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My earliest kinky memories

Posted 11-11-2016 at 05:46 AM by CSasha
Updated 11-21-2016 at 05:16 AM by CSasha

I remember kinky moments very early on, besides memories from my time as a toddler I suspect to be usual, like potty time and pacifiers until my brother threw all of them behind the shelves because I was too old for them in his opinion. When I grew up we had a large kindergarten in front and on the backside of the five-story house, where we lived in an apartment. Those were huge compared to the kindergarten nowadays, with much space around the main house for the children to play outside in the safety of a simple fence, and another big playground directly beside them, because we were many children. My hometown was a satellite town for close strip mining and coal processing, and everyone was supposed to go to work while public institutions like the kindergartens and the schools took care of the children until late in the afternoon or early evening. I remember our district to be crowded and lively, with lots of other children to play with.

When I started in kindergarten despite my reluctance, my age group was made to build a crocodile of children. I was paired with a beautiful girl with dark hair bound backward into a pony-tail. She apparently had thrown eyes on me. But when we stood there she started to pinch me. I was confused and didn't know what to do. So when I had enough of her pinching, I returned the hurtful favor. Only I didn't care as much about not being caught as her, so the nurturer complained about my behavior. A boy wouldn't do that. It felt quite unfair, and still thrilling already. Not in a sexual sense yet, but it wasn't just the usual rage about being meanly treated and not getting the objective justice on the spot.

I suppose that pattern comes from the past. I have an older sister and an older brother, both with a significant age gap between us and from another father than mine, so in detail only half-sisters. They are and always have been my siblings. I carry their father's name, and I didn't get to know my father despite a brief, disappointing meeting with him years later. When I requested it, he denied telling me his perspective. All my family didn't talk much about that past, but I grasp enough of it that my own father, who I never really got to know, was a pretender and a drinker, but worst of all had severely beaten up my siblings several times, bad enough that as the small children they were, they wanted to kill him to get rid of him. Today they are sure they would have committed that crime if my grandparents hadn't intervened and helped my mother to throw him out of her household and her life. It's hard for me to grasp my emotions on this topic today, but I definitely feel a lot of sadness in my heart about what happened to them, anger in my belly about what my father had done and people around us hadn't, and a lot of guilt. I never believed I had much of a connection to him because he wasn't there at my conscious time, but today I think there still is, even after his death.

Early on from my kindergarten time up into primary school I was in a group with most of the same kids, I knew from early on as well as the playgrounds and other locations we explored. Lots of them were my friends. But there were also two troublemakers, bullies, who frequently physically picked on me to release their angry feelings from home. Not so much different stories like mine, single mothers who went to work, supported by the state with resources and public care, but emotionally and socially overwhelmed with their family, and often enough worn out by physical, dirty work in shifts. Lots of us children were latchkey kids, given a key to the apartment in a very young age because most often nobody was home when we returned from the public care late in the afternoon. It seems there are many ways in which damage such experiences result, based on many details how they differ. Nearly every time I was being beaten and threatened by those one or two bullies, I made the wonderful experience that the whole class jumped in. The more active boys ahead defended me. It was their opportunity to be the good guys versus the usual suspects of bad guys, or at least bad behavior. We received strong morals on peace, camaraderie, and solidarity with the weak. As the different person I have always been, I experienced acceptance and support when I was being mistreated. Cinderella? I grew up with excellent crafted fairy-tale records. The most obvious trouble gets the attention, while the daily misery is overlooked.

Despite some smaller events like guarded home by a small group of girls who complained I shouldn't be outside that late alone, I significantly remember what I did with a small, very stiff, uncozy teddy bear I had. I must have been something between age five and seven. While I was alone in bed, I set it on the pillow like on a thrown, and pretended the teddy was my master. I lay myself huddling beneath it, undressing parts of my pajama as he had ordered me to. Or it fought me down to get what it wanted. It went over my body however it wanted. That was a general scenario over a longer period. I have no clue where that idea came from, back in the 80s, when there weren't as many potential media influences as today.
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