These are the thoughts of me, an ordinary girl.
I lay gasping for breath,I didn't know what had just happened to me, but I knew my bed was wet.
It had started out like many recent bedtimes, when I was 14. Just a feeling, a need to touch myself there, in that secret place. As usual, a nice buzz developed, and time seemed to slow. This night however, the dragon would not be so easily placated, and demanded more of my exploring fingers. She drew ever deeper breaths, filling my soul with her heat until finally, in an explore exhale of fire, she tore my world apart.
My first orgasm. The first time my body took what my dragon de,Andes and forced me to comply. It was magical, heavenly frightening, and messy. I knew then, as I changed my bedding hoping my mom would neither hear nor notice the sheets the following morning, that sex was messy! It was SUPPOSED to be messy.
The next day after school, mom had left a package in my bed, in it was a small vibrator, and a book on sexual emergence. But most importantly there was a letter. In it, mom celebrated my sexual emergence, she rejoiced in it, she told me never, ever to deny my body or be embarrassed at its reactions. The letter talked of masturbation, sex, female ejaculation, and event peeing all as part of a normal sex life for a girl. Nothing was ever said between us, but I loved her more from that day.
The dragon, however, now released from her slumber, would not be stilled. I,ages, disgusting frightening, wonderful images poured through my brain over the next few years, triggered by almost anything.
Walking in on my younger brother when he had a raging hard on only served to make me think about the penis, that rod, that sword or flesh. How would it feel to hold, to touch, this, and finally to have thrusting between my legs. All of this was masturbatory images for many months, until one day, quite by deliberate intent, I spied on him masturbating. I saw the agony on his face as his hips pushed further forward until he erupted onto the bathroom floor. This was the stuff of life.
My dragon purred in salacious satisfaction as, me night, I masturbated not about a cock, but about my brothers. I was 18 at the time, and quite by intent, I imagined it was my brother undressing me, parting my legs, pushing first his fingers and then his cock inside me. Finally my dragon breathed her exultant fire at the moment he spurted deep within me.
Other times, in other places, sometimes my dragon would wake and purr. In class, in lectures, I learned to squeeze my thighs together in a way that would bring me off. I learned the pure erotic joy of wearing nothing under a short dress. I learned that deliberately allowing someone to see the hair between my legs was as powerful as masturbation itself.
Other times, my dragon would sing to me. She would take me on a romantic journey, of moonlight, soft tropical beaches and gentle seduction, my fingers learned to obey the dragon, and I learned the consequences that came from attempting to control her. I learned of the frustration of orgasms denied, or of ones so weak as to need apology.
My dragon of desire led me down many paths, she taught me sapphic love as an alternative to men.
But above all, she set me free.