The following account is actual fact and not fiction. I resolve to tell truthfully of my first real lover, and not allow too much time on the other two men before him, who were sexual partners. We are to go back to another era in time, my college years. The year is 1984 with the night in question happening in late August. I was two months shy of my 22nd birthday. But first, I must give to you, dear reader, the background of my early sensual years or the lack of them, per say. This also was my first attempt at writing, I think its style is appropriate for a budding sensualist and writer.
Growing up under the influence of Southern Baptist teachings, I was a very quiet, smarter than the average bear, shy, naïve girl, who was very unsure of myself, especially during those troublesome teen years. I was very much the plain Mary Jane with large glasses; long straight hair always pulled back, no makeup and conservative clothing. It wasn't until I went away to college, when I was eighteen that I came out of my shell. I made some great friends who encouraged the caterpillar that I was to blossom into a very pretty butterfly. With the help of contact lenses, chic haircut, tasteful makeup and fashionable clothing, I became a very strikingly attractive young woman of the eighties.
Up to date on my appearance as I was, I still felt unsure of sex. Men started to notice me. I became acquainted with flirting and its benefits, as I practiced my kissing techniques and the thrill of being desired. I waited and saved my virginity until I met the man I thought I loved. In the end, at twenty-one, I not only lost my virgin airs but also my virgin heart. When he and I progressed to the stage in dating, where you are either intimate or departed, I chose intimacy without telling him that I was still a virgin, something that I was ashamed of being. The experience was a disaster. He couldn't understand why I didn't comprehend his commands or moves during the act. It wasn't until he saw the blood stained sheets that he understood. This proved to be too much for him; having the responsibly of a virgin in love. So about a week after our one night together, he told me that he couldn't handle my innocence. He preferred an experienced girlfriend, and was sorry because he didn't want to hurt me. He was a little late in the hurt department.
I went back to dating and partying with my friends, while still not understanding men or sex. Two months later, I met another guy that I really liked, thus deciding to try again. The results were a complete disaster. I told him of my inexperience, so that he would be forewarned and patient. I don't think that he was as experienced as he said. We fumbled around in the bed, neither achieving whatever our goals were supposed to be. He kept repeating to me how sex with me was no fun. What confidence I had started to accumulate, plummeted to the ground. I do remember that he told me to kiss his thighs and hips. Wanting to make up for being such a terrible lay, I did. Suddenly he had his cock in hand rubbing it across my mouth, telling me to open up. As soon as my lips closed around his throbbing prick, he came. The taste was God-awful. I knew then that come had to be green in color, because the taste was horrible.
Our failure at sex made our relationship deteriorate rapidly. I had already decided that sex wasn't for me. I would be friends with guys, flirt and dance with them while clubbing and maybe have an occasional date, but no sex. Anyway, what was the big deal about it, because I saw none.
The summer came and I decided to spend it employed as a nursing assistant at a youth camp located in the North Carolina Mountains. It was fun work. The children were great and I got to see some breathtaking sunsets. I discovered the art of self-pleasure while there at camp. It happened when several of the female counselors were in my cabin one rainy night. One of them had a woman's magazine, which had an article about the techniques of masturbation. We made jokes and laughed as she read it out loud. That night when I was alone I explored. What a discovery! I never imagined that I could feel this good this way. I mastered my self-pleasure all that summer. It did something for my self-esteem. I knew my body, how it felt under my fingers, and how to make it sing such a sweet song. I did this all alone, not needing men. I had myself. With this armed knowledge, I headed back to college.
On my first night back, I was dying to go out to the bars I loved and socialize with the people I missed all summer. My roommate, Joyce and I were preparing for the evening when a guy she had dated during the spring semester, called asking us to come over for a drink, so that we could meet his new roommate and for Joyce to see his new computer. I didn't want to go because they always tried to set me up with his friends, I didn't want to waste the night there. The neon lights of the bars were calling me. With her swearing on her mother's grave to make the visit brief, I agreed to go.
