Women I’ve slept with, Part 3 : My first real girlfriend

This is a tragic tale, but not for the obvious reasons. Elizabeth was my first real girlfriend. The first girl I wanted to spend time with. The first girl I phoned regularly, went to a restaurant with, and bought gifts for. The first girl to whom I offered my heart and inevitably therefore the first girl to properly break it. We also fucked.

The tragedy is that of all my sexual partners, Elizabeth is the one about whom I remember the least about the sex.

She was a student physiotherapist, which ment she was great with her hands and had an interest in other people’s bodies. Strangely I have no recollection of my cock being the beneficiary of her manual skill, but she gave the most amazing hand massages: who’d have thought having your hands massaged could send you to sleep?

As with Sita (my Number 2), we met at a student disco, or as it might be more accurately termed, the meat market. My male companions and I certainly went clubbing to meet girls, and preferably to go home and have sex with them. And I suspect Elizabeth and her companion were, that fateful night, on a not dissimilar mission. (Though possibly with less focus on fucking.) I was still very green when it came to chatting up girls, and having successfully asked Elizabeth to dance, returned to the company of “The Boys” and the support of another drink from the bar. She was very pretty, short, with dark hair, and being young and horny, I noticed she also had a lovely, well displayed pair of tits. But despite being led by my crotch, we did not have sex the first time we met. I don’t even remember anything more than a gentlemanly peck by way of a parting kiss. My landmark triumph that night, however, was getting a girls phone number for the first time. (Remember this was in the days before Facebook, and mobile phones were the size of a house brick.

I don’t recall how long it took us to end up in bed together but, as the halls of residence did not allocate single rooms to first year students, negotiations were required with my room mate. He already had a regular girlfriend and whenever they went to her place to fuck, I would endeavour to arrange for Elizabeth to share my bed. (This was not quite as equitable an arrangement as it would first seem – when my room mate’s girlfriend stayed in our room, I had to sleep on a friends floor, and now that I think about it, never visited Elizabeth’s residence. Maybe she lived at home and her dad didn’t like the idea of his little girl being violated under his roof? I forget.)

Although she had fascinating breasts, these were of secondary interest to me at the time as Elizabeth’s was the first pussy I really got to grips with. Her’s was also the first clitoris with which I became acquainted. That’s not to say I had the faintest idea what to do with it, and I certainly did not fumble my way to her screaming orgasms. But I had read stories in porn mags, so I knew of the mythological post coital check of “did the earth move for you too darling?” I was just not yet practiced in the joyous art of female masturbation. That said, I revelled in my first experiments and whilst it was probably quite wrong of me to sit in Monday morning lectures savouring the smell of my girlfriend’s cunt on my fingers, it made me smile greatly to do so.

I may have mentioned once or twice before that I was not yet a particularly mature individual, and the following paragraph of shame adds weight to my argument. As someone who had little experience of women, and with parents who never spoke of sex, menstrual cycles were a bit of a mystery to me. Being a typically insecure teenager, I wondered whether Elizabeth really did have her period when she said she did, or whether it was just an easy excuse to keep my dick out of her. So I kept a note in my diary of when she said it was her time of the month. I don’t think I ever figured out the truth, and thankfully she never knew of my distrust. I may have mentioned once or twice before I am not exclusively proud of the way I have regarded many of my sexual partners. And I’m not even finished yet! (Don’t worry, it doesn’t get too bad.)

One holiday I went down to stay with her for a couple of days at her sister’s house. Having not seen her for a few weeks I was horny as hell, so when one afternoon she said she was felt like a lie down, I took that to mean she wanted sex, and promptly tried to fumble with her tits. She was actually feeling unwell, I was firmly put in my place. Our relationship didn’t make it to the start of the next term.

I wish I could remember more about the sex I had with Elizabeth. I only have a couple of mental images of being in bed with her, and one particular memory of her instructing me on to locate her clit and what to do when I found it. That said, I’m pretty confident I was more interested in getting my fingers insider her – more of a sense of conquest for me I suspect, than in fulfilling her sexual needs. But I do have good memories of the times we spent as couple. And perhaps this is a sign that I was starting to grow up: not only did I not try to bed her the moment I set eyes on her, but I remember more of her as a person than of a sexual conquest.

12 Responses to “Women I’ve slept with, Part 3 : My first real girlfriend”

  1. sexuallifeofawife Says:

    You have conveyed really well the immaturity of youth – night clubbing and race for conquests etc
    But yes as you say – maybe you were growing up as you remember your time with E out of bed more than in. (But don’t ever tell her that!)
    Hand massages are amazing though!

    • I couldn’t tell her if I wanted to. I’ve not seen her in nearly 2 decades. (Damn that’s depressing!)

    • sexuallifeofawife Says:

      Ah, but two decades mean you have lots of experience!
      I keep trying to tell myself that anyway… ; )

    • I’d certainly like to think so. I certainly feel I know a lot more about how to pleasure a woman … and make the most of her body for my own purposes too. I’ve also learnt a few things about fucking her mind at the same time as fucking her pussy. (Thinks to self – that’s a meaning to the phrase fuck her brains out I haven’t thought about before.) If only I had more opportunity to use what I’ve learnt.

  2. There you are AM! I was wondering where you were.

    I think for her, it’s kind of flattering to be remembered more as a person than a conquest. Especially at that age. Hope you are well.

    Bisous,
    Dawn

    • Well enough, thank you Dawn.
      I remember random things about people. Recounting the histories carved into my bed post is an interesting process for me – discovering what I remember about whom.

  3. Awww that’s really nice!
    All my relationships started with them trying to/sucessfully bedding me. Oh dear.

    • Don’t get me wrong – I absolutely wanted to “bed her”. And I succeeded. If success is the right word. Maybe not trying to get in her knickers straight away scored me points, and actually aided me on my muff mission. A question for the girls, me thinks.
      But I am kind of glad I remember her as I do.

  4. Gillian Colbert Says:

    I remember very little of the sex I had in high school, I think it’s more because you don’t really know what you’re doing at that time. I have bits and pieces of memories too, but only a few really stand out.

    I agree with Sophia though, you convey youth and it’s careless immaturity very well.

  5. Great closing!
    The girls are going to love you….

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