Women I’ve slept with. Part 1: The girl who took my virginity

I’ve had a dozen sexual partners, although I think I’m quite proud of the fact that I didn’t know that until I’d written down all their names and then counted them. I dare say many of you have had far more, and some of you may well have had far fewer. So I feel no embarrassment at the number.With hindsight I am not exclusively proud of the way I have behaved to any of these women but, with thankfully few exceptions, I am far from ashamed of the way I have treated them in general. Did I mention there were exceptions? Yes, on some occasions I have been a complete shit to the women I have slept with and I am not proud of that in any way shape or form. If it were practicable, I would gladly go back and apologise to them. It is, for the most part not practicable. And would probably be just weird. All being well, those whom I may have offended will have found some closure at worst, if not forgotten me.

I would now like to introduce you to these women, one by one. Yes, this is partially self indulgent and somewhat gratuitous, but it may also shed some light on how I’ve come to be who I now am. I have had a degree of affection for (nearly) all these women, so doing so will surely bring back some fond memories for me. The amateur Freudian analysts amongst you may also be able to deconstruct my mind as I partake in this process, but if you do, please don’t tell me quite how fucked up I really am: ignorance is bliss.

Obviously the names have been changed to protect the innocent, even if some were anything but innocent.

And now to our main feature.
Women I have slept with. Part 1. The woman who took my virginity. (Cue lights, camera, annnnnnd ACTION!)

I was a late starter. And prior to my arrival at the age of consent, I’d never had sex, never got to first, second or any other base, never had a snog, and to be humiliating honest, never really had a girlfriend.

In the process of celebrating my passage to manhood and my 18th birthday, I had a night out whilst staying with my sister, many many miles from my parents home. Being so far from home I got drunk. Very drunk. No surprise there – as we all know, that is what “men” are supposed to do, and I was quite confident I was owed my manhood. And being a red blooded, young, male idiot with 18 yrs of sexual energy to vent (though probably no more than 18hrs worth of semen), I got off with a friend. (I’m not sure how easily that translates into American English, but Wikipedia tells me it equates to first base, or possibly second.) We used to sing in the same church choir and Catherine was, I guess, 3 or 4 yrs older than me.

Whilst she was not built to be a glamour model, she held more than a little fascination for my rebellious youth as she rode a Harley Davidson, and after a few more ciders than I’d ever had before, I blossomed from one of life’s shy caterpillars into one of life’s outrageously flirting butterflies. I suspect the fact that Catherine had a cracking pair of knockers had not escaped my attention either. (I believe that’s the sort of phrase that I would have used at the time.)

I have no recollection of how we ended up back at her flat, never mind how we ended up naked, but there was definitely the promise of vodka and Russian in her invitation. At the time I did not like vodka, and had no idea what Russian was – it could have easily have been a euphemism for me getting sodomised and I wouldn’t have known. But we were drunk, a girl I’d been playing tonsil hockey with had just invited me back to her flat after the bar had closed – there was only one conclusion I was capable of drawing. It turned out I was right. The fact that she had also “casually” mentioned the goodie bag she’d recently picked up at some party, which she made sure I knew included a condom, was also a bit of a give away. WOOOO HOOOO!!! If I wasn’t so drunk, so horny and so eager to get in her knickers (or more accurately, to get in any girls knickers) I’d gladly have run round the pub shaking hands with everyone I knew saying “sorry I’ve got to go, but I’ve got to go and lose my virginity.” I thank my luck stars that I was drunk, horny and eager, and goodbyes did not feature on my To Do list.

To cut a long story short, we ended up groping and snogging (doubtless with that priority) and being the responsible type I suggested maybe we should try out that condom in her party bag. (This was in the late 80s when HIV was still just a “plague on poofs” and only just starting to feature in the consciences of most adolescents – all I was worried about was pregnancy and a nasty little itch.) As I recall, using a rubber was met, by Catherine, with a fair degree of ambivalence and she ended up guiding my inexperienced and drunken cock into her pussy unprotected – well there was no chance I was going to get it in there without some significant help! Although I clumsily banged away at her for some time, with all the tenderness and attention to her needs a drunken, 18yr old virgin could care to muster, fatigue & alcohol got the better of me and neither of us came. (I know, I know, your probably as shocked to read that as I was to not be spraying my seed everywhere.) I remember no post coital masturbation, cuddle or cigarette. And although the actions of both friends were entirely consensual (if poorly judged) I remember no kind of emotional connection.

The whole thing was a little disappointing for me, and doubtless more so for Catherine. Despite my fantasies, grappling with my first pair of tits and fingering my first pussy were not what I expected: at the time I naiively judged the blame to be solely with Catherine, being that she was a little over weight, and neither her breasts nor labia were as firm as Mayfair magazine had educated me to anticipate. I was a typically crass, young teenage boy, and I despair over how shallow and arrogant I was – thank goodness I have learnt the error of (some of) my ways since then!

Come the morning, full of embarrassment, I feigned sleep as Catherine got up, wrote me a note to the effect of “help yourself to breakfast”, and left for work. As soon as I was confident she had gone, being a horny boy in a real woman’s bedroom on my own for the very first time, I felt a need to hunt for vibrators. From the porn mags I was used to reading I knew all women owned them, so I am ashamed to say I embarked on a search of Catherine’s cramped bed-sit. I was very pleased to unearth several sex books, including “How To Make Love To The Same Person For The Rest Of You Life” (a book I now learn from Amazon was only just recently published), a waterproof book of porno cartoons next to the bath, along with my most satisfying discovery, not one, not two, but three vibrators. My deflowerer was obviously a woman of the world! Her toys included one with a very nobly clit stim base, and (what surprised me most) a double header with both vaginal and anal probes.

Although I had seen such implements in the ads of Mayfair, anal sex was not something ever discussed in the literature on UK newsagents’ top shelves at the time, I doubt I’d ever considered what gay men did, and it certainly never crossed my mind to indulge in buggery of any kind until maybe 5 years later. I suspect I didn’t even really analyse the implications of this toy, and never actually believed anyone, let alone Catherine, would consider their rectum to be anything but a one way passage. With hindsight, I should have stuck around as Catherine was obviously really into sex and could obviously have given me some proper introductory coaching. But I ran away like a scared and ashamed novice, and didn’t phone. What a fuckwit!

Some months later Catherine, still being a keen chorister, was singing at a cathedral near to my parents. She called to say did I fancy a game of badminton and I couldn’t really say no in front of my parents without it looking odd.

As she drove us to the sports center I vividly remember being lost for words when she enquired of the drunken evening, “Did we bonk?” All I could offer by way of a response was, “Not that I remember.” I really was an idiot back then!

We saw each other once more in company and conversation was inevitably stilted but that was the last we saw of each other. How many friendships have unnecessarily ended this way? Or is it a right of passage, that we must all fuck a friend and loose them as a result.

4 Responses to “Women I’ve slept with. Part 1: The girl who took my virginity”

  1. Oh, the romance of your first time! I rather think this is how it goes for people, more often than not. Made me chuckle and think of mine, that’s for sure.

  2. Great story … actually my first attempt to lose my virginity failed because I was too drunk. Today I am glad that it didn’t happen that night.

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