Where it happened: A friend's house
Langauge: English
Sex: Female
Rating: 1
Category: Straight
Okay, my story isn’t so nice or sweet. It was my 14th birthday. Yes, my actual 14th birthday. My family was about to move to another state so my best friend decided to throw me a birthday/going away party. My friends and I were always the wild kids and we were already drinking at that age. What else is there to do in a sleepy little midwestern town in winter? Anyway, a group of my girlfiends got together and started the party with hard (and cheap) schnapps. What did you expect, we were teenagers. So, the guys came over later on that evening. The guy I had a crush on didn’t make it that night, much to my chagrin. But no worries, there was a different guy there who was also cute and apparently wanted to “make out” with me. I was pretty drunk by the time we fumbled our way into the master bedroom. It was late, dark and cold. This was only my second time to really kiss a boy and i was so excited. He wanted to do more pretty quickly and i didn’t mind letting him work his way up my shirt. I remember even removing my bra for him. He was not adept enough to do it himself; he was 14 himself, afer all. We continued on and shortly my pants were around my ankles. He was rounding third base and i was just fine with it. Things start getting a bit hazy at this point. The next thing I remember, he was almost sitting on me and he was trying to get me to give him head. I kept saying no. I didn’t even want to touch his penis. I’d never touched one before and only briefly seen one (my fathers) and was horrified. Then I passed out. I remember waking up and wondering where he’d gone. I pulled up my pants, put on my bra and went to the bathroom. I remember wondering why I’d started my period. I hadn’t, of course. Later after all of the guys left, the gals gathered in the master bedroom. A friend told me she walked in on me and the guy earlier and he’d been putting his dick in me. She commented on the stain on the bed as proof we’d had sex, despite my resistance to believing her. It took me a long time to really accept that was my “first”. It sucks. I found out much later that the guy in my story died a few years after that. He died in a plane crash. I couldn’t ever say i was happy someone died but I wasn’t sad either. So there you have it, my fist. Not sweet, not great. Just part of my past. Thank goodness it’s gotten much better!
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