Its Not The Size That Counts Ch 02 03

The next day, when Steven called me, I was nervous. I kept telling myself that I couldn't keep dragging this relationship on, no matter how attracted to him I was. We'd both end up frustrated. Steven invited me over to his place that evening; he was going to cook for me. I almost chickened out and said no - I could just refuse to answer the phone ever again, couldn't I? - but remembering my promise to J, I accepted.

I was incredibly edgy that day at work, dropping things and confusing one patient with another. I tried to give an antibiotic prescription meant for an eighty-year old with a bladder infection to an eighteen-year-old kid with an obviously broken arm. Everyone kept giving me strange looks - I'm scatterbrained, sure, but not normally not that bad. I finally confided in J, telling him about my date, and he again extracted my promise to give Steven the reasons behind the break-up. Damn stubborn gay guys!

I called the doc who was scheduled to relieve me at three when my shift ended, and begged him to come in early, claiming a headache. I doubt he believed me, but hearing real frustration in my voice, he agreed and came in at two. I hurried home, stripped, and climbed into bed, planning on taking an hour power-nap before seeing Steven. He'd insisted I didn't have to bring anything for dinner, so I figured I had lots of time. I was exhausted from the evening shift the night before, but even so, sleep just would not come. I lay there, in bed, thinking about what I could say to Steven, and what his response would likely be. I was completely depressed at the prospect of dumping the only decent, funny, sexy-as-hell guy I'd met in years because of something that seemed so silly.

Trying to talk myself into ignoring my fear, my mind scanned back through a variety of sexual memories, eventually settling on the night I learned exactly what the doctor meant by 'problems' with having sex...

********

(Cue a flash back to Sarah's first boyfriend, a selfish, popular boy who used her need for love to get her to agree to anything, then left her when she couldn't get past the pain of sex and emotional turmoil of being coerced.)

I was interrupted from my reverie when my alarm went off - it was 4:30, time to have a shower and get cleaned up before heading to Steven's.

********

In the car, on the way to Steven's, I continued to flash back to my past. To all the things that'd happened between my break up with Luke, and now.

I hadn't trusted anyone of the male species for a long time after Luke. I had a couple of guy friends (who, interestingly, all turned out to be gay - maybe I instinctively knew and that's why they didn't freak me out like other guys?), but didn't date anyone for almost ten years.

Actually, that's not quite true - I went out on one or two dates, but dumped the guy the second he kissed me. I don't think I was afraid - I just didn't want the hassle and chance of a heart break.

I also changed a few other things. As I got older, I lost a lot of my baby fat. I've never been thin, as such, but I've certainly slimmed down into the normal range. I didn't lose my rather ample chest while I was at it, so I ended up having a breast reduction, which brought me down to a still generous but more normal looking D cup. I got contact lenses, my skin cleared up, and my braces came off. None of my junior high or high school arch-nemeses would recognize me now!

When I was 24, one of my best friends moved away. To keep in touch, we both started hanging out in chat rooms. Of course we started meeting other people in there; big surprise that two single girls in a chat room (before the internet was really popular) had guys all over us like a woman with PMS on chocolate. I found the internet reassuringly anonymous; I could flirt with guys, with no real consequences. I never used my real name, or any other real information; the chat rooms turned out to be a safe place for me to reintegrate myself into co-ed society.

I had my fair share of cyber-sex during the next few months; it doesn't really thrill me anymore, but back then, sitting in a dark room with nothing but my imagination, my left hand, and a glowing computer screen, I found out that I was able to get excited; I even had a few orgasms (I'd had one or two while masturbating as a teenager, but it was never very reliable, and I didn't bother very often). It was so safe, and somehow so naughty; I really got a bit addicted, I think. I even had phone sex once; the thought terrified me that this random guy might figure out who I was and start stalking me or something, but it was worth it. He had an amazingly sexy voice, and I learned, in great graphic but verbal detail, what it might be like to receive oral sex. It was a thought I'd never really had; I guess I was a bit sheltered.

Phone sex outstripped cyber sex so much, in fact, that I gave up cyber sex and phone sex entirely. I figured the real thing had to be better; and after ten years I decided it was time to get past my bad experience. So the next cute guy that caught my eye, I asked out instead of avoiding like the plague. His name was Mark; we met at the summer job I held the year before starting medical school. He was an engineer. He was tall, blond, and extremely naïve. He was as nervous around me as I was around him; it was perfect. Neither of us had the courage to move fast enough to scare the other one. It took us a few weeks to hold hands, and a few more weeks to kiss.

The first kiss was actually hilarious - it could have been used for material in a comedy movie, if someone had had a video camera. We were standing together on the steps of my parents' house (where I was living, trying to save money for school). He was tall enough that I usually stood one step up so I could look him in the eye. We had been out to a movie. It was a scary 'jump-out-at-you' type cheesy horror flick, and I spent most of it cringing in the seat, hiding my face against his shoulder. What can I say; I'm a wimp. Plus, it was a good excuse to cuddle. And he didn't seem to object...

So the kiss. As we were saying goodnight, I hugged him. I'm quite touchy-feely, so this was nothing unusual for me. But it felt good, and as I pulled away I ended up gazing into his eyes. I think we both knew what was coming. We leaned in, together, oh so slowly, both of us closing our eyes in anticipation... and promptly mashed our noses together. Blushing, each of us tried to adjust, and of course both turned our heads the same way and did it again. Giggling slightly, I pulled back, placed my hands on his face and tilted his head in one direction, then tilted my own the opposite way. I leaned back in to where we started, and our lips finally met.

Unfortunately I was still smiling from our previous faux pas, and apparently so was he. Do you know that creepy feeling down your spine when someone runs their nails down a chalkboard? Well, trust me when I tell you, you get the same feeling when two people bash their teeth together. I almost bit his lip in surprise, as both of us tried to close our lips in a big hurry. He started to pull away, but since my hands were already on his shoulders from the minor head adjustment earlier, I pulled him closer instead. Pretty soon we figured it out, and we were actually kissing instead of bruising body parts on each other. I never realized how uncoordinated two people could be until that moment.

When we broke the kiss, we both blushed and avoided each other's eyes for a minute, but after a few awkward seconds like that, he seemed to make up his mind, and putting his hands on my waist, he pulled me to him for another kiss. We were much better organized for the second one, and before long our arms were wrapped around each other, kissing ardently. I realized with a start that my face was not wet; Mark was kissing me without slobbering all over me. Having only kissed Luke, this was a novelty for me, and I was enjoying it. Being the pasty white girl, I have sensitive skin, and I used to get a rash after every heavy make-out session with Luke's slobbery kisses.

I felt Mark's tongue hesitantly touch my lower lip, and I immediately opened my mouth to let it in. He persisted in touching his tongue lightly to my lips, teasing me. I enjoyed the teasing for as long as I could stand it, but I couldn't wait. My own tongue dove between his parted lips, and we started to tongue-wrestle. We kissed for a few minutes, before he pulled back and we smiled at each other.

"Goodnight," he said, and with a kiss on my forehead, he got in his car a drove away.

********

Mark was a good kisser, I reminisced. Compared to Luke, he seemed like Casanova. And he was so shy! We stayed together for about six months; we started having sex about four months in. He was probably about the same size as Luke, but much gentler.

One night when Mark and I were fooling around in bed, he suddenly took the initiative, which was unusual for him. We had been lying on our sides, kissing and fondling each other. His hands were all over my breasts, pinching and rolling my nipples, and each time he squeezed, I would gasp into his mouth and squeeze his cock a little harder. After several minutes of this, I was so wet I was soaking the sheets, and his precum was all over my hands. His hands started questing lower, and he gently ran his fingers through my trimmed bush. As his finger slipped in between my labia, I groaned and rolled back a little to give him better access to my sopping pussy.

He rolled onto his tummy and then awkwardly climbed onto his knees; he then grabbed my nearest leg and lifted it over him to his other side. I bent my knees up and tilted my pelvis, prepared for him to lean over me and thrust his erection deep within me; my assumptions were wrong. Before I fully realized what was happening, he was laying on his stomach face-to-face with my snatch. I realized what he was planning, and my heart skipped a beat as the butterflies began flapping in my stomach. He spent a few minutes just looking at me - whether trying to figure out the anatomy or something else, I'm not sure. He separated my labia and looked between, then let them fall closed again. Between the waiting and gentle pressure from his fingers as he gazed at my slit, I was completely frustrated, and writhing against his hand to keep up the contact.

Suddenly I felt a slight, wet pressure on the outside of my lips, and realized that he was softly licking me. I groaned; the eroticism of it made me squirm. His tongue traveled along the whole length of my slit again, lightly, and then he separated my labia with his fingers. He licked once from the bottom of my slit to the tip of my clitoris - which was by then hard and poking out, and I almost screamed from the intense feelings as his tongue grazed my clit. Realizing he had hit pay dirt, he continued to run his tongue around the area, but he obviously had no clue what he was doing. His tongue was eliciting sparks of fire at random intervals, but by then I wanted more, and began humping against his mouth frantically. The friction as I bumped myself against his lips and chin was just enough, and I finally flew over the edge, gripping the sheets and keening as I came.

The first time I had sex with Mark, I was lying on my back, with him kneeling between my knees. We had talked a lot about sex, but I hadn't mentioned my scars to him. I guess it just didn't come up. Mark lifted my legs, holding one over each arm, as he shuffled closer to me. With my legs spread wide, he had a good view of his target, and lined his cock up. He pressed the crown against my opening, and started to thrust inside. At first the pain was minimal, but apparently ten years of abstinence had taken their toll, and I was extremely tight. He got the first inch of his penis inside me, and the stretch became too much. I cried out in pain, and asked him to hold still and let me adjust.

His eyes opened wide at that. "I thought you'd had sex before!" He exclaimed, worried.

"I have, Mark. It's just been a while. I need a minute," I whispered through clenched teeth as I tried to force my vaginal muscles to relax.

The spasms running through me must have been massaging the head of his cock, and while he tried to hold still, he was sweating with the effort. I could feel the pulse in his penis through the walls of my vagina, and every beat stretched me a little more, increasing the stimulation for him.

"I'm not gonna be able to hold on much longer, Sarah. Damn you're tight!"

"Okay, Mark, try moving a bit now. Just a little bit. Go slow, okay?"

As Mark slowly started thrusting slowly in and out of my tight canal, I gradually stretched to accommodate his girth. "It's a good thing he's on the small side," I thought to myself. The pain dwindled, and I started putting out some natural lubrication. I reached up and placed my hands on Mark's strong shoulders; I used my hands to encourage him on, pulling him against me a little faster and harder. He let go of my legs, and I wrapped them around his waist.

As Mark increased the pace and depth of his penetration, I started to feel something building, deep inside me; it was something like the first few minutes of oral sex before I reached orgasm. I was panting, and pulling Mark against me harder, now, and he was grunting with each deep thrust. Suddenly, he let out an explosive breath of air and I felt his whole body go rigid, pressing himself as deep into me as he could get.

"Oh, God, Sarah, I'm cumming," he gasped. He gave a few more small thrusts, and the feeling that had begun in my tummy dissipated. "I'm sorry, I couldn't hold out any more. You are so tight!" He collapsed against me, holding enough of his weight on his elbows that I could still breathe.

I let the initial wave of disappointment pass, and hugged him to me tightly. "It's okay, silly. It was nice. I'm just glad you enjoyed it."

He was the first man to perform oral sex on me, and although he was a bit clumsy and I was pretty anxious, it turned out to be a good experience. I came each time he tried it, and my orgasms were much more powerful than the ones I'd experienced with cyber-sex. The actual sex was okay after the initial pain passed; it was something I did because it felt good to be close to him, not for sexual pleasure.

Mark's new job at an engineering firm forced him to transfer to the other side of the country six months after we met. I was in medical school, and there was really no way I could follow him. We thought about doing the long-distance thing, but decided that it just wasn't going to work. I was surprised that I wasn't more upset when he left; I felt disappointed, but not heart-broken. It had been a good experience, which was more than I had been expecting. I was left with pleasant memories, and the belief that a relationship with a guy might just be worth it.

I had two other sexual partners between Mark and when I met Steven. The first was a reasonably short-term thing, and we just weren't compatible past the initial honeymoon phase. The second guy, Doug, I dated for about a year. He was a great guy; we talked and laughed a lot, and had a lot in common. We both liked scuba diving, and went together frequently. We never moved in together, but we really should have. I was at his house so much that I didn't see my room-mate for months at a time, and it would have saved me a lot in rent.

We spent a lot of time together making love on the weekends that I wasn't on call. He was really enthusiastic about oral sex, and I learned that the orgasms that I achieved with Mark were actually very small compared to what was possible. Maybe he was too gentle?

Doug preferred blow jobs to vaginal intercourse anyway, and so the pain that I had with sex was only rarely a problem. It helped that he too was on the small end of the spectrum.

Doug had met my family, and they were quite impressed with him. I suspect my mother was worried I was a lesbian, and to see me with any guy was a relief. My grandmother and he had a long discussion at Christmas dinner about marriage and family values, and she told me later she thought he was perfect. He played golf, and that was all my father cared about. His family seemed nice; they had recently moved to another city, so I didn't get to know his parents nearly as well as Mark got to know mine.

Despite our obvious compatibility with sex and family, Doug and I ended up having a lot of problems. I was - and still am - a travel maniac. I would go anywhere. You could put me on a plane and not even tell me where it was headed, and I would be happy just to be traveling. I had been to a few places like Hawaii with my parents, as a kid, and had even driven all across the United Stated with some friends; but I had never been to Europe or Australia or Asia or Africa... and I longed for it. My ideal vacation would be to hitch-hike across the Middle East, with stops to scuba dive in the Red Sea, climb the pyramids, and just get immersed in the local culture. Doug's idea of a vacation was to go gambling in Vegas. It's not like I specifically did not want to go to Vegas - it's just that there were so many other places I wanted to go. Doug had no interest in travel outside of North America.

There were other problems as well. At one point Doug and I were talking about marriage. We'd been together six or eight months, and I thought we were really on the same wavelength. When he started talking about his parents' old church, I stopped him. Neither of us went to church; in fact, I'd have to call myself agnostic. I didn't have anything against church, but there was no way I was getting married in one. I had never wanted a big white wedding, and never dreamed that Doug would want one either.

He was quite insistent, and when I started asking questions about his beliefs, I became even more worried. He truly believed that once we were married, we would start going to church, and thought it quite important that our children would be raised in the church. Considering I'd never even been to his church, it never would have occurred to me. I quite firmly believe that kids should be shown their options and allowed to decide for themselves once they are old enough. We had discussed religion many times, and his feelings on the subject had never come up. I had mentioned mine, but he assumed I'd change my mind if he asked me to.

It turned out that he also assumed that I would be staying home with the kids after they were born. When I pointed out to him that not only had I never wanted to stay home, it didn't make any sense financially because I would be making much more money than he would, he became quite angry.

"If I can't make enough money to keep food on the table so my wife can be a good mother, what sort of man am I?" he would ask, and refuse to discuss it further. He just didn't seem to understand that the money wasn't really the point. I could be a good mother and still go to work.

The crux of the matter came when he bought me an engagement ring, and presumed I would wear it. While we had talked about marriage, we had not committed to it, and he wasn't asking when he gave me the ring - he was telling me. I am not an old-fashioned type of girl; I am quite convinced that a woman can ask a man to marry her just as well as a man can ask a woman. But in this case, neither had happened, and the problems between us were mounting as time went on. When I told him I wasn't ready to wear a ring, he became very withdrawn; he refused to discuss any of the problems we were facing, and started telling our relatives we were engaged anyway.

That was the final straw for me. I gave Doug back his ring, and told him we couldn't be together. I packed up my things from his house, and moved back into my own apartment. He became very tearful and upset; he started calling my house several times a day, or showing up at work wanting to talk. More than once I had to ask hospital security to remove him when he would grab me and try to force me to leave with him. I saw him sitting in his car outside my apartment late at night several times, just watching.