This week’s guest blog post, by Ephemeral, absolutely took my breath away. When I think of my first ever sexual experience, it’s all spin-the-bottle and hands-under-t-shirts and fumbling in bushes as a youth. But this is something more mental than physical – an experience that combines intensity and communication to create something so hot it made me shudder. Enjoy…
My first sexual experience
I was a late bloomer, partly by how I was raised, partly by choice, and partly through my own shyness. I barely interacted with boys growing up and I made my first friend of the opposite gender in high school when I was sixteen. I had a spectacularly disastrous first romantic relationship in college, where he refused to be any kind of a partner to me and happily accepted my emotional, mental, and social support. He also refused to touch me in any way, shape, or form outside of the occasional friendly hug, leaving me utterly devastated and firmly convinced of my lack of desirability.
So what’s a girl to do when she’s on a six-hour red-eye flight where the most stunning boy she’s ever seen is assigned to the seat next to hers?
Despite having gone through college and working a few crappy entry-level jobs, the level of interaction I’d had with men had gone from “almost never” to “occasional”. I could barely glance at my seatmate without blushing, the red visibly highlighting my face. However, I reminded myself that he didn’t know my history, and by some miracle, I plucked up enough courage to start a conversation with him.
It went fine; the earth didn’t shatter and the plane didn’t fall out of the sky. We were both trying to spend the flight awake and were the only people in our three-row seat, so that was cool in that I didn’t have to worry about my reading light being on and disturbing him. Although, it being a red-eye flight, most people were asleep, and about an hour into our conversation I turned my light off to be considerate…and because I kept blushing. By then we’d covered lots of random topics, including sexual experience and physical boundaries, and were holding hands. He’d told me that he liked bondage and he was a bit of a masochist. I’d told him that I was saving my first kiss (and everything after) for my husband and that it sucked because of my high sex drive. All of a sudden, he looked me in the eye and said, “I think I understand your physical boundaries.” And I said, wondering why he was bringing this up again all of a sudden, as we’d left that topic behind at least three topics ago, “What do you mean?” And he said, “It means, no matter how badly I want to kiss you, or how badly I want to fuck you, I’m not going to.” I was blushing so hard, but I had to ask him: “Do you want to fuck me?” He stared straight into my eyes, and his voice dropped into the basement: “Oh, yeah.”
No one had ever spoken to me like that before. When he said that, I felt chills go down inside of me, from my throat to my cunt. I’d never felt anything like that before. My face was on fire, and I felt like the force of his gaze was pinning me into my seat. The rest of the airplane floated away: the other sleeping passengers, the flight attendants, the noise from the airplane engine and the wind outside. It was just him and me, in our three-row seat, in the circle of his reading light; that was all that existed. And I knew that if he wanted to touch me, I wouldn’t be able to stop him. There we were, with five hours to go on the flight.
He didn’t, though. He was true to his word: he respected my physical boundaries. He was constantly leaning over to whisper filthy words describing his decadent desires into my left ear, and as my face would flood, I would gasp, I would turn to face him and reach for him, not sure if I was about to push him away or pull him in closer, he’d deftly move away from me, safely out of my grasp. Then he’d smile mockingly and say, “But we can’t.”
Eventually he did turn off his reading light and the last few hours of the flight were a haze of adrenaline, sweaty palms, hot whispers, desperate looks, clenched thighs, and darkness. I knew that time was passing, and time also seemed endlessly stretched, as if the light would never return, as if the reality that I was flying with my mother asleep ten rows behind us and he was flying home to his family problems would stay an alternate reality. As if we would fly into a universe where upon disembarking we would find the nearest hotel room and not leave until we’d been sated. And as the plane was descending, I gripped onto his hand as tightly as if it were the only thing keeping me grounded. With the wind rushing by us and the blood rushing into my ears, I felt my uterus contract one final time and release.
This week’s guest blog is sponsored by the brilliant people at PeepShow Toys. Continuing on their mission to support bloggers, they’ve contributed money to help me pay guest bloggers and keep this site running. They sell lots of fantastic body-safe sex toys so you can pick up some brilliant sex toys at bargain prices. Use code GOTN10 for 10% off! And if you’re looking for a last-minute Christmas gift they even do sexy gift cards too!