From: Jo
To: ZB

Dear ZB,

You want to know about me. "Everything", you said. You want to know what I meant when I said I was a "recovering nymphomaniac" and how I can tell right now that one look from you....one touch....will send me careening off the wagon.

We haven't known each other for very long but you seem discerning, sophisticated about these things, non-judgmental.

Just some ground rules first; this is for your eyes ONLY. You must promise me you will delete these messages from your computer as soon as you've read them. You must NOT print them out for anyone to "accidentally" find or keep them yourself to blackmail me later!

I am the female equivalent of a premature ejaculator. I come easily...too easily. The only thing that makes up for it is that over the years I've trained myself to be able to come more than once or twice, quite often in fact....over and over and over again. It started when I was very young.

I discovered masturbation at the age of four. Don't ask me how. I still don't know to this day. All I knew was that it felt good and I had to do it. But when my mother caught me rubbing myself up and down against the edge of the green, upholstered chair in our living room she rolled up a newspaper and swatted me (much as she would a wayward dog) and yelled derisively: "You look like a little animal!"

Being a good Catholic girl I prayed to God to not touch myself anymore, to help me stop. I guess God didn't hear me. It got worse. I hid in the darkness of my room and masturbated feverishly at night after everyone went to sleep.

I was afraid to tell the priest so every week after confession I made a promise to myself to stop. But week after week I succumbed. Except for the guilt I thought being Catholic was marvelous. Every week you could sin as much as you wanted then go to confession and get totally absolved.

One day I was walking home from confession feeling wonderful. I had another chance. I was pure again, clean, holy, angelic almost....then I saw her. Cherie Lamb. A neighborhood girl. We were both nine. She had bright blonde hair with bangs and one blue eye and one green eye which I found endlessly fascinating....

Cherie Lamb and I started getting together every afternoon after school. One day in the basement of her parents' house we discovered that if one of us got on top of the other and pressed our bodies together tightly and rubbed very hard it felt REALLY GOOD.

Every day we would take turns at being the "boy" and one of us would get on top of the other one. We had just started something new Æ deep, tongue-kissing Æ when Cherie's mother surprised us. I was banished from the Lamb household forever and never allowed to see Cherie again.

More guilt. I retreated further into my private little world of pleasuring myself. I figured by this point I was going to Hell anyway so who cared. But I was getting worse. For some reason I found myself getting aroused in public at odd times.

Because of this I became very adept at squeezing my vaginal muscles in just the right way so as to achieve something close to an orgasm with very little movement. I realized this fully one day in class during "silent reading" period. I was holding my textbook open in my lap so that the end of the spine was in just the right place. I only had to move the book slightly...just a little. The spine cut deep into my crotch. I squeezed my muscles and moved my thighs against it almost imperceptibly. Or so I thought. I squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, gently moving the book a little, up and down.

At some point I had a vague realization that what I was doing was outrageous but I just couldn't stop. I completely lost myself for I don't know how long. I even closed my eyes. And then I came...small, subdued....but a release nonetheless.

I opened my eyes to see Norman Greenberg staring at me in astonishment behind his thick, coke-bottle glasses. Everyone else seemed to be reading.

All right. So far I've been getting it on with chairs, textbooks and little girls. How much worse it was to become when I discovered...BOYS.

Boys...with their hormones raging just as uncontrollably as mine but with an overwhelming urgency, force and power, the likes of which I had never seen or known before. Boys. They seemed alien to me, so different...but I found their very difference intoxicating. I had no idea how much alike we really were. Boys. The beginning of my true downfall.

It's an awful thing to be slapped in the face early on about the true nature of the power struggle between men and women. That I was like a boy in every sense when it came to my sexual self and acted on my impulses as a boy would was cause for punishment...just because I was female. I was to eventually be labeled slut, whore, fast, easy. They were not labeled anything...except maybe "Romeo", "Casanova", "Ladies' Man".

Even with the sexual revolution all around me I saw no equality when it came to sex no matter how idealistically I pursued it. But that was a lesson I would learn much later.

Eventually I developed breasts and something of a cute body. Boys started looking at me. I looked back. During this time I discovered a textbook about sexuality. I saw the word masturbation for the first time and learned it was NORMAL. I could've killed my mother. All the years of guilt and shame. I felt betrayed. I realized she was probably lying also about all the bad things she said boys would do to me. I embarked on my adventures with boys with uncanny ferocity.

It's fair to say I gave my first blow job before I had my first kiss. Gray was my first boyfriend and he was obsessed with oral sex. He never went down on me, hardly ever touched me...but he instructed me at great length on how to hive HIM pleasure.

I learned how to roll his penis between my breasts, my nipples getting harder, then slowly take him into my mouth. I learned how to relax the back of my throat enough to take him in fully, deeply, without gagging...then do it over and over again repeatedly. I learned how to flick my tongue around the rim, slide it down the shaft and use it to gently caress his balls...in other words...the basics. We then worked on embellishments.

What surprised me was how excited I got doing this. The more excited he became, the more I did too. I loved to feel the climax building. I loved feeling him come and tasting him come...I came close to coming myself whenever we did this. It seemed that's all I did one summer. Drive around in his van, park out in the desert, drink beers and give blow jobs. And I was happy...for awhile. Then I started wanting to graduate, you know, move on to other things...? Gray wasn't interested. So I split. Looking back I wonder if Gray wasn't a closet gay. Gay Gray?

But I was to be saved. I developed a crush on a sweet, gentle, sensitive musician at school who played classical guitar. He was a senior and I was a sophomore, though, and I feared he was more experienced than I. All I knew about was blow jobs. How could I ever hope to satisfy him? I set out to get some experience in order to be worldly enough for him.

ZB, let's not go down this road! This is a bad road. It will lead us to ruin. Let's e-mail about politics, sports, religion, the weather, your career, my career, the ethics of biotechnology, genetic decoding, string theory, cloning....anything but this! Once we go down this road I'm afraid there's no turning back....

Yours,

Jo

Copyright 2000

to go to part 2 click here