A Bed Is Not For Sleeping by Meryl Cork

Her Stepmother Turned Her to the Queer Life Before Her First Date She Was Whipped Before She started

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Johnny was in the habit of putting the make on all the good looking women he met. He was not accustomed to finding out their tastes ran to other women.

Her hand moved slowly, sensuously over my back and my buttocks, then I heard her soft, quiet voice.
'Rahnell?'
'Yes.'
'Are you all right?'
'I think so. I have a sort of funny feeling though.'
'Turn over, Rahnell. On your back.'
I obeyed, as slowly and gracefully as the rhythm of her hand. As I moved sleepily, she moved her hand slowly up my leg. Then she stopped, got up and turned out the light. She came back and removed my clothes. I lay limp and with a funny tingling feeling in the lower part of my body. Finally, she put her lips to mine and began kissing me, her dart-like tongue flashing against my own in red-hot movements.
In a moment her hot lips were all over me, searing my flesh, giving me a sensation I had never felt before, but knew I would want again and again the rest of my life. In a moment her hips were grinding against mine and I was lifted to a peak of ecstatic emotion.

I was twelve years old, and she was my stepmother. That was my introduction to sex ... I never had a chance to learn about boy-girl sex.