I grew up in a conservative, religious household, the only girl with two younger brothers. Girls in my parent’s circle were not given much free rein. Church services weekly were important, and as I matured, I was warned about the male of the species. When my parents did allow me to date, it was usually in a group setting, so there were plenty of impediments to prevent hormones from getting out of control. I was pretty naïve about life and certainly about sex.
My best friend was a year older than me. Her name was Miranda. (I’m Sarah.) Miranda lived two doors down from us. As neither of us had sisters, she and I bonded. She spent as much time in my house as she did in her own. My parents embraced her.
After high school graduation, Miranda went to a small college in Massachusetts, Bellefield College. Bellefield had been all-girls for most of its existence. However, a few years before, it gave in to the inevitable and boys were admitted. But girls were still the large majority. With fewer males to go around, the girls had to seek out male companionship more aggressively than in a normal co-ed environment. I’d ask Miranda about her social life when she was back home on breaks, but she wouldn’t tell me much. She did tempt me by saying that there was a world of pleasure out there — when the time came. I think Miranda worried that whatever she told me could get back to her parents. And they’ll pull her out of college in a flash. But I knew Miranda was up to something. I just didn’t know what.
When I graduated, I applied to Bellefield too. Miranda said she and I could room together. My parents were agreeable. They thought Miranda would be able to keep an eye on me. Little did they know.
Miranda was dating a fellow from town, older than we were. Kurt was a good-looking guy, muscular from his work with a tree maintenance business. Miranda, Kurt and I would hang out on weekends. Kurt’s good looks and manliness excited me; I had to look away at times to calm my desire. I doubted I could ever attract a man as attractive as him. I accepted that he was Miranda’s, but I could still fantasize. Kurt had a devilish look about him. He talked about his vacation to the French Caribbean, and the topless female sunbathing that took place there. And about his wild friends. But I never could get him to talk about he meant; and Miranda kept saying it wasn’t the right time to talk about it.
One weekend, Miranda told me we couldn’t hang out, as she and Kurt were attending a party. I thought there was something odd in her voice when she said “party” (and I clearly was not invited), so my antenna was up. I overheard her on the phone with Kurt, and she mentioned the Wilcox farm. Everyone in the area knew about Wilcox. It had been a working farm once, and the facilities still retained a lot of their rustic qualities. But it now was a venue for weddings, birthday parties and the like. It was about 2 miles from the college campus. One of Kurt’s friends was a co-owner.
When Kurt came to pick Miranda up that evening, she wasn’t wearing her best clothes, just a tight-fitting t-shirt and her snug jeans. So this wasn’t some fancy event. She told me she’d be back late. I decided I wasn’t waiting up for her. I’d bicycle out there myself to have a look.
It was dark when I got to the farm property. There were probably 15 cars in the parking lot. The main building, the barn, itself seemed deserted. But the property has smaller out buildings. I heard voices and somber music — almost dirge like — coming from the one of those buildings. Not music appropriate for a party. The building had trees on ÅŸiÅŸli escort the back and side, and I approached through the trees, so as not to be seen.
I hunched down beside a window. Inside, about 30 people, men and women, were seated in a circle. I saw Kurt and Miranda, sitting side by side. In the middle was a bed-like platform not too high off the ground, and behind it, a free standing rectangular wooden structure, with X crossed wood planks and ropes hanging down from each corner. I had no idea what it was used for. There was a woman in the center, clearly their leader, dressed in black. She wore a bustier that emphasized her breasts, and a leather skirt.
“If you all have taken from the libation pool, we can continue with the program,” she said.
The libation pool was a large urn, filled as I later found out, with an intoxicating blend of alcohol and juices. I saw that each person had an ornate cup, which was filled with the blend. At her signal, they all took a drink. They intoned: “To our common humanity!”
The leader spoke: “Members of the society, our next activity will be the drawing of the opportunity number. I wish you all luck.”
There was a large bowl filled with wooden chips, each one with a number on it.
She drew from the bowl. “Number 9. Lucky number 9.”
A man and a woman beamed and raised their hands. Everyone applauded their good fortune.
“Now you lucky winners get to choose who will be the recipient of your bounty.”
Three women appeared behind her. Each was pretty, and each was wearing a long thin tunic, tied at the shoulders. The winning man and woman approached them, surveying each.
“I’d like to see number 1,” the man said.
The leader went to the first woman, pulled the ties on the shoulder straps, and the tunic fell to the ground. She was nude. Lovely round breasts, a small waist, and rounded hips. Her vulva was covered with fine blonde hair.
There were appreciative murmurs from the crowd. Number one turned around, so that her shapely buttocks and back were on display.
“She’s beautiful, but I’d also like to see number 2,” said the man.
The process was repeated. The tunic of number 2 dropped. Her breasts were larger than the first. She had no pubic hair. She was more plump than the first, with larger buttocks and bigger hips.
“I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask to sample our number 3 also.”
The tunic of number 3 was loosened, and the naked body of a diminutive brunette was revealed. Small breasts, but very well formed. A large, curly mass of pubic hair. Curvaceous figure. And a beautiful smile.
The couple talked quietly to each other. ‘We choose number three.”
The other two women retrieved their tunics and left the center. Number three mounted the platform, lying on her back.
The winning couple removed their own clothes. Each was now naked. The man went to the end of the platform, and stretched number 3’s legs wide. He stood between them. From a tube, he began rubbing her vulva with a clear lotion. It served both to arouse the woman and to lubricate her for what was to come. The woman went to the front of the platform, sitting over number 3’s chest and straddling her face. Number 3 smiled that winning smile, and with her tongue began to lick the clitoris of the woman. The man, long since erect, positioned his penis over her vagina and slowly began to rock in and out. All three of them murmured with the sounds of arousal. The crowd called out encouragement. I could see Miranda, shockingly, yelling, “Do it faster,” suadiye escort to the man. Some of the couples watching began to touch each other, letting the eroticism of the scene amplify their own desires. Clothes were beginning to get removed in the crowd.
The participants at the front continued their motions until the man cried out with his orgasm. Number 3 continued to use her tongue on the woman, as the woman stroked number 3’s face. Then the woman cried out with her satisfaction.
The crowd applauded.
I was mesmerized. I knew that sex happened, but never dreamed that such open communal sex was right under my nose. And with Miranda! How could she have kept this from me? Why would she keep it from me?
I was so involved in my thoughts and observations that when the hand touched my shoulder, I screamed and jumped up.
“It appears you like to watch,” said the man.
“I’m sorry, I was just ….” But I had no thought on what “just” was. Just passing by? Just in the neighborhood? I had nothing to say. I just looked at him wide eyed and gasping.
The man took my wrist, firmly. “You can get a better look inside.”
I was terrified. Should I pull away from him and run? Could I?
But I didn’t try. I let him pull me inside.
The crowd had heard my scream, and saw us through the
window. They were expecting us when he led me through the front door.
“Leader, it looks like we have someone interested in our society.”
I saw Miranda look at me and gasp. She covered her face with her mouth.
I was led to where the leader was. I was so frightened that I lost some control over my bladder and a small trickle of urine began to wet my trousers. No one seemed to notice. But I fought to remain control. I was humiliated enough.
The leader spoke to me. “We don’t often have an unannounced woman show up for our meetings. But you are welcome.”
I knew I had to speak, to say something. I stammered, ‘I’m very, very sorry. I just saw you all and I, I ….” But nothing came to mind. I, what? I was aroused? I was excited? I was jealous? I was curious? I said nothing.
“Would you like to join us?” she asked.
Did I? Was this what I wanted? Was I a voyeur or a sex starved girl first learning that people engaged in sex for the pure arousal it provoked?
I turned to look at Miranda. Surely she would know what to do.
She and I locked eyes. Miranda slowly smiled. She winked at me. She nodded her head, yes.
Yes. It was true. Yes. I did want in. I had been aroused by the sight of unabashed sexuality. I was still a virgin, but I had masturbated a few times (with much guilt afterwards, to be sure.) And I had petted with my only serious high school boy friend. My sexuality was like dry tinder, lying dormant until a match struck it. Then it roared up and illumined me. This group was the match.
“Yes,” I said aloud. “Yes, I do want to join you.”
“Excellent. Folks, make this young lady welcome.”
The crowd applauded loudly.
‘We will invoke the initiation ritual. Who will prepare this woman?” the leader asked.
Miranda raised her hand. “I will.”
Initiation ritual? What? What was I getting into?
I was trembling when Miranda came to me.
“What’s going to happen to me? I asked.
Miranda smiled. “Don’t be afraid. We all go through this our first time.”
“But what are they going to do? Will it hurt?”
She smiled again. “Just the opposite. If you relax and let yourself participate fully, it can be taksim escort the most exciting experience of your life. Four men, usually the more prominent members, will explore your body and instruct you in its pleasures. You can choose one of them to have intercourse with you. Or you can have it with all four. It’s up to you.”
“In front of everyone? Oh my God, Miranda. I’ll die of shame.”
“No. The goal of our society is to remove the societal prohibitions against acknowledging our humanity, our sexuality. There is no shame in the pleasure of the flesh. This is how God created us. Give in to lust. It’s the human condition. Let me guide you; let me help you.”
“Do I have a choice, Miranda? Can I say no?”
“Yes. One always has a choice. But the fact that you observed us without recoiling, without fleeing, tells me that you choose life. You choose sexuality. Give in to it, Sarah.”
“But to have sex for the first time, here, with a stranger?”
“It doesn’t have to be a stranger. Kurt can be your initiator. He was mine. He brought me here on our second date.”
Kurt, the man I had fantasized about. But in front of everyone? Oh my God. What to do?
“Will he be gentle?”
“Yes, Sarah, he will be gentle. So, you are agreed?”
“Yes, Miranda. Yes. And may God forgive me.”
“There is no forgiveness needed, Sarah. This is our fate as women. We surrender to men; we surrender to our passion. This is the way of the world. I will help you.”
I was led to the center. Miranda helped remove my blouse, then my bra. My breasts spilled out. There were sounds of appreciation from the men in the crowd as to their beauty. My trousers went next. Then the panties. I was naked.
“You are beautiful,” Miranda said. “You are a perfect specimen of a woman.” I do have a shapely body, firm and muscular. My groin is covered with fine hair, surrounding prominent labia. But no man had ever seen these features before. Now, a crowd of men and women were inspecting me.
I was taken to the wooden structure. My arms were tied to each side of the top piece. My legs were strapped to the bottom. I was spread eagled, naked, vulnerable — yet willing. Four men, Kurt among them, came to the center. They applied warm lotion all over my body, and multiple arms massaged my breasts, my abdomen, my womanhood. One man’s tongue gently stroked one breast, one tongue the other. One man’s finger gently rubbed the clitoris, probing into the vagina, and back again. Another arm reached behind to rub the curve of my spine, then my buttocks. Then softly into the anus, to my initial embarrassment then surprise, as it gave off waves of erotic sensation. Every orifice, every part of my body, sang of pleasure. I had never felt such a surge of passion, of sensation. Then the straps were loosened, and Kurt carried me in his arms to the platform. He lay me on my back, pulled my legs apart. He removed his shorts and his erect penis pushed gently against my maidenhood. It gave a pulse of pleasure. Pleasure repeated, as he pushed into me, gently at first, then as my body adapted to this new sensation, more firmly. I cried out, a cry from deep within. A cry of a woman accepting the reality of a woman’s orgasm. Kurt paused, then pulled out, not to ejaculate within me. He let that remain for my first real lover.
I lay on the platform, spent, resting, unsure what was next. The leader came to me.
“You are one of us, Sarah. Here we seek pleasure, a respite from the harsh world. Here you will always be respected, as a provider and giver of sexual gratification. Welcome.”
The crowd applauded. Miranda came and kissed me.
“God, is it going to be like this every time?” I asked.
“I can’t promise that. I can only say that you have crossed over from a girl to a woman. There is no going back. I know you will find a man worthy of you. You have embarked on a journey. God speed on your journey, Sarah.”