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It would be unfair to call me naïve. I grew up on a farm in Kansas. I washed and brushed my own stallion from the time I started school. I watched bulls inseminate cows and there were always dogs running around mounting bitches.

I was, however, naïve about human sexuality.

My name is Jenny Jorgenson. I was always Jenny until I got to be a teenager when I insisted on being called Jen.

When I say I grew up on a farm in Kansas, I'm talking over a thousand acres. In the decade after World War II most people would consider us rich. My mother did not want me to grow up to be a farm girl. I mean on the farm I wore jeans or as they were called back then, dungarees. Dung, get it? I had to muck out stalls. My mother wanted me to be a sophisticated lady. At every turn I resisted. Looking back, one Sunday after church, I didn't bother to change into my farm clothes. With my church dress on, I mounted my horse and rode away; bareback.

I didn't ride like a lady either. I rode like my cowboy heroes in the westerns I saw in the movie theater in town; I rode at full gallop. I'd been riding before I could walk. My mother was appalled. "Jenny, I've told you a thousand times, you need to act like a lady."

Looking back fifty years later, I now know what bothered her the most; it wasn't that I didn't look like a lady when I rode, it's that she was afraid that I'd break my hymen and on my wedding night, there'd be no "evidence" that I was a virgin.

There was no chance that would happen. I mean the virgin part on my wedding night.

That Sunday was the straw that broke the camel's back. Mother sent me to a finishing school. It was 1950 and I was ten-years-old.

Not just any finishing school. I was sent to a place in Europe, I'd never heard of and many of you haven't either. A place not on many maps. A place called Vaduz, Liechtenstein. It's between Austria and Switzerland, and the whole country wasn't all that much bigger than our farm.

The country's language was German, but in Countess von Pfeiffer's Finishing School for Girls, the language of instruction was English, but I was required to learn German and Latin. Katerina Pfeiffer's grandmother founded the school in the 1880's. It was designed for girls from grade school through university. It had survived both world wars.

When I left Kansas, I expected to be back the following summer; I didn't get home until my mid-twenties.

This is an erotic stories site, so I'm sure that's the part you want to hear about.

Nothing happened until I was eighteen. That's when Madam von Pfeiffer invited me to her home to discuss my future. "Miss Jorgenson, you're ready for university. I received a letter from your mother; she wishes that you continue here. Is that what you'd like?"

"I don't know, Madam. I like it here, but if I'm honest, I wish there were some boys around. If I was back in Kansas. I might be starting to think about getting married. I correspond with some of childhood friends. One is getting married; another is married and just had a baby."

What happened next was the most unexpected thing I thought could happen. I was sitting on a sofa and the headmistress was sitting across from me.

She got up and sat down next to me. "Miss Jorgenson, I think I understand. You're at an age where girls start thinking not just about men, but they start to think with something other than their brains."

I had no idea what she meant. Then to my surprise, Countess von Pfeiffer kissed me on the mouth. I'd never kissed a boy. The last person I kissed was my mother when she took me to the airport in Wichita. It was

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