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.