We have all had that first time sex experience. What was your first time like? We’re you ready? Were you nervous? Do you regret it? Was it exciting and sensual and everything you hoped it would be? After the very first time you continue to experience more firsts. Your first blowjob. Your first threesome. The first time you realized the way you enjoyed sex was different than the way others enjoyed it. And somewhere in there you even experienced your first orgasm. Tell us about one of your firsts.

– Prompt by Stella Kiink

 

I was sixteen when I lost my virginity. It was at a party, in a muddy stockyard, in the middle of winter, with a boy, G, from school. We’d been eyeing each other up for weeks, flirting during class, hooking up at various social events, things going further and further until the urge to have sex was itching at us both like a hair shirt, maddening in its intensity.

We weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend but that didn’t matter to me – or him. I was never a hearts and flowers sort of girl and, unlike a lot of my peers, who generally had far more romantic notions when it came to giving away their virginity, I had a somewhat more pragmatic approach to sex. (Much to their consternation, my world-view didn’t really require that the boy I lost it to take me to the movies for six months and then profess his undying love over a candlelit supper.) Bluntly, having had a satisfying relationship with my own hand for quite some time, I was intrigued by the possibilities presented by a penis and didn’t place much value on waiting to ‘do it’ with someone special. My first time was very much something to get out of the way so that I could move on with experimenting and enjoying my sexuality.

I should say at this point that, although G and I weren’t officially an item, we were attracted to one another. With every look we shared – in the lunch queue, during seemingly endless maths lessons – the promise of sex was there and by the time the night in question rocked around, we both knew what was going to happen. He’d never done it before, either, and with the party raging in a woolshed roughly fifty metres away, the cold night air attacking every exposed bit of skin as we partially undressed and fumbled about in the dark with a condom it was, frankly, pretty awkward and uncomfortable. But neither of us was dissatisfied. Even more surprisingly, rather than it being a case of lost interest after the fact (as I suspected it would be) our desire to connect, against all odds, increased.

And that’s when things got interesting.

Having lifted the lid of the proverbial sexual box, neither of us wanted to close it again. Without really intending to, we went from ‘losing our virginity buddies’, to a couple.

I’m not sure how unusual it is to have good teenage sex but, without word of a lie, I was to discover that, despite his lack of practical experience, G had a better understanding of the female body and more sexual inventiveness at sixteen than some men twice his age. Crucially, he was genuinely interested in what turned me on but he also understood that desire and arousal were as much about the brain as the body.

He wasn’t afraid to play.

I’ve written in the past about early clues as to my bend towards kink but as far as first experiments with it go, G was very much it, even though neither of us recognised that what we were engaging in was D/s. Very quickly, we discovered that both of us got off if he was in control of what was happening. I have fantastically vivid memories of him hunting me through a house in the dark before tackling me and screwing me on the floor. Of him pulling aside my swimmers and entering me in the middle of a lake in broad daylight, people swimming obliviously around us. Of him stripping me naked, tying me to my bed and leaving me there until he was ready to fuck me – with either his cock or an object he thought might be interesting. I now know that safety-wise the latter is pretty terrible, but in our defence we were sixteen and had no idea about S.S.C. or R.A.C.K. or any of that stuff. I also want to stress at this point that, despite his age and the ‘games’ (I have issues with that word in a kink context but it is probably suitable here) we were playing, G was always supremely careful with me in a physical context. He was a strong guy, a front-row rugby player (for U.S. readers, who that sporting reference will likely make no sense to, click here for a pic of a front-row in action), easily able to subdue me if he chose, but he never abused his position of power – and, ultimately, when I asked for more, he baulked. Clear as a bell, I remember it. I asked him to hold me down – and mean it. Not in the context of a chase, or using a dressing gown cord or whatever else it might have been that we utilising for bondage at the time. Him, G, with just his hands.

It was a bridge too far. He told me he felt like a rapist. I was mortified.

One of the biggest hurdles as a kinkster is expressing yourself to a partner. Often the things you most want or need are difficult to ask for and it takes a lot of trust to open up and expose yourself in that way to someone. G was a very open-minded guy for his age but in hindsight I realise that I was asking a hell of a lot from him. We didn’t have the experience to understand the dynamic we were exploring, or, indeed, have the framework within which to discuss it. The fall-out from him expressing his limit in that way, though, was that for a very long time I felt unable to articulate my wants and needs to partners going forwards. “What,” I always asked myself, “if I made them feel the way G did?”

That question still plagues me to this day and I often drive M nuts asking whether he’s okay with some of the things I profess a desire for.

In G’s case, we moved on and didn’t talk about my request again. The sex was still fun but a few months later, the relationship fizzled out when his increasing interest in it came into direct conflict with his ability to be faithful. Ah, well.

This has been an incredibly hard post to write, not least because I feel it that exposes me very deeply, encompasses so many of the things that have been fundamental in shaping the sexual ‘me’ I am today. Reading it back, though? My firsts were actually pretty damn good. If I have but one regret? It’s that I let that one comment rule me for as long as it did.

But then hindsight’s a grand thing, isn’t it?

 

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