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Memories - again

Posted by: Age: From 16 Posted on: 8 comments
9 likes 2 views Category: Masturbation Female Solo Tags: Sexual memories, first desires

Gosh…Miss Brain has taken to shaking herself, and early memories seem to be falling out. 

Here, then, is another excursion into the mind of Anna. 

 


First cum, first swallowed.

 

I remember the feeling of taking his cock into my mouth. I felt so privileged that he’d trust me to do this….to take the most sensitive part of his body into my mouth and suck on it, swirl my tongue around it and general behave like a slut with it. He was lying down flat, and I was kneeling beside him, with my bum near enough to his head that he could feel me up at the same time. 

 

I remember clearly that the act of sucking him made me literally pour with girlcum. No, not just get moist, I mean there was sufficient for it to cost my labia and begin its journey down my inner thighs. 

 

 

Well, no. Of course he didn’t last long. I felt him start to twitch and suddenly my mouth was full of semen and not only could I taste it, I could smell it too. It felt….powerful. I had the stuff of life in my mouth! His semen, containing his sperm. Sperm that could, if it was in my vagina make me pregnant. 

 

 

As well as the power of doing this - I’d already picked up that boys really, really, wanted blow-jobs from girls - I found I adored the taste. And the texture - everything about it. I’d heard some girls talk of gagging, some even talked of vomiting. Not me though. His cock ejaculated into my willing mouth and, although it took two goes, I swallowed everything. 

 

 

To my adolescent brain, this now meant I had semen in my tummy…near my womb, but safe from it. I enjoyed the texture in my mouth post-swallow, and I knew there and then that giving oral would be on the menu for me, whichever way I turned out. 

 

 

Sowing the seeds of incest? 

 

 

I wonder….is that where I got the idea? My closest girl friend at the time, Heather, was considered a bit weird by my other friends, but Heather was one of the sharpest intellects I ever knew. (Apart from Tig of course, who is off the charts brilliant) but as I said…a little,bit weird for all that. One day, she asked if she could tell me something. She didn’t ask me to swear I’d never tell another living soul, because she knew I wouldn’t blab it around school. 

 

We arranged to walk home together, and, passing four unlucky girls who, armed with nun’s old toothbrushes, were ‘scrubbing the Virgin’, in the driveway (a disgusting punishment that resulted in Her Immaculate self being slow white again, cleaned of bird shit and the girls concerned covered in it) we made our way across the road and into the farm tracks beyond. 

 

 

We often walked hand in hand, partly because we were both very tactile people, partly because it annoyed any nun who might see, and maybe partly because we would go on to a little experimentation a few months later. Anyway…

 

 

“I…..I sucked my brother off.” She instantly rose several points in my Sexometer. Fortunately Miss Brain knows when to make me speak and when to make me shut the fuck up. 

 

“We’ve been fooling around a little for about a month now. It started when he caught me coming out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel with my dirty clothes under my arm. I dropped my panties and he picked them up and handed them to me. It’s funny how sometimes time seems to slow right down, and you notice things that you wouldn’t otherwise notice. I noticed, for example that his thumb was right in the crotch….right in my mess. I felt my clit twitch. He seemed to follow my sight line and suddenly we were both looking at his thumb in my discharge - which had been heavy that day. I saw him rock his thumb back and forth a few times, then I realised he was holding them in his left hand. He’s right handed, and I found myself wondering if he’d jack himself off smelling me on his thumb. That thought made me wet. I guess in reality the whole exchange took only seconds, but as I said, time slows down sometime. I know I went back to my room, tossed my clothes in the hamper and jilled myself silly.”

 

Another pregnant silence from Anna. 

 

 

“He changed towards me after that. Less rough…more gentle…we started talking about…sex….he told me about spontaneous erections, I told him about spontaneous wetness…you know how it goes. Then one day, we were alone in the house and I just offered to wank him off. He did the same for me, and for a while we were wank buddies. Then….well..one day I just sucked him off. Do you think that’s awful?” 

 

 

Hardly! I was walking beside her in what felt like my own personal swimming pool! The point is, Heather wanking or sucking someone else off would be sexy enough - remember, we were at that age of talking about periods and sex all the time, but this…this was new, this was dark….this was incest. And it made every nerve in my body tingle. 

 

 

Perhaps it was back then that I knew, although I was brotherless, I’d love to have an incestuous relationship myself. I had no way of predicting it would be with my shy, reclusive sister - who, by the way, when she was turned on was anything but shy and reclusive, and during the lockdown insanity, with my dad.

 

 

I really do think Heather sowed the seed. She was a pioneer, that’s for sure. 

 

 

First time watching. 

 

 

Well…where do I start with this one? First, let me say I recount this with a sense of shame. (Up to a point.) As you well know, girls talk about periods and sex, and when we are adolescent, we talk about sex a lot! It shouldn’t be this way, but it feels like there’s a race to do as much as we can while not gaining a reputation as ‘easy’ or a ‘slut’.

 

 

The answer is, of course, a ‘long term’ boyfriend. Remember, we had to be careful. We had the ever-watchful nuns by day, and our equally watchful mums the rest of the time. Mums who did the laundry (well, not in my case..we had a live-in Housekeeper.) Mums who would notice an increase in vaginal discharge. Mums who would certainly notice if their daughter’s clothing was stained with semen. And mums who would go ballistic if her daughter’s panty-crotch was stained with ‘the devil’s milk’ (as one kindly nun called semen.) 

 

 

So, care was required. Not all our parents were dragons. I really think, had I wanted to fuck at 15 regularly, my mum would have been ok with it. She’d have said, “Better in a bed than in a ditch.” But for most girls, they had to ‘find somewhere’. In Mary’s case, that somewhere was a tiny, flint-built barn. There are lots of them in fields around here. Useless as barns go nowadays, but handy if the weather breaks…or if you want a fuck. Given there are so many, it took some careful questioning to work out which bran was ‘Mary’s”, but eventually I narrowed it down to one of two. 

 

 

One day, Mary showed us a packet of three condoms stashed in her bag. To us, this was terribly daring. If she’d pulled out a vibrator we wouldn’t have been more thrilled. So…after school then? Mary’s face glowed her eyes widened and she confirmed that yes, she was meeting this mysterious ‘him’ after school today. 

 

 

Now, here’s the ashamed bit. I followed her. I was fairly sure now I knew which barn she meant and as soon as I saw it in the distance, I saw two tiny specks go into it. By the time I got there, the moans were well established, along with several heartfelt, “Fuck me….fuck me harder.” Peeking in through one of those brick surrounded ‘windows’ (they’re not really windows. No glass…just slits in the masonry) I saw Mary, bent forward over a couple of hay bales, and him, pounding her from behind. I was lucky enough to actually see where he entered her. This was the first real fucking, and it made my vagina leap inside me.

 

 

For a girl who was an established panty-sniffer and who would masturbate happily with other girls at sleepovers, and whose main fantasy was fingering and eating out other girls, I knew I wanted this too. It looked….savage…primal…almost rape-like, yet Mary was urging him on to ever greater efforts. 

 

 

I crept away, wet and tingly. The following day when I asked her how it went, her first words couldn’t have been worse. “Oh God, Anna. You had to be there!” (Fuck!) “It was mind blowing. He fucked me so hard, I could barely walk afterwards……” and so followed a description, embellished slightly, recounting her barn fuck.

 

 

Yes, I’m ashamed I spied on her, and I offer no excuses other than the all-pervading curiosity of teenage girls. 

 

 

God’s sense of humour.

 

 

God really does have a sense of humour when it comes to us girls. First, he designs us so that if we fulfil our reproductive purpose, we have to push something the size of a melon out of an opening the size of a small lemon. Second, He covers the entrance up with a hymen, so our first experience of being entered will hurt and we’ll bleed. Thirdly, He gave most men a horror of girl’s bleeding, fourthly He arranged matters that for one week a month we bleed - and as previously mentioned, a lot of boys and men run for the hills. So much so they can’t even use the word ‘period’, let alone play through one. And fifth the joke of all jokes. He lets us navigate the previous four, gets us to enjoy a really good sex life, then He turns off the taps by giving us the menopause at around 45, or in my family’s case, younger. Much younger. 

 

 

Yes, no doubt God has a sense of humour…AND that he’s a man! 

 

 

So it’s no wonder some girls, perhaps even most girls, deal with their hymen themselves. Perhaps it happens naturally during exercise or bike riding. (I knew one teenage girl whose hymen spontaneously broke during her first horse-riding lesson. She was 13. “I got up on the horse and I felt this sharp sting. When I went to the bathroom, my panties were bloodstained.” Others, like me rely on a candle, or a carrot or a banana…and many false starts!

 

 

I remember my lubed-up purple candle well. I got it in so far…just enough to feel the resistance and the beginnings of discomfort, but then couldn’t go through with it. About a week of getting crosser and crosser, until nature came to my assistance. A well-timed sneeze and suddenly the candle slid effortlessly inside me. Yay! 

 

 

Once done, I felt a tiny bit sad, but then again, would I have preferred a guy to ‘break me in’? Hell no! My first experience of cock I wanted to be just that. No worrying about pain or bleeding, thank you very much. 

 

 

At school, we wore little golden lapel badges of the Virgin Mary. (Who else?). Between us, we made a pact. When we lost our hymen, we would wear the badge on the other lapel. We agreed that the means of becoming hymenless didn’t matter…just that it was gone. 

 

 

Slowly, one by one, our badges changed sides. 

 

 

What did I discover from losing my hymen? Firstly, I shed a load of worry. Secondly, I discovered that an orgasm with something inside you is a whole different feeling from a purely clitoral orgasm. Having something to contract around enhances things no-end. I would later discover that having something in my bum enhanced the feeling even more, and having something in both holes is just sublime. 

 

 

A final word about peeing and cumming.

 

 

I have an uncle who has had prostate cancer. (A regular visitor to the male line of my family. Women get early menopause, men seem to be plagued with prostate cancer.) Dad’s brother is as laid back and easy-going as dad is. He’s someone I could talk to about the male side of sex without him hitting on me. I asked him one day if his surgery to remove his prostate had affected his orgasms. A look of deep, deep sadness came over his face, and I knew I’d trodden in something deep and sad for him. “Anna, the feeling of ejaculating - something coming out of you - when you orgasm disappears. No prostate, no semen. You get part of the feeling of an orgasm, but ….” He tailed off, but I knew something deep and meaningful had gone from his life forever.

 

 

At this point in time, I enjoyed the naughtiness of peeing outdoors sometimes. I enjoyed my panties round my knees (having discovered the hard way why panties round ankles doesn’t work) and I’d progressed from there to really enjoying some panty peeing - again, because it’s naughty, and we are taught never to do it, but I also liked the warm feeling as it spread front and back. 

 

 

But then I wondered about peeing at the point of orgasm. This requires some co-ordination of course. First, you have to have a full bladder, and secondly you have to feel horny. It took some effort, but finally I managed it and I found my uncle was right. ‘Ejaculating’ really does enhance things. A lot. I had yet to learn the true art of female ejaculation, and now, for me, the two are distinct and separate things. Both immensely enjoyable in their own way. 

 

 

Then I got the courage, thanks to my lovely sister, to combine the two. That, my lovelies, transports you to a realm rarely visited by humans. Messy? What do you think? Disgusting? Each to their own. No, it’s not something everyone enjoys, I know that, and yes, it’s messy, but come on now, isn’t sex generally messy? Ask a man who has cum in his pants, or if leaking madly on the way up to, or down from an orgasm. Ask a girl who is walking home after being fucked and is leaking both her and his fluids. So what does a little more mess count for? Prepare well, and there’s no problem. 

 

 

Alison and I were lying together the second time we’d really gone for it, took the trainer wheels off, and had full on lesbian sex. She had squirted for the first time in her life, and so had I. We lay in one another’s arms, and she had said, “Anna, I’d love you to pee and squirt on me. I want to drown in you..” Yes, ok, read in the cold light of day, it’s not much, but you had to be there to hear the love that sentence was lodged with…the desire.

 

 

In my wet room, I fulfilled her desire, and she returned the compliment. It was, and this is important, simultaneous. Squirting and peeing takes co-ordination, and when it works, (remember, you’re also having an orgasm at the same time) it’s something else again! 

 

 

Well, there it is my lovelies. More memories might shake from the tree. If they do, I’ll be sure to write them. 

 

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