The Virgin Nymphomaniac Chronicles #3: Discovering Lidia 1/3 
 by: BlastoTheHanar 

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User 0016(Lidia) posted on Sunday at 2:06 PM PST. 
Hello, my name is Lidia, and I recently discovered myself. Of course, if it was as simple as just that, I wouldn't be writing this. So, why am I here? Well, before I get into that, I might as well inform you of how it began. Starting from the beginning can be a good way for you to get to know me. And, a good way to show you where I'm coming from with this. Because, if I don't make it clear, you may not take me seriously after I tell you that I am only seven years old. 

I know from reading some of the previous posts that the rest of you are all adults and young adults. I'm sorry to intrude on the club with something that may not typically be considered appropriate, but, like many of you, this was the only reasonable option. I hold no illusions that someone as young as myself should be involved in such intimate discussions, not under normal circumstances. So, if you choose to pass over these explicit details coming from a child, I will understand. I am sure I can manage on my own if required to. I would just prefer to have some support going forward, if you are willing. 

When it starts to get into the adult discussion, I will post it as a separate comment in this topic. This part of what I have to say, is mostly an introduction of sorts, and anybody should be able to handle it. 

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It was yesterday, Saturday morning, and I was in the kitchen. I was pouring the last of my batter into my skillet, forming one final, perfect, seven-inch circle. I stepped down from my footstool and raced over to the one in front of the sinks, the now empty mixing bowl and its accompanying spoon, in tow. I always preferred to mix manually, as it gives one the best control of the consistency of the end product. This was a good habit to have when making something like pancakes, which were one of the many foods where a few extra stirs could spell the difference in a fantastic meal and relative garbage. With my practiced hands, I managed to finish cleaning and drying with time enough left that the bubbles in the batter were only just forming. 

After waiting a moment longer for them to begin to pop, I grabbed hold of the handle. With a soft pull, I jostled the cake slightly to test it, then gave it the flick of my wrist it needed to be tossed gracefully into the air. It landed back in the pan with that familiar, satisfying sizzle, revealing a beautiful golden surface that was specked with the telltale dark brown of chocolate chips. I loved being able to have chocolate whenever the mood struck me, and having an excuse to partake at breakfast time was a true delight. 

As the last moments of cooking wore away, I took the opportunity to open the oven to retrieve the sheet pan with its contents of four seven-inch circles, identical to the one lightly sizzling in the skillet. I went about moving the cakes off the baking paper and onto the two plates I had set aside earlier. A three stack in one, and a two stack for me, having slid the pancake from the skillet into the other plate. I was spoiling myself, but it didn't mean I had to be glutinous about it. 

I had timed everything so that I was finishing up right before she would arrive. The maid was always late, but also always by a predictable twenty minutes. Or so that had been the case since she had started working my home on Saturdays. But I don't fault her for it, nor had I informed my parents. She was paid for the full job and not by the hour, so it only meant she would lose that time from whatever she did after cleaning my house. Reliability beats punctuality, in this case, and she did her job well. 

Expecting her any moment, I put the last touches to the simple meal I had prepared. A little square of softened butter on each stack and a note to remind her to try a bite first before deciding what toppings she might want to add. For this particular batch, I had added some brown sugar to the batter to compliment the ever-so-slightly bitter flavor of the rich morsels I had used. In my opinion, my pancakes were completely unneeding of syrup to tantalize ones taste buds. 

I didn't like to use syrup if I could avoid it. It had a preternatural ability to get in anyone's fur and make a mess. I had gotten sticky paws just setting the syrup out on the counter earlier, and we had only used this particular bottle once before. My mother and father didn't know how to properly pour the substance. But, even my level of expertise could not save fur as long and luxurious as mine from its grasp. Enough of that, though, there was one thing I could think of that would go well on my cakes. 

I hurried to the refrigerator to retrieve the whipped cream I had prepared the night before. I was tempted to top the three stack with a design, but resisted. Then, before I could top my own, I figured it would be hypocritical not to sample it first, even if I already knew what taste to expect. I cut out out a little wedge and popped it into my mouth. As predicted, the flavors blended perfectly across my taste buds, the hint of cinnamon only serving to intensify the experience. The cream would only serve as decoration in the face of such competition, but, I was spoiling myself, after all. 

I dispensed the sugary substance from its bag with, yet again, a practiced hand. A smiley face, with a butter nose, because I was still a child, no matter that I was always mature for my age. After that, I decided there was no use letting the remaining cream go to waste, so I repeated the design on the other plate as I had originally been tempted to do. I crossed out my initial instructions and added to my note 'Go wild with it!' just as I was hearing the customary single ring of the doorbell that always accompanied the maid's arrival. Then, I scurried off to the living room, making sure to remove and hang the apron I was wearing in its proper place along the way, before she could catch me in the kitchen. 

I've always felt that having her come across the meals I have prepared absent from my presence added a somewhat mystical air to its creation. Of course, by now she had no doubt grown used to the fact that a kit was crafting all the foods she had enjoyed under our roof, but a bit of flare never hurt anyone. I have always loved leaving an impression upon people. Rather it be through my culinary skills, the way I dress, or simply the way I carry myself, to make a good showing has always been my pleasure. 

I went over to the couch and made myself comfortable before switching on the television. I tuned it to the channel that was showing a Sonic the Hedgehog cartoon. Honestly, very few of the characters looked anything like the species they were supposed to represent, but I had always liked the art design anyway. Although I had yet to watch all the older cartoons based on the franchise, I had already seen every episode of this series, so I had mostly chosen it as something to play in the background as I ate. I will say, though, that when it came to the games, I had a healthy respect for the ancient retro consoles, and have played through many of the old games, including the original trilogy. I loved old platformers, they offered a better challenge than many of the newer ones. And, the design of those old consoles and their controllers held perfection in their simplicity. 

Anyway, I proceeded to enjoy my meal at an enthusiastic yet measured pace. Recently, Saturday mornings had become a time to enjoy some quiet me time. It used to be that they were spent with my father, but as of late, he had been spending the weekends on a new deal his company was working on. This required him to take business trips out of state on Fridays before his normal work hours were even over, and they didn't see him back home until Sunday evenings. Add to this that my mother had always worked Saturdays, and you have it that I had found myself left to my own devices. I had not been left alone, of course. Our neighbors were just a phone call away. Plus, my parents had changed the maid's schedule so that I had some adult presence in the house. 

Truly, this didn't change much of how my day went, but having only myself for a companion for an extended period each week had given me even more time to live in my own head. It was both fresh and fun, yet familiar and frustrating. Without anyone to distract me, I was finding it more difficult to keep my every little thought from running rampant. I had always had a very active mind, constantly analyzing a million things at once. It was something I had only come to know was unique to me among my peers sometime shortly before my first year of school. I had chosen to accept it with pride, but it felt odd to be alone with my thoughts. I had always loved to socialize, and I probably could have just started inviting friends over, but the very fact I was unused to being by myself had convinced me that it would be good to try it out. So far, I had grown fairly accustomed to the wild changes of direction my thoughts would sometimes take. But, nothing had quite prepared me for what path the solitude would lead me through this particular morning. 

It was at the point I was finishing up eating, when my focus began shift, that was when I first started to notice IT... 

To be continued...

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One last warning before I potentially start sharing more than you would like to hear. Proceed to the next post at your own discretion. 
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