Chapter One April 21, 1984

   The first time I saw Cynthia naked she was seven years old.  My family
lived across the street from hers, and they were having a Christmas party
for the neighborhood.  I was bored out of my mind until Cynthia burst into
the living room stark naked.  In the split second before her father
gathered her in his arms and herded her back to her bedroom to put some
clothes on, I managed to get quite an eyeful--her flat barrel chest with
pale nipples hardly discernible, chubby arms and legs, I even noticed the
tiniest slit between her legs.  I was fourteen then; I had just figured out
how to buy porn magazines a few months before.  This was a long time ago,
back in the eighties, so all the women in the magazines had big bushes (not
to mention big breasts and nipples).  Cynthia was only a little girl, but
something about that glance at her hairless pussy excited me; it was the
first time I had ever seen a girl with no hair down there.  I must admit
that when I got home that night I masturbated without opening my porn
magazines, thinking instead about that little hairless slit.  (It has
occurred to me since then that I actually had seen my sister's hairless
pussy on several occasions growing up, but it had never struck me the same
way.  Of course I didn't see her naked often in those days; the last time
may have been years before the night of that Christmas party.  I think it
was just timing.  Several months of staring at hairy pussies as I
masturbated three or four times a day then the sudden contrast of Cynthia's
bare one really got to me.)

   I didn't see Cynthia again for over a year.  The next year my family
spent Christmas in Florida so we missed the yearly event at the Blossom
household.  (I did ask discreetly around the neighborhood, but from what I
could gather Cynthia did not repeat her performance that year.) That
Spring, however, Mr.  Blossom came over one afternoon to ask if I would
like to baby-sit for them.  I was still only fifteen and did not have a
job, so I eagerly accepted.  "Great!" he said.  "How about this Saturday?"

   At 7PM Saturday night I rang their doorbell.  Cynthia answered the door,
eager to meet her new baby-sitter.  Because our ages are so different, even
though we live across the street from each other we had never actually
spoken.  Cynthia opened the door but forgot to invite me in, and just
stared at me through the screen, her eyes peering out of thick plastic
horn-rimmed glasses that she unfortunately had to wear already at her young
age.  Equally awkward, I stared back.  She was nine now, still just a
little girl, but she had had a growth spurt.  Instead of chubby arms and
legs and a barrel chest, she had become skinny, even lanky.  She was now
several inches taller, almost 4'6".  She was not an attractive girl, with
long stringy straight brown hair and big red lips smeared across her face.
Her lips were really big, really full, no shape, just two bright red
balloons under her nose.  I had a feeling in a few years she might develop
into an uncommonly beautiful woman, but now everything was out of
proportion.  Her eyes, behind those glasses, were a pretty shade of blue,
but these were lost among the lips and the glasses.

   Looking at her hair made me think of the guys that write letters to my
magazines, where they always wonder what the hair on a girl's head tells
them about what she has between her legs.  This thought of course reminded
me that I had seen this little girl's pussy before, and that there had been
no hair on it at all.  Which made me begin to wonder if she had started
growing pubic hair yet.  All these thoughts tumbled through my brain in the
first fifteen seconds after Cynthia opened the door, and I blushed fiercely
until her Mom came up behind the girl and, oblivious to my
lascivious--although I insist innocent- thoughts, chided the child for not
inviting me in.

   Mr.  Blossom came up from the family room, shook my hand, and both
parents quickly ran down the litany of baby-sitter instructions--here's the
number to reach us, we should be home by midnight or one, Cynthia should be
in bed by nine--"Mah, ah, ahm!"--okay ten, but no later, you are welcome to
anything in the fridge--and with a "have fun you two," disappeared out to
the garage.  The girl and I stood awkwardly listening to the garage door
opening, a pause, then closing again.

   I was about to ask Cynthia what she would like to do when she screamed,
"Let's play dolls!" grabbed my hand, and led me upstairs to her bedroom. 
Jesus, what have I gotten myself into, I thought.

   We played dolls for one hour.  Dolls consisted of Cynthia assigning one
of her toys to me--a horse--while she controlled all the other toys in the
town that was her bedroom floor.  Two minutes after I sat down a policeman
arrested my horse and threw him in jail, where it sat for the next 58
minutes while the other toys had fun outside in their freedom.

   "I have to go to the bathroom," she announced, and headed for the
bathroom across the hall.  A moment after closing the door she called out
to me, "Nathan!" "What?" I called.  "Come here and watch me pee!" "I can't
do that!" I told her before I had time to really contemplate the proposal.
"Okay then listen!" When her pee hit the water she giggled fiercely at the
noise.

   We played outside until it was dark, then it was time for her to go to
bed.  Forcing myself to wait a full thirty minutes to make sure she was
asleep, I then rummaged through the bathroom vanity drawers for whatever
lubrication was handy.  Nothing.  No hand lotion, not even liquid soap.  I
tiptoed past her open bedroom door into her parent's bedroom and adjoining
bathroom.  Thank goodness, a giant tub of Vaseline.  Not my favorite, but
it would do.  I considered finishing myself off right there, but was too
afraid of what would happen if she woke up.  I moved to the family room
sofa, confident I would hear her coming down the stairs if she awoke.  I
masturbated myself imagining what it would look like to see this little
girl pee, and thus began my education under Cynthia's tutelage.