I don't know how I passed myself at home and at school – I lied so fluently that even I began to believe myself – and I was the only one who knew the truth! But somehow, my stories were believed – that I'd gone to the National Gallery at the bottom of the Mound and then up to Chambers Street to the Museum, with Cindy and Mari, two girls my parents would never meet, even by chance. And though my head was a jumble of dates and people and French verbs and English syntax and the building of Rome on the Seven Hills, I somehow got to Wednesday Evening and I was at the shop by 5.55pm. My Dad used to smoke State Express 555 cigarettes, and I never knew what it meant. You can look it up in Wikipedia. I was still in my School Uniform - George didn't seem to mind.
George showed me to the Back Shop and I curled up on the sofa while he locked up the shop. When he came through, I jumped up and wrapped my legs around him and he kissed me deeply – I was getting used to his way of kissing and I managed to reciprocate, but he sucked my tongue – which took me aback. It seemed as if he was cramming a lot of my sexual education into me as quickly as possible – and I was glad. I felt it showed how much he loved me and wanted me to be as good a lover to him as possible.
When we sat on the sofa, George began to undress me, while I told him about the past few days. He wanted to know if my parents had believed my story, and seemed relieved that they had; I think he must have been worried about it, because it was the biggest secret he could possibly have entrusted to me, and I was determined to prove, not only my Love foir him, but also my ability to protect him from those who might not understand our special relationship.
He said that he wanted to spend a little time. Whenever we were together, to teach me something new – either for me to do to him, or him to do to me. I said that sounded fair enough. He said that it wouldn't all be lessons though, as he wanted me to have good fun and enjoy myself. He said I had been very good with my hands on Big George, and that he had been so happy, making love with me. He said he felt privileged to have been honoured by me – he said that a lot of girls have been brainwashed by their parents and other adults to believe that sex is bad and that they shouldn't express their sexuality until they are a lot older, while scientific evidence showed that girls not only mature faster than boys, but they are ready for intercourse once they begin to menstruate, and that time varies from one girl to another, but that was her own body telling her that the time was right. I had begun just before I was 12, and I wished I'd known this then, we could have started over a year ago. But he said, reading my mind again, that he didn't just want me for sex, he believed that we had a very special bond that would last our lifetimes and that getting to know each other and learning to trust each other had been essential, before taking our relationship to the level we had reached pn Sunday – that had been a very special occasion and he felt quite proud that I had chosen him to be my Mentor and Initiator, to introduce me to the beauties of sex and teach me all he could so that we would be able to practice Pure Tantric Sex together, which he assured me was the very best and that he could see I was perfectly made for it.
“Tonight,” he said, “I want to introduce you to Oral Sex, which is properly known as Fellatio.” This must have been what the girls meant. He said it is not quite so easy as it first looks, because his penis, Big George, has the most delicate skin on his whole body, slightly less sensitive than the inside of my Vagina, which I must cherish, for therein lies the secret of my own Orgasm.
If my narrative sounds awfully formal, and like the introduction to a Training or Teaching Class for Novice Harlots, it is entirely my own limitations that are the cause. In fact it was all actually very relaxed and intimate, as we snuggled together on the large and soft sofa, the words spoken between kisses, fondlings and endearments. In George's presence, wrapped in George's arms, I seemed to come alive. I was a different person. I was able to forget the injustices and deprivations I experienced at home. George didn't quiz me about Homework, or conjunctives and subjunctives, ask me to name the Kings of Rome or remember the dates of English Civil War Battles! He was interested in ME!
George wanted to know how I felt, what I enjoyed and disliked, whether I liked to have my feet massaged – no-one had ever thought of asking me that, or let alone do it: George did. George sucked my ear lobes which was intensely stimulating. He slipped my tights down and took them off my feet, and then he would kneel before me and kiss my feet, each toe, and then kiss all the way up my leg, the inside of my thigh, which had me squirming with pleasure even before he reached my panties – he licked and sucked them, and he said he wanted my panties to always be wet when I am with him! What a thing to say – he was incredible. He knew everything! He knew what would make my toes curl, what would cause me to clench my knees together and tighten my buttocks. He knew how to relax me. So that I was all soft and floppy and he could do anything with me. He stimulated all my senses with words, his touch, kissing me, licking me, nibbling me with his teeth, cupping my breasts in his hands and sucking each nipple, sucking my tongue! WOW! That was extreme pleasure in itself.
And he taught me how to be nice and gentle with Big George. I learned hopw to hold him. How to squeeze and stroke him, how to wrap my fingers round him, hold him firmly and then begin to rub up and down, slowly and slowly and gradually faster until, when George (the man) closed his eyes and smiled, so fast that my hand was a blur until I saw his whole body go rigid ahd WHOOSH! Big George shot out a jet of creamy white semen, or cum, or spunk or 'Love Juice' according to George. At first, I would catch it in my hands, or sometimes it splashed onto my body, or face. But George particularly liked cumming in my mouth.
His eyes sparkled when I took Big George between my lips and let him slide right into my mouth.
I learned to suck him deep and then draw my head away, so that only the head remained, and so move my head up and down, or back and forth, depending on where George stood, or sat, or lay down, and whther I was kneeling facing him, or bending my head down, or lying along his legs, or at his side. He liked it every way.
And usually, he held my head and directed the movements until it goot too near the end and he would go stiff and I would do the rest on my own, and Big George would cum in my mouth. And I learned to swallow. The lot.
At first I didn't really know if I liked the taste, but like most things, you get used to it. And after a few sessions, I actually got to like it.
After that first Sunday, we missed a couple because of family events that George had to attend – a Birthday and I think a Christening he had to go to because he was to be a Godfather. I wished he was my Godfather. I wondered, if my Dad died and George's Wife died, could he marry my Mum and then we'd always be in the same house, and then when I was 16 he could divorce my Mum and marry Me! But that was just make believe. I far preferred thinking about the real world. The one George and I inhabited, in which he taught me everything important and encouraged me to practise on him. He was the perfect Teacher. The perfect Master. And I was the perfect Slave.
Or so I thought!
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