"Scales and Arpeggios" part 1 (ff, 1st)

It all started, really, about a year before I went away to school. I was
friendly with Minnie, the girl next door. I was only twelve, and although
she was a full two years older--which makes such a difference at that
age--I could tell that she wasn't particularly clever. Sometimes, when we
talked about school subjects, or things on the news, I could tell that she
was only pretending to understand what I was saying. Really, she wasn't
very interested. But by now she was well on the way to womanhood, proud of
her body and its young maturity, and keen to devote her maturing maternal
instincts on something more life-like and responsive than a doll.

We were an odd couple in many ways. I was innocent, academically oriented,
from a good Catholic family--although an unusual one, for I was an only
child: my mother had had a gynaecological illness after my birth which
prevented her having any more children. My parents, though loving in their
way, were undemonstrative in physical terms. They spared nothing to
educate and enrich my mind, but since infancy my body had become a
stranger to touches or caresses. Still small and spindly, my pubescence
was just beginning, my periods just starting, my nipples becoming tender,
no pubic hair yet. Living as I did in my mind rather than in my body, I
viewed these changes with a sense of regret for the passing of childhood;
yet it was with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity that I
contemplated the distracting, messy, unruly thing my body was changing
into.

Minnie was quite the opposite: excited at the onrush of womanhood, proud
of her new, lush curves, thrilled by the mysterious new þutterings and
shivers as she tumbled happily and sensuously in her hormonal spring-tide.
And, being by a long way the youngest of three sisters (Catherine was now
living with her boyfriend and Amelia was married with two children), the
pride of her conÞdent young womanhood craved admiration--a rapt audience,
an adoring younger sister; while her kind, affectionate nature sought an
outlet in a pet, or perhaps a surrogate child.

The difference in our ages made our friendship somewhat unusual, but I
think my parents and her mother--she was separated from her
husband--initially found it both charming and convenient, and it received
their tacit blessing.

>From Minnie's fourteenth birthday, she was old enough to baby-sit for my
parents, a new responsibility she discharged at Þrst with pride and
ofÞcious thoroughness. She insisted on supervising my washing and cleaning
my teeth before bed--something my parents had not done for many years,
seeking I suppose to encourage me to greater independence. Then I had to
brush my hair to a shine. I had never seen a need for this, as my hair
would always be a mess when I awoke; impatient with my lack of
application, she snatched the brush from my hand and took over, fussing
and scolding. I would have found this infuriating, but for the gentle
touches and the closeness of her warm, soft body.

I knew it was not for my sake she did this: it was she who wanted me for
her pretty little doll. And yet I let her pet me, dress me, stroke my
hair. It was somehow comforting to be part of some quiet, intimate little
inner game of hers. As she stroked my face and hair, I felt delicious
shivers in my scalp, down my spine. Her lips were so red and moist when
she licked them. She was so soft, so touchable.

And when she put me to bed, there was no offer of a bed-time story--she
being no great reader, and indeed less well-read than I--but instead, she
continued to stroke my hair and tickle my face affectionately, calling me
her "pretty baby". Her gentle caresses so soothed and pleased me that I
was reluctant to let her go: instead, I kicked the bedclothes off,
wriggled naughtily and whined that I wasn't tired and didn't want to
sleep. Indeed, all I wanted was to be caressed endlessly by her.

Then she pretended to be angry with me, scolding me: "naughty baby!" She
launched herself upon me, to keep me still, and then began to tickle my
ribs. Being thin and wiry, I was extremely ticklish: I squealed and
thrashed wildly. Not to be outdone, she began to wrestle with me until she
had imprisoned my arms underneath me, trapping my legs between her own. We
lay on the bed, panting and giggling, gradually calming. But she had
become excited: I could feel her heart pounding through the soft breast
which pressed against me.

"What's the matter? Is my little baby ticklish, eh?"

She began chuckling and unpicking the buttons of my pyjama jacket. She was
far bigger and stronger than I, who could do nothing to resist. Soon my
tummy was bare, and she began gently stroking me with her free hand,
teasing, watching with grinning delight as the slightest contact with my
most sensitive spots drove me into wild, helpless struggles.

"No! No! Hahaha! No!" I squealed in desperation. My heart was beating
wildly. Something was happening inside me.

"What's the matter? Don't you like being tickled?"

"No! I hate it!" I cried, straining to escape her tormenting Þnger.

"Well, you are strange! What about here? Is that better?" She advanced up
my rib cage now. It was not so bad, and she was being very gentle. I began
to breathe again, to relax. "Here. I know a nice place to tickle..." And
she unpicked the remaining buttons of my pyjama jacket, baring my hard,
aching nipples. I had never seen them this prominent before.

And then she began tickling their very tips, Þrst one, then the other,
watching with a delighted grin as my total astonishment at the sensation
gave way to violent struggles and desperate panting: for a moment this new
kind of tickling seemed merely pleasant and exciting, but as the
sensations grew and began to surge through my inexperienced body, my young
mind reacted in bewildered terror. New muscles somewhere in my abdomen,
muscles I did not know I had, began to þutter and constrict tightly,
painfully, as if beyond their natural strength. It was a strange, griping
pain, right, deep inside. I could not place it, but it made me afraid.

"What's the matter? Don't you like it?" She laughed, incredulous at my reaction.

"No-o! Don't tickle me there!"

"Don't be silly! It feels lovely!"

She did it some more, this time just around the edge of the areola. To me
this seemed to tickle more than anything; the griping pains came faster,
and I think the ferocity of my struggles must have persuaded her that I
was serious. She cuddled me, then, just caressing me gently, whispering
soothingly to me, "There, there, I won't do it any more. But you are
strange, Mary. I love being tickled there. Here, you do it to me." She
drew herself up then, pulled up her sweater, unclasped her bra and slipped
it off to reveal what then seemed to me to be twin miracles. "Go on," she
said to me, "touch them. I like it."

I was mesmerized: I doubt I could have resisted touching them, they were
so inviting, so beautiful, so close. She saw me staring.

"Do you like them?" she asked me softly.

I could only nod.

For a while I just caressed them gently, feeling their soft, Þrm weight,
fascinated as the areolae wrinkled and the nipples erected, delighted as
my hesitant fondling made her shudder and moan with pleasure. She showed
me how to squeeze and tug them gently, and then encouraged me to suckle.
My spasming muscles began to relax now, leaving a strange sensation of
delicious weakness, and I began to feel comfortable and safe and gentle.
And thus I fell asleep, that Þrst night, guzzling contentedly on her
succulent teat while she affectionately stroked my back and sides, sending
delicious, soothing tingles down to my Þngers and toes, to the roots of my
hair.

The next time, we settled into the mother-and-baby act almost as soon as
my parents were out of the door. First she groomed and stroked my hair,
then I curled up in her lap and she quietly unbuttoned her blouse. This
time, there was no bra. The entrancing softness of those shy young
breasts, nestling sweetly behind the warm folds of thin white cotton,
quite took my breath away. She looked so proud, so happy as she cupped
them in her hands. The areolae were þat and pale, the teats just little
dark spots at the centre.

"Oh, they are beautiful!" I gasped, delighted to see them again, and was
rewarded by a look of such radiance, and such a happy little sigh, that I
could not forbear to reach out and fondle them. It had given her such
pleasure on the previous occasion that I was sure she was longing for my
touch. Remembering how it had felt around the edges of my areolae, I
tickled her there, avoiding the extra-sensitive centre.

"Ooh! Ha! Ha! That tickles! No, don't stop! Mmm-mmm, mmmm... Aah, aah,
ha-ha, mmm... aah, aah..." her giggles slowly calmed into a delighted
crooning as her teats swiftly became engorged under my stroking, caressing
Þngers. Little goose-bumps rose on her areolae, and my fascinated stroking
made her close her eyes and bite her lower lip in delight. After a while,
she pulled me closer. I knew what was expected of me, and began to suckle
the nearest, which caused her crooning to redouble and her thighs to begin
a strange, rhythmic motion which gently rocked me. She loved it when I ran
the þat of my tongue over those sensitive goose-bumps, shivering and
groaning her pleasure. In gratitude, she unpicked my shirt and began to
tickle my back, which I loved, while with her other hand she stroked my
face, my ears, my neck, with such tenderness that I found myself loving
her, caressing her in turn.

We sat like that for ages, the tremulous warmth of our two bodies wrapped
together in a soft, affectionate embrace, for all the world like mother
and daughter.

At length, she shivered and gave a contented sigh, then parted me from her
breast as a mother eases a dozing baby.

"Time for bed, my little one..."

As before she supervised my toilet, brushed and groomed my hair, tucked me
in like a little princess. And I, fearing her tickles yet loving her
touching, her closeness, again kicked and wriggled to incite her mock
indignation.

"Oh, you little monkey..."

And once more I was pinned to the bed and she was undoing my pyjama top
with a wicked gleam in her eye. My wriggles only maddened her: soon she
was tickling my tummy with swirling Þngertips, and we were both giggling
madly. Gradually I came to acknowledge that I enjoyed these tummy-tickles
immensely, just as she enjoyed my attentions at her breast.

As her tickles slowed and became more sensuous, I relaxed. Minnie opened
her blouse and offered me a breast to suckle, which only intensiÞed my
pleasure. As well as the strange cramps deep in my belly--in my womb,
perhaps--I was aware of a strange feeling of weakness between my legs, a
sense of dampness. Somehow I knew that I had not wet myself: the dampness
was lower down, and my entire cunt felt moist and warm. After a few
minutes, she untucked her blouse entirely, giving me tacit permission to
stroke and fondle her. I loved touching her smooth, warm skin, making her
shiver as my little Þngers traced and caressed her most sensitive spots,
listening to her lovely musical moans and giggles, her excited panting
when I found a particularly sensitive spot. From time to time she would
offer me the other breast, never ceasing her gentle fondling of my
sensitive tummy and lower abdomen. Finally, after I don't know how long,
my squeezing muscles grew tired and I slept, exhausted by new-found bliss.

After that, every time she baby-sat for me I would provoke her into
tickling me, and would Þnally calm me at her breast. It became part of our
ritual.

Perhaps because of my negative response when she tickled my nipples
before, it was a long time before she did it again to me; but often she
got very close, and I would wriggle away from her. From time to time, as I
struggled to keep my nipples out of her reach, my pyjama bottoms would
slip down; then she would tickle me quite low down on my tummy, near the
top of my slit, and this I found more enjoyable than anywhere else.
Inevitably it would trigger those strange inner squeezes which at Þrst had
so alarmed me, but gradually the strangeness wore off and I began to enjoy
the sensation as my inner muscles tensed and released, tensed and
released, gradually gathering strength.

On one occasion my pyjama bottoms descended very low, and I saw Minnie
looking down there curiously. Then she went for my nipples and tickled
them--the Þrst time for a long while--and as usual I struggled further up
the bed, baring my crotch. I think I would have been mortiÞed had she not
responded as she did:

"Oh, how lovely! I think your Þrst hairs are coming. I'm just going to
touch them lightly, just the tops of them. There. Can you feel that?
You're becoming a woman!"

The feather-light touches were indescribably delicious. I had a really
nice squeeze inside and moaned with pleasure. Overcome with arousal, she
stopped her tickling then and offered me her lovely breasts, still
caressing my lower abdomen soothingly.

One time during the summer, when I was out in the garden, I heard laughing
and squealing coming from next door. It sounded like Minnie. I went up
close to the fence and looked through a chink. Minnie was on the ground,
her elder sister Catherine sitting astride her, tickling her. They were
both laughing a good deal. Catherine's hands were up underneath Minnie's
blouse.

"Oh no, oh no!" Minnie kept squealing.

"You know you like it really!" Catherine taunted her, "tickle tickle!" and
Minnie squealed again as Catherine tickled one of her more tender spots.

I began to understand why Minnie liked to tickle me so much. I watched in
fascination as Minnie bucked and writhed under her big sister's busy
Þngers; Catherine was laughing almost more than Minnie. And then something
happened which made my heart pound; still tickling her torso with her left
hand, Catherine reached behind her and, þicking Minnie's dress up, quickly
tickled her between the legs, saying: "now on your girly place, tickle
tickle!" Minnie squealed and bucked furiously; Catherine became almost
helpless with laughter. I watched mesmerized as Catherine tickled Minnie
to exhaustion. I felt a welter of confusing emotions: fear, excitement,
arousal.

During the late winter of that year, Minnie's babysitting engagements,
like my parents' social life, encountered a temporary lull; but
occasionally she invited me over to her house to play the mother- and-baby
game. Her mother would often have a lie down in the afternoon, so that we
were able to play uninterrupted for a couple of hours. At Þrst, we would
brush one another's hair and give one another butterþy kisses. But as soon
as her mother's bedroom door was closed, Minnie would sit me on her lap,
undo her blouse and encourage me to fondle and suckle her.

This would have been rather a one-sided pastime, but she was careful to
reward me both with effusive praise and with delicious caresses. I would
sit across her lap as I suckled, and she would slip her hand up my shirt
and stroke my bare back with one hand, while with the other she would
fondle my tummy or--my favourite--my sensitive inner thigh. She liked my
legs, I think, for at Þrst she would push my skirt right up to my waist,
and after a while insist that I remove it altogether. When she stroked my
thigh, I would part my legs in abandon. The higher she stroked me, the
more I encouraged her by suckling with extra vigour.

I suppose I enjoyed a sense of power, too, for I was left in no doubt how
profoundly my increasingly expert ministrations affected her. I began to
sense that she did not merely enjoy, but somehow needed this protracted,
gentle stimulation. As I grew more expert in fondling her breasts and
pleasuring her nipples, I learned to generate in Minnie a state of
extraordinary excitement. She would begin to pant and make little excited
moans; and once in that state, gently tickling her under her arms or
around her waist seemed to drive her crazy with pleasure. She would beg me
to nibble at her breasts, which caused her to go all tense and quivery for
a few seconds, during which time she would squeeze me incredibly hard, so
that it almost hurt, before she relaxed with a lovely little gasp of
relief.

Of course I did not understand about orgasm yet, and the Þrst time this
happened, I was quite shocked. I felt terrible. I thought I had made her
have a Þt. I was crying and saying, "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" over and
over again, and she just sat there, her legs tightly crossed, shuddering,
her eyes glassy, her chest heaving with occasional deep sighs. Then she
said, "There's nothing to be sorry about! It was lovely! It was the best
feeling in all the world!"

Of course, after that, I wanted to give her that wonderful feeling every
time. We called it "the shudders". I never tired of watching her crazily
mounting excitement, the trembling, rigid climax and then the shuddering
and twitching afterwards, when I had to stop and let her rest. She would
praise me extravagantly after that, saying that I was the best ever, I was
her baby, her lovely baby.

Christmas came, the last before I was sent away to convent school, and
still we played our tender games. By now the motivation had changed--for
both of us. My role had shifted from living doll to surrogate younger
sister. As well as worshipping her blossoming maturity, I must now submit
to her instruction and enlightenment as to woman's estate. Often as we
played, she would ask me if I felt the squeezing inside me, whether I was
getting wet between the legs. At Þrst I was embarrassed by these messy
symptoms of womanhood, but Minnie encouraged me to be proud of them, and
by now it was becoming commonplace for us to cuddle in just our steamy
panties, stroking, tickling, suckling, groaning with pleasure as our
constant touching brought incessant throbbing between our legs and the
occasional slow, delicious contraction.

Barriers were beginning to fall, and we were becoming increasingly
intimate: on one occasion, Minnie even showed me how her labia--she called
them "petals"--swelled as a result of our fondling.

One night, wishing that Minnie were baby-sitting me, I tickled my own
nipples and examined myself to see if the same thing happened. My labia
were not quite as prominent as hers, but they swelled enough to become
visible. I became curious about that part of my body, and began to notice
the sensations down there when Minnie touched me.

Shortly after Christmas, my parents were to go out to a party and it was
with joy and a new kind of urgent excitement that I awaited Minnie's
arrival. No sooner had my parents gone than we rushed to my bedroom and
stripped to our panties, ready for a whole evening's glorious titillation.
I went for her playfully, biting her nipples rather hard and tickling her
ribs with gusto.

And before I knew what was happening, she had pinned my arms above my head
and her wicked Þngers were stealing up my quivering belly, harbingers of
delicious torment. They paused. Gradually I relaxed, my giggles died down
and I became still. Her face was close to mine, those soft, moist lips
parted in a bewitching, naughty smile, her eyes twinkling in triumph.

"You're going to have to get used to being tickled, little girl," she
whispered, then kissed my nose, softly, dangerously, "... because I'm
going to tickle and tickle you for a long, long time..."

I tried not to laugh, not to squeal; every time I struggled, she pulled
hard on my arms, stretching my body almost painfully tight. First it was
my tummy, then my ribs. Her Þnger moved gently, excruciatingly slowly,
maddening me so that I had to bite my lips and toss my head to distract
myself from the outrageous sensation. But whenever she paused, the lovely
tingles would þood through my body, making me pant and moan in delight,
and she would wait for me to calm down and look her in the eye once more.
And when she had trapped my gaze in her glinting, triumphant blue eyes,
her smile would twitch, and once more the slow, deliberate Þnger-dance
would begin. Again and again the cycle repeated, lengthening each time: at
Þrst, pleasure at her touch; then, as the pleasure mounted, and the
tingles became more intense and all-pervasive, I would go into a kind of
muscle spasm, Þghting the growing intensity, at which point she would jerk
my body taut and continue, and my resistance would crumble in a kind of
ticklish agony which left me gasping and weak.

When I was more or less exhausted, she Þnally set about my hard, aching
nipples. Too tired to resist, my hips pumped instinctively in frantic
excitement, as with a patient smile she gradually accustomed me to the
strange, radiating sensations her nipple-teasing was provoking in my
tense, trembling young body.

"Do you feel it in your belly, yet?" she asked me. I did not know what to
say. I just moaned and nodded.

By now I had learned to enjoy the sweet, tickling shivers which whirled
and eddied throughout my body when she touched me like this. And now, my
new muscles seemed stronger, less painful as they began to clench and
release in a slow, automatic rhythm, and I began to sense a giddy pleasure
in their relaxation, and a sparkle of excitement as they tensed. Yes, I
was feeling it in my belly, now.

"Something's prickling me!" I complained, wriggling away from whatever it
was. She let me go, and I felt for the source of the irritation. It was a
feather from the down pillow, working its way out through the ticking.

"Aha! I know what to do with this!" Minnie laughed, snatching it from my
hand. She took my legs and raised them, and then began tickling the backs
of my legs with the feather. It was such a soft, gentle tickle. It was
delicious, yet my cunt was throbbing and aching so much that I could only
moan. She was tickling me right next to the panty-line, driving me wild
with arousal.

"Here!" she said suddenly, "Take these off! I bet this will feel just
incredible!" And with that, she yanked my panties down; and for the Þrst
time, I lay naked before her. Taking the feather, she began stroking
around my cunt, saying "You won't enjoy this so much when your hairs
grow." I was moaning loudly: the sensation was incredible. "Gosh, just
look at your petals! I can see you're enjoying it!" she said, moving away.
I looked: I had never seen them in such a state: they protruded
noticeably, and we could smell the aroma of their wetness.

Then she lay alongside me, allowing my legs to fall apart, and while she
continued to feather my pulsating cunt she licked and nibbled at my
yearning breast, for the Þrst time titillating me the way I had so often
pleasured her. It was divine. On and on she went, while I cried or moaned
"Oh! I can feel it squeezing inside me! Oh Minnie! Oh Minnie! Oh!" in a
sensual delirium.

"Is that nice, darling?" she chuckled, watching my excitement stealthily
reducing me to a panting, heaving, craving animal. "I think you're going
to have the shudders. Do you feel it þuttering inside?"

"Oh yes!" I quavered, my hips rocking in quiet ecstatic frenzy.
Occasionally she lightly stroked her Þngers along the ridge of my petals,
and at the same time þicked rapidly at my nipple with her tongue. It
tickled, but I didn't laugh. The squeezing muscles in my abdomen were
working harder and harder, settling into a rhythm, gathering pace, sweetly
mounting and cresting into my Þrst proper, straining, gasping,
brain-splitting orgasm. I went stiff and lifted my hips off the bed. I was
quivering with an incredible energy. My breasts were on Þre, piercing me
with unendurable pleasure. The ecstasy in my nipple grew almost
intolerable, and when she touched my petals again, all hell broke loose
inside me, the inner muscles griping and grinding almost painfully, and it
was as if my head burst open and a shower of tiny drops of intense
feelings swept down my body like tiny particles, tickling and exciting
secret nerve-endings deep within me. And then the shower stopped abruptly,
and with one Þnal wrench my inner muscles began to clench and ebb, clench
and ebb, each time feeling sweeter and more beautiful than the last, until
I was suffused in incredible inner peace. She laughed in delight as she
watched my inexperienced mind struggling to cope with the immensity of it
all.

"You had your Þrst shudders!" she said triumphantly.

"I thought I was going to die!" I said, shocked by the ferocity of it all,
too confused and overwhelmed to experience it as pleasure.

"As you get older, you'll Þnd you'd die without them!" she laughed, giving
me a little peck on the cheek and waiting for me to return to reality.

"Now you do me." She guided my hand into her warm panties and offered me a
breast. "Just stroke my petals, aah, that's right, just gently... Oh,
that's lovely, lovely..." Her petals were so moist and smooth and
slippery; and obviously incredibly sensitive, since even my gentlest
movements seemed to cause her quite shattering sensations. I was awkward
and inexpert, but no great expertise was needed to give Minnie what she
craved. Within a few seconds she was bucking and writhing in the grip of
her own powerful climax.

Afterwards, she told me I screamed, that I wrinkled up my nose. I felt
light-headed. And more than that: I felt changed, as if I had passed
through a door in my life. And of course I had.

My daily visits to my dear friend were now impelled by a new enthusiasm.
As soon as we were alone, I would undress in shameless haste and beg to be
tickled and caressed as I nuzzled and fondled her voluptuous breasts. I
sought her pleasure with a new urgency as I began increasingly to
understand it at Þrst hand. Now, she would lie on her bed with me
outstretched on top of her in just my panties, giggling in mammary bliss
as I assailed her nipples with a new-found skill. Snaking her Þngers into
my warm panties, giving delight for delight, she tickled my smooth,
exquisitely sensitive apple-hard buttocks, stroked my gaping, hungry
petals, watching smiling as I moaned and wrestled with my new
woman-feelings, my hips dancing in sweet delirium.

Oddly, despite our recent excursion into genital touching, it did not at
once become the focus of our activity. To me it was just one of many
delightfully voluptuous caresses. I sometimes wonder whether Minnie was
really as innocent as I. Still ignorant of my clitoris, I would grind
myself against her merely to relieve its insistent throbbing. My focus was
upon her nipples and mine. In bed at night, I would dream of Minnie's
breasts until I was wet and throbbing with desire; and then I would feel
my own hard little nipples, stroking them with exquisite care, leaking my
increasingly profuse nectar into the sodden tissues I had wedged into my
panties, until I wafted into blissful oblivion.

Her mother was bound to catch us sooner or later. Our eagerness overcame
our caution. One day, the door þew open, we froze in guilty astonishment,
and -

"Oh!" a little short cry, and then a giggle. "I've just got to go out for
an hour, girls."

And then she was gone. The moment the door was shut, I shot to my feet,
mortiÞed, hitching up my panties, which had worked down almost clear of my
buttocks. I couldn't understand it. I had expected her to be horriÞed,
furious. But there had been nothing, just a little titter of surprise. And
Minnie just lay there, her saliva-coated nipples still beautifully stiff
and proud, her contented grin unrufþed by this sudden intrusion.

I jiggled on tiptoe, silently cringing with embarrassment until I heard
the front door slam. "What must she think?" I cried in anguish. But Minnie
just let out a lazy chuckle.

"Come here, don't worry about her," she said, sitting up and folding me in
her arms. Soon her tongue on my breast and her Þngers on the backs of my
legs banished all shame, all rational thought as she titillated me into a
particularly hot and delicious attack of the shudders, leaving me panting
in exhausted gratitude. Soon we were back at our game again, squirming and
teasing, panting and giggling as if nothing existed outside our little
world.

At last, her mother's imminent return forced a reluctant end to our play,
and we parted. Back home, helping my mother prepare the dinner, I began to
feel the Þrst twinges of unease. Every time my mind wandered to Minnie, I
felt a recurrence of the throbbings in my crotch, and a strange sense of
weakness there which caused me to visit the lavatory frequently, unsure
whether I could still control my bladder.

I felt so extraordinary inside, and yet everything else was so normal--my
mother treated me like a little child, my father ignored me as
usual--while my nipples tingled and the pulse beat secretly between my
thighs. I felt strangely uneasy, almost dirty, as I removed my sticky
panties that night before bed.

Again that night, I crossed my arms under my nightie and tantalized my
budding nipples. It was nowhere as intense as when Minnie did it, but it
was comforting and pleasant, and I lay there thinking of Minnie's lovely
breasts, enjoying the soft warm throb of my undiscovered clitoris,
relishing the slow, rolling spasms of my newly-discovered inner muscles,
oozing my girlish nectar, þirting innocently with the forces which even
then were undermining my modesty, eating away at my self-control, binding
my will-power in gossamer shackles which soon no power on earth could put
asunder.