I have always been an inveterate journaller. I began on this journey when I was about five years old. I can remember my parents encouraging me to write something that happened during the day. It developed into a serious habit. I can't remember more than about three days where I haven't written at least something that happened to me.
My story follows. It is taken from my many years of diaries, all of which I have kept since I wrote them. Generally they have been under lock and key but sometimes not, unfortunately.
I lost my virginity when I was eighteen to a biker named Tom. He rode a beautifully restored 1950 Indian Chief Black Hawk and was covered with tattoos. He was tall and muscular and I thought he was the most handsome man I'd ever seen.
My name is Jacinta and I'm a 5'6" green-eyed girl with a 34 C bust-line and what my father called, 'breeder's hips.' Tom showed me how to properly love a man. I realise now, nearing the end of my life, that I was lucky. So many of my girlfriends had horror stories of their first time, but Tom was different.
He made sure I was satisfied before he was himself - a rarity in the 70's, believe me. But he spoiled me. I expected every man to be the same. I was sorely disappointed.
But he did give me something else, a love of tattoos. He was covered and he could tell me about each one. He remembered where he got them, and why. There seemed to be a story to each one. I decided that I'd like to do something similar.
I decided that I'd like something to remember my first sexual experience with Tom so I asked him about getting a tattoo. Back in the late 70's it was unusual but not unheard of for an eighteen-year-old girl being tattooed.
I decided on the Indian Motorcycle logo, a chief's head, without the name of the company inside it. I had a small Indian Head tattooed onto the inside of my hip-bone where it would be covered by my clothing at all times.
Getting the Indian tattoo meant that the tattooist would see me nearly naked. He flirted with me pretty heavily while he got things organised. He shaved me completely and while he did so he copped a pretty good feel of my pussy. I enjoyed it so I didn't say anything.
The tattoo looked really good and fortunately Nate the tattooist didn't try anything else with me. He did make me feel mighty good though.
Two weeks later I returned to see if I needed any touch-ups on my Indian. Nate had a close look and this time had me panting and moaning almost right away. His fingers were magical. I spread my legs wide for easy access and he dropped his pants. Before I knew it he was pumping away at me. I was in ecstasy. It felt so good.
He gave me a great orgasm and kept right on pumping. As I came again so did he. He squirted inside my quivering pussy as I came again.
When I finally regained my senses I decided that I wanted a tattoo to commemorate the occasion. A small tattoo gun was then inked on the opposite hip to my Indian. My collection had started.
Being young and horny I kept seeing, and fucking, both Tom and Nate for the next year or so. No new tattoos in that time. I had decided to keep them for any new fuck-buddy I found.
One thing I did learn was that I loved sex. Any sex, any time, anywhere! I loved straight fucking; I loved giving and receiving oral sex. Hell, I even loved anal sex. That was Nate's doing. He got my anal virginity not long after he had fucked me for the first time.
Life went on. I finished school without having any new sex partners. But then I went to College. Oh, boy, that was fantastic. In my four years I ended up with seventeen new tattoos. I had them on my ass, around my pussy, on my shoulders and on my arms. I even had a foot tattoo.
Every one of them had something to do with the partner I'd fucked. I got a book, a calculator, a microscope and a telescope. I had a car, a football, a baseball bat and a hockey stick. I got an apple, a chef's hat, a pair of glasses and a surfboard. I got a filmmaker's clapperboard, a bicycle and even a wookie (It was around the time of the original Star Wars, remember).
They were all small and cute and each reminded me of a sex partner. I didn't even think about the number of tattoos I had, or the number of partners I had.
Eventually I graduated and, strangely enough, got a job teaching second grade. By this time I had four more tattoos; a fish, a stethoscope, a truck and a basketball. I had been at the school for a year when a graduate teacher joined us. He taught fifth grade. He was tall and slim, with dark curly hair. He was really quiet but had a good sense of humour.
I tried to get him to notice me but he didn't. We got together with other teachers on a Friday at a local bar and I always sat next to him. He hardly gave me the time of day.
Eventually I asked him out. He knocked me back. So I asked him to come with me to my sister's place, a three-hour drive away. I told him I needed another driver. He said yes.
When we got there he met my sister and her husband. We chatted for what seemed like hours. Eventually I got him alone and kissed him. He kissed me back. He was a great kisser, fantastic, in fact.
That's all we seemed to do for the rest of the weekend. We didn't fuck because my sister's husband was a bit of a prude and gave us separate rooms. But I had enjoyed myself anyway.
Steve was really sweet. He treated me like a princess and never refused me anything I asked for. The first time we slept together was wonderful. It wasn't as mind-blowing as my experiences with Tom and Nate, but it was nice. I was getting really attached. Oh, by the ay, his tattoo was a tiger. It was his Chinese star sign. He was born in the year of the tiger.
