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She had no woman to talk to, her mother had passed away when she was ten; influenza, in a city she would have survived but in their remote cabin, medical assistance was over one hundred miles away. Sasha had started having her monthlies when she was twelve, the tickle had started soon after and it was only getting worse. It wasn't something she felt she could talk to her Papa about, instinctively she knew it was part of growing from a girl into becoming a woman.Even in their isolation they had links to the outside world, they had a telephone line which was semi-dependable, winter storms would often knock it out but, when it was available she could access the internet, chat rooms, web searches, she knew what was happening to her, she was maturing, ripening into womanhood. She understood what was happening to her but that really didn't help; only her fingers did; she dipped her hand back under her gown and began to rub.Papa was running his trap-line, he'd have mink, otter and maybe a. No pressure, promise.” Amy pulled into the parking lot of the most expensive department store in town. I’d only been in the store once before, and I hadn’t bought anything because of the prices. It had brass and hand finished wood everywhere, and every department was like it’s own little world. I remembered how pleasant the staff was – attractive, courteous and knowledgeable, and never any pressure to buy anything. I liked that kind of shopping. I was intrigued. “I don’t think so, Amy.” “Don’t say anything. Just come shopping with me.” Amy took me straight away to the lingerie department. Amy said we were going to accessorize my robe for our visit to the Troubadour. I was flabbergasted that she thought I might be persuaded to wear my new robe to a club, and she tried to assure me she knew what she was doing. I was hesitant to shop at first, but the hosiery and undergarments were all so scintillating and of such remarkable quality that I got swept away. Why shouldn’t I have some nice.
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