Positions

....the nuns at my school were no fools. They knew as well as we did that sitting with one leg across the other and bouncing a foot in the air could generate a very nice feeling down below, so we were always remonstrated with. “Angela....” and a stern look. Or “Cally....knees please.” Always demure, always “proper”. 

So, sitting on the grass or on a bed cross legged felt good! Ok, on some days, one may even get a sniff of one’s own pussy, which in turn focused our attention on that secret hidden spot, but it wasn’t long before most of us learned that lying flat on our backs, heels up near our bums, andour knees flopped apart was the raunchiest thing! Add in a little thrusting of the hips, and to an adolescent girl, its (almost) as good as “doing it”. 

Exposure. That’s what it was about....pure and simple exposure. 

In time, when what’s was actually down there was less of a mystery, spreading our pussy lips, maybe even (how daring) spreading our hole ever so slightly, lead to an immensely powerful sexual feeling. That of being “open”. Deflowered (although most of us were scared of the actual act of losing our cherry’s). 

I know that lying like that would make me copiously wet. It would run down over my bumhole, and that, again, was exciting. Why? Because I enjoyed the slippery feeling, and it wasn’t long before my finger found its way in there too. Another and totally unexpected source of joy. Imagine....a hole with no hymen to tear! 

I think I have always been a very verbal masturbatrix. I used to love whispering things as I played with myself. Sometimes intensely loving and romantic....the number of times I had orgasms while imagining I was talking to someone I had a crush on at the time. “ohhh I love you....I love you soooo much”. Other times, I would be crude, almost violent. “Fuck me....do it inside me,” that’s strange in itself. We all had a horror of getting pregnant...(even though none of us had “done it” yet. We had heard the horror stories of girls getting sperm on their vaginas, or accidentally, a boy my squirt too hard and some would go inside. The nuns even told us that getting sperm on our fingers and then touching ourselves might result in pregnancy. (ok, it might....but what are the odds?) 

So, during adolescence, sperm and dicks were kept a very long way from vaginas, even though we would lay awake masturbating furiously dreaming of having one inside us. If we were brave enough to get our boyfriends off, we did so onto our breasts, or tummies, or (in the case of Angela McKinnon, our resident whore) onto our face or.....shock horror...into our mouths. 

But there was always that feeling....that powerful desire to be exposed...to sit, or lie down, legs apart. Showing our panties was enough to actually make us breathless. Spending a whole lunchtime on a school field, deliberately flashing ourselves, and then, fifteen minutes before the bell, “going to the rest room” before class. Me? I actually went to the restroom. As I sat there, I would look at the sticky mess in my panties while I peed, but soon, peeing came later....I came first! Other girls in my group discovered Jilling off in the restroom before I did. 

Thinking back, I could hear the gentle sighs, and the stifled groans. I wish I’d cottoned on earlier. It would have been erotic knowing the girl in the next stall was doing herself as I was. 

So, now? As an adult? 

Yes, I still get the most enormous thrill when someone looks up my skirt. Fuck it...that’s WHY I wear short, loose-fitting skirts most of the time. I love being looked at. I love the thoughts going through their heads. “Does she shave? Is she pierced? Did she masturbate this morning? Did she fuck her boyfriend this morning?” All the thoughts that run through people’s minds. I love them. 

I love them more if it’s not just a helpful puff of wind that’s lifted my skirt. Like when I deliberately set out to be seen. Sitting indelicately, leaning over a railing too far so myskirt rides up at the back....wearing nothing under my skirt and feeling the dampness on my vagina and inner thighs, knowing that, given fortuitous circumstances, someone might catch my scent.

I love it when I’m doing that and an adolescent boy might suddenly snap his head in my direction. I know I’ve given quite a few teenage boys images for their wank bank. I also know at least four of them caught my bare vagina and it’s scent. 

Ive thought about breaking a teenage boy in. I’d like to be someone’s first. What a privilege to teach a teenage boy how to please a woman. 

I knew a British girl called Kate. She didn’t have much luck in terms of steady, long term relationships, in fact for months, sometimes years, she would be almost celibate. “Just me and my fingers suits me just fine.” But now and then, she would have a short, but intense fling with someone. Twice, I know for a fact, were with 17 and 18 year old schoolboys. Legal in the U.K , since their age of consent is 16. Kate used to giggle over how she would lead them on. “By the time he got undressed, he was covered in pre-cum. He had only just crawled on the bed between my legs when I said ‘fuck me....put it in me.’ and he shot his load over my head!” Kate enjoys calming them down, teaching them how to hold it back. “By the time he left me, he was a very skilful lover! I’m sure his next girlfriend will appreciate all my hard work.” 

Ive no objection to breaking a young man in, but I couldn’t be like Kate....months or years of nothing, then intense shagging for a month or so. I need sex far more regularly than that.

So, we have the “exposure” factor. That deliberate (on the girls part) of bucking conventions and spreading her legs. 

Dirty talk? Hmmm. I met one girl who found it utterly repulsive. So much so, it almost made her vomit. By far and away, most of the girls I know love it. Again it’s bucking convention. Look demure, talk demurely....so, naturally, not doing so is a thrill. 

I remember clearly when I was 13. I had just about mastered orgasms on demand, but the first time I had felt myself damp all day, I was walking home and the thought just popped into my head. “Hmm...my cunt’s wet today.” Not vagina, not pussy, nor any other word I knew then....cunt. I remember how the moment I thought the word, I seemed to “jump” between my legs. I couldn’t wait to get into my bathroom, lie on the floor and peel my panties off. I remember touching myself so lightly and just thinking over and over “cunt....my cunt.” It’s difficult to be certain, but that may well have been the first “dirty” orgasm I had. 

But then, “Fuck me” is another phrase I and many girls I know, use a lot in the bedroom. Two simple words. Fuck. Me. Yet what an impact they have. It’s an instruction, of course, but it also has an implication of submission. I am the one who is BEING fucked. I am the recipient. To say it and feel it feels nice. 

Perhaps that’s where the rape fantasies come from? Being tied up, held down, In my case having my pantyhose ripped, my panties tugged to one side while I pretend to resist is.....is....well, delicious. Again, exposure, again being done to.

But fantasy rape is one thing....real rape is an act of cowardice. If anyone tried to rape me in real life, they would be taking their scrotum home In doggy bag. A friend of mine is an intern doctor. Some asshole decided he would rape her one night. She quite literally ripped his balls off. Good for her! 

But, back to the subject....exposure, spreading, opening, profanity....all go against everything we are taught. 

I would sometimes look at the monks and nuns who staffed our school. Now and then we would get young ones, novices, or people in their very early years of full vows. I would think about them as people, not monks and nuns. Here is Sister Anne. A young woman of about 25, maybe 30. Slim, shapely, clearly in the flush of womanhood. Does she have sexual thoughts? Of course she does. She probably confesses them, but she has them...no doubt. And what about  Brother Thomas? He’s in his mid to late twenties too. Does he look at Sster Anne and does something stir under his Franciscan habit? 

Does Sister Anne masturbate? Does Brother Thomas? I hope so....oh, I hope so! I also hope they don’t confess it as a “sin” because it isn’t! If not, where will all that pent up sexual tension go? Will they become like some of their elders....violent, and way too handy with the paddle? 

Will it be worse, and might they end up like the creepy Sister Catherine....the nun who spends a great deal of her time staring at naked girls in the locker room? A couple of girls say that S.Catherins touched them up as she walked past them. 

Ive never liked the sexuality of the Catholic Church. I think it’s utterly evil. We had one young nun who taught us, among other things, sex ed. She told us “God have your bodies an enormous capability to feel pleasure. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s sinful.” I liked her. I could well imagine her masturbating in her cell at night, and fuck telling the priest she’d “sinned.” 

I don’t go to church much any more, and when I do, especially if there’s some sanctimonious priest up there, I’m so tempted to go to confession and tell him of some of my more depraved “self abuse” activities....I defy him not to get aroused! 

Back home, ours was a large Parish with five priests...one the designated Parish Priest, and the others, properly ordained, serving there before being moved either to parishes of their own, or to other parishes as assistant priest.

He was Fr. O’leary, but we called him leery O’Leary because of his habit of looking down our tops or up our skirts at every chance. We soon learned we could play him....being in his class in our big sister’s blouse, and no bra meant he got his eyeful of adolescent breasts, but it didn’t stop the hypocritical bastard from going off on the “sinful thoughts, words and deeds” trip, even while he was standing there in front of us with a semi tenting his cassock! 

So, now and then, I would go to confession with the intent of making him uncomfortable. I don’t know this for a fact, but I’m fairly sure he masturbated in alest one of my confessions. HOw did I know? Well, he would ask me to tell him again, from the beginning,  but in greater detail. One time, he saw me in the penitents area and went back into the sacristy. When he came out and went to the confessional, he had a box of kleenex. Well, I suppose he might have had cold.......

Sexual emergence is a complex physical, psychological and emotional business. Many aspects have to come together that result int he sexual being that one becomes. Parental influence is also significantly important. 

There was one girl called Maria. Her parents were avid Catholics....unhealthy Catholics. They told Maria absolutely nothing about sex, puberty or anything else. Maria was considered “odd” because she behaved differently to the rest of us. She might crawl into a classroom on her knees, because it was a ‘penance’ for some “crime” she had committed at home. The poor kid wore a hair shirt some days, and a wooden roasary round her neck always. I’m ashamed to say we just avoided her like the plague. She cared us. 

One  day, she was curled up  the corner of our classroom, screaming her head off. Why? Her period had started. Her mom hadn’t told her, and since she was t with the “in” crowd, she had t been part of the usual girly gossip. When that bitch of her mother collected her she just looked at Maria, and said “Sin of Eve.”

Im sorry I didn’t make more of an effort to befriend Maria, but she didnt exactly make an effort to come to us. 

Maria went to High School with us, and bit by bit, she changed. She would roll her skirt up short. Some days, she would tug the  waistband of her panties up if she happened to be wearing pants, so shock horror....her panties were visible. A couple of times, we saw pantyline before class, but then none after. She had pulled them between the cheeks of her ass like a thong. 

After all that parental repression, guess who the first girl at school to get pregnant was? 

Well, I feel a strong need to masturbate now. I think I may even video myself.