The experience was neither memorable nor stimulating, but as I sit here at my computer, I try my very hardest to recall the time I popped his cherry. Our relationship (if you’d even call it that) was quickly over after a couple months of fogging up the windows of my Toyota Rav4. The seats would fold down, my clothes would come off, and his cock would stand up so straight that his belly button would on occasion fill with cum. I was eighteen, he was sixteen, and undoubtedly, it was a fling based solely in hormonal illegality.
But I kind of liked it that way, knowing that it was lawfully wrong. And I also liked when his sophomore buddies would pat him on the back every time he mentioned his “senior girl.” Because after all, I was sort of a prize to be won, to flaunt around, to adore. But due to his lack of driver’s license, car, and knowledge of women, he failed miserably at taking advantage of what he had. And so, I would pick him up from his house or meet him at a restaurant where his mother dropped him off. She’d wave, I’d wave back, and he’d yell, “Love you, Mom!” Alas, it was embarrassing and yet, strangely charming.
Although he was sixteen years old, he could easily pass for twenty-five. And to all my fellow senior girls, he too was a prize boy toy to fawn over. So, like any hot-blooded, sexually active, high school honey, I wanted to fuck him. He said he just wasn’t “morally ready,” something to do with “disappointing his mother.” Looking back on it now, he probably needed some Freudian counseling or a hard kick in the pants. I ended up giving him something better – access to my cookies. All complaints aside, he did wonders with his hands and fingers. And if he ever comes across this personal anecdote, I am here to tell him – you deserve a purple heart, a shiny medal, or an honorary distinction. Well done.
Over time, I came to find that his reservations dissipated. The deed finally occurred in his boyhood bedroom when his parents were gone and the condoms had been purchased. It was strange – being in a moment where I knew everything, he knew nothing, and his cock hadn’t entered a pussy before. Virgin territory, ladies and gentleman! And needless to say, he came quickly. But rather than telling me about his very first intercourse orgasm, he kept his mouth shut and so, we moved onto other positions.
Once I finally found out that he had cum about five minutes prior, my mouth fell to the floor and I pulled him out. Didn’t he know that continuing to fuck after ejaculation increased the chances of his little sperm swimming with my eggs?! As a virgin, obviously not. But I did believe, however, that common sense and porn would have alerted him to the importance of pulling out post cum! Need I explain everything?
After the sex, we went to Fatburger for some shakes and fries. We only had sex one more time after that first occurrence, and surprisingly enough, it was pretty outstanding. I presumed that he either watched porn for insight, asked around for tips, or got first hand experience from another girl who obviously, was less dynamic than myself. While I have trouble fully recalling what exactly transpired between the sheets, I know that my now-non-virgin will always remember me as the girl who popped his cherry. Sometimes I wonder if I forced him into it, if he regrets his decision, or even, if he considers himself “born again.” Then I slap myself across the face, smile, and think about how great of a lay I was and still am.
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