Boy Wonder-Ful. The First.
There are a couple of people who know me. And by a couple, I genuinely mean two; her and him. She knows me, but I dunno, he knows an awful lot that she doesn’t. Overall, he knows less of the totality of me, but in some ways, knows me more.
And I think that’s just the way we are as people. The duality of who we all are. We choose not only who we let into our weird little world, but also who we share the truth of those deep, sometimes dark corners of our weird little world. We choose who gets what corner and we choose who, if anyone, gets all of them.
If you’re lucky, you find safe people, who get all four corners. I’m working on I that.
I recognize that those deep places didn’t, and to this day, don’t intersect. The corners stay where the are. Squarely opposed. Like I said, I’m working on that.
One of my corners is the representative that lives my outside life. We all have one. Mine just happens to be in very sharp contract to my authentic self. Of course my representative has my characteristics; my intellect, humor, idiosyncratic shit, but my authentic self truly and in no way is remotely interested in how YOUR weekend was, because my authentic self is still thinking about the delicious dick I just had and the scent of him that I can occasionally catch. The scent of sex that was so nasty, even a hot bath can’t erase it. You know the scent. And when you’ve been fucked right, you like that scent. You want to smell him.
I think about that a lot. Duality.
Maybe because my selves are polar fucking opposites. Maybe it really doesn’t matter why I think about it. What matters most is that I’ve come to love the duality that I live in.
I didn’t recognize then what I now believe to be natural, and what I also believe to be universal duality, when I first started to explore and try to understand myself. But looking back now, of course I get it. But then, I was 27, divorced and just trying to figure out how to have an orgasm.
27. Divorced. Trying to have an orgasm.
Yep, 27. That’s a long way from 16 when I first started having sex and an unfortunately long time to NEVER have had an orgasm.
11 long years of wondering what was wrong with me. 11 long years of wondering what it was supposed to feel like and why that experience was so elusive and unobtainable for me. What was I doing wrong? A sufficient amount of childhood trauma and being born Catholic assured me it had to be my fault.
Turns out it wasn’t. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. But, let’s go back to 27......
At 27, I fingered myself for the first time.
At 27, I fingered myself to my first self-induced orgasm.
At 27, I tasted my pussy for the first time.
My clawing need to climax reached a pinnacle and became the only thing I could think of. I literally plotted and planned how I was going to achieve that.
I knew I had to experiment and I knew I had to do it myself. Not that I hadn’t touched myself before, because I had. Just not with the intent to orgasm.
It’s funny to think now of how much effort went into the plan itself. I made sure no one would be home. Plans were made and schedules were confirmed The window of opportunity carefully crafted.
Finally the day came and the house was empty. I walked the house and thought of every possible scenario that would cause disruption and handled it. Dog out, phone ringers off, doors locked.
I washed my hands and got undressed. Laying down on top of the bed, I can remember feeling oddly and uncomfortably visible. I decided to get under the covers to hide the dirty deed I was about to do. I could be shy at times, even around myself.
I cautiously began the journey by caressing my breasts and nipples. I was fixated on making sure both breasts were at attention with nipples erect. Running my hands down my body and back up to my tits warmed my hands and helped me relax. Bringing my knees up and letting my legs fall open was foreign to me without a man between them. I let my legs fall open and my mind wander. I had no way of knowing how far and how dirty my mind would go in the years to come. I do know that this was the day that my mind wrapped very comfortably around the very dirty words that I could only process silently in my head.
Legs open, I slipped two fingers into my wetness and thought...hmmm, ok, this isn’t so weird. In deeper...still not weird....feels good...I’ve always wondered what I felt like. Now those fingers were wet and warm, a little sticky and definitely not weird. This felt good. I began to rub and stroke my clit. First lightly and curiously, no real danger here. A little harder and a little faster. Mmmmmm ok, this is good....harder and back into my pussy. Rubbing my clit and fingering my wet hole, it felt so good. Harder, small circles, faster, legs clenching together and opening up, spread wide, knees up, I was out of control....breathing hard, squirming, finding that sweet spot and the right stroke and then yesssssss, I was finally there. I was about to cum and wasn’t going to stop. Wave after wave, overwhelmed with an incredibly intensity, I climaxed.
Mind spinning, I laid there in awe of my new skill. I’m one of “those” girls now. A dirty girl. It felt like I finally arrived to a party I very much wanted to be a part of.
I spent the day with myself, in and out of bed. Feverishly masturbating until my fingers were pruned and I was exhausted. My clit was so sensitive, I couldn’t touch it anymore.
One last thing to do. One last question remained. What do I taste like? No flavored lube, no condom, no cock, just me. I had to know.
I propped myself up, legs open again, I spread my pussy open with two fingers and slid my middle finger in. Man that felt good. Clit throbbing and sore, but it just felt so good. I could see my creamy cum on my finger and thought, no better time than now right? Am I really going to do this? Pruned and sticky, I brought my fingers to my mouth and hesitantly took a taste.
Just a little lick. Ok....different than I thought. No cinnamon vanilla or condom flavor. Just me. I slipped my fingers back into my pussy and licked them again. Hmmmm, kinda good. I stunned myself at the thought of how good it felt and how good I tasted. The thought of being a dirty girl who likes the way her pussy tastes turned me on so much, I sucked and licked my fingers clean.
When the house was no longer empty and I was no longer alone under the covers, I felt as though somehow my dirty deeds were on display. Everyone knows. I feel different. Am I acting different? Is my super relaxed buzz noticeable?
I didn’t know how to reconcile that I was a good girl who just finger fucked herself to orgasm and then licked up her own cum I felt like I was acting suspiciously happy and I had to get a grip on my the part of me I was trying so hard to hide.
And so, my representative was born and duality began. I told myself no one had to know that I liked fingering myself. No one had to know I liked how I taste and no one had to know I wasn’t going to stop. In fact, now I know HOW to get off, I’m going to go get mine.
He was still inside me. I could fee his cum, warm and gooey. His now soft cock slipping out of my cum soaked pussy and there I was....wanting more. Fuck fuck fuck...what the hell went wrong? Again! It wasn’t as though he didn’t fuck me good. He did. It wasn’t hanging off the bed, upside down good, but at that period of time in my life, vanilla sex was all I knew. He did all the things I liked. He ate my pussy, obviously not orgasmically well, but it felt good. He was a good kisser, and didn’t lick or stick his tongue in my ear. I hate that. SO much.
He felt good inside me, fucking me. He had a nice cock and wasn’t a jack-rabbit fuck. It lasted for what felt like an above average amount of time and I could almost taste how good I thought it would feel.
I knew he was feeling good. His deep, throaty grunts affirmed he was into it. His off-pace strokes started to become faster and harder. Even paced and purposeful. His smile disappeared and he got that foggy, far away, seriously intense look on his face....Uh oh...his head dropped and he grunted one final thrust and came in me. I could feel his cock pulse and his hot load of cum filling me. His body quivered from the release and he did that collapse thing that I, to this day, still love. His body on mine, breathing hard...the scent of sweat and cum filled the room like a culinary experience. I could feel the involuntary separation of our bodies as his emptied cock slipped out of me. Wait - WTF. I was so close, so often, it was so frustrating. I was so sure since I knew what it felt like to climax, it should have been easier to reach an orgasm.
“Did you cum?” Aww damn....
I immediately felt responsible for my lack of orgasm. It’s not easy to self correct when you’re knee deep in old feelings of failure and vulnerability and only one step outside the usual bubble of boyfriend-serving dishonesty. You know you’ve lied to your boyfriend to protect his feelings. I did it. A lot. For years.
And now, I didn’t want to lie and I couldn’t stomach lying to myself anymore either. I just wanted more. I wanted to have great sex. Orgasmic, great sex. I didn’t want to be the reticent girlfriend or lover that was just a vessel for a him. I wanted more - for me.
I know I hesitated, probably too long, trying to soften the blow, being that nice girl again, before finally saying....’Maybe next time?’
That sexy, slippery sweat between us helped him slide off of me and suddenly, it wasn’t sexy anymore. It was just - sweat.
It seriously felt like hours before I was certain his emotional manhood had recovered from what was clearly a crushing blow, given the silence between us, when he finally said.....well damn, I’m sorry...do you even want to do it again?
The look on his face was pained uncertainty. I couldn’t hold his gaze. I felt horrible. But I did want to. I just had to find the nerve to be honest. Take a risk and just tell him. Look him in the eye and just say it.
A scary mix of vulnerability, hope, and insecurity quietly squeaked out the words; ‘yeah, I do, but I gotta tell you, I’ve never had an orgasm.’ I was such a chicken shit I couldn’t tell him - ‘unless I do it myself.’
His head spun around and in a disproportionately loud voice, said “WHAT?” Thanks...that helps. The next however long conversation consisted of a lot of why’s and really’s? I felt defective. As though everyone, literally EVERYONE could do this, but me. Those feelings made me recoil and I wasn’t so sure I wanted to fuck this man again. Any man for that matter. Maybe I’m just setting us both up for failure and it’s best to just end this and send him home. So much pressure.
He was a good guy though.....he saw my reaction to his reaction. Kind, funny and more patient than I had thought, he was tender and apologetic and equally important, he was the right guy for the mission.
We kissed and touched and rolled around....he played with my hair and my pussy and had obviously accepted the unspoken challenge, so why had I not confessed sooner? Cause we’re all a little fucked up, aren’t we?
Round two began. He nudged my legs apart and began teasing my clit. His cum still between my legs from our previous session didn’t phase him. He didn’t care and I liked that. Good man.
His steady, insistent stroking was working and the heady waves began to rise. This time my breathing changed. This time everything changed.
I remember trying to relax and not tense up. I wanted to be IN this. I wanted to FEEL this. I had to get out of my head....I wanted to get this right. For both of us. I didn’t want to fail and I didn’t want him to fail. Relax. Let it happen....
He kept stroking my clit and fingering me in and out and I could not wait for this man to fuck me. I wanted so badly to say, c’mon, stick it in and fuck me hard....but I couldn’t. The words were a great internal assist, but I just couldn’t get them out.
Finally guiding his cock into me, he said...damn you’re wet. I was so turned on by his investment in the mission and his words, I was damn near hyperventilating. Why couldn’t I talk like that to him in return? Amateur.
He became the superhero of the moment when he pulled out of me and stroked my clit with the tip of his cock before sliding back inside me. The intensity was crazy. Up to that point in my vanilla sex life, I’d never been fucked so good.
Over and over, fucking and teasing me, he kept going. The delicious sound of our wet fuck was in harmony with the rhythm we had. He buried his face in my hair and all I could do was hold on. I could feel it....the crest of the wave, the heat and rush of a high running through my body, head to toe and back again. I don’t know if I was moving with him anymore. I felt frozen and fluid at the same time.
I couldn’t tell you if he made a sound, spoke a word, called out my name or someone else’s.....I was oblivious..my pussy was pulsing and quivering, my legs shaking and whole body reeling..... I was deep into my very first dick-induced orgasm.
Thank you Boy Wonder. Wherever you are, I’ll never forget that night.
