back in the day
|I still have this dress in the back of my closet.
One day I’ll wear it again. After I lose 50lbs.
As was the story with most of my relationships for the first decade and a half of my adulthood, it was centered mostly on sex. Once the sex slowed down, as it will tend to do in most relationships after the “honeymoon period,” the problems arose. I’m not even going to begin to get into any of those issues, because there were many, and that’s not what this post is about.
Those first few months living together were great. We fucked all the time and loudly. For the first time we were able to be completely unrestrained and uninhibited. We also had little to no self-awareness about how much noise we were making. Our building was a quadplex with two apartments downstairs and two apartment upstairs. And apparently the walls were thin.
What brought it all home for us was one Saturday afternoon. We were not fucking, for a change, but we were lounging around in bed. We heard our across-the-hall neighbors having sex. And it was obvious that they were trying to be quiet. The only sounds they were making were some squeaky springs and heavy breathing. Not even any moans or cries. But we heard it all as if it was happening in the room with us.
After that day, we started to notice the other sounds we could hear. We’d never met the guy who lived upstairs, Al (we knew his name from mis-delivered mail), but we could hear his alarm clock in the morning, and hear him padding around his bedroom once he got up and before he went to bed. He never had anyone over for sex as far as we could tell.
He began to play into our fantasies, however. We were excited at the thought of him listening to us up there, his bed directly above ours, maybe stroking his cock. We also used to joke if he thought and/or worried about us from time to time. “I haven’t heard the dykes downstairs fucking for a few days. I wonder if they’re having a fight?? I hope everything’s okay.”
We also had this grand fantasy of having a quadplex fuck-off. The idea was that we would coordinate with our neighbors (none of whom we ever met, now that I think about it), and we would all plan to have a fuckathon at the same time to see who could be the loudest. In our little make-believe ideal, we would also have our windows open to share our joyous noises with the neighborhood, and hope to inspire more.
Under her hands, mouth, and tongue, I learned firsthand exactly what all of the exquisite torture I used to give my Angel felt like. In fact, not long after I had been thoroughly fucked by her several times, I made a lunch date with Angel and apologized profusely for never giving her a break. She got a big laugh out of that, saying that no apologies were required but she was glad I found what what it was like.
I also learned that, while it’s not exactly the same thing, the right dildo can be just as hot and satisfying as a real cock. Aside from masturbation, my only experiences with double-penetration have been with her. She never used an actual strap-on with me, but she did have a nice array of different sizes and lengths and we tried them all.
While the relationship itself was a disaster, she had an indelible impact on my life. I feel her presence in my life every day. Mostly because she had a large role in completely reshaping my tastes in music. When she and I met, I was listening to mostly Nine Inch Nails and Marilyn Manson. She joined a band that would become my favorite band of all-time, Mofro. Through her I learned an appreciate for jazz, blues, soul, and even rap. If it were not for her, my musical tastes would not be nearly as eclectic as they are now. For that, I’ll forever be grateful.
One other interesting thing I wanted to share that came as a result of our relationship was something I like to call the Lesbian Name Game. I actually haven’t thought about it in a really long time until I started writing this. See, the Lesbian Name Game predicts the evolution of a woman’s name as she embraces being a lesbian. You start with a feminine given name which becomes a shortened masculine nickname and eventually ends up as just an initial. We saw this happen many times in the local community. For example, Bernice become Bernie and finally just Bea. Tonya would turn into Tony and then just T. She was actually never known as Bernie (I actually used to call her ‘ma bella Bernicio’ incorporating her middle initial O), but I did go through a Tony phase for a while. While I am no longer consider myself a lesbian, except for part-time sometimes for the right girl, many of my friends do call me T.
Today’s pic is another one from my deep archives. Since I have been spending all day today looking through old photos and recently I can’t help but kneel before my love as often as he’ll allow, this seems appropriate. This photo was taken June 23, 1998.
|assuming the position|
|So young and innocent. Did I really think this was sexy?|
In at least this post (by the absolutely divine Lady Grinning Soul, who I can’t imagine you’re not reading, but if you are not, you MUST!) and several tweets this past week, the subject of losing one’s virginity has been tossed about. As this is a topic I’ve had on a list for myself anyway, now seems like the perfect time to jump on it.
I don’t know for sure how long we were in the closet, but it was much longer than 7 minutes. We were in there so long that when we finally came out, my sister and Ronnie had snuck back out the window because they were bored waiting for us. So we went to go find them.
They hadn’t gone very far, just around the block. I think we walked around for maybe half an hour before we decided to call it a night. We all made plans to meet up again the following night.
The next night, my sister and I anxiously awaited for my mom to leave for work. We gave her our usual 15-minute window and then out my window we went. We walked around for about an hour without running into anyone and even went to Marlan’s house to toss pebbles at his window, but got no response. Finally we decided we were tired, gave up, and went home.
We did more talking than making out that night, probably for a couple of hours, at least. Finally he leaned over and kissed me. Again, I noticed he smelled like corn dogs. We only made out for a few minutes before he said he wanted to have sex. Thinking about it right now and looking back, I can’t remember that moment at all. So many other tiny details of that night are crystal clear, but that one is wrapped in haze. I don’t know exactly what he said to me or what my response was. Like I said, before the previous night, I hadn’t really had much interest in him at all. So it’s not like I was just waiting for him to ask.
At any rate, the space in my closet was really too cramped to do anything more than make out, so we opened the closet door and peeked out. My sister was asleep and snoring. The clock read 4:11am. We stretched out on the floor at the foot of my bed, half in and half out of the closet.
For the next few minutes, everything happened very quickly. He got on top of me and kissed me. We took our clothes off: me only my shorts and panties, he everything but his socks. He fingered my pussy briefly. When he started to get on top of me again, I asked him if he had a condom. He stopped and replied that he didn’t. We just laid there for a minute.
Believe me when I tell you that I know now and I definitely knew then how ridiculous this next part was. It all happened so fast that I didn’t really have time to think or to react rationally. So please, forgive that poor, stupid 16-year-old girl.
He said to me, “If I go pee first, it will be okay.”
“You can’t use my bathroom! My grandmother is asleep on the couch!”
Instead he climbed out my bedroom window wearing only his socks and pissed in my backyard. He was back in under a minute.
He lay on top of me again, not even bothering to kiss me first. He was moving between my legs and I just kind of laid there, stunned at what had just happened, waiting for it to be over. I didn’t want to do this, but I didn’t know how to stop this series of events. I don’t want to give the impression that I was raped, by any means, because I did consent, even if I didn’t want to do it. He was having trouble entering me and I asked him if he needed help down there. He said that he did not and finally put his small penis into my vagina. Thirty seconds later it was all over. You’ve heard the expression “2 pumps and a dump”? That’s literally how it was. He went in-out-in-out and then shot a little pool on my belly. I’ve always said it felt better when he fingered me than when he fucked me, and his fingers were bigger, too.
After he spewed, he laid down on the floor next to me for less than a minute. Then he told me that I’m a better lay than my sister is. I kid you not. Again, exact words escape me here, but that’s the gist. I asked him when he fucked her and he told me it was two weeks prior. He got up, put on his clothes, lit a cigarette, said he had to get home before his dad woke up, and left out the window. I glanced at the clock. It was 4:18am. I had not moved at all since he came back in the window from pissing in my backyard.
All I could think about was that I couldn’t believe I’d made sex out to be such a big deal. That was it??? I’d been thinking and obsessing about it for my whole life. My biggest fear was dying a virgin. One of my common phrases for how much I didn’t want to do something was, “I’d rather die a virgin.” Yet there it was. Over. Done with. And I felt nothing.
I got up, pulled on my panties and shorts, went to the bathroom to clean his cum off my belly and pee. Numbly, I went to bed and fell asleep. It was October 10, 1991.
My alarm clock went off a few hours later and somehow I dragged myself out of bed to catch the bus to go to school. On the short ride to school, my sister and I decided that we didn’t feel like going. Once we arrived at school and got off the bus, we immediately met up with her friend and my best friend and the 4 of us walked off campus, in the direction of my house. There is a community college between my high school and my neighborhood, and when we skipped school we would walk there to catch the city bus to go wherever we wanted to go instead. Halfway across the college campus, we ran into Marlan and his brother, making their late walk to school since they’d missed the bus. His brother went on to school, but we’d convinced Marlan to skip school with us to go to my sister’s friend’s house.
He did not speak a single word to me that entire day, but instead spent the whole day trying to fuck my best friend. At first she was buying into his charm, until I told her about the night before and then she was having none of it.
The funniest part of the story is that my sister got in contact with him a few years later. They were hanging out one night and she brought him home to see me. (She had moved in with me and my roommates during her senior year of high school.) That night, he tried to get me to fuck him again. I laughed in his face. I wanted to say, “Are you fucking kidding me? Do you not remember that I’ve already been there and done that??” Instead, through some chain of events that I no longer recall, I got a picture of him naked, wearing only my black bra. I just spent 15 minutes fruitlessly digging through some boxes to find it so I could scan and post it. Don’t worry, I know I still have it somewhere and I WILL find it. 😉
I wanted to get posted early this time, so I am digging up another one from my archives. This was going to be posted last week but… uh… something better presented itself, hehe. In the same vein of the week before last, I’m giving you another first.
My first pussy shots, taken April 29, 1999.
(I wanted to do a click-through, but I’m not as cool as some of you others, hehe)
Posted in participation with Sinful Sunday, hosted at Molly’s Daily Kiss.
Click to see who else is in the pink this Sunday. 😉
Sorry, I know this is late, but it’s still Sunday for us. 🙂 For about another hour and a half. So I’m squeaking this one in at the last minute.
I’ve been thinking about something to post this Sunday, and I haven’t had any good sexual adventures recently, so I’m digging something up from the vaults. WAY up from the vaults. I give you now the very first digital topless picture ever taken of me. It was taken on January 22, 1998 with my friend’s webcam.