My First Time (Part Two)

When it ended for the first time that December it was hard not to feel crestfallen.  Thinking I had met someone special in my own city through an instant messenger program, it became next to impossible to move on.  Despite the anger and resentment, though, I wanted another chance with her.  There was a mystery there and I was determined to personally unravel it.
 
In mid-March 2005, there was something odd about her MSN page.  I had been checking it fairly regularly and was always disappointed to read of her ongoing love and affection for this American soldier she was involved with.  But on that sunny March 14th afternoon, all references to him were suddenly scrubbed from the page.  That was strange.  Sure enough, when I checked her Yahoo profile, there was no mention of him there, either.  But there was a link to a new blog she had started.  I clicked it and poured over the archives.  She was indeed single again and going through a rough time.
 
She had told me about her turbulent history.  There was violence, family problems, wild sex, even a brief death experience.  But she is one of the strongest women I’ve ever met.  Despite a severe allergy to bee stings and a heart that threatened to give out at any moment, she remained cheerfully alive when we were together.  I admired her courage and her incomparable ability to perservere.
 
I made some important decisions that day.  One, I decided to forgive her about the other man in her life.  Two, I wanted the chance to meet her and see what we had in person.  I made my move on MSN (I had uninstalled Yahoo Messenger, at that point) the following evening.
 
When we were both signed in, she was two lines into an email wondering what was going on when I messaged her.  We made peace, shortly thereafter.  I told her how I felt and what my intentions were.  We were on the same page.  She had actually gotten engaged during our break but it was now off.  Her ex had suddenly ceased contact with her so she sent back the ring he gave her. 
 
Forgiving her felt incredible.  I was happy again.  For the next two months, we would grow even closer than before.  No more resentment, no more sniping, no more bitterness.  Even though we had still not seen pics of each other, we were falling in love.
 
Just before we met in the park on May 10, we finally revealed our looks to each other.  She liked my pics, even though they weren’t terribly recent.  That was one less thing to worry about.  When I saw hers, though, I was decidedly unimpressed.  She just didn’t look her best.  Before reconnecting, I never knew her body type.  She had mentioned being quite athletic before the incident which gave me the false impression that she was still fit.  She wasn’t.  But ultimately, I didn’t care.  We were now a couple and it would be that first face-to-face meeting that would really determine how I felt about her.
 
It was a beautiful Spring day.  I was so excited I couldn’t stay out of the bathroom.  But I wasn’t uncomfortable.  I was thrilled to finally meet someone from the Internet in person.
 
She had mentioned being a big country fan so I decided to give her this Roseanne Cash CD, 10 Song Demo, that I never listened to.  We walked and talked for several minutes before sitting down at a picnic table.  It was there I knew.  She didn’t wear any make-up.  She had some bad acne happening.  Her long, reddish brown hair was all tied up.  And she weighed at least 30 pounds more than me.  She was not my type at all.  But she smelled great and I was completely smitten.
 
I remember I slid right up next to her, which she wasn’t prepared for.  I tried to move in for a kiss but she wasn’t ready.  I even tried a little dirty talk.  Timing was off but I didn’t lose her.  Much to my surprise, I wasn’t the shy one.  After incompletely writing our names in ink with her left hand on the top of the picnic table, she suggested we move somewhere else on the grass.  We held hands as we looked for a decent spot.  As I made a second attempt to glue my lips to hers, she was far more accommodating.  I had no clue what I was doing, though.  But she helped me out and we spent the rest of that glorious afternoon in and out of warm, romantic embraces.
 
Seventeen days later, I would finally experience real pleasure.  Because of the incident, she was behind a year in high school.  That second-to-last week in May, she told me that not only was she getting out early on the 27th (11 a.m.) but her stepfather and mom were going to be away the whole day.  She wondered if we could get together then.  Only a fool would’ve turned down that offer.
 
So, it was settled.  When she got home that Friday morning, she would call me to confirm our plans and give me directions to her place.  She had the protection.  My long drought was about to end.
 
Naturally, I was up early that fateful day.  The call came in just after 11.  She would meet me at the bus stop closest to her town house.  Once that was settled, I took my bagged lunch (peanut butter sandwich, cucumber slices, green peppers, celery, green tea) and headed out the door.  One very long bus ride later, we connected.  She looked different.  Her beautiful long hair was let down this time and it smelled fantastic.  She wore jean shorts with a belt, running shoes with white, ankle socks and a red "Canadian Girls Kick Ass" T-shirt.  Like before, I felt a strong attraction to her.  And there was no mistaking the calm atmosphere.  I wanted this so bad.
 
We held hands en route to her place and talked.  Once we arrived, she had me wait in the back while she went around the front to let herself in.
 
Now inside, I sensed the crammedness of her residence.  Her grad pics had come in and she showed them off.  She looked lovely, a Native Canadian Queen Latifah.  She gave me one along with some other pics of her when she was younger and thinner.  After a brief downstairs tour, we went upstairs to her bedroom.
 
Without so much as a hesitant thought, my instinct was to strip down.  One minute, she saw me wearing dark pants, a light-coloured t-shirt and socks.  After checking on her sleeping gecko, she turned around to see a very eager 29-year-old stretching the boundaries of his undergarments.
 
Like in the park, this 19-year-old seemed shy to get things started.  Once again, I was the aggressor, slipping her out of her clothing and preparing her for consummation.
 
She had told me about her sensitive knees.  The front and back became erogenous zones after the incident.  When she went to close the window, like a pent-up cheetah tired of being impatient, I jumped onto her bed and licked the back of her knees as I gently stroked her stems.  Resistance was futile.
 
She was just wearing socks as she laid on her back.  Her womanhood was abundant.  An ample bosom (complete with a left nipple piercing) and an incredibly firm posterior.  All the right parts completely shaven.  And she wanted to be with me.
 
After some amusing foreplay (I made a strange "am I doing this right?" face early on), she was ready to play.  She applied the protection.  I felt secure.  I removed her socks (she had cute toes) and gingerly climbed aboard.  We embraced as I progressed slowly but eagerly.  The long wait was over.  Feeling silly, I praised early high school dismissals which made her laugh.
 
The position wasn’t comfortable and after a bit, she flipped herself over, offering me her best physical attribute.  It was so firm that I couldn’t resist slapping it every so often.  The thrusting got faster, more exciting.  I couldn’t resist posing.  It felt so good.  Many minutes passed before the inevitable release.
 
Then it was her turn.  I was on my back still ready to go.  Feeling remarkably self-conscious, she got up, wrapped herself in a giant blanket and went to work.  She didn’t have to hide herself.  I never cared about her flaws.  Meanwhile, she got more and more amused with every pleasurable sound I made.  So, this is what I was missing?  It was a moment worth savouring.
 
Soon, it was back to slapping and thrusting.  I didn’t last nearly as long as the first time but it was still great fun.  When it was over, I was dead tired.  As we laid in bed, the blankets covering our sweat-drenched bodies (it was pretty hot in her room that afternoon), I was too stunned to respond to her rather generous offer of playing with her large goodies.  There was a stillness in the room.  It didn’t help that my throat was in rough shape.  That’s what you get for drinking way too much apple juice.
 
Bored out of her mind, she reached for the remote.  Some Canadian western was on.  I was too tired and happy to care. 
 
Climbing out of her bed, I was a different person.  There was this confidence, this swagger as I made my way to her bathroom.  (Why I put my clothes back on, I have no idea.)  At one point, I thought she was calling for me.  But when I returned to her bedroom, she let out a rather alarming scream.  She was indeed uncomfortable being this exposed around her rather skinny boyfriend.  How sad.  Once completely dressed, we took a break downstairs and barely spoke.
 
After taking far too long to eat my lunch (because of the aforementioned sore throat), we had just enough time for one more romp.  For round three, we kept our tops on.  (She switched to a blue number.) She climbed aboard and just like before, she readied me for action.  I loved how she gyrated her hips as we got rolling again.  It wasn’t long before she was on her hands and knees bracing for another impact.  More slapping and entering followed.  And we were all done.
 
She had to get ready for work (a soul-crushing telemarketing gig she would soon be fired from) and it was time for me to get going, as well.  As we walked towards the bus stop, I couldn’t stop marvelling at the day’s events.  It didn’t feel real.  I was so used to being inactive that there were times I doubted ever getting to this level.  But her sweetness and her comfort made it happen.  I’ll never forget it.
 
The bus arrived after a brief wait and we said our goodbyes.  What had been such a warm, sunny afternoon soon turned dark and menacing.  As I got closer to my stop, the light was quickly replaced by storm clouds.  And then the rain came.  I exited the bus and was soaked in seconds.  It was torrential.  The thunder and lightning didn’t help matters.  It took forever to get home.
 
But when I did, I couldn’t help feeling wonderful.  After a nice shower, there was this constant reflection of the day’s events.  Then, she called after her shift.  Lying in bed, she told me she could still smell me in the sheets.  We chatted and laughed about what happened.  All in all, it was a very positive initation.
 
Sadly, it wouldn’t last.  Two weeks after meeting my parents and my grandmother for my 30th birthday get-together three days before the actual date, I treated my teenage girlfriend to an Adam Sandler movie.  I didn’t like it but she did.  We had fun, nonetheless.  It would be the last time we saw each other in person, the last time we kissed, the last time we held hands in public.
 
As the summer arrived, he was on her mind.  She couldn’t stop talking about that American soldier.  There was weeping, confusion and an inescapable sense that she was not over him.  On July 2nd, the day of the Live 8 concerts, I put her on the spot.  She had to choose.  She couldn’t.  It was over.  She refused to meet me in person (she had actually invited me to her town house again the day before, the same day she ended up chatting with him online and going on and on and on about him) so we parted ways over the phone.  She cried.  I remained calm, knowing that it had to end.  I didn’t want to feel like a substitute anymore.  But there was no more anger.
 
It took many months to accept what happened, to realize that the relationship had gone as far as it was going to go.  Besides, she was desperate to get out of that town house.  She wanted marriage, a baby and a big dog.  She has them now with another soldier she married the year after we broke up.  (Things didn’t work out with the other soldier, the one she was briefly engaged to.)
 
I hope she’s happier now.  I think nothing but good things about her, hoping that she thinks the same of me.  She changed my life for the better.  She opened my eyes to the possibilities of romance and true passion.  I have regrets about not making things last and about not being more adventurous with her, but I’ll never regret being with her.  She made me feel special, that what I said and did mattered.  And she made me feel comfortable.
 
Dennis Earl
Hamilton, Ontario, Canada
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
1:01 a.m.
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Published in: on May 28, 2008 at 1:02 am  Comments (1)  

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  1. […] some incurable STD (I’m allergic to penicillin), I didn’t end up losing my virginity until I was 29.  (My ex was the only woman I’ve ever been intimate with, as of this writing.)  I’ve […]


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