It was a Saturday night. I just celebrated my 18th birthday the day before with my family and friends, and although my boyfriend had also been present at my birthday party, I wanted to spend some time alone with him to celebrate the occasion.
My boyfriend was s older than I was. Let’s call him Mark. He was a graduate student at an arts school, and rented an on-campus studio. He was my first love, very experienced in sex life as much as I was innocent. He had often kissed, fondled my breasts, petted me and taught me how to jack him off using my hand, but never succeeded in going further with me. A virgin, I did not have much knowledge about what would happen, just eager to please him physically because he seemed to like that a lot and I loved him crazily.
That night, we planned to go out for dinner and movies to celebrate my birthday again, but after I arrived at his place, it began heavily raining. While waiting for the rain to stops, he hugged and french kiss. His hands were all over me, fondling with my breasts and rubbing my private parts. Under his skillful seduction, my head felt dizzy as if I had been drugged. Before I knew it, he had me in his bed and completely disrobed me and himself; my weak struggling only slowed him down a little. Finally, I laid on his single bed, naked, numbed, scared but accepting whatever would happen at the same time. I was slender, weighting 5 lbs when my height ‘4″. My tits were not fully developed but still round, and soft as baby flesh. For a short while, my boyfriend didn’t do any thing, just sat there and stared at my naked body in the dim light. When I became a little conscious and embarrassed because of my nakedness, he suddenly growled in his throat and grasped my small breasts with both his hands, squeezing them roughly, shooting a sharp pain to my brain. I gasped and moaned; halfly pleased, halfly terrified because he behaved like a mad man, rubbing his face onto my breasts, constantly kneeding them roughly while sucking hard one of my nipples, then the other. My nipples, which were very large for a virgin teenager, grew hard as pebbles and fully erected in my lover’s mouth. I learn later that I am blessed with such large nipples because they contain more nerve endings than those of other women; therefore, the pleasure a lover brings me by sucking my nipples or fingering them is much more intense. A man once brought me to orgasm just by tenderly stimulating my nipples simultaneously with his thumbs.
Back to where I was going to be deflowered. Mark seemed to be very fond of playing with my breasts. He lied down next to me, and took time massaging them thoroughly, making me writhe under his body. Then he took my right hand and placed it on his hard erection. Having been trained by him, I took hold of his penis, squeezing it lightly, and moving my hand up and down while he kissed my face, my eyes and tonguing one of my ears. When he did that (putting his tongue in my ear), his breaths sounded like thunder and the strange feelings made me grow goose bumps on my arms. One of his hands left my chest and moved downward. When it rubbed my flat stomach, my virgin body shook uncontrollably. Then his fingers brushed the black, thick hair covering my girlhood, and tried to gain access to the secret place between my tight-squeezed legs. Although my head was clouded by the heated passion Mark invoked in me, I was still very shy and resisted his move. Growing impatient with my girlish resistance, Mark sat up, grabbed my thighs and swiftly spreaded them open. Then, such as swiftly, he lied down on top of me, his knees prevented me from closing my legs, his sudden weight collapsing on me almost knocked the breath out of my lungs. Knowing that he had scared me, Mark tried to calm me down, caressed my face, whispered his love, running his hands up and down my arms and ribs. Mark was heavy but strangely, I eventually felt safe and secured, being pinned down like that.
Then I felt something blunt rubbing at the entrance of my open womanhood. It was Mark’s hard penis – he used a hand to guide his cock to the most vulnerable spot of my body, using its tip to massage my lips and clit, so wet at that time. It felt surprisingly wonderful, much better than his fingers that had stroked my private part before. I was still enjoying the new-found pleasure when Mark pushed his hips down and penetrated me. Oh my gosh, it hurt so much, a man’s first invasion of my body. I shrieked and my whole body involuntarily jerked. If Mark had not outweighted me, used his hands to restrain me, and sank his dick down more into my cunt, I must have completely thrown him off me. His cock became a torture tool, screwing relently into my tight hole, opening a path no man ever wandered before, not even a finger had gone there. My cunt entrance must have torn in several places to accomodate this huge, alien object which was my lover’s dick. My whole vagina burned when Mark stabbed his rock-hard penis deeped into me, inch by inch. I grimaced at the unimaginable pain, gasped, moaned and arched my back. At that moment I hated him so much and loved him so much, that my heart ached. I hated him because I had to suffer this horrible pain and burning sensation in exchange for his love. And I loved him because he had taken me, splitting me wide, turning me from an innocent virgin to his woman, and changing my life ever.
Mark started to withdraw. I felt as if he was trying to pull my vagina out along with his manhood. I could feel the walls of my vagina closed back after his retreat, clinging to his cock. What a brief relief from the pain I was experiencing, but at the same time I felt so lost, so abandoned, that I almost welcomed my torturer when he pushed his hips down again, crueling claiming my hole another time. Since then, Mark pumped me hard, sawing his penis back and forth in my cunt, in his newly-won fuckhole, all the time grunting and panting as a wild animal. He paused a couple of times to nib my swollen lips and push his tongue into my dry, gasping mouth. The unending pain I had to endure seemed too much and too prolonged – don’t believe any romance authors who describe the defloweration pain as swift and fading quickly; they have no idea what they are talking about. Thank God Mark had a smaller-size penis (compared with those of my lovers later) or I would have ended hating men, their cruel cocks, and love-making from my first agony from mating.
Nevertheless, I managed to find a little pleasure in the pain that Mark brought me. After a long time (to me) pumping between my legs, Mark suddenly speeded his pistoning, quickly withdrew his penis, collapsed on my body and crushed me into the mattress, sandwiched his manhood between our bellies, and climaxed, hard. Ignorant as I was, I didn’t really understand what had happened. I only instinctively knew that I had made his body shudder several times, groaning “I’m dying, I’m dying….” He grunted, burying his face in my long hair which spreaded on the white pillow, tensing his body. I didn’t exactly know that I had brought him a tremendous pleasure, but I felt somewhat powerful anyway – the special power of a first-time lover . I didn’t even know that the sticky, warm fluid Mark discharged on my stomach was called semen and could impregnate me if Mark hadn’t controlled himself and withdrew at the right time.
We just laid there in the aftermath of our lovemaking, both dazed and content (my memory of the pain had faded). When Mark rolled off me, I felt disappointed: I wanted him to continue crushing me with his weight, our skins touching, and his heart beating against mine. I didn’t know why I asked what I did, “Why did I hurt so much?” Mark opened his eyes, looked at me, and saw that I was serious. I think he was kind of embarrased because of my question. Nevertheless, he replied softly, “Because you were… new.” Then he got up and went to the bathroom.
I recalled reading somewhere that loss of virginity came with loss of some blood, so I took that opportunity to glance down at the juncture of my legs and the bed sheet: nothing there! I was puzzled and even worried, wondering if there was anything wrong with me, worrying that Mark would not love me anymore if he did not find the evidence that he was my first man as he had expected. When Mark came back, he brought a small towel soaked with warm water; kneeling on the bed, he wiped his seed on my belly and carefully washed my private part. The rough surface of the towel rubbing on my tender, torn cunt entrance made me wince and hiss. Mark looked like he was in pain, too, seeing my reactions. He lied down, gathered me into his arms, said, “I’m sorry,” and rocked me as rocking a baby. I felt so loved and cherished that my eyes grew moist, especially after my worry that he would doubt my virginity. He didn’t say anything to that effect, though.
We dozed off and I later woke up when Mark squeezed my breast while his eyes still closed, twisted my soft nipples and made them hard, and finally climbed on me again. He pistoned his penis into my sore hole for a much longer time than the first time. I still writhed in pain but somehow enjoyed the newfound sensations of the lovemaking at the end. (I was too new to experience any orgasm myself.) I think Mark’s desire for me was much stronger than his concern for my hurting from the first coupling.
This time, after he had raised his hips and pushed them down for a few times, penetrating me more deeply, I felt that something suddenly gave way inside me, and some fluid was leaking out when his penis retreated. When Mark reached his orgasm the time, also outside my vagina, I felt so exhausted. Mark asked if I would like to go wash myself, but I just shook my head (I didn’t have any energy left, being used so thoroughly by my lover). He went to the bathroom again, but before he left me, he silently pointed to something on the bed. I didn’t understand him at first, but then I looked down, right there on the sheet were two spots of blood – my virgin blood, the proof of my purity before Mark. Apparently, my hymen had been so elastic that it had endured Mark’s first attack intact, and only yielded the time he took me. The fluid I felt was the bleeding caused by his penis tearing off my thin membrane. In other words, I stayed a virgin even after Mark used my vagina for the first time in my life; but he could only literally “broke my cherry” when he fucked me the time. I wonder how many women have the same experience as I did.
Afterward, Mark cleaned me as best as he could, fetched me a softdrink, and dressed me as if he were dressing a kid. I let him take care of me, enjoying his undivided attention to my clit, my face, and my breasts as he rubbed me there while putting clothes on me. Then he took me to dinner, and back to my home. At my door, Mark kissed me goodnight and hugged me so tight that I hurt. He left after whispering into my ears a half command, half pleading, “Come to me tomorrow, my dear!” I shivered, recalling how passionate he had been in bed and imagining what would happen the next time we met… My vagina was still very sore the next day, especially when I peed and my piss burnt the tears at the entrance of my fuckhole. But it was a price to pay for being in love for the first time, wasn’t it?
In sum, my first time was terribly painful. My pleasure was psychologically, seeing that I brought Mark to orgasms, not from climaxing myself. Also, virginity was hard to take, at least from me. (Mark had to try twice.) Even though I have had other lovers after we broke up, and though a couple of them were much better sex partners than Mark, I always remember him because he is the first man I gave myself to, and because those mixed feelings of pain and pleasure he brought me that time are unique: my subsequent lovers were so great and caring that I would not experience any more pain when they entered my body, even after my long months of abstinance between them.
Where are you now, Mark?