Early days V...

My Caroline issue resolved itself, much to my relief, when she moved away.

Time to get some action...and her name was Sue.

Sue was a nurse and a few years older than me. I was, I have to admit, relying on the old adage that their are two certainties in life: death and nurses. We dated a few times. We danced. We snogged. My hands started to wander. Not much was happening. I began to wonder if the adage had any validity - but, in this case, proved true.

I remember it vividly. We were in a taxi queue outside a disco. We were cuddling. I felt her fingers slip through my button fly, curling round my somulent cock. And, joy of joys, my cock responded. This was what he wanted - someone to wake him from his slumber. I have always liked women to show an interest in sex - to be an active partner. The lie-back-and-think-of-England brigade hold no attraction.

Here, in the market square of an anonymous town, her interest (and ministrations) were having a very positive effect.

Soon, she had slipped her whole hand inside my chinos and was carressing my erection. I was dizzy with anticipation. The taxi couldn't come soon enough (and apparently, as far as she was concerned, neither could I...). The car took us to her place - but I wondered if I'd lose my virginity there in the back of a cab, with the lecherous taxi driver ogling us in the rear view mirror.

We fell through the doors of her halls of residence with her leading me literally by the cock - her hand stuffed down my boxer shorts. We ripped each other's clothes off once the door of her room slammed behind us.

We got naked - there was no embarrassment on her part (a first for my girlfriends). That "pack of three" was at last going to get some use. She rolled one on my diamond hard cock and pulled me to the bed.

Bliss.

The feeling of slick warmth enveloped my dick as I slipped inside her. All those years of anticipation and I was not disappointed. How good was that? After all the anticipation, the worry, my relief to have lost the virginity that had haunted me for years was so huge I almost cried.

We began to move. It felt wonderful. How different to the dry rubbing of my hand. The subtle pressure, the glorious grip all round my cock began to register after the initial pleasure of slippery heat. This was fabulous. I didn't want it to stop. We fucked each other stupid - contorting our bodies into weird and wonderful positions, until she begged me to stop. I hadn't come but I didn't care. I just wanted to go at it again. We kept waking during the night and copulated like randy rabbits - it was as though our pubic hair were velcro and we needed a crowbar to separate our genitalia.

I was loving it.

I was priapic.

I was unable to come.

Enjoy...

Early days IV...

As Kirsty went on her tearful way after 9 months (strange that she was so upset - she gave me a "it's me or your friends" ultimatum and I chose the people I was closest to...), in came Caroline.

Caroline was a bright Northern lass. She had curly dark hair and piercing blue eyes - a killer combination. It was those eyes that first attracted me. They were staring at me across a crowded room, laser-bright, sparkling with mischief. I had to get to know the owner...

The fact that she was also the owner of a fabulous body did help my enthusiasm (yes, I am/was shallow)...

She was serious and thoughtful - ah, such a wonderful change after Kirsty. We had long intense, studenty conversations that put the world to rights. We had long intense petting sessions that gave her shivering, gasping orgasms. And she refused to reciprocate.

It turned out that a near fatal motorcycle accident aged 15 had left her both physically and mentally scarred. She had been left with some scarring to her legs and chest, which really was no issue for me (or anyone who was anything but a perfectionist - trouble was, she was). The real issue was that she thought that she was infertile as a result of the internal injuries and was not interested in sexual experimentation until she knew more about what was happening.

I was tempted, being a heartless bastard, to ask if she'd also damaged her mouth... Anyway, hamstrung by my lack of erection (I was still pretty terrified by the opposite sex) and her refusal to allow anything other than finger inside her, I really didn't know what to do. She had no interest in stimulating me and I had no idea how to take it to the next level.

Fuck!

Was I condemned to find girlfriends who were visually perfect but mentally damaged: partners who were happy to take but not keen on the giving bit?

In hindsight, my non-threatening, nice guy persona made me attractive to this demographic but my virginity wasn't going to cure itself...

To be continued...

Early days III...

And trade I did. Kirsty was what I thought I wanted - a tasty bit of posh totty. She was slim, long limbed and beautiful.

Sadly two things were to doom this relationship.

Firstly, it turned out she had been sexually abused as a child (by one of the staff - she was truly posh). Unsurprisingly, she was reluctant to get sexual (not what a teenage male intent on getting his dick wet really wants to hear). But I was cool with that (a proto-metrosexual teenager - one of a kind...). I would take my time. I would be loving. I would be gentle. I am rather proud that she told me later in her life (I met her 10 years after the relationship ended) that she owed her sexuality to me - I reawakened the sexual being that had hidden deep inside her after the abuse.

What I was less proud about was that I was still getting no action after six months. She was even less willing to reciprocate my sexual advances than Lizzie had been. Some trade... (Yeah, I know - I'm a heartless bastard)

The second issue - and the one that ultimately doomed the relationship - was that she was pretty stupid. Conversation was far from sparkling. I realised that I needed some intellectual stimulation from the relationship, especially if I wasn't getting any physical stimulation. Once the topic left the party circuit and our friends there really wasn't anything there. You couldn't even get a cruel entertainment from it. Wind-ups such as "did you know that the word gullible is not in the Oxford English Dictionary" cease to be much fun when they succeed every time - like shooting fish in a barrel.

To be fair she wasn't as dumb as her friends. They were dead from the neck up (the blokes were "Tim Nice-But-Dim", the girls were body by Barbie, brains by Mattel). I remember sitting in the drawing room of one friend, watching the news and one of the girls saying, "What's apartheid". Remember this was the late 70's / early 80's - and apartheid was a massive issue around the world, dominating the news media - us "right-on" students were boycotting South African products.

I gently explained the mechanics of separation by ethnicity and the girl said (and I kid you not), "Oh that's nice! I don't like black people either."

Jesus....

To be continued...

Early days II...

So there I was:

• Naïve, sexually desperate, virginity a millstone around my neck. Not an attractive look...
• Stuck in a rut, depressed, going nowhere. Just the attributes young ladies seek out).

Fan-fucking-tastic (or not). What happened? Well nothing. Until I got lucky...

As always in my life, fortune smiled on me.

A very pretty girl took a shine to me for no discernable reason. I plucked up the courage to ask her out. We fumbled in each other's clothes. I found out about the female anatomy first hand rather than from the two-diminsional paper porn that had formulated my erotic fantasies.
But not everything was "wine and roses". Lizzie had big breasts - not my thing at all. Don't get me wrong - large boobs don't turn me off but they don't attract me like they do some men. I can definitely take them or leave them. There were two problems with this scenario.
Firstly, she seemed to be obsessed with me taking an interest in her mammaries - no I wasn't being overly attentive but rather I wasn't obsessed enough - her previous boyfriends had been very er... well, focussed. Whilst she responded beautifully to my fingers elsewhere on her body, she wanted more breast action but less of other forms of naughtiness (we were still innocent teenagers). This was not all bad: she loved kissing - my lifelong love of kissing comes from Lizzie (I could quite happily snog for Britain). Long, slow, succulent kisses. Fast, insistent, deisre- filled kisses. All good.

Secondly, whilst my hands wandered, her hands never got below my waist. Perhaps because I didn't have a raging hard-on, she was embarassed. But without some stimulation down there, nothing was going to happen, for me at least... Probably my fault for masturbating like a sex-starved simian whenever I was on my own for more than five minutes. But my virginity wasn't going anywhere.

However, the best thing about going out with Lizzie was that I suddenly became hot property with the "Laydees". Yes, that old effect of "if some other girl wants him, then so do I" came into effect. Virgo intacto, I nevertheless had become a minor "player" and I had the chance to trade...

To be continued...

Early days I...

My first sexual experiences were nothing to write home about (So why the fuck are you writing about them? Ed). I'm sure that a lot of young people struggle to find their feet, sexually (Well, there's your problem - feet don't really come into sex (except at the advanced levels). You need to aim a little higher. Ed).

My very early encounters with the opposite sex were disasters. I was too nervous to touch them.

I went out with a girl for a month when I was aged 13 or 14 and didn't even touch her breasts (they were the largest of any of the girls that I knew). I didn't want to be presumptuous (Presumptuous? This kid is so stupid he couldn't pour water out of a boot with instructions printed on the heel. Ed). The irony was she chucked me because I wasn't interested in her - what I hadn't realised (and wouldn't understand for many years afterwards) was that she was as sexually curious as I was (See? What did I tell you? An intellect rivalled only by garden tools. Ed). Worse than that, she told everyone that I hadn't grabbed a handfull of her cleavage, which ensured that I appeared naïve, stupid or gay (admittedly, I was guilty of the first two) - none of which served to make me immediately attractive to the other females in the group.
I decided to withdraw hurt from the dating scene and regroup on the sidelines. Well, truth be told, that was the only option I was given. I resolved therefore to masturbate like a rabid monkey. On the one hand this seemed a reasonable decision at the time, on the other hand, well, my palm was getting hairy.

My virginity hung over me like a cloud - my desperation was so palpable you could smell it on me a mile off. I couldn't have got laid if I was the only man at a nymphomanics' convention.

To be continued...

Early days...

I thought that I'd be self-indulgent for a moment (For a moment? What the fuck is the rest of the Blog??? Ed.) and go back to describe my early sexual experiences - the ones that formed me as a sexual being.

My first experiences of a sexual frisson were all onastic - I discovered that pressing my willy gave me pleasurable feelings when I was about 10. I then developed that into something more sexual over the next couple of years. Pornography (of the Penthouse variety) entered into the equation at about 12 or 13. I suppose that I discovered it at one of my uncle's houses. We had a very liberal upbringing - parents smoking pot (I could roll a mean joint aged 10...) and sex was far from a taboo subject. I had two bachelor uncles, who would leave their Playboys lying around. No-one would blink an eyelid if I picked one up and read it.

Thus, my early sexual focus was very visual - probably not healthy for a male (we are very visual - as opposed to cerebral - in our sexual stimuli).

As I once told Virgin Slut, my masturbation has always been a stolen moment, a furtive act. It has therefore tended to be a very clinical experience - though one backed by wild fantasy - how to get one's rocks off in the minimum amount of time. Wild fantasy? Well anything from very plain vanilla stuff to the craziest shit that you can imagine. Domination, ladyboys, submission, bondage, mind control - fucked up stuff (though to be fair this is not common - I am pretty catholic in my tastes even if I can be very eclectic).

To be continued...

Show me the way...

This made me giggle...


(Click on the image to enlarge it)

Enjoy...

Blogging is soooo last year...

Well, if we needed any confirmation, blogging has become as passe as sex with the lights out. Final nail in the coffin was when I jumped in the car last night and heard the tail end of the first episode of a "Woman's Hour" play called The World of Margaret. It appeared to be about a married couple discovering how blogging improves their relationship and their sex. I mean how fricking unlikely is that?

If Radio 4 has discovered it, blogging is way beyond mainstream. If Woman's Hour is covering it, we are all has-beens.

Fuck, I hate being a cliche.

Actually, the rather posh voice of the lady playing Margaret and her somewhat rocky relationship reminded me of a joke:

A nice, calm and respectable lady went into the pharmacy, right up to the pharmacist, looked straight into his eyes, and said, "I would like to buy some cyanide."
The pharmacist asked,"Why in the world do you need cyanide?"
The lady replied, "I need it to poison my husband."
The pharmacist's eyes got big and he exclaimed, "Lord have mercy! I can't give you cyanide to kill your husband! That's against the law! I'll lose my license! They'll throw both of us in jail! All kinds of bad things will happen. Absolutely not! You CANNOT have any cyanide!"
The lady reached into her purse and pulled out a picture of her husband in bed with the pharmacist's wife. The pharmacist looked at the picture and replied, "Well now. That's different. You didn't tell me you had a prescription."

Enjoy...

Neglect

I am not dead - I've been neglecting you, dear reader. Not out of choice but because I have been busy elsewhere. So busy that I have very little to tell you other than about the inside of my office, planes, airports and business hotels. I will return soon - I have tapped some thoughts into my blackberry and once I have a chance to transfer it to Blogger, we might get some posts up.

In the meantime...

One day, in line at the company cafeteria, Joe says to Mike behind him, "My elbow hurts like hell. I guess I better see a doctor."
"Listen, you don't have to spend that kind of money," Mike replies. "There's a diagnostic computer down at Woolworth's. Just give it a urine sample and the computer will tell you what's wrong and what to do about it. It takes ten seconds and costs £20.00. It’s a lot quicker than a doctor."
So Joe deposits a urine sample in a small jar and takes it to Woolies. He deposits £20.00, and the computer lights up and asks for the urine sample. He pours the sample into the slot and waits. Ten seconds later, the computer ejects a printout:
You have tennis elbow. Soak your arm in warm water and avoid heavy activity. It will improve in two weeks.
Thank you for shopping at Woolworths.
That evening while thinking how amazing this new technology was, Joe began wondering if the computer could be fooled. He mixed some tap water, a stool sample from his dog, urine samples from his wife and daughter, and a sperm sample for good measure. Joe hurries back to Woolies, eager to check the results. He deposits £20.00, pours in his concoction, and awaits the results. The computer prints the following:
1. Your tap water is too hard. Get a water softener. (Aisle 9)
2. Your dog has ringworm. Bathe him with anti-fungal shampoo. (Aisle7)
3. Your daughter has a cocaine habit. Get her into rehab.
4. Your wife is pregnant, Twins. They aren't yours. Get a lawyer (Next door).
5. If you don't stop playing with yourself, your elbow will never get better.
Thank you for shopping at Woolworths

Enjoy...