thewoods

When I was five, I lived in a small town in Massachusetts. It
was so small, we had no house number. There was a row of mail
boxes at the end of the street. Envelopes were simply addressed
with the name of the family, the name of the street and the name
of the town. Just about the only thing to do in that town was
walk down to the corner and get the mail. Or go to Charlie's,
the small market a couple of blocks away, for a bottle of coke
out of one of those red refrigerated machines, or a popsicle out
of the freezer inside the store. Wherever you went, whatever you
did, everyone else knew about it. The town was that small. Five
year old girls, even in a town as small and as safe as that one,
were not allowed to walk to Charlie's for anything. That didn't
matter to me, though, because behind each small house and tiny
backyard, was a vast expanse of woods. Trees that grew well into
the sky and I mean real trees. Not the palm trees I came to
appreciate many years later in California, but trees whose leaves
turned to orange, gold or red in autumn, slipped off their
branches in winter, budded in spring and fleshed out their large
green leaves in summer, providing welcome shade even if they
couldn't do anything about the humidity.

The street on which I lived was the entire state of
Massachusetts to me. It didn't even occur to me that there were
other states. That block of small houses in front of the woods
was my whole world. I had four friends on that street, three of
whom were girls, and all of whom were just my age. One of them
had a swing set in her backyard and what I was able to accomplish
on it is a story for another day. The girl who lived next door
to me, Donna, loved to play in the woods, as did I. There were
wild blueberries, raspberries and rhubarb. There were well-worn
paths leading to every house in the neighborhood and the ground
was strewn with soft leaves. Our imaginations were all we had
and, as it turned out, that was enough.

Donna would come over to my house and we'd run through my
backyard and into the woods. Soon thereafter, she would lie down
on the ground and, looking up at me, dare me to take her panties
off. Dare me by betting I could not do it. She offered no
resistence, so it wasn't much of a challenge.   She lay there
while I pulled her pants down and then her panties. I didn't
take them off, just pulled them down to, perhaps, mid-thigh.
Just enough that I could look at her bare little puff which, if I
had thought of it at the time, would have looked exactly like
mine. I wasn't thinking of that, however. I don't know what I
was thinking. I only remember looking at her completely
transfixed. To this day, I am enthralled by the sight of a bare
muff, though I now only look at grown women. It wasn't much of a
game, really. She'd lie down, make the dare, I'd pull her
panties down and stare at her while she lay there motionless,
watching me watching her. And then I'd pull her panties up, or
she would, I don't remember that part, and we were off doing
something else. I guess there was some part of me that must have
thought we were doing something wrong, because it was always done
in secret, in the woods, when she and I were alone. I never told
my mother, or anyone, about it and yet I don't remember thinking
about it being wrong or feeling guilty at the time.

One summer day, Donna and I ran off to the woods looking for
something new to explore. There were neighbors a few houses down
from mine who had a camper parked in their back yard. There was
a low, wobbly-looking fence that separated their yard from the
woods, with a small gate that was open. We walked into the yard
and soon discovered that the door to the camper was unlocked. We
opened up all the small cupboards, took out some plastic dishes
and made a pretend lunch. It wasn't long before the woman who
owned the camper walked in and, angry that we were in there,
shooed us out. Donna and I thought she was mean and decided she
was really a witch. She was forgotten soon enough, however, once
we entered the woods. Donna laid down on the ground and put her
arms behind her head. She dared me to try to take her panties
off. I knelt down in front of her and began to tug at her
shorts. I couldn't get them to budge.   I pulled a little harder
and could see a little bit of her panties. I tugged some more,
but they would not come down. I pulled hard at the legs of the
shorts, but still could not get them down. Donna lifted her
bottom and I pulled again, this time the shorts started to come
down. She wiggled her hips back and forth while I tugged and
told me I'd better not pull her panties down. I took her shorts
all the way off and tossed them aside before reaching for her
panties. Donna's bottom was still off the ground when I pulled
hard on the waistband of her panties. They slipped down easily,
but the force I used caused me to fall backwards, Donna's panties
at her ankles. She told me I'd better pull her panties back up.
Instead, I took them off and flung them onto her face. She
screeched and quickly pulled them off. She kicked her legs and
wiped her face, shrieking the entire time. Still kneeling on the
ground, I giggled. Her legs were flailing and, still giggling, I
stared at that special bare place I had just exposed. She tossed
her panties at me and I ducked just before they struck my face.
Both of us laughed as only five year old girls can: with complete
abandon and oblivious to the rest of the world.

     Our glee abruptly ended when the witch who owned the
camper grabbed my arm and yelled at us to get up. She pulled at
Donna, too, and when we were both standing, she held our arms
tightly and dragged us through the woods. Donna was still bare
and she cried out for her shorts. She tried to twist away from
the woman, but the old witch had a strong grip. She pulled us
all the way to my house. Donna cried out loud the whole way. I
was quiet, but afraid. When we got into my back yard, I saw my
mother come out the back door and run toward us. She looked
concerned and asked what happened. The old witch pushed Donna
forward and told my mother to look at her. She told my mother
that she had seen me take Donna's panties off and that I was
looking at her and we were both laughing. At the time, I didn't
know of the word "guilt," but I surely knew what it felt like. I
could feel it on my face as I looked at my mother.

     My mother said something to the woman about being natural
and she said curiosity, too, another word I had not heard of
before. The woman stared at her. Her mouth was open and she
looked like she was trying to say something, but no words came
out, just something that sounded like a choke, like when you have
a kernel of popcorn stuck in the back of your throat. My mother
asked where Donna's clothes were, but the woman just shook her
head.   Donna was still crying out loud. My mother put her arm
around her. She held her other arm out to me and I pushed myself
away from the woman and hugged my mother. She looked at me and
asked where Donna's clothes were. I told her they were in the
woods. She took us into the house and gave Donna a pair of my
panties and some shorts. She told us that looking at each other
was okay, but that some things were not for outside. I asked her
if I could look at Donna in the house and she just smiled and
told us to find something else to do. Donna had stopped crying
and we went to my room and played with some dolls. We pretended
the dolls were in the woods and we took their panties off.

Donna and I went back to the woods after that, it may only
have been a day or two later. As we passed by the back yard of
the woman who owned the camper, we looked in. She was walking
toward the back door of her house. I turned around, pulled my
shorts and panties down, and wiggled my bare bottom at her.
Donna giggled and so did I. Then Donna stopped laughing and I
looked at her. She was staring into the woman's yard and she
looked afraid. I turned my head and saw the old woman coming
toward me. I pulled up my shorts and panties and Donna and I ran
back to my house and into my room. A few minutes later, I heard
my mother talking and then I heard her walking toward my room.
When she came in, she asked me if I had wiggled my bare bottom at
that woman. I nodded. She told Donna it was time for her to go
home and Donna walked right out. My mother looked at me until we
both heard the back door slam a few seconds later. She took my
hand and walked over to my bed, where she sat down and pulled me
over her knee. For the second time that day, my panties were
taken down. At the first spank, I started to cry. My mother
spanked my bottom, just in the middle, over and over again. It
stung at first like the way a nettle does when you sit on it.
Then it started feeling warm, and then hot, while she spanked
over and over. I cried out loud and may have said no repeatedly.
I'm told that is what I usually did while being spanked. My
mother scolded me, too. She told me that wiggling my bottom at
that woman was rude and not the same as just wanting to look at
another little girl and that she had already told me that some
things were private and that wiggling your bottom at someone was
not okay even then. She told me she expected me to keep my
panties up when I was outside and to be polite all the time no
matter where I was.

     In my memory of it, that spanking went on for hours and the
burn lasted for days. I probably only got about twenty spanks.
Years later, when we talked about the spankings I got, my mother
told me she never gave me more than twenty, usually less, and
that if I added up all the spankings I got, they would not amount
to more than ten in my whole life. I smiled to myself when she
said that. Ten spankings in my whole life? Oh, the things mommy
does not know about her little girl!