Woman remembers her first love, when she lost her virginity on Valentine's Day.
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I lost my virginity on Valentine's Day, my birthday, twenty years ago. I was just a kid, 19-years-old. The uncomfortable pain and apprehension that I felt that first time didn't compare to the pain and consternation that I felt later, when he didn't call me. Because it was such a big deal back then, my first love taking my virginity, especially every Valentine's Day and every birthday, I wonder what happened to Charles.
Never having had sex before, being so careful who I gave my body, I never figured he wouldn't call me. I remember being so excited that night, after it was over and the next day telling my friends about him. I looked upon him as if he was my boyfriend. I actually thought I loved him. Certainly, I thought he cared for me. Only it was over before it even started.
In the course of the year, whenever I'm having a bad day, I sometimes think of him. He was so different from the boys back home. He had a cocky know-it-all self-confident attitude about him and I was just a country hick.
An ageless man, it's weird how I still think of him and even weirder how I still think of him in the same way that he looked twenty years ago. Why, after twenty-years, do I still think about him? Had it not been my birthday, had it not been Valentine's Day, and maybe had it not been my first time, perhaps I wouldn't have remembered him and the clumsy sexual experience, as if it was yesterday, but I do.
Filled with regret, when I remember him and our short time together, I'm still embarrassed by my naiveté. He was the first man who not only saw me naked but also who also touched me everywhere. Even though I resisted, even though I protested, before I could regain my composure, he had one hand up under my sweater and bra, while fingering my nipple and the other down the front of my pants and fingering my clit.
Admittedly I had a little too much to drink at a dorm party and he had me out of my clothes before I realized it. Sure, I was attracted to him but, our first time together, I never thought I'd be naked and having sex with him in his room. Especially for the first time, a little romance would have been nice, maybe a movie and dinner, before having him take my virginity.
I had a lot of firsts that night. His was the first penis I ever saw, touched, stroked, sucked, and fucked. I was such a dork, only crossing that sexual line was such a big deal for me, apparently so big of a deal that even twenty years later, I can't get him out of my mind.
In the years that passed and the sexual relationships I had, going from ash blonde to platinum, as if the lightening of my hair color corresponded with and was an indication of my sexual enlightenment, growth, and maturity, had I not married, I'd probably be bald today from bleaching my hair, before allowing it to return to more its natural color. I've had sex with several men after Charles, before I married my husband, Andy, but the one that I remember, the one that haunts me, is Charles, the first one. I don't know why.
I don't even remember the names of some of the others that I liked well enough to give them my body, my time, and my affection. Huffing, puffing, sweating, and cumming, while on top of me, they all had more than a hand, no pun intended, in my sexual development. Only, I can't even recall what they all looked like.
It was so very long ago, but longer for Charles and yet, I still remember him. Now that I look back, Charles was different. More the ladies man, he was a player. Only, I didn't know that at the time. I just thought he liked me and I sure liked him enough to allow him to deflower me.
I remember his name, what he looked like, his laugh, his manner, and even voice. It's an evil joke to still have him in my head in the way that I do, especially now that my marriage is unsatisfying and empty, so far as sex is concerned. I love my husband, of course, but the flame that we once had that boiled our passion and fueled our desire has simmered to a friendly warmth, when spooning, before falling asleep. I wonder what my life would have been like had I married Charles, instead of Andy. Probably a Hell with Charles cheating on me, only always thinking that I could have changed him, he didn't give me that chance.
It's funny that Charles was the only one night stand I had, yet I remember him more than I do the other men in my life with whom I had longer relationships. Why is that? Something that only a psychologist could unravel, maybe because he was the one who got away and the one that I didn't control by ending the relationship myself, is why I feel my business with him is still unfinished. He was the only one who rejected me. He made me feel so special and then he made me feel that I wasn't good enough for him.
Was the sex that bad? Probably, no doubt, it was. I realize now, after having had sex with others that the sex wasn't any good. Only, if it wasn't any good for him, he didn't show it. I remember him having a good time. I remember he really liked my tits and my ass. I remember him telling me that I had a good body and that I was so very pretty. Growing up on the farm with four brothers, I wasn't used to getting compliments and I swooned with all the attention he paid me.
I was so nervous, terrified, actually. I was more embarrassed than excited, especially when I farted from him pounding me into the thin dorm mattress that he had. He was a college senior and I was just a freshman. He knew everything about the school and the campus and I had just arrived there from out of state.
It was my first trip anywhere without my parents. It was my first college party. Trying to be so cool, I was scared. I was drunk. I was so stupid. I could have gotten pregnant. I'm so glad he had a condom and that I had the presence of mind to insist that he use it.
On more than one occasion, typically when I'm bored, lonely, and/or horny, especially when I'm horny, which has been all the time lately, now that I've reached my sexual peak and Andy is busy with work, I think of Charles. Tired from having worked all week long, Andy is satisfied with just a hand job or a blowjob, but I'm looking for, wanting, and needing more. I have the urge to find him and see how he turned out and what he looks like now, twenty years later. No doubt, an ulterior motive would be to see if we had a spark and what would happen if we did.
A nice fantasy to have, I never had an extramarital affair, but sometimes I think about kissing him. I don't remember kissing him, just fucking him. Sometimes I think about him making love to me, only this time, now that I'm more sexually experienced and know what I want and what to do to get it, the sex, no doubt, would be better.
Only, I'm hoping, that if I did find him and have an affair that the sex would be the same and not very good. Then, finally, I could have closure and forget him, instead of carrying him around in my head for the rest of my life. He's always there in bed with me, sometimes when I'm with Andy, but mostly, after Andy leaves for work, especially whenever I'm touching myself. Feeling that I may have made a mistake and wasted my life with the wrong man, I've been thinking more about having an affair now that my fortieth birthday is quickly approaching.
I was so young and so naive. I thought I was in love and I thought he was the one. I truly thought that he loved me. I was so dumb to freely give him what he wanted on the hopes that he'd give me what I wanted. Only the loss of my virginity was a one-sided and lop-sided sexual experience.
I was so wrong, of course, and as soon as he deflowered me, everything changed. It was as if he didn't even like me anymore. Acting as if he didn't know me, he never called me. He ignored me, whenever I saw him around campus. I was crushed and cried for weeks. I was glad, relieved, when he graduated a few short months later to spare me from continually bumping into him on campus. Yet, even though I felt humiliated, as I did then and still do now, I thought of him. He weighed heavily on my mind, as if he was still on top of me and inside of me.
