I remember the first time I was with a man. My mommy’s boyfriend, my step daddy, showed me exactly what it means to be a woman. I was a teen, I’m hornier than anything. Being a French girl in the Southern United States? That got me a lot of attention from the boys. But down in Baton Rouge, down in New Orleans, it’s not as uncommon as you might think. My step daddy took a special interest in me. Mama was out at the market, shopping with my sister Marci. He came to me after I had finished my back. Wordlessly, he sat me on my bed, laid me down, spread my sweet, young, bald pussy lips, and gave me a true kiss. The kiss that let his younger flicker over my clit. The kiss that left me screaming, and shaking. He scolded me, as I called for God’s blessing in my native tongue. Over his knee I went, freshly dripping and trembling from my first orgasm. He spanked my bare ass again, and again. Until I counted in English, and spoke never again a word of French. Then, he kissed me again on my young cunt before slipping his fingers inside of me. Only a taste, he said. When I was begging, he’d let me have his cock. It was later that summer on a sticky Louisiana August evening that we conceived my first son. He branded me as his breeding whore. And I lapped it all up; a kitten with her cream. Now, I teach my own little ones. I smile; I’m the cat that got the canary.
Polly
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