splashing in the river near the bridge; they usually did this if the weather was very hot. Because she knew that the boys always played naked in the water, this would offer Maretta the perfect opportunity to make a detailed inspection of their bodies.
On reaching the village, Maretta told her brother she would sit down near the road to the bridge and enjoy the sunshine while he went to the village store.
‘I’ll stay near here,’ she assured him artfully, already hearing the shouts and laughter of the boys playing in the river nearby.
‘All right,’ her brother replied. ‘Stay there and I won’t be long.’
As soon as her brother was out of sight, Maretta crept down to the river and concealed herself in a large bush growing beside the riverbank. Sure enough, several naked boys were playing in the river and she had a completely clear view. As the boys dived from the bank, swam in the water or stood up and wrestled with each other, shouting, screaming and fighting each other with various degrees of violence, the hidden girl examined each one with great care.
After ten minutes or so of detailed study, Maretta judged that her mission had been accomplished and withdrew from the cover of the bush, skipping quickly back to the crossroads where she had arranged to wait for her brother. Once seated there, frowning with concentration, she recalled all she had seen and formulated her conclusions: ‘Now I know for certain,’ she thought with satisfaction, ‘all boys look like that. They’re all just the same as my little brother. There’s just that one little difference between each one of them and me – and I know exactly what it is.’ She felt quite sure of the result of her investigation.
Then her smirk of satisfaction faded: ‘But why did Mother tell me they were very different? And why must I be careful?’ Now she felt confused again.
For some time, the girl sat quite still with her eyes tight shut, frowning and concentrating as hard as she could on this difficult problem. Then, in a sudden flash of understanding, she remembered the behaviour of the boys in the river – weren’t they so rough with each other? Weren’t they always jumping upon each other, pushing each other beneath the water, fighting, shouting and screaming?
‘That’s it,’ she thought, her frown cleared from her face by a wide smile, ‘they are very different, because they’re always fighting and they’re so very rough. And that’s why I need to be careful.’ At last she understood!
After this, in the weeks and months that followed her great investigative adventure on the riverbank, Maretta often looked down at her own smooth, streamlined body as she stood naked in the tub and, with a gentle smile of satisfaction, remembered the rough behaviour of the boys in the river and whispered that traditional mantra of femininity: ‘I’m glad I’m not a boy.’
There comes a time when children (quite suddenly, it seems) become taller, quite elegant creatures and seem to leave much of their childishness behind. Time had passed and it was now obvious that Maretta had crossed that mysterious threshold. It was then that a new routine was introduced into her life by her elder brother.
One day, just after she had made a visit to the privy, he led her behind the shack and told her he needed to check that she was cleaning her body properly after such a visit. Maretta was completely unperturbed by his request. She loved and admired her elder brother; he was like a second father to her – in fact he was more like a father to her than her real father, who was absent all day, every day. So she happily lifted up her clothes and exposed her body to him. At first, his examination was restricted to a perfunctory visual check but soon he began to touch her soft intimate flesh.
In the weeks and months that followed, these examinations were called for periodically and Maretta chattered quite happily to her brother as his hands probed her with
On reaching the village, Maretta told her brother she would sit down near the road to the bridge and enjoy the sunshine while he went to the village store.
‘I’ll stay near here,’ she assured him artfully, already hearing the shouts and laughter of the boys playing in the river nearby.
‘All right,’ her brother replied. ‘Stay there and I won’t be long.’
As soon as her brother was out of sight, Maretta crept down to the river and concealed herself in a large bush growing beside the riverbank. Sure enough, several naked boys were playing in the river and she had a completely clear view. As the boys dived from the bank, swam in the water or stood up and wrestled with each other, shouting, screaming and fighting each other with various degrees of violence, the hidden girl examined each one with great care.
After ten minutes or so of detailed study, Maretta judged that her mission had been accomplished and withdrew from the cover of the bush, skipping quickly back to the crossroads where she had arranged to wait for her brother. Once seated there, frowning with concentration, she recalled all she had seen and formulated her conclusions: ‘Now I know for certain,’ she thought with satisfaction, ‘all boys look like that. They’re all just the same as my little brother. There’s just that one little difference between each one of them and me – and I know exactly what it is.’ She felt quite sure of the result of her investigation.
Then her smirk of satisfaction faded: ‘But why did Mother tell me they were very different? And why must I be careful?’ Now she felt confused again.
For some time, the girl sat quite still with her eyes tight shut, frowning and concentrating as hard as she could on this difficult problem. Then, in a sudden flash of understanding, she remembered the behaviour of the boys in the river – weren’t they so rough with each other? Weren’t they always jumping upon each other, pushing each other beneath the water, fighting, shouting and screaming?
‘That’s it,’ she thought, her frown cleared from her face by a wide smile, ‘they are very different, because they’re always fighting and they’re so very rough. And that’s why I need to be careful.’ At last she understood!
After this, in the weeks and months that followed her great investigative adventure on the riverbank, Maretta often looked down at her own smooth, streamlined body as she stood naked in the tub and, with a gentle smile of satisfaction, remembered the rough behaviour of the boys in the river and whispered that traditional mantra of femininity: ‘I’m glad I’m not a boy.’
There comes a time when children (quite suddenly, it seems) become taller, quite elegant creatures and seem to leave much of their childishness behind. Time had passed and it was now obvious that Maretta had crossed that mysterious threshold. It was then that a new routine was introduced into her life by her elder brother.
One day, just after she had made a visit to the privy, he led her behind the shack and told her he needed to check that she was cleaning her body properly after such a visit. Maretta was completely unperturbed by his request. She loved and admired her elder brother; he was like a second father to her – in fact he was more like a father to her than her real father, who was absent all day, every day. So she happily lifted up her clothes and exposed her body to him. At first, his examination was restricted to a perfunctory visual check but soon he began to touch her soft intimate flesh.
In the weeks and months that followed, these examinations were called for periodically and Maretta chattered quite happily to her brother as his hands probed her with
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