My First Love

My family moved to Florida between my sophomore and junior year of high school.  Florida was completely different from the midwest.  For one thing, the drugs.  Drugs were everywhere and it seemed like most everyone was doing them.  Up in Illinois, there were the "freaks" and they would congregate in the school's smoking area, surrounded by a grey cloud over their heads, every break.  Down in Florida, brains, jocks and freaks were all smoking weed.  

And that is how I met the first love of my life.  He has a very unusual name, so I don't want to say it here.  Let's call him Carn.  

I saw Carn the very first day at my new school and I immediately fell head over heels in lust with him.  He worked out in the high school's gym regularly and had a body to die for.  He was part Native American and always had a deep dark tan.  He had piercing, intense hazel eyes, and long brown hair that was kissed with natural highlights from the sun.  

And I couldn't believe it when one of his guy friends told me he liked me.

I don't recall how our courtship began, but I remember our first kiss.  I had been kissed before, many times.  But nothing like this.  He was MALE.  He was ALPHA.  He was aggressive, he was strong, he was raging teenage hormones and man, were his lips soft.  The hardness of his muscles, the smoothness of his skin, the silkiness of his long hair, those eyes that could see right through me...that kiss took my breath away and it still does whenever I think of it.  

I think the reason why I fell so hard with him was because he was the first true dominant male I ever encountered on a personal level.  

I was anti-drug in Illinois.  Florida, and Carn, changed all that.  (Let the record show that now, today, I am drug free - recent trials of marijuana again only led to paranoia each time...no thanks.)

When you are raised Catholic, then Pentecostal, it is drummed into you that premarital sex is wrong.  I held out until I was 17.  Carn was extremely sexual and flat out told me that he would not be able to resist the advances of Wanda, his very promiscuous teenage next door neighbor.  Indeed, Wanda was 17 and already was on her second pregnancy.  I knew he wasn't kidding.  She flirted shamelessly with him, even right in front of me.  How could I compete with that?  I considered giving him my blessing to have sex with her.  Honestly, I don't think it would have bothered me to give her proxy so that I could hold on to my blessed virginity.

But then one day we were discussing going skating with a neighborhood girl and she changed the subject abruptly and with amazingly excited eyes told us how her boyfriend would take her in back of the school each day while waiting for the bus, and finger her.  She was only 15.  I got very uncomfortable.  I never let Carn finger me inside, or any other boy for that matter, and I was 17.  Up in Illinois, only the REALLY "bad girls" did that.  Yet as she described it, I knew it must have been pleasurable for her, and she said she couldn't wait for him to do it again tomorrow.  

Florida was different than Illinois not just in acceptance of drug use.  I knew three girls on my bus who got pregnant that year.  

The girl left my house after we decided to go skating that Saturday and Carn and I just sat there in my family's TV room with the door shut.  He looked at me with those amazing green eyes tipped with amber around the edges and said, "See, it's not that bad." 

My mind was torn.  I wanted to feel the orgasm she felt, I wanted to feel Carn's finger in me "down there" and I really wanted to please him and make him happy.  But I wanted to stay relatively pure.  Christian guilt is a powerful motivator. 

But Carn was a true alpha dominant, and he wore down my defenses by appealing to the submissive side of me.  How did he know to do that?  Instinct, I'm guessing.

"You have no idea how much it would please me if you let me finger you like that.  I want to make you cum so bad.  You WILL cum, for me.  For ME!  You will like it, and you will see how much it would make me happy.  I love your body and I want to see it react to what I'm doing to it.  "

That did it.

The kid was only 17 years old.  I wonder what he's like now, with years of experience to hone the skills of dominant persuasion.

And so, right there on the family couch, with that new network, MTV, in the background, my vagina, my pussy, my hoohah, my love tunnel, my yoni, my sacred spot, my CUNT, was entered for the first time.

And he was right.  It did please him, he did make me cum, he did love watching my reaction to his hands, his will, and I did like it.  Oh, did I like it.

My vagina has never been the same.  From a state of dormancy to intense, power sexual hunger that has plagued me all my life.  All those sexual feelings and thoughts I had had since early childhood were now finally turning into reality.  There was no turning back.  I knew right then it was only a short matter of time before I went "all the way."  And I knew it would be, it HAD to be, with Carn.

No one was else was worthy to "take" it.

My yoni still gets the wettest when it is being controlled by a dominant male.  

Some things things never change.

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The Hairbrush

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Oh, so there's a name for this?!?!?!

It was Saturday night and like all Saturday nights in freshmen and sophomore high school years, the core group was piling into Ken's station wagon where we would go to the drive-in and engage in heavy petting during the movie.  This time I was paired up with Zach.  Not many of us were couples in the true sense.  We just paired off with someone different every weekend and got down to business.  The movie was Superman and Zach was doing the old proverbial "Russian hands, Roman fingers" technique of touching my already ample breasts through my grey ribbed cowl neck top and beige Maidenform bra underneath (to this day, I still refuse to wear white underwear.  Boring!!).  I was so turned on.  So far, no boy had ever wandered further south on me but I was able to watch as "the couples" experimented further, and even a few braver girls let the guys travel lower down to nether regions.  I couldn't wait for someone to be brave enough and try it.  It was all so thrilling and it was all I thought about all week long, until the next Saturday rolled around.  


In my imagination, though, my thoughts were much more perverse than the heavy petting.  Zach was tying me up on the hood of the car where he did ambiguous, blurry things between my legs.  Roy had me in the back of the station wagon tied up spreadeagle where he bit my nipples so hard, I bled.  Ken took me to his house while his parents were at a party and there on his parents' bed he roughly took away my virginity.  Mike gave me a ride to school on a cold snowy day and in return demanded I give him a blow job.  Scott took me into a deserted choir practice room and took off his belt, threw me over his lap, pulled down my jeans and whipped me.  Dan took me for a snowmobile ride and purposely took me into a far away barn where I was tied and suspended over a cross beam....


All in my head, of course.  None of this ever transpired.  Although in my future, I had much more interesting things done to me.  If only I would have known.  And you will read about some of those adventures in future posts.


Back to high school.  


After the movie, we would go to the local ice cream parlor.  And one fateful time is where it happened.


"HAH, I think that character was into BDSM, did you see how he acted?" someone said.


"BDSM?" I asked.  "What's that?"


"Bondage, discipline, sadomasochism," someone answered.


(Back then, the Dominance/submission portion of that acronym had not yet come into place yet, I suppose.)


Wow.


Wow.


Oh my gosh.


So THAT is what I have been thinking about all my life.  That is what I had been doing in the lonely recesses of my bedroom, isolated from everyone else, engaging in surely depraved activities that no amount of Hail Marys or Our Fathers would get me out of purgatory!  That is what I had been doing with that hairbrush!  (That will be my next blog entry.  The hairbrush.  Ahh, the hairbrush.  Some girls have teddy bears and Barbie dolls...I had the hairbrush.)


There was a name to this!  It had an identity!  I was thrilled!!!


Until the next words came out of someone's mouth.


"Crazy freaks.  What sick bastards.  Weirdos.  FREAKS!"


And as elated I was in one moment, I was devastated a split second later.


I was a crazy freak.  A sick bastard.  A weirdo.  A freak.


And I knew right then and there I could never, ever, tell anyone about the real me.  Ever.


And I didn't.  Until many, many years later.


I fully identify with the teenager who is gay or lesbian who cannot tell his friends, parents, teacher, clergyman.  I totally understand the married man who is a crossdresser who has to hide his silky underwear.  Because I harbored a secret just as shameful, just as taboo, just as forbidden.  For many years.


I am so grateful I no longer have to hide who I am.  And I hope all who are held captive by such double lives can someday find freedom.  


I think that day is approaching.  


But we are a long, long way off before all alternative lifestyles and orientations are accepted without stigma.


In the meantime, think of me what you will.  I don't care anymore.  This is who I am, and who I always will be.  Accept me as I am, or go away.  It's that simple.


To those in the closet with whatever label is on the door:  Don't give up.  Don't be discouraged.  Don't hate yourself!  It's not your fault, you did not choose this.  It is the way you have been wired, perhaps since birth.  Perhaps even before birth.  


You can make it.  Hang in there.  You will survive.  As I say now, "We are not different.  We are ENHANCED!"  



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So now what?

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Welcome

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