Introduction
I can't believe I've finally started writing this. I've been putting it off for months. But some stories need to be told, right? Sometimes the truth must out.
I'm sorry if that opening sounds a bit pompous. I've been referred to in stories before, you see, and I don't particularly like the way I've come across. Okay, I'm a boring IT nerd, I accept that, but I can't possibly be as bland as I've been portrayed. I do have some sort of a life.
And I've had loads of girlfriends; loads and loads. Sex-wise I haven't been bland at all.
Being completely honest, sex-wise I've been quite naughty.
So here we are; this is my attempt at both setting the record straight and making me seem a bit more interesting. Be warned: it is going to include a lot of confessions, mostly of the bedroom variety. In fact it's going to be a whole string of bedroom confessions, some of them slightly embarrassing.
But hey, why should I let a little embarrassment get in the way of a good story?
To kick off with I'll tell you a few things about me. I'm twenty-six, a lesbian, currently single and proud owner of my own gold star. According to my birth certificate I'm "Davina" but I'm known to most folk as "Dave". The exceptions are few and far between. My mother when I'm in her bad books (that's quite often, tee-hee!), an aged aunt (from whom I have "great expectations"), and the IT administrator at work (who has a thing about nicknames).
Thinking about it, it's the only the administrator who causes me grief. I'm not really so often in mum's bad books and I only ever see Aunt Maude at Christmas. On the other hand, having my work emails auto-signed for me as Davina means I have to have the "call me Dave" conversation more regularly than I'd want to.
Like with every flipping new contact I ever make!
I'm going to rely on others to describe my appearance, starting with one of my three true loves, Mikki. Mikki readily admits that, for the first twenty-four hours of our acquaintance, she thought that I was a bloke. If I recall correctly, she said I was about five foot eight with very short, light brown hair. And that my body looked lean beneath my shapeless clothes.
Not a promising start, you might think. Mikki then went on to tell the world that, still convinced I was a guy, she masturbated that first night, picturing me and imagining God only knows what. I honestly did not know how to feel about that when I first read it. And I wasn't entirely reassured when she went on to say that the next night, by then aware of her mistake but under the impression she was as straight as ever, she masturbated thinking about me again.
Four times!
Here's an early confession: Mikki is not the only person who has taken me for a boy. It happens quite a lot and it's never much of a surprise. My short hair is cut in a boyish way, I do not use makeup and, although I hate to admit it, my clothing tends to be on the functional side: sturdy work trousers, Docs and a blue Widget Company sweatshirt; that's me on a daytime.
My excuse is that I'm an IT techie. Most of my colleagues are male and I dress like them because I'm forever carting dirty pieces of kit away to be repaired. If I turned up to work in a summer frock it would be ruined within the hour. Try crawling through the jumble of cables under a typical workstation; you'll soon see where I'm coming from.
And okay, I appreciate that explanation is pretty thin. It doesn't account for my out-of-work clothes, which tend to be much the same: jeans, Docs and various non-Widget Company sweats.
I'm not apologising, though. I like the way I dress.
Katrina is another true love of mine. Predictably, she uses direct comparisons and doesn't settle for just one of them. Kat might well be the cleverest individual I have even met but, take her out of the IT environment and everything about her is dramatic and overstated. Why would she stoop to using only one comparison when she could use two?
(I'm only surprised she didn't use three or four.)
Firstly she reckons I resemble Velma out of the Scooby-Doo shows. For anyone who hasn't seen all the reruns, Scooby has four human sidekicks, two of them female. The taller, sexy redhead is called Daphne; Velma is the shorter one with large, thick-rimmed specs.
Before I go any further I must stress that I do not see much resemblance. Okay, Velma's hair might be approximately the same colour as mine, but it's a lot longer. And she invariably wears a turtleneck jumper, a short pleated skirt and knee socks, predominantly in orange. I'm as unlikely to wear a skirt as I am to ever wear a frock. And knee socks! Not a prayer.
If I'm being completely frank, I admire Velma's intelligence. She's definitely the academic force in the Mystery Machine gang; the brains who is almost always the one to solve the latest conundrum. And I will accept that I'm quite studious myself (my dad swears I came out of Mum's womb with a laptop in my hands).
I also admire Velma's supersized glasses. Although uninfluenced by her choice of frames, there's no denying my own are very similar. And my snub of a nose is nearly as appealing as hers . . .
Good God, I'm seriously comparing myself to a cartoon character!!
Moving swiftly on . . .
Kat's other comparison is between me and a certain lesbian porn star. Kat never named names but I know who she means, all right. Well I should do: we've watched enough of her videos together.
I'm not going to argue much about this one. The lady in question is boyish but very, very hot. It's a big honour to be mentioned in the same breath as her, even if her hair is a few shades redder than mine and I'm an inch or two taller. All I am going to say is I only wish I matched her for tits as well as looks; hers are lovely while I am as flat as a pancake.
Yes, my tits are the bane of my life. Or they would be if I had any.
Strangely, the combination of snub-nosed, boyish cartoon porn star works. Mikki and Kat are beyond drop-dead gorgeous yet they've both often assured me I'm the beautiful one. And their words can't all be just flattery: I wasn't kidding when I told you I've had loads of girlfriends. Beautiful or not, I've never struggled to pull.
Somewhere, somehow I must be doing something right!
There you are, then. That's a sketch of me. I'll add to it as we go. Let's get on with the story and some of that sex. And where better to start than my very first time?
Chapter One
We're going back to my final year at school, spent in the upper sixth. And what a year that was. I don't think I've ever spoken to anyone who didn't enjoy their time in any sixth form, anywhere. Mine was the best, though. I relished every second of every day. If I ever get my time over it's the sixth form I'll most look forward to reliving, especially that last year.
That's not to say I didn't like my earlier school years. I did; I liked them a lot. Studious little me always got an A in everything apart from Physics (and trust me, I dropped that as soon as I'd scraped a B in my GCSEs).
Studying wasn't everything to me, however. There were other things I enjoyed, not least the outdoor games lessons. And I always had plenty of friends, both male and female. The schools I attended were all well-equipped and, by and large, the teachers were dedicated and skilled. I was blessed with positivity everywhere I looked. What was there for me not to like?
Now, at this point I want to make a couple of things clear. As far as my sexuality goes I am and will always be a lesbian. That's the way I was born, even if I didn't come out of the womb with a rainbow tattoo as well as that laptop. And, although I've met others who swear they have "always known" they were lezzie, my realization was very, very gradual.
In all honesty I can't tell you when I did realize.
That much said, please don't think I'm a man-hater. I like guys. I had boy friends at school and I have boy friends even now, most of them work colleagues. And I do actually find most guys easier to get on with than quite a few gals I've had the misfortune to meet.
