Lovers
My mid- to late-teens would see me experiencing my First Love, and all the internal drama and turmoil that comes with it. Along with that combination of emotional wormholes, came sex with another person.
Up until this point, masturbation had been no stranger to me.
First Love
My body was ready for penetration but my mind had not been, and unlike some friends, I hadn't really explored anything 'romantic' until the final year of high school.
Some of my contemporaries called me 'frigid' because of my steadfast refusal of all and any advances made towards me - even those chasing but a simple kiss.
This was back in the day when our parents would drive our fifteen and sixteen year-old selves into the nearest town and drop us off for our weekly pub-crawl, which invariably ended at one or another of the town's sticky little nightclubs. Pickings were not slim.
Between the boys in school, then the boys and younger men, and not... So... Young...Men...Available in the town over the course of our weekend escapades, there was plenty of scope for meeting potential suitors. I just didn't seem to be attracted to many males.
Because I said no, I was labelled 'frigid'.
Had I said yes to more than one of the males offering me something of their bodies, I would have been labelled 'a slut'.
It's sad that so many young girls, even before we move into womanhood, are acutely aware of the double-standard existing in our binary worlds. Ultimately, being labelled 'frigid' was easier to come back from than being labelled 'a slut', so I let it ride and let people think whatever they were going to think. Only I knew the truth of my sexuality. And know it, I did. However, one magical New Year's Eve, everything changed.
A local lad started dancing with me on the crammed little dance floor in one of those sticky nightclubs.
His boots caught my eye, at first. Then the way he could actually move that lovely pert ass of his to the music...
We ended up kissing, which was earth-shakingly shocking for the friends of mine who had never seen me sucking any lad's face, let alone a stranger's!
This dancing and kissing ended up becoming a bit of a routine that would repeat every weekend for a couple of months before he started calling me to chat - and ask me on our first day-time date.
Because, yes.
Yes, we had spent many an hour locking lips and tangling our tongues on the dancefloor and in the shadows of the bus station snack bar's closed...Bar...But we had not met in daylight hours.
That is nerve-wracking.
But, we did it, we survived it and we obviously liked it because we ended up being together for three years.
During those three years, we went from both being virgins, to us having a pretty varied, wide, experimental and enjoyable sex-life. That my first boyfriend was a virgin when we got together was something I was always grateful for.
Penetrative sex didn't happen between us until we'd been together for six and a half months, and plenty of touching and tasting and rubbing had happened and built up over the course of those months.
When the big day did finally arrive and it was time for us to fuck for the first time, I was less nervous than he was, and I thoroughly enjoyed the occasion.
We grew together and experimented - a lot! But there was nothing inherently kinky in him. Nothing anyone would think of sliding towards the usual 'kinky' end of the scale. His style of sex was more sensual than many who have come since him - no pun intended.
As his moves on the dancefloor suggested, he knew how to move those hips. Immediately enjoyable to me, I may have asked a little too much of my First Love.
He once asked me meekly, shoulders slumped, 'Do we have to have sex every time we see each other?'
When I reminded him of this in person a few years ago, he reacted with a chuckle, shaking his head and muttering 'Fucking idiot.'
Of course, I had reassured the younger him that we did not have to have sexual intercourse every time we met and we sorted that out nicely, without any unnecessary pressures being applied anywhere.
I wouldn't go back to my First Love again (and I'm not saying he would go there with me, either!).
As my first experience of sexual relationships, though, he was great and I wouldn't have chosen another boy for my historic self to have discovered so many Firsts with.
I still smile when I think of him.
Surely, all these decade and dickheads down the line, that has to be a great endorsement for an ex?
My second lover - and second ex, I guess - was cut from a very different cloth. A very, very small cloth used top keep his toned abs and thighs dry. He was a lifeguard at the local leisure centre where I worked one summer.
He was also part of a diving team, so he regularly threw himself off very high boards and was able to twist, turn and contort his lithe body through a series of beautiful shapes in a few short seconds as he fell towards the water.
His sexual appetites were slightly different to my First Love's, but they shared the same first two names, their toothbrushes were the same, they both drove red cars and they both had a dog called 'Tiny'. As for the differences in appetites?
Number #2 used to enjoy us watching porn together in his room, late on Sunday mornings, so we'd be fucking into Sunday afternoon...
It sounds pretty tame to my ears of today and, maybe it's because he was a little older than my First, or maybe it's just that he had more self-confidence as a young man and was used to getting his own way with women, but at the time these interludes were tinged with some kind of kinkiness compared to the overall sexuality of my First Love.
It was different back then, before mobile screens and permanent connectivity. Maybe watching porn together does have some level of kink to it that just doesn't seem that way to me? It felt a little spicier than my first relationship had, but it didn't feel anywhere near any boundary or limit. Neither, sadly, did it feel like love.
For me, any way.
He was lovely, he was handsome, he was gorgeous and he was enthusiastic and giving between the sheets, but he permanently smelled of chlorine and we just were not meant to stay together. I was heading to university and he wasn't coming with me.
We split up and after a few months, I moved on to Lover #3...
...Who opened my eyes and widened my view of men's anatomy to say the least.
A man aware of being in
possession of some girth
is provided an extra
layer of self-confidence.
Girthy Guys
It would be a downright lie to say that men with a bit of girth aren't delightful on a purely animalistic level of fornication. There's little quite like feeling that. Slow. Stretch. Only Girthy Guys can create, and this was something I would find out with Lover #3.
Aside from being a Girthy Guy, Lover Number #3 was also a Skater Dude, a kind of Magic Mushrooms, Speed and Trips kinda Dude who drove a classic Alfa Romeo he had lovingly restored before throwing it around back roads under dark skies. We'd spent two years together in college, when I was still with my First Love and therefore unavailable to him or any other male.
We had spoken and sat and flirted and ridden that delicious electro-chemical buzz that vibrates between you and another person once, twice, maybe a handful of times if you're lucky enough
in this life.
A chance meeting in my local town one sunny, hot day opened the door to a romance between he and I that would end up touching every decade of my adult life to date - my Twenties, my Thirties, my Forties...
He has been there, either physically between my legs or as a ghost, just haunting spaces inside my head, for nearly forty years now.
Call it thirty-five and that's a little less scary. Back in the day, though, that very first time we shared nakedness and our bodies, I was shocked to discover my first Girthy Guy.
Two years earlier, he had made it very clear and plain that he had a crush on me and those two years served well as foreplay for us.
By the time we finally fucked for the first time, he was on his back, I slipped the condom onto his erection and then I straddled him in his parents' bed, the curtains pulled wide open, allowing the moonlight to slice across walls and our naked sweating skin.
I can still remember, in great detail, how it felt when he pushed up into me for the first time and I felt him parting my body wider, and wider, pushing my flesh away from itself to where it almost felt like it would rip and give beneath his pressure, but, no...No...No...
Of course, my body stretched to accommodate his, and I think I was hooked from that moment forth.
Problem was, he knew that.
And, once a man is aware of his being in possession of some girth, he is also then provided with an extra layer of self-confidence. A subtle smugness, some would say - and the signs can be subtle, indeed.
They can be carried in the extra sway of his hip or the way he's happy to hang back in conversation, not needing to be the vocal centre of attention because his girth will do all the talking for him.
He just sits there, a broad smile across his features and no tension in his relaxed face.
However, his confidence is misplaced.
Because, not only must a man with girth still acquire knowledge of how to well use and move it, then Length enters the room...
These lads tend to be cocky bastards all day long. They're packing - allegedly - and everyone who has ever shared a changing room or been in a swimming pool with them, knows it.
Their length-based self-assurance does not always translate into actual climactic performance from our pussy's point of view. Why not?
Because a certain size is reached when hopes of a really hard erection are breached and must be left to drop away in to the dark pools of 'What We Were Hoping For'.
Yes, he'll probably get hard enough to get it in as long as he gets the right angle, but it's the length, rather than the solidity that is going to get this set of guys a Result.
When you find a Lengthy Lad, though, who can achieve and maintain enough...Robustness...
It's difficult for any of the other subsets to rival the sensation of being on all fours and sliding your buttocks down that ho' like a fireman's pole...
Furthermore, if like me you really appreciate that feeling of a balls-deep filling that borders on being almost too much stre-e-e-e-tch, and at the point of orgasm you like to just. Be. Filled. While you squirm around on a firm, lengthy offering,
Lengthy Lads are likely to be your superficial favourite group.
My first Lengthy Lad, and Lover #4, was an Irish Psychologist I met as a friend's house party. So, he was educated, very tall, eloquent and sweet, had long fingers and was, of course, packing in the penis department.
Sadly, he was also not particularly stable in small ways, I realised, like when he complained that I always picked the phone up if he called me at home in the evening to talk. He told me, angrily, that he would like it if, some nights, he could call and there be no answer, for me to not pick up and be available to him for a conversation.
Now, I'm not saying that Lover #4 had a lack of esteem, but something certainly wasn't right with him and I couldn't figure out what that was.
We split soon after a trip to the US for New Year's Eve 1999-2000.
Several years later I would meet another Lengthy Lad who had Persian ancestry and hair so black it gleamed blue in the sunlight. I have distinct memories of him, who we're calling Lover #5, and that whole fireman's pole thing I mentioned earlier.
We ended because he was full of shit and wouldn't know the truth if it came out of his own mouth. Which it tended to not do back in the day.
He may, of course, have now grown and changed. I do think that him being in the league of Lengthy Lads lent him a sense of confidence and entitlement he had not really earned.
There does come a point where these men learn that length is not everything, but until that point is reached, their social confidence may be high simply because of their extra penis size and thus, their behaviours become questionable.
It doesn't last forever, though, this false confidence. It can't.
Nature giveth, but nature also taketh away and Lengthy Lads, having built their sense of machismo upon the length of their member, reach a point where they realise that size is not a talent, skill or personality trait and it will not carry them forever...
...Length may be for life, but blood pressure fades...
When this realisation kicks in, it can undermine the very core of what Lengthy Lads built their self-confidence upon, leaving their tender, vulnerable metaphorical underbellies exposed.
This is where the Girthy Guys can step in and step up as the more truly secure subset, offering albeit a different dimension of flesh and confidence - confidence built upon true life skills and experiences, rather than the size of their penis.
When a Lengthy Lad is undermined or unsure of himself, he can go one of two ways.
If he's the more extroverted type of personalities, behaviours can include increased exhibitionism, where he is drawn to pulling out and exposing his appendage, while waving it around in a strange and nonsensical display of what he perceives as 'power' portrayed as 'humour'.
It's often labelled as 'Helicopter/Windmill Time', with their being accompanying offenders' nicknames - such as 'Donkey Dai' or 'Windmill Mike', etc..
Now, I'm not saying that my Lover in this category had a lack of esteem, but something certainly wasn't right with him and I couldn't figure out what that was.
We split soon after a trip to the US for New Year's Eve 1999-2000.
There have been a few more select Lovers in my life since Lover #5, but they deserve their own page and proper exploration because, after taking quite a hiatus from male humans, when I did decide to dip my toe back in the murky waters of dating, things became a bit more...Just a bit more, and to be honest...
...I'm not even sure where I'd start when it
comes to telling you about my
most recent lovers.
