You could say I was always interested in sex. By the time I was fifteen (as yet untouched by man, so to speak), I’d read most of Masters and Johnson’s Sex and Human Loving. My girlfriends and I would talk on the phone for hours about boys, about sex. I’d sneak downstairs to our basement and read my dad’s Penthouse magazines when my parents weren’t home. I could hardly wait to see my first live penis.
And then I met Stephen. Oh, he was so exciting. He was so much older – 21 – and as exotic to me as a Bird of Paradise. He had his own apartment which he shared with his brother. He smoked pot. He listened to such exciting music – some guy named Alice Cooper, another guy named Meatloaf. He worked at a paint store where I had a little part-time job. Most of my friends couldn’t even drive. This guy was a man. I was entranced.
For three months I walked around in a haze of sounds like “Welcome to my Nightmare” and a haze of sensuality that I’d never known before.
I remember going to his apartment for the very first time. I was so nervous I thought my heart would jump out of my chest with its hard knocking. He took me in his arms on the couch and we made out for a while, and then he laid me back on the couch and took my pants off. I remember my thighs were so tightly closed it was difficult for him to even slide a finger between my inner thighs. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him there. I was just so nervous I didn’t know what I wanted. The hard thump-thump-thump of my heart was like background music as he moved my thighs apart so slowly, stroke by stroke, until he was touching me under my panties.
A completely untouched virgin, was I. Until that moment.
I remember him moaning as he touched me. A feast of totally new sensations buffeting my body. And he held me to him as I made little noises and jerked in his arms and finally exploded in orgasm, feeling so light-headed I could barely stay conscious. Such a different sensation, this, so much more powerful than the little orgasms I’d managed when I played with myself. I watched him lick his fingers clean and felt giddy and sleepy; I was a Woman now.He cuddled with me on the couch afterwards and asked me what I’d liked, what I hadn’t liked, and would I like him to try this (his fingers inside me) or this (his tongue), next time we got together. I tried to answer as honestly as possible, and he seemed charmed by my blushes as I fought fifteen years of virginity and demurity in order to answer his questions. He was very patient, very thorough, very understanding.
I learned so much from him about good communication, about good orgasms <grin>, about handjobs with baby oil and so much more. Although there were many bad sides to his personality and our time together, I’ve always been grateful that my introduction to sexuality was so positive and so liberating.
All this has come about, of course, because for some unknown reason he popped into my dreams last night. It got me thinking about him for the first time in ages and ages. I thought I’d pay a little tribute to my very first teacher.
Thanks, Stephen. If you could only see me now. 🙂