In my mind’s eye, each little sigh or gasp was the product of her digits finding the tiny button nestled in her inverted vee and giving it a stroke....She’d rub her fingers either side of the little pearl, pulling back the hood to expose its shiny surface, then let the cover retract as she guided her fingers deeper between her impossibly trim thighs, seeking the start of her wetness. Droplets of moisture would no doubt pepper her bush, glistening in the afternoon light. My makeshift speaker. I don’t think mother planned that, but not seeing girls made me want to see one, at first because I was curious, and then because deep inside my hormones started to boil.The second (!) time I asked mother about women, she sighed, whispering that we, men, only think about that. She then added that at the end of high school I may meet a girl.I could only imagine what it would be like, how she would be dressed, about what we would talk.I hoped she would have a similar education because I felt it. More

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