Note:

This is a complete piece, although the story continutes on in "The Jailbait Journal", which can be found on Rhoda's home page.

Warnings:

1) This story contains adult material of a sexual nature. If it is illegal for you to view such content, due to age or local law, please leave now.

2) "True Beginnings" is protected under copyright law. Do not redistribute without permission from the author.

I was barely thirteen, at home alone, and bored. Ever since I started babysitting a year earlier, my parents had been allowing me to look after myself. They were down the street where a neighbor was hosting trivia night, and I knew they'd be gone for hours.

Usually, I was a good kid. My grades were all A's, and I spent nearly all of my free time with my nose in a book. I wasn't much for socializing, either, so I loved to enjoy solitude in my room. Even though I had a few friends, I rarely saw them outside of school. I never did much wrong, aside from having a smart mouth now and then. It seemed my parents had every reason to trust me...

I guess that night I'd had enough of being good. Honestly, I don't recall what motivated me to go snooping around the 'off limits' areas of the house, but I do remember the thrill of naughtiness. Knowing I could be caught at any moment electrified the air I breathed.

Digging in the back of my parent's closet, I found sexy nighties. I'd read about them in the trashy romance novels my mother unwittingly picked up for me from yard sales. She was never a reader herself, but just the covers of those books should've been suggestive enough to give her pause before handing them off to her barely teenaged daughter. Not that I'm complaining; I simply can't believe how easily and early my 'self education' came. Now, with the teddies, camisoles, babydolls, and garter belts in my hands, I fully understood what I'd read, and I felt...improved.

From the beginning of my life, I'd been fed princesses, Ken and Barbie, and happily ever after. The message I'd received was 'find a man to be happy'. The bodice-rippers told me that a woman could win a man's love through sex. Although the romance novels were more akin to softcore porn than triple-x, I had a decent idea of what the act of coupling entailed from kiss to afterglow. It was my mission to better understand how to be a woman; how to be the best woman I could be, because I did want the 'happily ever after'. So, each new piece of knowledge I obtained made me feel as if I'd progressed toward my goal--I'd improved myself in the eyes of men.

After examining the undergarments, I put them back, and began to rummage through my mother's dresser drawers. There, I found an old picture of my father. He was half-sitting, propped up against the headboard. One leg stretched out flat, and his other bent with his knee in the air. He was nude. That was my first experience seeing the male body in its natural state. I held that picture in my hands for several minutes, studying it. Once my awe subsided, I replaced the photo and moved along to Dad's side of the room.

To my absolute delight, his nightstand contained WORDS, my preferred method of learning. Several adult magazines met my eyes, and I skimmed over their pages, mesmerized by the pictures and shocked by the language. Although I hated to tear myself away from these materials, I couldn't linger in my parents' bedroom if I were to continue exploring, and I couldn't 'borrow' one of the magazines without it being missed, so I hastily returned them to Dad's drawer.

I remembered the large cabinet in the garage. Nothing else in the house or garage had a lock on it, not even the liquor cabinet, but that storage unit did. I immediately went to investigate.

My dad was a tinker. He worked with tools in his ironworker trade, but he was also a shadetree mechanic and woodworker. I'd sometimes sit with him in the garage and watch while he worked on his projects. As it turned out, I learned a few things.

Yes, the large cabinet had a padlock securing the two hinged doors. However, the hinges were screwed to the frame on the outside. I didn't have the key for the lock, but there was a screwdriver nearby, and I had enough muscle.

I was totally unprepared for the discovery. I hadn't known what to expect. Dad was a hunter, too...it could've been his rifle storage, or I don't know, it could've been anything!

I had never felt so happy in my whole life as I had my first look at those shelves. Inside the mystery cabinet was a LIBRARY of adult reading material. Everything from glossy magazines to words-only publications, all different kinds of fetish subjects, a few written in other languages.

Dad had served four years in the Navy. Thanks, Dad! I couldn't believe the size of his survival/souvenier collection. No way would he miss one or two or even three magazines at a time with this big of a stash. I quickly grabbed three interesting issues, screwed the hinges back on the frame, dashed to my room, and began devouring knowledge.

I learned so quickly. Each time I had the opportunity, I'd replace the read magazines and obtain fresh ones. I couldn't get over the vocabulary. I was addicted. Amazingly, the female characters in the stories seemed to echo my own feelings. It felt so good to be bad.

At first, my pleasure while reading the articles was more like a mental shock. Once I became acclimated to the crude vocabulary and vulgar pictures, I started having physical reactions to the stories. I soon found that my body responded more strongly to the submissive woman/Dominant male theme than any other. It wasn't long afterward that I masturbated to orgasm for the first time, fantasizing about my own Dominant lover.

After I'd read all of Dad's stash once, I began round two, and I took notice of the advertisements on the back pages. Adult novelties. By mail. Discrete packaging. Free catalog. Both of my parents worked. There was a half hour leeway between the time I got home from school and the time my mother arrived, and my father didn't make it into the driveway for at least another hour after her. I took my chances and called the toll-free number to request a catalog.

It arrived in the mail a few days later, and I marveled at all of the toys available. The dildo I thought looked most like the pictures in the magazines and the picture in my mother's dresser was labeled 'Lifelike size and texture, Ron Jeremy', and it came with a small, finger-sized vibrator as a free bonus gift. I had no clue who Ron Jeremy was, as I'd not seen videos, and, while I was keen to some aspects of tinkering, I wasn't much for being able to visualize measurements, but I thought that phallus was beautiful, so I chose to purchase it.

I had some money in savings from babysitting, and I wanted those toys. I had to bide my time, until I'd earned some more money to put in the bank, so Mom would take me there. She knew I liked to deposit the money myself, and I was used to the routine, so she was used to sitting in the car. I told the teller how much I wanted in the form of a money order. I lucked out; Mom never asked to see the receipt for the deposit.

I signed on the 'under penalty of law- I am 18 or older' line and sent it away with catalog item numbers and the money order. I felt empowered, grown up, and naughty. After a week or so of excrutiating anticipation, my package arrived. (Goodness, what if it had come on a Saturday?) I made a mental note of how long the package took to ship, in case I decided to make additional purchases in the future.

Sitting indian-style on my single bed, I tore into the plain brown box from 'Health Supply Co.', and I uncovered the order I had placed. I must've held that gigantic dildo in my hands for ten minutes, trying to take it all in. It had seemed quite a bit smaller in the catalog than in person, and although the measurements had been given, the actual size astounded me. No way was that thing gonna fit inside me. Well, at least not right then.

Aside from my fake monster cock, the package contained the promised bonus gift and two sample envelopes. The little pink vibrator was only as long as my middle finger, but it was a bit thicker. The device called for two AA batteries, and it had a dial at the base.

Setting the vibe aside, I examined the two pouches. One was a toy cleaner. The other was strawberry flavored personal lubricant. Cool.

I put the dildo and samples back into the box, pushed it under my bed, and went to search the junk drawer in the kitchen for some batteries. Once I'd found several (cuz who knows if they're dead?), I inserted them into the fingervibe and tested it.

First, I rubbed it against my nipples, circling the areolae and making them pucker. I watched as I touched the tapered tip of the vibrator to my hardened nubs, and I began 'fucking' my nipples with soft jabs. Soon, my pussy was dripping.

I hadn't thought about my maidenhead. I'd penetrated myself with my fingers before, and the toy I used wasn't much bigger, if at all. I didn't account for the angle of my hand or my other knuckles holding back the full length of the finger I usually used. When I plunged the vibrator into my needy hole, I deflowered myself.

I didn't panic. I knew, from what I'd read, what had happened. I also knew the discomfort would ease and pleasure would follow. Giving my injured tunnel time to adjust, I soothed myself by rubbing the pink toy against my clit.

Finally, I understood the true purpose for the electrified phallus. The sensation was exquisite. Energy seemed to pass from the vibe into my clit. My clit seemed to charge my entire body. Yes! I was cumming...quickly, I shoved the toy into my cunt.

I can't begin to describe how wonderful it felt to be focused solely on the spasms of my pussy muscles during that orgasm. Up until that moment, I'd only felt my own touch inside my walls, and, when I'd orgasm, not only would I feel the involuntary clenches internally, but I'd feel them on my finger(s) as well. The first time I climaxed virtually hands-free, I nearly passed out.

I knew I'd have to work my way up to the monster dildo if I ever wanted to use it, so I purchased a medium-sized pseudocock through the mail and enjoyed it for awhile, until it no longer gave me as much of a thrill. Eventually, I did manage to get most of that eleven inch phallus inside my teenaged body. I found that I enjoyed the girth over the length, and decided that if I ever found an eight inch dick with two or more inches of girth, it would be my all-time favorite.

Since I'd enjoyed everything I'd attempted so far, I became eager to experiment with other ideas that excited me from the articles in the magazines.

I found a faux rabbit's fur coat at a garage sale, took it home, and laid it on my bed. While I masturbated on my back on top of it, it was easy to fantasize about being touched by someone else. The soft fur tickled my bottom, and I enjoyed that sensation enough to be curious about what else my ass would like.

Anal stimulation gave me the biggest orgasms I'd ever experienced. While I fucked my asshole with a dildo, it was easy to remember the crude and cruel dialogue in my favorite erotic stories. With my free hand, I'd alternate between roughly pinching a nipple and rubbing my clit. When the waves of pleasure-pain subsided, I'd be so drenched in my own juices that I'd have to shower immediately, before my parents could catch my scent and know.

Articles about exhibitionism didn't exacly push my buttons, but the thought of force did, and I had a (dumb!) thought. Naked except for the fur coat, while my parents slept, I'd lift my bedroom window blinds, and turn on a small desk lamp. I'd stand in front of the glass and look at my own reflection as I opened my coat. Slowly, I'd walk forward, pretending that someone was watching and wanting more. Then, I'd pressed my breasts against the cold window, fantasizing that the person watching me would only take so much teasing before he'd try to fuck me. When I felt I couldn't wait any longer, I'd open the window a crack, throw down the coat,and lay on the bed, usually ass high with it facing the window. I'd masturbate for my stranger, all the while mentally daring my him to come and rape me. I only did this a few times, as I soon came out of my lust-inspired headfog to realize there were few strangers in my neighborhood, and many of those non-strangers were social with my parents. Besides, who would break in to rape me when my parents were home? And, did I *really* want to be raped?

My Dominant lover fantasy was becoming more complex as I learned. At a county fair, one of the prizes available was a pair of handcuffs. I had to have them, and I even found the courage to ask the man running the booth if he'd just sell them to me. He did. At home, my bed was all metal. One large pipe arched to make the headboard, perfect for handcuffs. I trained awhile to be sure I could free myself. It took a little time, but that was a good thing. I wanted to feel restrained, captured, and helpless. If it were too easy to get out of them, it wouldn't have been so exciting. I'd insert the vibe in my asshole (off, I found I didn't much care for vibrations inside of me, and I only enjoyed them on my clit), then I'd secure myself to the headboard and dream about having been abducted and raped, gangbanged, and forced into sexual slavery or prostitution. I could almost come from my dirty thoughts and self restraint alone, but not quite.

After I'd sprained my ankle, I had another idea. I'd been using BenGay, and I found it tingled and kind of hurt in a good way. Before I locked myself to the bed with the handcuffs, I smeared my nipples with the cream. No sooner than I got the cuffs on I wanted them off. My nipples were burning! Wow, it hurt so bad! I immediately washed myself, but the effects were lingering. My breasts tingled all over, and both nipples were sore. I reached down to feel between my legs, and I was thoroughly soaked. Even after all I'd done to myself, I was still amazed that 'ouch' inspired 'mm' in my pussy.

I experimented with clothespins as nippleclamps. Their grip was too strong, so I couldn't wear them for very long. Rat traps had the opposite affect; I could barely feel them at all while I wore them. I admired the pictures of girls wearing those pretty silver clamps with the small chain hanging down between their breasts like a low necklace. But, since I didn't have luck with either the traps or the clothespins, I wasn't sure I'd like the clamps, so I didn't buy them.

I read an article where a Master punished a slut by making her piss while masturbating in front of him. That seemed so embarrassing! I forced myself to drink two quarts of water in an hour. I didn't want to make a mess, so I rolled up an old blanket and set it on the floor. Straddling the blanket, I began to rock my hips, rubbing my pussy against it as I fondled my breasts. The friction was too rough. Hearing 'His' words in my head, I let my bladder go (it was harder to do while aroused than I thought it would be), and the warmth of my piss squished up against my clit while I rocked, reducing the friction and heightening my pleasure. I was a bad girl for enjoying this disgusting taboo, craving this humiliation, and knowing I could be caught at any time. After I climaxed, I would immediately drop the blanket into the washing machine and get myself a shower. While I wanted to revel in the stench of my piss mixed with my sex juice and berate myself more completely through my imaginary Master, I couldn't risk being 'sniffed out' by my parents. Fantasy 'getting caught' was exciting. Realistic 'getting caught' was unappealing. Well, at least by my own parents.

I tried everything. I spanked my ass with the back of a hairbrush, but found it disappointing because I knew when the blows would come, how hard they would be, and how long the discipline would last. I pulled my own hair, but it didn't work for the pretty much the same reasons. I fellated my dildoes, but I didn't think I felt as I should feel giving real head, as the toys weren't 'silky' like the stories said, and they were, of course, unresponsive to my efforts. I became frustrated.

To continue my education, I needed a real man.

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