New Emerging Writers Literary Agency

Chapter 1

Introduction & Interview With Dion
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
And So ... Back To The Future!
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
How Are We Doing?
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Interview With Dion
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14

Open Book, Spinning

The Erotic Adventures Of A Young Girl



Today I start publishing my diaries. But first I want to set the scene, and the mood, by quoting my all-time favorite diarist, and writer, Anais Nin:


August 1 1914

I am eleven years old, I know, and I am not serious enough. Last night I said to myself: tomorrow I will be good. Good? I wasn't any better than I was the day before. Now here is a new month, and I haven't yet thought out how to be more sensible, how to master my impulses and my temper. I am ashamed to be so undisciplined. I hereby resolve that with God's help I will be more reasonable. Today the day is nearly over and it isn't much, but for the rest of the day I will observe silence. Not talk, but answer politely. Not seek out conversation, but work on my shawl, which must be finished at least by day after tomorrow.


August 2 1914

It is evening, I have been lost in contemplation and here is all my achievement:


The moon, my visions


The moon shines, the stars come out, a soft breeze caresses my meditation. On the right, one still sees the setting sun showing itself humbly behind the moon, which now rules the heavens. Finally the sun disappears altogether and then the moon, shining still more brightly, proudly ascends the throne of the sun. I greet you, Madam, the stars seem to say.


                                                  A Dream by Anais


One day at my window, where I had so often wept and where so many bitter tears had fallen, I saw the one I love, the one I adore, suddenly appear. Full of love, I rushed into the arms that were stretched out toward me. Oh, what joy! Oh, happiness! I can't believe it! That day I knew the happiness of my father's kiss.


The Erotic Adventures Of A Young Girl


I was almost three years old when mother died; we were living in a huge house in the beautiful Kulu Valley, North India, with nine bedrooms, only five of them ready, with a wonderful view of snow-capped mountains, forests, and there were pear and apple trees in the front garden, some of them so close to the house, you could reach out from a bedroom window and pluck a pear or an apple, in season, from a tree.

         Mother died, from some mysterious illness; the doctors were never quite sure what it was, and father found employment in a Casino, in Kathmandu, Nepal, because he had to get out of the house, and India, where he’d experienced so much love, from mother, and now it made him very sad.

         I loved father; he loved me, and he refused to hire a woman to take care of me because he wanted to bring me up himself, not leave me with a stranger all day, so he took me to the Casino with him, and I would sit, fascinated by it all, while he worked as a Floor Manager, overseeing the Pit Bosses, who oversaw the dealers, and the customers.

         Everybody was nice to me, the staff and the customers. It was a happy time, and, by the time I was six years old, I could play every game in the Casino, although, of course, I wasn’t allowed to gamble; I started school, then, but because of the long hours my father worked, I came back to the Casino after school.

         We had a small, two bedroom, apartment, very close to the Casino, and father hired a succession of young girls to clean, wash clothes, and cook, for us. When I was fourteen years old, I discovered father was having a sexual relationship with the latest, and probably had with most of the others, but it made him happy, so that was fine with me, and I often sneaked off to other Casinos, with make-up, and short skirts, pretending I was eighteen, and gambled, father giving me money, out of guilt, I suppose, because I had no mother, and I knew he was having sex with the girl.      

        Sometimes, of course, I won, and often lost, but father didn't seem to mind; it kept me occupied, and out of the apartment, when I needed to be, and I made lots of friends; boys just interested in sex, dealers, and regular customers; it was a fascinating, often exciting, world, and I learned much more, about people, and life, in the Casinos, than I ever did in school.                              


When I was twelve years old, I started reading serious fiction, because I found most commercial plot-driven adventure stories, thrillers, and so-called blockbuster novels, tedious, and could never get past the first few pages.

        I started reading Hemingway, particularly the very short pieces he’d originally written for newspapers, though I wasn’t so terribly impressed, as everybody else apparently was, with The Old Man And The Sea, winning him the Nobel Prize; it seemed a little phony to me, though nowhere as bad, of course, as Across The River And Into The Trees.

        His A Farewell To Arms was more honest, brilliant, better than For Whom The Bells Tolls, and I wanted to write a book just like that.

        I liked William Faulkner too, and Franz Kafka, and, for fun, I read J D Salinger and J P Donleavy, then I discovered Henry Miller and Anais Nin, lovers, though he was married at the time, and I adored his uninhibited style, frankness about his sexual exploits, and, though he was broke most of the time, living on handouts from his friends, and Anais Nin, and wrote about sex for a dollar a page for a small publisher, and bookseller, in France, it was, he said, the happiest period of his life.

        A year later, I managed to struggle all the way through James Joyce’s Ulysses, but couldn’t, for love or life, get past the first page of Finnegan’s Wake, though I loved the well crafted stories in Dubliners. It was a wondrous world to me, literary fiction, and, when I was fourteen, started writing short pieces for radical, avant guard, publications, in India.

        They liked what I wrote, a lot, asked for more risqué, and radical, stuff, so I did some, hiding it, of course, from father, and spending days, and nights, with like-minded friends, writing, playing Blackjack in Casinos, sometimes with boys, getting a little drunk, having sex, a little, or a lot, depending how drunk I was, and looking for something I wasn’t sure what.

        I definitely didn’t want marriage, or children, ever, I thought. I wanted to be a writer, a real writer, not just a story teller, and thought about writing  a diary, like Anais Nin, maybe a secret, or anonymous, diary, to start with, about a young girl exploring her sexuality, discovering herself, scandalous, erotic, the adventures of a young girl; frank, uninhibited, but where, and how, to start?

         I’ve always felt the entire universe conspires to help when you really want to do something; my physical body is, after all, made of the same atoms as a star; I am a star-child, part of the universe, and everything is part of my body, not separate from me, and I am not alienated from it, but as much part of it as a leaf, a tree, a flower, a star.

         Six months later, on a particularly unremarkable day, at six-thirty in the morning, at the Casino Everest, I met Jack.     


I feel more alive, and in tune with nature, at dawn, when the burnished gold disk of the early morning sun rises majestically, as if surveying its creation, the earth, and gives everything it sees the brightness of polished silver; the light has a soft glow, a newness, and speaks of a fresh hope the rest of the day does not have, before finally sinking, once more, into the disappointment of another dusk. But dawn is a new coin, the currency of newly minted possibilities, and I always take time to hold it, touch it with my eyes, taste it with my ears, and feel it with my entire being.

         So it was, on that particularly unremarkable day, having spent most of the night with friends, writing, but feeling revived with the newness of it all; happy, relaxed, and feeling lucky, not knowing that the universe was about to present me with a chance to find what I was looking for.

        Casino Everest had gone downhill over the years, figuratively, and physically; once located in a huge conference room in the five-star Hotel Everest, now it had shifted, downhill, to a somewhat shabbier building, the carpeting worn and patched in places with sticky tape, gold paint cracked and flaking off the walls, the seats and the tables worn, but it was a reasonably friendly place; I liked most of the staff, the few regular customers, and usually played Blackjack with the Doc, an eighty-four year old retired doctor, who had nothing else to do but play small-stakes Blackjack all day.

         At times, he could be obnoxious and downright rude if he was losing too often, usually blamed the dealers or other players, but, generally, and most of the time, he was pleasant, interesting, and seemed to regard me as his personal responsibility while I was in the Casino.

         This morning he was with another old man, a white man, and introduced us, saying I should play with them, and listen, because his new acquaintance, Jack, from the UK,  currently living in India, knew all about the game and could help me win; I hugged the Doc, and kissed him, on both cheeks, as I usually did, smiled at Jack, said, hello, shook his hand, sat down between them, took out my few hundred rupee chips, and was ready to play.  


My sexual awareness, and education, started with father. I liked it, and believe now parents are the best means of sexual development for their own children.

         It isn’t taught, almost at all, in school; and not at all in the same way as mathematics, science, or even art, or anywhere else, and, it seems, young people are expected just to pick it up, somehow, maybe in the back of a car.

        That would be considered crazy, and there would be a huge public reaction, and condemnation, if any other subject was left to be learned in that way, so, why do it with something so important in life as sex?

        Who else is better qualified to teach it, and what better environment, than parents, in a deep, loving, relationship, at home? Of course there will be abuses, but then, there always have been, and always will be, abusive family, and social, relationships.

        Father always wanted the best for me, as a fully integrated human being, rounded, and believed that not everything worth learning could be taught in school, and he loved me, as I loved him; he started playing with me, sexually, when I was nine years old, and it was nice. I sucked him, a little, though he was quite big. That went on for a while, father opening me up, with his fingers, then, when I was ten years old, he managed, with lots of lubrication, and gentleness, to slide it up my ass.

        It excited me, didn’t really hurt at all; I turned my head, kissing him, as he fucked my ass, and felt close to him, loving him, and what he was doing. Then, when I was eleven, we managed to get it inside my tight little pussy. That hurt, the first time, and I bled, a little, but I didn’t mind, and we did it many times after that.

        We played games, fun sex games, pretending he had to force me, or paying me,  because it excited him, and I enjoyed spending the money, knowing I’d got it for being fucked, and I thought, maybe, when I got older, I might do this for a living, and just for fun.  

        It all came to an end, at least the fucking, when I had my first period, because he couldn’t use a condom, and we couldn’t risk getting pregnant, so we stopped, except for the occasional kissing, and touching, and he even stopped fucking my ass, because it excited him so much, and he would be tempted.

        But it had achieved its purpose, I felt more grown up, understood what men wanted, and that sex could be enjoyed, for its own sake; then, when I was twelve, with yet another eighteen year old girl father had hired, and was fucking, the girl and I found ourselves alone, sweating, during a heat wave, with a power cut, so no air conditioning.

        Father had gone out, to work, and Priya took off her top, wiped off the sweat with her hand, then looked at me, and asked me if I liked what I saw. Yes, I did, very much, I told her. We talked about it, while she touched her wet body, then she took off her panties and I watched her masturbate; it excited her more, because I was watching.

        She was beautiful; it was easy to see why father liked fucking her, and what she was doing excited me, and she saw it, and asked me to come, get undressed, and lay beside her, so I did; she showed me the best way to masturbate, doing it with me, for me, then watching me do it myself, and then, we kissed, deep, tongues in each others’ mouths, the way I kissed father when we were having sex, then she went down, kissing, then sucking, my little wet pussy.   

       I had my first orgasm that day, several, in fact, each one following the other in rapid succession, exploding like star bursts, one after another, ecstatic, beautiful; I did the same for her, until she, too, exploded, then again, taking turns, enjoying, loving, each other.

       After that, we did it often as we could, usually, of course, when father was out, and, I learned a lot about my body, other women’s bodies, and, less definable, what was happening to me; then she suddenly decided to take another, better paying job, so father hired someone else, an older woman, with two small children to look after, and not living in, and I got the idea he’d had a a big row with her, or simply gone off fucking her, or, maybe he found out, or suspected, what we were doing, but I never knew.

      Whatever the reason, again, the entire universe conspires to help, whatever you need to learn, or do.       


Early morning, in Casino Everest, the place looked even shabbier, with more Staff, and cleaners, than customers, but, inside me, the world was alive, vibrant, and fragrant, with infinite potential, just, it always seemed, on the brink of actuality.

       Jack was interesting, a little odd, I thought, good looking, for his age, and I wondered, for a fleeting moment, if I should lean closer to him, whisper, and ask him if he wanted to fuck me, but, of course, I didn’t, and we talked about him, his past exploits playing Blackjack, card counting, and we were winning, the Doc really pleased, and I was delighted, Jack taking it calmly, as if it was perfectly natural to win, if you were playing properly, and, now and then, glanced at my small pert tits, beneath my thin top, and my legs, in my short denim skirt, and, spiritual teacher, or not, he was still a man, and that excited me.

       After playing two hours, and still winning, I called a halt, put my chips in my bag, and told Jack I had to go, but I’d be back in the evening and would he, and he said, yes, and asked me what time and I told him about eight-thirty then said, bye, gave the Doc a quick kiss on the cheek, smiled at Jack, and went out.                



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