I always planned to wait, to have that special moment with my husband where he got to experience me for the first time. I always fantasized how it would be a nervous moment for me but I would let him be my guide into a healthy sexual relationship. In my late night explorations, it started out slow and easy, doing the "normal" things, but it wouldn't take long before we were trying things I watched in elicit videos and wrote about in my journal.
That's how I always saw it, loving, experimental and every moment cherished. At 22 I thought I met that guy who would be my husband and my guide into the sexual paradise. I was in love, he was in lust, I was naive and he was very cunning. I ignored the warning signs and the red flags all for the idea of forever. I ignored warnings from my friends because I was certain I knew better.
My first time was in my dorm room after getting pressured to have more drinks than I would have usually consumed. I remember he smelled like black and mild's and Hennessey, Drake played in the background. I will admit I had grown used to the heavy petting and making out. Not only was I used to it I craved it. I loved the way it felt to be wanted by him, and he made it known in between Hennessey kisses and thwarted attempts at my bra. Making out on my bed graduated into my shirt being pulled over my head. Kisses on my neck with his hands gripping me and somehow expertly unsnapping my bra for the first time led to my first real nipple stimulation.
Looking back, it must have been a clever distraction but I learned I really loved getting my nipples sucked. Alternating from one to the other letting the air conditioning and his mouth dictate the temperature of each nipple. I remember moaning and gripping the sheets so enthralled in this new sensation I barely noticed my sweats and panties coming down my thighs until he had to break contact with me to complete the transition.
I was naked in front of a man for the first time, everything in me screamed to tell him to stop and I may have protested weakly but as soon as his mouth touched my nipples again, I surrendered. I had brown liquor courage in me that night and in the moment a man I felt that truly loved me on top of me, I let go.
He worked his way back to my mouth and shared kisses with me as he pulled his own clothes off frantically. My mind asked all the questions he didn't bother to spend time on. Asking me if I was sure about this, was he really the one, are you really sure though, are we going all the way? The thoughts were loud in my head and my body screamed to answer in lieu of one from my mind. He kissed me deeply distracting me with what felt like a truly tender moment. It felt as if he was affirming his love for me and letting me know this was the right choice. If it was possible, I melted further, there was no stopping it after that moment he was going to have all of me.
While I was lost in love, he was on a mission slowly reaching between us and grabbing his dick. I had never seen it other than the outline in his shorts but I felt it on more than one occasion and it felt strong and thick. I expected what my culture and porn taught me about black men, I expected a dick the size of my forearm. What I got was from my estimation was on the bigger side of average which was less intimidating until I felt his head slide between my lips preparing for what was to come.
I couldn't believe how wet I was and moaned in response to my body yearning for release. He took it as a sign and pushed. My first scream in the sheets was not one of pleasure and was not exciting, it was painful and alarming. He didn't manage to get far at all but his rough maneuver officially turned me off. I put my hands on his chest and told him to wait and stop so I could breathe and of course it was met by over eager protests but he stayed where he was.
He wore me down again with kisses and promises to go slower and apologies for being excited. I had gotten this far so I knew I was going all the way despite clear signs telling me not to. He took his time pushing in a bit and sliding out, he bore the pain of my nails digging into him as he settled into a slow pace and moaned when settled deep. That was it I was no longer a virgin, I tried to embrace it while he started to stroke again. I couldn't quite get into it, my body reacted poorly and the natural lubrication stopped. He didn't seem to mind at all he just picked up the pace.
I gripped his back and gritted my teeth waiting for it to end, I didn't have to wait long.
He pulled out of me quickly causing yet another gasp and unloaded on my stomach. Feeling the warm cum hit me rope after rope brought me back in the game but it was already too late. He rolled off of me catching his breath for a moment before kissing me on the cheek and passing out. Yes, that was my actual first time.
The next morning after an awkward exchange, an emotional shower, starting laundry and coming to terms with the nights previous events I did what I always did and wrote about it. At the time my best friend and I were geographically separated and kept in contact via texts and emails to an obsessive amount due to the time difference. I wrote the whole story out, every detail and how each part made me feel. I held nothing back because she was the only one who would truly understand where I was coming from. Cassidy or Dee as I called her didn't subscribe to my fantasies of waiting until she got married. She lost her virginity when we were 17 and her parents begrudgingly let her get her driver's license. The back seat of her then boyfriends station wagon was her first time all while I was sitting on a park bench writing in my notebook thirty feet away.
A few weeks, three more terrible sexual encounters and with Dee's encouragement I left my boyfriend only to discover I was not his only girlfriend. I was crushed, my first love wasn't love and it made me bitter. I spent more time complaining about men with Dee than anything else and my ever-persistent friend assured me he was not the status quo. To her credit she joined me in my suffering long enough to begin to pull me out of it. When we finally got to hang out a few months later I was over it but still hadn't been with anyone else. We had a few drinks and she confided in me something I was pretty angry about at first. She confided in me that she enjoyed my retelling of that first night and the subsequent nights via email. I was under the influence myself and reacted poorly until the next morning when she explained.
"Your story was sad and pretty shitty of him, but the more I thought about it and read it over pretending I didn't know you the hotter it sounded. You are a decent writer Belle, I'm just saying." Her words sandwiched between bites of pancakes covered in my pounding headache resonated with me. I loved to write but all I ever did was write for me never shared it I didn't even see my sexual exploits as a "written work" just a friend venting to another. I began writing out my fantasies in secret letting porn guide my uneducated mind to scenarios I wanted to find myself in. I needed to see if I could stimulate myself with my own written words.
I wrote more and more enjoying the scenarios I put my fictional characters in and I wanted to be so much like the promiscuous and strong characters I wrote about but I still had not found anyone worth even paying attention to much less sleeping with. Some of that was my own bias, I am sure I turned down a few people that would have been worth it but at the time I just couldn't.
Months later I was wooed by yet another smooth-talking man with a great smile and enough jokes to make my stomach hurt, this time I was going to do it right. I told him about my previous experience and to my surprise he laughed and laughed hard!
"James! What in the actual hell is so funny?" I questioned already doubting my choice to divulge the truth.
"I am so sorry; this guy just seems like a real asshole and it's hard for me to imagine being that selfish!" His response was still through stifled giggles and it didn't sit well.
"Elaborate on why this is funny?"
"Ok, sex, in my eyes anyway is a game of mutual satisfaction. If you can't please your partner then you have failed. I get not pulling out all your best tricks every time but at the very least you have to each reach the finish line, preferably more than once." Insert trademark smile.
Buttery smooth to my tipsy ears, yet my grandfather used to tell me "aint nothing slick to a can of oil." I was still skeptical.
"So, what happens if you happen to reach the finish line first?" I prodded feeling my body react to his words while trying to fight it off with my otherwise inebriated mind.
"It happens, some women even like it. Regardless the point still stands, you can't leave a partner unsatisfied." Again, with his stupid disarming smile.
