I love guest blogs that talk about ‘first times’, and this week’s post about first time sex is an absolutely incredible one. My favourite guest blogs usually fall into one of three categories:
- People talking about things I have no experience of.
- People disagreeing with me on something.
- People saying things that make me horny on the bus.
Today’s is firmly in the latter category. Everything about it reminds me of the excitement of meeting a stranger who you just want to squash yourself up against. This author, from A Sex Blog of Sorts, is a brand new sex blogger (you can find her on Twitter @sexblogofsorts). And as is appropriate given that it’s her first time guest blogging, she’s guest blogging about her first time. Enjoy.
First time sex
In my home town, there used to be a pretty grotty car park, which has since been demolished to make way for a swish branch of John Lewis, with, get this, a brasserie and an espresso bar. On the whole, it’s been a good swap – who doesn’t want three floors of homewares and fashion, right? I had a bit of a soft spot for the car park though, because that’s where I lost my virginity.
For years, my curiosity about sex and my confidence with boys had been wildly out of sync. Best friend and I would go out drinking every Monday night and on the way back to the station we’d cut through the late night bookstore. I’d spend any leftover cash I had on erotica and as soon as I got home I’d rub myself to a frantic climax as the words swam drunkenly on the page in front of me. But I still wouldn’t talk to the boys in the sixth form common room.
The night it happened wasn’t a Monday. It was Good Friday and we’d booked a cheap hotel room so we could stay out later, go to a club and kiss some boys. Except, it being Easter and all, kissing boys didn’t feel like enough. ‘I’m going to lose my virginity tonight,’ I told best friend, not really believing it would happen, but stashing a three-pack of condoms in my handbag nonetheless.
The doorman raised his eyebrows when he searched my bag, and I made some smartarse comment back. I was less cocky when the guy at the bar who best friend had been eyeing up headed over as soon as she went to the loo.
‘Can I buy you a drink?’
‘I, well, I’m, er, with a friend…’
‘That’s ok, I’ll buy her one, too.’
Best friend was surprisingly gracious – she accepted a Smirnoff Ice and made herself scarce, leaving me and the conquest that was rightfully hers to make small talk for all of ten minutes, before he dragged me to a dark corner and shoved his tongue in my mouth and his fingers in my knickers. At some point we presumably got slightly over eager, because a bouncer came over, tapped him on the shoulder and asked if we’d mind taking it outside.
I was mortified, but not so mortified that I wanted to stop. Nor did it occur to me that he probably didn’t mean us to take ‘outside’ quite so literally. But a combination of drunkenness, guilt at abandoning best friend and insufficient funds for a cab back to the hotel meant that we only made it as far as the damp, concrete multi-storey opposite.
I remember that he was wearing a dark red jumper, that his aftershave smelt nice and that he begged me to let him see my tits. Unsure how quickly I’d be able to retie my halterneck if we were interrupted, I refused, and turned my attention to his belt instead. It was gratifyingly filthy to feel the concrete biting into my flesh through my new M&S hold-ups as I got down on my knees.
He let me suck him for long enough for a couple to return to their car, start the engine and flip on the headlights. Luckily, they were too far away to spot us loitering in the shadows. Then, ‘Condoms…’ he panted, pulling me off him and bending for my bag, spilling the contents across the ground as he rifled through it. He rolled one on, and, with one hand in the small of my back, pushed me down so that I had no choice but to grip the cold metal railings and stick my arse out towards him.
He grabbed the railing too, and thrust hard. I felt something inside me give, and then, pretty quickly, he established a rhythm.
He might have told me his name when we were chatting at the bar, but either I didn’t hear it or I could no longer remember what it was. With no idea what to call him, I settled for a simple, ‘Oh god, oh god, oh god…’
And I came. Sometimes things are everything you expected them to be.