Saturday, December 19, 2009

The First Time

They had been doing the sucking and licking thing for two months now. She remembered the first time she let him pull down her pants so he could have a look at her. She was lying down and he unfastened her blue jeans and pulled on the zipper. Trying not to rush, but failing at this and rushing anyway, he tugged them down past her hips. Then he sucked his breath in sharply, and let out a low groan. Oh, she liked that sound. Just hearing it made her wet. He only wanted a look, only that, he had promised her. And then, there it was, her soft dark bush hiding the softer place underneath, and without hesitation he buried his mouth between her legs and she couldn’t say no.

After that they had shared their sexual histories.

She’d never done it before, but he told her that he lost his virginity in Viet Nam with a local prostitute, like so many of his soldier buddies. At least they wouldn’t die virgins if it came to that, he explained, apologetic in front of her.
They were on his bed, naked. They spent most of their time together unclothed. She was sixteen and amazed at all the sensations that could zing from this body of hers. Twang, whoosh, no wonder they called it a twat. And her big nipples stood out proudly on the small firm mounds of breast, curiously hard whenever he was around, bursting bundles of charged flesh that begged to be rubbed. Suck me, Baby, they called out in taut silky tones.

She thought of the first time she had seen him without his pants on. The sheer size of him frightened her. He stood across the room and it pointed straight at her, and she thought, oh no, what’s this? And then he crossed the room and his mouth was on her, kissing her breasts, each nipple, her belly and then his tongue was stroking her , stoking her and the heat was building and she felt like she was melting and she was overcome with the melting.

Then she felt a pushing at her, opening her up and she didn’t have time to think because then he was inside of her, and the tingling warmth moved up her hips and ended in a flush between her breasts. He coasted on her slippery wetness and after a few smooth pumping motions in and out, his body stiffened for a millisecond, then relaxed onto her. He let out a sigh and after a few moments pulled himself out of the hot wetness.

She could feel her cheeks burning. Her mind became very quiet and still. What have we done? What was this? She got up and put on his robe and walked into the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, she felt the warm slick liquid of him trickle out of her. Oh my god, she thought, what if I’m pregnant? This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wiped herself slowly, thinking, feeling a sobriety she had never felt before. Standing, she stared at her face in the mirror. Was that her? Her long black hair was wild looking, spilling about her shoulders, her cheeks were red, her lips were red as if she had painted them with berry juice. She held open the robe and looked at her body. Even her breasts were flushed. What have I done? What has he done to me? She felt like an animal. Even as her body was resonating with new feelings, she couldn’t believe it belonged to her.

She went back to bed then and he held her.

“Are you alright? Did I hurt you? I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“I’m alright.”

“Did you like it?”

“I liked it.” What she said wasn’t entirely a lie; it’s just that she was scared out of her mind. She stayed quiet as he drove her home. Pushing through the door, she saw that the lights were on in the family room. Her Mom and Dad had just made a pot of tea and were tidying the kitchen. They greeted her from what seemed to be a hundred miles distant.

I’ve crossed the line, she thought. And there is no turning back. Nothing to be done. Sadness wrapped itself around her.

She spent the next two weeks crying a lot, and making desperate promises delivered in prayer to God and the angels. She saw her entire life sinking down into a thick dark muck and disappearing. A baby at sixteen? Her life would be over. I’ll marry you, he told her. But that was not the life she had planned. She prayed to God and wheedled Him with bargains. Please don’t’ let me be pregnant. I’ll do anything. I wont have sex again, please. All of her prayers were the same.

When her period finally did come, she had worked herself into such a state of worry that she felt only a numb sort of relief. All the worry had changed her. Considering things she had never considered before had pulled her up from childhood, from being a little girl, and now she was

The next time she was in bed with him, he entered her, and she thought of her broken promises. In her imagination – or was it real- she thought she heard the angels quietly crying.

Jicky Smith


  1. Hi Jicky!

    I've read this piece several times and it still gets to me. There's just something about this kind of first time, that has power for me. It has soul. I just love it every time I go over it. Like my own story there is this element of never being able to go back, that the world has changed somehow. For the man, there is the fear of failing to be the great lover. I guess for the woman there is the fear that you will become a mother and your life will change before you are ready for it. Always the feeling that you can never get backto who you were before. The "little death".

    Thank you! I just love this.


  2. Thanks , Garce for your warm comments. This has been a rough week for me, and I only had a chance to skim through the blog. I was amazed at the variety of offerings, while I took the idea of "First Time" as a literal sexual story, it was gratifying to read each person's take on the first time, from being published to birthing and points in between.

    In a world of infinite experiences, we can always look forward to the "First Time" of something. That is a comforting thought.

  3. Jicky,

    An amazing piece. You nailed that feeling of 'I've completely changed and I'm not ready for it'. At sixteen or whatever age one looses her cherry, that feeling of totally being something new, or entering a new period in your life, and no matter how much you think you're ready, knowing inside you're not. Yup, brought back memories.

    Nicely done!


  4. Thanks, Jude. Come to think of it, I had a similar feeling of unreadiness, each time my children were born, though accompanied with great joy. Helen captured those memories so vividly.

  5. Dear Jicky,

    Thank you for sharing your words and feelings with us once again here at the Grip.

    This is beautiful and true, as well as arousing. The aspect that really got to me was the distance she feels from her family, from her previous life, when she re-enters her house. She has journeyed a million miles in those few hours with her lover, but no one else knows this.

    A gorgeous contribution. Thanks again!


  6. Jicky,

    Beautiful writing, and a wonderful conclusion to this week's topic. Thank you.


  7. Thank you Lisabet and Ashley. Thanks for reading, and thanks for having me as a guest.


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