The second boy I slept with was different than the first. With the first I was learning about myself as much as I was learning about him. With the second, I was a little more confident.
He was a college boy. I was still in technically in high school but was taking classes at community college full time. (I’m slutty but I’m smart.) We sang in choir together. A tenor and a soprano. Classic.
I don’t remember our first time together. I don’t even remember our first date.
I do remember that he was the man that showed me how truly sensitive my nipples are. We’d gone to the beach. We were in the back of an SUV with tinted windows. The seats laid down. He was sucking and nibbling on my nipples. Each time he tried to move his mouth lower I begged him not to stop what he was doing. He wasn’t able to bring me to orgasm that way though. That didn’t come until many years and many lovers later. But he showed me it was possible.
We had a lot of sex. We only dated for a little more than 6 months. But we fucked just about every day during that time. I learned the glories of being on top with him. Learning how sexy and powerful it can be to ride a nice hard cock. To have a man watch you as you use him to pleasure yourself.
I learned how to have all kinds of sex on a water bed. A skill that would serve me well after marriage. We’d spend hours in that bed. Fucking. Napping. Fucking again. Usually with Bryan Adams playing in the background.
With him I learned to love sex with the lights on. I learned how to be comfortable in my skin. Whether that skin was fully clothed or draped in silk and lace or completely bare. I learned that blow jobs can be fun for everyone involved. I learned that my sexual appetite is voracious.
His father had a house out on the coast. It had a deck with a hot tub that overlooked the ocean. We had some amazing sex in that hot tub. Sex that would often be followed by showers where he would wash my hair.
He was the first boy I played bondage games with. Light stuff. The kind everyone has done. Tying each other up with scarves and such. The occasional blindfold and teasing with ice or other food.
We broke up when he went off to a camp during the summer. He was a counselor. He hooked up with one of the other counselors. He broke things off when he came back and continued dating her. But he continued sleeping with me.
We’d managed to stay friends somehow. Just as well since we’d scheduled all of our classes together for the fall semester. We would get together to study and end up in bed. He’d always feel guilty afterwards. I’d walk away with the satisfaction of knowing that he couldn’t get enough of me. Even then I enjoyed being “that” girl. The one that makes you feel dirty and good all at the same time. The one you can’t get out of your system.