From a young age, I have been beyond curious about my body and how good some things feel. I am a hedonist, it’s all about pleasure. I had a blanket, as many children do, when I was little but I also sucked my thumb and ran the satin edges of the blanket through my fingers because I loved the feel of the cool satin. I love to touch, be touched, feel textures, all of it. I enjoy discovering how things feel, including those that hurt. I discovered being able to masturbate at 12, rubbing myself against things felt good (including the crotch of jean shorts). I had found my father’s stash of dirty Hustlers and smuggled a few out at a time to read and look at all the pictures. Maybe this is part of where my attraction to women comes to play. Looking at all those beautiful nude women, their perfect breasts and spread pussies. Not to mention, I read a lot too and by this age I was reading adult novels. Daniel Steele was among those, and Jackie Collins. Lots of dirty sex in Jackie Collins, the images running through my head as the authors described the sexual encounters in wonderfully graphic detail. I remember an all-girl threesome in one and that’s been a fantasy of mine since. Though not when asked to make a cake.
During my teen years, I lived in a unique situation that allowed for a lot of people unrelated to me to live with us. We had a 5 bedroom house that later became 7 after converting the garage with a casita in the back and a mobile home on the side. It was a different way of growing up and it allowed a situation to happen that wouldn’t have otherwise. My parents were super protective. I wasn’t even allowed to sleep over at kids’ houses until I was a teenager. To say I was sheltered is almost an understatement. Being an adult now, I can see how that plus this landed me right where it did.
At one point one of our caretakers was a youngish guy. Early 30’s maybe, not sure. He was a big guy, curly red hair, tall, definitely had a presence. He cooked and he was a good cook. A smart ass, a little rough, but friendly. Because he lived on the property with us, he was never far away. My parents had crazy schedules and were quite busy so that left me to entertain myself or do my own thing. Growing up as an only child, I was used to it. Between the living situation, being so curious about sex and I don’t want to say a lack of parental supervision but more of they trusted me to behave.
It just happened one night. My parents were out late and I was hanging out with him. We were the only ones still up. Somehow we started horsing around and in the midst, his hand slid up under my shirt. I froze, knowing this was bad BUT it felt so good having my breast massaged in his big hand. We were both quiet and still. His hand stayed for maybe a minute before I freaked out and ran to my room. I wasn’t upset, just felt weird. A little bit of shock crept up and I was trying to comprehend what just happened. He came by and said he was sorry and it shouldn’t have happened. Being innocent and gullible, always trying to see the good in people and believe their intentions are pure, I said it was ok. And life seemed to go back to normal.
Except I didn’t stop thinking about it. How it felt. How I reacted. How he reacted. It didn’t feel the same as when I touched myself. I found myself wanting to be touched again. I was already addicted to masturbating, the naughty magazines and re-reading the sex scenes from my favorite books. This was new. I craved that sensation again. And the excitement. I was scared and aroused at the same time. I just waited, too shy and naive to do anything else.
I’m not exactly sure how it really started but we ended up messing around whenever we had the opportunity. My father worked graveyard so he would come home and take a nap, my mom would be gone. If he wasn’t working in the house that day, I would sneak out to the casita to see if he was there. It was just a room and a bathroom so there wasn’t any place else to sit and hang out other than the bed. I would make sure I wasn’t wearing a bra so there was easy access. I learned how to tempt a man, it certainly wasn’t hard. We never had intercourse, my virginity remained intact until my first boyfriend and he never saw me completely naked. I was so shy and unsure about my body that I always left at least a t-shirt on. It was all oral and manual play, though I never went down on him. A little ironic considering how much I love to suck cock now. My first boyfriend didn’t even have that privilege. He didn’t push me further than hand jobs, though he suggested I try once or twice but eventually left it alone. I remember one particular night where the boundaries were almost breached. Again, everyone was asleep and the parents were gone. We were in the kitchen and I was bent over the table, reading something and he came up behind me. Rock hard. He pushed my shorts to the side and slid his cock along my pussy lips. I held my breath, excited but anxious at the same time. This was too close…he hadn’t done this before. Then his cock slipped between my lips and it glided past my hole and brushed my clit. I shivered. I pushed back against him a little. He was still. So very still. Knowing what I do now, I realize the self-control he must have had to be that close to a hot, wet, virgin pussy and be able to pull back. Instead, we did our usual. I liked that I could go see him and he would know why I was there and take care of it and I would do the same. Eventually he left and it was for the better in the end because I started dating and got my first boyfriend, a boy my own age. I started down a more normal teenage path.
Papa was the very first person I EVER told. He was the first I ever felt comfortable enough with, where I knew I wouldn’t be judged. We’ve both agreed this is probably where my “little” was born, I got stuck somehow in that young teen mentality and am most comfortable and feel the most loved having a Papa Dom, one who nurtures and cares for me whether I am His wife or His babygirl. One who disciplines me when needed and guides me to be and do my best. I am forever grateful that He walked into my life, that we found each other and that He loves me the way I need to be loved. Most importantly, He accepts me and makes me feel comfortable enough to have shared the darkest secret I’ve ever held.