My stories involve events taken, with their permission of course, from my client's case files as a family sex therapist. Lately, lots of people on this site have been sending me emails asking me to write something about my own personal experiences, an action I have resisted until now. After checking with my husband, who agreed that I should, I will reluctantly share details of my first sexual experience (although I consider it to be quite dull after some of the stuff I hear in my office daily.)
Hubby knew I wasn't a virgin where he married me, and also knows I haven't cheated on him since, (although we do "role-play" a lot.) I have shared some of my early adventures with him as part of our role-playing foreplay, to spice things up a bit in our bedroom activities. These stories have always excited him but we have never taken it to the next level and probably never will. We've never so much as discussed acting out our roleplaying for real, and the fact that it even seems like there is the possibility we might -- keeps things on the edge and exciting.
I have told him this story and it is one of his favorites. After the first time I related it to him, we spent the entire weekend fucking our brains out. I think the idea of sharing me excites him, but he'd never want to do it for real. As for me, I love him so much I'd do whatever he wanted me to do, anytime he wanted it. After nine years, I am still head-over-heels in love with the man.
Bradley was nearly two years my senior. Tall and lean at six-foot-two-inches, he was the school's star athlete. Blonde and beautiful, blue eyes to kill for and a devastating smile, he was the total package. Just my luck he lived only three houses down the street from me. For two years we saw each other come and go with our tiny circle of friends, but only from afar. I didn't know at that time he'd enrolled in the local college just as I had.
Around eighteen I blossomed, titties galore, and a butt all my friends said they'd die for. Maybe because of that, I wore lots of jeans to school, and skimpy shorts on the weekends. My friends were all really cute, so we always had a bunch of guys hanging around us.
I attended a local college and in my sophomore year as I was leaving for school one morning, only six blocks away, I encountered Brad walking past. He later confirmed he'd timed it like that. We walked together and by the time we reached school, were smitten. A week later, he kissed me in my backyard, melting my knees. From that day on, I was lost. That doesn't mean I gave him my cherry that night. That didn't happen until months later.
I was determined to remain a virgin until I married, but that didn't mean our petting sessions weren't pretty intense. We'd meet behind our homes after everyone else had gone to sleep, lie on a blanket and do everything but fuck. The second time we kissed I sneaked over the fence and watched silently as he spread out the blanket. I told him "no sex." Smiling, he pulled me down against his hard body, kissing me deeply. My heart pounded so loud I was afraid it would awaken the neighbors.
After a few minutes I was trembling and weak, surprised my panties were so wet. I pushed him away, sat up, gasping for breath as he watched me closely.
"I really hurt baby," he said.
I'd heard how prolonged kissing affected boys, giving them, what we girls laughingly called, "blue-balls." Maybe it was puppy-love, or simply lust, but I didn't want him to hurt because of me.
"What can I do," I finally asked, as he pulled me back down, swallowing my mouth again.
I quickly discovered he'd taken his penis out, only after he took my hand and wrapped it around it. I'd never touched one before. It felt hot -- hard but soft, like it was a large piece of marble wrapped inside satin. Although I'd felt it against me when we kissed, it had felt like a piece of wood then and outside his clothing was so much bigger than I'd imagined. I was more determined than ever he'd never get that thing inside me. It'd probably kill me anyway. Still, I was so excited I couldn't breathe, my heart beating away.
Not knowing what to expect, the size of Bradley's cock was more than a little terrifying. Now I know that he, like my husband, were much larger in that department than the average male. Back then I thought they were probably all the same. One thing I knew though, it'd never fit inside me. The first cock I'd ever touched seemed so beautiful in the moonlight. I could see veins and ridges running through it, a soft spongy helmet on top, and it moved subtly in my hand, throbbing as I held it.
Anyway, he quickly showed me what he wanted and I eventually got the hang of it, listening to him moan and grunt as I alternated between fast and hard, slow and easy. I soon learned what he liked best and felt that I was about to climax as I watched him throb in the moonlight, the meaty tip glistening with a tiny bubble. Then it broke free, running down my hand in a sticky trail.
"I'm close, Baby," he groaned through his teeth.
I didn't know what that meant exactly, but I leaned closer to watch the first male climax I'd ever seen. I wanted to touch my wet panties, feel some of what he was experiencing, but I wasn't that brave yet. Then his body went rigid as he groaned aloud, my face suddenly sprayed with his explosion. Startled, I tried to withdraw my hand but he clasped his around it and kept it working, as he thrust upward over-and-over. After a while, he lay back, breathing hard. I had goop all over my hand, and some on my chin.
"Jeez, what a mess," I whispered.
Strangely, I wasn't all that repulsed by its stickiness. In the darkness I saw him handing me something white - his handkerchief. I cleaned up a bit with it and he drew me down to kiss me again.
"I love you, Cleo."
No one had ever told me that before and my heart simply melted. I felt him guiding my hand back to encircle his deflated cock, now feeling soft and satisfied, like me, content. I did it again for him before I went back home that night. I could have done it all night. In fact, I did it every night we could get together after that. Soon though, it wasn't enough. After the first week, he was also touching me through my panties, as I did him.
The first time it happened, I felt his fingers slide inside my loose-legged shorts, touching my damp Venus Mound. I started to pull away but suddenly just pushed myself back against his fingers. A few minutes later he forced the elastic band of my panties aside and slipped the tip of one finger inside my virgin opening, the first to ever do that, other than my own. Heaven soon followed. I came like I was dying. Now I knew what he was feeling.
We kissed every time we got together, there was deep soul kissing, lots of tongue, our hearts pounding, hands touching each other through our clothing, leaving us gasping for breath.
"God, I'm dying," he'd gasp. "Let me make love to you, Cleo. I love you. It's okay."
I admit I was a real tease though. I'd wear short-shorts, mini-skirts and soft sweaters, anything I knew that would drive him wild. I'd let him touch me almost anytime, anyplace, sucking his tongue, sliding my fingers over the bulge in his taunt blue jeans. My hormones were raging, making me reckless. Everyone in school knew we were an item, and suspected we were having sex. I did nothing to dispel those rumors. He was the school star athlete, and I was his girlfriend. I drove him crazy -- and that drove me crazy.
