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Life is too short for boring stories

A hot summer afternoon. Birthday party. There are ten children in the garden, seven girls and three boys. The mothers sit on the terrace and gossip. The hostess set up a paddling pool for the birthday child and her guests. A quite normal, idyllic picture, as it is a thousand times in the part of the world in which we live, which we take so important, and yet so limited, compared to the rest. But why make sure that a small part of the Humanity is making sure that the resources that are available to all of us are used for them because we have just luck. And the kids have fun. All. They rage, run, bounce into the water. They agree. There is no difference. For real? The attentive observer will find that there is one. The boys walk around naked while the girls wear a bathing suit or bikini. They move into the house to change their clothes. The tops of the bikinis dangling without function around the attachment of a female breast. Because the children are just five.

The little boys are not afraid to present themselves. Perhaps one or the other mother casts a furtive or even an open look at her male offspring, enjoying the primordially and intrepidity that he shows. One can see how his sex moves with him. In the middle, somewhere in the garden, one of them stands, pushes the pelvis forward and carries out his emergency. Smiling, a mother shakes her head and says, „Boys just“. With pleasure and joy, they present themselves, they want to say, show what they have. This is normal and fine so. The smile proves it, and also signifies maternal pride.

As he stands, the masculine pride of the mother and all the other relatives, just as the puddle still provocatively advanced, one of the little girls remains standing before him and examines him closely. From top to bottom and from bottom to top. Her eyes still do not shy. Light furrows cover her forehead. One may suppose that she thinks, for after she has finished the examination, her gaze moves to her own body, almost as naked as that of the boy. A bare panty is wearing her, because her mother is one of those who reasonably say that she does not need a cap at her age. It is neither cute nor sweet, but just stupid and unnecessary, unless you realize it is reasonable that girls have to be prepared with five, even in the baby carriages, on the packaging of their breasts.

The little penis swings to and fro before her. When she takes off the panties, she must realize that she has none. This is the first thing you become aware of. The boy has something she does not have. But she has something else the boy does not have. And she wants to show it. So she sits down beside the mothers, without panties, on the terrace and shows what she has. Why not, the boy did? She splits the legs apart, while the mothers present are most likely to sink into the ground, with shame. This is euphemistically called foreign-mindedness. But the girl does not let herself be puzzled by this, takes an overhanging gesture with the hand, and points to what she has with the extended index finger. The adult, female brains immediately switch to penis association as they are startled by the fact that this is urgently approaching a developing female sexual organ.
„Look, mama, what I have there,“ the little girl, who knows neither of shame nor of the compulsion to hide the female sex, triumphs so well that she best knows nothing about it. It is not their job to discover it, except in its functionality. To discover and to judge is the responsibility of others, the doctor and the lover. But let us now start from the totally utopian idea – after all, it is a story and not reality – that the mother is open-minded and open, so she can say without problems,
„You have a beautiful …“, yes, what actually?

The right word would be vagina, but what should a five-year-old begin with this term. But how shall we call it, this object?

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