The Stories Your Mother Never Told You — Part 8.

When I was a little girl, aged 11, I had my first experience of controlling a boy. I know it sounds rather young and was at a time far less enlightened than we now enjoy in these exciting days with the sixties just around the corner. However, twenty years ago I did stumble into something which, all things considered, can be said to have shaped much of the way I think about men today.

I’ll detail this here, in the knowledge that it’s highly unlikely anyone will ever read these pages. This is, after all, more for me than for any prying eyes. I like to write it as it gives me something of a thrill and it serves as a record I can look back on. And I’ve often plugged into these memories, such as they are. They provide me with the most exciting of thoughts. While Bill is out working, and little Billie is at school, it gives me time to have a little ‘diversion’. Very satisfying.

Peter was the only son of my neighbor where I grew up. I’d known him when I was three years old, but the incident I’m going to relate happened when he was fifteen. He was an early developer, trying hard to grow a moustache, and failing. However, in many ways he was a little older than his years. I would often pretend he could possibly be my boyfriend, as I grew up, but to be quite honest I think he wanted a ‘real’ girlfriend and was pretty tired of my teasing and juvenile suggestions. Certainly he never tried anything. In fact, he was really very shy.

My mother had asked me to go to the garden shed one fall evening to bring in a basket of firewood. We usually had a good supply, but as it happened on this particular day I saw an enormous spider right on the woodpile and decided I wasn’t going near it. And besides, just through the rickety fence I could take two or three of the small logs from our neighbour’s woodshed, and no one would be any the wiser.

I carefully checked for spiders and then placed a nice dry log into the basket. Reaching over to the back, where I knew no one would notice the missing logs, I took another, and then one more. And then I would have turned and scurried off home, but for one tiny detail. As I’d taken that last log from right at the back of the wood pile, I revealed a magazine. I reached back and pulled it out.

I looked in awe at the women in that magazine. Most of the pictures were in black and white, though there were a few in the centre pages that were presented in a gaudy color that leapt off the page. Some of the women were partially clothed and others were completely naked, and spectacular. Of course, I was aware of the fluffy pubic growth beginning to come in on my own body, but some of the women in the pictures were positively covered. They looked magnificent. They looked confident, and they looked like they were having fun. As I flicked through the pages I found the images made me feel excited, lighting up my body from within.

I enjoyed the feeling, recognizing it from the times I’d found myself excited and wet before. I wasn’t really sure what to do with that feeling, being so very young, but I’d found some actions that stimulated me. I could feel that stirring growing in strength with each page I turned. I was compelled to look at the images and found I couldn’t look away.

After giving the magazine a thorough inspection I replaced it beneath a log at the back of the woodshed, took my three logs and slid through the fence. As I walked back up the garden path the thought of those women filled my mind. I spent a very troubled night thinking of them.

Over the coming weeks I returned to the neighbors woodshed more than once. My visits were usually under the cover of darkness and always when I knew no one was about. And then one day I noticed Peter, the teenaged son of my neighbor, slinking down the garden path. I could see him walk into the woodshed from my bedroom at the back of the house. I watched, unobserved and then waited. I would guess about twenty minutes later he left the shed, noticeably without any wood. Now, why would a teenage boy go to the woodshed and then return empty handed? It didn’t take me long to realise he must be the owner of the magazine.

From then on I took particular interest in Peter’s wanderings down the garden path. He really was a very regular young man. Before long I had a pretty good idea of his routine.

While ruminating on what I might do with this information, I did relish the fact that I had something over Peter. Even to a young girl of eleven, the idea of having some powerful piece of information over someone was exciting and filled me with thoughts of all I could make him do. I suppose later that became more of a theme with me, but this time was the very first. The realisation that I could use this. Watch him squirm. It was delightful. I don’t quite know when I came up with the idea. All I can say for sure was that when this idea materialised I immediately realised it was gold. Late one night, long after Peter had paid a visit to the woodshed and left guiltily, I sneaked back down the garden path and found the magazine. There between the pages I placed a pair of my panties. They were pink and little. Very obviously they could belong to only one person.

I knew I could tease him like this. After all, who could her tell? Who would believe him? And best of all, if he ever told anyone he’d have to admit to being a deranged pervert of the kind that looks at naughty magazines in the garden woodshed. It’s not quite the same as finding someone’s personal notes in a book one borrowed from the library, after all, is it?

So it was that I placed my yoke around young Peter’s neck. One day the following week I saw him in the garden, over the fence. His mother was raking up leaves in the distance, and he was standing near the fence.

“Hi Peter,” I said innocently.

“Oh, hi Val,” he mumbled.

“You must be busy at school,” I said. “You never seem to have much time to play.”

“Lot’s of homework,” he said.

“A lot of reading,” I said and then added, “especially in the woodshed.”

I saw Peter turn first white then red, but by then I was turning on my heel.

Yes, I had him right where I wanted him.

+++

“Peter,” I said innocently over the fence between our two gardens, “I could really use some help with my homework.”

“What,” replied the gangly un-coordinated youth. Poor Peter, only fifteen years old and now painfully aware that I knew where his silly stack of pornography was.

“Yes,” I said innocently. “And, if you were prepared to help me I might be prepared to help you.”

I could see the confusion on Peter’s face. He’d barely said a word to me since I had let him know I knew all about his stash of pornographic magazines.

He looked at me, embarrassment and shame all over his face, and then said, “What do you want me to do?”

I will remember those words till the day I die. I’ve heard them so many times since, of course, but the first time is just pure magic.

“Do?” I replied. “Just help me with my math homework.”

“And what do I get out of it?”

“Oh, well, if you help me out, I guess I could help you with some of your ‘reading’.” I looked toward the woodshed.

“You better get your stuff. Come into the kitchen in a few minutes, and we’ll see what we can do.”

I laughed, and ran back to my room and collected my math homework. I must say I was very excited. My little skirt, a plaid kilt like affair rose up my thighs as I ran upstairs and got my satchel, exercise books and my pencils. I then ran back downstairs and hurried next door. I entered through the kitchen, from the garden and almost ran headlong into Peter’s mother.

“Oh, hello Valerie,” she said, clearly surprised to see me.

“Oh, Mrs. Wiggins. Peter’s helping me with my math homework. He said to come over.”

There was a grunt and then Peter emerged into the kitchen.

“I suppose we better get on with it then,” he said grudgingly.

Mrs. Wiggins looked at her son quizzically, and then said “I had no idea you are doing tutoring, Peter. That’s really very laudable.”

“Oh,” I cut in with a sickening simpering voice and that rather innocent smile some people have said I have to this day. “Peter’s so helpful. He’s agreed to help me every week with my math homework, He’s very intelligent! I wish I could be like him.”

His mother looked at him doubtfully.

“Math? I hardly thought of that as your best subject. Still, I’m pleased that you’re doing something productive with your time instead of messing around with those ridiculous batteries.”

“Mum! Those batteries are my new magnet. Besides, I know I’m more of a science person, but math is important. Especially for a girl.”

“Well, I don’t know what you mean by that, I’m sure. Set yourselves up here at the kitchen table, and keep out of my way,” said Mrs. Wiggins.

I placed a few books out on the red and white of the tablecloth, drew out the sheet of math problems I wanted Peter’s help with and then sat on a hard wooden seat at the table. Mrs. Wiggins had her back to us washing up. I looked angelically at Peter and slowly dropped a pencil on the floor.

He looked at me rather cluelessly, and I motioned for him to pick it up. He sank to his knees and I kicked the pencil under the table. He crawled after is exactly as anticipated. You know, even now as I look back, I realise I really did have a talent, even at that early age, for manipulation.

Peter was trying to pick up the pencil, his mother’s back still turned, and my foot was lightly on it, so he couldn’t. Slowly I parted my legs, knowing my skirt would ride up, and reveal my arctic white panties.

With legs pressed apart, and Peter bumbling around down there exposed to my clearly visible panties I maintained a look of perfect innocence as his mother turned and said, “How is school going?”

Unaware of what was happening beneath the surface of the table, I smiled back at Mrs. Wiggins and said “It’s so much better since I’ve started getting some help with homework.”

Mrs. Wiggins smiled, and then said, “Well, you’re very wise to enlist Peter’s support. You know he’s going to be a brilliant engineer one day.” Then she turned her attention to the boy scrabbling about trying to pick up a pencil beneath the kitchen table, and said, “if he ever gets out from beneath that table.”

“Sorry mother,” came the reply and then a sharp crack on the table as he lifted his head and hit himself. I slowly closed my legs. He’d got enough of a free ride for now.

“Oh, yes,” he said emerging from beneath the table. “I’m hoping to get in the engineering program up at the college.”

I smiled at Peter and handed him the sheet of math problems.

I could already sense my grades improving.

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