Sexual experience of Priya-3
One afternoon, a week later, we went to the zoo. Priya had found the sexual antics of the lemurs hilarious. As we ambled down a quiet path, I thought it a good time to broach a delicate subject.
“Ah, what do you know about boys? I mean, about boys and girls… together?” I felt so awkward!
“You mean like having babies? They showed us some films in the health class at school — stupid stuff, really. Films that were made 15 years ago with people wearing the silliest clothes. Another one on giving birth — yetch! And there was a class on girls having monthlies, don’t worry, Daddy, you won’t have to explain that.”
Whew. One worry down. 12 million to go. “Well, yes, that. But what about your mom? Did she ever have a talk with you?”
Priya stopped, glanced up and down the path to ensure we were alone, then fixed me with her eyes. “Now Daddy, I’m going to tell you a secret. A big secret. And you have to promise me that you won’t get upset and make a scene.” I hastily agreed, but she kept those green jewels fixed on me until I promised solemnly that I would keep my cool. “Mom tried several times to talk to me. But I figure that anyone who goes through as many men as she does doesn’t have much to say to anyone about how to have a permanent relationship.”
That’s my girl, I thought. Why did she think that would upset me?
“Now as far as how people do it (and don’t get upset — remember, you promised) it was easy to peek and watch her and her boyfriends.”
“Priya!” I blurted. In a crisis, my mouth pushes my brain aside and takes over. “What kind of thing is that for a…”
“Daddy!” she cried, “You promised!” Her eyes were full of hurt.
I stopped, bit back what I was going to say, and mentally kicked myself. The poor kid grows up with a mom that screws like a mink and I blame her for being curious. “You’re right, Honey. I just reacted without thinking.” I paused as a group of small kids came tearing down the path and disappeared around the bend. “Go ahead. I promise I won’t make a scene.”
But Priya would not continue, but started walking and said that she would wait “’til later.”
That evening, as we drove home, I tried to thaw the chill between us and asked Priya if she wanted to pick up a videotape. “Daddy, we’ve only spent seven days together and you want to stare at some old movie? Besides, we still have to finish our talk about Mom.”
When we got home, neither of us were very hungry, so I suggested cold cuts and veggies. As I chopped some vegetables, Priya flipped through my tape collection. I heard her load the deck and then the frosty, cerebral sounds of the Modern Jazz Quartet floated into the kitchen. I brought the tray into the living room and sat by Priya on the couch. “I’ve got all the MJQ albums, so no points for surprise. But thanks, that’s just what I wanted to hear right now.” She smiled with her mouth, but it never reached her eyes. “Can we finish our talk?”
Priya picked up a celery stick, dipped it into the yogurt and regarded it thoughtfully. “What’s to say? I woke up one night and was scared by the noise of people fighting. I snuck down the hall and peeked in her bedroom. Gunter was her boyfriend then. Gunter was on top of her. I thought that he was beating her up, so I hid in my closet ’till I fell asleep.
“The next morning Mom found me there and asked me what happened. I told her how I was scared and she laughed. She told me that what I saw was what grown-ups do for fun. I thought that was the biggest lie I had ever heard. So I waited, and the next time I heard the grunting I snuck down the hall again and peeked in the door. This time Mom was on top bouncing up and down with a big smile on her face so I could see that she wasn’t being hurt. I went back to bed and cried until I went to sleep.”
“Why did you cry?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I just did. I cried six months later when Gunter left for good, though I really didn’t like him at all. I just crawled into my bed and cried.” My heart ached for that little girl, alone in her bed. She dropped the celery into the dip and her voice grew small. “That’s when I started having the nightmares.”
“What nightmares, Honey?”
“They’re all different and all the same. I’m walking down the hall in our house, Mom’s house, I mean, and I’m trying to find the front door because I know that if I find it and open it, you’ll be there to take me with you and the sun will shine. But in the house it’s night and I can hear Mom and her boyfriend grunting and moaning. I can’t tell which door is the front door and I’m afraid to open any of the doors until I’m sure. Because if open the wrong one, it might be the door Mom is behind.”
“But what’s so scary about Mom?” I mentally gritted my teeth. “She loves you, you know.”
“Oh, I know she does. As much as she can.” Her voice got even smaller and she watched her hands twisting like wounded animals in her lap. “What scares me is that I know that I liked to watch them. I got excited. I would pull down my panties and touch myself, you know, down there.”
“Baby! Don’t let that plague you. Everybody ‘touches themselves’.”
She spoke to me as if I were a slow child. “If I said, ‘It’s OK for me to smoke, everybody does it.'” Would that make it OK?”
I sighed, “You’re right, but it’s not just that, Sweet. Touching yourself is just a part of finding out about yourself. I doesn’t hurt you, it doesn’t hurt anyone, and it’s nobody’s damn business but your own.”
She looked up at me and her emerald eyes brimmed with tears. “Daddy, the reason that I don’t like it, is that I hate Gunter and Rob and Bill and Sunny and all of them! I don’t want to think about them when I touch myself; I want to think of you! But you were gone so long and I didn’t know if you really meant what you said in your letters but I kept rereading them and hoping and then in the airport Mom was yelling on the phone and I thought that you really didn’t want me and that maybe I did something awful when I was little that I can’t remember and if I did I’m SORRY Daddy. I’m sorry and I promise I’ll be good and I’ll never do it again if you’ll just tell me what it was…”
She broke down in big wracking sobs. I slid next to her on the couch and took her in my arms. She put her head against my chest and let the tears pour. I rocked back and forth crooning, “You didn’t do anything, wrong baby, you’re just perfect. I love you, Priya. Daddy loves you. It’s OK to cry, baby, Daddy’s here.” For five or six minutes I rocked and crooned while her sobs turned into gulping gasps for air and finally into quiet, regular breathing. She looked up at me again and both our eyes were swimming in tears.
“Do you think I’m awful and hate me now, Daddy?”
“I think that you are the most wonderful person in the world, Priya. You have completely stolen my heart.”
“Do you really, really, love me Daddy?”
“Really, truly Priya. More than I know how to tell you.”
She reached up and grabbed my head, pulling my face down to hers. Her lips met mine and every scrap of good sense I owned went on vacation to Bermuda. Her lips were so soft, so sweet! My ears roared. I pressed my tongue gently against those lips. She parted them and I tasted her mouth. Choirs sang, angels wept.
We kissed for several minutes, my arms around her, my hand stroking her thigh, slipping up under her blouse. We broke for air and a much belated warning bell began clanging in my head. I looked down in confusion, took her hands from around my neck and moved away from her on the couch. She grabbed my chin looked me in the eye. “Daddy, I don’t want this to stop.”
I gulped. I tried to think. Her face seemed surrounded by a golden nimbus. “But Baby, this isn’t right!”
“I doesn’t hurt me, it doesn’t hurt you, it doesn’t hurt anyone, and it’s nobody’s damn business but our own. If you don’t really love me Daddy, then say so now, and I’ll leave right now and you’ll never have to think about me again.”
“Baby, of course I love you!”
Priya stood up and pulled her top off. Her arms were covered with gooseflesh and her nipples were starting to harden. She pushed off the jeans she was wearing, followed by her panties. “Am I ugly?” she asked.
Her slim body stood before me. She was a bud, just on the verge of bloom. Her thighs, right before my eyes, curved in to the small mound of her sex, the lips of her young cunny exposed in a way that seemed more that mere nudity. My hands cupped her ass ad I buried my face in her belly. “Priya, you are the prettiest girl I’ve ever known. Honest.”
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