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I still remember the first time I masturbated, the first few tentative tickles giving way to frantic rubbing, the occasional gasp becoming deep moans. At first I kept looking at the door, afraid my mom would open the door and see her precious little girl doing such naughty things, but the more I stroked myself the more I needed to stroke myself, closing my eyes and letting my fingers dance around my clit with abandon. Soon my hand had found it's way to my budding breast and squeezed, and I felt the tension building. Then all that tension exploded in glorious orgasm. My back arched and I moaned like a madwomen, then collapsed, quaking slightly with my mouth hanging open, still in shock. I had known of such things only from hushed, giggle filled conversations with my friends, huddled around to share our most intimate thoughts. They had not done it justice. Soon I began to adventure online, dirty chat rooms (where I might have been the only real girl), story sites, always remaining. “What’s wrong Sally? Why are you crying?” She didn’t look physically hurt, there was no blood or bruises visible. There was a small tear in the yellow summer dress that she had on, but I doubted that that would have made her weep like this.She shook her head and burst up from the chair and bolted for our room. She hustled inside and locked the door behind her. I stood dumfounded at the door listening. I heard her throw herself onto the bed and began crying that much harder.I could have jimmied the lock on the door, but I felt that if Sally wanted to talk now that she would have left it open in the first place. So if Sally wasn’t willing to talk then I knew someone that I was willing to make tell me what the fuck was going on.I marched over to Mary and Kevin’s house and knocked on the back door. An extremely nervous Mary answered and let me in. “Kevin’s’ watching the Gators and LSU.” She stiffly announced.“Fuck them.” I muttered behind gritted teeth. “Sally’s locked me out of the.
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