Girl on the Net

Last week I put up the first in a three-part series by Mary. Mary is (or was) a 24-year-old virgin, and she wanted to write a series detailing her first-time experiences, and tackling some of the myths and misconceptions about virginity.

Read part one here, if you haven’t already, in which Mary meets A on Tinder, is delighted to discover just how soft penis skin is, and almost gets busted by a passing cyclist when she gets a bit handsy in public. When you’re up to date, check out part 2 below, where we join Mary and A as they’re working out what to do next…

24-year-old virgin, part two: The Hotel

“I suppose we could just look, for curiosity’s sake, couldn’t we? And if there’s nothing, that’s cool. At least we got an answer.”

“£79?”

“What?”

“There are some rooms. That’s like, £40 each. If you wanted.”

“Oh God. We can’t. We shouldn’t.”

“No. Of course.”

“I mean…I have work tomorrow! Though I suppose we could leave at 11pm.”

“Check in is at 3.”

“And what time is it now?”

“2:25.”

“Oh. Oh God. Book it, just book it.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, don’t ask me any more questions, just do it.”

…

I lost my virginity in a Travelodge at 4:35pm with Tipping Point on in the background. And it was FUCKING (no pun intended, but I’m putting it in anyway) BRILLIANT.

We left the pub as soon as our booking was confirmed, and made a mad dash around Boots, in order to stock up on condoms, lubricant and sandwiches. Priorities firmly in order, there.

What I didn’t anticipate was being asked when we checked into the hotel if we were there for anything nice. A was kind enough to leave me to flounder completely and desperately reach into the recesses of my brain for an excuse as to why two young people with no luggage had made a hasty booking for a room. I had nothing to offer but silence and a very red face.

We spent the first half hour chatting, and watching a bit of TV in order to just relax into the situation, as I couldn’t quite get my head around the fact that A and I were finally alone.

We’d been kissing for a little while, when A got up, stood at the foot of the bed, and pulled his shirt off over his head. If I hadn’t already been soaking wet, a flood alert would have been issued across the South West at that very moment.

He sat back down next to me, took my face in his hands and pressed his lips against mine. I know pretty much every writer talks about that cliché moment of a girl feeling like she’s melting into whoever’s kissing her, but it’s REAL. At least, it was for me. Then my shirt was off, and his hands were all over me.

Now, I’m a big girl, who’s struggled a lot with self esteem issues when it comes to feeling sexy, or feeling desired – pretty much all of that went out the window when I realised that A liked me for exactly who I was. He wouldn’t have had his left hand on my breast, and be planting kisses down my stomach if he didn’t.

Thumbs hooked into the waistband of my underwear, he slid them down my legs, and they were thrown to the other side of the room, on top of the pile of clothes already hastily tossed away.

A was letting me dictate how far we went that day. He made it very clear that we didn’t have to have sex – we could do as much or as little as I felt comfortable with, especially as he was so much more experienced than me. Thing is… sensibility and taking things slowly was the furthest thing from my mind whilst I was on my back, with A kissing up my thighs, towards my cunt – gently running his tongue along the lips, as my fingers brushed through his hair. He firmly told me before his mouth reached my clit that he wouldn’t have sex with me unless I said I wanted it. Around ten seconds into me relaxing, getting used to this brand new sensation of having my boyfriend’s head between my legs, and hooking my ankles behind his neck, I said softly “I want you to fuck me. Please fuck me.”

At that point, A’s face changed completely. I’ve since learnt this is his “lust face” – his eyes widen, and go almost completely black and that’s when my stomach drops because I know how much he wants to fuck me. He walked across to the table, slid a condom over his cock and then knelt in front of me on the bed. He slowly slid his throbbing cock into me, inch by inch, constantly checking that I was okay, and nothing hurt. There was a slight twinge, but not the searing pain I’d anticipated from the virginity horror stories that I’d grown up on. Placing a hand either side of my head, A began thrusting a little harder and a little faster, (boobs jiggling whilst you have sex look brilliant, for the record) and I was starting to get into the whole “Oh. My. God. I’m actually having sex. I could die now and be happy. This is the best feeling ever.” headspace. Running my hands along A’s body, pulling him closer towards me, I could feel little droplets of sweat collecting in the small of his back – I couldn’t stop myself from reaching down to take a handful of his exceptionally peachy arse, digging my nails in ever so slightly. His breathing intensified and I could tell that he was close.

There was no way that I was going to come, but at that moment, I didn’t care. All I knew was that having this incredible boy come from fucking me was going to make me the happiest girl in the world. So I told him to come. I told him how much I wanted him to come inside me, and that tipped him over the edge.

When A went to the bathroom to clean himself off, I lay there thinking “Is that what I’d been getting so worked up about? It was so much fun! Why was I so worried?” Please don’t mistake that for disappointment.

I was lucky enough to not bleed at all, so I think that made the whole process a lot less panic inducing.

…

I quickly realised that I didn’t have the stamina to wank my boyfriend off. I started full of beans, wrapping my right hand around his cock, and started sliding it up and down. Then I had to switch to my left hand, then when that started cramping up, it was back to my right hand, before having to admit defeat, leaving A more than slightly frustrated. I didn’t do much better when I immediately tried to deepthroat him and ended up choking in the most unattractive way, and ended up coughing precum onto the hotel carpet. If anybody has any tips or exercises that would help me get my arm strength up then I am ALL EARS.

We spent the rest of the evening trying out various positions. Doggy Style gets a 7 out of 10 – 8.5 if I put my hair up, and A tugs on my ponytail, causing my back to arch and my cunt to tense around him. Deep Stick is a gold standard 9 out of 10 because I can feel him bumping against my cervix. Even though it hurts a tiny bit, the feeling of fullness can’t be matched. Also, when he’s holding my ankles up by his head and he’s deep inside me, it turns out that I make the kind of noises you hear in hardcore porn. Completely involuntary moaning and mewling that I just cannot stop. I’ve tried. I was pretty certain that someone knocked on our door in annoyance, but I was slightly busy getting pounded to take notice.

…

One week later, I got to spend my first full night with A. It was everything I hoped for and more, particularly as this time round, we’d had time to plan things, and bring luggage with us. The contents of those suitcases? The usual. Spare clothes, towels, vibrators.

We spent a little bit of time in a position we call Schrodinger’s Penis (Yab-Yum, tantric fans), as I’ll wrap my legs around his waist with him inside me, and we’ll just sit there, chatting or kissing, the mystery being that he might still be hard, but he might not. This was also the first time that A realised that me laughing whilst he’s inside me is incredibly means he’s able to feel my cunt spasming around him.

I inadvertently used that to my advantage, when we tried some dirty talk during sex. It’s a lot of fun…when you’re good at it. If it goes a bit awry, then you’ve got a whole world of problems.

I’m exceptionally chatty during sex – I just won’t shut up but A is reluctant to gag me, so I just run my mouth off. I essentially turn into David Attenborough, narrating what’s going on, or constantly check on A to know he’s okay and I’ve not broken his penis or anything. Usually, it goes as follows:

“You okay?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Great. Mmm, that feels good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I love having your cock inside me.”

“Fuck, I love being deep in your cunt, it feels amazing.”

various moans

“Are you going to come deep inside my cunt?”

“Yes”

“Mmm. Fuck me harder. Come inside me.”

Moaning, heavy breathing

Fin.

What doesn’t work, is when I get tongue tied, and end up saying “pound my cunt with your cunt…no, wait” at which point he simultaneously laughed and blew his load, which wasn’t a particularly unpleasant experience, I’m told, but not necessarily one he’s looking to repeat.

Sleeping next to someone for the first time makes you realise human beings are hot. Sometimes uncomfortably so, meaning that you’ll probably be sleeping on top of the covers, with a fan on, and a window open, and still say “nooooo, don’t lie so close, you’re too warm.” Then you remember how nice it is to spoon, or have an arm slung under your breasts, or rest your head against their chest and feel their heart beating and just say “fuck it, I’m having a shower in the morning anyway, I’ll just stay here. Mmm.”

I also experienced what might still be my favourite bit of sex yet – a slightly sleepy 3am shag, which occurred after I’d woken up with a raging horn and an absolutely gorgeous chap in bed next to me. I did check to see that A was definitely awake and in the mood, so as not to overstep consent boundaries. There was a rapid escalation of my hand sliding down the front of his pyjamas to find him hard, to me reaching across the bedside table for a condom, swinging my leg over and sliding my wet cunt down onto him, sitting there for a few moments before rocking my hips back and forth. We’ve discussed my wetness before, so it’ll come as no surprise that he slid right out as our pace increased, with plenty of giggles and me blindly grasping for his cock in the dark and then frantically whispering “oh God, I’ve lost my cunt” as I failed miserably to find my own vagina with the tip of his penis. To save me from further embarrassment, he flipped me onto my back, ran his thumb across my clit and pushed himself back inside me, threading his fingers through mine as he pounded me much harder than someone who was asleep 10 minutes earlier should have been able to. He came inside me, and even in the dark I could see the beautiful way his face strains as he’s close, before crumpling in a heap on top of me, and rolling to the side, fully deserving of a nap.

Because I had to leave for work at silly o’clock the next morning, I’d told A to have a lie in whilst I got showered and ready. That plan was tossed aside as he decided that stroking his cock whilst I dried my hair was a brilliant idea. He wasn’t wrong, though it’s made every other hair drying experience since pretty dull.  We made sure that our proper farewell was fairly memorable though. I don’t mean ‘being pressed up against the wall for ten minutes, passionately kissing whilst I try to put my coat on’ memorable. We settled for a hand slipped up the back of my skirt, with “keep that cunt wet for me” whispered into my ear as I got pushed out the door. It is very difficult to concentrate at work with those words bouncing around your brain, and it’s even trickier when your boyfriend sends you a photo of the knickers you left behind by accident arranged neatly on a pillow.

Part three of this series will go up next week. Part one is available here.