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One afternoon, I snuck off to his house, roosters and street dogs fighting for space on the dusty road. After he came, we made out some more, and he fingered me a bit again. We started out in the missionary position, him between my legs. It felt strange, but a little familiar, not much different than a few fingers inside of me.
His mother and his little brother and sister were hanging out on the couch. I wasn't really sure if I came or not — it didn't feel like my usual orgasms did — but when he stopped touching me, I felt pretty satisfied. But when he pushed further inside, it started to hurt, like he was pushing against something solid, like something was ripping inside of me.
We must have been doing this for a good twenty drunken minutes until her impatience got the better of her again: "Come on then, are we going to shag or what? It had been freshly plowed, so the surface was all dried dirt and stones.
She pulled off her shirt and her bra to reveal her little breasts, then flicked away her boring white knickers.
He brought me into his room and undressed me head to toe. Then we realized that it was supposed to be easier with the girl on top, so that's what we did.
I loved my little secret affair and loved my sore thighs on the back of his motorbike as he drove me back to the nuns' house. We watched TV and he held my hand and touched my hair. The media often says that men are at their sexual peak at eighteen; I sometimes joke that no one will ever know how good I could have been. At first she'd been a waitress at the club I went to all the time; later, she worked at the record store.
For the first time in my life, I felt like such a dirty, sexy woman. As I got ready to cross the street after another kissless date, she took charge and kissed me goodbye. A month after we met I told her on the phone that I loved her, and I think I really did, too. It was almost impossible; I didn't think I could actually type the words. My chosen partner was not a comforting person, either. We started kissing, and I liked it a lot this time. There was another first — shirtless in front of someone who wanted to have sex with me. She was a little older and had come from California. She gave me my first hit of E, introduced me to tequila poppers and Long Island iced teas, and will forever appear in my mind when I hear Van Morrison's "Into The Mystic." Our dates had mostly been conversation and making out in my car. We had talked about sleeping together, but she said that she didn't want my first time to be in the car or with her roommate in the other room.
I slid my hand up her mini-skirt and pulled her knickers apart and awkwardly tried to do what I thought I had become quite good at.
She put her small hand down my shorts and jerked at it.