Dorsai - Jan and I

Paul and I had been friends for years – long enough that he and I had spent enough time together that his kids called me "Uncle Dan", even though they knew I wasn't related. Several years before, he had divorced from his wife, on grounds of 'incompatibility'. The divorce was relatively amicable, and when his wife decided to move to another state, he got custody of the kids.

There were 3 of them: Jan (whom I called 'Trouble', because she never was), 14, was cute as the proverbial bug's ear at about 5 foot 6 inches tall, 80 to 90 pounds, and with a slender – but nicely curved – build. Leo, at 10, was undoubtedly the smartest of the bunch (prompting me to call him 'Brainiac'), which sometimes got him into trouble. Finally, there was John (who earned the nickname of 'Goober'), at 7, and something of a little hellion.

Paul and I were close enough that he trusted me to watch out for the kids when he had to make a trip out of town. Fortunately, the kids*knew* that he loved them more than anything else in the world, and that his trips were a part of what he did to make sure they had the things they needed. These trips were of varying lengths, due to his job as a truly exceptional salesman – he made damn good money from his commissions. Looking after the kids usually just involved getting them to and from the Catholic school they attended, making sure they ate properly, and infrequently, getting someone to a volleyball (Jan), soccer (John), or Karate (Leo) session. Surprisingly, they got along reasonably well – only rarely was it necessary to break up any arguments or (even rarer) an actual fight. The kids and I were close enough, in fact, that they frequently came to me with questions or problems they didn't think they could take to Paul. Paul and I had talked about it, and he didn't have any problem with me giving them suggestions and advice.

He wasn't real happy about it, but realized that it was better the kids go to someone he trusted, than not have their questions or problems settled at all.

It was while Paul was on one of his weekend trips that I got my first good look at Jan. Paul had left early Saturday, and asked me to stop in that morning to get the kids up. I started, as usual, with Jan. By waking her first, she'd be able to help with getting things going and organized while I tried to raise the boys from the dead (right sound sleepers, they were). I knocked on her door, and after not hearing anything for a few seconds, opened it – only to be greeted with the sight of Jan holding her right breast (about the size of half an orange, with a light brown nipple) with her right hand, and with her left hand buried in her (lightly brown-furred) crotch. It was only a moment before she realized she wasn't alone (barely time enough for the door to open), and when her eyes opened and she saw me, she gave a little squeak, and snatched the bedcovers over herself. I quickly apologized for disturbing her, and said that I'd only wanted to wake her up for breakfast. That said, I apologized again, and closed the door, heading off to wake the boys.

As I was trying to get the boys up, I heard her take care of her morning ablutions; she was in the kitchen getting herself some breakfast by the time I finally got Leo and John moving.

When I entered, she looked at me, started blushing, and began acting very nervous. I figured she was just embarrassed, and figured the best thing I could do was to simply ignore it for the moment, and got myself a cup of coffee (ah, the nectar of life!).

About that time, the boys made their appearance, and breakfast started with the usual minor bickering and indecision on the boys' part. Finally, though, breakfast was done, and Leo and John headed off to the local park in search of something to do.

Jan was cleaning the kitchen as I cleared the table, and I noticed that she was still rather nervous – frequent glances at me, starting to speak several times before stopping herself, and so on. I finally asked her if she would sit down at the table with me for a moment – which resulted in her looking both relieved, and even more nervous or frightened.

When I'd gotten a refill, and she was seated, I started out by telling her "Jan, I'm sorry I disturbed you this morning. I knocked, and didn't hear any answer, so I thought it was okay to come in; I didn't know you were busy." – which earned me the brightest blush I'd ever seen.

I followed up by saying "There's nothing for you to be embarrassed about; that's something that everybody does. I'm just sorry that I interrupted you, and embarrassed you. Next time, I'll knock louder, and wait a bit longer before opening the door."

That got me another blush (not so much this time), and Jan started to reply before stopping herself.

"What? Did you want to say something?" I asked.

She was staring into her lap, and hesitated a moment before answering, "You mean that you're not mad? You're not going to tell Daddy or Father Thomas at school?"

Surprised, I said "No, why would I be mad? Like I said, it's something everybody does. And why would I want to tell your dad or Father Thomas?"

"Because Father Thomas and the nuns say that's a sin." She replied.

"Jan, what you were doing is called masturbation. Maybe the church calls it a sin, but I – and a lot of other people – don't think of it that way, at all. It's something that everybody has done at some point in their lives; usually when they're about the same age you are now. Maybe the church doesn't like it, but that's not something I want to argue about."

"You mean it's not a sin?"

"No, I didn't say that. I'm saying that I don't agree with the church: they say it's a sin and can cause bad things to happen. I don't think that way about it. If Father Thomas had seen you, he would have a different opinion, I expect; but it was ME that interrupted you, and I'M telling you that*I* don't think you were doing anything wrong. In case you hadn't noticed, I've told you that I'm sorry for disturbing you – I don't think that's what someone would say if they thought what you were doing was bad, or a sin, right?"

She smiled (and blushed) a bit, and answered, "No, I guess not. But why do Father Thomas and the nuns tell us not to do that, then?"

"Jan, you know that there are things about being Catholic that are different from the ways of other churches, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"This is one of those things that the church decided, probably a long time ago, and I suspect that they've been saying it for so long that they couldn't change it now, even if they wanted to. If you want to know why the church thinks it's a sin, you'll have to ask Father Thomas or one of the nuns. I promise you,*I* sure as heck don't know!"

She smiled again, and told me "I don't understand a lot of the stuff that they tell us – and they don't hardly tell us anything! "

"What do you mean 'anything'?"

"Well, like about sex and stuff. I mean, they just tell us don't do it until you're married, but they don't say WHY. I didn't even understand for the longest time that what I was doing" – another blush – "was the 'masturbation' they were talking about."

"Jan, don't they have any kind of sex education or classes about your body at school?"

"Not really. I mean, they showed us a couple of little movies that told us boys were different from girls, and a little bit of how, but they didn't actually*tell* us anything we didn't already know."

"Do you at least know the names of the parts and all that?" I asked.

"Um, no, not much."

I sighed. Why is it so many so-called adults are so willing to treat teenagers like kids, and then complain that that's what they act like? How are kids supposed to learn if nobody's willing to not only tell them, but *teach* them, and explain to them?