Sex never really clicked for me until a certain day when I was twenty years old. Now I'm an attractive girl, so I've had my share of sex, it just never really seemed as awesome as everyone else made it out to be. I almost always had a boyfriend. I had large breasts and a great ass, especially considering I was on the petite side. I was especially proud of my sandy blonde hair, which seemed to perpetually stay perfectly in half-curls, and my sky blue eyes that always got compliments. For many years, I thought that I could only get off from straight-up hard fucking and nothing else. Maybe my boyfriends were just bad at sex, but I had never gotten off from being fingered or eaten out, not even once.
Sex seemed so limited and quick that I never really took it seriously. For me it was skip the foreplay, go straight to fucking, done. My latest boyfriend started out wonderful, but as the months went by and we entered the second year of our relationship, any time we partied or drank he would always end the night by begging and pleading and whining for sex. I would just laugh it off, thinking he was exaggerating his need for it. He couldn't possibly need sex that bad; it was just a boring and short diversion. We eventually stopped having sex altogether, and I didn't even notice. I was just happy he wasn't bothering me all the time for it.
I was so out of touch sexually that I even began to think he was a perverted freak because of what we had shared when we did have a sex life, as weak as that sex life was. In the early stages of our relationship, he was fascinated with my casual attitude towards questions he asked about things I would hypothetically do with other girls.
He would ask me which one of my best friends I would feel most comfortable with if we were to have a threesome, and I would nonchalantly choose my gorgeous blonde friend with big tits. She was my best friend, so I just said her. My boyfriend didn't realize that it was not because I was open to sex with other girls - it was because I looked at sex the way somebody looks at a television show. You know the things you 'would' say and do in that television show, but you're not in it, so those choices have nothing to do with real life.
In real life, I did not understand men's obsession with lesbians at all. I would often ask my boyfriend, 'When they're having sex, what do lesbians even DO?', and he would look at me like I was weird. I couldn't fathom how anyone could 'have sex' with fingering and eating out, because to me those things sucked. One of my best female friends had even tried to finger me in a hot tub once, and I stopped her and laughed it off, thinking she was just way too drunk. I didn't know why she was weird around me after that, because I didn't think that it meant anything.
Then that day came, a month from my twenty-first birthday. My boyfriend had had enough of the lack of sex life. There was a party at my apartment and he and I had a huge fight and he stormed out. I drunk drove to his place, but he wouldn't answer the door or his phone, so I drunk drove back to my apartment. Stupid, I know. By the time I got back, the party had ended, and everyone had left but my roommate, Lexie. She was a sarcastic red-head with a lithe body and perky tits. Most of the time, she talked about sex constantly. She was openly bisexual and talked about and flirted with girls all the time, even though she had a long-distance boyfriend. Her boyfriend loved the fact that she was into girls. Like I said, I didn't understand lesbians, so I just assumed she did it for attention.
She was the only one there, cleaning up after the party, and she saw that I was distraught. She took me to the couch and sat next to me. I was drunk and in tears, so I really opened up. I started talking all about my history and disconnection from sex. She always seemed so open about sex so I was comfortable telling her. She seemed surprised. She moved a little closer to me on the couch and put a hand on my shoulder.
"You're really never come from being eaten out?" she asked, honestly shocked. "It's amazing; you're completely missing out on the best part of being a girl! And not even fingering? You've never even fingered yourself?"
I shook my head sadly.
"I just never bothered trying," I told her. "It seemed so hard compared to using a vibrator, and when other people tried it, it never worked..."
She looked at me, her green eyes filled with worry. She brushed back some of her red hair.
"Honey, there's nothing wrong with you," she insisted. "If you can come from sex at all, then there's no reason you can't come from fingering. Physically, they're no different. Maybe it's something psychological?"
I looked up at her, wiping away some tears.
"Like what?" I asked.
"Well, you insist so much that you can't come that way, maybe you've convinced yourself. Maybe you stop yourself from having an orgasm without realizing it."
"That makes sense," I said passively, not sure what to think of the idea. "I always thought the guy I was with just didn't know what he was doing."
She laughed. It was a friendly laugh, dismissing my worries.
"Well what about when you couldn't finger yourself to orgasm? Who was at fault then?"
I felt my cheeks grow bright red. She may have been comfortable being totally open with sex talk, but I was really embarrassed.
"Maybe... I just don't know how to do it..." I said meekly.
She looked me straight in the eye and put her hand on my arm.
"Honey, I know this might sound weird, but I think it might really help you out if I... showed you what to do."
I felt my cheeks burn even redder.
