There is a first time for every body, including me
Everybody’s Favorite Erotic Author….
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There is a first time for every body, including me!
My sister asked if I was ever going to settle down and be a full-time lesbian at some point. Her reason for such a question is a little unclear, and I’m not sure she even knows why she asked or if I am willing to tell. If I had to surmise why I would say she wants to know what is coming for me in the future to determine what she can expect for herself.
Her antics are back up to speed following her little New York episode, which is good to see in a way.
She was a prim and proper English rose, up until she gave into the naughty side (I was going to say the dark-side, but that wouldn’t paint the right picture). Up until the time she married she could count the number of sexual partners on one hand, unlike me. Now though, the two of us do not own enough fingers and toes collectively to be able to count them.
I told her to keep a journal of her journey like I have, in case she forgets who she has been with after a time, and I can tell you, it does happen and is a little embarrassing. These days, I have more rules for myself and only get involved with people I know.
When she finished diarizing her encounters, she wanted to compare notes. I am the younger sister and have never been married to a man, yet, and she wanted to see my number. I watched for her reaction and was a little disappointed when she showed nothing. Instead, she wanted to find out where it all began for me.
She knew a little of my first-time story, as sisters, we share certain secrets, but never my first man. We more or less started out the same, yet one of us lost the way. Which one of us? I cannot be sure. We both went to an all-girls school and drew the same amount of attention from the older more experienced girls and then when she left to be a grown up I continued and never stopped exploring.
She grew out of kissing and touching girls, and I remained fascinated by the female body. It didn’t end there though because I wanted boys too. My sister dated just one man through University. Me, on the other hand, well I think I ran out of people to sleep with. Even before I’d got to University, I had experience.
My sister wanted to know all the details. I told her all, but still no shocking expression from her. Shit, I’m losing my touch.
Now today, I’ll share the highlights of that first time with a man. You won’t know his name because I won’t give it, and you won’t know how old I was at the time, but you can guess at it if you want.
I had a summer job as my sister had one before me. We lived in central London, and I was taken to a hotel on the first day of the summer break by my mother, who introduced me to the manager and then left me there to get on with it. That summer I was hardly at home and loved every minute of my time working at the hotel.
It was a whole new world for me. It was an entirely different community of people from the managers, kitchen and waiting staff to housekeeping. The tea lounge was where they wanted me, purely for my breeding. Posh people like to be served by other posh little girls. Boy, if they had only known the truth about me!
It wasn’t the excitement of the job that fascinated me. I first made a friend with a girl in housekeeping, and she let me look inside some of the rooms during my break. “Can you imagine how many people have been f*cked on this bed?” She said, pointing at the messed-up sheets on a mattress one day.
I searched for an answer to her question, not to tell her but for my own needs. People came here and f*cked. I wanted to know more and continued my exploration of the hotel on my breaks.
A young trainee chef caught my eye in the kitchens one day and suddenly, all those pictures of men’s c0cks I’d seen came flooding back to me. I watched him as he grated some cheese. His shy look was on me and not on what he was doing. The next thing, he swore because he had run the grater down his fingers and not the cheese.
I ran and got him a plaster and helped him out. He smelt a little greasy but looked like he could wash up and look good naked, so I flirted with him like my life was on the line, and he came back at me all the same and then, “GET THE F*CK OUT OF MY KITCHEN LITTLE GIRL.”
Holy sh!t, I’d been warned about the chef and should have known better. I ran back to my side of the hotel, to the tea room where I belonged and waited for the telling off I expected. Instead…..
I’ve never lived an ordinary life, it’s just not in me. My sister has other ideas as she comes to terms with her own forced reality and no longer tolerates my inaction revealing our family’s secrets. She is a constant reminder of who I could have been. She is my strength and guide to opening the closed doors of our past. “The truth will triumph,” she reminds me.
My parents have plenty to hide which seems to be a family habit, and questions lead not to answers but further questions. As I back slide under the avalanche of mounting difficulties, most of which live just beneath the surface, inside my head, I wonder whether the whole truth can ever see the light of day?
Admittedly, I have too many open loops, instabilities and far more than enough temptation to fill two lives.
I have responsibilities and urges working against my inner core belief of who my own self should be. As a psychologist with top-level army clearance, I should know better. Nevertheless, I rub against the razor edge of constraint and the freedom to be me.
The one man who stole my heart is back to lay claim to what belongs to him, and there is not a God damn thing I want to do to stop him. The only problem being, he just doesn’t know what he has let himself in for yet.
I am the essential poster girl for contradiction. No more lies about me, it’s time for a change.
Seriously. I need an intervention. There has to be some kind of 12 step program for people like me.
Today, I had sex in public… at a rock concert… with one of my lovers, Max, while the other looked on from the stage. Foster is the lead singer and lead guitarist for The Infidels, a local indie band on the verge of breaking out. They’re really hot right now – the music and the band.
All five of them, including that smug bastard, Pace, who pushed me up against a tile bathroom wall, and kissed the brains from my skull, without so much as a by your leave. Prick.
As if a monogamous menage weren’t enough to deal with, now I have a proposition – more like an ultimatum – from Pace, to consider. What in the hells did I ever do to deserve such a complicated sex life?
To add to it all, I have an all access ticket to the band’s dressing room and the more time I spend in the company of Foster’s charismatic bandmates, whose sexcapades are practically legendary, the more my lady bits seem to be doing all of my thinking for me.
It’s so wrong, but I can’t help it. I have an addiction. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold out.
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