Sexual History of a Man

I was a pretty wild teenager, by the standards of my family and many of my friends. Although I attended a Catholic school, and made good grades, I drank beer, drag raced my car, and worked very hard at trying to have sex with every attractive girl I saw.

I was always told I was a good looking guy, with a pleasant personality and I guess it was true, because I could get a date with almost any girl I chose. It was during the actual date that the problems started. I always found interesting topics of conversation to discuss with the girl, usually discovered shared interests we could enjoy together, and by the end of the night had become pals. While I could count on one hand the girls I had French kissed, it would take a computer to record the ones who called me their "Big Brother" or best friend.

My friend Bill, laughed at me, because I dated pretty, intelligent girls, and remained a virgin, while he was dating, uh, let's say, more open and willing girls and having great success.

So I asked out one girl who had a reputation as a slut. The word on the street was that no guy had ever dated her and failed to score. We went to a drive in movie theater, where a Disney flick was showing. Before the credits had finished running, she was in my arms and I was kissing her. Her blouse was unbuttoned before the heroine even met a wicked witch, and her bra was off by the first bite of the apple. I was in heaven.

Then Wanda said something really clever about the movie, and that started us on a conversation about fairy tales and the motion picture industry. Damn, she was smart and witty, and I almost missed that part of her. We talked about her dreams and desires; I told her about my ambitions. As the heroine and the Prince began their presumed "happy ever after," Wanda was putting her bra back on, buttoning up her blouse, and saying "I never actually watched a movie all the way through before, except with my parents."

Yes, sure, we went to a well-known "lovers' lane" after the show, but by that time we were destined to be friends, The final nail in the coffin of my desire was when she smiled at me, as I was plotting how I could get her pants off, and said "You're the first boy I ever dated that didn't try to have sex with me." Shit, if I had tried any harder, I would have had a coronary!

Skipping ahead, here. No I never slept with Wanda, and five years later, she called me to tell me she was engaged. I said "Great, honey. Why did you call me?"

'Because, if you want me to, I'll break up with him. I've always loved you, you know."

Note to self: How did you miss that?

There were many others, beautiful girls, not-so beautiful girls. They all liked me. They kissed me; they invited me to the dance, and told me their troubles while crying on my shoulder. But there was one thing they didn't do -- unanimously. They did not have sex with me.

Then one night, my friend called and invited me to a party at his house. It was nothing special, just a few kids over to play board games, and they needed one more guy to even things up. I walked in the door and WHAM! No...just kidding...there was no WHAM. No fireworks, no bells and whistles, just a few pretty teenaged girls and some boys I mostly knew. There was one couple I had not met and while I thought she was the prettiest of the girls, I was a little intimidated by his size and demeanor.

My friend saw me come in and hollered, "Hey does everyone know Grant?" Everyone acknowledged that they had had the pleasure, except the one couple I had already spotted. Quick but adequate introductions followed, establishing that I was Grant, she was Crystal and he was her brother, at which point he no longer existed for me. I also learned that he was my age, 19, and his sister had just turned 18 and was a student at the local Junior College.

We began playing some parlor game, and it became obvious that my friendly host had his eye on Crystal, and she seemed to divide her attention between the two of us. When her brother left early, I asked if I could drive her home and she agreed but said that I would have to drop off her friend Pat also. At this point, my friend showed what a good friend he was and agreed to be "with" Pat, at least for the ride home.

I know most of these stories would have an massive orgy on the way home, but life ain't like that -- at least not my life -- at least not back then. What did happen --typical of my experience with girls- was that a hot song came on the radio and I stopped the car in the middle of an intersection and both couple got out and started dancing. It was fun- until another car drove into the intersection and we had to leave, but we were all laughing and deep inside I knew I had met a special girl. I kissed her lightly on the lips as I dropped her at the front door.

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A few months later, we were going steady. Our kisses had advanced to hard, moist bouts of passion, stretching for hours every night. I had acquainted myself with the feel and taste of her smallish, sensitive breasts, and...nothing!

That's all- kissing, feeling, suckling. Period.

One Wednesday, as I was getting ready to leave the house, my phone rang, and Crystal told me she was staying home from school, because she didn't feel well. She asked if I could come by and check on her later to see if she needed anything. Wild horses, as they say, couldn't have kept me away. I put in a few hours at my part-time job and, as soon as possible, punched my time card and headed for Crystal's house. Visions of her lovely form, draped only in a sheer nylon nightie danced in my head and reverberated in my other areas of interest.

I grabbed a Dr. Pepper, her favorite drink, and drove up to her home. When she opened the door, I was somewhat disappointed because in place of the imagined sheer nightie, she wore her usual jeans and pullover shirt. The Dr. Pepper was accepted graciously and I demanded payment. I was given a kiss worth a few cases of Courvoisier and we retired to the sofa for further recompense..

I do not know what the malady was that affected my love, but it clearly raised the temperature of our interaction. Her kisses were no longer soft and sweet; rather they were hard, probing and demanding. My body was responding in all my teenage hormonal rage. My penis was struggling in a hopeless fight to rip out the crotch on my Levis, and my body heat was threatening to ignite the apartment. As we kissed, I pulled her shirt up and over her head with no resistance, and was thrilled to see that she had not bothered to wear a bra. I leaned down and took one tender nipple in my mouth and tasted it carefully, causing her to gasp with delight. (Remember we are dealing with two virgins here. Delight came easy in those days) I left that breast and moved on to the other, leaving my hand in charge of occupying the abandoned territory. I sucked, kissed and caressed those lovely mounds for what seemed to be hours, but may have actually been about ten minutes and realized that we were both rising to new heights of passion. I lay down on my back on the sofa and pulled her up so that her breasts were even with my mouth. As my mouth sucked and kissed, my hands began kneading her thighs and ass through the thick, resistant fabric of her jeans. Although she was obviously responding to the fondling of her ass, it was also clear that the recalcitrance of the denim was frustrating us both. Meanwhile her leg was pressing into my crotch, increasing the heat and the hardness of my aching member.

Suddenly she jumped up, off the couch, staring at me with a look I had never seen before and could not identify. I suspected it was sheer terror, since that is akin to what I was feeling. "I can't stand this," she wailed, and ran out of the room.

"Well, Dude, you have fucked this up royally," I said to myself, to which myself answered, "You mean... again?," my reasonable suspicion being that I wouldn't see Crystal again for days, if then.

But before I could leave the apartment and head for my well-used Playmate of the Month, Crystal rejoined the party, but this time wearing only a pair of nylon panties and a huge smile. She sprinted across the room and vaulted onto me, flattening me back onto the couch and clamping her wonderful lips on mine. She ripped my shirt off, that I had been reinstalling, and placed both of her sweet little hands firmly on my crouch. When I moaned in a mixture of wonderment, joy and agony, pulled back in mock-concern.

"Did I hurt you, baby?" she asked, pursing her lips playfully.

"Not exactly, darling, but this whole situation is causing a lot of pain down there," I replied.

With the most tender look of love I had ever seen, Crystal then unbuckled my belt, lowered the zipper, and pulled the Levis down to my knees. Her warm gentle hands dove for my penis, and began to caress it, as I let my hands stray below the elastic of her panties and into the sparse tangle of hair over her sweet virginal pussy. As she became braver with my prick, I made further advances into her tight, moist vagina, finally finding her clitoris and gently caressing it. As I did this, she grabbed my dick so hard I thought she would tear it off, and she began writhing and undulating on top of me. It occurred to me that one of us needed to do something here, or we would end up hurting each other and ourselves.

"Angel, come here" I said, adjusting her along the length of my body, with her legs spread and my hard prick between them like a threatening lance in a medieval joust. Her breasts were pressing into my bare chest and her heartbeat was drumming against me, like a bass drum.

"Just hold my dick in place and slide down on it."

Crystal's eyes got huge as she realized that a moment of truth had indeed been reached. Her decision was as quick and unequivocal as my own.

She said only, "Try not to come inside me," and slowly, tenderly engulfed my prick with the sweetness of her love. There was a brief hesitation as the pain of her tearing hymen made her wince, but in just a moment, she was pumping with full abandon and I was returning the action from the bottom of the equation.

I would love to say that I "screwed her for an hour without coming" as some claim in these stories, but it would be a huge lie. I may have lasted five minutes, maybe less, and I did not satisfy her before spurting forth the climax I had saved up for nineteen years. But when I came, our lips were locked together in a moment of the purest love and passion, that we both knew was going to last for a while.

I did feel bad about coming so fast and not giving her satisfaction, but I remedied that about ten minutes later, this time in the comfort of her bed and she screamed with the same passion that had erupted from me earlier. Suddenly we both understood what all the excitement was about sex. Guess what? We like it!

Thus ends chapter one of the "Sexual History of a Man"