Never as Bad As The First Time

Before I lost my virginity, I did a lot of research. As in, I read every trashy, bodice-ripping, dog-eared Harlequin novel I could get my hands on. I fully expected it to be exactly as it played out on the page: breathlessly my heaving (not quite fully developed) breasts would quiver as his tongue flicked my...well, you get the idea. And then, as he gently, so gently pressed his burning member inside of me, we would both explode in waves of pleasure, rocking back and forth in a perfectly harmonious, perfectly-timed orgasm. Fuck, yeah.

When my friends would share their first time experiences, it sounded less than stellar. Uncomfortable. Painful. Way too quick to even cull some decent corset-popping lines of description. Huh, I sniffed. They must not have done it right. Amateurs.

Then, finally, it was my turn. And it was awkward. Uncomfortable. REALLY REALLY painful. And I was furious. What the fuck? Where's my orgasmic waves of pleasure? We must not have done it right! So I made him do it again. And again. And again.

Nope, nothing. I think it took a couple of years before I actually had the whole breathless, heaving, exploding waves of nirvana experience. And it really wasn't the poor dudes' fault. I had a head full of terrifically bad fantasy prose and absolutely no clue about my own body. Until I put the books aside and focused on working with what was handed to me, then it got much better.

P.S.--Perhaps that's why we chicks hit our prime as we get older. It's God's way of making up for all those shitty practice runs. Future MLFs of the world, unite!