Judy’s Story – Part 1

Chapter 1

I sit here reminiscing on what has happened in my life. Some bad, some good, a lot fucking great, lol. But I know one thing; There is absolutely nothing to be gained in regret. I do not regret my life at all, and I do not wish it over. Mainly because no one can undo the past; you can only learn from it, but also because I have enjoyed my life. For what it’s worth, I think my life is pretty normal, with one or two deviations, and this chronicle is worth telling.

My name is Judy, I am now 52, and I have one child, a daughter, Penny. This is also, eventually, her story.

[I don’t apologize to any of you for the language I use, both in this narrative, and in my life. When I was younger even ‘vagina’ was a ‘hushed’ and ‘naughty’ word, whereas, these days ‘pussy’, and even much worse, are freely spoken by all ages. My language reflects my changing lifestyle, and my growth into myself. I am comfortable using ‘fuck’, and even ‘cunt’, in conversation, and I will not allow anyone to ‘brow beat’ me to their narrow-mindedness any longer. I am honest to my needs, and know who I am. I don’t have any hang-ups, and don’t subscribe (nor have I ever) to the ‘proper lady’ theory. Fuck that priggish nonsense! Oh yes, and I love sex.]

My early childhood was uneventful, by most people’s standards. I do believe I was born in a more innocent age. Definitely life was slower, and we didn’t seem to have the sort of problems, world wide, that unfortunately, occur now. Was it really innocent though? I thought so then, and have never thought otherwise. At nearly 16, I was still a virgin (but weren’t all the goods girls still virgins at that age?), and in fact still hadn’t really started dating. And sex, especially casually, was still taboo, and not discussed, as it is nowadays.

What do I remember from those days? I had a drunken, (semi) abusive father, but didn’t everyone? Certainly the other kids I went to school with did, and we all took it in our stride. While he drunk frequently, and yelled a lot, I can’t ever remember one incident where he put me in personal peril (at least before I turned 16). I will admit that some of his punishments were beyond normal (dragging all of us kids out of bed one winter evening, and lining us up in the kitchen to check our mouths for food remnants, because a favorite snack of his went missing, comes to mind, as one sorry example). But even my mother, rest her soul, couldn’t actually condemn him to hell for eternity. Yes, he did hit her, and I had even seen her strike him, but they stayed together (for us kids it turned out – he left when my youngest brother turned 15). He still lives up north, in a small town, with his latest floosie, and isn’t even much of a memory to me any more. My caring mother died only three years ago, and (apart from some post-pubescent dramas I caused for her [as I am sure most daughters did!]) we were life long friends. I have three sisters, and two brothers, who I also don’t see much off anymore. Life just goes forward the best you can.

This story is about my life (and with Penny). Oh boy, what a life, lol. But, you know, we had, and still do have fun, and as I said above, we have no regrets. Life is delivered without a training manual. You do the best you can within the limitations given to you. I cannot even put a finger on specific changes, everything seemed to happen gradually, with one or two exceptions, but change did occur. Massive change, as it turned out. Oh, certainly events surrounding my 16th birthday were a beginning to the change, but the gradual, continual change after that time, just seemed to occur progressively (although, I can recall three or four events that do stand out).

I don’t really remember much of my life before puberty. A rare birthday party, the odd (very) occasional good time, some trips with my family; but general life was uneventful, and normal until I turned 11. Puberty turned me on my head, literally (I guess like many others at that time in their lives), and I knew I was changing. The first thing that changed was my body. I started growing tits quite early, and even had the distinction of being the only 11 year old at my school with tits. Not only did I have tits, but I seemed to have gone from totally flat to 34B, apparently overnight, without a bra! My mother, bless her, was either ignorant to my needs, or just plain ignorant, because not only did I sprout out, but I was still wearing ‘kid’ clothes as my chest expanded (no bra yet for me!) My nipples grew larger with equal speed, and I had pointing, hard nipples poking through my school shirts! [Being the eldest daughter meant that my own mother learned as much from me, as I did from her. It was my younger sisters who benefited, not me.]

When I finally got my first bra, a 36D, I thought all of my Christmases had come at once.

While my tits were growing rampant, I also sprouted hair around my pussy, lots of hair (it wasn’t till years later that I knew exactly how excessively hairy I was). I had hair growing out onto my legs from the sides of my panties, up over the top of my panties towards my belly, and down past the crack of my ass. Long, thick, curly hair, easily over an inch and a half long by the time I was 14.

I tried asking my mom about the hair, and like every other time I asked about sex, I either got a stuttered rant, a sermon about how unclean I was, or, occasionally, a slap on the face. Sometimes all three! I learned to live with it, but never even thought, in those days, to trim, or cut the hair. I just hid myself more and more.

And periods, god I thought I was bleeding to death the first time it happened. My mother never did warn me, and she was less than consolatory to me when it did first happen. All she did was show me where she kept her ‘supply’ as she coyly called napkins, and told me to tell NO ONE. She also gave me a rough and tumble lesson on using them, and where to dispose of them, end of sermon, again. Not only did I start my periods early, I always bled heavily, and erratically. Some months for only 2 or 3 days, other months for as many as 8 or 9 days, and always with extreme cramps! And I was never regular, missing many periods, sometimes even 2 in a row.

My first clear memories involving sex were around the months just before I was due to turn 16. I remember being unhappy at school (I guess like every other 15-17 year old around me), and I was impatient to move into adulthood. His name was Pete, and at 19, and with a car (1956 Chevy, nice car), he was a ‘big man’ around the neighborhood. No one knew his past, or where he was from, but I didn’t care. I met him at a local dance, and we became inseparable. Why he went after me, I still don’t know, but I do know all of my friends were jealous of the attention he gave me.

I secretly hoped he was my ‘ticket’ out of my small town doldrums, and I would have followed him to the ends of the world if he had asked. I was in love (or, was I just in love with the notion of being in love?), and I thought, hoped, prayed that Pete returned my love. I prayed to God every night before I went to bed, kept his picture next to my heart, inside my bra, and wrote his name on all of my books, lol. Silly, puppy love, I realize now, but back then he was my whole reason for living.

As I said above, my body had started developing young, and I remember my father leering at me often, as my breasts grew (and I often wondered if he would have done anything sexual to me, if he had had a chance?). By 15 my tits were 38DD, and every boy in school ogled at me as I walked by. Many brazenly touched my tits, with some even squeezing and pulling at them, as I walked around school. And it wasn’t just the boys, either.

Many of the girls were either envious, or spiteful of the attention I was getting, and many a girl at school was downright rude to me. I felt so self conscious and cursed my tits every day, even going as far as to strap them to my chest, to reduce their size. (All that ever did was squoosh them further, and make them seem even bigger, but at least my nipples stopped poking out!)

I admit now, in retrospect, that even Pete dated me for my tits. The first time we went out on a date, he groped my tits through my dress. Poor boy, all he got was a handful of cotton bandage (yes, even after school, I was still self conscience) for his trouble, lol, and I told him off too. How dare he. I wasn’t like that.

Over time, though, he got quite good at undoing my bra, and petting and rubbing my tits. Oh, I did then, and still do, enjoy my tits getting action – the more the better. Depending on the clothes I wore, he would ‘release’ my tits and suck on them for what seemed like hours. My nipples would get hard, and even though they hurt slightly (it took me years to recognize that it wasn’t ‘pain’, I felt, but sexual desire), I loved the feeling. From those first clumsy dates, I knew I loved sex, and have never regretted the odyssey I commenced in the back of his Chevy, months short of my 16th birthday. But I did know that loose tongues, and idle gossip, could ruin one’s reputation, and in those days, reputation was everything, and I did so much want to be liked, and not thought of as a slut, or worse.

But sex with Pete was inevitable. I knew it then, know it now, and I freely admit, even now, that I was willing to let it happen. I wanted him to keep me safe forever. If letting Pete grope and suck my massive tits was my price to pay, then I was eager to oblige. Unfortunately, he wasn’t satisfied stopping at my tits. After I gave in to him, making him promise to go no further (and he accepting), he promptly started trying to get into my panties.

Every time I scolded him, or refused him, he would act all hurt, and sorry, but he would frequently say things like “I don’t know Judy, I do like you, but I am a growing man with needs. My friends are all getting some pussy, and I am being laughed at. Damn girl, I got some thinking to do, and so do you, if you wanna remain my steady girl.”

Of course I know now it was emotional blackmail, but at 15, going on 16, my whole world was about to collapse if I lost him (or so I thought). The one man (and yes, at 19 he was definitely a man, in more ways than one) I loved, was going to drop me for a lady who ‘put out’. I didn’t know what to do. Hell, sex instruction from my mom was, “Don’t you dare get pregnant.” End of sermon; and my friends were no help. Secretly, many of my friends were chasing after Pete, and willing to let his hands roam too, so if he dropped me, they would be there to claim him. After all of the arguments we had about him touching my tits, I knew he would want more, and when the emotional blackmail didn’t seem to work, he started getting angry at me. I always knew he had a temper, just not how much. He hurt me with his words, initially, but wasn’t adverse to slapping me either. Yes, I put up with it. I thought that was how all ‘men’ and ‘women’ behaved, it was how my folks behaved, after all, so I accepted it as ‘normal’.

You know what happened, without my even needing to telling you. He started to touch me ‘there’. [In those days, even ‘vagina’ was whispered, for fear the priest, or some nosy neighbor would overhear, and ‘pussy’, well that was just too vulgar to even think, lol.] And yes, I enjoyed it.