More than three decades ago, my little lover didn't mind what we were doing and, when the oral pleasuring began, She very much wanted it. It was only after several years into my prison time that society managed to convince Her that I was evil and needed to be hated. Before that, She had written me often as a young preteen and visited me (across country) several times until our relationship was terminated. By Her. After Her forced "treatment" by psychologists.
Much later, back on the streets again, I married someone who, when little, had a sexual relationship with her (adult male) babysitter. She seemed to be happy with the numerous encounters but, on the other hand, hated her mother for allowing it. (Of course, she had other issues with her mother for years, anyway.) I suspect that her memories of those sexual encounters were the reason the 20 year old, very child-like girl fell in love with an older, almost 50 year old fellow and married him.
Five years ago, I wrote a post that, I think and hope, will be of some use here. I endeavour to copy part of that post now:
... Yet my goal here is to share, not with the choir, but with the plebiscites whose political/sociological unit I am but upon the fringe of. To do this, I must equate my extrapolations to something they can grasp. To speak their language. To translate beauty, love, and spirituality into the “sums of the squares of the other two sides.” To describe a rainbow to a blind man. It is said that such a goal is theoretically unreachable.
Thus, expecting to fail, I try nevertheless. The only question is why do I try? Why not sing only with the choir? I have no answer. Vanity, perhaps? Stupidity? Tilting at giants? ("Take care, sir," cried Sancho. "Those over there are not giants but windmills.) No, Sancho, they are, indeed, giants. They just look like windmills.
I have shared a touch. Often. I have been the supplier of ecstasy. I have been to the moon and beyond. So very few of even the actual choir has managed to take the journey I have. And these have covetous desires, not only for the curves I have visited, but for the memories of such journeys I carry. And the others? They know of which I write. They know. They have tasted the rainbow, heard the aroma of a voice. Even synesthesia does not express such thoughts in such intensities that they and I know of.
What would anyone know? Besides the very few travelers who have been to the world I hypothesize about, who could understand the feel of warmth when added to the feel of motion when added to the knowledge I have that my recipient is traveling to places in the hypothetical world with me? What would anyone know of the forceful emotion driving not only the one kissing but the one being kissed? Does my kiss equate to the cold mundane spit swapping that those who don’t travel in my hypothetical universe kiss with? Does the heartbeat of HER equate to the rushed hooker’s boredom? What would anyone know of the pull used to bring me closer to HER? The claw-marks embedded in my ears? What would anyone know of the joy of feeling heat on both sides of my face – knowing from whence it came? What would anyone know of the tensing, of the rapture, of the near maximum of experiential abilities? What would anyone know of the sedate afterglow and the lips leaving one valley like sensitive altar up to the narrow prairie new to such attention – attention that promises that such ecstasy may yet continue from a different journey, a journey of slow simmering love? Of comfortable co-existence, body to body, heartbeat slowing to quiet recovery? Of snuggling grip upon each other? Of hypnotic one-ness with each other. Of childish amazement at just how potent emotions can be when cajoled into lofty heights by simple kisses.
Perhaps, in rare cases, the ordinary masses may harbor someone or two who might understand this all. But that understanding, so far as I can tell, will come only from someone similar to whom I have experienced these things mutually with. So, while the world goes through these words without recognition, I can say I have tried.
It has not been just me with good sexual encounters with very young girls. I've written about this before. As everyone knows, I have a small sailboat on Lake Ontario and during the early spring, I work on it while it's still "hauled out" (storage on land for the winter.) One young fellow walked up and began the typical conversation about how I was fixing the boat, sailing, and boating prices in the area... the usual things that boaters are wont to yammer about. He had a larger boat in another marina but was planning to move to the marina I was at. As I was yammering back throughout my laborious tasks, I noticed his daughter walk up from peeking around the other boats in storage. She was about 12 or 13, I am guessing; maybe a year of so younger. I never asked. I made my excuses of getting the need to finish before the sun went down and the young fellow and his daughter continued their tour of the boat yard. A few moments later, the young girl passed by as I was on top of my boat and She tossed me a (rope) that I needed. I came back down and She was admiring (?) some of my (poor) work. We chatted for a few more moments and I said something about Her dad. She accidentally called him Her boyfriend but I caught the blunder. We chatted more and I found that She and he had met (crap, I can't remember; either Thailand or the Philippines.) Her "dad" eventually came back and, in a very carefully phrased "goodbye", I made it known that I knew She was not his daughter. (I think I used the words that I was envious of him, or something like that.) His pause and eventual smile told me that he got my message.
Those two were NOT the only couple like that. Over the years, I met another (adult) couple that, given the dates that filtered throughout the conversations, showed that they, too, had been in an inter-generational relationship.
The ONLY problem with relationships like these seems to stem from today's society's fierce insanity about sex.