Where it happened: on the couch in his brother's warehouse
Langauge: English
Sex: Female
Rating: 10
Category: Straight
He was my very first love, therefore, I don’t want to besmirch the experience by getting too graphic. It wasn’t this “hot” experience; I’ve had much better sex since then, but it was, after all, the first. I remember calling my best friend, and several other friends to say that I had “done” it, and comparing stories or listening to their shocked sighs. I felt a sense of accomplishment I think, and, in a way, a sense of relief. It was over, I would never have “my first time” again.
We had been dating a few weeks, to me, that was forever, but I had known him for almost four years. He was my first boyfriend back when I was in seventh grade, when I had dated him for a month (“That’s a really long time, right Mom?” I remember asking her after I’d dumped him) and then, a year and a half later, dating him for another month or so before breaking it off for about two years. The third time we dated, it was altogether different. It was the summer of 1989, and this time, I knew I was would be moving that November to a different state. The news that I would be forced to leave my hometown of 15 years had hit me hard, and I had resolved to get involved with no one until I departed. He changed my mind about that, promising me great times and laughter for as long as we could, and I believed him. Getting involved with him again under those circumstances hurt me in so many ways after I moved, but I would not change anything I did.
I knew even at that young age that I wanted my first time to be special. So many of my friends had lost their virginity in cars, in their parents beds, or out in the woods, and I didn’t want that at all. We both told elaborate lies to our parents about sleeping over at other’s homes that night so that we could spend the whole night together. This was so important to me. I not only wanted to euphemistically “sleep” with him, I wanted to actually wake up in his arms the next morning. With an extremely accomodating brother, this became possible.
I met him in the village at the arcade, our prearranged spot. We walked to a neutral friend of his’s house, who was also in on our game, and had arranged to take us to a local church bazaar. In heinsight, that was probably stupid of us, risking apprehension by any number of people who knew us in that small town, but we walked through the exhibits unafraid. We tossed our overnight bags in the woods while we ate fried dough and hung out with friends. When it got dark, we retrieved our belonging and made the two hour walk to his brother’s warehouse in a neighboring town. When we arrived, his brother was in the back watching a movie, which I still remember was Die Hard. We sat with him for a while. I still recall how nervous and a bit embarressed I was, knowing that his brother knew what was about to happen. My love had his arms around me. Even though he was but 14, I felt as though he was being strong for both of us. After a bit, his brother led us to the front of the warehouse where our “bed” was. The bed was acutally a large, overstuffed brown couch perched precariously on a large metal desk. He had a pillow and a blanket there for us, and, announcing that there was “beer in the fridge” he left us for the night.
The bathroom his brother had was makeshift, a small stall shower, a toliet and a mirror with indoor/outdoor carpeting inside. My love let me go first; I brushed my teeth and changed into a long shirt for sleeping. I remember being nervous, even shaking a bit, but resolved to go through with it. When I exited, my darling did his toilette and came out in only shorts. How sexy, I thought. Because he worked over the summers with his brother and was at times a fitness freak, his body was tanned and showed signs of muscles. He was so much taller than me, over six feet foot three to my five foot eight. I always felt safe with him beside me. We climbed to the couch and I laid on his chest. I had no idea what we would do or how we would start, but my darling boy seemed to feel the same way. He took a beer from the fridge and laid down to drink it, offering me little sips every now and then. We talked, for hours, about god knows what. I remember he drank a lot that night, but he was used to drinking beer, his brother was quite a drinker then. I knew I wanted my mind clear to remember all I could, so I sipped his offerings slowly while we talked. After hours of talking and drinking, he put the beer down and reached for me.
We kissed slowly, as we had done many times in the past. He got up to shut the lights off and climbed back on the couch with me. I felt his hands roaming my body with his familiar touch. He caressed my breasts, but did not kiss them. He sucked my bottom lip while I nibbled on his tongue. We stayed that way for a long time. I felt him hard against my thigh. I wanted to touch his penis, but felt a bit afraid of it, but I could feel its warmth. I buried my face in his neck, sucking and licking the length,and tasted his salty sweat on my lips. I could hear his heavy breathing as I finally gently stroked his erect penis. His deep kissing had caused my pussy to get very wet and I wriggled against his hand as he placed it there. Finally, the moment was here. I laid back into the couch as he rose up to mount me. I was excited, but fearful. Would I bleed as I had read? Would it feel good? It took him a bit to find the right spot, then he entered me with all the grace of an elephant, forcing his penis to the hilt in one shove. I felt slight pain, and intense pressure in my pussy. I remember thinking, are we supposed to move? What do we do? How does he come? He drew back and began to move slowly, but the angle was all wrong due to his height and the size of the couch. He fell out before he had started, and began to lose his balance. Wordlessly, he moved me aside so he could lay in the spot where I had been. Now I was atop him, feeling the sweat of his body, and the heaviness of his breath. I raised myself on my elbows and thought, How do I get his penis inside me now? I was afraid to reach for it and guide it in, so we grinding our bodies together, trying to ease his penis in. After a few enjoyable tries, his cock slipped in again. I felt the pressure of his penis all around my pussy. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it really didn’t feel good either. He grabbed me at the waist and began to move me up and down on his penis, and I helped him as we moved together. I could feel the condom that he had put on earlier inside me rubbing against my insides. He was sweating profusely, breathing heavily. I followed the motions of his body as best as I could, smelling the smell of sex rise between us. After what seemed like a long time, I heard him gasp suddenly and force his hips into me with a force that rivaled a tidal wave. He let out a small sigh, but no loud groans that I am now accustomed to hearing. I wanted to watch his face, but I kept my eyes shut tight until he stopped moving. Once he relaxed, I looked down. Our difference in size was awkward; in order for the whole process to work, my body was forced beyond his face, so I had to bend down to see him. It was pitch black in the warehouse as I looked upon my lover’s contented face.
The intensity of the moment floored me. Although I had not even come close to any kind of orgasm, I was flooded with feelings and emotions I couldn’t understand. I felt so connected to this person, so much in love, so lost. I knew from that moment that something my mother said had been true: Once you cross the barrier and become sexually active, the relationship is never the same and you can never go back. Even at that moment, I knew it was different, and I didn’t know if it would be a good change or a bad change. I kissed his forehead, drenched with sweat, his blonde hair somehow shining in the darkness, and I said, “I still love you”. Why I said this, I do not know. Why did I say, “I STILL love you”? Why not just “I love you”? I will never know, but I will never forget his response. He chuckled a little bit under his breath and said, “I didn’t think you’d hate me.”
We cleaned ourselves up. I remember him rising from the bed, and I was almost embarressed to look at him in the light naked. He walked to the edge of the warehouse, where the outside met the inside, and I saw him toss the condom as far as he could. How gross! I thought, and pretended not to see him do it. He walked back slowly towards the couch and cuddled with me in the small, confined space. “Are you okay?” he whispered to me. I nodded yes. He kissed my head and we slept together on the tiny couch. It was August 22, 1989, 2:45 AM.
Of course, it was not meant to be. In November, a week before I moved, he presented me with a sterling silver heart shaped cz ring, and asked me to marry him at the Sadie Hawkins dance, and tearfully I said yes. That christmas, my sterling ring was replaced with a gold ring with two tiny diamonds in it. I think it cost $110. As my months away dragged on, he began to date others, only to my dismay. For a year I pined for him, begging him to stay with me despite the miles, but he could not. I stifled the pain with the only one night stand I ever had in my life, which only made me cry – the sex was absolutely horrible, and he was a horrible lay to boot. I finally found an older man later that year who would become my “third”, and then a guy from school who for three and a half years became my “forth”. The “forth” guy is pretty interesting because I cheated on him only one time, and with only one person…you guessed it, my first. He came down to a local theme park for a few days with his brother and without his girlfriend of two years. His brother had looked up my number and told me to meet him there. We sat in his brother’s truck and he played me Adam Ant’s “Wonderful” song over and over. God I missed him. We made love that night, but I did not spend the night with him. I wish I had. By then, I was convinced that I was in love with #4. But you know I wasn’t.
Then came #5, and I married that one, before #1 asked me to come away with him. Yup, he resurfaced again, this time in the armed forces in the spring of ’96. He called me all the time over that summer, and wrote me many wonderful letters. He said he just wanted to be friends, but his letters soon turned romantic. He was going to be stationed in Hawaii he thought, and when he left, he wasn’t going to take the girlfriend (the same one – now of 4 years) with him. Just as he was writing me, I was running away to Las Vegas with #5, who was also 5 years younger than me, and getting married. When i came back, he was calling me, and I was telling him I was married. He seemed unfazed, especially when I told him my new husband was 17 years old. After long, agonizing years of wanting him and missing him, he said the words I had always hoped to hear, “Will you come and be with me?” He was alone in Hawaii, and he wanted me. Wanted to live with me and marry me. And I told him no. It was the last I heard of him until six months later, when, while talking to an old mutual friend, I found out he married the girlfriend of 4 years in what was described as a shotgun wedding. He apparently called her, in December, and asked her to come down and get married, and she did. Only he and I knew that he had asked me first, and only after I said no did he marry her.
Dammit, I miss him. I am married to a wonderful guy (even though he’s young) who is everything I know I’ve always wanted, but still i miss my first. Sometimes after my husband and I fuck, I say that I wish I’d waited for him. In some ways, I suppose I do wish that. But that would take away my first, and I love him so very much even now. I often think these days what would have happened if I had divorced my husband and gone to Hawaii…but i will never know. Now I am desperate to find him, in any way I can, but I am afraid now.
DJH…if you ever see this or read this, please find me. You have always been able to, and I want you to. No matter when you read this, no matter what time of day, please find me and talk with me. I will always love you, and i miss you desperately. Love always, your blossom.
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