Here I am, shaving and shooting photos of my pussy, editing them in haste and uploading them before Betty and Carlin close down the gallery. Or before my sister, who came back when I just finished shooting, sees something. It's just my luck that she does. A vulva is splayed on my screen. She goes squealing to our mum. Since they don't know it's mine I can just say that I'm watching some erotic photos. I don't want to play the educator today. They buy it. Peace at last.
As if I didn't want to do it sooner, without distractions. That's just my typical behavior. Because of the haste I didn't even get aroused. Seams like Little Wild Orchid is not so wild today. I promise myself another session where my clitoris will stand proudly, not hide under the hood with the indignant "who dares to wake me?" scowl and move on.
Normally I've got a very rewarding and companionable relationship with my little pearl. She seams to be in a mood most of the time. I read some erotic fiction or plot a fantasy and she grows so hard, so sensitive, so demanding. Her face is purple and the folds she's wrapped around darken to red. She prefers direct touch and was quite puzzled when her owner read that her fellow sisters don't.
I didn't know her name till I was eight. Before then she was just a bump that was so oversensitive that it was unpleasant to clean her. Now I know better that to rub her when she's dry or wet with only water. Things changed when I got one of Madaras' duo exercise books. It explained all the parts of the vulva and masturbation tough it didn't give any tips how to have an orgasm. That one I figured by myself on one Christmas night before my 14th birthday.
