Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 {This is the story of my first love.  However, some things are changed, for
instance I am not a lesbian.  For the record, I was born a boy, and never
realized what was wrong with me until long after this.  So, I changed the
narrator to a girl, that fantasy I had even then.  Long before I even heard
of Trangender or Sex Changes.  For the record, I never got one of those
either, I can't afford one, but that's not what this is about...}

   ;

   Danielle

   At first we weren't homosexual.  I am now, but we were too young, I
don't even remember when we met, but we're in love, always.  Best friends
or whatever, we were "Playmates," but nonsexual, because girls aren't
sexual that young.  We didn't get any ideas from media, because there
weren't any.  I do remember the nineties, when the story broke, and Ellen
came out.  There were "Lesbian" kisses on Alley McBeal (Between straight
actresses, or one turned out to be bisexual, maybe) but it was a more
"Innocent" time, and place.

   By innocent, they mean ignorant.  Don't expose the kids to sex, or they
might get ideas, especially homosexual things, might make them homosexual.
Bullshit, that's not what happened, and it's coming from ignorant straight
people.  Adults, well let me tell you something, that didn't work. 
Sheltering us from the very idea didn't make me straight, any more than
talking about it would have made us gay, because you can't Make people
something they're not.

   Either you are, or you aren't.  End of story, nothing can change that.
It didn't work for us, but that "Innocence" left us to figure it out. 
We're in love, we knew that, and about kissing.  So, we kissed, we didn't
play kissing, we kissed.  All the time, and as we got practice we got
better at it.  Kissing deeper, and deeper, we learned, together.

   Oh, at mrs.  Rutherfords' house.  She watched the kids in the
neighborhood, kind of a free daycare, or babysitters.  With her kids, she
had 3 of various ages, and a husband who worked, and made good money so she
could stay home with the kids.  They had a big yard, with swings, and a big
wood tower on the end, and a slide on the other side like a playground. 
Practically a playground in their yard, and their oldest boy even made a
treehouse.

   So, they had the best yard, and all the neighborhood kids went there to
play, and her kids had all the friends.  Miss Rutherford watched us, but
not very close, because there was so many, but I guess that's where we met.
Where we all got together, with the neighborhood kids, I just wish I could
remember, we were very young.  I can't even say how young, old enough to go
out and play, but too young to know "Better," or even remember.  We kissed
there, but the other kids said "Ew Gross!" and giggled.  Thank god Mrs.  R
didn't see it, but we went off together, to be alone.  Together, and kiss,
in private.

   My earlies memories were of her, Glady.  Galdys, but everyone called her
Glady for short.  She was very pretty, I thought the prettiest girl in the
world, and I told her so, all the time.  And kissed her, but in private.  I
knew that, it was private, not because we're ashamed, but because that was
the way.  Also, we didn't have to worry about the other kids interrupting,
or distracting, we could just kiss eachother, in private.  Mommy kissed
daddy goodbye, and they kissed me goodnight, but kissing Glady was
different and special.  It felt different, and wonderful, I suppose that's
how we knew we're in love.

   Not sex, love.  Well, I suppose that's enough introduction.  Where we
were, and who I was kissing, so we'll start there.  Then, we started to
play somewhat sexual games together.  Ignorantly, we didn't call it sex,
because we never heard of it.  On the TV, and in the movies they called it
"Sleeping together," or "Making Love." Okay, well we're in love, we knew
that, so we started to "Sleep together."

   "Not a wink!" ~G.  Marx.  Okay, we played, pretended to sleep, in bed,
or out in the clearing with blankets and stuff.  Picnic too, we had baskets
from Easter, and when we're done eating all the eggs, and candy together,
we started making up Picnic baskets.  Alone together, in the clearing we
found out in the woods.  Kind of, there was trees, and we pretended it was
like a forest, but really it was an undeveloped part, between the
neighborhoods, the park and the school.  We went to the same school, in the
same grade, and even had the same teacher one year in second grade, but the
summer before that.  I mean the year before that, between Kindergarten, and
second grade, we went off together, hand in hand, and found the medow.

   So, that was our place, away from the other kids at mrs Ruthorford's, to
be alone together.  And have some privacy, for kissing, and made a bed with
the blankets from our picnic baskets.  We talked, too, don't remember the
whole dialog, but it was often about what we had seen.  On TV or movies, in
the Brady Bunch I remember, several others too, but that's the one I
remember, the mother and father had separate beds.  Like brothers, and
sisters, or Bert, and Ernie, but I don't remember what show I saw first
with a man and woman sleeping together.  Mom and dad did, shared a bed and
everything, but I had no idea what they did in it, other than sleep
together.

   In the same bed, and kissing her, and making love, only of course you
couldn't see it.  Anything, and they had their night clothes on, the covers
over them, then the lights went off, and they woke up.  That's probably
pretty much how I said it: "He kissed her, like this." On top of her, "Then
he turned off the lights, and in the morning, they woke up."

   Together, side by side, in the same bed.  So, we did that, sometimes we
truly did sleep.  Took a nap, together in the grass.  Tall grass, they
never cut it like a lawn, but we put a blanket down, and pulled up another
one over it, and snuggled, and fell asleep kissing.

   And woke up, with her next to me.  Still asleep, sometimes she woke up
first, and kissed me.  Like sleeping beauty, or others I woke up, and
opened my eyes to see her.  When you're in love, that's the best, and most
wonderful thing.  Especially there, our place where I could smell the
grass, and hear the wind whisper in the trees.  Feel the sun warmed quilt,
and see her hair shining in the sun.

   She was so beautiful, I ment every word, and told her all the time, I
suppose that must be why I fell in love with her, but like that, she was
the most beautiful.  Asleep with me, just napping, but so we could wake up
together, and the first thing I'd see was her.

   "Hihn!" Kiss her cheek, and smell her hair.  "Gladys." Her full name, so
she'd wake up.  Open her eyes, and look up.  See me and smile.

   Forget sex.  We got to that, years later, that was love.

   Then we kissed.  And that's the best kiss ever.  Every day, weather
permitting, we couldn't go out, and lay down the blankets in the rain, and
wet grass, but even when school started, we did it after school.  On rainy
days, we got together at her house, or my house, and took a nap, but it
wasn't the same.  For one thing, we both had single beds, and brothers and
sisters, so we rarely got the room to ourselves, but also the grass was so
romantic.

   That's still what I think about, whenever I hear the word romantic. 
Waking up with Gladys, hair shining in the sun.  The smell of the uncut
grass, the warm quilt over us, my blanket underneath.  Her eyes, and
kissing.  When we woke up, half of naptime was just to wake up, for the
best kiss there is.  For a couple years I suppose, but that's enough about
that.  Nothing more to say, really.

   I saw her naked, or we both did.  For instance, changing into our night
clothes, she had a gown, and I wore Pajamas, because that's what mom and
dad got me.  Warmer, I suppose, the same cotton ones year round, but that's
what covers are for.  To snuggle up warm in the winter, or kick off in
summer, or take out to make our bed in the grass, surrounded by trees to
whisper in the breeze, and the sun shining in to light up her hair.

   "Huh!" Sorry.

   So anyway, with that atmosphere of ignorance, it took a while to learn
anything.  Which is fine, we were content with that for years.  I was
usually on top, unless we're just laying side by side, kissing her
"Goodnight" (In the middle of the afternoon, we didn't sleep over back
then) or "Good morning" when we woke up, but because I had the Pajamas, I
guess I was the husband, and she the defacto wife, in her nighty.

   Her body was, just like mine.  She was a girl, I was one too, so there
wasn't any curiosity there.  Between her legs, because we had no idea that
had anything to do with anything except peeing.  It's like a butt, they
poop, and fart, why if we ever heard of eating pussy, we'd probably both
say "Ew," and giggle.  "Gross," wouldn't that taste like pee?  We didn't
even have a name for it, because we didn't even look down there.  Where the
sun don't shine, we peed, and wiped, and pulled our underpants back up.

   Oh yeah, and we had a hole.  Under a tree, between the roots we dug out,
and held eachother to squat whenever we had to pee or poop.  Out there, it
was an interruption.  "I have to pee,"

   "Okay," so we went to the "Bathroom" tree, she wiped, and we went back
to whatever we're doing.  Cut a branch off, the lowest one on that side, to
stick the toilet paper on.  That's it.  Not really romantic, at all, more a
break from eating our sandwitches, or our naps together.  Sometimes she'd
wake me up with "I have to go poop." I'd kiss her, then hold her hands. 
She'd wipe, I'd hold my nose, and giggle, then she pulled her undies up,
and we went back to bed.  The end.

   The other kids called us the "Picnic girls," or "Basket Cases,"
sometimes because we went out on picnics every day, or were always carrying
the baskets.  When they saw us, they didn't follow us, or ever find our
clearing.  There were lots of them, here or there, it wasn't especially
difficult to get to or find, but I suppose they're all over at Mrs. 
Rutherford's.  Sometimes they joked about Red Riding Hood.  "Going to see
your grandmother?  Keep an eye out for the Big Bad Wolf!" I'd laugh, it was
funny, not like they were teasing me, it was just a joke.  Then I'd meet up
with Gladys, we'd unpack the sandwitches, and bottles.  Usually tea, we
drank a lot of tea together, with the sandwitches.

   We didn't have a playground.  Or a hose and kiddie pool in summer.  A
sprinkler to run in and out of, or a mud-room to change in and out of our
swimsuits, with warm towels fresh out of the drier.  We did that too, not
like we're antisocial, or didn't play with the other kids.  Spend all our
time out there alone together, but we just went off to sleep together every
day we could.

   I suppose the next thing was bras.  We had to make them, but she had
HBO, and I had HBO.  It's not like we stayed up, to watch R rated stuff,
but you know.  Sometimes you'd wake up, and have to get up for a glass of
water, or to use the bathroom.  I saw stuff, and she saw stuff, then we
talked about it the next day, over the picnic blanket, tea and sandwitches.

   Something like this: "They were kissing in bed, and he took off her
nighty, and they made love," but she was in her underwear.  Usually,
sometimes, "He took her bra off." Okay, she saw boobs, and I saw boobs,
sometimes in the middle of the night.  When mommy and daddy stayed up, to
watch a movie, and make out on the couch.  Then they went to bed, closed
the door, I'm sure they made love too, but quietly.  With the lights off, I
certainly never heard it, but I saw it on TV, a few times.  That was pretty
much sex ed, but we certainly didn't have any breasts yet.

   So, really, it was more about the underwear, or more specifically the
bras, because you never saw her panties.  Under the covers, if not below
the frame in a close-up of their kissing, but we had panties.  Nothing
special about them, they hold the farts in.  We giggled, and went on with
whatever we're doing.

   "And then he took her bra off," so we needed bras.  Tied them out of
hankies, and ribbons, then I started sewing the ribbons on, and studying
our mommies' bras, to figure out how they're made.  Couldn't really do the
clasps, so we tied them on, and untied them.  Not like bikinis, we saw
them. Bikinis, on TV, Hawaii 50, or Magnum PI mostly, but just girls
walking around in them, because it was Hawaii.  We didn't have any, or know
anyone that did, we had 1 piece swimsuits for swimming.

   We wore them for swimming, or playing over at Mrs Rutherford's with the
other kids, when she got the hose out for summer.  She sat out in hers,
another 1 piece, on her lounger, with her sun hat, and a book.  She kept an
eye on us, so nobody got hurt, broke up fights, and put bandaids on our
booboos when we did.  That was her, she liked taking care of the kids,
giving us a place to play, and have fun with her kids, it made her happy.
She never did anything creepy, or sexual with any of us, I know, because we
would have heard of it.

   Anything sexual, because we're all curious about it.  We're kids, and
kept in the dark.  We had no idea, most of the stuff they talked about was
made up, and myths.  I mean like stick your finger in the belly button kind
of made up, not a clue, at all, none of us.  I thought the baby came out
the navel, I'm sure we all did, or most kids.  Gladys did too, because we
talked about it, and played with eachother's belly buttons, which begged
the question "Why do boys have them?" They don't get pregnant, but then
what do they have nipples for?  They don't have boobs, or feed babies with
them either.

   That is why I figure we didn't have one.  An adult that molested any of
the kids, because we would have heard about it eventually.  Anything,
sexual, at all, whispered, and giggling somewhere.  Private, so Mrs. 
Rutherford didn't hear us, talking about dirty things.

   She was just as prudish as the rest of the town, I suppose.  She'd
chastise us for saying "Crap," and tell our mothers if she heard us.  Much
less talking about sex, but there was this boy.  He saw it, and he told us.
All of us around the playground, while Mrs.  R.  was inside, I don't know
getting more lemonade, or using the bathroom, or something.  She served
Lemonaid, made it herself, fresh squeezed from the lemon tree out front, in
season.  You couldn't even have a Lemonaid stand, and make any money at it,
because she gave it away.  Gallons of it, every day in Lemon season.  To
get rid of all the lemons as much as anything.

   So, anyway, he caught his mom, playing "Hanky panky." That's what he
called it, and not with his dad, so it was extra dirty, and we all giggled.
Soap operas, all right?  Most of our moms watched Dallas, or whatever
daytime Drama they liked.  General Hospital, Guiding Light, or As the World
Turns.  Talked about it with eachother, that was mommy stuff.  Sent us
away, or at least to our rooms, mine told me "Go play with your fiends, I'm
watching this." Then, "No, you can't watch this, it's Mommy stuff." General
Hospital, I think.

   So anyway, we knew about Adultery.  We all did, kids gossip too, we just
did it away from grownups so we didn't get in trouble.  Okay, it was
"Kissing" someone, else.  When you're married, and everyone is married it
seems.  On those shows, there's no children, and if a woman is single,
she's weird, always a brunette, and nobody trusts her, because really all
those shows are about adultery.  That's like, 99% of the stories, who's she
sleeping around with this week, and how long you think it will take for his
wife to find out?  That's what mommies talk about, when they think we
aren't listening.  Even on the phone, or coming over for tea, that was
pretty much it.

   He told us, "They weren't just kissing."

   We all giggled.  Nobody asked, I don't even remember his name, but he
was great at stories.  And jokes, he was known for it.  Doing the reading
at school, and all the voices.  Only this time, he paused to build up
tension.  Teased, and hinted, grinning and laughing with us, enjoying the
excitement, because it was the juiciest story ever.  The secret, the thing
parents hid from their kids.  All parents, and all kids back then, even if
you found your dad's jerk-off stash, all they had was girls in their
underwear, or taking off their clothes.

   I was gay.  Always, I even saw some of that old school porn, and let me
just say: "Meh," about naked ladies.

   I'm

   A

   Girl!

   Mom changed us, and changed with us, at the pool, or.  Whenever, I seen
naked ladies, boobs, pubic hair, and even pussy, but I've got one.  Okay? I
don't care, any time I want to see a naked lady, to this very day, I go
take my clothes off.  It's a turn on, special and mysterious for boys,
because they can't.  Do that, they don't have boobs to play with any time
they want, and oh another thing.  Yeah, we do that.  Straight girls do
that, not all the time, but pretty much as soon as you start to grow boobs.
They're boobs, they're fun to play with.

   Sorry.  Got side track again, but irregardless, that was porn back then.
She took her bra off, or he took her bra off.  In the magazines, or on HBO,
at least as far as any of us knew, that was the biggest deal for years. 
Boobs, if a boy got to see them, it probably made his whole week, and he
bragged about it to all the kids in the neighborhood.  I know, nowadays we
got internet porn, and I've seen a picture of a black amputee fucking a
crossdressing hispanic midget.  I shit you not, it's hilarious, and other
than the crossdressing, it's straight porn.

   But I digress, anyway, he saw it all.  He came home for his baseball
mitt, or whatever, and he caught them.  Heard them down in the den, and his
dad was supposed to be at work, so he went down, and he saw them.  "Doing
it." He nodded, laughing, it was a big deal, way bigger than just seeing
his mom with her bra off.  "I saw it, all of it.  He put his thing in her
thing, and." He put his fingers together.  "Like this!" Like legs, and
started clapping.  With his fingers together, like legs, we all laughed
until Mrs.  Rutherford came out, then we ran off to play or whatever.

   Okay, I'd seen that.  A boy's thing, and Freud be damned I was a little
jealous that they get to pee so easy.  That's it, I giggled, it was weird,
and gross, but I remembered the next time I had to pee, and talked to
Gladys about it.  Out at the tree, because it reminded me.  "He just pulled
it out, and peed." That's it, "Unzipped his fly, he didn't even have to
unbutton his pants!"

   It's not fair, really, but what are you going to do?  That's about the
only penis envy I ever had, because guys can just stop walking, unzip their
fly, piss, and tuck it back in.  Maybe shake it off, they don't even need a
hanky to wipe with, while we have to pull down our undies, squat, if
there's no toilet, we need a friend to hold our hands so we don't get our
shoes wet, and then we have to have a hankie to wipe with.  Guys reading
this, it's like taking a dump, every time, we can't just find a bush and
take a leak like that, and that's years before we have to worry about
periods.  You have no idea how lucky you are that you can pee whenever, and
wherever you want, but take it from me.  A bonafide lesbian, that's it. 
That's all the penis envy I ever had.  It must be nice, moving on...

   We had no idea what those were for.  Sexually, must have been second
grade, because we had the same teacher then, and giggled about it in class.
It became, a serious discussion for a while, since we learned what sex
ment. He puts his thing in her thing, which is a bit of a problem.  Being
girls, and all, we didn't have a thing between us, so it's like trying to
put a hole in another hole, and didn't know that girls play with
themselves. How we play with ourselves, we didn't yet, because we had no
idea that we could.  Just that we wanted to, "Do it" now, only we had no
idea how, so we played it.

   "Like this," we put our legs together, and Clapped.  That's what we
called it "Clapping," because that's what I showed her.  The same way he
showed all of us, Glady wasn't there, so she missed the story, and I had to
tell her later.  Nothing went in anything, anywhere, we just found a
position where we could clap them together, and got under the quilt to do
it.  In our night clothes, her in her gown, and panties, I in my pajamas.
So, I was the "Daddy," or husband.  I guess the man, because the man is on
top of his wife, that's how they did it.  Back then, or at least how they
always did in the movies, and on HBO.  After 11 o'clock, when the kids were
in bed asleep.

   She heard it again later.  He told everyone, and I mean all the kids,
and they told all the other kids.  We heard about it over and over for
months, because it was the biggest news ever.  That's even how his dad
heard about it, and his mom's lover's wife heard about it too.  From the
grapevine, the kid's gossip, eventually the entire town knew they had an
affair because her son caught them, and told everyone.

   But, nothing went in anything, between us.  We just clapped them
together, usually in our night clothes, so we didn't have to get them wet.
Much less kiss eachother down there to get them wet, or fuck eachother with
anything, because we hadn't heard of that yet.  We just clapped them
together, and later on that night I started clapping mine in bed, thinking
about her.  With my hand, I got brave and stuck it in there.  My pajama
bottoms, to clap my underwear, and I don't know how long it took before I
started sticking my hand in there to clap it directly.

   They're too tight, my panties, to clap it effectively.  So, that's why I
started going to bed without them.  Just my pajama bottoms, but I got good
at it.  Like anything you learn, with enough practice, and I had Gladys to
practice with too.  She giggled, when I put my PJs back on without them. 
My underpants, she helped me put the "Bra" on, because we didn't have
boobs, so it was even sexier to touch eachother's bras.  It gave us
something to touch on eachother's chests, but now that we're clapping
together, we got under the covers, and I showed her.

   I lay down beside her, and felt between her legs.  Then I put her hand
in my pants, and started clapping her underpants.  With my hand, and she
started clapping my peepee.  Bare handed, nothing in the way, but that was
my first orgasm.  I had to be about 6, or 7, so I know you can do it that
young, but it took a long time.  We didn't sleep, at all.  We didn't even
try, or pretend to.  We didn't take a nap, we had sex.  Well, masturbated
together, but then it was sexual.  We kissed too, deeply, deeply enough I
could feel how much her teeth were growing back.

   Her new teeth, mine too.  I don't know if you remember, what it was
like? Well, I do, I played with the holes in my smile all the time, with my
tongue, and it was neat feeling them grow back in.  Every day, waking up,
and feeling how much the new one grew overnight?  Or wiggling the loose
ones until they pushed out, but I had Glady's teeth to feel growing too. 
At about the same time, though not the same teeth at the same time, but it
was neat, and fun, and interesting.  It added a lot to our kissing until
they all grew in to the Molars, anyway.

   But then, we started clapping off.  Together, and thinking about doing
it with her by myself.  She got off too, but not the first time.  She got
me off, and it was just her palm.  On my puff, I found out later that the
Pubis Mons is your clitoris.  The whole thing, not just the tip even sex
manuals call that, but we never heard of it.  A Clitoris, we didn't even
know to call it a Pussy, because nobody ever said that around us before. 
We had to figure it out, but we finally did, and I'm pretty sure that
second afternoon, I got her off.

   He second time, I mean orgasm.  She clapped off herself, before that. 
Thinking about me, orgasming, and doing it in the shower after she woke up.
Wet the bed, we both wet the bed, for a while.  Even the blankets in the
field sometimes, until we learned to feel it, wake up, and go pee in the
tree hole together.  Almost like potty training, eachother, only we learned
to stop bedwetting together.  Most times, you still have accidents.  It
takes a while to learn to get up, every time, you get used to it, but if we
didn't start talking about our "Peepees" by then.

   So that was it, instead of just peeing, we discovered they're also for
sex.  Or at least slapping off, and clapping together.  Half naked, after
that, I started putting my PJ bottoms on to take them off under the covers.
I saw that too, on some late night movie, I don't remember.  Other then
that, the man pulled his pants off, under the covers, then the woman took
off her underpants, and pulled them out from under the covers.  She sniffed
them.

   I giggled, and ran back to bed, but Mom and Dad didn't catch me.  It was
funny, but we tried that.  Sniffing her panties, after she pulled them off.
Under the covers, I took off my pants too, and we clapped them together to
get turned on.  Ironically, that was foreplay.  Play fucking, with me on
top, so we could lie down, and clap eachother off.

   Once again, we didn't think of it by ourselves, but we had to hear about
it.  This time, Gladys snuck out to watch HBO while she was supposed to be
in bed, but her parents didn't catch her.  They laughed too loud, and the
audience did too, because it was a comedy show, but a rated R one.  She
didn't say whether it was Eddie Murphey, or Bill Cosby (Himself) but he was
black, and he had a pottymouth.  Not to say that black people have
pottymouths, but it was rated R for language, and he joked about sex a lot,
so she told me about it.

   All the words she learned, like "Shit," and "Fuck," and what they mean.
"You know," she did the sign, and we were both like "Oh!"

   In a word, Duh.  She tried it first, in bed, thinking about me, but you
know how you make an Ok sign, with your hand, and "Then he stuck his finger
in it, like this."

   "Oh!" Yeah, that's all it took.  We already knew how a boy does it with
a girl, and had trouble figuring out how to do it without a dick, and oh
yeah.  The words for Dick, and Pussy too, she watched the whole thing, and
learned a lot!  So, we started telling dirty jokes around mrs. 
Rutherford's, when she wasn't around, getting laughs, and so forth, but
also started fingerfucking.

   And sucking, "Suck my dick!" He said it, a lot, apparently there was a
whole segment where he joked about that, "Suck my dick!"

   "Hahaha!" ~The Audience.

   Okay, so that's all we needed.  We didn't have a dick between us, but
once we had the "Fucking" sign, it didn't take a genius to put 2 and 2
together.  If you can use a finger to signify a dick, then you can use a
finger to fuck a pussy with, and she even tried it in bed, and told me
about it.  In bed, we layed out the blankets, and ate lunch, then got
undressed and under the covers in nothing but our bras.  Not the first
time, I don't remember when we started just skipping past the "And then he
took off his pants..." part of it, and just started bringing bras to wear
for playing hanky panky in, but we made them out of hankerchiefs.  Carried
them before that for wiping with when we peed before we started bringing
toilet paper, and dug a hole for a toilet.  So we didn't have to go home
every time we had to use the bathroom, but she fingerfucked herself, first.

   "Here," she took my hand, but this time she kissed it.  Instead of just
holding it, or putting it between her legs, she sucked my finger first to
get it wet, and giggled when I said to "Suck my dick." That was the
punchline, so she giggled, then carefully put it down under the quilt. 
"Careful so it doesn't dry it off." I had to feel around a little, but I
remembered the boys peeing.  Like I said, I seen it, she'd seen it, we
changed out of our wet swimsuits in the mud room, and grabbed hot towels
from the dryer all the time.

   Boys too, no real mystery there, so we'd seen them peeing even.  We know
what it looks like, a stick, and balls, in a little purse, so like a fist
with your pinky sticking out, only up side down.

   "Nh!" She winced, but then she opened her eyes, and smiled.  When I felt
her, inside with my pinky, and she relaxed her grip.  On my arm, and talked
me through it.  "Now, just wiggle it in, a little." I didn't want to hurt
her, it does hurt, even when it's wet, especially at first until she
loosened up.  he probaly should have clapped first, but we didn't that
time, and she showed me.

   "Smp!" She smiled, and slipped her wet pinky down.  Carefully under the
covers to feel between my legs.  My lips, then inside me.  Slowly wiggled
it in, deeper and deeper.  Grunting, we grunted a lot, and felt around for
a while, before we started fucking.  In and out, for a long time it was
just in and around.  Wiggling, twisting, and swirling them, taking them
back out to suck on, our first tastes of pussy when we had to get them
wetter again, and it was wonderful.  I don't know about her, I forgot to
ask, but for me, it was more the sense of wonder, feeling inside her than
the pleasure of her finger inside me, but we didn't break them.

   Our hymens, we heard of virgins, and even felt them, exploring inside
eachother, but not that old myth about it being imperforate, or a sign of
virginity.  Just this thing, another thing to feel and explore, discover
inside eachother, and then when we're good and satisfied.  Satisfied our
curiosity, we pulled out, and slapped eachother off.  I suppose one
advantage to figuring it out ourselves is we didn't do it by the numbers.
We didn't deflower eachother, painfully pop eachother's cherries, because
we hadn't heard we're supposed to.

   You're not supposed to.  Guys?  Don't make her hurt, and bleed the first
time, it's cruel, and pretty damned near rape.  If you care about her, her
pleasure, and loving her physically, don't hurt her like that.  For god, or
your parents, he never said that.  Some man did, I bet it was a priest, or
pope even but it isn't true.  Don't do that, it's wrong, no matter who told
you otherwise.

   Oh, and we're both 8, I suppose.  About there, or 7, and a half by then.
Had to be almost 8 at least, when we stopped being virgins together.  But
we didn't take them.  We gave them to eachother, without hurting, or making
eachother bleed, because we loved eachother.

   So, then I guess I started playing the boy.  Not in my Pjs, or even in
bed, we kept doing the Picknick, but stopped pretending to sleep together.
We started having sex, like a married couple, and I was the husband, she
was my wife.  Common law or not, we were as good as married, as far as I
was concerned, but for the most part "Which one is the man?" Is a myth.  I
talked to other lesbians since, a lot of lesbians, my girlfriends, their
friends, and even bisexual girls when that got all trendy in the 90s.

   "Byegones." ~Fish.

   Regardless, with 2 girls there doesn't have to be a guy, that's just
what guys think.  Straight guys, because they don't understand
homosexuality, and make stuff up.  Just like men had no idea where the
Univers came from, what the sun was, and why it rose every day.  Set every
night, so they made up myths.  Ra, and Appolo, because obviously that big
round thing in the sky is a God, and not a Goddes, because look at it. 
It's big, and bright, and hot, it gives life to us all, so obviously he's
male, what are you talking about?

   See?  Don't listen to anything men have to say about lesbian sex,
because they Can Not know what they're talking about.  What gets girls off,
because they don't know, they just make stuff up.  Ask a woman, and listen
to her, because she's been turned on before, and she knows what did it for
her.  Also, there's no 1 thing that works for everyone regardless, so ask
her.  If you're going t have sex with her, ever, she's the only one that
knows what does it for her.

   So anyway, Gladys liked it.  I don't know if it was all the "Suck my
dick," jokes or not, but she wanted me to.  Dress up, well she didn't say
"Butch, because we never heard of that before neither, but I had jeans, and
she liked them because they had a fly.  So, I could stick my hand in there,
and pull my thumb out, she could suck on it to get it wet, then bend over,
and pull her panties down.  To fuck, with her skirt up over her back, on
the blankets, and I got off on it too.

   Like slapping off, I guess the pressure, and impact, she said "Harder,"
and all that stuff when she got loosened up, and I could really fuck her
like that, but I even "Borrowed" my brother's underpants.  To wear them,
they have a fly, so I can pull my thumb out like a dick, make a fist like
balls, and the underpants kind of kept the zipper from scratching up my
thumb like that.

   That was fucking for us, I guess her fantasy was having a boyfriend,
instead of a girlfriend, and I guess I got into the fantasy of being a man
with my wife.  Out in the woods, not the medow, because we had terrs, and
logs for her to hold onto, or bend over when I fucked her.  Standing up, we
tried it on our knees, her elbows, but really once I tried it standing up.
I get to use my knees, bend them so I can really get it in at the best
angle, and really bang my pussy good with my fist once I really start
fucking, but we both got off, every time that way.

   Even after I "Discovered" toys.  Vibrators, and dildos, even strapons,
and cunnilingus.  Getting a little ahead of myself here, but spoiler: That
was after we were broken up.  Still, even today, that's how I fuck.  How I
can get off on it.  I mean sure, if she wants to use a back massager,
vibrator, my mouth, strapon, or whatever.  I'll do it, if she wants to tie
me up, or dress like a schoolgirl, whatever she wants.  I'm there to please
and satisfy her, but for me, I want to fuck the way I learned to.  It's the
best way for me to get off on it, and besides I only have to worry about 1
nail.

   My thumbnail, I guess that's another myth that you have to cut them off
to fuck, or we do, but it really just makes it easier.  I finger myself,
with nails, and I didn't even have to scratch out my hymen to do it.  Just
get it lose enough, and wet enough, be careful enough, you can have sex for
years without breaking it.  I know, because I did.  I fucked her, hard, for
years before she broke, and she still had it when she left.

   Moved, it was a little heartbreaking, but.  "Huh!" I miss her.  I still
do.  Every time I smell grass, or hear the leaves rustle in the breese, I
just have to close my eyes and remember her.  Her eyes, he smiling at me.
The smell of her hair, and every tooth she ever had with my tongue.

   Fondly, I don't love her any less for having lost her, but she moved.  I
couldn't go with her, and I still love her.  The love of my life, I never
found anyone else to feel the same again, but I never saw her after that.
I'm thankful, for every moment we had together, and we still have that, for
the rest of our lives.  I have to believe she remembers me, the same as
well.

   We got our periods.  Not at the same time, she went first, but we're
together.  We didn't have sex every day, we didn't have to, and it's gross.
So we didn't took a break, or she fucked me, an sucked my "dick" when she
had her's.  Just fingerfucked, usually kissing either standing up, or in
one of our beds when we slept over.  Together, we got our own rooms,
eventully.  Wehen we started puberty, it wasn't like a boy's room, and a
girl's room.  Both of our families gave the other bedroom to the teenager,
whoever it was at the time, or the oldest.  For privacy, there's nothing
wrong with brothers and sisters changing together, bathing together, or
even sleeping together as children, and we all knew that.

   But when you get older, then it's nice to have privacy.  As a young man,
or a young lady, I suppose boys need it as much to jerk off as young ladies
do to figure out how to put a bra on.  We missed that, growing boobs
together, which is a shame.  She moved away when we're 9, and 10, her
nipples barely started swelling, and to this day I wonder how she turned
out.  What kind of breasts she grew, and how big a bra she finally wound up
wearing, but alas, I'll never know.

   It wasn't until years later, over a decade that I heard about sex
changes.  For women, or men who're born women, but I didn't.  I could have,
afforded it i suppose, but it's like a house.  Or that, honestly I looked
into it, and that was the choice I had.  Be a lesbian, and buy a house, or
spend all my savings to turn into some semblance of the man I finally
admitted I always wanted to be, and try to survive broke.

   I don't want that, really.  The girls understand, the ones I go out
with. My lovers, understand I'm not really butch, or even a lesbian
technically.  I'm a man, in a woman's body, but eventually I stopped
feeling trapped.  Disgusted with my body, ever since it started growing,
depressed, and suicidal, cutting myself, and contemplating a home
mastectomy, but you don't want to read about that.  Even if you did, I
don't want to write about it either, but I suppose that's why I was the man
in that relationship.

   Why I always played one, she sucked my "Dick," and I was always
comfortable fucking her with my thumb.  Through the fly of my borrowed
underpants, and even my jealousy that boys could just whip it out to pee.

   But that's a whole 'nother story...

   ;

   {Incidentally, that's why I started with "I'm not a lesbian." I never
will be, and honestly I have no desire to.  I am a man, despite how I feel
inside, and how feminine I may be, I am a man, and lesbians aren't into
that.  And besides, I'm asexual.  You kinda have to be sexual to have a
sexuality.  And that's (Sighs) Okay.}

   ;

   Dani (Tg Cons.  I might add Roma at some point, but we'll see how it
goes...)

   "Are uwa lezbeyun?"

   "Huh!" I turned around.  Looked down, my hand up to shade my eyes and
see the little girl.  Looking up at me, smiling patiently, and her hair
shining in the sun.  "In a manner of speaking."

   "What's that mean?" She frowned, confused.

   "It's more complex than that, but would you like to talk about it?"

   "Uh huh?"

   "All right," I tucked the mail under my arm, and flipped the box closed.
"Come along then." It's no secret, really.  I have other girls over all the
time, and by "Girls" I mean women.  Lesbians, and bisexual girls, not all
my age, but none of them as young as.  "What's your name?"

   "Georgie?"

   "Well.  Georgie." She followed me up on my porch.  "How old are you?"

   "Eleven."

   "Okay, and what's Georgie short for?"

   "Georgine?  I'm named after mah daddeh, George Beauford Jr.  I
wouldabeen George the third, but.  Well, I think I am.  A lesbian, too."

   "Is that so?" Sitting down, I stopped flipping through bills, and offers
for credit.  Refinancing my mortgage, or getting a loan on it, dropped it
right in the trash barrel.  By the porch, I just cracked the lid, and
dropped it down.  "Why would you think that?"

   "I like girls." She nodded.

   "Yeahbut you mean.  You're attracted to them, and not boys?"

   "Well," she thought, so I put my knee up, and started rocking, "I don't
know.  Maybe, I might like boys too."

   "That's fine.  What do you like about them?"

   "Boy or girls?"

   "Either, uhm." Thought again, I gave her time, but it was a nice day. 
So, I got out my pipe, and started tamping some tobbacco into it.

   "It's weird, but.  I feel different about them?  Boys I mean.  I like
girls, 'cause there pretty, and sensitive, and.  Huh, I don't know.  I
don't really know any, boys.  A'tall."

   "Well, you've obviously given it a lot of thought, but.  I suppose
there's only so much you can figure out, on your own.  You know, you don't
have to be a lesbian, you can love boys and girls, if you like." In fact,
there's plenty of guys that are into bisexual girls.  I just don't know
any, closer to her age.  I would think about 12 or 13, since boys tend to
be a couple years after girls, give or take.

   "What'd you mean by it's complicated?"

   "Well, okay.  Huh!" How to explain this to a child?  "I am a girl.  On
the outside, but in many ways I'm also male.  On the inside."

   "Yeah, they'at."

   "What?"

   "I mean, me too?"

   "You feel like a boy, inside?"

   "Sometimes?  I don't know, what a boy feels like.  I don't know how'ta
ask theym."

   "Well, that might not work, either."

   "Why not?"

   "Well, a lot of boys.  They don't know how to talk about their feelings,
and at that age it can be hard to even tell what they're feeling."

   "Yeah." She got it.  "I guess you're rahut.  I don't know the words, for
what I'm feelin', neither."

   "Sometimes, there are no words.  Look, until recently, they didn't even
believe in such things as.  Do you know what transexual means?"

   "You mean lahka woman, trapped in a man's body?"

   "That's right, but again, it could mean that, or quite a lot of other
things."

   "Like," she smiled, "I could be a boy inside, like you?"

   "May be.  How long have you been having masculine feelings?"

   "What's masculine mean?"

   "Well," that's a tough question, "Ha, I guess I deserved that, but it
means different things to different men.  Again, because boys are taught
not to talk about their feelings, so many men never learn how to."

   "But you mean boy stuff, like a tomboy?"

   "I couldn't help but notice your outfit."

   "What?" She pulled out the bib of her overals, to look down at them. 
"Oh, yeah." She just let them go.  "Um, always?  I mean, not just boy
stuff, I liketa cook, but not cleaning, and sewin'.  I climb trees, and
stomp around in the crick, but."

   "Where you from?"

   "Missourah?"

   "Down south?"

   "Uh huh?  Ozarks."

   "Explains the accent."

   "Oh yeah, ah'ma hillbilleh."

   She wiggled her toes.  So, some crusted mud flaked and fell off from
between them.  The legs of her overalls were only relatively clean because
she rolled them up, and probably cut them off at the knees as well.

   "So," yeah, "Uh, yeah.  Um, that might be.  Why you.  Well, I mean." How
do I put this, "No offense, but, what exactly is tomboyish, for a
hillbilly?"

   She shugged.

   "Yeah, so I grew up with the Beverly Hillbillies, Dukes of Hazzard, and
Pettycoat Junction, but I'm a yankee.  So, I don't really know anything
about it, other than sterotypes I seen on TV, so let me know if I say
anything offensive."

   "I get it.  I mean, I nevereven herda Pettycoat Junction, butcha mean
lahk Daisey Duke'r Elly May Clampett?"

   "Yeah."

   "Tha's raght." She nodded.

   ;

   Georgie (Just skipping to her PoV, but if'n you don't know, there's a
whole culture between Arkansas, and Missouri, that's not really part of
either state.  It's not Southern, it's something else.  Basically the
American equivalent of Basques, with a lot of stereotypes about it, but
that's why she got away with it until she moved to the Kansas City area. 
Then didn't so much start questioning her Gender roles as have them
questioned by her American peers in Middle School...)

   So, I had a lot of questions, but ever since my momma run out on daddy
for smackin her around.  These city folk, they don't understand me.  I
don't understand them, especially them Emo kids.  "I hang out with the
Goths, cause they let me in and, you know that movie, The Addam's Fam'ly?
Yeah, likeat." Those Emos.  I mean, they just laughed when I said I don't
understand them.

   "You feel like a foreigner, in a nother country?"

   Shrug, "Thought thatus Texas."

   "Well, I suppose that goes to what we're talking about, earlier."

   Inside, I took another sip of tea.  Yankee tea, I figure.  Lemon instead
of sugar, but good nonetheless.

   "You see, around here people try to think of everything, as separate. 
Boys or girls, or like you're saying about the Mountains?"

   I told her bout back home.  Cause she asked, "Uh huhn?"

   "Well, the Ozarks aren't really part of either state, but somewhere in
between.  Independent, but people don't see it that way."

   "Right." She gets it.

   "Well, sex and gender's the same way.  People want to separate them, so
I'm a woman, who loves women, and that makes me a lesbian."

   "Donit?"

   "Not really.  I have sex with lesbians, because they have sex with
women. However, it doesn't feel gay to me, because in my mind I'm a man."

   I scratched my head.  "I like yer hairdo." Like a bowl cut, short in
back, but then bangs, all the way round over her ears.  It looks good on
hers.  "I need one."

   She rubbed the peach fuzz over her neck.  "Likeis?"

   "Well, Idunno bout that, but'ta get the tangles out."

   "It is pretty wrecked."

   "I hate it, but my momma don't wanna pay for a haircut.  Everthin's so
expensive up here."

   "Well, I'm not a hairdresser, but I suppose I can try to get most of the
damage out."

   "I hate it."

   "So you said, but again, you have to be more specific.  What do you hate
about it."

   "Well?" Think a minute, "You know how it keeps gettin caght on stuff,
and snarled, so it hurt like heck whenever I got to brush it, and gets hot
on my neck in the summer, but when I do it up, my hat don't fit, and then
it all tangled up even worse when I let it down, and braiding it's a pain."

   "I don't like it either." She says it Eyther, insteada neither.  Takes
some getting use to, but they all talk up hear likeat, so's I'm getting the
hang of it.

   "My hair?" I patted it.

   "Well no.  It's your hair.  I mean mine, it doesn't tangle like this,
but." She picked through it, "Is it really split all the way down to the
roots?"

   I shrugged.

   "Well, I don't tangle it,"

   "You said that,"

   "But, huh!  I suppose that's an iterative process."

   "Huh?"

   "Sorry, that's like.  Well, you know, it tangles so you have to brush it
out, so it splits, which makes it tangle more, so it gets worse and worse."

   "Yeah, that."

   "It would probably grow back stronger if I just shaved it off." She
laughed.

   I shrugged.

   "I was kidding."

   "So?  Go rightahead.  I don't mind, if'n it'll help with the snarls."

   "Well, huh!  I suppose it would be easier to just use the clippers.  You
might want to call and ask your mother."

   She patted my shoulders.

   "You all right?"

   "Why wouldn't I be?" I shrugged.

   "Don't ask me, but you tensed up." I nodded.  "When I mentioned you
asking your mother."

   "Huh!" I nodded, "Is it that obvious?"

   "Well, you live with her, alone?"

   "Yeah?"

   "What about your brothers?"

   "They stayed back with my daddy."

   "I know, there's no gentle way to ask this, so.  Huh!  I'm gonna go
upstairs, and grab my clippers."

   She didn't say it was to give me a chance to think about it, but I ain't
stupid.  She ain't say I was, but.  Some folks say, cause of being poor,
and the way I talk, so.

   "So," I tried to relax my shoulders.  "Did you think about, what you
might be comfortable, discussing?"

   "What about?" I shook my head.

   "Hold still." She turned on the clippers, so the buzzed loud.  Not too
loud to hear her, ask.  "I don't mean to pry, but I can't help but think
there might be problems at home."

   "Well." How them girls at school say it, "You think?" Try to laugh it
off, "Yeah, your right.  I just don't know, how to talk about it."

   "She does't beat you."

   "No?"

   "Or touch you."

   "Of course she does, she's my momma?"

   "You Know whay I mean."

   KRNNNNNNNNNNNN,

   "Huh, yeah.  I mean no, she don't.  Touch me, likeat."

   "Sexually."

   I started shaking my head, but that made the blades dig in.  "OWH!" I
rubbed at it.

   "Sorry."

   "I done it.  You wanna finish that, while I think about it?"

   "All right." She pulled it back, in front, and strated back.  Beside the
furrow she dug, until it stopped and dug in, but.

   "Wh!" Some fell over my eyes, so I had to lose them.  "Snh!" Just let
the tears roll down.

   Not like, I want to.

   "My daddy."

   "What did her do."

   "Huh.  He's a mean drunk.  Blacks out, like my momma to, but.  She ain't
likeat, and ever since we come up here.  She ain't touch me, a'tall and. 
She barely even look at me.  That's why, she don't pay me no mind, why.  I
suppose she'd notice, if'n I come home with my head shorn likea sheep, and.
It might snap her outta it, but.  She's in a bad way, ever since we left
home for the city."

   "Well, that's the front." She shut off the clippers, and pulled the
bunches out.  The ones that come loose, instead of tangled up with it in
the top, or back or sides, but it stuck to my cheeks, and I got a chance to
wipe them off.

   "Huh!" She looked up, and the look on her face.  I just jumped up, and
hugged her, afore I even knowed what I was doing.

   "Oh!" She patted my shoulders, and pulled more wool out until I cried it
out.

   "Huh!" I sat down.  Put my head down, and just waited for her to
finished.  I tightened up, my shoulders, and just toughed it out.  Wishing
I could open my eyes, but she's right.  Better finish getting shorn before
we go on.  Bear with it, not like I ain't been having nightmares, every
waking moment even, it seems.  As long as I don't got nothing else to think
about, it always comes back, over and over like a record stuck on the end
so the needle don't got no where to go but keep skipping back to the end of
the last song, over and over...

   "Uh huh huh huh huhn!"

   "There." She pulled it out.  Off my neck, and out of the top of my
shirt.

   "Huh!" I wiped my face, "Snh!" It itched something fierce, and I tried
to scratch my skin off, till I undid my straps, and pulled my shirt off to
stick my head in the sink, and wash it all off.  "Hahhhhh!"

   That's better, and it cooled me off too.  "That's worse'n.  Well, it
ain't?" I stood off.  "Even as bad as Fiberglass, but.  It drove me a
little nuts there, for a second."

   "Yeah.  Feel better?"

   I slipped my straps up, and shrugged.  Buckled them back, anyway, and
took the towel she gave me.  Dish towel, but I dried it, and "Yeah. 
Hihehau!  Kina funny, but I like it!" I hain't never been shorn like a
sheep afore, but I seen it.  "We din't have no sheeps, but some've my
freinds done did."

   "Okay, well.  Set a spell.  We need to talk."

   "Huh!" I know.  "I don't even wanna think about it."

   "Well, how's that workin' out so far?"

   "Your raht." I took a breath, and sat down.

   ;

   Dani (Are trigger warnings really necessary after that?  Well, all
right, I'll just come right out and say it...)

   "Well?" It's not as bad as I feared, but.  "Huh!  I don't know what to
say." But bad enough.  "Look, I should probably call my therapist, if you
want to talk to her?  I'm just not equipped to deal with, something like.
Well, anything likeat, really." It's either that, or take a shower in
rubbing alcohol, which is what I really felt like.

   "Yeah, all right."

   I got my phone.  "He raped her." Not Georgie, her mother, but like I
said.  That's bad enough.

   "His wife?"

   "Yeah, but that's not carte blanche.  Sorry, that's;"

   "I know.  French.  For white paper?"

   "A blank page, or slate, but.  You know French?"

   "Cajun?" She nodded, "I got famly down in Shreveport, or by there.  We
go see them, or sometimes they come up."

   "Oh," the change of subject helped.  "Yes, hello?  Is doctor Flores in?"

   "She's with a patient?"

   "Well, huh.  Could you have her call back, when she gets a moment?"

   "Dani?"

   "That's right."

   "Sure thing.  You want to set up an appointment?"

   "Well, it's more of a referral, really.  But.  Huh!  Yeah.  I'll
probably have to talk to her too."

   "Patient's name?"

   "Georgine Baufort, the third?"

   "Just Baufort." She shrugged.

   "You think your mom'd talk to her?"

   "She need's therapy."

   "Yes, and what's her name?"

   "Oh, Sally May."

   "And Sally May."

   "Johnson."

   "Sally May Johnson.  Maiden Name?"

   "Yeah, they ain't divorcedyet, but.  Yeah."

   "Well, I can fit you in on Friday, 11:15 Am, or 2:45 or after."

   "Keep a slot open, huh!  I''l set something open, when she calls back
but."

   "It sounds Urgent."

   "Yeah, it's pretty serious."

   "I'll let her know, thanks."
   ;