One Red Flower

The following is my true story.

Funny to recall that I was once so naïve I didn't realize that a girl could get pregnant having sex if the boy had already cum once. I blew Anthony off and then I agreed to have sex with him. We came so close... so incredibly close and I remember how bad it hurt with him trying to get inside me. Then my grandfather knocked on the door and that was the end of it. I was still a virgin... thank god. I started dating Michael six months later and our relationship was magic. We went out for a year before we had sex. Real sex. There were blowjobs and fingering and hand jobs and necking. The excitement of those months building up before sex came.

Then one day in my bedroom, we started trying to have sex. It was so clumsy, but not really awkward. We just couldn't seem to get it right, tumbling all over each other with his dick pressing hard against me but he couldn't get it in and I remember wondering if I would ever lose my virginity. Finally he lay flat on his back and I hovered over him and then sank onto him and it didn't hurt like they say it will. I probably lost my hymen a long time ago with all the fingering, or maybe it doesn't hurt when you're with the right guy because I remember how terribly it hurt just trying to have sex with Anthony. I sat on his cock and my mind exploded with the realization that I was no longer virgin, that I had his cock buried inside of me. Michael panicked, he scrambled to get me off him and I fell to the side as he came all over both of us and it wasn't really much of sex so much as that clumsy first time when you aren't sure what to do with yourself. That was just the beginning for us.

The next day I sat perched on my bathroom counter while Michael fucked me and I moaned. It was our first 'real sex'... the first time was more like penetration and that's it. He pulled out of me and splattered his cum across my belly. It took several months for him to build up enough stamina to please me... not that I blame him. He was a virgin too before me and the awe of fucking me made him cum quick. We had sex everywhere. In a cold cement storage room, in the lake where we went swimming, on my giant trampoline, in my bedroom, in the attic, in his house, and even in our church once! Michael never came inside me though for fear of getting me pregnant. Eventually we even tried anal sex, which I found painful and awkward. Over the years it's become less so although I find it brings me little pleasure.

Our best sex was on our wedding night because we felt free to do anything we wanted to do. Michael laid me back on the bed and sank his cock into me and he fucked me long and slow. I groaned and raised my hips to meet his and I came again and again. Finally he came inside me and it felt as wonderful as I hoped it would.

On our honeymoon we had sex four, five, six, and even seven times a day. I was so sore I could hardly walk. It didn't take long for me to wind up pregnant. I found out after we had only been married for four months. I was overjoyed to find out we were expecting twins, and then I lost them in a terrible miscarriage.

Shortly after our first anniversary, things began to fall apart for Michael and I. He started doing drugs and spent less and less time with me at home. I fell into a deep depression and our sex life fell apart. I knew things had hit rock bottom when Michael didn't get me anything for our second anniversary. No card. No flowers. Nothing. Devastated I considered leaving him. And that's when I found out about Zoey. I found a series of pornographic letters on the computer addressed to Michael. He had been having cyber-sex via email with a girl named Zoey. Furious, I confronted him, and that's when he told me about Sally. She used to live downstairs from us, and one night, Michael made out with her and sucked on her tits while she groped him. That's when she saw his wedding ring and kicked him out of her apartment. Thank god for wedding rings.

We went through about six months where every day I considered packing my bags and leaving him. I almost wouldn't talk to him. But eventually, we worked things out, and over the year and a half that has flown by; our marriage has never been better. Michael has been drug free for over a year now. We have sex almost every day, we laugh, we cuddle... we love. Michael brings me home flowers and love letters and kisses and hugs. We watch movies and hold hands and make-out on the couch. We talk for hours, make love by candlelight... laugh over burnt dinners and he sometimes joins me in the shower and washes my back. He'll rub my back with cocoa butter lotion and plant little kisses on my shoulder, he tells me he loves me ten times a day and sometimes when he gets home from work all he wants to do is hold me.

When we make love we do it with passion, and when we sleep, sometimes I can hear him mumbling. When I'm sick he plays the perfect nurse, and when I'm sad he knows he can't make it better, all he can do is hold me. Sometimes he brushes my hair and tells me how beautiful it is... or how beautiful I am. We dance sometimes, to Unchained Melody or Now and Forever. He writes me sappy love songs and sings them to me while strumming his guitar. We argue sometimes but we always make up... and for the life of me I can't understand how some people lose sight of each other and never look back. Love can grow stale with time... but it can also grow and expand and become bolder and brighter. Someday when I'm eighty years old and have gray hair and thick glasses, I know Michael will brush my hair with his gnarled out hands... and tell me how beautiful I am.