Johnbarby
Male
Thanks to Michie for encouraging me to post this piece.
This is not a work of fiction but a factual reminiscence. It describes as accurately and in as much detail as I can the first time I fucked a girl. It was in 1971, my first year at university, towards the middle of the year. I had a girlfriend at the time, but she lived at home and her parents disapproved of our relationship so I never saw her in the evenings, only during the day at University. We had fondled a bit by then, I had caressed her breasts under her shirt and run my fingers over her pussy inside her jeans, but I had never seen her naked and had never been masturbated by her, let alone fucked her. I think now she’d have been willing to go further than we did, but I was rather shy and undemanding, and I didn’t want to push her or make demands on her, which I realize now was probably what she wanted me to do. So I was a complete virgin.
One evening, quite late, I was walking back to my college through the Student Union building and there, in the foyer, were two people at a stall, campaigning for aid to refugees from a war somewhere. They had a board up with posters and table in front of it with petitions to sign and bumper stickers and badges to buy – the usual things for that kind of campaign in those pre-internet days. There was almost no one about at that late hour, so I don’t know why they bothered being there.
The two people at the stall were a guy and a girl who, it soon became clear, were a couple. I don’t recall the guy very clearly. He was bearded, a few years older than me, maybe in his mid 20s. She was younger, closer to my age. She was very slender, with narrow boyish hips and [I later learned] small pert breasts. She had an immense wild mane of black curly hair falling half-way down her back, bright blue eyes, and very pale skin. She wore a great deal of black eyeliner which of course enhanced her eyes, but no other makeup that I could see. She wasn’t pretty exactly, but she had sharp, pointed, delicate features which gave her an appealing urchin/waif look, what the French call ‘gamine’. So I’ll call her the Gamine Girl, because, though I knew her name at the time and remembered it for years after, I find I can’t recall it now.
As I passed their stall she called out to me, asking, I guess, if I would like to support their cause. I wouldn’t have stopped otherwise – such things didn’t interest me in those days – but she’d caught my attention so I stopped and we started chatting. On closer inspection she looked distinctly scruffy. She was dressed in rather grubby jeans that hung loosely on her slender frame, and a loose jumper of some sort, over which she wore an old, stained, grey gabardine overcoat, which looked like a bit of old school uniform.
But as we talked – about what? I can’t recall – I became a little intrigued by her. I suppose, in view of what happened, she was flirting with me, but I was too naïve to realize. Her boyfriend kept his distance. I felt he was keeping a close eye on her and me, but didn’t seem to mind us chatting away.
After maybe half an hour the Union foyer was completely deserted and they decided to pack their stall way. I helped them and then they asked if I’d like to go back to their place with them. I think the guy may have issued the invitation. I agreed. We walked to their place, just a block or two from campus. It was a group house in which I think, but can’t be sure, they were sharing a room. I can’t recall what happened there, except that nothing memorable happened – we just chatted I guess and maybe had coffee and then I left and walked back to my rooms in college. But I do recall thinking as I walked home that there had been a slight frisson of erotic potential in the situation.
Then, a day or two later – maybe even the very next day – I ran into the Gamine Girl again in the Union foyer. It was around mid-morning. She was on her own this time. I got the impression that she was just passing through on her way somewhere, and when she saw me she kind of bounded up to me rather enthusiastically. She had on the same scruffy clothes as she’d worn the first time we’d met. We stood and chatted for a little while in the middle of the foyer. I’m not sure how it arose, or maybe I’d mentioned it when we’d first met, but she learned that I was living in one of the residential colleges. My college was just a few hundred yards from the Union, and as we chatted she asked whether she could have a look at my room. I didn’t read anything into this – I thought she was just curious to see how the accommodation looked. In fact I think that’s what she told me – she said she’d never seen a residential college room.
So I agreed, and we strolled off together to my rooms. I had two rooms – a study I shared with another bloke, and a small separate bedroom of my own across the corridor. I showed her into the study, and we looked around. Then she said ‘Can I see your bedroom?’ Again I read nothing into this request, and without a thought I took her across the corridor and ushered her into the bedroom. Did I close the door? Did she? I can’t recall. But as soon as we were in the bedroom she took me in her arms and kissed me on the lips.
Without thinking I reciprocated, and we kissed energetically. Before very long we fell onto the bed, still kissing. I had no idea what was happening or where this was going, but it seemed the most natural thing in the world to reach down and push my hand under the waistband of her jeans – which were rather loose on her hips – and into her panties and touch her pussy. I ran my fingers through her plentiful pubic hair and fingered her pussy lips. Then I undid her jeans.
She swung round so that her legs were over the side of the bed, and as I pulled off her jeans and panties I knelt in front of her between her open thighs and nuzzled my face into her pussy. I’m not sure why I had the impulse to do that. I didn’t plan to lick her pussy for her pleasure – I’m sure I’d heard of cunnilingus, but I’d never imagined doing it, and in those pre-internet-porn days I’d certainly never seen it being done, and had no idea how it to do it.
I think it was rather that I was fascinated by women and their secrets. I wanted to know all about this very womanly part of them. I wanted to experience a woman’s pussy, to smell it and touch it and see it close up. She had lots of pubic hair and smelled quite strong but I loved the smell and I pushed my face forward and I licked her pussy one or twice. But she was a little uncomfortable with me having my face in her pussy. She said something like ‘I don’t think it its very nice down there…’
And then the door opened and the maid who cleaned the rooms and made the beds each day started coming towards the room.
Story continues
This is not a work of fiction but a factual reminiscence. It describes as accurately and in as much detail as I can the first time I fucked a girl. It was in 1971, my first year at university, towards the middle of the year. I had a girlfriend at the time, but she lived at home and her parents disapproved of our relationship so I never saw her in the evenings, only during the day at University. We had fondled a bit by then, I had caressed her breasts under her shirt and run my fingers over her pussy inside her jeans, but I had never seen her naked and had never been masturbated by her, let alone fucked her. I think now she’d have been willing to go further than we did, but I was rather shy and undemanding, and I didn’t want to push her or make demands on her, which I realize now was probably what she wanted me to do. So I was a complete virgin.
One evening, quite late, I was walking back to my college through the Student Union building and there, in the foyer, were two people at a stall, campaigning for aid to refugees from a war somewhere. They had a board up with posters and table in front of it with petitions to sign and bumper stickers and badges to buy – the usual things for that kind of campaign in those pre-internet days. There was almost no one about at that late hour, so I don’t know why they bothered being there.
The two people at the stall were a guy and a girl who, it soon became clear, were a couple. I don’t recall the guy very clearly. He was bearded, a few years older than me, maybe in his mid 20s. She was younger, closer to my age. She was very slender, with narrow boyish hips and [I later learned] small pert breasts. She had an immense wild mane of black curly hair falling half-way down her back, bright blue eyes, and very pale skin. She wore a great deal of black eyeliner which of course enhanced her eyes, but no other makeup that I could see. She wasn’t pretty exactly, but she had sharp, pointed, delicate features which gave her an appealing urchin/waif look, what the French call ‘gamine’. So I’ll call her the Gamine Girl, because, though I knew her name at the time and remembered it for years after, I find I can’t recall it now.
As I passed their stall she called out to me, asking, I guess, if I would like to support their cause. I wouldn’t have stopped otherwise – such things didn’t interest me in those days – but she’d caught my attention so I stopped and we started chatting. On closer inspection she looked distinctly scruffy. She was dressed in rather grubby jeans that hung loosely on her slender frame, and a loose jumper of some sort, over which she wore an old, stained, grey gabardine overcoat, which looked like a bit of old school uniform.
But as we talked – about what? I can’t recall – I became a little intrigued by her. I suppose, in view of what happened, she was flirting with me, but I was too naïve to realize. Her boyfriend kept his distance. I felt he was keeping a close eye on her and me, but didn’t seem to mind us chatting away.
After maybe half an hour the Union foyer was completely deserted and they decided to pack their stall way. I helped them and then they asked if I’d like to go back to their place with them. I think the guy may have issued the invitation. I agreed. We walked to their place, just a block or two from campus. It was a group house in which I think, but can’t be sure, they were sharing a room. I can’t recall what happened there, except that nothing memorable happened – we just chatted I guess and maybe had coffee and then I left and walked back to my rooms in college. But I do recall thinking as I walked home that there had been a slight frisson of erotic potential in the situation.
Then, a day or two later – maybe even the very next day – I ran into the Gamine Girl again in the Union foyer. It was around mid-morning. She was on her own this time. I got the impression that she was just passing through on her way somewhere, and when she saw me she kind of bounded up to me rather enthusiastically. She had on the same scruffy clothes as she’d worn the first time we’d met. We stood and chatted for a little while in the middle of the foyer. I’m not sure how it arose, or maybe I’d mentioned it when we’d first met, but she learned that I was living in one of the residential colleges. My college was just a few hundred yards from the Union, and as we chatted she asked whether she could have a look at my room. I didn’t read anything into this – I thought she was just curious to see how the accommodation looked. In fact I think that’s what she told me – she said she’d never seen a residential college room.
So I agreed, and we strolled off together to my rooms. I had two rooms – a study I shared with another bloke, and a small separate bedroom of my own across the corridor. I showed her into the study, and we looked around. Then she said ‘Can I see your bedroom?’ Again I read nothing into this request, and without a thought I took her across the corridor and ushered her into the bedroom. Did I close the door? Did she? I can’t recall. But as soon as we were in the bedroom she took me in her arms and kissed me on the lips.
Without thinking I reciprocated, and we kissed energetically. Before very long we fell onto the bed, still kissing. I had no idea what was happening or where this was going, but it seemed the most natural thing in the world to reach down and push my hand under the waistband of her jeans – which were rather loose on her hips – and into her panties and touch her pussy. I ran my fingers through her plentiful pubic hair and fingered her pussy lips. Then I undid her jeans.
She swung round so that her legs were over the side of the bed, and as I pulled off her jeans and panties I knelt in front of her between her open thighs and nuzzled my face into her pussy. I’m not sure why I had the impulse to do that. I didn’t plan to lick her pussy for her pleasure – I’m sure I’d heard of cunnilingus, but I’d never imagined doing it, and in those pre-internet-porn days I’d certainly never seen it being done, and had no idea how it to do it.
I think it was rather that I was fascinated by women and their secrets. I wanted to know all about this very womanly part of them. I wanted to experience a woman’s pussy, to smell it and touch it and see it close up. She had lots of pubic hair and smelled quite strong but I loved the smell and I pushed my face forward and I licked her pussy one or twice. But she was a little uncomfortable with me having my face in her pussy. She said something like ‘I don’t think it its very nice down there…’
And then the door opened and the maid who cleaned the rooms and made the beds each day started coming towards the room.
Story continues
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