The Story of My Enlightenment

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I was very ignorant of girls as a teenager. I was home schooled from the fourth to eighth grade, and my conservative parents said absolutely nothing of sexual things. When I went to high school, I was very bashful around girls. Especially girls that were pretty, in my estimation. Other guys dismissed these girls I found most attractive for the more acceptable ditsy cheerleader type.



When I was fifteen, a new girl moved into the neighborhood and was going to my high school. She was a tall, attractive girl with smooth brown hair, and small breasts (that would be a plus, in case you're wondering). She dressed in dark colors a lot, and she wore unusual makeup at times, which, oddly, never looked bad on her, it would have on other girls. She was indeed eccentric.



It turned out her name was 'Jane,' she was a senior, and we were in the same elective class, Music History. A very, very boring class, but an easy credit. We eventually started chatting in class, at lunch, and worked on homework together on her front patio on nice days. We weren't an 'item' or anything, and were simply friends, but it sure was nice that a pretty, older girl was finally paying attention to this nerdy kid with thick glasses and acne (I had clean hair, at least!).



We chatted as we did our homework. I can't remember what our chats were about, other than things like the influence of Baroque music on Common Practice music. The conversations were probably stupid. It was nearing the end of the school year. She told a dirty joke one day, and we kept working for a few minutes. The joke had sparked something in me. The desire to know. I built what little courage I had, and, with some help from the Little Devil on my shoulder, I asked her a question very sheepishly.



'Could I, uh, ask you something, er, uh, personal?' Jane gave me the go ahead without hesitation. I asked her if she was really sure if she wouldn't get offended or anything. She laughed and told me not to stall, the best way was to ask directly. She was very amused. I was stuttering when I asked, but ask directly I did! I asked her, 'D-do you play wi-with yourself?' I suddenly felt very foolish and awkward. I was shivering all over. This is very Un-Christian! What a dumb way to ask!



She said matter-of-factly, 'Yes.' I looked at her, not knowing what to say next, dreading that I might say something even stupid-er. She continued. It turned out her favorite way of talking about masturbation was the phrase 'Playing with Myself.' I didn't feel as stupid for using the phrase. She told me that her favorite way to play with herself was to wear something silky over her regular panties and rub her clitoris and her whole vulva through the two layers of fabric. 'It's heaven.'



She sort of giggled at the expression on my face. Maybe my jaw had hit the floor. She was so open and unashamed. I had never heard the words before in my life. 'Clitoris? Vulva?' I felt a tad more confident in myself, but still a little strange for being so direct. I told her I didn't know anything about girls, except that one time I saw my sister humping a blanket that was wadded up. I told her that I heard other guys at school talking about sex all the time like they knew everything there was, and sharing ever greater tall tales of their exploits. That they mocked me for not knowing what they were talking about.



She laughed and scoffed at the 'other guys.' 'The only thing they know is what they've seen in their dads' dirty mags.' Her eyes twinkled, and she excused herself. She came back and put a folded piece of paper in front of me and told me to look. I unfolded it and saw a lewd picture of a naked woman lying on an elaborate bed with her legs spread open. It was a clipping from a magazine. She wasn't very attractive to me. The focus of the camera was on her genitals.



Jane began an impromptu class, parodying the Music History teacher to great effect. All about what I didn't even know existed five minutes ago. She pointed to the picture and had me repeat the name of what she was pointing at. Labia. Clitoris. Urethra. The Opening to the Vagina. Twice in a row she pointed at the clitoris and said 'What's that?' 'Clitoris,' I answered, twice. 'Remember that,' she said.



Then she told me I could keep the clipping if I wanted to 'study.' She told me what I should do when I was with a girl, how to not be afraid to ask if I was doing something right or wrong. She emphasized the word 'clitoris' several times, and pointed to the lewd picture.



Jane shared her sexual story with me. About how she discovered masturbation at the age of ten by spying on her thirteen-year-older sister one night. They shared rooms at the time, so it was easy to spy. About how she built up the courage on her thirteenth birthday to use her hairbrush handle to simulate a penis, as a present to herself. About her frustrating experiences with boys who knew nothing about how to please a girl, how they only wanted something to 'stick their dick into.' And in the end how much more satisfying it was to just play the game all by herself in the darkness of her own room.



I asked if what she was saying was that she wasn't interested in guys.

She said, 'Yes.' I thought, for a few wonderful weeks, that perhaps she was 'The One.' I was visibly disappointed. She told me that there was someone for everyone. Good sentiment, but not very comforting.



I built up my courage, and asked her one last question...She let me put my hand up her skirt and rub her vulva and feel where her clitoris was through her panties. I was floating around in ecstasy. I thought to myself, 'Please, don't stop me now!' She told me to stop after about a minute, smiled, and said, 'I think you're on the right track now.'



Then she winked, and whispered, 'I do it almost every night.' I smiled. Perhaps we might have masturbated mutually on some nights, even if only in spirit? I eventually told her my own (rather bland) story (which will come soon here on Solo Touch). I'm very thankful to her for explaining everything to this formerly in-the-dark geek.



Jane moved away at the end of the year to go to college. Unfortunately, I haven't corresponded with her since. Maybe we'll meet once again. Some day...

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