Where it happened: My Dorm Room
Langauge: English
Sex: Male
Rating: 7
Category: Straight
My Very First Time
I was so incredibly lucky, my very first time. She was an extraordinary young woman: gentle and kind, warm and sweet, but with a sharp mind and a great sense of humor. She was also incredibly lovely: a slender, blonde, blue-eyed goddess. I was SOOOO crazy about her!!!
It was early fall of my senior year in high school, and I happened to spot her drinking from the third-floor water fountain on the north side of the building. The sun was streaming through the huge double-window, turning her long blonde hair into burnished gold. I was coming out of a classroom across from the fountain, and happened to spot her, pulling a strand of hair back behind her right ear, as she leaned forward to take that drink from the water fountain. I nearly fell over dead, right then and there. I will never forget that sight until the day I die.
I’d met her the prior year, my first year at that school, through the drama club, which we both belonged to, but I didn’t know her very well. I still didn’t know a lot of people there very well. But that day, I felt like Saul: hit by a lightning bolt and knocked off his horse, lying flat on my back, on the road to who knows where.
She may have turned to me and smiled a small smile. I can’t remember. I just remember being dazzled by her exquisite beauty from that point forward, and later by her personality. After that moment, I was a lost soul. I spent the next three years in heaven; and then I went to hell, when she dropped me, suddenly and without any warning whatsoever. I never knew why, and it liked to absolutely killed me; I have never hurt so badly in my entire life.
“Jenny” and I came from similar but different families. She was the youngest of three daughters; I was the oldest of five sons. Her parents had divorced a few years ago; her mother had remarried and now had a five-year-old son by her new husband. My folks had separated, but not yet divorced; there were no others in that picture. She was brought up Presbyterian; I was brought up Catholic. In the late ‘60’s, when we connected, birth control was not at all so widely available, as it is now; and we were both brought up to think that having sex outside of marriage was a grievous sin. She was a nervous nelly, when it came to sex; and I was young and ignorant, having had no experience before at all. So neither of us had any knowledge, to start out with.
I finally asked her if she’d like a ride to a football game, one weekend; she accepted. We did OK that night, so I invited her to a movie, one Friday or Saturday night. She accepted again; so then I invited her to a community theatre play, another football game, and then whatever I could think of that didn’t cost much, because back then I had no money, only a small allowance. I slowly began to realize what it was that was pulling at me: I was in love with this beautiful young woman, but couldn’t imagine that she might have similar feelings for me.
I had grown up being called a skinny four-eyes, with little social skills with the opposite sex, and thus had no confidence at all when it came to matters of the heart. I felt myself at a distinct disadvantage, but had no idea how to remedy the situation, other than trying to be witty and smart, and hoping she’d overlook any other deficiencies she might think I had. Fortunately, she also wore glasses, so maybe she felt herself at some disadvantage in the dating world; I don’t know.
All I knew was, I fell head over heels in love with this beautiful young woman; and after a couple of months of our getting to know each other, we found ourselves, one afternoon after school, in the den of her house (which was only a few blocks from where I lived, fortunately!), french kissing – my very first time! It was sooo thrilling, I could hardly stand it! And though I felt so horribly inadequate, she kept trying to reassure me, I wasn’t. I walked home in an absolute cloud… It didn’t take long after that, and I was kissing her every chance that I got.
Jenny was the first girl I really loved, the first girl that I really kissed, the first one to whom I felt bound, by heart, mind and soul, in all things after that. In the next few months, we dated, we kissed, we made out in my parents’ cars after our evening dates on the weekend; and we gave each other hickeys, on a few occasions. She was the first girl I ever touched – and the only one, up to that point, that I’d ever wanted to touch. She was the first girl who let me kiss and caress her bare breasts; the first one I ever fingered and brought to climax. She was the first girl who ever took my clothes off, and kissed and caressed me in all those intimate and special places, bringing me to orgasm, so many, many times. She was the first girl who let me see her naked, and to whom I exposed my own nakedness. And I loved her madly. We were inseparable. I couldn’t imagine life without her in it.
And then I left to go off to college, three states away. That was a horrible year, for a number of reasons. Finally it ended, and I came back home, and the following fall we were both enrolled in the same in-state college, 200 miles away from family. And we had another year of being together. Sometimes that was great, and sometimes not: the cracks were beginning to come in the relationship, although I didn’t really see them, at the time, or understand what was beginning to happen. We were both growing, and beginning to see a larger “Life,” and neither of us knew how to navigate those waters. I was not at all prepared for what happened next.
I thought we were heading into marriage. I had proposed to her, and she had accepted; although we hadn’t “officially announced it” to our families. We had both been brought up in the narrow view that sex was reserved for marriage, and that one married the person one really felt drawn to, as we did. But we also had been taught that college came first, and so we were expected to wait. That was so hard. And college brought its own stresses. That was the first time we were really off, on our own, and we could have taken our relationship much further, had we wanted to. And I think we both wanted to. But, she had decided to room with a girl from our high school, who was brought up in just as conservative a family as I was; and so Jenny wasn’t comfortable staying the night with me, only part of it, even though we were just across the street from each other. And we were both afraid of her getting pregnant, which we knew would derail all our plans; so we never really went all the way, for fear of that.
Except for one time, my second year in college, her first; I talked her into it, at a time when we thought she would be “safe.” Neither of us had any idea of what to do; nobody ever talked about having sex, much, at that time, so no one was around to “give us advice” on how to go about it. As it was, she was so very tight, and I had no idea what to do, other than keep trying. I finally got inside her, but she was too tight for me to do much. So I finally just did enough for me to come, and then we stopped trying.
And then she got scared she was pregnant, because her cycle was a few days late. But it finally came, and we breathed easier; and I thought maybe we’d gotten over a hump, and would have an easier time of it, next time.
But “next time” never came, and the end of the school year arrived, sooner than I wanted, so we had to go home again and resume living in houses miles apart. Jenny went to stay with her father, in another state, for a couple of months, and when she came back, something had changed. I will never forget, to the day I die, the heart attack I had while driving her home from a movie, later that summer, when she finally said she thought we ought to “see other people.” (I still remember the street corner I pulled over to, trying to find my breath. I thought I was going to die, right there, that night.)
Every guy knows that sentence is a death knell to your relationship. I’d had no idea that was even coming. It nearly killed me. We spent most of the remainder of that summer apart, and I was hurting so badly I didn’t know if I’d be able to go on living. Sounds dramatic, perhaps, but the hurt was that deep. Then fall came, and we went back to the same college, still living in dorms across the street from each other. Oh, sweet torture! On the one hand, so god-awful close! And on the other, I couldn’t see her at all, except in passing – in the same department, of all places – and it was tearing me up so badly I could hardly eat or sleep, let alone study. I don’t know how I managed to make it through that year. I often thought about walking in front of a car on the very busy street in front of my dorm. I finally decided that it wouldn’t be fair to the driver of whatever car came along to put me out of my misery. So I didn’t. But I thought about it many times.
Things never changed, after that. I finally went out with a couple other girls, later on, but my heart was never really in it. It wasn’t until my second year of graduate school, four years later, that I met a girl who attracted me so strongly that we went “all the way” one night. That WAS incredible. She wound up coming five times that night! That was first time I’d ever had the chance to come inside a girl, and be able to bring her to climax, too. For the first time in four years, I had hopes that a new relationship would take root and blossom, strong enough to outlive the first one, and with the promise of joy and hope on a long-term basis. ( I wrote about that experience, here, previously, some months ago.)
Alas, that one too, was never meant to be. “Jane” broke up with me after only a month, and some absolutely mind-blowing sex, meanwhile. I couldn’t believe that was happening to me. Both the incredibleness of the sex, and the shortness of the relationship. As with Jenny, I never understood why she broke it off so suddenly, and with so little warning. And she never explained. Which also killed me. I never understood.
I’ve never forgotten my very first time, or the incredible sweetness of the relationship I had with “Jenny.” To this day, I miss the hell out of that girl. And often wonder what life would have been like, if she hadn’t dropped me when she did.
I did hear, some ten years or so later, through a mutual friend, that Jenny had confided in her that “the biggest mistake she’d ever made” was in letting me go. I was overjoyed to hear that, in that it made me feel that she at least finally recognized that what we’d had was so incredibly special, so sweet, and so pure, that she’d never find another one like me elsewhere. But at the same time, it made me feel so incredibly sad, that she’d never had the courage to come back to me and ask if we could have started over. I would have taken her back in a minute. I have missed her every day of my life. And I have never felt what I felt with her, towards another human being. My life has never been the same since she left it. I am so much poorer. And it still hurts, 38 years later..
###
Processing your request, Please wait....
