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A Twenty-Five Year Affair

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A TWENTY-FIVE YEAR AFFAIRThis story is true, only the names have been changed to protect the innocent as well as the guilty. At my high school graduation I believed that I was the only virgin boy in my graduating class of over 400 students. There may have been a handful of girls who were not virgins. But I was certain that all the boys, except me, had tasted of a woman's sweet sexual charms.Off to a local college, I eventually met Angie, a high school classmate, while not a cheerleader, or social butterfly, she was one of the most sincere and kindest women in the universe. You will see how kind she was in just a few minutes. We began dating. With all the sincerity of a high school freshman I wooed her. After a few weeks of my attention, promises, and I admit a little begging we agreed on a Tuesday afternoon that she would indeed, compromise her honor to my benefit. She was also attending college and had exams that week, thus we could not consummate our pact until the coming Friday night.I naturally had an erection the entire time. I could not breath without considering her promise. Friday night is the night. I would have my very own personal graduation into adulthood.She had planned carefully. Her parents went to dinner every Friday night. So, we'd have the house to ourselves. When I knocked on the door, she answered it. She wore a white blouse, and modest skirt. She had prepared a simple dinner of hamburger, potato salad. When she offered me seconds, I declined: much more interested in the personal dessert we had agreed to. She showed me to her bedroom. When I asked about her parents catching us, she replied: "They trust me." Then she asked me for the only thing she wanted: "Please don't ruin my reputation." She asked. I promised her I would not.She began undressing. I lagged behind. She had unbuttoned her blouse, and encouraged me. "We are going to make love, aren't we?" I quickly responded "O, sure!" with mock assurance.Now I had never even seen a girl's bare breast. And she undressed without hesitation. Soon I was gazing at a barefoot, bare assed, bare bosomed young woman. I was speechless. Not only was she showing me herself in her altogether, she welcomed my company. She welcomed my kiss. She welcomed my touch. She was going to screw me. She was not bossy nor did she embarrass me. She gently encouraged me to kiss her pink nipples. Regardless of where I touched her, my hands ventured over new territory. Other than asking me to be gentler with her breasts, she never mentioned my clumsiness, or hesitation.At the appropriate moment she asked me quietly: "Did you bring any protection?" "No." I responded. Terrified that this over site would bring my graduation to an abrupt and unaccomplished end. "The might be some in the nightstand." She said quietly. There were condoms in her drawer. She continued to be so thoughtful, kind and quiet as I struggled with the first rubber I had seen or touched. As I recall I managed to get it over my cock, albeit backwards. Bit by bit, tearing out public hair whenever they were in the way, without flinching at the pain. I put it on. I assumed the missionary position, so new to me. I tried a mighty stroke. It fell out. I tried a shorter strokes, it was still too much. It fell out. I made sure I kept it in, but stroked not at all. Angie was so patient, so sweet, so caring. With her kindness and help I reached a wonderful, perfectly, priceless climax. I was too self centered, and self absorbed to know if she had climaxed too. I think not. She was probably too busy not laughing or embarrassing me.We continued to date. But I was young and foolish. Furthermore, emboldened by my recent loss of virginity. I was now a worldly man. I was careless about our relationship. I didn't call her when I should. We didn't go out for weeks at a time. Finally, she told me when I called that someone else had asked her out, and she had said yes. She told me that I was acting as though my interests were elsewhere. A friend told me, more than asked me, that I had made love to Angie. I told him simply that I had not. I was so shy, he believed me.Then twenty-five years later, I was working in the tourist industry in a very small small town in southwest Canada. Two women came in for information. After I answered their questions one of them said, your name is John (so and so). I looked at my nametag. She teased me, saying, "You don't know your own name." I explained that if I had worn the one with my full name, it would seem strange to ask my name. Then she asked me some of the strangest questions. "Were you a virgin when you graduated from high school?" By then, married twice and the father of four, my great concern on graduation night seemed insignificant. "No." I answered. Then she asked me the name of the young lady who had deflowered me twenty-five years ago. My memory replayed the times I spent with wonderful, sweet, kind and thoughtful Angie. Within seconds it had replayed that single promise she requested: "Please don't ruin my reputation." "Well, come on, you remember the name of the very first woman you had sex with?" she demanded. I told her the truth. "I remember. Of course I remember. But I promised not to tell. And, I have not told anyone in twenty-five years. "I'll not tell anyone now!" I didn't know until later than year when I saw the information from my twenty-fifth high school class reunion. After all the information: married name, address, telephone number, children, job, Angie had written "Thanks John!" I called Angie. She explained that one of the two women I had met was her best friend in high school and still her best friend. Angie went on to explain that she said she had always wondered if I had kept my promise for twenty-five years. I had.Her friend had asked me a second question. "Would your first lover have made a good wife? She asked. Without stopping to think I responded, "If I had only been wise enough to realize how wonderful a wife she would be!" I think from time to time, if I had only been wiser when I was young and foolish.By the way, I still have kept that promise because her name never was Angie. But the rest of this story is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

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