When I read erotica, one of the things that most interest me is the first time stories; the tales of people losing their virginity. Most of these are, frankly, fairly silly. Some few are well written and even highly erotic, but unrealistic. Only a few ring true.
I lost my virginity a few days after I turned eighteen. I seduced him just to satisfy my curiosity about what getting fucked felt like. It wasn't a particularly memorable occasion. I didn't have an orgasm, I didn't have any pain, the earth most certainly did not move for me, and I didn't get caught or, though we didn't use protection, pregnant. He wasn't bad, but it was only his second or third time, too, and he wasn't particularly competent at what he was doing. It was such an unremarkable experience that I'm not going to bother to write about it.
My first time with a girl, on the other hand, was out of this world, but that was only because she was already highly experienced and knew exactly what to do. I've already written about her in the first part of this series; I'm not going to talk about it here again.
Instead, I'll write about the time I took someone else's virginity; one of only four or five times I've done that in my life, and only time that certainly went off well, for both of us.
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When I was in college, I'd had no intention of ever returning home as far as possible; my plans were to get a job as soon as I graduated and move as far away as I possibly could. But just before the summer holidays I got a letter from my mother -- this was the late 1990s and letters were still something people wrote routinely -- telling me that I needed to return because her sister and her son -- my eighteen year old cousin -- would be visiting and my mother could not handle them alone.
My aunt, whom I had met many times, lived far away from my mother, on the other side of the country; they couldn't stand each other and I hadn't the faintest idea why she would come to visit. Later on I discovered this was something to do with the disposition of the property left by their parents, my grandparents, which had been under some kind of legal restriction from sale, until now. The property was not too far from my hometown, and my aunt -- who was divorced -- had come back to arrange with my mother to sell it and split the proceeds. And she'd brought along her son, since she thought he was studying too hard and needed a break.
My cousin, whom I'll call Bob here, wasn't a bad kid. We'd known each other over the years, and I'd always thought of him as a shy but not unhandsome boy, more interested in books than people. He wore thick spectacles and had one eye that was a slightly different colour from the other, which I believe got him called an "alien" by some of his classmates. Children can be the cruellest people in the world. This had more or less driven Bob even more into his books than he otherwise might have. I had once seen him with his head stuck in a history of the fall of the Romanov Dynasty for six hours straight. Being fond of books myself, I'd never teased him about it.
Anyway, I'd reluctantly said goodbye to Mila for the summer. She was planning to spend her time in a resort, working part time and, she said, having sex the rest of the time. The morning before we left she'd insisted on shaving my pubic hair. "And don't forget your contraceptives," she had said, looking up from between my legs with a grin. "You don't know when you'll get lucky."
"Oh, ha ha," I'd replied. "You're so funny."
"Why?" she'd replied. "You don't need to spend the holiday celibate, you know. I'm not planning to, and I'm not planning to get pregnant, either."
"At least men fall all over you," I said. "You're not plain like me."
"Don't be ridiculous," she replied. "You're pretty enough for me." And, spreading my labia apart with her fingers, she leaned forward and licked the tip of my clitoris with her tongue. "See?"
Of course we had sex after that, but I was still convinced that the only lovemaking I would have until I returned to college would be with my own fingers. Still, I'd allowed her to force a spare strip of birth control tablets on me before we left; she dropped me to the train station for the journey home. It was the same day that my aunt and Bob were due to arrive, and in fact I was still opening the gate when their taxi stopped behind me.
My aunt was as I remembered her, like a plumper, much friendlier version of my mother, with less grey in her hair and more make-up on her face. She screamed in delight when she saw me and crushed me in a hug, burying me between her large breasts. I glimpsed my mother watching us from the front window, an expression of distaste on her face, and I thought at once that this visit would be a disaster.
It wouldn't, but that was not for want of my mother's trying.
"Where's Bob?" I asked my aunt. "Isn't he with you?"
"He's getting the bags," my aunt said, and a moment later the taxi had driven off and there he was.
"Wow!" I said,
Bob had changed since I'd last seen him, three years previously. He'd grown a good ten centimetres, his shoulders had broadened, and his arms were heavily muscled. But the expression in his eyes, behind the thick lenses, was as shy as ever, and when he smiled it was as always, as though he was amazed at the fact that he was talking to someone who wasn't a character in a book.
"Juliana," he said, "I just found out today that you'd be home, or I'd have brought a book for you. I've been saving it for you, it's on the building of the Great Wall of China, and --"
"You can talk about that later," my aunt broke in. "Let's get the things inside, and get relaxed a bit. Really, Juliana, if I let him, he'd bring a trunk full of books! He's going to end up being a professor if he isn't careful."
That, by the way, is what Bob did. He is now a professor of history in a major university. His students give him top reviews.
That was, of course, then in the unimaginable future. My mother opened the door like the gatekeeper of a surrendering fort reluctantly allowing the barbarian hordes to enter. And right then we discovered that we had a little problem.
There were only two bedrooms, my mother's and mine. Where was everyone to sleep?
My mother made her decree immediately. "You, Fiona," she told my aunt, "can have Juliana's room. I'll stay in mine. Bob and Juliana can sleep in the living room. The sofa folds out and there's enough space on the carpet to make another bed." Fiona is, of course, not my aunt's real name, just to be clear.
"No, I don't want to deprive Juliana of her room," my aunt replied quickly. "She'll need space of her own. I remember what college accommodations are like."
I would have liked to be in my own room, but if I did my mother would have started accusing me of being selfish the minute she got me alone. "No, that's fine," I replied. "Bob and I will be fine together. We can read books together."
Bob laughed. "She's right. We'll read and discuss books all night."
That was the late afternoon. We had an early supper and then my mother and aunt took themselves to my mother's room, to discuss things, as they said. Before going, my mother turned on the television, which was tuned to some movie channel.
"There," she said, "you two can watch that."
"We don't want to watch television, mum," I protested.
"I said watch that," she snapped, turned the volume up higher, and then went into her room with Bob's mother and shut the door hard enough to almost be a slam. Bob and I looked at each other and shrugged.
"She doesn't want us to overhear whatever they'll talk about," he said.
So we watched the film. At this distance in time I don't recall what it was, but fortunately it wasn't some mindless action film tailored to explosion aficionados. It was, also fortunately, before the era of endless superzero flicks based on children's comics. I rather think it was some kind of horror film, just bad enough to be really funny. At any rate it kept us giggling and making sarcastic comments long enough for my mother to emerge from her room with my aunt, both of them looking fairly upset.
"They haven't been able to agree," Bob said, unnecessarily. At any rate, they soon said good night and retired to their respective rooms, telling Bob and me not to stay up late but go to sleep.
"You can have the sofa," I told Bob. "I'll sleep on the floor." This was not an altruistic move on my part. I knew that sofa, and the carpet was a far better option. Bob shrugged acceptance and went to the bathroom to change. And then I suddenly realised I had a problem.
In the previous part of these chronicles I described how I had been used to going to bed in a Mother Hubbard night dress until Mila taught me to throw it away and start sleeping in the nude. By this time, months later, I was so used to sleeping naked that I could not even imagine putting on something to sleep in. Besides, I had no Mother Hubbard, in fact no sleeping attire of any kind at all.
So, with no other option, I decided to quickly strip and put on a loose T shirt and shorts with nothing on underneath, in the hope that I would be able to sleep in them. I'd just finished before Bob returned, in an identical T shirt and shorts. The only difference was the colour.
"Ha ha," I said. "I suppose we'll have the same dreams as well."
We didn't. I don't know what dreams Bob had, but I had none, because I never really managed to sleep. The months of sleeping naked had made me unable to drop off for any time with my skin covered, on top of which I'd got used to sleeping in my own bed at the college and the carpet, I discovered, was less than a substitute. Whenever I dozed off for a few minutes I snapped awake and then couldn't get to sleep again. I found myself thinking of Mila, of her naked body leaning over mine, the touch of her lips as she kissed me on the mouth before hoisting my leg over her shoulder and grinding her vulva on mine. My vagina began to moisten, but I couldn't even masturbate; Bob was literally within touching distance of me. I could hear him breathing, and once his arm flopped over the edge of the sofa so close that I could feel his body heat on my cheek.
Around three in the morning I gave it up as a bad job, Tiptoeing in bare feet to the bathroom, I did the usual morning things, and then went to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. I had just taken my first sip when I heard a noise and turned around to see Bob standing there, watching me.
"I couldn't sleep," I said apologetically, as though it were a crime.
