[This is an account I wrote a long time ago about my 3rd sexual encounter. My voice is noticeably different. What do you think? – Hy]
I was 19 when I met my second lover. Matt was a tall, dark, and handsome kid i met at a club in the city where friends and I used to dance until 7 in the morning, then drive home sweaty, exhausted, and stone sober.
The night I met him I smelled a clove and followed my nose. He was with his friends, the best looking of the bunch. I asked him for a smoke and he asked for my number.
Being completely inexperienced with sex, but hungering for it, is a weird place to be. I knew I had a pussy and that boys wanted it, but I really had no idea how to make that happen. I was still under the faulty impression that a boy had to like me if he wanted to fuck me, so for me, it was all part of a bigger dance. I never gave my number to a boy without the thought being tied to it that “maybe he’s The One,” (ah, youth).
We talked on the phone incessantly. He was home for the holidays from the Savannah Art Institute. I was living at home and going to a local J.C. All we could do was talk. We had no where to go, really, at least at first.
This was also the year my mother decided I didn’t have a curfew and gave me a lock on my door. I’d already lost my virginity in my small, upstairs bedroom while my mother slept down the hall and so I wanted to fuck the living shit out Matt as a non-virgin, an “experienced” woman.
He and my two friends came over one night and I stole a couple of bottles of wine out of the garage. We drank, my friend showed us his Prince Albert piercing, we all cuddled. By the time the friends had to leave at dawn, my mother had already left for work. Matt and I were completely alone.
We stood in my kitchen and he pulled out his wallet. “So. Do you want to try something new?” he asked. My stomach did flips; I was so goddamned excited at how forward he was being about fucking me.
“Sure.” I said smiling.
Then he did something I didn’t expect. Instead of a condom, he pulled out a little white baggie. “It’s speed,” he said answering my unspoken question. He told me all the pros and cons of it and said the only reason he was sharing with me was because he knew I couldn’t get my hands on more (he was wrong about that, by the way). He explained what I might feel when I did it and how long it’d last. Did I want to do it?
We each did a line and I was immediately opened wide. My skin buzzed, my mind raced, the drip made me tremble with ecstasy. “Is one of the side effects feeling horny?” I asked as I sidled up to him. — We had yet to do anything together, even touching. This was brazen of me.
“Uh, no…” he stammered.
“Well, it’s making me horny.” And I took his hand and led him into my mother’s room, to her nicely made bed.
I pulled him down with me to the mattress and kissed his sweet, soft lips passionately, grabbed his cock from over his jeans. It was huge in my hand. Hot and rigid.
And even then, this being only the third aroused boy I’d ever touched, I was bold and unafraid. I peeled his clothes off, then mine. Any self-loathing I had about my body was sucked out of the room by the look in his eyes, the feel of his hands on my body. I saw myself through his eyes and I was beautiful.
He lay over me and slowly pushed the tip of his cock inside my tight, 19 year old cunt. I bore down just a little, but he didn’t go any further. He kissed my face, my lips, my ears and neck and began to mumble something, then it became clearer as he sat back on top of me and ran his hands all over my youthful breasts and curves.
“Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens’ claws,” he purred over and over trailing kisses where his hands were.
I wanted to do more of all of this, but he suddenly came all over me. Youthful exuberance.
“Let’s take a shower,” I said as I grabbed his hand and led him into my mother’s large bathroom.
The shower was directly across from the bathroom mirror and as I started the water running I turned into his 6’3″ frame and he wrapped his long arms around me and stooped so his chin rested on my head. I felt so womanly with him curled around me, naked and trusting.
We stepped inside and I turned and grabbed the shower massager off its cradle and turned it to “pulse.”
He looked at me quizzically. “Just watch,” I said, and I closed my eyes and held the head between my legs, my feet slightly more apart than shoulder-width and leaned back against his new arousal.
I’d never done this with another person before, never even conceived of it, but we made music.
He grabbed my face and twisted it around so he could kiss me over my shoulder; our lips, tongue and faces warm and wet from the water. His free hand slipped over my small breasts and along the planes of my stomach.
“Shh,” I murmured. “Hold still.” I needed to focus on the pleasure building between my legs and his gentle, sexy touches were distracting me.
He stayed his hands, but continued to kiss me with a hand on a breast. The orgasm began to build, my knees began to quake, his kisses deepened and as I came I breathed into his mouth and I could taste him with each wave that broke over me; feel his cock in the small of my back and his labored breathing in my ear.
I came forever that morning. As soon as I was done I whispered to him that I was going for another, and when that one was done we turned to each other, shy of our nakedness and our inexperience, but exhilarated at what we had just shared.
To this day I don’t know why I did what I did. I don’t know where it came from or where my boldness grew inside me, but I will never forget him.
We continued our affair both with each other and drugs for most of that year. The sex was never better than that day, however, despite him being endowed and horny; he always lost his erection. He blamed the drugs. He was probably right. I’ve looked him up over the years, but never found him. I wonder if he remembers me.