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His Very First Time
I felt like I could leap tall buildings in a single bound. I felt like I was faster than a speeding bullet. I was no longer a virgin, and I wondered as I walked down the street on the way home if anyone else around me could tell what had just taken place in my life. Maybe it was how much straighter I stood, or perhaps the smile on my face. I had just come from her house and I imagined others could tell I had just entered the world of the sexually active, although two times in one afternoon didn’t really mean sexually active, not yet.
She let me take off her blouse, even encouraged me to removed her bra, lifting it off her shoulders, and she stood perfectly still as I slid her panties down her legs. She then waited for me so I could admire her nakedness, before self-assuredly climbing on the bed and turning to me, as if she thought I knew what to do next. I had not a clue. She then opened her legs for me, looked down at herself, as if telling me what to do next, as if she had done it many times before, as if telling me what would come next, which I am now sure she had done before, just not with me.
She then leaned back on the bed and reached out to me. Compliantly, I went to her after quickly undressing. My erect male member stood straight out before me and bounced as I moved, then when she took it and guided me between her thighs I watched it disappear between the folds of her wonderful fissure and slide deep in her body. It was the moment I had dreamed of, fantasized about, and lived to experience.
The feeling was remarkable, something like I had never felt before. My hand had never felt so good as that slick and puffy slit I moved into on that monumental day in my eighteenth year on her mother’s bed on Wednesday of 1959. We had gone to her house after class at the community college and she had gone to take a “shower” while I waited impatiently in her room, looking around to pass the time as I listened to the water running in the bathroom down the hall. I studied her posters of horses, an Elvis advertisement for Love Me Tender, and awards she had gotten for horsemanship. I noticed all the pillows on her bed, and the Raggedy Ann doll on her dresser. It was surely a şişli escort girl’s room, and she didn’t want to mess up the pillows so we used her mother’s bed.
When she came out, invited me to her mother’s bed, and our relationship was then consummated, and it became clear it was not her first time. I didn’t care. I only cared that it was my first. Then after some time, and I am not sure just how long–it could have been an hour or two minutes–I ejaculated and pulled out just before as she had told me to do, and then I did something I never expected to do, not in all my years, not in all my fantasies.
She sat up on the bed, pulled up her legs and spread her knees, looking down at herself like she was inviting me to do more. Not knowing for sure what she meant, I moved forward and she nodded towards her sex again, as if she wanted me to kiss it and I leaned forward and dutifully put my mouth against her pussy and tasted the female sex organ for the first time. It was, genuinely, instantly addictive. She offered her vagina to me and I tasted it, then eagerly put my lips over the whole area and sucked her fluids down like tasty fruit juice, swallowing what I would endeavor to consume for the rest of my life, as if I was on a crusade. I must have lapped, kissed, and sucked that juicy opening for thirty minutes until she had a climax and held me away. I would have kept right on feasting on it for the rest of the day, had she not pulled my head away because her vagina had become so sensitive to the touch.
But before I left that day, almost too close to the time her mother returned, I repeated everything twice, licking her pink and swollen lips, and pushing myself into her for another unbelievably short period of time before my semen exploded from me like never before. It came as a gush, shooting from me like a geyser, landing on her stomach and she rubbed it in, as if she was coating her skin with a marvelous body lotion.
As someone who had never fucked before, I thanked the sexual gods that day for giving me the chance to join the fraternity. I had become a little more of a man than I had been the day before, and I became a member of a club I would never retire from. To slip myself between those lovely petals was, up to that day of my life, the most memorable experience I’d had. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about that afternoon, even more than it happening, was that the sensation on my penis remained there for hours. I could feel the apparition of that fleshy tube until nearly bedtime, and I imagined others could tell it was feeling so very, very good in my jeans for such a long time, and I think I smiled until I finally went to sleep near midnight.
For the next five weekdays–Thursday, Friday, then Monday through Wednesday–while her mother was at work, we repeated the scenario, happily copulating like joyful rabbits, duplicating the rapture each afternoon while mater was busy earning a living and her daughter was learning the ways of the world, or teaching them to a young and eager virgin male with years ahead of him and the willingness to learn. I was an motivated pupil, eager to learn, quick to catch on, dedicated to the act, and willing repeat the process.
We practiced continuously, looking to hone our skills, improve our approach, and perfect the techniques. When she introduced me to oral, receiving not giving, I watched her perform like a circus star, savoring the sight and the sensation, grateful for her willingness to swallow, to gulp and drink as if the tastiest toast. When she agreed to service my friend, I watched her give him the first of his life. She was his first and mine as well, and I thanked her with a grateful grin and an enthusiastic comment, telling her she was amazing.
The first time is, of course, special, and the memory remains with you for years and years, but that afternoon set the tone for me in so many ways from that second on and I attempt to duplicate it again and again, until I can no longer get it up enough to slid into a fleshy tube just like the first one on that sunny afternoon in California.
The event was repeated in the tack room at a stables, under the bleachers of a football stadium, in the back of a Nash Rambler, and just about any place two people could find privacy for longer than five frantic minutes. Once it was in the tall weeds just off the hiking trail next to the back bay, in a pup tent on a crowded beach in Corona Del Mar, and standing behind a closed garage door next the a 1956 Plymouth four door sedan.
It was moments of shared pent up passion between two neophytes who couldn’t get enough and were always ready. At the drop of a hat, or more accurately, of a piece of clothing, usually underwear, we were consumed by the passions of youth and sexual energy, and anytime and anyplace was good enough. It didn’t even need the question to be asked, a look was sufficient, a hurried and frantic look of sexual need was all it took. In those days there was no question of not enough time, the wrong place, or too tired. There were no headaches in those days, no ‘my back hurts’, or ‘I have to sleep.’
There was never an inappropriate time, the wrong place, or not enough time to complete the transaction. There only needed to be the slim possibility of success and that was all it took in those times of surging hormones and raging libidos. It was a runaway train of emotions and testosterone and estrogen. It was needed, wanted, and an essential part of the day.
Trying new things was the key. Trying everything. Experimenting. Attempting new positions, angles, approaches, and attitudes. Employing different numbers, trying out new outlooks, testing novel ideas, and we probed new ways of thinking. We gave one another latitudes we thought before bizarre and outlandish, but we tried them all. We gave each other freedoms we would have previously condemned, and we searched for what felt best, what gave the most pleasure, and what was sure to please our partner the most. We did it all.
That first afternoon was a moment that goes down in the annals of human hunger and carnal bliss. It was hurried, of course, but it was also slow and drawn out, rushed and unhurried, frantic and meaningful. It was the university of carnal delight, and it’s students studied as hard as possible at learning the exercise and perfecting the skill.
The first time may not have been the best, but it was the most important, since it led to all the others. Most everyone has one, first time, and if not they yearn for one. The first one is the one you remember, for sure, or at least we hope it stands up well over time. It is, however, hard to forget. Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound? That is, at least, how we felt.
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