I Was the Daughter of a Porn Star, Chapter 77

  • Posted on March 7, 2017 at 2:29 pm

The Things You Learn in Child Psychology Labs!

ByΒ Cheryl TaggertΒ 

If you need help keeping up with the characters, you may goΒ here.

I was as happy as I’d ever been now that I had found the love of my life. I was so involved with being in love that I began neglecting my studies, which led to Mom telling me that if I intended to go to school on her dime, I’d better start hitting the books more.

I agreed with her and started paying more attention to that aspect of my life. That became even easier when I got to know the girls who were the subjects of my child psychology lab. As part of that class, I was required to volunteer at a local elementary school to work with some children there who had been identified as having some Β slight behavior problems. I was able to choose the grade I wanted to work with, so I decided on fifth. That would mean the students would be ten, an age I liked.

For a variety of reasons, some more obvious than others, we were required to work with children who were the same gender we were, which was fine with me, of course. I found it ironic that the biggest reason involved avoiding problems with possible sexual interaction between the college students and the children. The other ‘big’ reason was it was felt that as novices we would more easily understand and communicate with someone of our own sex.

I was lucky in that I was able to set up my lab at a school not far from where I lived, making it easy to get there early without having to hope for good traffic, which is a rare occurrence in Los Angeles.

The child psychology class had a lab time set aside in the schedule, Tuesdays and Thursdays from eight til ten in the morning, and that was the time I was expected to be at the school working with the children.

I was assigned two girls, Amber Murray and Chelsea Conway, who were best friends who had been identified as being above their age group in cognitive ability, but they had difficulty interacting with peers and adults alike. Their behavior choices often got them into trouble at school and at home. I had been allowed to see their disciplinary file because each girl’s parents signed a form granting me permission to work with the girls and giving the school permission to show the files to me.

Their list of infractions included skipping school, disrespect toward teachers, and other behaviors that demonstrated a lack of respect for authority and a general desire to make their own choices, which was an obvious element of their disrespect for adults.

To say that I felt I was in my element would be an understatement.

Their teacher talked to me that first morning just before her students came into the classroom, and she mentioned that these girls could be a handful, and I should not allow them to take over the interactions between the two of them and me.

It was my job to get to know these girls and keep detailed reports on what I felt were causes for the difficulties they encountered. I was told that I should not consider myself to be anything but an observer. I was not expected to ‘cure’ them, nor was I expected to counsel them. I was to observe, get to know them as well as I could, and make my conclusions at the end of three weeks.

When I met them, I quickly realized I was dealing with ten-year-olds going on twenty-five.

For our ‘sessions’ I was allowed to take Amber and Chelsea to a small conference room for the first hour to talk with them. We sat down, and Amber immediately put her feet up on the table, her legs slightly spread. This school had a uniform policy, and the girls were required to wear skirts, so within five minutes of meeting them, I knew what color panties the girls wore because Chelsea, not to be outdone by her partner in crime, copied Amber’s actions.

I just sat there, looking from one girl to the other. They burst into giggles at what they perceived as my embarrassment. Of course, what they didn’t know was that I was enjoying the show.

Amber’s pastel purple panties were pulled snugly to her mound, creating the perfect little camel toe. Chelsea’s white ones actually had a small hole in them, allowing me a glimpse of a spot of the soft flesh beneath.

I was far from embarrassed. I was getting turned on.

“Very funny, girls. Yes, I have panties too,” I said, and with that, I stood and dropped my shorts, revealing my sky blue panties to their astonished gaze.

The giggling stopped as if controlled by a faucet as both girls’ jaws dropped in shock at what I’d done. They stared at my mound, which was barely hidden behind the small triangle of cotton.

It was a bold and daring move, to say the least. I could have gotten in a lot of trouble, but I was counting on the fact these girls would appreciate my joking response instead of condemn it.

A quick glance between the girls told me I was right. They smiled at each other as though they were sharing a secret, as if appreciating this view of an eighteen-year-old girl’s panties and mound was something nobody else could understand.

I knew from their response and the quick look between them that they at least discussed sexual matters with each other.

Pulling my shorts up, I sat back down and pulled my legal pad and pencil toward me to take notes.

“Now that we have that out of the way, suppose I ask you girls some questions. You know, get to know you a little better,” I said.

Another exchanged glance between them. They obviously had the ability to communicate without words, a hallmark of two people well acquainted with the reactions the other would have to certain situations.

“Sure,” said Amber, obviously the leader.

“Tell me about the first time you felt like a grown-up,” I said.

Their brows furrowed in unison. They hadn’t expected that question. They had almost certainly thought I might ask what TV shows they liked, their favorite musical group, or even their favorite food.

That one, however, was not on the list of questions they’d ever been asked — by anyone.

“What d’ya mean?” Chelsea asked.

“Listen,” I said, “you two obviously see yourselves as more adult than child. That tells me that at some point you started feeling more like an adult. Something had to trigger that feeling,” I said.

The girls looked at each other again, but without the smirks or shared understanding.

“I don’t know,” said Amber.

“Me either,” Chelsea echoed.

“Well, there had to be something,” I said. “For instance, I know that the two of you have discussed sex with each other before. Sex is an adult thing, don’t you think?”

“How did you know that we’ve talked about sex stuff?” Chelsea asked, verifying I was correct without realizing it by using ‘did’ and not ‘do’ in her question.

I smiled. “For one thing, I’m a girl, and I was ten years old once myself. For another, when I showed my panties, which had a camel toe as clear as Amber’s when she showed me hers, you two had a look between the two of you that told me that discussing sex — and particularly the feelings a girl can get down there — has been a part of your conversations.”

Amber squinted at me as if I were some strange life form she’d never encountered, followed by her words of disbelief. “Holy fuck,” she said. She sat back and I could see real admiration in her eyes. “I’ve never met an adult as smart as you before.”

I smiled. “Maybe that’s because I’m only barely an adult. I’m eighteen.”

The girls smiled at that answer, which seemed to allow me some sort of secret access to their world because I had suggested the adult world was basically clueless, which indeed it could be when it came to the sexuality of children.

They grinned at me, “I like you,” Chelsea said, seeming to admit it not only to me, but also to Amber and herself.

“So do I,” Amber said, sharing Chelsea’s grin.

“Good, I like you both too,” I said. “Now to my original question. Tell me about the first time you felt like an adult.”

“If I tell you, will you keep it a secret?” Amber asked.

“As long as you don’t tell me you hurt someone,” I answered.

She liked that reply and said, “Well, it sorta has something to do with what you said.”

“Sex?” I asked.

“Well, yeah, but more than that. You know. About those feelings.” She wanted to tell me, but she was also a little nervous and maybe even embarrassed to be telling this to someone she saw as an adult, or at least a figure of authority.

A conspiratorial smile from me helped her along as I said, “Yeah, I know all about those feelings. From when I was really little.”

“How little?” Chelsea asked.

“Let’s get your answers first, okay?” I said, not allowing them to control the conversation. I looked at Amber. “So, tell me about it? How old were you? What caused you to realize whatever it was felt really good in an adult kind of way? That kind of thing.”

“My older sister was running a bath for me, and I just got this idea to scoot down and let the water run on my coochee while the tub filled up. It felt really good, and I was liking it and my sister came back into the bathroom and she just stood there, you know, watching me while I scooted around to direct the water at it where it felt the best, you know?”

I nodded. “I know exactly. I’ve done that before too. Go on. You say your sister was watching you?”

“Yeah, she had this weird look on her face like she’d just found out the world was flat or something.” Chelsea giggled at her friend’s words. “No, really,” Amber said. “She just stood there and when I saw her, she said, ‘what made you decide to do that?’ and I said I didn’t know; I just did. Then she asked me if it felt good and I said it did. Then she asked if I’d ever done that before and I said I hadn’t.”

“What then?” I asked.

“Well, she asked me a lot more questions about if I’d ever touched my coochee and had it feel good like that, and I said no. Then she just watched me for a while and I got tired of having her look at me and stuff like I was some sort of lab experiment, so I stopped even though I didn’t want to.”

“And this made you feel like a grown-up?” I asked.

“Yeah, but especially when I asked my sister about it later that night, like that touching thing. And she sho –” Amber stopped, mid-word.

“What is it?” I asked, already able to tell what had made her stop, but wanting to get her to answer.

“I don’t know that I should tell you about that,” she said, wary again.

“You mean that your older sister showed you about masturbation?”

Amber was so surprised that I knew that she just nodded, wide-eyed.

“It’s okay, honey,” I said. “That happens a lot more than you realize. So, what happened then? Did your sister let you watch her? Or did she show you where to touch yourself?”

“Well, both, actually,” Amber said. “She showed me how she does it and showed me how to do it too.”

“About how old were you at this time?” I asked.

She thought about it for a second before responding. “Seven.”

“And your sister was–?”

“She’s six years older than me, so she was thirteen.”

“Okay,” I said and turned to Chelsea as if girls told me these things every day of my life. “What about you?”

“You mean the first time I masturbated?” she asked, making me chuckle.

“Well, if that’s the first time you felt like an adult,” I said, hoping it was.

“Well, uh,” she stammered. I felt I should try to move the conversation along by continuing to focus for the moment on Amber’s story.

“Did you know this story about Amber and her sister?”

Chelsea was looking at Amber, her eyes glassy. I suddenly realized she had gotten horny listening to her friend. That’s when I noticed her hands were in her lap. They weren’t doing anything, but I couldn’t swear they hadn’t been before.

“No. She never told me about that before.” Chelsea turned to her friend. “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Amber said. “I guess you never asked me the question Miss Cheryl did.”

I decided to nip the title their teacher told them to call me in the bud. I was only eight years older than they were, for Pete’s sake. I wasn’t “Miss” anybody to anyone. Besides, I wanted to be treated as a friend, not a teacher. “Girls, you don’t have to call me Miss Cheryl. Just Cheryl is fine.”

Chelsea was still flushed and I decided to be even more bold than before. I figured these girls would appreciate it.

“Chelsea, why are you so flushed? Your face is red. Amber’s story didn’t embarrass you, did it?”

“No, of course not,” she said.

“Then did it make you horny?”

Chelsea, her mouth open, stared at me, shocked at my use of the word.

“No,” she said, though I could tell she was lying.

“Yes it did!” Amber teased her friend. “You’re all hot and bothered now and want to go rub one off!”

“Amber, that’s no way to treat your friend. Anyway, I bet you got turned on remembering it, too.”

“Yeah, Miss High and Mighty!” Chelsea said, making a face at Amber. “It’s not like you don’t rub one off every day!”

I held my hands out to the girls in a ‘stop’ motion. “Girls! This isn’t productive. We can either talk freely about these things, or you can go back to class to do your math problems.”

That shut them up. It was obvious both girls were enjoying this quite a bit — certainly much more than they would enjoy doing math.

“So, Chelsea,” I continued, “what was the first time you felt like an adult?”

The girl squirmed. “I’d rather not say.”

“Was it about sex?” I asked. She nodded but still said nothing. “Did you discover those feelings your pussy could have?”

Again, the shocked stare at my use of what was certainly considered a naughty word at their school.

“Well?” I repeated to keep the conversation on track.

“Uh-huh,” she said. Then, “Do you say words like pussy a lot?”

“It’s one word I use for it, yes. But there’s also cunt, snatch, slit, mound, and my little juice factory,” I said, earning me wild-eyed stares from both girls. Then I added, “Oh, yes, and my orgasm spasm machine.”

I’d never actually called my pussy my little juice factory or an orgasm spasm machine, but I wanted to steer the conversation to orgasms and felt that would be as good a way as any.

I looked at Amber. “I take it your sister showed you how to have orgasms, didn’t she?”

Amber nodded. Her look had gone from one of defiance just ten minutes ago to near adoration. Looking at Chelsea, I said, “And you’ve had them, too, haven’t you?”

That same look of a childhood crush budding before my eyes, with a nod.

“Did someone show you about them?” I asked, “like Amber’s sister showed her?”

“That’s what I’d rather not say,” she said, her head ducking once again to look at her lap.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because she could get in lots of trouble.”

And that was the moment I knew it was an adult.

“Was it your mother?” I asked. She looked at me with disbelief that a mother would do such a thing and shook her head.

“Well, I know it was an adult,” I said. “I promise I won’t turn her in unless you want me to.”

“No!” Chelsea said.

“Then tell me, sweetie. Who was it?”

Then something must have clicked with Amber. She gasped. I looked over at Chelsea’s best friend and said, “What is it, honey?”

Looking at Chelsea, Amber said, “It was your aunt, wasn’t it?!”

Chelsea turned beet red, and I had my answer.

Continue on to Chapter 78

 

No comments on I Was the Daughter of a Porn Star, Chapter 77

  1. Drod says:

    Fascinating! I’m really interested in seeing where this conversation leads to. πŸ˜‰

  2. kim says:

    wow, hot chapter, and yeah I like the talk they are having very much too. no sandwiches for lunch? hmmm, what ever could it be? soup and salad? πŸ˜‰ looking very forward to the next chapter.

  3. Jennifer says:

    Are you kidding me? Now, that it gets really interesting, work with psychology of preteen sexual girls, this story is about to come to an end?
    This is what i would call the “real deal”, Cheryl doing what she already does her whole life on a professional base, Gawd, i love it! <3

  4. Jennifer says:

    And here is my idea for a next story: The Conclusions of Dr. PhD Cheryl Katz, pedriatic Psychologist πŸ˜€

  5. Cheryl says:

    It should be fairly obvious that this Cheryl is going to make child psychology her life’s work. I’m working on the book’s last chapter right now, and that’s what it entails. That chapter should post sometime in May if the current posting schedule holds.

    I’m so glad everyone is enjoying this story! And remember, if you’re thinking of leaving a comment, stop thinking about it and leave one!!! πŸ™‚

    • Jennifer says:

      It certainly is obvious,I was thinking about your next book, based on Cheryl’s profession as Children’s psychartrist πŸ˜€

      • PoppaBear says:

        Can I play the role of the male-know-it-all, (hardly a role, more a character fault, anyway) and point out that psychology and psychiatry are quite different?
        Only medically trained people can become psychiatrists, which deals with conditions such as psychosis, schizophrenia, clinical depression and bi-polar conditions.
        Psychologists deal with your behaviour. They help you understand your behaviour, and its underlying causes, and find ways of altering your behaviour.
        The two different disciplines often work together to help people.

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