I was vaguely annoyed that all the women of the household had the right to come into the bathroom when I was there, whereas this same right was denied me. And I found it absolutely outrageous that I was denied entry even when only my sister Elizabeth was being bathe, for I saw no earthly reason why she should be treated any differently from us in spite of her young lady's affectations.

Berthe herself was incensed by Elizabeth's unjust pretensions, for Elizabeth had one day refused to undress in front of her, and yet did not hesitate to do so when my aunt and my mother were alone with her in the bathroom.

We could not understand such behavior, which actually stemmed from the fact that Elizabeth had reached the age of puberty. Her hips were rounded, her nipples were beginning to swell, and, as I learned later, the first pubic hair had appeared on her mound.

That day Berthe had merely heard my mother say to my aunt as they were leaving the bathroom, "With Elizabeth it came on surprisingly early."

"Yes, mine was a year later."

"And mine two years later."

"We'll have to give her a bedroom to herself now."

"She can share mine," my aunt had replied.

Berthe had related all this to me, and naturally understood as little about it as I did.

But on that particular occasion, as soon as my sister Elizabeth had come in and seen me completely naked with my little prick standing as stiff as an angry little cock, I noticed that her gaze was riveted on that spot, and that she could not conceal a movement of profound astonishment. But she did not drop her eyes. On the contrary.

When my mother asked her suddenly if she too would like to take a bath, she blushed and stammered, "Yes, Mama."

"Roger and Berthe have already finished theirs," my mother said, "you can get undressed."

Elizabeth obeyed without hesitation and stripped down to her chemise. I had just time enough to see that she was more developed than Berthe, but that was all before they hustled me out of the bathroom.

After that I was no longer bathed with Berthe. Either my aunt Margaret or my mother was still present, because ever since my mother had read somewhere of a child's having drowned in his bath she had been morbidly afraid to let me bathe alone. But the ladies, though they continued to wash the rest of my body, henceforth refrained from touching my tool or ballbearings. Nevertheless there were still times when I got an erection in front of my mother or aunt Margaret. The ladies noticed it all right, although my mother turned her head away when she lifted me out of the tub and helped me on with my nightshirt, and my aunt dropped her gaze to the floor.

My aunt Margaret was twenty-six, ten years younger than my mother, but since she had always refrained from giving her heart away, she bore her age extremely well and appeared to be a young girl. My nakedness seemed to make quite an impression on her, for each time she bathed me she spoke to me in a soft flutey voice.

Once when she had soaped and rinsed me vigorously her hand brushed my little cock. She recoiled as though she had touched a snake. I noticed it and, slightly peeved, said to her, "Dearest darling auntie, why don't you wash your little Roger all over?"

She blushed deeply. "But I did wash you all over," she said to me nervously.

"Come now auntie, wash my prickly pear as well."

"For shame, you wicked little boy! You are perfectly capable of washing it yourself."

"No auntie, please, you wash it. I can't do it nearly as well as you can."

"Oh the little rascal!" said my aunt, smiling. And taking the sponge she carefully washed my prick and balls.

"Come, auntie dear, let me give you a great big kiss for being so sweet," I said.

And I kissed her pretty cherry-red lips behind which sparkled her beautifully white teeth.

As soon as I was out of the bathtub I beseeched her to dry me.

So my aunt dried me, lingering perhaps even longer than was necessary over my sensitive parts. This so excited me that, holding fast to the edge of the bathtub in order to protrude my belly even farther, I became so agitated that my aunt told me gently, "That's enough, Roger, you're no longer a little boy. From now on you'll take your bath alone."

"Oh no, auntie, please not alone! You must bathe me. I enjoy it ever so much more when you bathe me than when Mama does it."

"Get dressed, Roger."

"Be a nice auntie and take a bath with me some time."

"Get dressed, Roger," she said, moving to the window.

"No! I want to see you take a bath too," I said.

"Roger!"

"Auntie, if you don't I'll tell Daddy that you've taken my knob in your mouth again."

My aunt blushed deeply. As a matter of fact she really had done that, but only for a second, one day when I had not wanted to take my bath. The water had been too cold and I'd run off to my room to hide. My aunt had come looking for me and at length had taken my little penis in her mouth, squeezing it between her lips for a second. I had enjoyed it so much that I had finally relented and become docile as a lamb.

Besides, in a similar circumstance my mother had done the same, and I know many instances of this practice. Women who bathe little boys often do it. For them the effect is the same as that produced for us when, as men, we see and touch a young girl's tender crevice, but women know better than men how to vary their pleasures.

During my earliest years I had an elderly child's nurse who tickled my tiddley and balls when I couldn't get to sleep or even gently sucked at it. I even remember that one day she placed me on her warm belly and kept me there for a long time. But as all that happened so long ago I remember it only vaguely.

As soon as my aunt had recovered her composure she said to me angrily, "That was only a joke, Roger, and you were only a little boy then. But I see that it's impossible to joke with you any longer, you're a man now." And she glanced again at my erection. "What's more, you're a wicked little scamp, I don't love you any more." And so saying she gave my cock a little slap.

Then she began to leave and I held her back, saying: "Excuse me, auntie dear, I won't say anything to anyone even if you get into the bathtub."

"I suppose I can do that at least," she said smiling. She slipped her bare feet out of her red slippers, pulled her dressing gown above her knees and climbed into the bath. The water reached the top of her calves.

"Now I've done what you asked, Roger, be good and get dressed like a nice boy or else I'll never look at you again."

She said it with such conviction that I realized she meant it. By then I no longer had a hard on. I took my nightshirt and slipped into it while my aunt was bathing her feet. But then, so that I wouldn't make any further demands on her, she announced that she wasn't feeling well and that she wouldn't take a bath after all.

When I was dressed she got out of the tub to dry herself. The towel, the same one which I had used, was wet. I got down on my knees and wiped my aunt's dainty feet. She made no protest. When I wiped between her toes she laughed and when I touched and tickled the soles of her feet her good humor returned completely and she agreed to let me dry her calves.

When I reached her knees, however, she told me not to go any higher. I obeyed, although for a long time I had had a burning desire to know just what it was that women carried beneath their skirts which was so precious that they were always frantic to hide it.

My aunt and I were friends once again but from then on I bathed alone.

My mother no doubt learned these things from my aunt but she never gave me any indication of it.

Now it is time to turn aside from these observations, which were necessary for what is to follow, and to return to pick up the thread of our story.