From: PreteenLover@MailAndNews.com   
      
   Story: Fun with Dick and Jane   
      
   An Erotic Story   
      
         "Momma?" asked the little 8-year-old girl; turning off the   
   television, where a particularly abusive stream of language was   
   cut short, "why do they call a man's 'thing' his 'Dick'?  I can   
   understand 'Penis' and 'Cock', but why did they name it after my   
   big brother?"   
         "Well, Jane, it's hard to explain . . . A man's penis isn't   
   named after your brother; he wasn't even born then.  But it is   
   named after the same boy your brother was named after, in a book.   
   You wouldn't know about that though, as the schools just aren't   
   the same as when your father and I were kids."   
         "What's that got to do with it Momma?"   
         "Well, they just don't use the same books to teach first-   
   graders how to read any more.  I'm not saying it's right or that   
   it's wrong, but I miss those old primers they used to use.  They   
   taught me and your father a lot.  My brother and I went to the   
   first-grade together, you know."   
         "They say it's better now, Momma.  They teach sex-education   
   and everything these days."  The little brunette grinned up at   
   her mother from where she had been watching TV with a million-   
   watt smile.   
         "Well," explained her 22-year-old mother, "they did then   
   too.  Only differently."  "Here," she said, rummaging through a   
   bookcase.  "Perhaps Mom saved either your father's or mine.  Mom   
   always was a packrat."   
         A lot of rummaging, and blowing of dust, and shortly the   
   older (not too much older . . . only 14 years older than the   
   child) woman managed to retrieve two fairly thick volumes from   
   the unsorted pile inside.  "I don't believe it," she said in   
   satisfaction.  "Mom Saved BOTH of them . . . not only mine, but   
   my brother's set too, so there's a set to give your big brother,   
   if he ever wants one."   
         "Here," she continued, "you're a pretty good reader by now,   
   being in the third-grade.  So this shouldn't take more than an   
   hour or two to read.  When you're done, maybe you'll understand   
   things better."   
         The older girl sighed with misty-eyed memories of when she   
   and her big brother had sat side-by-side in those big desks that   
   had seemed just made to hide what was going on underneath them,   
   between brother and sister, like so many of the kids in the   
   first-grade had been.  Those had been fun times; coming to school   
   day by day to read about what had seemed like the terribly   
   exciting life of the boy and girl in the primer.   
         She handed the little girl the worn and frayed book.  In   
   spite of the surface appearance though when the child opened it   
   up to First Page, the colors and pictures were as vivid as she   
   remembered them.   
         "Momma!" exclaimed the little girl in delight, "They've got   
   pictures on every page!  BIG pictures too!"   
      
      
      
      
      
      
                                    1   
      
      
         "I know dear," sighed the woman for lost days of youth.   
   "That's why Mike and I liked them so well.  These days, I guess   
   it just costs too much for the schools to pay for books this   
   good.  Back in those days, they were handed down from year to   
   year, until they finally wore out.  I think ours was the last   
   grade to use these primers, so it's pure luck that Momma got them   
   to keep."   
         The little 8-year-old turned to the title-page, showing a   
   full-sized picture of a teenaged boy, and a little girl that   
   looked not much older than her namesake.   
         "Fun with Dick and Jane" she read; looking at the carefully   
   colored pictures of a little girl in a short red-dress that came   
   barely halfway down her thighs, and an older boy looking so   
   handsome in a blue pair of pants and yellow shirt (probably   
   picked more for color-contrast than any other reason).  The   
   little girl in the short dress seemed to fill the cute outfit out   
   like it was poured on; and the barest hint of breasts emphasized   
   her laughing face and long hair to assure you the child really   
   was a girl, while her short-haired brother was definitely a boy.   
         For the next two hours, the little 8-year-old sat quietly in   
   the chair, reading every page aloud, while the thick rustle of   
   the pages turning showed that almost every sentence was on a   
   separate page, with an explicit picture to show exactly what was   
   going on, so the child reading it could match the action on the   
   page to each word below.  Miranda got a little warm, thinking   
   about how much she and Mike had enjoyed those books together, and   
   what they had done while reading them under the cover of those   
   big old desks.  She understood things were much more out in the   
   open these days, as her daughter's busy fingers reminded her,   
   once the child got into reading (or looking . . . the pictures,   
   while not of modern-day photographic quality were originally   
   hand-painted, then transferred to the printing process in a way   
   that was long dead).  The pictures would probably long outlive   
   the present day's modern photo-printing though, where they used   
   live actors and pictures of them to make the "illustrated" books   
   for little boys and girls these days.  The modern methods, while   
   quite accurate and even beautifully erotic sometimes, just didn't   
   give the meaning to "illustrated" that those old hand-paintings   
   of the little girl and boy in the storybook did.   
         As she wandered around, the woman never went far; listening   
   to each sentence; remembering vividly the picture that   
   accompanied each line, as she and her husband had enjoyed looking   
   at every picture in the book for many long minutes in class,   
   while some of the slower kids struggled to figure out each word,   
   that grew progressively harder and longer throughout the story;   
   with each new word being repeated and used, until the child   
   reading it understood and was familiar with it; allowing the new   
   word to be used later in other sentences.   
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
                                    2   
      
      
         From the beginning of the book, with its two-word sentences,   
   to the ones in the back with over a dozen words in them, the book   
   was designed to teach basic reading in a progressive manner;   
   introducing children to new concepts in a step-by-step approach.   
   Miranda admired the way the book managed not only to teach   
   reading, but loving, fairness, reciprocation, respect for your   
   parents, sex, and family values, all in two small volumes.  The   
   woman had never realized until now how much books like these   
   helped instill community values and morals in children, by   
   showing them what was considered normal in the community.   
   Without care, even such innocuous things as beginning readers for   
   children like these, could distort the family values that people   
   like her so highly valued.  Miranda was glad the people who had   
   written the primers and published them were ethical people.  The   
   young mother almost shivered at the thought of what distorted   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)