Untraining Yourself Ch. 02

Saturday morning, Emily woke up to sunlight streaming through her window and she made a study of her body before rising from bed. She lifted up her top and ran her palms over her large, full breasts, remembering how David had fondled and kissed them the night before. She moved down to her stomach, narrow and toned, and then to her hips and her thick, muscular thighs. Finally, she grazed her clitoris with her thumb, thinking back to the circles David had made there with his tongue and to her needy moans in response.

It had been her first sexual encounter outside of the structure of the mandatory Festival and girl-training of the United States -- the first encounter where Emily had gotten to choose the man she would enjoy and be enjoyed by. It had ended disastrously, as Emily had given what was apparently a suspiciously good blow job and then not known what a condom was, and David had asked her what was going on and then left when she wouldn't answer. But she still thought that she had done a pretty good job, all in all, and she had certainly enjoyed herself until that last part. And, as she recalled, he had promised a cup of coffee the next morning, which was a different kind of novelty for her. Men who were training you did not drop by with coffee the next morning.

But as she opened the door of her apartment to fetch the newspaper, she saw a paper cup, a small bag, and an envelope with her name on it, and her heart sank. She brought them in and opened the letter.

Dear Emily," it read. "I'm sorry for chickening out like this. I wanted to make good on my promise to bring you coffee, but I still don't know what to make of last night. If you want to tell me what's going on with you, here's my number -- text me and we can get together again. Otherwise, thank you for last night."

It was signed David and accompanied by a phone number.

Emily began to eat, dunking the biscotti in the coffee and taking little nibbles of it. She tried to focus on the sensation in her mouth and not her mixed-up feelings, and to determine what she should do next.

Emily was used to men who were entirely confident in their right to her body. In the United States, eligible men - men with daughters who had gone through their own Festivals, their own public sexual training periods - were both entitled to access to the bodies of young women and obligated to train them sexually. This was such a deep and ingrained part of the culture Emily had grown up in that it was practically in the water. They never hesitated to take what they wanted, and as she was learning now, there was something freeing about that, about never having to doubt that you were their object of desire. About just having to follow directions and try to be a good girl, and how if you could just do that, then at the end of that path would be so much pleasure.

David wasn't like that at all. She liked that he was eighteen - a year younger than her - and a little shy. She liked his body - the size of it, his muscles, the solidness of his legs and butt, the softness of his stomach, and even the way the fine white hairs there looked on his dark skin.

His inexperience fascinated her as well. She didn't know what normal sexual experiences looked like for teenagers in Canada. The incident where he'd been shocked that she didn't know what a condom was had made her extremely cognizant of that. But she'd picked up on the fact that she'd probably had far more sex, and with far more people than he had. She was interested in the idea of teaching him something in that area, maybe teaching him how best to touch her. Although, as she remembered the feeling of his fingers circling her clitoris and then later penetrating her, drawing out her orgasm, he did seem to have some education in that area himself.

But as she thought about his letter, and the idea of sharing with him the reason for her strange set of knowledge and experiences, she just couldn't imagine doing it. The idea of telling him that all of her previous sexual experiences had been with much older men, because they were the only ones permitted to enjoy the bodies of young women in the United States. That none of those experiences had exactly been consensual, and yet, at the same time, some of them had brought her the most intense kinds of pleasure and happiness. And what she suspected now might be even stranger -- the emphasis on semen, and the importance of trainees being regularly inseminated. She couldn't imagine how David might react. Would he be disgusted at her? Would he feel sorry for her, like the man in the grocery store who had rejected her and told her to get a boyfriend? She couldn't imagine a response which didn't make her feel strange and sad. Or even an exchange which ended in sex.

Speaking of which, Emily reminded herself, she had still failed to get that particular need met, and her body had not forgotten about it. She finished the coffee and biscotti and appraised herself in the mirror across from her bed.

When she'd left for Canada, but the journey was largely spontaneous, and she'd not brought much with her. The one pair of pajamas she had and which she was wearing now were a matching low-cut tank top and very brief pair of shorts, both in thin navy blue cotton. They were the kind of clothes girls wore in the United States - designed to highlight and expose rather than hide their bodies - and she enjoyed being able to see the curve of her breast and the hardness of her nipples. She remembered back to the man she'd seen at the coffee shop yesterday, the older one in the tweed jacket with the brown hair she had wanted to run her fingers through, and the thought of him showing up at her door to train her made her pussy tingle. She got into bed and fantasized about how that would go.

"Miss Emily," he said, in her imagination. "Come closer. Don't be shy." He had taken his jacket off and was now in a white linen button-up and jeans. He was smiling. Wearing her pajamas, she went up to him, her hands behind her back, pressing her breasts out for him to fondle them. He slipped a hand down her shirt and lifted one breast in his hand, feeling the size and firmness, and appeared pleased. "Take your clothes off, Emily," he told her, and in real life, as well, she slipped off her tank top and pajama shorts and looked at the smoothness of her pussy, pretending to be seeing it from her fantasy trainer's perspective.

She liked what she saw, and she imagined that he would as well. The skin of her inner thighs and outer labia were bare, with just a trimmed patch of hair on her mound. She had long, pink inner labia, which she'd used to feel shy about, but which her trainers had mostly convinced her were lovely in their own right. She could already see and feel the moistness developing inside of her and helping to open her up. Her fantasy continued.

"I want to feel you when you come, Ms. Emily", he told her. "Good girls do what they're told and show their gratitude with a good orgasm. Show me what a good girl you are, baby. Show me how responsive you are and how tight you get." Emily started rubbing her clit, picturing him sitting between her legs in bed with her, still fully-clothed, staring at her pussy. She felt so naked, so exposed. "That's it. Good girl. Now, I'm going to count from 10, and when I get to 0, I'm going to put my fingers inside of you and you're going to come on them, and you're going to say thank you while you do it."

Emily started counting down from 10, trying to hear it in a man's low voice, calm and instructional. "10, 9." She started rubbing herself harder, wanting to be a good girl and please him. "8, 7, 6." She started feeling the muscles tense up in her legs. "5, 4, 3." She was almost ready, picturing her trainer, his face just inches from her pussy, a finger almost ready to penetrate her. "2, 1." She lingered for a moment. 0. And Emily burst out in orgasm, her pussy squeezing, thinking about wanting to please him with her tightness, about how she wanted to show him she was a well-trained girl. Thank you, thank you, thank you she cried in an empty room, yes yes yes. She pictured him one last time, a big smile on his face, her juices dripping from his finger, and then he disappeared.

Emily sat up, feeling calm and mellow but also a little odd. She hadn't been masturbating much since she'd arrived in Canada. She couldn't have said the reason why, whether it was still the taboo against it that she'd been raised with, or something else. And this was the first time that she'd fantasized about being trained while she did it. While her fantasy was a gentler version of what most of her training sessions had looked like, it wasn't entirely unrealistic. And, even post-orgasm, she still longed for something like that, where she wouldn't have to worry about rejection. Where a man would earnestly call her a good girl.

"I left for a reason," Emily reminded herself. And truly, she had no desire to go back, even if she could, even without whatever punishment might await her.

It had been less about one incident and more about a general feeling that this was not right. Emily had thought that once she'd gotten past her initial resistance to her training - once she'd accepted the beauty and purpose of her body - that her training would feel natural. But even as she increasingly had good training experiences - times where her trainer would praise her, and where she would end the session practically liquid, her little body having been pushed to one intense, full-body orgasm after another - she never found herself entirely persuaded that this was what she ought to be doing.

But what turned her vague sense of the wrongness of all of this into the determination that she had to leave was a series of events that, even now she wasn't sure if she had misread, involving her father. It had been just two of them in that large house for most of her childhood, and he'd supported her in all of her academic interests and successes. He'd told her she was beautiful when she was struggling in training and thrilled in her growth when she started finally doing better.

But when he started taking a more active hand in her training, she knew that was not a journey she would go on with him. It started with more touching, and with regular inspections to check if she'd been shaving her vulva properly, even though she'd never had problems in that area. He started asking for more detailed reports from her trainers. And, one day, she saw a copy of a pamphlet on having sex with your own daughter, and while it was possible that it was from a friend or that he otherwise did not intend to go through with it, Emily was not going to take that chance. While training your own daughter was not a majority practice in the United States, it was certainly allowed, and if he had pressed the issue, Emily would have been unable to resist. Although she wanted to be a good girl very badly, she discovered that even she had limits.

Since Emily had fled to Canada, she had not regretted it even for a moment. So why, she asked herself, did she find herself fantasizing about a training session, and not about straddling David, her young man from last night, and taking from him what she wanted, what her body was still, even post-orgasm, calling out for? She decided that the answer to this might be complicated, but that, in addition to finding a man to have sex with, she would add 'figuring this out' to her to-do list. She had several more weeks before classes would start, and she was determined to get closer to answers to these questions. She also wanted to know why they used condoms in Canada but she'd never run across them in her training, or even heard of them.

Emily decided to start with something that she'd been putting off since she arrived. As part of enrolling in classes, she had to get a physical done. This had never been something that she liked particularly at home. There, your doctor was likely to want to test your sexual reflexes. He'd want to see how quickly your girl-parts would lubricate in response to being naked in front of him, whether you'd been sufficiently trained in that area or needed to be assigned extra instruction, and even though that area had never been difficult for Emily, she still found it invasive and nerve-racking.

And you never knew what else they might want to work with you on. The last time Emily had a doctor's appointment, the doctor was trying out some theory about vaginal elasticity, and she had to lay naked on his table for far too long while he inserted penis-shaped objects into her, withdrew them, and then measured how long it took her vagina to return to its normal size. He seemed pleased with his findings, and though her body responded the way it was supposed to respond, with lubrication and opening up, she found the whole experience somewhat awkward.

Although she knew on some level that doctor's examinations in Canada were probably not like that, her associations with them remained negative. But, she told herself, a doctor might be someone who she could share her history with without judgment, and also she could ask about whether what she'd been told about how it was important for girls to be regularly inseminated with semen was true, and what the deal was about condoms.

Emily made an appointment for that Monday and tried to not think about any of these topics for the rest of the weekend. She called David's number and left him a message where she thanked him for the coffee and said that she had some thinking to do and would get in touch later. She avoided the cafe where she'd met him, even though she did think their coffee was awfully good, and she was fascinated by the barista with the shaved head and nose ring, as there were not girls who looked like that in the United States. She got a couple of good workouts in, during which she wore headphones and didn't even think about how nice it was not having to worry that her lifting would have to be postponed in order to get fucked on a bench (and then sanitize it after, to spare the next person the mingled semen and girl-juices.)

And then, that Monday morning, she made her way on her bike to the clinic on campus for her physical. She'd made sure her vulva was hairless, even though she still didn't know if that was normal here. She wore leggings and a tank top, because she wasn't sure if maybe they let you keep your clothes on here, and she wanted to be comfortable if they did.

At the doctor's office, a nurse weighed her and took her blood pressure and then ushered her into a too-cold examination room and gave her a thin, gray paper gown to change into. Emily started taking her clothes off immediately, and the nurse gave her a strange look and made a hasty exit. Emily chastened herself, remembering that girls in Canada were not expected to engage in casual nudity around strangers.

Alone in the room, Emily noticed that the office had different kinds of posters and pamphlets than she was used to. In the United States, most of what they had in the doctor's office pertained, she realized now, to preparing for your deflowering at the Festival or being a successful trainee. Topics included the need to maintain a healthy and fit body in order to be the best girl you could be for your trainers, as well as the need for regular insemination. Materials for men and women also focused on staying healthy in order to be maximally fertile for when the time was right to have children.

Emily was reading through a pamphlet on different methods of birth control - apparently there were many different methods here, and not just the shot that every girl was given when she hit puberty in the United States - when a knock came at the door. A middle-aged woman with long brown hair and wearing a white coat entered, and Emily realized that she'd been expecting a male doctor. There certainly were female doctors in the United States, she recalled, but it seemed like when she went to the doctor, she always got a man who was eligible to train her.

"I'm Dr. Michelle", she said. "And you're Emily?" Emily nodded. "Great. I see this is your first time here, and you're here for a check-up?"

"That's right."

Emily felt like the doctor could tell she was nervous. She wanted to share her secret - to tell Dr. Michelle that she had been in the United States and to ask her some questions about how sex worked here - but she wasn't sure if she could work up the courage. Dr. Michelle walked her through what the exam would consist of, and Emily was relieved to hear that it did not involve testing her sexual reflexes or anything involving her genitals beyond a cursory examination.

The exam went by quickly, and Emily appreciated that Dr. Michelle told her every time before she touched her. She decided she could trust this woman, and when she asked Emily if she wanted to talk about birth control, Emily said what she'd hoped to have the courage to say.

"Actually. A thing about that? I was given a shot for that? It was to keep me from getting pregnant, and they said it would work until it was reversed. And it definitely did because I've been penetrated by lot of different men since then. But I'm not sure what it was, and I guess I'd like to know more, if that's something you know about? I didn't see the name of it here," and Emily pointed to the birth control pamphlet she'd been reading.

A look flashed across Dr. Michelle's face that Emily couldn't read before her expression returned to normal. "If you'd like to prevent pregnancy, I'd recommend that you get on a different method of birth control. If you'd like something you don't need to worry about day-to-day, I can get you set up with an IUD, which is a small device that I would insert inside of you, and which can prevent pregnancy for six years."

Emily was confused. She knew that she couldn't get pregnant because, after all, she'd been having regular sex with many different men for the last year, and when it didn't culminate in her trainer's semen shooting over her body or into her mouth, it ended with him filling her girl parts with copious amounts of his seed.

"But...I definitely can't get pregnant, doctor, or else I would be...right?" Even though Emily could tell the doctor knew where she was from and what kind of experiences she'd had, she still couldn't bring herself to flesh out that thought, to estimate how many men had finished inside of her.

"We don't fully understand how birth control over...there works, Emily, but I do recommend that you add an alternative form of birth control if you're going to have intercourse with men." The doctor paused. "If you aren't ready to decide this now, that's fine, and we can set another appointment for a later date. But so long as you're here, and with your.. background... I'd also like to show you something else."

Emily breathed a sigh of relief as the doctor pulled a box labeled "condoms" out of a drawer, along with what looked like a rubber penis. The doctor took one out of the box and unwrapped it, and Emily watched her roll it over the object. She explained that, even if Emily was on birth control, condoms were an important part of preventing the spread of sexually transmitted diseases, and that the examination that had been done earlier would also test for those and she would get results shortly. Emily was worried for a moment that the next step in this demonstration involved the rubber penis being inserted into her, but the doctor instead finished what she was saying and asked if Emily had any questions.

Feeling like this might be her only chance to ask what she really wanted to know, Emily screwed up all of her courage. "Where I'm from...at home...they say that actually having the... the semen inside of you regularly is really important for a girl to... to be happy and develop normally and everything. Is that true?"

She saw that same look of pity that she'd seen on the face of the man she'd propositioned in the grocery store flit across the doctor's face before it settled again on a mask of professionalism. "There's been some research on this, and it's possible that having direct contact with semen has some minor positive effects on mood, but that's about it. When people...when this is something told to girls, it's a.. it's a national myth. A religion. It's not science."