As a little girl - I couldn't have been in kindergarten - I decided that I should wash my vagina. Being an innie instead of an outie and being too sensitive for soap, I decided that just the flow of water from the tap should work. I was shocked at the pleasure that flowed through my body then the delicious pain that followed. I was hooked from that very second.

I knew that my purityrranical upbringing frowned on the activity, even though I couldn't understand why. The ensuing shame brought me to fantasies of punishment then exhibitionism. By twelve, I would imagine that the tile shower were really a viewing room, where strangers watched me as I pleasured myself on the cold floor while the water surged around me.

I've never told anyone this before. Not that I'm ashamed anymore, but I simply haven't thought about it now that I am an owned woman. Besides, I don't want anyone to ever think that I was sexually abused and just repressing the memory.