Lost Girl

I used to think I was a nudist, until the winter before I started puberty…

When I was a girl, my mom called me “Little nudist,” chasing me around the yard to put my clothes back on me, and take me back inside, then spank me. Giggling madly, I don’t even remember this, but I remember the family movies I ruined by streaking.

“Ugh!” My dad turned the camcorder away, but I could still hear my giggles, and squeals when mom caught me with a towel. It was summer, and we went to a pool party for a playmate’s birthday.

Then, my shrieks when she slapped my bare buns, “You’re making a scene!” The video cut out after that, but I think that’s what made it feel naughty for me. So, for years I got away with it, and let out naughty little giggles sneaking back home after dark.

To put my clothes back on, and climb back into my window. My mother was waiting for me, with the paddle when I got back, but I took my licks. That’s why I put my clothes back on before I climbed back in. So, she was spanking me for going out after dark, instead of streaking.

Of course I got caught streaking, only it was some boys who were out too late, even though they were older. Almost teenagers, it was like naked tag, or hide and seek, only they were all it. I held my breath, and my giggles back when they ran past my hiding place under the porch.

I got away again, but my luck didn’t last. One night there was a man waiting for me under the porch. “HM?” I tried to shake my head, then call for “MWM!” He covered my mouth, and called me a dirty little slut, in harsh whispers, but he didn’t spank me. He rubbed my butt, my legs, and between them, until I stopped giggling, because it stopped tickling.

“Hm!” I sighed, and went limp, so he started rubbing me gently.

“Yeah, you like that.”

“Uh, huh!” he let my mouth go, so he could touch me from behind. “Yeah.” Bent over his lap, expecting the swats to land any time, but he never hit me. He just touched me, with one hand under my tummy, and the other over my buttocks, gently tickling my privates until the incredible feelings overwhelmed me.

“HhuhHhuhHhuh!” I didn’t orgasm from it, but it was almost as intense as my first orgasm. He let me go, and I crawled out to get my clothes, but he crawled out to stand in the shadow of the house. Just around the corner, he held his arm up on the wall, and his other hand unzipped his pants.

He just jerked off right in front of me, watching me get dressed. Then, he left me to get the milk crates, I stacked up to climb back into the window.

My sister asked me “Where you been tonight?”

“Huh!” I was just so worn out, and satisfied, it was a rhetorical question. I didn’t have to go anywhere, I just exhausted myself so I could sleep. When the excitement wore off, but that was exclusively a summer thing.

I didn’t have school, and of course it was warm enough to run around naked. Yell, “Hey boys!” Underneath the street light, then disappear into the dark before they ran up to it. Crouching in the shadows, and playing naked tag, until I finally got caught.

He was a neighbor, he lived on my street, and he even had children I knew from school. He made it sexual, and I saw him out on the porch when the urge to go out got too strong to resist. I could go out all night, every night, but I found out it was so much more satisfying if I denied myself, until I couldn’t resist it any longer.

“Hey,” he said my name, as if it was perfectly normal, but as soon as I got up on his porch. I slapped his leg, and said “You’re it!” To jump down, and run off giggling into the night, for him to chase me. He caught me of course, and covered my shriek of laughter this time. My squeals of glee, tickling me, then molesting me, only this time I felt him hard in his pants when he stopped tickling, so I could stop struggling.

So, he unzipped his pants, and fished it out to rub all over my body. First my face, then my neck, shoulder, and turning me over to roll it down my back. He got on top of me to hump my buns, then clamped my legs around it with his, holding me up, and humping me from behind. Rubbing the top under my hot hairless little cunt until he finally shot his wad on my tummy.

Well, most of it hit my tummy, bent over like that, with my head down, and my cheeks in the grass. The last little bit dribbled out to run down my thighs, but I knew that it wasn’t quite sex. I knew the right way to do it, the way my mom, and dad did it in bed. With the door locked, and the lights out. Probably the covers pulled over them modestly too, for all I know.

I know my mom, she’s ashamed of her body, and her sexual needs, even though those led her to become our mother. Sex was something dirty, and embarrassing, so she hid it from everyone. Except for my dad, of course. So, in a sort of sick way, I was cheating on her. Not in any bisexual incestuous way, but just knowing how she wouldn’t approve of me having an affair before I was married.

Even old enough to be married, it was the summer between 5th, and 6th grade. So, I hadn’t had my 11th birthday yet, but I was so hyperactive that I was a late bloomer. Any fat that would have gone into hormones got burned off, before I even started growing breasts, let alone hips, or pubic hair. I didn’t get my first period until I was almost 13, but that was perfectly fine for my molester, because he was a pedophile.

Otherwise he wouldn’t have molested me as a child. Honestly, I made it too easy for him. Not by being a “Willing Victim.” Honestly, it wasn’t sexual until he made it sexual. It was just a naughty protest against my sMother, but it couldn’t last.

Inevitably, we got caught again. The neighborhood boys noticed that they hadn’t seen me lately, because I stopped looking for them, and started running to my lover’s house. Because it was even naughtier, but I’d gotten too predictable. Even the cycle of denial, catharsis, and cooldown had become routine.

They could check their calendars, because Sundays were the worst. I had to go to church, in my Sunday best, which were the most uncomfortably modest clothes her money could buy. It was impossible to sit still, which just made her hiss at me for fidgeting. It was all I could do to hold back my giggles, thinking the dirtiest thoughts as a mental middle finger to Jesus.

That was my stressor, I couldn’t wait to get out of there, out of those clothes, and into something a lot more comfortable. Cool, revealing, and easy to take off. My boyfriend started taking me out on drives, someplace where we could go skinny dipping, splashing me playfully, and then tickling me until I was putty in his hands.

He just molested me, and he even denied me when I begged him to fuck me. I was too tight, honestly he was too big, but he didn’t want to take my virginity. It would spoil his game, my “Innocence,” I even played dumb for him. As if I didn’t know what he was doing. It was always a surprise, a big surprise when it reared it’s pretty little head out of the water, so he could carry me back to the bank.

He taught me the words, “Not fuck, frot.” He still didn’t want me saying 4 letter words, because it burst the bubble of his fantasy. That I was innocent, when I used such adult words.

The neighborhood boys finally called the cops on him, after 2 long years of playful frottage, tribado, and frotribado. He wouldn’t even let me give him head, or jerk him off all the way. It was all just his adult body, shaved clean, and sometimes stubbly, rubbing against my young nubile, naturally hairless body. He wouldn’t even let me jerk him off, he just wanted to rub it off on his body, but each hot sticky spurt was a triumph. I wore it like war paint until he drove me home.

Naked, and crusted with dried cum to put my clothes back on, and climb back into my room. The neighborhood boys just called the police. Anonymously, so he went to jail for Statutory Rape. His wife left him, and took the kids, so I didn’t even see them again.

He probably would have dumped me when I started puberty anyway, despite starving myself to keep from growing up. I became anorexic, again without even thinking about it. I knew what he wanted, a little girl on the cusp of puberty, but he didn’t want me to grow old. I guess it was Peter Pan Syndrome by Proxy.

I was his Wendy Darling but it couldn’t last forever, any more than the summer weather could…

;

^I can go on…

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