I was recently asked what my body count was. Honestly, it’s not very high. My first ever experience was with my first boyfriend. Overall, I’d have to say, it was rather disappointing. He was clumsy and, well, small. I was able to better pleasure myself with my fingers. My latest boyfriend, I have been with for a long time, so everything is good. This story is about that one guy in between. The one that got away. It was my own fault, really, but I’ll cover that later. For now, let’s start here.
He was a couple of years older than me, but we had known each other for a long time, since we were kids in school. I was friends with his sister and always had a crush on him, but he was older and he would never. After graduation, for a time, I was between boyfriends. He had been away and recently returned, so he came by for a visit and said hello. I hadn’t seen him for almost a year. I was so surprised and excited, I jumped into his arms and kissed him. There was no thought in it. Just instinct and desire. I kissed him the way I had always wanted to.
When I broke the kiss, he stood there looking at me, breathless and in shock.
“I didn’t know you felt that way,” was what he said.
“Well, now you do,” I said matter-of-factly. “Now what?” His response came in the form of a kiss and a handful of my ass, which he squeezed tightly, causing me to whimper with pleasure. We went inside and caught up on the last year, as well as lots of kissing and some heavy petting. I was very hot and bothered when he left. I could tell by the tent in his pants that he was too. But he was trying so hard to be the gentleman, so I let him leave with the promise that he would return tomorrow.
The following day, he came in the late afternoon. We continued to talk, and kiss, and grope each other. Finally, he asked to remove my pants and take care of me properly. I quickly and eagerly agreed. He removed my pants and underwear, sat me on the couch, and knelt between my legs. His tongue was firm and soft at the same time. Licking tenderly at my lips, circling my clit, then thrusting into me. It was so long! He was licking my cervix. He was reaching places with his tongue that I didn’t know were possible. I squirmed with pleasure as he devoured my soul, licking hungrily, probing my insides; using only his tongue and lips to bring about a crescendo that rivalled everything I had ever experienced. I pulled him to me and kissed him graciously. I wanted to do more, but I was so sensitive that even his breath on my clit was sending electric shockwaves through my body.
He came over two more times that week, and both times he took care of my desires. Both times using only his mouth and tongue. Both times, providing me with explosive orgasms. Now, before anyone thinks I was ungrateful or one way, I did offer to play with him. My oral skills were nonexistent back then; I had no experience and, frankly, was a little intimidated by it. But he turned down my offer, preferring to wait, saying he found pleasure in my pleasure.
The following week was about to open new doors for me. During his first two visits, he would pleasure me, but this time he also used his fingers. His manly hands, the hands of someone raised on work, strong and thick. His fingers were much, much different than my small and dainty ones. I had mistakenly thought that the experience couldn’t get any better. I was wrong. He expertly rubbed in all the right places, sending me into full-body convulsing orgasms. But once again, I was left with a body too sensitive to carry out any preconceived plans. I loved everything he was doing. I couldn’t ask for a more attentive and satisfying partner, but I wanted to make him feel as good as he was making me. Or at least try. I had a plan: I would invite him over on Friday, but I would not let him take care of me first.
You know what they say about best laid plans? Well, Friday arrived, and I was ready to give it my all. Then my older brother showed up. I was living in the family home, and he was in from out of town, so I couldn’t just kick him out. But now what was I supposed to do?
When he arrived an hour later, I apologized for us not having privacy. He was totally cool with it, very understanding. How lucky can a girl get? We sat in the oversized recliner together, covered with a blanket, as the three of us watched a couple of movies together. For three hours, he had his hand up my knit shorts, teasing me, tantalizing me, but not enough to make cum, not with my brother there. After the second film, he announced he was heading out. He said goodbye to my brother as we got up and headed toward the door.
When we got to the mudroom, I pushed him down onto the bench. He landed with a thud. I climbed into his lap, kissing him with three hours of desire and lust. I hastily undid his pants, releasing the tent pole that had popped up there. I slid my shorts to the side, slid the head of his cock against my wet, pulsating pussy, then dropped down on him without a thought. I should have thought it through. I did nothing short of impale myself on his rigid pole. I gasped sharply at the mix of pleasure and pain. The fullness was glorious, but the pain. He was impossibly huge inside me.
“Oh, you’re so tight,” he grunted into my ear.
But I was not going to stop now. I began to bounce in his lap, biting my lip against the intensity. He was stretching me and bottoming out at the same time. There was not a space he wasn’t touching, and my body knew it. After just four strokes, my body spasmed around him. As my walls closed in around him, he grunted again, experiencing his own mixture of pleasure and pain.
As the spasms subsided, I began to ride him again, gingerly bouncing through the remnants of my orgasm. I did this, trying to stave off another climax, not knowing if I would be able to continue if I did. Suddenly, he began to thrust and buck beneath me, driving deeper into me than before. I lifted myself a little, trying to avoid being impaled through my cervix. He quietly tensed, every muscle in his body going stiff. I held tightly to his neck, holding my position as I quietly came with him.
When he finally relaxed, I eased myself off him. Our mixed fluids, finally having an escape route, ran down my leg. I tried to tuck him back inside his pants, but that wasn’t happening. He stood and adjusted himself back inside, the tent still protruding proudly. I walked him to the door like a big girl and kissed him goodnight. The moment I closed the door, I collapsed back onto the bench.
“Holy. Shit!” I breathed to myself. My heart still raced, my legs were wobbly. How I stood that long, I don’t know. But I still had to return to the living room where my brother was, so I needed to collect myself. I went to the bathroom, cleaned up, and fixed my hair. Then I went upstairs, changed my underwear, took one last look at myself, and returned to the living room, where my brother sat with a shitty smirk on his face.
“You know, you guys could’ve gone upstairs. It wouldn’t have bothered me.”
God, I hate my brother sometimes.
This is where I fucked up.
The next morning, I woke up sore. Yes, it was my own thoughtlessness that caused it. It was something I had wanted for so long. But it left me scared and unsure of our next visit. I panicked. And when he called the next day, I made excuses to not see him. I did that for the entire next week. When I did see him, I told him I had been talking to someone else. Being ever the gentleman, he told me to let him know what I decide. I didn’t call him back. I didn’t know what to do. How to fix it.
Ultimately, I never did. We moved on. That’s how he got away.