S*x Ed for Little Girls

My goddaughters were four and five.

Their mother gave birth to a baby boy a few days earlier and I was helping out by entertaining and giving baths.

It was their afternoon bath – the most important one.

This was the bath two hours before bedtime.

By 5pm, they had conquered two recess periods, the lunch break at school.

They had run in mindless circles, dripped sweat onto their uniforms’ white shirt collars and created a brown residue for Granny to scrub off.

They had lifted up the skirts of their maroon overalls countless times to wipe that same sweat off their soggy foreheads. Finally, at home, the girls played inside and outside; their tender soles scorched by hot pitch; their fingernails dirty, arms heavy with the weight of competition as each tried to show who had the most muscle by picking up Bruno The Dog. They were weary from the burden of disobedience and fed up of hearing Granny say, “Put down the dog!”

At 5pm, they were called inside to wash away all evidence of these triumphs and

tribulations.

I was doing everything wrong and they made sure I knew.

There were supposed to be two buckets of water, not one. The panties were washed with blue soap before the bath, not after. Body wash was to be applied in a circular motion, not up and down, up and down.

When their tiny, brown bodies were lathered in bubbles, the four year old stooped and began rubbing furiously between her legs.

“Not so hard. You don’t want to lose that,” I said.

She looked up. “I don’t want to lose it?” And then, “You have one?”

“Yes.”

“Yours looks like this?”

“Yes, but a little different.”

“My mummy has one. Hers has hair on it.”

She gently touched her pelvic area with an index finger as if to point out each and every hair witnessed on her mother’s vagina.

“Yours has hair too?”

“Yes. That’s what happens when you get big.”

She nodded. Not to be left out, the five year old interjected, “My vagina needs washing off.”

She put an emphasis on the word vagina.