Broken Seals Ch 01

I was recently telling a friend about some of the escapades I had gotten into that made me realize I wanted to write some of them down. It started as a bulleted list of things I'd done as if I was playing a game of "Never-Have-I-Ever" with myself: had some girls, had a threesome, had a foursome, had sex in public, had sex for money...

I began to remember names, places, other interesting tidbits, and came to understand my life so far as a pretty wild journey. I'm pretty sure if my current boyfriend knew the extent of all this, he'd have never bothered with me. I'm sure he's not naive, and assumes I have a sexual past but...again, if he knew *everything*, we wouldn't be the same. And I'll be honest, remembering everything and comparing it to my life with him now does leave me wanting, which is probably why I turned to writing as an outlet.

Reliving these memories during masturbation helps, but I've even started doing it during intercourse with him when I need a little something to push me over the edge. There's definitely something about feeling like a slut that I love, and probably why I got into all these situations. I sometimes can't believe what I did, how I reacted in the moment, and how oddly not bad I felt about them afterwards. I remember a time when I thought sex (any kind of sex) was a big deal, and now nothing can shock me. Once the first seal was broken, it just kept escalating.

Not all of these stories will be sexy, and much of it a lot of people will find offensive or criminal, but they're real, and I can't say I have much regret at all once I got over the fear and tension of the more unpleasant moments.

A little bit about myself: My name is Esme, I'm a 31 year-old white girl, with long, dark brown hair (which I used to change all the time before settling into this conventional look), I'm 5'4 and have been told I have great curves, which mostly stay in place as long as I don't let myself go. I'm pretty blessed in the chest area, but hated them when I was in high school and kept them pretty well-hidden. Once I got to college, I acquired just enough confidence to wear normal clothes and appreciate some (but definitely not all) of the male attention. My parents weren't conservative or church-going folks, but I did grow up in a suburb where they gave us a healthy dose of fear of the consequences of sex; it was before sex-positivity was even a concept one could imagine being taught in classrooms. But the internet was there, and as I started to learn more facts and consider all kinds of lifestyles, I was determined to do it on my own terms. It was during that time of "blossoming" that I found the guy I wanted to "lose it" to.

You can probably guess my state of mind by the phrase I just used; I was a virgin and really just getting tired of it. I'd never had a serious boyfriend, and the extent of my sexual experiences were some awkward backseat makeout sessions with guys my own age. I'd been felt up, did my share of feeling up, and once tried to give a blowjob at one of these guy's insistence, but had yet to have actual intercourse, and god damn I wanted it. I'd been watching porn and masturbating for years; I got so wet when I was aroused; I knew exactly what it was for and I absolutely burned for it. The dilemma I faced along with so many other girls (I imagined, I mean, who dared talk honestly about this kind of thing back then?) was that all the boys my age were exactly that: boys. It was probably unfair to want the kind of professional pounding from unreasonably hung studs that you see on those sites, but...that's what I wanted and absolutely could not find among the specimens available to me in real life.

As a result, I was almost 19 when it happened, and in retrospect I'm glad I waited a bit. Some combination of fear, shyness, and lack of self-esteem kept me from being one of those 15-year-old girls who have a douchebag 23-year-old boyfriend and then becomes a slut used to being subsumed by men. Honestly, there but for the grace of God; I feel lucky I wasn't targeted.

My 23-year-old douchebag found me when I was ripe, and gaining enough confidence to at least have an idea of what I wanted, be able to say "no" to some things, and then when the time came, leave him and not miss him.

A female friend from a class got invited to a party and then invited me. It was a fairly typical college party thrown in a suburban house that four guys were renting. Nothing rowdy or crazy, lots of cheap beer and liquor, red cups, and stereo music.

One of those guys was named Matt; he was about 5'10, skinny, shaggy-looking, but had super kind eyes that put me at ease. We chatted about music, classes, professors, and then I gave him my number. He texted me the next day and asked if I wanted to see a movie screening on campus. I liked him well enough, but it seemed a little fast; still, I had nothing to do that Saturday, so I agreed to meet him there.

I just threw on some jeans and a cute but casual top, not expecting anything to happen that night. He put a little effort into what he wore and sitting next to him I could detect a faint trace of a cologne that was nice on him. They were a bit late setting up, which gave us the chance to talk. He was getting flirty; I remember playfully punching him in the arm and us laughing. During the movie, his hand moved to my thigh and I froze a little, but let him continue touching me.

When the movie ended, we stood outside and chatted about it. The subject of the soundtrack came up which led to him to describe some other band, which led him to invite me back to his place to listen to it...smooth, right? Looking back it was so naive; I honestly didn't think he wanted to jump right into bed, but was just looking to continue the date. Interested, but not that interested. The sun was starting to set and his place was a five minute drive away, so I drove us back.

His place looked very different in the daylight without people constantly floating in and out of it and party supplies everywhere. It seemed actually pretty stark, with just the couch, TV, and a few sticks of furniture. He grabbed two beers from the fridge and said "Come on, let's take these in there. At the end of the hall."

His room was much nicer than the living room; it was clearly where he showcased more of his personality, even if that personality consisted mostly of weed and music festivals. It smelled pleasantly of lingering incense, like it was burned a few days before and so wasn't overpowering (I typically don't like the stuff). Most importantly, the queen-sized bed was made, so I took a seat.

I remember his goofy smile as he pulled out the record from his collection. I had some nerves, but I didn't know exactly why, and started taking bigger sips of my beer. "Take off your shoes, relax," he said as he started unlacing his own. Mine were easy enough to get off, not having laces. He took off his jacket, hung it up, and then went around to the other side and took a position sitting up against the headboard. He motioned for me to join and it was easy to just curl up into his left arm. He didn't smell strongly, good or bad, and I kind of struggled to pay attention to the music. I wanted to have something interesting to say after the track was over. That's when he leaned his face in.

At the time I had long hair, and he just went in to nuzzle it. That's when I felt this electric charge that seemed to stab through my heart and it started to beat faster than I had ever felt before, even after a game of soccer. When that surge of adrenaline happens, your body simply reacts, like something not at all a part of you, and my breath became so quick and shallow; if the music hadn't been so loud, anyone in the house could've heard it and I felt like such a dweeb. I was definitely attracted to Matt; my young heart was impressed with all these little touches and his seemingly sensitive soul. I agreed then and there that I'd let him kiss me, but he seemed to stop once he had his nose in my hair. So I encouraged him and just turned my face in his direction. That was all he needed.

He kissed me lovingly, but not softly. He was definitely "good" at it, he had a technique that was probably honed over a dozen or more pairs of lips. "Could you..." I said motioning so that he would put my half-drunk beer on his nightstand. He did, and we resumed making out in earnest. He was smooth: touching me, feeling me up, but not groping, as if he thought it could all be ruined if he pushed too far, too fast, ever so suggestively brushing the underside of his hand over my tits. In that, he did show a lot more restraint than the boys I had been with up to that point. He let me enjoy his lips and touches, heating me up slowly.

After a few minutes of it, I felt him pull at the bottom of my shirt, and he started to touch my bare midsection. Again, my breathing got away from me, and it must've seemed like I was about to have an asthma attack (I wasn't asthmatic). But he must've known what he was doing, because he just took that as a (correct) signal that he could start undressing me. He tugged lightly, in such a way as to ask for my cooperation, and I only hesitated for a split second before shifting my body and lifting my arms so he could get it all the way off.

It was getting almost totally dark in the room with the waning twilight, and that really helped him to literally get into my pants. I'm sure I'd have been too self-conscious if it were broad daylight, given my basic, non-sexy underwear, but maybe not; in any case, with Matt, in that atmosphere, I was fine with my body; I was giving in.

With me in just my bra and panties, Matt started to kiss me all over my chest and moved down towards my navel, and my thighs. His knees were on either side of my feet, and he was bent down as if worshipping me. I enjoyed the feeling very much. His kisses were just slightly wet so that they felt soft and soothing. When his face got closer to my crotch, I again got self-conscious, this time of the fact that I was soaked beyond redemption, and he would definitely smell it. Again, labored breathing, trying to stay calm, but completely unsure of what to do, I just stared at the ceiling and let him do his thing. I wanted to grab him and pull him up, but I also wanted him to enjoy it, but would he once he smelled me?

A light bulb went off in my head and I did a sit-up, grabbed his shirt and started to yank it off him. That did the trick, and he not only sat up to take off his shirt, but then got off the bed and took off his jeans. He had boxer briefs and there was an obvious bulge, even in the dim light, and he made no effort to keep it from rubbing on me once he continued his ministrations. Once down to his boxer briefs, he came back up to kiss me, and for the first time ever was I feeling so much skin-on-skin contact with another person, from my lips, through my chest, thighs, hands, forearms, feet; I felt like I wanted to devour him and get lost in him.

He positioned himself on top of me such that my left leg was between both of his, and he could grope me (this time, earnestly groping the good parts) as he also rubbed that bulge over my mons.

I didn't have much hair there naturally, but I learned around 17 to start trimming "just in case." I'd always been too lazy to shave it all carefully to make some kind of "landing strip" style, just keeping it mainly off the bikini zone and letting a brown tuft just do its thing. It must've been perfectly neutral because Matt never commented on it either way, though I later learned his porn preference was for bare girls.

Anyway, that bulge. There was no way that through the thin cotton of our underwear he couldn't feel the wetness. I knew these panties were ruined for the night from me alone. After not much of that rubbing, he sat up and this time pulled me up with him. With a dexterity I was actually quite shocked by, he reached back and popped open my bra. He got it off my arms and tossed it aside. Another first for me as I had never been topless in a sexual context, managing to keep my bra and shirt on during previous forays.

It was at that point that I believed he was going to try and go all the way, and that if I didn't want to, now would be the time to start tapping the brakes. The thought existed for all of two seconds while he sucked on my nipples and then was totally banished. I was more than willing to just let him take me for a ride, and if it ended with lost virginity, I was more than fine with it.

He wasn't at my tits for long before he moved again and this time whisked my panties off like they were nothing. He parted my knees and dove in, nose-first. I thought I was finally going to get some head, and maybe technically I did, but Matt got impatient. He took a good sniff, stuck his tongue out, and did one good, long lick on my slit from the bottom to the clit. While it felt amazing and I would've loved for it to continue, I think he got the sign he was looking for, because he practically jumped off the bed and opened his nightstand drawer. He took out a couple of condoms and put them on the stand, then took off his underwear, and just...stood.

He had some reason to be proud; his nude frame was really nice for a slender guy, and his penis, though not that long or thick, was rock hard and curved slightly upward. I think he expected me to touch it, so I reached out and started to jack it gently, like I had seen in porn but obviously more slowly, tentatively. He moaned, and I giggled nervously. "Keep going..." he said as he put his hands on his hips and let his head roll back. I was only at it for about ten seconds, and wondered if he'd want some head, which in retrospect, was an absurd thought to have. Still, after only that much time he then reached and tore a condom out of its sleeve, pulled away and started to put it on.

He climbed back on the bed and I instinctively opened my legs to let him in. We kissed for a bit more, I felt him poking at the entrance, not quite getting where it needed to go. Then he reached down with one hand and with a slight adjustment was there, and pushed in, hard, all the way.

It wasn't a scream or a moan; rather it felt like the air got sucked out of me and I made some strange, muted, bleat that came from my belly but passed through my throat without making an actual noise. As I look back on it, I feel a little twinge of sadness at how this was probably how he did all the girls, with one hard push in the beginning, which is awful most of the time. And despite that weird noise I made, why didn't he ask if I was okay? We'd barely said a word since getting to his place, and now he was fucking me, breathing and moving on top of me, and I felt completely caged in his arms.

There wasn't blood, because when I learned what masturbation was, I started experimenting with a hairbrush handle. Still, even being super wet, even with an average (maybe slightly below average) penis, that thrust was a shock to my poor virgin pussy.

Whether Matt ignored me or was just lost in his own sensations, he remained inside and started to move, slowly and fairly gently. After only thirty seconds or so of that, the shock and pain was almost gone, my lady was gushing, and the sensation, as a result, was VERY nice. At that point I started moaning in time with his thrusts. We were getting into it, building a nice rhythm together, when suddenly his hand, which had been cradling my head, seemed to squeeze on my scalp. It was a strange sensation to say the least, but one which I learned was the foretelling of Matt's orgasm. With a slight quickening of the final thrusts his whole body became rigid, he moaned hard, and then I could feel the massive pulses of his cock as it released the load. When he finished, he let his head fall forward into my neck and hair, seeming to catch his breath, and then motion appeared to return to the rest of his body as he withdrew, he cock now much softer than before. I remember the feeling of my pussy almost gripping the tip of the condom, like she didn't want to let go. She was left quite unsatisfied.

I didn't cum, and Matt didn't even offer. We lay in some silent afterglow, though now it was almost pitch black in the room aside from some slivers of light streaming in from streetlights and the moon. A little bit of Matt's sweat was on me, but not much as he barely worked one up. "That was awesome," he said as he kissed me.

"Yeah, that was real nice," I lied, really not knowing what else to say or how to say it. The album that had been playing was on a subdued track that made it perfect for this kind of basking, and a lot of thoughts were going through my head about what just happened and what it meant. Absurd thoughts in retrospect, since I don't believe consensual sex changes a person at all anymore, except very temporarily. But I was young and still trying to shake off the suburban upbringing. Matt rolled to his side and caressed my body lazily; again I wondered if I should stay, go? I had no idea what was on offer. As is usually the case in those moments of awkwardness, I opted to be alone, and when the track ended and got to something more up-tempo, I mumbled some excuse to gather my clothes and started heading back.

When I got home, it was only a little after 8 pm; my mom saw me come through the living room and was very surprised, remarking at how early it was. Before I could even say anything she asked if I had eaten, which was a blessing of a deflection and I took it. At that moment, I realized I was famished and tore through the family's leftovers like a cyclone. It felt great; I felt different.