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The Life and Times of Old Uncle Jim


My Life and Times

 

      

My earliest memories begin as World War II ended in 1945. Born just prior to the war, I came along just as what has been called the Silent Generation was ending, the generation of those born during the Great Depression and after, before the Baby Boomers who followed World War II began coming on to the scene. Our distinction, the Silent Generation, is that we are the only American generation smaller than the previous generation. The Great Depression stemmed the tide of new births. It was the same in my family; my parents had six children before the Depression and stopped, riding out the Depression years before having my sister Joy in 1939 followed by my birth in 1942. Today Joy and I would be termed "late life" babies: our parents were in their 40s by the time we came along. Among my earliest memories are two of my brothers returning home from World War II when I was three years old. By the time I was four years old, Joy and I were the only two siblings who had not married and begun their own families.

My generation has been called the Lucky Few, and that is how I feel about it. Those years following the war were incredibly permissive years for a kid growing up. We had just won the war, the economy was strong and growing, and an ebullient sense of onward-and-upward permeated the country. There were concerns over a war with Russia, but other than that there simply were none of the day to day fears parents suffer today. Crime certainly existed, but crime as such was never an issue. In our town, nobody bothered taking the key out of the car; nobody bothered locking their house. Home air conditioning was nonexistent, so throughout the summers doors and windows stood wide open with wire screens to keep out the flies. Parents literally had none of the fears from which they obsess today.

Back then, in the late 1940s and 50s, kids ran free; anyone from my generation knows exactly what I mean by that. Kids were expected to be outside playing, from morning to night. And kids played where they wanted to play; no permission was necessary to go to each other's house or anywhere else, for that matter. Kids were expected to be home for meals unless advising their mother of other plans, but when a kid forgot or had no opportunity to tell mother they would not be home when expected, it was never a cause for panic. After all, few telephones existed back then. If the excuse was valid, there was no punishment. Kids routinely roamed the neighborhoods, the parks, nearby wildlife areas, wherever they felt like playing.


The austere days of war had ended, replaced by high productivity and affordable prices. Women who had done without during the war were more than ready to get back to their normal role in society, that of wife and mother. This was, after all, decades before the movement began for equal rights for women; as soon as the war ended they tossed away the war image of Rosie the Riveter to get back to being cute and sexy, flirty and feminine. The war had produced synthetic, technologically advanced fabrics, which manufacturers found easily transferable to sexy fashion. Sensuous, smooth, silky, flowing blends of polyester and rayon, nylon and acetates, combined with the new, stretchable latex and spandex fabrics, shaped clothing to the full, healthy-looking bodies mirrored in the sex queens of the silver screen, actresses like Ava Gardner, Lana Turner and Jane Russell with their hourglass figures.

Underneath the satiny new dresses were undergarments, as they were called, and the most important undergarment was the girdle. Corsets and stays of pre-war times were replaced with form-shaping pull-on girdles of rubberized latex, often with sexy lace inserts, using fragrant talcum powders to disguise the rubbery odor. Women shopped at girdle salons for the perfectly fitted girdle to slim their thighs, lift and shape their butts, tuck in their tummies, and narrow their waist lines to accentuate their body's sexy curves. Modern women wore the new Playtex roll-on panty girdles with ventilated crotches and garter straps to hold up their seamed nylon hose. New seamless hose were available, but most women thought these made their legs look bare so preferred seamed nylons.

Advertisements told women that to feel sexy outside they must feel sexy underneath, and they had just the panties and bras to accomplish that. Thin, silky panties of nylon, rayon and acetate, often semi-transparent and accentuated with lace inserts, brought out that sexy feeling, along with lace-clad pointy bras which lifted and presented breasts for men to marvel. Before stepping outside, the proper lady slipped into her sexy panties and bra, often matching, followed by her lacy girdle belt to hold up her flesh-toned nylons before pulling on the tight, shaping girdle; slipping into her high heeled shoes to further tighten and lift her butt cheeks, she was ready for a brief inspection in the mirror, checking her figure before slipping into her lacy nylon slip to cover it all before putting on the dress chosen for the occasion.

It all worked its magic. The Baby Boomer generation was conceived in the backseats of cars, in haylofts and back alleys, anywhere private enough to get those sexy panties down for a throbbing cock to get inside. Girls got pregnant, and the boys who impregnated them were expected to marry and they did. Older ladies tittered about girls and their "6-month babies," but it was impolite to count months before the first baby arrived. Pregnant sixteen-year olds were common, and one wondered why when a girl reached her twenties unmarried and childless. It was frowned on but not uncommon for parents to give consent for marriage on behalf of their fourteen- and fifteen-year old pregnant daughters.


Sexual problems were not a concern in the 1940s and 50s, really a non-topic. Nobody thought about it, one way or the other. Should a mother see a man, a perfect stranger, pick up her little girl to tell her how pretty she was, she might feel pride, but not suspicion. People didn't think that way. Little girls born in the 1940s and 50s were taught to be cute and flirtatious, and for a man, any man, to say, "What a little cutie you are!" as he swoops up a little girl up into his arms was a coup not only for the little girl but her mother as well. This was the objective of motherhood: to teach her daughter how to become attractive and desirable to men so that when she grows up, she too may become a wife and a mother. Men were the head of the household, so a mother's job was to begin early teaching her daughter how to entice them. When men took notice, mothers felt pride that they were doing well at teaching their little daughters.

Accompanying this was a sexual permissiveness that pretty well seems unfathomable today. A mother would watch proudly as a man chatting with her daughter sitting on his arm would cup his hand around the little girl's butt cheeks and squeeze or rest his hand on her bare upper leg under her skirt. Today we would think of such actions as fondling the child, but then it was normal, even expected, I would say. The practice of the hand pushing between her legs for the fingertips to stroke the crotch went basically unnoticed by the child because it was common. Every little girl growing up back then was felt up repeatedly in this manner; if anything, she would have considered herself successful in her allure, and her mother would agree.

An example from my own family highlights the permissiveness of the era: My sister Mary was a model example of a middle-class, well respected mother whose life centered about her five children, four girls with a younger brother. One summer day Mary was in the kitchen sewing, as good wives and mothers did in those days, while the kids outside in their swimsuits played in the water sprinkler. Suddenly Lilly, the oldest who was 9 or 10 at the time, came bursting into the kitchen to tell her mother that she had seen the Mexican gardener behind the shed watching them play with his "thing" pulled out of his trousers. Now, Lilly could be a little irritating at times. As oldest, she acted "prissy," as we called it, always bossing younger ones and tattling their misbehavior. So when she came running in this time, my sister, almost without looking up from her sewing, said, "You're making a mess in the floor with your wet swimsuit. You can see I am busy so get on back outside and don't pay any attention to that silly Mexican." That was it, the extent of her concern. Had she not been busy, I think she may well have stuck her head outside to "shoo" the Mexican away, but at any rate her concern would never have exceeded that, telling him to leave.

A little later Lilly came bursting back in through the kitchen screen door. "Mommy, mommy," she cried, "Carol Ann, Kaye, Janet Lynn and Mikey all went behind the shed where the Mexican was and he splashed white stuff out of his thing all over them! I told them they better not go or you'd spank them."

My sister stopped sewing to glare at Lilly: "Lilly, stop being such a tattletale! You get back out there and tell them to wash it off, it doesn't hurt anything, and if you come running in here to tattle one more time I'm going to spank you good! I have to get this dress finished."

As unlikely as the story may seem today, it is a true story. My sister was not being a bad or careless mother; people just didn't come unglued back then like they do today, particularly over kids. No one was physically hurt, nobody needed to be taken to the hospital. I feel sure my sister told her husband to go "have a talk" with the Mexican man, but it's doubtful that he ever did. Nothing "bad" happened, so why make a big fuss over it?

The old rule, "kids are meant to be seen and not heard," was very much was in play. When company came to dinner, the adults sat at the table and the kids waited until they finished to be fed the leftovers. Kids were always secondary to adults. And if a kid misbehaved or did not heed an adult's command, sharp switches, belts, and paddles were everywhere, ready to teach: "I'll teach you to sass me!" "I'll teach you to come when I call you." "I'll teach you to do what I tell you to do." There were plenty of such teaching sessions.


When Joy turned 6, mother began leaving us at home during the day while she was at work. Before that, we had to spend the day at one of our sisters' houses, something neither of us liked, particularly Joy. Our sisters always had babies and toddlers running around, to be changed, or to be fed, or to be looked after, and when we were there, we were expected to work. "Joy, go change Suzy's diaper and then heat her bottle and feed her, and this time you better not overheat the bottle, do you hear me?" "Jimmy, stay in here with Janet Lynn and make sure she doesn't hurt herself or break anything. You better watch her or you're going to get it, do you hear me?" It was that way all the time, and we had no play time until our mother finally came by to pick us up late in the evening.

That our mother considered 6-year old Joy old enough to look after 3-year old me is another of those signs of the times. It wasn't unusual for a 6-year old to be given such a responsibility, and our mother was certainly not doing anything that many other mothers would do in those days. After all, we lived a mile outside of town on a country road not 6 cars a day went down. We did have a telephone by then, on a party line with about a dozen other people, and all you had to do to get help was dial the operator, or banging up and down a few times on the hang-up cradle would bring the operator on line, as well. Plus 4 of our siblings' houses were only a mile away if we needed help.

One summer morning after mother had left for work, Joy brushed her hair all nice and pretty, put on a cute little play dress, then dressed me and we headed for town. Joy's friends were at the park in town so she would take it upon herself to get me into town with her. We lived on a country road about a mile west of town so it was a pretty good hike for a 3-year old like me. We would walk as far as I could, sit down and rest a while, and then go again, a pretty frustrating routine for Joy.

Every time we headed out, our fingers were crossed that a car would come along to give us a lift in to town, and sure enough, we had not gotten far when Mr. Goshen came driving by in his pickup truck. We knew Mr. Goshen by name but had never met him. He was a rancher who lived further out than us and we often would see him passing by on his way to town, and he seemed a nice man, probably in his early 50s, who would give us kids a wave as he passed by. Seeing us walking to town, he pulled off the road and waited while Joy opened the passenger side door and got in first, scooting over beside him to make room for me to crawl in and close the door. He asked our names and where we were headed in town and so on before turning his attention to Joy. Dropping his arm down around her shoulders and placing a hand on the bare leg extending from under the short skirt of her play dress, he said, "You sure look pretty today, honey. How old are you now?"

The compliment brought a big smile on Joy's radiant face as she answered confidently, "I'm almost 6."

"Really?" Mr. Goshen said, a look of mild surprise on his face. "You sure are a big girl for not quite 6 years old, aren't you?"

Now Joy was really pleased with herself. "Yeah, mommy says I'm really tall for my age," she answered with a giggle. "She says I'm going to be really tall when I grow up," she added enthusiastically.

With an agreeing laugh, Mr. Goshen said, "I just bet you will, Joy! A big, tall pretty lady is what you will be for sure." Joy was enjoying the compliments, almost bouncing as she giggled and smiled up to him, beaming with pride. Looking her over more, Mr. Goshen added, "Your hair sure looks pretty today. Did you fix it up so nice like this?" his hand stroking over her head.

"Yeah," Joy answered with yet more pride in her voice. "I always wash and fix my own hair," she boasted.

"You sure do a good job," Mr. Goshen complimented. "I like your dress, too," he added, his hand coming up from her leg to stroke down over the front of the dress before returning to the bare leg. "Is it new? I don't recall seeing it before."

"It's pretty new," Joy answered, her eyes looking down over the dress before returning to Mr. Goshen. "It's a play dress. I have some really pretty dresses for church," she added seriously, a boastful tone to her voice.

"Well, I like this one," Mr. Goshen said, and with a chuckle added, "Hope your wearing some pretty panties underneath it.
"I am," Joy laughed, lifting the skirt up under her chin to expose yellow nylon panties with white lace around the legs and a band of matching lace crossing from the waist on one side down to the leg on the other. "They're new. I picked my yellow ones to match my dress," she added, fishing for a compliment.


I can appreciate the difficulty in understanding this today, a man asking Joy about her panties and the little girl showing them off, but back then - and this would have been 1946, right after the war - nothing about his request would have seemed unusual. To begin with, he was an adult and we were little kids. And kids did not question adults, particularly men. When a man told you to do something, you did it without thinking or hesitation. That was the culture then. A man was king, and we as kids were his minions. More than a fear that he might slap the snot out of you if you didn't obey, although that was always a distinct possibility, it was the way we were raised.

Remember, too, that we had just gone through 5 years of having nothing when suddenly, almost overnight, there was abundance. Joy had never known anything but hand-me-downs, perhaps a few plain dresses made from the material which sacks of flour came in, and droopy, plain cotton underwear. Suddenly, all this changed with the ending of the war. Mom took Joy into town shopping and when they got home, the closet in Joy's bedroom was emptied to make room for brand new, colorful clothes, girl clothes with laces and bows, puffed sleeves with pleated skirts, and the droopy old cotton underwear was thrown out to make room for exciting, vibrantly colored, silky smooth nylon panties, adorned with lace and rosettes, so fancy and so very feminine. I remember that day well when mother came home with 10 new pairs of panties for Joy. She spent hours in front of the mirror admiring herself as she tried on one pair after the other, each time running into the kitchen to show them off to the family before running back to try on the next pair. It was exciting to her beyond belief.

All little girls were this way: they couldn't wait to show off their fancy new panties. Pick a little girl up in your arms and the first thing out of her mouth might well be, "Want to see my new panties?" Moms would laugh, saying, "Oh, honey, be quiet. No one wants to see your panties," but you could see that she felt good to be able to make her daughter so happy and proud of herself. And so when Mr. Goshen asked, little almost 6-year old Joy was tickled for the opportunity to show off her fancy new panties.

Looking back, the role played by those fancy nylon little girl panties which first appeared at the end of the war may be undervalued. Prior to that, silk was the intimate fabric, and men fantasized the feel of the silky smooth fabrics which beautiful women wore underneath their clothes. It was a sex symbol, the reason movie stars and whores paraded in sexy silk lingerie. Whenever they could, men jacked off into silk panties, loving the smooth, elegant feel against their cock. It was a fantasy, getting their hands on a girl wearing silk undies. Then suddenly the feel of sexy silk became available through nylon. Reach under a little girl's dress and there was the touching sensation men dreamed of. And little girls wanted men to see and invited their touch. The ugly plain cotton underwear which was all they had ever known had suddenly given way to bright, pretty, feminine nylon panties, and they felt proud. They didn't want to keep their skirt down; they wanted people to see what they wore underneath. I venture to guess Mr. Goshen would have had little attraction to little girls before the war, but like most men the touch of silken lingerie was a forbidden fantasy. With the advent of nylon panties his fantasies became more real with the help of little girls like Joy.


"Oh, those are really pretty panties," Mr. Goshen said with a voice full of admiration. Reaching out he asked, "Do you mind if I see how they feel?"

"Okay," Joy answered, working her hips so she could pull the play dress out from under her bottom and hold it up above the waistband of the panties for a full view. Her excited eyes watched as Mr. Goshen's fingers played over the front of the panties, and she lifted and wriggled her hips to help allow his other hand to push underneath for his fingers to caress the fabric covering her little butt cheeks. "Don't they feel good?" she asked looking up, her innocent bright eyes blinking with excitement.

"I love how they feel," Mr. Goshen answered. "So sexy feeling."

"Yeah," Joy agreed, giggling and squirming under his touch. "These are my yellow ones," she explained. "In my drawer at home I've got all kinds of colors of new panties. I've got red ones and white and blue and green and pink." She laughed. "I can't remember all!"

"Wow," he said admiringly, his hand caressing over the panties covering Joy's hips and tummy. "I really would like to see them all. Do they all have pretty lace like this?" he asked, his fingertips following down the strip of white lace.

"Uh-huh," Joy answered with pride. "Some have flowers on them made out of lace. They are really pretty," she added earnestly. "I'll show them to you if you want."

"I want to see them very much," the man said. His voice murmured appreciation as his hands felt over Joy. "Oh, these feel so nice. Like silk. So smooth and sexy." He chuckled. "Do they make you feel sexy when you wear them, Joy?"

She laughed with him. "Yeah, they do," she admitted, and giggled, pleased with herself that she could impress a grown man so much.

"I bet so," Mr. Goshen laughed. Moving his hand around to press the fingertips down between her legs, he said, "Spread your legs a little, honey, so I can see how they feel down between your legs, okay?"

"Okay," Joy said enthusiastically, both hands holding the hem of her play dress up high under her chin as she spread her knees wide apart, her proud, excited eyes watching the admiring fingers move down into her crotch. Mr. Goshen murmured appreciatively as his fingertips explored up and down the crotch of the panties. "See?" she asked hopefully. "It's all nylon down there, too. Don't they feel s-o-o-o nice?" The admiration in Mr. Goshen's voice and eyes was thrilling to the little girl.

"They do," Mr. Goshen agreed, pulling his fingertips snuggly up against her pussy as they rubbed up and down the crotch. "I really like how your panties feel here, Joy." She giggled, watching his fingers stroke. Pulling his middle finger up more firmly up into her slit, he added, "I really like how it feels when I rub your pretty panties here. This is where they feel best to me. Does it feel best to you right here?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," Joy laughed agreeably, watching his fingers work. Feeling him pull his fingertips more firmly up into her, Joy giggled and wriggled her hips excitedly, her eyes sparkling as she watched his hand enjoying her crotch.

"I can't stop rubbing these panties, they feel so good!" Mr. Goshen said with a chuckle, "Is that okay?"

Joy laughed, squirming her hips forward on the seat for him. "Sure," she said. "You can feel as much as you want."

"Thanks, honey," Mr. Goshen said, his hand under her bottom helping her move forward into his fingertips. He watched his fingertip defining the slit of her little pussy. "I like doing this," he said, smiling at her. "You sure are a sweet girl to let me."

Joy giggled, blushing a little at the compliment from behind the skirt pulled up under her chin. "I don't mind," she said, and with a giggle added, "I'm glad you like them."

"I love them!" Mr. Goshen laughed. "Let me see how this feels," he said, his hand underneath lifting her hips up above the seat so he could turn his other hand downward, cupping it firmly around her pussy mound and squeezing, digging his middle finger into the slit under the panty crotch until the lips parted to allow it inside. Slowly, he stroked the fingertip up and down inside the slit, back and forth several times as both he and Joy watched it moving. "This feels really good," Mr. Goshen said. "It feels nice and warm. Does it feel good to you, too, Joy?" he asked.

She giggled, watching the fingertip. "It feels naughty," she said, lifting the skirt higher to hide a little blush on her cute face before collapsing into giggles.

"Do you think so?" Mr. Goshen laughed, his fingertip continuing up and down the slit. "I think it feels sexy," he said, watching the finger work. "Does it make you feel sexy?" he asked, glancing up at Joy who wrinkled her nose at him, blushing again and giggling before lifting the skirt to hide her face. Mr. Goshen laughed. "I bet it does," he said teasingly. "Let me check," and lowering her back down on the seat, he pulled out the waistband so he could slide his hand inside. Cupping it around her bald little pussy mound, he squeezed his finger inside the slit and laughed. "I thought so," he exclaimed with a laugh. "You're just teasing me, you funny girl. Can you feel how wet it is?" As he talked, Joy laughed and kicked, little hips squirming, her excited eyes peeking up at Mr. Goshen from behind the raised skirt. "Do you know what that means?" Mr. Goshen asked. "Do you know what it means when your pussy is all wet like this?"

"What?" joy asked, her eyes looking up at him seductively from behind the raised skirt.

Seeing Joy's expressive eyes, Mr. Goshen laughed. "It means you feel all sexy inside, you naughty girl," he laughed, lifting Joy by the hips to turn her into him, hugging his arms around her little hips as both of them laughed, Joy squealing with delight, kicking and squirming as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, returning the hug.

"Are you having fun?" Mr. Goshen laughed, sliding one hand inside the back of her panties as the other slipped back down inside the front.

"Yeah," Joy squealed, her hips squirming wildly as she felt his finger reentering her slit. "You're funny!" she added, again giving him her seductive look.

"I know," Mr. Goshen laughed. Hooking his thumbs inside the waistband, he began lowering the panties. "Let's take these pretty panties off so they don't get wet and all messed up, okay?" he asked. "Do you want to?"

"Okay," Joy said, flopping over and back down on the seat to lift her legs into the air so he could pull them off over her feet.

Lifting her hips to pull her forward in the seat, Mr. Goshen lifted her feet to plant them on the edge of the seat and spread her knees wide, exposing her naked crotch. "Look what a pretty pussy you have here, Joy," he said admiringly, watching his fingertips toy along the bare slit. "See what a pretty pussy your sister has, Jimmy?" he asked me, using his thumbs to open the slit for me to see the glistening pink inside. "Goodness, Joy, I can't believe you're not even 6 yet. Your pussy looks like you must be 8 or 9," he added, glancing up at her.

"Unh-unh," Joy answered teasingly, shaking her head no, her seductive eyes sparkling as she looked up from behind the skirt clutched under her chin. "You're just teasing me." She had stopped squirming now, and as I bent over to look at the pussy I could see her chest rapidly rising and falling. Little Joy was hot.

"No, no," Mr. Goshen said with a chuckle. "I am not teasing, either. Just look at your pretty pussy." Still holding the lips spread, he ran a finger through the slit and stuck it in his mouth, licking it clean as he slowly withdrew it. Laughing, he said, "Wow, that tastes good," his tongue licking his fingertip in appreciation. Joy and I laughed at the grown man's silliness. Running his finger back through the slit, he held it out for me. "Here, taste it, Jimmy," he said, holding his finger out for me. I had turned sideways toward them in the seat, sitting on my knees as I watched. As my tongue came out to lick the finger, he stuck it inside my mouth. "Suck it," he said, "see how good your sister tastes." As I sucked, his finger pumped in and out of my mouth. "Do you like that, Jimmy?" he asked. "Suck on it hard," he said, pumping the finger deeper inside my mouth. "Isn't it good?"

"Yeah," I managed to say, laughing around the finger pumping into my tongue. My hands held his hand while I sucked the finger hard to please him.

"It sure is," Mr. Goshen said, his tongue flicking out over his dry lips watching me suck the finger, his chest heaving hard as he watched the finger entering my sucking mouth. "Let me see," he said, tugging me by the waistband of my pants to a standing position on my knees. Pulling out the elastic waistband, he shoved a hand inside to find my stiff little woody and tug at it. Laughing, he said, "Wow, you really do like looking at your sister's pussy, don't you?" I laughed, nodding my head an enthusiastic yes. I could feel his fingers feeling over my little nut sack and stiff little pecker. "I'm going to have fun playing with you, Jimmy," he said. "Do you want me to play with you?"

I liked the feel of his hand in my crotch, his fingers toying with my nuts and pecker. "Sure," I laughed, bouncing with excitement. I could hardly wait to get my hands on his crotch.

"Okay," he laughed, "but now I want to play with Joy, okay?" His fingertips went back inside Joy's wet little slit as his hand slipped back underneath her butt cheeks. "You've got a really nice pussy here, honey," he said, his fingertips moving up and down the slit. "It's so hot and wet I still can't believe you're not even 6 years old yet."

"Really?" Joy asked, looking up to see if he was teasing. Her tongue flicked over her dry lips. "Mommy says I'm big for my age."

"You are a big girl, Joy," Mr. Goshen said. Lifting her hips back up above the seat, his finger began working up and down inside the hot wet slit as he said, "Big girls like it when I do this," his finger pumping hard and fast up and down the slit. "Let's see if you like it, too, okay? We'll see if you're a big girl."

"Okay," Joy said, breathing hard as she watched the finger. Her body was flushing red from the tingling sensation of her little girl orgasm. Her tongue flicked again over her dry lips, her little chest heaving hard. "It feels good," she said. "It's making me tingle all over. Does that mean I'm a big girl?"

"That's what it means," Mr. Goshen answered, his chest heaving in pure lust as his pumping finger continued to heighten Joy's little girl orgasm.

This may be a good place to say something about little girls and their orgasms. Every little girl uses the word, "tingle," to describe it, as in, "That makes me tingle all over." The orgasm sends a rush of blood to the nerve endings just under the skin, resulting in flushed skin along with a tingling sensation. It's a warm, delicious feeling we call "getting the tinglies." Little boys get exactly the same sensation. By their 8th year, girls (and boys, only a year or so later) begin to experience the episodic spasms that characterize adult orgasms. It's a transition, such that at the beginning of her 8th year, a girl still feels only the "tinglies," but by the time she turns 9, she feels mature spasmodic surges shooting through her body
"Fuck, you're making me really hot, honey," undoing his belt and unzipping his pants so he could push down his pants and underwear below his balls, letting loose the pulsing hard cock. He held it up for us to admire. "See how hard you make my cock, sexy girl?" he said with a laugh. He looked at each of us. "You kids don't mind me taking it out, do you?" he asked. "Is it okay?"


This was not the first man's cock Joy and I had seen. There was "Our Park," as we called it, which I'll talk about later - our destination when Mr. Goshen stopped to give us a ride - plus in a family as large as ours, there are bound to be some whose sexual appetite tends toward kids. Everyone knew our mother worked, something fairly unusual in those days, which left Joy and I home alone all day, an easy target for anyone wanting to use us for their sexual gratification.

Elrod, who the family simply called "El," was the grandson of an aunt on our father's side, an unmarried 30-year old just back from the war whom our mother described as "not all there." El had been a Marine, fighting in the Pacific, who came home to something of a hero's welcome with a number of battlefield ribbons, including two Purple Hearts, but the war had affected him: his attention span was short; he would "zone out," as the family called it, suddenly just stare off into space, sometimes for hours at a time; and he was more than a little dangerous if suddenly startled. It was several years before he was able reenter society, as we say, and during that time he lived at home with his parents in a small ranching community in the middle of nowhere, about fifty miles or so from our town.

Whenever El did come to town, he would come bouncing in the front screen door, laughing as he grabbed up first Joy and then me to greet us with a big hug and kiss. We both adored cousin El, our big, handsome war hero. "You kids want to see something?" he would ask, and excited and laughing we would shout, "Yeah, yeah, yeah!" bounding up and down in front of him. "Okay then," he would laugh and, dropping his jeans underwear down around his ankles, he would pull open the snap buttons of his cowboy shirt, exposing his body to us with its already half-hard cock dangling out in front. Joy and I would scream with delight, laughing as we ran to him as he flopped down on the couch, each of us grabbing a bare knee he spread before us, holding it as we jumped and laughed, watching as he pulled his balls free and settled back against the couch. "Okay, who wants to go first?" he would ask, and Joy and I would shout, "Me! Me! Me!" Laughing, he might choose me first, standing me between his legs to pull on the big cock while he lifted Joy to stand her on her knees on the couch beside him. "Let's see what you've got," he would say to her, and as Joy held her play dress up out of the way, he would pull down her panties so he could play with her pussy as below I tugged on the cock. Then he would switch us around to play with my pecker and nuts as Joy tugged on the big cock. This would continue until El would say, "Uh-oh, here it comes," at which point Joy and I would squeal with excitement, both of us jumping down to use all 4 of our hands, pointing the throbbing cock skyward as we pulled on it until El groaned loudly and we screamed as the first load of white cum came shooting up into the air. Just as it came splashing back down on to El's chest and stomach, we would scream again with the next load shooting up into the air, only to splash back down. We screamed and laughed until the last few loads came bubbling up through the cock to run down over our hands. Laughing and clowning, all 3 of us would take turns licking the cum off of our hands and El's body before I ran to the bathroom to get a wet washcloth to clean what was left. Then the 3 of us would pile into El's old pickup truck to go into town for whatever shopping he was in town to do before returning to jerk off El's cock once again before he headed back home.


So when Mr. Goshen pushed down his pants to expose his throbbing cock, we knew what it was and what he wanted to do with it. "Yeah, it's okay," Joy answered in response to Mr. Goshen's question, her hot eyes transfixed on the huge, throbbing cock. She giggled. "It's really big," she said, and looking up at him with her big, seductive eyes asked, "Do I really make it big like that?" She shook her head, trying to clarify her question. "I mean, is it because you think I look sexy?"

"It sure is, sexy girl," Mr. Goshen chuckled, pushing his hand under his balls to lift and free them before returning to pull on the shaft more. His hand under her bare butt cheeks slipped on over to pull on her hip, drawing their hips together skin to skin. "Go ahead and touch it if you want to," he said, tilting the cock toward her.

Joy's fingers gently clasped over the top of the head and began feeling. "It feels hot," she giggled.

"It is," the man laughed, taking both her hands to wrap her fingers tightly around the shaft. "Why don't you pull on it while I rub on your pussy some more?" he asked, wrapping an arm around Joy to pull her closer. "Does that sound fun?"

"Yeah," Joy said, giggling as she leaned toward the cock, her grip tightening around the shaft as she began tugging on it.

"Good girl," Mr. Goshen said, lifting Joy high enough to bring a bare leg up on the seat underneath her bottom, settling her there as his free hand pushed up under the dress to feel over her chest and tummy before his fingertips returned inside the slit. In no time Joy's body flushed back into her tingling, little girl orgasm, pulling hard on the cock as she gasped for air. "You're really good at this, you sexy girl," he panted. "Are you having fun?"

"Uh-huh," she answered, working hard on the big cock. Joy's body was flushed red, her body tingling in her little girl orgasm as she concentrated on the throbbing cock in her hands, tugging it toward her as hard as she could, over and over.

"Oh fuck, I'm going to cum now," Mr. Goshen exclaimed, grabbing Joy's hips up in his hands and rolling her over on top, legs straddling his hips, his arms wrapping around, clutching her butt cheeks to pull her hips down, pressing her crotch tightly against the shaft of the cock trapped underneath, his face strained muttering, "Oh god, oh god," as he pumped her slit furiously up and down the shaft. Moving closer to see better, I watched as Joy's hands held Mr. Goshen's shoulders, her head dropped to watch the throbbing cock appearing and disappearing as his hands clutching her hips jerked her crotch up and down the shaft, both of us giggling and laughing in anticipation of what we knew was coming. Mr. Goshen's body began to tremble and stiffen. "Of fuck, I'm cumming now," he announced, groaning loudly as Joy and I squealed with delight at the sight of the first load exploding out from the hole in the cock. "Oh fuck, that feels good," he managed to sigh before seizing rigid again and groaning with the next load shooting up the shaft. Jumping up and down on my knees with excitement, I watched as load after load came shooting out, pooling on his stomach into a massive glob of steaming white cum.

Mr. Goshen's body was shaking as he finished, hugging Joy tightly against him, kissing her cheek as he muttered, "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." Beginning to regain his breath, he sat Joy up on his legs facing him. "That felt really, really good," he said, running his hands up and down Joy's body under the play dress. "Thank you, sweet girl."

"You're welcome," Joy giggled. Her sparkling eyes looked down to the cum covering his stomach. "You really had a good one, huh?" she asked.

Mr. Goshen laughed, following Joy's eyes down to his stomach. "I told you that you were a big sexy girl, didn't I?" Trailing a forefinger through the pool of white cum, he added with a laugh, "That's a bunch of cum, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Joy giggled, watching the finger swirl through the cum.

"You're such a big girl, Joy" he said, reaching his hand up to caress Joy's face.

"You really think so?" Joy asked, her 6-year old pride showing in her beaming face.

"I really do," he laughed. "I want to play with you more, too. Would you like that?"

"Yeah!" Joy shouted, bouncing happily up and down on his legs, her arms shooting out to capture his neck. "This is really, really fun!"

Mr. Goshen laughed. "Slow down, honey!" he exclaimed, "slow down. We need to rest up now." Sitting her back upright, he lifted his wilted cock, saying, "Look at my poor cock. It's all tired out now."

Reaching down, Joy squeezed her hand around the shaft of the softening cock and giggled. "It feels all mushy now," she said.

The man laughed. "I bet you can make it hard again," he said. "Do you think you can?" "Yeah, I bet I can," Joy laughed, tugging enthusiastically on the softening cock with both hands.

Laughing, Mr. Goshen took Joy's wrists to still her hands. "Let it rest a while now, okay, honey?" he said. "You made it all tired now and it needs to rest. We'll play more later, okay?"

"Okay," Joy said, a hurt little petulant look on her face. "You promise?"

Laughing again, Mr. Goshen assured her. "Let's clean my mess up and we'll get on into town now," he added, bending to pick up an old towel from the floorboard. Wiping the cum off his stomach, he glanced at Joy's crotch. "Oops, we got some on you," he said, using his finger to wipe it from her pussy mound. "Here, taste it," he said, lifting the finger to her mouth.

Joy was giggling as her tongue tentatively came out to sample the cum. "It tastes salty," she said, and laughed.

"It's good for you," he laughed, plunging the finger inside her mouth. "Here, suck on it." Joy was laughing as he cleaned his finger inside her mouth.

On the way into town, we talked about all kinds of things, including where our mother worked, and when he let us out, he gave us each a quarter and told us he would be back around to give us a lift back home. When we got back to our house, he went in with us and we all got naked and played sex on Joy's bed for the rest of the day. This time I got to play, too, and it was every bit as fun as I thought it would be. From then on, Mr. Goshen stopped by fairly often, sometimes for an hour or so and sometimes for most of the day. By the time Joy was 11, she was taking Mr. Goshen's cock inside her.

That Joy never "told" may seem strange, but it really isn't. Joy was a pretty little girl, used to men picking her up and their hands squeezing her butt cheeks, something every adult did, even to me; she was used to a man occasionally shoving his hand up between her legs. In stores, at church, wherever, the man might turn Joy so others couldn't see what his hands were doing. Joy, when she spoke of it at all, commented that she liked the man or not, or that his breath smelled funny or whatever else caught her attention. That his hands were on her body she accepted as his prerogative and really never thought twice about it. It was simply a part of being a little girl in those days.

Experiences like this one for Joy were not uncommon in those days. Every little girl I knew back then talked of similar experiences. There was never any crying or being scared, no threats or coercion. It was exciting stuff, something for us kids to talk about and be thrilled by. Today's headlines of kids being snatched up to be carried off and raped simply didn't happen back then. There was no need for the kind of pent-up sexual frustrations such men feel today. There were kids everywhere, so should a man feel the urge to interact sexually with one, there was always a little boy or girl around perfectly willing to let them.

As young as I was at the time, my memory of Mr. Goshen stuck with me. I liked the way he treated my sister; he was nice and made her feel good about herself. I liked the way he respected her, never talking down to her but always asking her permission first, making her an equal partner in their adventure. As I grew up, I emulated Mr. Goshen in my dealings with kids, and as a consequence, I've never had a bad experience with a kid.

Whether our lifestyle was particular to our town or whether it was nationwide, of course I can't answer. I can say it felt normal, the way things were back then, but isn't that how it always is? Everything feels normal when you don't know anything else. To some extent, I do believe our life was representative of the era in which we grew up. Things that were true for us, such as men's right to rule while women and kids kowtowed to their wishes, was true throughout the country. The freedom of kids, the attitudes of permissiveness, all that was nationwide. Which is not to say parents weren't strict back then; they were. "Mind your mother." "Eat your vegetables." "Be home on time." All those things were universal; other things, like telling a five- or six-year old, "Get out of the house. I do not want to see or hear you until dinner, do you understand me?" were also universal back then. Those of you my age will simply have to see for yourself how well my childhood matched yours.




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