Every writer who has had any degree of success has been asked, "How do you become a writer?"
Every good writer will respond to that question with some variation of "If you want to be a writer, start writing."
I am going to elaborate on my version of that recommendation, start with a journal. A journal gives you a place to begin to explore your own story without the need to be vulnerable to anyone else in the world, and in my own experience, I've had no greater venue in which to practice, build techniques and grow as a writer. If you don't know what to write in your journal, begin with an internet search of the phrase "Journal writing prompts."
I'm looking right now at a shelf in my office on which sit a dozen or so notebooks that I've filled over the last few years largely by answering these sorts of prompts and recording whatever thoughts they brought up. Because sex is such an important part of who I am, (and because it makes me so happy to write or talk about sex) I have searched a lot of phrases like, "Sexual Journal Prompts," and "Sexual Discussion Questions." Several of my journals are filled with nothing but sex: my memories, fantasies, insecurities and successes. Lots of those journal entries have served as the basis for stories on this site. For me, the practice of journaling has been incredibly valuable.
Just about every list of sexual journal prompts or discussion questions that I've come across is going to include (Usually even start with) "Write about your First Sexual Experience," or "Describe your First Time."
So, I'm going to write about Sarah.
I was 18 and she was... she was older than me. Not really feeling like the number is relevant here. We met through a charity organization where we both regularly volunteered. When the days were done, I would walk her to the car and we would end up talking sometimes hours into the night.
I recognized at theĀ timeĀ that she was someone who was profoundly lonely. She would light up when I talked to her. I gave her attention and really listened to what she had to say. Seeing the way I made her happy...Ā it was one of the best feelings I'd ever known at theĀ time.Ā We got to the point that we were talking almost constantly. She had a long commute to work and we'd spend most of her drive on the phone. Then we'd use messenger throughout the day while she was at her desk.
I realize, as I'm sitting here smiling, that I haven't thought about those days in a longĀ time.
We agreed to get together one evening and met at Odyssey Park. I haven't been there in years but I bet if I was there tonight, I could find the exact spot where I had myĀ firstĀ kiss. She was shorter than me so we were standing on opposite sides of this wooden fence with me on the lower side. It brought her up to my eye level. We were facing one another, talking and gradually our bodies were moving closer, tighter together, our voices lowered in this intimate whisper until I kissed her on the cheek. I could hear her moan, reacting to the way my lips on her skin made her feel... so I kissed her more and I started moving around her neck. Then, she grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me on the lips. It was a pretty spectacularĀ firstĀ kiss.
There was something very empowering about kissing her. I was able to bring pleasure to a woman's body. It was something I'd been dreaming about as long as I could remember, but it was finally real. There I was with my lips on a woman; making her moan, squirm and press her body into me. It was validating and invigorating. Intoxicating how confident I felt when I kissed her the first time until she couldn't stand it and kissed me back.