. My father didn’t leave her alone for a second. I could see that he was wearing her out. I was minding my own business washing the glasses when I noticed Thomas, standing in the corner watching me. He was in his early twenties and had that well-developed look to his physique that suggested he worked out in a gym. He told me he had never seen such a deliciously ripe and sexy-looking girl before. Shocked, I dropped the brush and it clattered into the sink sending soap-suds all over my blouse so that it instantly became see-through. He apologized for surprising me and gently wiped the suds from my blouse, touching my bra-less nipples that were now clearly visible through the wet material. He was very handsome and when he circled my waist with his arms, I didn’t object. He asked me if I liked him though I think he could tell by my eyes. Before I could answer, we heard a noise as my father entered the room. I quickly held a towel up to my chest. ‘Ah, here you are Elsa. It's good to know there’s someone who thinks about clearing up. I see you have already met Thomas. Did he tell you that he has recently fathered a baby boy, Bennie isn’t it?’ The question was left hanging in the air more as a warning to me I think. With that, he retrieved a crate of beer and then disappeared, slamming the door behind him.
‘Congratulations Thomas! ‘ I said. ‘I can’t believe you’re a father! How exciting.’ Thomas removed the towel I was holding so that his view was unimpeded. ‘Show me your room and I will tell you all about Bennie who will no doubt grow up to be as potent as his father.’
I hadn't seen this coming! I was more or less paralyzed and unable to object to his demand. Once in my room, he locked the door even though no one was interested in us, they were too busy drinking, smoking dope, throwing up or making love. Without any hesitation, Thomas dropped his trousers and asked me to get down on my knees. I was frightened. This was not what I wanted. With Michael I had done things because I loved him. This man seemed much older, he was a father for goodness sake, and I wasn’t sure I liked him that much. He seized my head with two hands and forced me to take his enormous penis in my mouth.
Ten minutes later I was still down on my knees but alone and in bits. I was devastated and revolted. Was this really what men do to women? Did men ever consider our needs? Michael had used me, then the red-head and now Thomas. He was an adult who should have known better but in stead he had debased me, forcing me to service him in a way that made me choke and feel sick.
The weeks that followed were hard. I was traumatized and had no one to talk to. Every other week I was scheduled to stay at my father’s. Thomas was also living there while he looked for work in Amsterdam. My father was often out, either in the local park or away for the weekend with his now fiancé, leaving me alone with Thomas.
My mum was anxious about me being alone with a young man and wanted me to stay with her. However, father insisted that we stuck to the custody agreement. The arrangement was useful as I could look after Thomas after his grueling day job hunting, cooking and even washing his disgusting underpants. My father earned a lot and he could afford to spoil his future wife. He had just bought an apartment in Scheveningen by the sea and they went as often as they could, unfortunately leaving me alone with Thomas.
At every opportunity, Thomas came into my room and, without fail, I had to do the same thing. I had to wet my blouse, he had a good look, became aroused and then forced me to give him a blow job. This was our routine and I hated it but, on the other hand, it effected my own arousal. I used my vibrator regularly because Thomas never did more than touch my breasts and put his dick in my mouth.
I didn't speak to anyone about what was happening in my dad's apartment. I don’t believe my father knew what was going on. He was just happy that Thomas and I were apparently getting on so well: I was looking after Thomas’ domestic needs and Thomas was babysitting his little girl. As if I needed someone to babysit me. But my lips were sealed. In reality, Thomas dominated me, forbidding me to talk to anyone about our ‘special’ relationship. Then one Saturday, when my father and Marie Angela had gone to a concert, Thomas announced that pregnant women ‘turned him on’. I asked: ‘So, you're telling me that you get turned on by your own sister?'
‘No, that’s not the issue.'
‘What is the issue?'
‘Well, seeing her pregnant makes me as horny as hell. I obviously can’t have my sister but you, Elsa, are here for the taking.
This horrified me. I ran to my room but, before I could lock the door, Thomas had put his foot between the gap and pushed me inside. ‘Don't be afraid of me. What we do is fine and has no meaning at all. As long as you keep quiet, it will all be okay. He was already stiff and I stepped back wanting to get away from him. Fortunately Thomas’ mobile rang and he had to answer it as everyone knew we should be at home. He cursed and left my room. I heard him on the phone speaking to someone. Marie Angela had gone into labour but this was not a good sign as it was far too early. He returned, took my head and roughly pushed it down to his crotch. After he had ejaculated in my mouth, he ordered me to get my coat and go with him to the hospital.
When we arrived, we were met by my father who looked very agitated. He kissed my forehead saying, ‘Don’t look so distressed my love. Marie Angela is on a drip as they are trying to stop her labour. She’s in good hands. Try not to worry.’ Of course I was concerned about her and the baby but this wasn’t the reason for my grief. My father didn’t know the half of it.
We stayed for a while but it was getting late, too late to go to my mother’s. My father wanted to stay with Marie Angela, so I had no choice but to return with Thomas. This was a big mistake as he realized that my father wouldn’t be coming home in a hurry. He didn’t waste time ordering me to his room that had, until now, been unchartered territory. He was waiting for me naked and locked the door behind me. Then he got into his double bed, ‘Come on you little slut, I know you love it’. He was right though I am ashamed to admit it. I was also shy and stood still unsure of what to do. Thomas got out of bed and hurled me unceremoniously onto the mattress. He loomed over me ripping off my blouse and pants so that I too was naked. He started touching me causing his penis to triple in size. Before I knew what was happening, he had pushed it in me and I felt a sharp pain. I let out an agonizing cry but he put his hand over my mouth. His pounding went on for ages. Suddenly he seemed to go limp and collapsed on top of me with a snort. What an arsehole, I hated him. He hadn’t even given me the chance to get out the condom that my father had so emphatically insisted on. And he had hurt me. There was nothing kind about his actions. He used me and he’d now stolen my virginity. To top it all, there was a distinct risk I might be pregnant. I felt dirty all over. I managed to push him off and escaped to take a long shower.
I was sure this was not what Liz had experienced. She had sounded so happy, so fulfilled. I couldn’t talk to her about my own sex-life as it was all so awful, so demeaning. There was no way I could tell her the truth. I simply couldn’t tell anyone.
The next day we received some bad news: Marie Angela had lost the baby. Perhaps my father was guilty of killing it by having rough sex with her so late in the pregnancy? Who knows? I certainly couldn’t discuss it with my mother. Nor could I talk to her about what had happened to me.