Thanks for the Memories
True story. A friend once told me how she’d been doing something on her husband’s laptop, while her own was in the shop, closed a document then went to reopen it - and found herself staring instead at a list he’d made of “all the girls who’ve swallowed his cum.” As she put it.
It wasn’t a long list, apparently, just four or five names, but the strange thing is, I’m not certain what she was angriest about. The fact that he’d made the list in the first place (which I explained away by reminding her that guys just like making lists of things... it’s why their CD collections are usually so well organized) or the fact that she wasn’t on it.
Yeah, that would have pissed me off as well. But, if you don’t mind, a delicate question. “Do you deserve to be?”
Begrudging answer. “I guess not.”
Well, get yourself home and do something about it. There’s a first time for everything.
First times have always fascinated me. Whether they involve something I’ve planned in fantasies beforehand, or something that occurs completely spontaneously, first times are something we should never forget.
They’re not always spectacular in themselves. While most guys will recall the moment they lost their virginity as magnificent, fantastic, sensational, etcetera, most women are more likely to remember it as fast and fumbling, maybe painful and certainly awkward. Less a rite of passage and more an inconvenience to be gotten out of the way, so at last you can start having fun. All the flowery prose that we’ve absorbed beforehand, about becoming a woman and blossoming forth really tends to lose its bloom when you’re lying sore on bloody sheets and he’s asking for the umpteenth time if you’re okay, and was it as great for you as it was for him?
On my own list of first times that I like to fondly remember, that particular encounter rarely comes to mind. There are others, though, that I’ve noted over time - some that I pull from my own past, some which were “nominated’ by friends with whom I’ve talked, or readers with whom I’ve IM'd - that are worth remembering. Which should be celebrated. Ones where, no matter how many times you’ve done them since, and how much better you’ve done them as well, the first time will always be special.
It’s not a gratuitous pastime either, all this remembering business. My boyfriend and I like talking about first times, although we confine our reminiscences to the first time with one another. Not through any fear that past lovers might ignite a bout of insecurity, but because... for me, anyway, a lot of my past lovers appear as nothing more than cyphers now. Not all of them, but many. I remember who they were, I remember what we did, but I don't remember how I felt and I certainly don't remember the thrill.
The thrill. I like him to remind me about the first time we kissed. I mean properly kissed, not that sweet little peck that we exchanged at the end of our first evening out, but the first time we truly locked ourselves together and never wanted to let go. What was he feeling, what was he thinking? I remember how his entire body seemed focused on his mouth, even as I felt the muscles and movements that told me every nerve end in his body had come to hungry life. Tell me about that.
He likes to hear about the first time I went down on him. How I felt, what I was thinking. How my heart pounded. Did I like what I saw, did I like what I tasted (I did wonder once how he'd react if I said no to both, but that would be mean and this isn't the time or place for that). It's a kind of foreplay, this looking back, or sometimes a kind of afterglow. It relaxes us and reminds us to keep the old passions alive.
What about even older passions, though? Privately, they can be fun to recall as well, because although there’s lots of first times that you experience with your current partner... namely, the first time you did something with him... there are others where the only first time that really counts is the very first time itself.
The first time you made love without a condom, felt him inside you, felt his orgasm inside you. Nothing has prepared you for the reality of those sensations, the sheer joy of naked flesh within flesh, the hot heavy shock of his ejaculation... oh, and when you stand up, the cool gentle trickle of his cum coming out again and running down your thigh. A sensation that you rarely read about in erotic stories, but which packs its own flood of forbidden pleasures and treasures. Especially, if you have to hurry back to work afterwards, and don’t have the time to clean up properly.
The first time you received a pearl necklace. ZZ Top had a song about that, and I remember school dances where the boys used to think it so amusing to ask the DJ to play it, dedicated to one of us girls. Regardless of the fact that most of us didn’t have a clue what it was on about. We weren’t about to let anyone show us, either. That came later, with its own raft of excitements and visual kicks, but listening back to the song now (I just found it on Youtube, and it is called “Pearl Necklace”), it does make me wonder about certain male attitudes towards female sexuality.
The ZZ guy’s lady has asked for a pearl necklace. To which he responds, “She gets a charge out of bein' so weird, digs gettin' downright strange.” Well, if asking your man to cum on your tits, chest or throat is “downright strange,” maybe we should keep the next one very quiet.
It wasn’t a long list, apparently, just four or five names, but the strange thing is, I’m not certain what she was angriest about. The fact that he’d made the list in the first place (which I explained away by reminding her that guys just like making lists of things... it’s why their CD collections are usually so well organized) or the fact that she wasn’t on it.
Yeah, that would have pissed me off as well. But, if you don’t mind, a delicate question. “Do you deserve to be?”
Begrudging answer. “I guess not.”
Well, get yourself home and do something about it. There’s a first time for everything.
First times have always fascinated me. Whether they involve something I’ve planned in fantasies beforehand, or something that occurs completely spontaneously, first times are something we should never forget.
They’re not always spectacular in themselves. While most guys will recall the moment they lost their virginity as magnificent, fantastic, sensational, etcetera, most women are more likely to remember it as fast and fumbling, maybe painful and certainly awkward. Less a rite of passage and more an inconvenience to be gotten out of the way, so at last you can start having fun. All the flowery prose that we’ve absorbed beforehand, about becoming a woman and blossoming forth really tends to lose its bloom when you’re lying sore on bloody sheets and he’s asking for the umpteenth time if you’re okay, and was it as great for you as it was for him?
On my own list of first times that I like to fondly remember, that particular encounter rarely comes to mind. There are others, though, that I’ve noted over time - some that I pull from my own past, some which were “nominated’ by friends with whom I’ve talked, or readers with whom I’ve IM'd - that are worth remembering. Which should be celebrated. Ones where, no matter how many times you’ve done them since, and how much better you’ve done them as well, the first time will always be special.
It’s not a gratuitous pastime either, all this remembering business. My boyfriend and I like talking about first times, although we confine our reminiscences to the first time with one another. Not through any fear that past lovers might ignite a bout of insecurity, but because... for me, anyway, a lot of my past lovers appear as nothing more than cyphers now. Not all of them, but many. I remember who they were, I remember what we did, but I don't remember how I felt and I certainly don't remember the thrill.
The thrill. I like him to remind me about the first time we kissed. I mean properly kissed, not that sweet little peck that we exchanged at the end of our first evening out, but the first time we truly locked ourselves together and never wanted to let go. What was he feeling, what was he thinking? I remember how his entire body seemed focused on his mouth, even as I felt the muscles and movements that told me every nerve end in his body had come to hungry life. Tell me about that.
He likes to hear about the first time I went down on him. How I felt, what I was thinking. How my heart pounded. Did I like what I saw, did I like what I tasted (I did wonder once how he'd react if I said no to both, but that would be mean and this isn't the time or place for that). It's a kind of foreplay, this looking back, or sometimes a kind of afterglow. It relaxes us and reminds us to keep the old passions alive.
What about even older passions, though? Privately, they can be fun to recall as well, because although there’s lots of first times that you experience with your current partner... namely, the first time you did something with him... there are others where the only first time that really counts is the very first time itself.
The first time you made love without a condom, felt him inside you, felt his orgasm inside you. Nothing has prepared you for the reality of those sensations, the sheer joy of naked flesh within flesh, the hot heavy shock of his ejaculation... oh, and when you stand up, the cool gentle trickle of his cum coming out again and running down your thigh. A sensation that you rarely read about in erotic stories, but which packs its own flood of forbidden pleasures and treasures. Especially, if you have to hurry back to work afterwards, and don’t have the time to clean up properly.
The first time you received a pearl necklace. ZZ Top had a song about that, and I remember school dances where the boys used to think it so amusing to ask the DJ to play it, dedicated to one of us girls. Regardless of the fact that most of us didn’t have a clue what it was on about. We weren’t about to let anyone show us, either. That came later, with its own raft of excitements and visual kicks, but listening back to the song now (I just found it on Youtube, and it is called “Pearl Necklace”), it does make me wonder about certain male attitudes towards female sexuality.
The ZZ guy’s lady has asked for a pearl necklace. To which he responds, “She gets a charge out of bein' so weird, digs gettin' downright strange.” Well, if asking your man to cum on your tits, chest or throat is “downright strange,” maybe we should keep the next one very quiet.
I recently had my first prostate orgasm in the presence of my wife. I was using toys, and she was just there, holding me. It was miraculous. As were the next three or four we enjoyed together, all in a row. For a moment, I thought I would cry, just from the intensity of it.