You want me to put it where?

I started writing in the third person about my life experiences a few years ago, using a fictional character called Paul to represent me. It has been a revelation for me, because there are huge chunks of my life that I seem to have blocked out. By writing in the third person, I have found that memories return easier, and there is a flow.

It seems strange to me now that my first real sexual experiences was with a girl. As far as I can remember, when we started experimenting together, I had just started experimenting with masturbation, and can’t quite remember if I had even reached orgasm. Though by the end of that year - I was in 7th grade or twelve years old - I was achieving mostly blank orgasms on my own, but it wasn’t happening with the girl until the last time we were together.

I actually saw her again for the first time since I was fifteen only two years ago. I was involved in making a movie, and she happened to be cast as an extra. She is still gut wrenchingly beautiful (for her age), and sadly her entire feature in the final cut of the film was her behind for about 3 milliseconds as she placed drinks on a table in a restaurant scene.

Enjoy..

The first experiment with the girl was a disaster in adult terms. First of all, it was all quite a revelation that the reason he had a penis in the first place was to insert it into her vagina - who would have imagined? It was clearly a fun pastime, as the many participants in the magazine were very obviously enjoying themselves. After discussing her limited knowledge of sex for several minutes, she insisted on putting his penis into her mouth, to ensure a good erection she assured. Although he had no doubt he already had a good erection, who was he to argue? And somewhat perplexed, he watched as she put her mouth around the organ through which he regularly urinated.

Unaccustomed to physical contact with girls in the first place, the fact that their naked bodies had to be almost completely wrapped around each other before penetration was comfortable for either of them, was disconcerting in the first place. And not realizing that thrusting was required, it really was an awkward time for both of them. There was obviously no orgasm for either of them. And her insistence on kissing was not helping. The kissing was simply an act of putting one’s lips together, and provided no source of pleasure whatsoever. However, during the course of the year following, many such sessions developed their skills somewhat, and finally the day came for them both to orgasm.

It was at his house. Paul’s older brother was away at boarding school, and his little brother was with their grandmother, shopping for new jeans. The memory for him would remain vivid for the rest of his life.

What remained fixed in his memory of that day was the sound of the fish tank pump. Humming away, oblivious of the insidious deed that was taking place in its presence. They had been experimenting with other positions. His penis had mysteriously doubled in size since there first encounter almost a year previous. This had allowed more latitude than the earlier days. First they stood, then they tried doggy style. Finally, she being frustrated that he was not deep enough, requested him to lie on his back. She straddled him, facing his feet, and soon was involved in her own world, using his penis more as a tool for masturbation than anything else. Watching her from behind, he became detached from the act of sex, and imagined himself masturbating himself. Sooner than he thought, he was on the edge of climax. If he was indeed controlling events, he would have stopped then, allowing time to further savor the period before the orgasm. In fact, his habit had become to stop, allow himself to become completely flaccid, and start again. This method could allow him to masturbate for more than an hour at a time, sometimes two. But that was when he was in control. And she was thrusting harder now. He watched as she lifted her buttocks up and down, up and down. He tried to practice his multiplication tables in his head, but it was no good. He opened his eyes just as she reached and touched his stomach. It was no good. His stomach contracted, and he almost did a full sit up. Grabbing her hips, he closed his eyes and felt himself swelling and pumping inside her. She let out a small sound, which he later decided was a symptom of her own orgasm. Embarrassed by the whole thing, he lay back and endured another torturous two or three minutes, before she lifted herself off him. The small kiss that followed was the first that he could remember that honestly felt like a kiss that had caused his stomach to jump slightly. It was a kiss of gratitude, of appreciation, almost of love.

There was never another time after that. It was school holidays after that, the last before he went off to boarding school. Spending time with friends was infinitely more rewarding.