Women I’ve slept with, Part 2 : Post coital cigarette

During my first few months as a student, “The Boys” (as we imaginatively refered to ourselves) started hanging out with a couple of girls one of our number knew from back home. And a new friend of their’s was Sita.

My very first memory of Sita is being sat in the darkened corner of the student disco with her, our tongues down each others throats, my hand in her bra and her hand massaging my crotch.

It felt like my greatest achievement ever, and sexually speaking it would have been were it not for the fact it was her achievement, not mine. The lights came on, we straightened ourselves out and much to my astonishment she invited me back to her halls of residence.

Getting a proper snog was a major triumph for me, this being only my second ever. And second base was enough to satisfy me for the next 6 months, but the thought of getting laid was beyond my comprehension: I was genuinely surprised and certainly not confident she intended to fuck me.

I was not to be disappointed though, as we wedged ourselves into her single bed and had what I regard as my first proper fuck. I most certainly wasn’t any good at it and I was still far from capable of getting my cock into a girl’s pussy without her helping hand. I would say we had fun and, although I don’t specifically remember, I’m sure I filled my first condom. (Ok it wasn’t my first – that’s a story I feel no need to relate, but this was the first one I filled with someone else in the same room.) And when I was done, for I have no doubt she was left unsatisfied, Sita rolled over and lit up a cigarette. (Maybe that’s the origin of the Post Coital Ciggie: a nicotine high as a surrogate orgasm when you have bad sex. I don’t know, it’s just a thought.)

Come the morning we fucked again, with very similar details: the helpfully guiding hand, having a good laugh, me cumming, and Sita lighting up.

I should point out that kissing a smoker was not something I especially liked – it did taste pretty vile to a non smoker – but a snog was a snog, and as this girl had happily let me use her body for my pleasure when I clearly had too little experience to reciprocate, I’d have happily stuck my tongue in the ash tray instead!

As we lay squashed together in her tiny bed, Sita sucked on her cigarette, turned to me and asked how many other women I’d slept with. With hindsight I have always been curious about the motivation behind her question. Did she need to find a reason for my sexual ineptitude? Was she keen to be told she’d notched up another deflowering on her bed post? Or was she just curious? Whatever her reason, my answer was steeped in teenage testosterone. Despite only having had any kind of accompanied sex on one previous occasion I claimed to have bedded “about three” other women. I don’t know whether Sita genuinely smelt a rat, or whether she merely felt the need to take me to task on my approximation, but “about” was not good enough for her. In my head “about three” could have meant 2 or 4, and since she was my second I felt 3 was not stretching the point too much. I didn’t, after all want to appear inexperienced. Poor naiive fool! I corrected myself, and lied with “Ok, three others” and whilst I do not recall the point being pressed, in my heart I know was not convinced.

A few days later, as “The Boys” walked in to lectures , my recent conquest was queried. Having only recently lost my virginity, I was unaccustomed to anyone’s body but my own, and in a genuine, if crass moment of curiosity, I put a question to rest of my masculine conspirators: “Do all girls have pubes like Brillo pads?” I was greeted with derision, and quite rightly so. But I was puzzled at the time – we were now men of the world, so we were aloud to talk about sex and girls, and they had brought up the topic, so why should I not ask? With the years passing, I realize this is never an appropriate question, but at the time it was genuine, albeit with a little bragging thrown in for good measure. Maybe Sita had particularly coarse pubic hair, I don’t know and it doesn’t matter, but this was my first realization that you’re not allowed to be sexually open with your friends and you can only learn about sex by making mistakes with the people you fuck, even if these are the times least appropriate for making mistakes. (I now learn there is an exception to this rule: it seems it is perfectly acceptable to divulge every single detail about your sexual life, and to ask questions of staggering intimacy, as long as it’s on-line and with anonymous strangers.)

Sita and I shared a bed once more before I was cast aside. Maybe because the sex was so unremarkable, maybe because I was indeed a teenage idiot, or maybe because she found another unsuspecting boy to wrap her legs around. Whatever her reason, I dealt with rejection quite badly. Despite continuing to hang out with the same crowd for the next few years, our paths never really crossed again and we were saved the mutual embarrassment of having to be sociable with someone we’d once fucked. And although I have kissed my share of smoker since then, I am pleased to say this is my only experience of the post coital cigarette.

9 Responses to “Women I’ve slept with, Part 2 : Post coital cigarette”

  1. Gillian Colbert Says:

    Thanks for sharing … it’s fascinating to see into the male psyche on these things.

  2. Nice read, I like your writing.

  3. dominationdiary Says:

    How on earth do you remember this stuff? Thinking back to my teenage years and early 20’s it’s all a bit hazy.

  4. How odd and true that sharing very intimate stuff seems acceptable to me when it is to the masses, less so, (ok, not that much less so, I have a big mouth!) when it is with someone you know.

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