I was working in a small cafeteria in X. although I had all ready
had pretty extensive experience, I had yet to go “all the way”
A young woman by the name of Jamaine had been giving me
every signal (with twenty years hindsight) in the book, but I was
rather obliviously chasing a blonde of my own age, Laura. Of
course, although I haven’t read any of the material here, I can imagine that the rule throughout is a combination of hormone
surge and opportunity, and Jamaine was an excellent judge of
both. although she was eighteen, she was already pretty adept
at getting what she wanted, and for some unknown reason, that was me. I have to say up front that afterwards, she wrote me the most
incredibly romantic poem I have STILL ever read. . . but she was the
cause of my first trip to the clinic as well!
To make a short story long, all of us were getting off work one evening about nine or so, and J asked if I’d like to go out driving.
As I said before, she had a good eye on the pulse of a growing boy.
I said sure, and she took over. We drove around a bit, with her laying on the ego strokes left and right. She finally came out and asked me to take her home. In my ignorance, I assumed this was the end of the evening. She spoke further: “I need to take my pill
and grab some vodka.” That’s a signal even a teen in ’76 couldn’t miss. I waited patiently (im) in the car as she dashed inside, reappearing in moments with just a purse. her very long blue-black curls almost streamed out behind her as she leaped down the steps from her house. One thing I really liked about her was that she didn’t wear bell bottoms or polyester or any of the other affectations of the times.
We proceeded to drive around (drunker and drunker I’m afraid)
town, talking and laughing and drinking. I eyed the bottle (still not really realizing that the liquor was an uneeded ingredient to the evening) and thought that I better get going. I drove out to a secluded spot near a local park. We started kissing in the front seat, and the next thing I remember, Jamaine was dragging me toward the back seat with both hands. I don’t remember to this day how she stopped kissing me and got back there by herself without me noticing. I thought that I did pretty well, considering the fact that I was so very wrong about who was running the operation. J skinned down her jeans and started a slow grind on my lap. I remember a fog of the hottest kisses I can remember to this day. What strikes me as unusual, is all the things I keep track of now to make a woman happy in bed that I’m sure never entered my mind then. We moved straight from that sensual dry hump to a no holds barred fuck.
J coughed and excused herself and pitched sidelong along the seat. I thought she had passed out, but it was merely a more convenient way to remove her panties. They wafted away (how many times would I want them gone so casually in the future?) and J was upright in my lap yet again. She stared directly into my eyes and stopped kissing me. She reached between us and aimed me directly at her center. I did nothing, and she resumed the same grind as before with that one important difference: I was deep inside a woman for the first time in my life. Thank god (in retrospect) for the vodka, because this sheer rrealization would have made me come several times over in those first few moments. Maybe that’s the key to women taking boys for the first time: grab someone so naive they don’t know how good they’re having it, or grab those with experience and numb them. Fortunately (and from many stories from friends, exceptionally) I did well my first time. i enjoyed being where I was a
LOT, and did every thrust and grope and grind I could think of. If I came, I didn’t notice, until this glow of intense phermone soaked air in the close confines of the car was sharpened by the headlights of another car. I didn’t have a stopwatch, but when we went by a bank clock on the way out to the parking spot, it was about 9:30. It was now well past eleven. i reember grabbing Jamaine’s shoulders and holding her as absolutely close to me as I could. I rocked my hips a few more times and let go with what may have been my first or fifth
cum inside J.
Of course, no first time can go so well; great confidence builder, beautiful woman well satisfied, no black eyes or bruised genitalia.
We climbed slowly out of the opposite sides of the back seat and took a deep breath of the cool air and then climbed in to go. . . but didn’t. Besides this recounting, and the memories it stirs, the biggest thought about my first time has always been that the car wouldn’t start afterwards! Jamaine and I stood on the shoulder of a very deserted road for fifteen or twenty minutes waiting for someone to give us a jump start.
Again, I don’t know how many of these stories (gonna go read them now!) are real, how many made up, how many exaggerated, and how many reflected on after the telling. I do want to say that this telling has led me to an epiphany of sorts – that I enjoyed that first experience very much, not because of the skill or enthusiasm, or looks, or any other characteristic of the woman involved except her sheer joy and willingness to be with me. I am involved with such a woman now, and am going to try to bring that sheer joy to her.
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