Chapter 1

Flying Colors

I was pretty nervous about taking my driver’s test for my first license. Because my birthday was in the summer I couldn’t take it at the school, I had to go to the DMV. My friend Cassie had her license, so she drove me over. We planned to head for the beach afterwards. I wasn’t really thinking clearly, though. I was wearing a loose, off the shoulder blouse, mini skirt, and flip-flops. For the behind the wheel test the instructor was some older dude. He eyed my flip-flops disdainfully. I knew I was in trouble. I tried to think of a way to get another, more sympathetic tester. Maybe someone closer to my age. Ha ha ha. Still, I knew this guy was bad news. “Um, I really have to pee,” I told him. He rolled his eyes. I was hoping he’d put me at the end of the line and I’d get someone else, but he said, “I’ll be waiting for you.” Kind of a smirky tone. I didn’t have to pee, but I went anyway, and then I took off my panties and balled them up in stuffed them in my little bag. I unbuttoned the top two buttons of my blouse. Worst case I could crash or drive off a cliff, not that there are any cliffs within five hundred miles.

“All set?” the guy said when I returned, eyeing my open buttons. “You don’t have to fix your make up or anything.”

“I’m not wearing any make up,” I told him, not sure if he was trying to insult me or just teasing me or what.

Then he said something that surprised me. He said, “Good for you for not wearing make up.”

I muttered thanks, and we got in the car, and I adjusted the seat and the rear mirror, fastened my seat belt, and reminded him to fasten his seat belt. My skirt was about half an inch from my puss.

“Okay, start her up,” he coughed, and I started the car. A couple of times I glanced over at him as I followed his instructions. Sure enough he was peeking down my blouse. My breasts aren’t big, but I’m sure he was getting a good view of my nipples, which were softly erect. We circled the block and then went out into the country. I wasn’t sure this was the normal thing, road after road, further and further from town. I glanced over at him and he was smiling.

“You’re doing fine,” he said.

“How far are we going to go?” I asked.

“Farther,” he said. He caught my eyes. “Just to make sure.”

I glanced down and saw what was certainly the bulge of an erection.

Without really thinking about it, I let my left hand fall briefly to my lap, like my fingers were thinking about this guy’s cock. I caught myself and pulled my skirt down, covering more of my legs, but then I reversed it, readjusting my skirt to where it was and beyond. Now if he looked he could surely see my pussy slit. I rocked my hips a bit as we sped along. I thought about letting my right hand fall into his lap, but I decided that would be going too far. I blushed, and after that kept my eyes on the road. The miles streamed by. My sex lips were swelling, opening. Any moment I would start to seep.

“A little more and that ought to do it,” he said.

I took this as instruction and pulled my skirt back even further. My puss was completely exposed. My clit tingled. My cunt clenched. The car lurched. I shivered and came.

Eventually we found our way back to the DMV. Exhausted, I brushed my skirt back into place.

“Did I pass?” I asked him anxiously.

He smiled. It was a nice smile. “You did,” he said. “Flying colors.”

Blowjobs

One afternoon in study hall Melinda Peters and I were talking about blowjobs. She supposedly had some experience. She said a good way to practice was with toothpaste because it looks a lot like a boy’s jizz. Does it matter what brand, I asked. Yeah, Sensodyne, she said. I knew she was teasing. The thing is, she said, you want to look cool letting it drool out of your mouth. So that night I practiced in the bathroom mirror. I remembered that the mirror would reverse the image, and I wondered if that mattered. Sometimes I thought I looked cool and sometimes I didn’t. I kind of giggled thinking they should make toothpaste the flavor of a guy’s cum. Probably wouldn’t be a big seller, but you never know. After a while I had the thought that it would be easier just to swallow. Later I learned that it really didn’t matter: after a guy comes there’s a couple of minutes where he’s so out of it he wouldn’t care if you looked cool drooling his cum out. He wouldn’t care if you spit or swallowed or turned into an iguana.

Here’s the naughty part. Thinking about the flavor made me wonder about my flavor. I started thinking about a boy eating me. It got me pretty hot. Pretty wet. I tasted some of my wet. It didn’t taste much like anything. I’m not sure what I expected. Just then my mom knocked on the bathroom door. “What are you doing in there?” she wanted to know. “Smoking, what do you think?” I shouted through the door. “You better not be,” she shouted. I guess I was a little embarrassed. What I did was I applied some of my wet to my mom’s toothbrush. And then I did my dad’s. I suppose my girl juice mixed with toothpaste and water wouldn’t be noticeable, and they probably rinsed their brushes first anyway. But it was kind of a thrill doing this.

Good Vibrations

This one’s not so much naughty as embarrassing. Okay, maybe both embarrassing and naughty. One day when I was home alone I went snooping through my mom’s dresser, and I found her vibrator. I was pretty sure what it was. I worked the switch and it worked, a trembling buzz. So I took it to my room for further study. Even though I was pretty sure I knew what it was, I didn’t know how it worked. I mean apart from turning it on. I thought it was supposed to go inside, but surely it was way way way too big. Of course at school we’d talked about “size.” How big was a baby’s head anyway? You know? The head of this thing was surely smaller than a baby’s head. But from what I’d seen on the Internet, it was bigger than a guy’s cock. At least I hoped so. And besides, I was still a virgin.

But that didn’t stop me from trying it. I turned it on and touched it lightly to my cunny. YIKES!!! The jolt was so electric. My legs slapped shut and the thing flew out of my hands. It was nothing like my finger at all. I sat there quivering, looking at it doing its own quivering on my bedspread.

Finally I gathered enough courage and picked it up. Be brave, I said to myself. This time I touched it up high, up on my pussy mound. Oh God it felt good. I spread my legs wide and worked it along my inner thighs, being careful not to actually touch it to my sex skin. Soon I was so worked up I had to take a breather.

But I wanted more more more. My legs were clamped together. I was squeezing myself. I tried the thing against my tits. My nipples. Oh My Goodness! A couple of seconds later I jerked into orgasm. It was so stunning. I was just plain stunned. I fell back on the bed all but knocked out. I must have fallen asleep. I woke up hearing noises. My parents were home. Shit! I scrambled into some clothes. The thing was on the bed. I had to hide it. At first it didn’t register with me that the thing was quiet—not making its little humming noise. I knew I had to sneak it back into my mom’s dresser. Either that or throw it out the window. But I didn’t dare do either. Instead I hid it under my pillow.

That night after everyone was asleep I took it out to try it again. I switched it on but nothing happened. I realized then that I was switching it off—that I must have left it on before and drained the batteries. I was angry and disappointed. Fucking thing, I thought. I really really need another orgasm. I tried to think if there was anything else in the house which might have the right kind of batteries. In the end I gave up and used my hand. It was good, but not as good as the fucking thing.

The next day I managed to sneak it back into my mom’s dresser.

One afternoon a few days later on the way home from school I stopped at a drugstore and bought batteries. I bought a dozen of them just to be sure I wouldn’t run out. It was about a week later I had another opportunity to borrow the thing. I went to my mom’s dresser with so much anticipation. The thing wasn’t there. I looked everywhere, even under her pillow and under the bed. It was gone. I felt strangely sad. Like the thing didn’t love me anymore. It was actually worse than breaking up with my first real boyfriend.

I wonder if there are daughters somewhere in the world who are close enough to their moms that they can ask to borrow their vibrators.

Grand Prix

I’d just gotten my license. I was so thrilled. I couldn’t wait to zip around in my daddy’s little sports car. It was so hot. I was so hot. It was called a Grand Prix. I thought a Prix was like a penis, you know, but whatever! It was so hot. Like a cock. In my mind I called it a Cock-Mobile. And then my daddy said no. Like he couldn’t trust me. I pleaded. I begged. I’ll be careful, I promised. Please, please, please. Daddy wouldn’t budge. I don’t think he cared about me at all. I think he just cared about his precious car. Like I’d ruin it somehow.

So here’s what I did. One afternoon when he was at work, I slipped into the garage and took off all my clothes. Then I sat in the car and pretended I was driving. Driving naked! Oh, so fast I zoomed, screeching around curves. Fast, fast, fast. I could practically feel the wind whipping my hair. But practically isn’t reality. Not really. Even so, it was a little bit of a thrill. In fact I could feel myself get a little aroused. Like my clitty tingling and my nipples stiffening and some soft sweet ache gathering in my cunny.

And when I thought about this I got even more aroused. I kind of moved my hips up and back. Those leather seats felt so good! I felt so good. I felt so naughty.

I climbed up on the leather back of the seat top so I could see myself in the mirror. So I could see my little puss. I rocked and rocked, forward and back, squeezing myself, squeezing my cunny.

And then it happened. Jeeze was it good. It had never felt that good before. Maybe because part of me knew I was being naughty.

I lay back exhausted. Good ol’ Grand Prix.

When I got out I noticed a little stain on the seat top where I’d been sitting. My girl juice. I rubbed it into the leather, rubbing and rubbing, but the stain didn’t come out. Maybe Daddy wouldn’t notice. Ha, Daddy notices everything when it comes to his Grand Prix. But I didn’t care. Let him kill me. It was worth it.

As it turned out, Daddy didn’t kill me. Maybe he noticed. Maybe he didn’t. I think he did. But he didn’t say anything. I think he knew exactly what it was. Deep down I think he actually likes having a spot of my girl cum on his car seat.

Butterfly Fishing

Originally I was going to call it “Book Sail,” but Mr. Cullen, the art teacher, didn’t get it, so I chose “Butterfly Fishing.” See, we were supposed to do something based on one of the novels we read in English, and my two favorites were “Catcher in the Rye” and “Trout Fishing in America.” I don’t know if Mr. Cullen got “Butterfly Fishing” but he okayed the project even when I explained that there would be some nudity. “As long as there’s nothing explicitly sexual,” he said, which in my case meant I had to cover up my bare kitty. No problem, that was the idea all along. To tell the truth, in my mind the full title would be “Butterfly Fishing for Kitty,” but I managed some restraint.

It was so much fun working the art. First I took a picture of myself completely naked. Actually I took about a dozen pictures, and I think they all came out pretty good. Anyway, then I projected the image on a sheet of canvas board which beforehand I’d chalked in almost completely black. Then I cleaned away most of the black, especially where the figure was, and then I charcoaled in the body. Then I used a laser line to make the red lines and I used stencil and painted in the letters. Last I cut a butterfly out of tin and painted it bright red enamel and glued it into place so the butterfly cleverly concealed my pussy. But if you look really really closely you can see that the butterfly tail doesn’t quite cover my clitty. Doing this art, especially the last part, actually made me wet. I definitely would like to be a real artist someday. Okay, so maybe not covering my clitty was naughty part two, if you count the project as a whole as naughty part one.

Fast forward about a month. One night after dinner I told my parents I had something important I needed to tell them.

The way they looked at me...

“I’m pregnant,” I blurted.

My mom’s face fell. “Oh my God,” she groaned. My dad just sputtered something between a groan and a growl.

“Oh, honey,” my mom sighed.

“Who’s the father?” my dad demanded.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to get an abortion,” I said.

My dad’s face showed a measure of relief, which he tried to cover with a scowl.

“Oh, honey, maybe we should think about that,” my mom said.

I looked at them, my mom, my dad, my mom, my dad.

My mom started to take a step towards me. I put up my hands to stop her.

“Just kidding,” I said. “I’m not going to get an abortion.”

“You’re not?” my dad said.

“I can’t,” I said.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because I’m not pregnant.”

“You’re not?” my mom said. I couldn’t tell whether she was pleased or disappointed.

“You already had the abortion?” my dad said.

“No. I didn’t have the abortion. I was never pregnant. I’ve never even had sex. I’m still a virgin.”

“Oh,” they both said.

Then my mom’s face kind of scrunched up. “But why did you tell us you were?” she asked.

“Yeah,” my dad put in. “Why did you lie us?”

It took me a minute to figure it out.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “When I saw the look on your faces I could tell you were both so ready for bad news. I guess I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappoint us,” my mom said, and she stepped forward and this time I let her hug me.

So I never did tell them about my art winning a prize and that it was going to be exhibited in a gallery in the city with the dozen other first place winners from the whole country.

Toes

One summer afternoon Wyatt invited me over. He has a nice pool in his backyard, so I put on my sleek black one-piece and biked over. Cassie was already there. They were sitting on the edge of the pool dangling their feet in the water, their backs to me. I stopped short. They were talking about me. Cassie was saying, “I don’t see why you invited her over. If you hadn’t, we could have...”

“But she’s fun,” Wyatt said.

“Right,” Cassie agreed. “Too bad she doesn’t have any tits.”

“Tits aren’t everything,” Wyatt said.

“Then I guess I’ll leave my top on,” Cassie said.

“Aw, Cass, you know I love your tits,” Wyatt said.

“We’ll see,” Cassie said. “Where is Mir anyway?” She and Wyatt both turned and saw me eavesdropping. “Hey, Mir,” Cassie said.

“Hey, Cass. Hey, Wyatt.”

“Last one in,” Wyatt said. And he lurched into the pool.

We swam some and goofed around some. Cassie said she had to pee.

“Good of you not to go in the pool,” I said.

She gave me the finger and hoisted herself out of the water and padded into the house.

Wyatt and I went up onto the deck. He sat in a deck chair and I sat on the table facing him.

“So you don’t like my tits,” I said to him.

“Aw Miri,” he said.

“Do you at least like my toes?”

I set one of my feet on his lap.

“Yeah, uh,” he said. “Nice toes.”

I moved my foot a bit in his lap. I could feel and see his boner taking shape. I kept up the massage. Pretty soon his green trunks were bulging. Using my toes, I worked the suit down so his cock stuck out, stretched against his belly. I rubbed my toes up and down the length of his cock. It felt warm. The head darkened. I pressed the scruff of skin just beneath the head. He moaned. I pressed and rubbed. He moaned and spurted. Ribbons of cum shot into the air. Some of the cream landed on my foot. I kept pressing. The spurts kept coming. Not as high as the first few. At last there was only seep. The door sounded—Cassie coming back. Wyatt sprang up and dove into the pool.

“What’s up?” Cassie asked.

“Nothing much,” I said. “Your boyfriend’s got a nice cock. Nice cum, too.” I scooped some of it up with my fingers and tasted it. My first taste of cum. “Want some?” I asked Cassie.

“Eww,” she said.

“You should try it. It’s good.”

She made a face. I slid off the patio table. Leaving them to sort things out, I got on my bike and pedaled off. By the time I got home, Wyatt’s cum was mostly dry.

Make Up

A lot of times, like at birthdays, Christmas, Easter, I get make-up for presents. Because of my name of course. When I was littler I couldn’t even use it, though I wanted to, and as I got older I didn’t want to—I’m not sure why.

One time I asked my mom, “Was I named after make-up?”

“No, honey,” she said, “we just liked your name. Don’t you like your name?”

“It’s okay, I guess,” I said. “So I wasn’t named after anything?”

“Back then there was this magazine with that name. Your name. Maybe that’s where I first heard it.”

“I was named after a magazine?”

“No. It was just a name we liked. We love your name.”

“What happened to the magazine?”

“I guess it went out of business. You know, folded.” My mom shrugged.

“Was it a magazine about make-up?”

She said it was about a lot of things. She said she didn’t actually read it that much.

“What if I had been a boy? What magazine would you have named me after then?”

“Oh, honey, we knew you were going to be a girl before we named you.”

“Okay, but if I had been a boy, what would you have named me?”

“I can’t answer that,” she said.

“What if you had a boy now? What would you name him?”

“I’m not going to have a boy now.”

“But if you did?”

“I’m not.”

“I think you’re hiding something.”

“Mirabella, you’re being silly. What could I be hiding?”

I shrugged.

My theory was that I had a twin brother, but he died in childbirth. Probably a stupid theory. Why would they keep that a secret?

Another theory that I had was that if the magazine with my name hadn’t gone out of business, I’d probably be getting subscriptions to it for birthday and Christmas presents. Curious about it, I went to the library, and they actually had old copies in the basement. They didn’t have the issue from the month I was born, which I thought was pretty suspicious. They did have some from before and after. I looked through a few of them. Some of the articles were kind of sexy. I learned a few things. I kind of wished the magazine were still in business and I had a subscription.

When I got home I did some calculations. My birthday was almost exactly nine months after my parents’ wedding day. Maybe that’s the issue I should have looked for in the library. Curiosity got the best of me. “Mom, do you remember, um, making me?”

“Making you?” Mom said.

“You know, like when I was conceived.”

She stiffened. “Honey, I’m not sure what you want to know.”

I tried to clarify. “Did you know right away that you were pregnant?”

Her eyes went into a stern squint. “You’re not in trouble, are you? We could...”

“No, no, nothing like that. I was just wondering when you knew.”

She took a deep breath. “It was a busy time,” she said.

“So you didn’t know?”

“I had hopes,” she said.

“But you weren’t even twenty yet.”

“We were in love,” she said.

I don’t know if my parents make love much. Probably they do. About a year ago they were having their bedroom redecorated so they moved temporarily into the guest room, which is right next to my bedroom. At night I could hear them. I put my ear to the wall so I could hear better. My mom whimpered. Sometimes I could make out the words. “Oh yes, oh yes, come in me now, come in me now, oh yes, oh yes.” I’d replay my mom’s words as I touched myself. I was curious how they did it. Obviously it wasn’t something I could ask, and I wasn’t about to drill a hole in the wall. I wondered what I might say or sound like when and if I were ever being fucked. I thought about accidentally on purpose walking in on them, and once, when I heard them fucking, I tiptoed into the hall. The door was closed. I put my hand on the knob, but I chickened out, not even twisting it to see if it was locked. A few days later when the paint smell was gone they moved back into their real bedroom. Sometimes I’d lie in the guest room bed and touch myself there.

About a month after this, I found their wedding album. I wasn’t really looking for it. It wasn’t exactly hidden, but it was on the top of their bookshelf along with some art books which were too big to fit on the shelves. Along with the art books, I took down the wedding book. I leafed through it. My parents looked really happy. Really in love. I knew a lot of the relatives but not all of them. Some of them were dead. The photographs were really good. Professional. The pictures of the wedding and then the reception made me feel a little strange. Not sad or happy but somehow left out.

In the back of the album was an envelope with some loose pictures. These seemed to be extras. Duplicates of the ones in the album but of a smaller size. I leafed through them quickly. The last one was not a duplicate. It was a Polaroid. It was my mom, naked on a bed, her legs parted, a glob of semen leaking from her just-fucked cunt. I was stricken. Almost paralyzed. I couldn’t take my eyes from my mom’s cunt. From that flow of cum. My dad must have taken this picture on their wedding night. Very possibly this was the fuck which made me. Eventually I forced myself to study the rest of the picture. My mom is holding up one hand, maybe to show off her new wedding ring, or maybe to tell my dad not to take this picture. It’s hard to know from her expression. Her eyes have this strange look which I’ve never seen before. Maybe it’s the look she has when she’s just come. Or when she’s just about to come. I observed that her other hand was at her breast, her fingers apparently pinching her nipple. Maybe my dad is trying to coax her into another orgasm. I can practically hear his words. “That’s it, honey, touch yourself, make yourself come.” And her cunt contracts and all that seed spills out. But not all of it. So in a way, this is the first picture of me. I had to have it.

Maybe they’ll never notice it’s missing. And if they do, what will they do? Spank me?

Filling the Bird Feeder

A couple of weeks after the swimming pool fiasco at Wyatt’s, I went over to Cassie’s. She’d invited me. I was and wasn’t surprised that Wyatt was there. They were sitting around the patio table out back.

“What’s happ’nin’?” I asked.

“Nothing much,” Cassie said. “We’re just talking.”

Wyatt blushed.

“Talking about what?” I asked. “Not my small tits again, I hope.”

Wyatt blushed harder.

Cassie said, “Now now. We’re just talking about what we might do today, seeing as my parents are in Green Bay for the whole weekend.”

Some kind of bug landed on the table, on a white card that was sitting there. Everyone was looking at the bug.

“Should I swat it?” Cassie asked.

Just then it flew off.

“Lucky bug,” I said.

“It’ll be back,” Cassie said.

“Would you swat it with your bare hand?” I asked her.

“Actually, Wyatt was just telling me a joke,” Cassie said. “Something about the difference between partner and pardon her.”

“It was pardner and pardon her,” Wyatt said. “You know, like ‘Howdy, pardner’?”

“Howdy pardner,” I said.

Wyatt laughed.

Cassie shook her head. “I don’t get it,” she said. “Anyway, I’m going to bring out the stuff. Why don’t you guys fill the bird feeder?” She pointed to a sack of bird seed on the patio.

The bird feeder was hanging from a tree in the back yard. It didn’t look all that empty. Wyatt picked up the sack. I followed him out to the bird feeder.

“So you guys made up?” I said.

“Mostly,” Wyatt said. “Pretty much.”

He opened up the hinged top of the bird feeder. “Why don’t you pour in the seed while I hold it open?” he suggested.

I picked up the sack of bird seed. I had to lift it almost over my head. I tilted it. Bird seed rushed out. An avalanche. Most of it spilled onto the grass. The sack was empty just like that.”

“Some of the birds will just as soon eat it off the ground,” Wyatt said. He fixed the top back on the bird feeder.

“I guess we should throw it out,” I said, indicating the empty sack.

Behind the garage sat several big green garbage cans. “You hold one open,” I said, “and I’ll toss in the sack.”

Wyatt laughed. He lifted the lid of the garbage can. I tossed in the empty bird seed sack. He let the lid fall back into place.

“I guess that’s that,” he said. He looked at me and then looked toward the house. You couldn’t see the patio from behind the garage. I took his hand. I placed it on my breast. My nipple erected immediately. “They’re very sensitive,” I said. “Want to see?”

He nodded.

I unbuttoned my shirt. “Touch them,” I said.

He touched them.

“What about you?” I asked.

“What about me?”

“Are your nipples very sensitive?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

I unbuttoned his shirt. His nipples were like little pebbles. I prodded one with my fingertip. “Does that feel good?” I asked.

“Uh huh,” he mumbled.

I kept caressing his nipple. I could see his penis growing beneath his jeans. “If I keep doing this,” I asked, “will you come in your pants?”

He made a small moan.

“You know I’m very wet,” I said.

I kept caressing his nipple. His boner kept growing. I thought about unbuttoning his pants. I wanted to see the head of his cock. I wanted to see him spurt again.

“So wet,” I said. “Want to feel?”

He made another moan.

I pinched his nipple. A fairly firm pinch. His penis throbbed beneath his pants.

“Feel how wet I am,” I said.

Quickly I opened the button of my jeans. His hand went in. His fingertip found my clit. Just like that I came, my body jerking with the sharp pleasure.

“You guys!”

It was Cassie.

“What are you doing!”

“Filling the bird feeder,” I said. “The seed spilled.”

Gemini

I was pretty sure Wyatt would be my first lover. We had something together. Chemistry. I liked him. He laughed at my jokes. I liked the look and feel of his cock and the taste of his cum. Okay, the only taste of it I’d had was when I’d swiped it off my foot after that time at his pool, so maybe some of my sweat was mixed in, and in fact it didn’t taste like much of anything, much the same as my cum. I think it was good that it didn’t taste like much of anything. The point is, there was something between us. Something connecting us. Something inevitable. I felt it. I felt it so strongly.