Where it happened: crummy motel
Langauge: english
Sex: Male
Rating: 5
Category: Straight
She was 17, I was 19. She was my high school sweetheart, a year behind me. We had been together for most of my senior year, but we never had sex. I would get blue balls and masturbate after our dates. A few times she let me finger her, but she never had an orgasm.
After I had left for college, I remained faithful to her. She graduated high school a semester early, in January, so she could join me at college, where we would live together off campus.
I brought her up to college after winter break. We took the train, getting in at night. We didn’t have an apartment, yet, so we stayed at a crummy, cheap motel. The hotel lady looked at us, but never asked our age. We said we were living together and looking for a place to live. When I paid cash, a week in advance, she gave us our room key.
It was a rainy, cold night and we were both tired from the long ride. When I opened the door to our room, my girlfriend gasped. I turned on the light, hoping it would look better. The small room was lit by a single bare-bulb hanging by wire from the ceiling. It was a dump.
My girlfriend stated to cry. I told her we should get some sleep, that everything would be better in the morning. She had never been away from home, not even camp as a teenager. We both knew it would be tough for her, living in a strange city, not knowing anybody. But she was committed to being with me.
I told her we should get some sleep, that we had a busy day tomorrow. We got undressed. I turned out the light and crawled under those cold, damp covers, afraid to look too closely at how clean they were.
We had never slept together naked. We always had our clothes on, sometimes rubbing each other, but never without our clothes. Now, I held her in my arms, her warm body clinging to mine, her breasts pressing softly against my chest. She wanted to go to sleep, but I was anxious to have sex. I had waited for months for this moment.
She didn’t say anything, just turned over onto her back. I started to crawl between her legs.
“Turn on the light,” she said.
“Why?”
“I want to see.”
We were both virgins. I wasn’t sure what she wanted to see, but I turned on that bare bulb and got back into bed. I put one knee between her, then the other, as she widened her legs to make room for me.
I remember being embarrassed about trying to find her vagina. I rocked back and forth a few times, pressing down, but didn’t find the opening. Finally, she reached down with her hand and bent my erect penis down, until I could get inside her. I was overcome by how warm and slippery she was. I remember looking at her as I slid inside her, but she wasn’t looking at me. She just stared up at that bare light bulb. I was thinking, “this doesn’t seem right…”
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She didn’t say anything, just nodded her head. She kept staring at that bare bulb. She wouldn’t look at me, even as I started moving in and out of her. In only a few thrusts, I had my orgasm. I was so proud, being my first time, her first time, giving her my seed. I was so full of myself.
As I came back from my euphoria, I saw tears rolling down her cheeks. I had heard it might hurt the first time, and even though I hadn’t felt any resistance, I figured she was just feeling some pain.
Twenty years later, she told me she had been crying because she was sad, had always pictured making love the first time in better circumstances. I feel like a jerk for being so insensitive and selfish, that first time, for her and me.
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