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Memories of Love


The erotic reminiscences of a young woman... from Ohio. Originally published as #2 by the Oceanic Press, a Paris-based competitor to Olympia.

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Memories of Love

Alan Atwood

This page copyright © 2009 Olympia Press.


I don't believe I fall into the category of sexual obsessives, and yet as far back as I can remember the female element had already mixed well with my life.

My first experience in love goes way back. I'm twenty-eight now, and I can recall my first amourous exploits at the age of six. My family and I were living in Cleveland and my mother brought me to the home of one of her friends and it was there that I met Micheline, my unforgettable playmate.

It is difficult to spend an entire afternoon playing at bakers or doctors (however playing 'doctor' was not without it's merit for it gave me a chance to explore, touch and feel). Our 'traditional games' were performed after the lunchtime snack.

There, under the dining room table, was the playground of Micheline and myself. I still remember the colored carpet and the cups and saucers which we took with us. It was the perfect hiding place from the adults who were not too far away. Protected from their reprimanding looks we escaped into our children's world.

We looked out at the grown-ups as if we were two small animals in a cage. As for ourselves we had never until then looked each other over carefully. But I had noticed that my young playmate was rather pretty with short blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. We should have guessed that that afternoon would not be like the ones before, for she had asked me with a particular intonation.

—'Well, what shall we play at?'—And not the usual 'What shall we do?'—

She looked directly at me and her eyes narrowed with mischief and her head cocked to the side in lady-like fashion despite her tender age.

With a voice that was a bit hoarse and behind a face which I imagined to have a purple tint, I proposed—

—'Well what about doctor?'—

—'If you wish'—she said curtly.

I took her pulse and laid my hand on her heart and it seemed that she was unusually warm. A little naive, after all I was quite young, I asked her.

—'You're really not sick, are you?'—

She lifted her shoulders questioningly.

—'No, why? Come on, let's play'—

Well I went about my business as a conscientious doctor. A check-up of the face showed no visible signs of trouble. Then came the neck. I felt her life blood running beneath my fingers. I was certainly right she was quite warm.

—'You're tickling me'—she said in a low voice.

I examined her chest, her dainty breasts, where my ear registered a heavy fierce beating of the heart. With a snappy professional order, I risked saying.

—'We'll have to table off the blouse'—

Submissively—'Very well, doctor.'—

She took off her knitted red pullover with broad checks and a slight shiver crept over her nude torso covering her with goose pimples. She had a frail body the same as my own. I took a look at her little breasts which were as scarce as my own. I thought to myself, since they're like mine, it isn't worth the trouble.

A heavy voice fell upon us from the citadel of mothers.

—'I hope you are behaving children'—

Quickly Micheline pushed her arms into her pullover and responded:—'Yes mother. We're playing guessing games'—

We listened anxiously to see whether the elders would return to their own amusing games of gossiping—'Guess who I saw the other day, etc! Once again, comfortably reassured, we resumed our childish explorations into the realm of the unknown paradise of love.

—'Spread your legs apart'—

She obeyed me admirably and in fact very willingly. Her legs were white beneath a yellow panty and my fingers ran up and down her well-rounded thighs.

—'Does Madame have any pain here?'—

By this time neither one of us believed in the game which only served as a pretext now.

—'Yes Doctor'—

I slid my finger between the small opening of her panties. Ah, I felt something and was quickly joined with a short moan coming from my patient. She spread her legs a little farther apart in an effort to help me. At that moment I wasn't sure whether we spoke or just guessed our relation to one another.

I leaned toward her and in a low persuasive voice.

—'If you will take off your panties, I'll be able to see better'—

Micheline slipped off her yellow panties, and before me was a young girl, completely nude with a slit rose-colored apricot shining between her legs.

—'Let me put in my finger.'—

I was filled with self confidence. I would have never believed that it was no simple. However I was somewhat deceived. It seemed to be too bare and I felt I was in front of a defeathered chicken.

—'Finished doctor'—Micheline asked.

She appeared a little unsettled and wished to dress herself and I sensed that my fugue was coming to an end.

She murmured a sigh while slipping on her pants and then all at once a door opened and a brisk voice questioned us.

—'You're behaving I hope?—

Then suddenly the tone changed into a heavy order.

—'Get out from under that table this minute'—

My companion tried to escape by crawling away from the direction of the bombardment of the voice, but she as caught on all fours and received a few wicked slaps once the departed from the safety zone of the table.

As for myself, I needn't mention that men pay dearly for their slight adventures. What a lacing I received.

—'You miserable boy'—my friend's mother admonished me.

My own mother demonstrated her indignation also. Of course, it was a tone less, since she did not know rightly whose fault is was.

—'Micheline stay here with us'—decided her still hot-tempered mother—'And as for you; Upstairs in Micheline's room at once.'—

Alright. I went out dragging my feet. This was going to be just dandy, I thought. Micheline's room is gray and bleak and her window overlooks a desolated court.

—'When you go up in the room, put yourself in the corner and don't move'—

When I got there, I heard the door slam behind me, giving that final impression of a prisoner who is to be locked away for good. I stood in the middle of the room taking in everything and gaining in my knowledge of Micheline's room.

I noticed my young friend's divan and above it a shelf of books. I vaguely thought that it might contain some risky titles, but no it was filled with the usual books, 'Robinson Crusoe', 'The Poppy Girls' 'A Vacation for Polly, etc. I then explored a chest full of toys in my strange hope of finding something, but evidently it was just full of dolls and playthings for girls.

I took up a book called 'Susan's Weekend' and hoping to entertain myself in this lost state of mine, I could not throw off my rage which I held from showing and threw the book down, totally bored.

—'Open up, do you hear me!'—I shouted at the top of my lungs.

A couple of footsteps approached, and a doomed—filled voice said—

—'It's not worth the trouble. You're locked in and we have the key and you can just rest there in the dark. That will give you the chance to understand the bad thing that you have done'—I steamed with, anger, but I didn't want to show it.

The room was almost steeped in darkness except for a slight reflection which came from a window across the court and which would give me an opportunity to read at least.

I approached the window. Suddenly a strong light shot up from the passing trolley and it seemed to put me on display for whom ever might be outside looking up at the infamous scoundrel who had been so wicked. The light seemed to accuse me. 'Here he is the little boy who looks at the bottoms of little girls'. At least, that is how I interpreted that flash of 'accusing' light.

Ready to leave the window in a moment of disgust at myself, I was drawn back by a person who entered the lighted room across the court.

I must admit that by nature I am rather curious and so I proposed to stay. I quickly made out the interior of a bathroom and the figure who had entered was a woman of perhaps thirty. I could not really tell but I assumed as much. She sat before a large looking glass and made up her eyes, fixed her hair much in the same way I had seen my mother take care of her appearance.

I did not follow her gestures and her self concern with any particular interest until, all at once, she let her dress slip from her shoulders. My interest perked up and I gazed with wider eyes at the well-rounded shoulders.

She must have been looking for a slip for everything was taken off. But on a second glance I noticed she was wearing a brassiere and underpants. But still, nevertheless, here was a grown-up and almost entirely naked, This was much better then my minor excursions under the dining room table.

I really couldn't tell, or for that matter, rightfully remember but it seems to me that my little dick was standing up firmly. The question that came to in my mind was whether she would take off the rest. And each time it looked as though she would take everything off, my whole being seem to race with an unknown happiness.

She moved around and then came the big moment. She placed her hands behind her back and unhooked her brassiere. My tongue was out of my mouth and it must have been licking spots on the window for I was glued to the pane. When she came near the window I had the impression I would explode with joy.

I really don't remember what she looked like, whether she was fat or thin, large or tall. But for me, at that time, she was like a goddess, and only one thought came into my mind.

—'I hope they don't come and fetch me now'. Please don't let them come and get me now'.

The thought stuck in my head as I watched the woman go to the back of the bathroom and bend over a receptacle and I knew what she was going to do. Nature worked the same way with boys and girls, and I guessed men and women.

She took down her panty and exposed a black spot right between her round thighs. Maybe it was some more underclothing. One must forgive the innocent musings of a youngster.

I really can't say what she did afterwards. For me the highlight came when she was completely nude. I was sort of paralysed to the spot when my adult makers of justice came to free me. When they startled me from my stance, my eyes must have been blinking like an owl.

My mother probably took my pale complexion for remorse for once was were in the streets she squeezed my hand and put her arm around my shoulder.

—'What you have done is a very bad thing, but it hasn't made you that sick, has it my darling'?—

Dear old mother, if she had only known.

We went often to Micheline's house. My mother used to sit on the lounge by the window keeping an eye out for me and making sure that I would not repeat my atrocity.

As time went on, the two women stood up for the rights of their own child in the affair. It finally ended in the breaking of friendship and my mother grabbed my arm one day and hustled me off with her nose in the air.

* * *

That particular incident kept me a little wary for a while. School went by quickly and I could hardly wait for the great summer vacation. My father had inherited a fine mansion in the country fit for no more then our small family. (I failed to mention that I was an only child and I never found out why exactly I had no brothers or sisters).

When we came to the country, my parents had their friends there, but all that I could find where the country bumpkins, small and stocky and the little girls dressed in aprons.

There were the little pranks that the country children pulled, such as pissing in certain places where they shouldn't and lifting up their underclothes showing their bare bottom in disdain at grown-ups. A fast get away was always handy.

But all these things are quite normal following a line of tradition among children. And in these very beginnings one can detect the veritable making of a lover in future years, equally among the girls as well as the boys. After all, no one can keep the lion from being a carnivore. We were destined to follow our normal course of action.

In our gang, bulging with healthy youngsters, there was one particularly attractive girl with dark brown hair. She was amazingly well-dressed for such a young girl and she answered to the name of Joan. She wasn't the same as the others. I found her very pretty, but amidst the games and cries of our group it was difficult to bestow my admiration.

Every time I asked my mother to invite my friends to come and play in the garden, (a fine garden on a slope with a brook at the bottom of the hill) she would give ma a far-fetched reason such as—'Your father is too tired and you will make too much noise!'—or—' You know very well Leonard doesn't like any one to walk over his fresh grass'. (Leonard was the gardener and I must admit I found him dull and cumbersome and I even took pleasure knocking down his tree supports as well as setting trades on the lawn.) It was how I saw him at the time, an enemy to my enfant world.

I decided to be cagey with my mother and I appealed to her pride which she had in abundance.

—'I'd not care if it were only for myself, but you know how people talk'—I said this with a detached air provoking my good mother to retaliate.

—'And what you will people say'—(Hands on hips ready for battle.)

—'That you always send me to my friends house for lunchtime because we are too tight to invite them here!—

She lifted her shoulders furiously but I could see that the mark had made its effect. I only had to stick a few more remarks into the verbal fracas to have the effect of sharp pins. I continued my offensive.

—'Freddies' mother has invited me to lunch. She has cooked a wonderful apple pie'.—

Or I tried.

—'What wonderful people the Lofton's are and they are only farmers'—

For awhile I thought that my offensive was not gaining ground, but one day my mother came down to tell me.

—'Your father is going to Akron and you can call over your friends. But remember no more than ten'—

I was already on my way to carry the good news to my companions.

And Thursday we were all together as it ought to be. Naturally the fair Joan was among us. The house was ours for the day, from the basement to the attic. We played different games before lunch and then afterwards we engaged in cops and robbers.

I neatly arranged for Joan and myself to be in the underworld and I felt a pride in the way I handled it, so cunningly.

—'Keep with me, I know a splendid hiding place'.—

By chance I had come across, among my many explorations of the grounds, a deserted green house. The 'cops' would certainly come around the greenhouse, but they would not go in the back which seem to be blocked off by some heavy wheel-barrows. I replaced the wheel-barrows and we were left in peace in our treasured spot.

Joan was a timid girl or at least that was the appearance she gave and it was necessary to be prudent. I wasn't sure how to take her and I must remind my readers that I was still quite young and lacking certain experience.

—'We'll have to cling to each other and duck down low for the will be able to see us from the green house'—

She was a bit hesitant to accept this manner of hiding but she leaned over me coolly.

—'No, we better lie down, they'll see us standing up'.—

I tried some direct questions to get at the point.

—'What do you wear under your dress? Is it true that little girls and even grown—up women sometimes go without panties?—

—'You speak of such silly things'—she responded.

—'And besides you should be quiet, the cops will be able to hear us'—

She was not playing fair. But that cold way of taking everything I said, excited me further. I could not hide my anxiety and my hands trembled in my pant pockets. Finally I thought of a strategy which might be worth trying.

—'I've got to do peepee'—I declared in a pressing tone.

She didn't answer but just raised her eyes to heaven as if to make fun of the little fellow who was in distress.

I continued my tactics.

—'But I can't leave; the cops will see me! I wouldn't bother you if I do it here, will it?—

Joan laughed.

—'What can I do about it?—

—'That complete indifference caused my little dick to almost break through my pants and I had a burning sensation up and down. Bight in front of Joan, I unzipped myself. I had a difficult time getting the zipper all the way down and when I finally did, the little stiff rod shot out some hot liquid. I sheepishly moved from the spot.

In the corner I imagined that her face must be red after the sight I presented her. I remained in the corner for a few minutes trying to urinate. No words were spoken, only sensations seemed to fill the air.

In vain I tried to urinate. I couldn't. I don't have to explain this to the men readers they will understand perfectly.

I hemmed and hawed.

—'Gee I don't know what's happening. I must be sick'—

There wasn't a sound.

—'It just isn't right, I must be good and sick'—

And she still kept silent.

We heard the cops outside and the cries of our playmates. They seemed to be closing in on us.

—'They are on the path and they'll be coming in soon'—Joan exclaimed—'We should head back to the house'—She was calm and reasonable.

—'Are you sure you don't want to make peepee V—

—'No thank you'—she responded showing her innate good breeding.

The rest of the day went by without any provocations and months passed without any major complications. It was about a year later that I got wind of the news. And at the same time it appeared that my mother was informed.

—'What have you done this time'—she quizzed me with the same eyes that I saw in Micheline's home.

—'I don't think Joan will be playing with you any more!'—

I pressed my two hands together. Had that little brown-haired whippet squealed on me?

My mother continued.

—'It seems that instead of playing, you just want to make peepee all the time'. 'Do you think children want to play with...


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