Revelations – Seeking Eden

by CeeCee Mom

A journey of the heart, a mother's heart, a daughter's heart. One can only be complete when the self reaches that point of ultimate acceptance and thus a return to Eden. To make right what man has for eons denied. We came from Mother Earth, and are born of the Goddess and only when we reclaim her wisdom may we be fulfilled.

Maybe you can feel how my heart was pounding against my rib cage from there. I think if not the most difficult, certainly one of the most challenging tasks I have ever taken on. Friday night after dinner and some down time, I called Kate into the bathroom where I was. You may wonder why I chose the bathroom, and it was not for either any of the typical functions, nor any erotically driven scenarios. I thought about my room, her room, the living room etc. But wherever this talk was going to transpire I did not want her to have an association with that room in the future. So the bathroom being the most bland and functional of rooms was chosen. We were both fully dressed, I in my simple house frau dress and Kate in day shorts and a little ribbed pull over and no shoes; we don’t wear them in the house if possible I just think it’s more hygienic. Anyway I had printed out all of my Vignettes and Part 2 of Arizona Highways. I was sitting on the “throne” with the lid down of course and Kate had her little behind on the edge of the bath. God I knew she was confused already this being such an odd place for a chat. I tried to maintain a cheerful face, and this was difficult with my heart lodged in my throat. Kate for her part had this puzzled expectant look on her face I cannot even quite describe; she has a habit of pushing up on her little glasses when she is perplexed or thoughtful and she was already doing this several times before I even spoke.

I took a deep breath and first grabbed both her little hands and held them in mine clasped close together mine over hers. “Kate dear I wanted to talk to you about something very important — it’s about Mommy. I’m OK, so don’t begin to worry sweetheart, it’s just you are growing up so fast and I need to be open about some things that have been in my heart that I must share,” I began to speak, my voice cracking a bit like a 13-year-old boy going through puberty. I told her, “Honey as you know from what we have talked about in the past that some people like me, well are very fond of and attracted to in a loving way to people of their own same sex.”

Kate nodded, acknowledging this; yes this was not new and she understood. Again she scrunched her little brow knowing then there was somehow more to be revealed. I tried to keep my eyes locked on hers fearing that if my look was to cast about, despite my anxiety, I may become stimulated at the sight of the slight rise under her little ribbed top. When my eyes did inevitably take in the whole of her upper body, I felt the struggle inside pushing against my need to stay focused.

“Kate, you see what I have to tell you is going to be very brief and you may be confused but stay with me on this OK? I’m going to ask you to do something.”

She appeared to begin blinking rapidly.

“I don’t know if you know but for many years since I was just a teenager I have been writing little stories almost like a journal or diary you might say.”

Again Kate nodded silently to signal she had all my attention, not speaking or interrupting, not easy at her age.

“I write mostly about my most secret inner thoughts, mostly true stuff,” deliberately trying to add in some more youthful phrasing.

“I know Mommy,” she consoled, “like that’s why lotsa diaries have keys ’cause it’s secret and not for snoopies to go reading about huh?”

“Yes honey exactly.” Now I’m a bit relieved that she seems to already be putting this into her own words and understanding.

“Well,” I said, “how you would feel if I asked you to read — privately with my complete knowledge and wishes some of what I think about in private?”

I think you could have knocked her over with a feather at that point. “Really? You, you want me to read your diary Mommy?”

“Yes,” I told her, “because it’s hard for me to say some things and maybe if you read it instead of me saying it, you can stop and think about each thing and in your own time maybe understand me better so we can be even closer in our hearts than we already are.”

“But we are close Mommy, super super super close aren’t we? She almost had a tear at that point. I hugged her and rubbed her little back, of course we are you silly pumpkin! I just want to have you know all there is to know about Mommy. I guess that way in the future if you see me being silly or something you will know what it is and not be confused OK?”

“OK,” she spoke softly, biting her lip for a moment, at once both child and over-wise adult it seemed. “But it’s not bad is it Mommy?”

“No it’s not bad in a bad-person sort of way, but it is just a little different way of feeling excitement I suppose.” My heart was again working its way up my throat, not wanting to reveal too much in spoken word but wanting to prepare her for what I was sure to be my naughty revelations. I reached over and handed her the papers, “This is not a classic sort of diary as you can see. No book cover, no lock, just stories I wrote, true stories about things that I have seen that make Mommy feel good inside. Now when you are ready to go to your room tonight I want you, if you feel like it, to start to read them. It’s not a test. You can read as many as you like; there is no order to them really; it’s just more important what they tell about how Mommy thinks sometimes. And if you only read one or part of one, it’s OK — I won’t be mad or upset.” Then patting her bare knee I said, “If you have any questions or want to just talk about how it makes you feel we can talk anytime, now or even years from now.”

It’s Saturday afternoon now. I spent such a fitful night Friday night, and barely sleeping at all, I do look a fright. This morning when I finally awoke at about 9:30am, I pulled my covers to my chin like a little girl myself, trying to keep hidden in my bed for as long as possible, fearing inside what the bright morning light would bring. Night time is so much easier it seems for me to reveal myself. The bright light of day, almost like some sort of closing door, finds herself pushing my nocturnal character, my alter ego, to the dimly lit corners again. My other self stands in the corner of the bedroom fading with the morning light and smiling subtly letting me know that she is only gone till dusk again arrives.

As I finally decide to face my possibly new world, I throw my covers to the side slipping out of bed, my bare legs poised to stand and acknowledge the truth of the new day, my new life possibly knowing that most likely I have opened a Pandora’s Box that will never close again. My body is clammy. I want nothing more than a good long shower and a good dose of herbal shampoo to wash the night away. I rub my legs with both palms. Anxiety mixes with a little bit of arousal.

I try to imagine what transpired in Kate’s bedroom last night, her in bed snug and filled with curiosity as if on Christmas morn taking a sheet of paper, little soft fingers bending creases into the pages. I try to remember what she was wearing when she came in and kissed me good night this time, a role reversal for it is usually me who tucks her in.

Yes I remember a little yellow night shirt with lace-like trim around the neck and bottom, gaily designed with random prints of sleeping angels and fluffy clouds. And underneath, visible through the thin yellow frock, the outline her little-girlish panties. As if allowing myself one last visit with my nocturnal self, I tried to picture her there in more detail, putting my own imaginative erotic-positive scenario.

Kate begins to read a story, which one does not matter as they all follow a similar path of indulgent yet mildly sexual stimulation about Mommy’s secret desire and love for all things “little girl.” Kate would quiver and itch in the most maddeningly erotic way. She puts one bare foot atop another; trying to focus she rubs foot over foot. Her little knees begin to open and then pinch closed again. She gently forces her little soft bum into the mattress not yet daring to touch herself down there.

She sticks out her little pinkish tongue trapping it between her over-sized front teeth, like a kitten that has just finished nursing at Momma cat’s fat engorged dark teat. Mother Nature begins to weave her spell. Kate’s little soft inner walls begin to weep their fluids, drips upon drip. Like a loaf of bread that becomes humid atop the fridge in the sealed wrapper, the humidity builds; the bag becomes less transparent as the moisture forms inside the tight unbroken seal. Each drip builds pushing the next forward. Like warm lava it flows with gravity southward, the only barrier now are Kate’s little panties wedged from her ministrations on the mattress snugly in her virginal Edenesque Valley. Once pristine white panties, they now stain with her fragrant nectars along the thin valley, marking the spot of her building young arousal.

Kate gets to the end passages of the “Fidget” Vignette, the first story she has randomly selected. She reads the last part almost aloud as if in planting it somehow in her mind like the little actress she is going over her lines.

“I imagined myself there on bended knees watching as the little panties came scooting down to her pencil-thin ankles her legs spreading to opposite edges of the potty seat, the sweet bare peach exposed, the narrow slit waiting for the relief moments away.”

Kate can resist no longer her own arousal at the thoughts — now revealed — that her mommy loves not just girls, but little girls like her. Kate drops the first story to her side, and imagining herself as Fidget, she pushes her tiny hand ever downward. Slender fingers push under the elastic barrier, the last thing between her own innocence and her need to live in that little girl’s world, to be looked at in the most secret and naughty ways. With one finger pad she begins to stroke and pet along the moist valley walls. She detects the warm damp cloth on the back of her hand that has become the vessel for her secretions.

Her finger becomes her whole being now. It pushes inward gathering dews to ease the entry into her warm humid center. Toes curl, tiny nipples awake, swirl, twist, turn, seek, seek, seek. Visions of Mommy watching, she sees Mommy’s eyes, they look and watch every touch Kate makes. She is sharing this with her loving mommy now. Small whimpers escape her lips, thoughts she never had before have now turned into desperate needs.

Lying back on my bed, I take a deep last breath before rising. I bring my moist fingers to my lips sucking them almost unaware in my thoughts that I have been reduced to a quivering puddle masturbating at the imagined scenario of Kate’s secret touching.

Hands firmly on bare legs now I look down at the floor breathing erratically still, as my eyes again focus to the morning light streaming in my window through lacy curtains, I see a jumble of papers on the floor. From their disarrangement I surmise that they have been on my bed when I awoke and now lie in a heap on my bedroom rug. I bend and begin to gather my Vignettes up. What does this mean? Is this her way of saying, I don’t want this stuff, keep these bad things to yourself? My heart sinks, then as I gather them I notice something which turns my simple world on its axis. Random pages — all seem to be the first pages of my stories — red, almost crudely drawn, red hearts in crayon on each cover page.