Belvedere Street, where my family had moved when I about 10 years old, was a long street, full of dozens of immigrants. There were many flats, and some apartments in three story buildings, and at the end of certain blocks, there were ‘corner’ stores.
In one of the apartments lived a girl, several years older than me, whose family was from Hungary. She was in high school and her given name was something else than what she was called. I don’t know what the actual name was – but she used the name Piranni – and I knew her because she was supposed to help me with my mathematics. I went to her apartment after school twice a week. We did study – and afterwards we also played various board games to help me with math – a good idea, and always such fun! Yes, we did study and work on mathematics, but we also did something else.
In her overall looks, Piranni was basically ordinary; I suppose some would say she was somewhat pretty – a bit heavy set especially around the middle and otherwise well formed, with large breasts and hips. She had beautiful long golden blonde hair, which was braided and rolled into a knot at the back of her neck.
She had a heavy accent, like Zsa-Zsa Gabor, and it was fun to watch her do her make-up routine, as she explained it all in detail. She had a mirror which she showed me, a sort of ‘magic mirror’- on a little silver stand, which magnified things. From a drawer, she took out a box of all her ‘tools’ , set everything out on her dressing table, and turned on several bright lights. Then she began the show…
She carefully, painstakingly plucked out every hair that sprouted up of her own natural eyebrows, and used a fine pencil to draw a thin line instead. She expertly outlined her blue eyes with the same light brown pencil and used a little brush to blend it into a smoky look. She fluttered her eyelids and checked the effect several times.
She softly painted her curvy lips with a brush as well. Then she put a deep red color on top of that with a tube of lipstick. Her cheeks, she made pink with a powder pad she used to dab the color on, from some sort of rouge cream in a jar. Then she used a powder puff to ‘set’ it all for the finishing touch, making clouds of fine white dust all around her face. Spectacular!
She taught me where to put dabs of perfume – on the ‘pulse points’. The perfume went on each side of her neck, on the inside of each wrist, between her breasts and on her ankles too. Once she unbraided her amazing golden hair – she put little pins here and there with shiny things on them. Quite a vision! I was in complete awe of all her skills! She was kind to me and I looked up to her and developed a sort of ‘big sister crush’ for her. She was quite protective of me, and one day she said that soon I would soon grow up and be with boys.
“Deh boys vill do many special things weeth you, and den deh man vill come,” she explained, in her Zsa Zsa Gabor accent. “I theenk you haff to know about theese.” So she decided that she should show me how women are supposed to behave during sex. She took me to her bed, and placed two big pillows on top of each other.
“You must lie down, like theese,” she demonstrated, and she lay on her back, with the middle part of her body thrust upward from the pillows. “You must cry out all de time ven de big strong man vill sqveeze your titties. Oh, it hurts! So alvays you must scream: ‘Oooohhh!!’ And she tossed her head from side to side and crushed her own breasts very hard. “Den dey gonna put it deep inside!”
She sat up and reached towards her dresser, took a solid wood hairbrush and slathered the handle with Pond’s cold cream. She lifted her skirt, pulled her panties off and spread her legs very wide. Then she took that wooden handle and jammed it into her vagina, while she screamed at the top of her lungs: “Oooohhh! Oooohhh!!” and writhed around on her bed. This was quite astonishing to see and I was quite amazed by all of it. My eyes as big as saucers, I watched silently but very intently, fully taking in every detail with profound clarity. She never touched me. She just showed me what she thought I needed to expect.
Daddy and the Girls
Close to the corner of our block, on the opposite end from where my friend Lettie lived, was a family of four –a father, a mother and two daughters. I was friends with the girls, the older one was my age and her sister was a couple of years younger. The father was a strikingly handsome German man, tall, blond, with well-chiseled features, robust complexion and a strongly built body. In complete contrast, the mother was very plain: pale, sallow complexion, hollow-faced, mousey hair, and her body was thin and not well formed. The older girl, Hanna, took after her dad; she was a female version of him – blonde, rosy cheeked, ruby lipped, beautiful. The younger girl – Betty, except for her blonde hair, looked like the mother. I often played at their place. We did games like ‘pick-up-stix’ and we listened to records of opera and classical music. They had a television too – a big deal in those days!
One night I was at their flat for dinner and after the meal, we girls were still in the kitchen beginning to clear the table. The father came and looked directly at Hanna. In German, he said: “Es ist jetzt Badezeit. Und jetzt alle Kinder in das Bad zu bekommen.“ (“It’s bath time. And now all the children will get into the bath.”)
When fathers gave commands like that, no child would dream of disobeying! So we all dutifully went to the bathroom and a tub was prepared. We all three got into it and were splashing about. Hanna’s father suddenly came in. I saw the mother watching glumly from the hallway.
The father knelt by the side of the tub and got a bar of soap. Then he started washing Hanna. She just sat quietly, rather resigned, as he slid the soap on her body. He got her pretty sudsy and then began to softly run his hands over her budding breasts and along her back and her neck.
“Stand up, Hanna,” said Daddy. She stood up and held onto the towel rack that was screwed into the wall at the side of the tub. He slid his big hands around her thighs and buttocks, slipping his fingers between the cheeks, and then in front of her tummy and into her vulva, smiling and saying, in German, “You are growing, Hanna, very nice!”
Betty and I watched in complete silence. Hanna never resisted or showed any emotion. She was not showing any marked distress, but she had that look of helpless acceptance which I had come to know very well myself. I could not see Betty’s face as she was in the middle, between us, and her back was towards me. We were completely mesmerized. I have to say, this scene had a curious effect on me.
He was so openly confident in what he was doing, as if there wasn’t a single thing wrong in a father washing and fondling his pubescent daughter. That image – it was locked into my mind and also the image of the mother, with her sad and hopeless face, who never entered the bathroom but knew all too well what was going on in there. It shocked me, upset me. I knew that it was wrong, wrong in a number of ways; yet it also affected me very, very much. Empathizing, I felt my own pussy stirring hotly. I had become intensely excited. Yes, you see, this is how children learn, how we are shaped….