I am nineteen, and it goes without saying that it is out of the ordinary to be a virgin at my age. Some of my home friends are still virgins and so when I was in the sixth form losing it wasn't high on my list of things to do. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said at university. Out of all my friends here, I am the only virgin. Everyone talks at length about their sex lives, what they've done with their partners - what they like and dislike. And I've barely been kissed properly; so I thought it was about time I get over this particular obstacle.
On Tinder, I met two guys, J and R. I met J first - he lived on campus, like me. I had him on facebook after meeting him briefly in freshers. He was nice, easy to talk to and flirty. Soon the flirtiness descended into fully fledged dirty talk, but I didn't mind. He suggested that we should meet up. I agreed, maybe we should go for a drink and get to know one another a bit better? 'Nah, skip to the good bit' he replied. Fine. I could do that, get it over with. From that moment on, J was a means to an end - he served a purpose. We agreed to meet up: Thursday night.
By this point, I had already started talking to R. R was a second year and I realised I'd met him before; he'd sold us tickets for the nightclub once. I remembered how cute he was and so I didn't mind talking to him on Tinder. He was lovely, and interesting and I liked talking to him, maybe more so than J. He asked me what I was on Tinder for. I told him the truth - that I honestly didn't know. I knew I wasn't on there for casual sex - J was an exception - I wasn't going to make it a habit. He agreed that casual sex and one night stands probably weren't for the best - but what about friends with benefits? They weren't so bad surely?! I replied that no, they weren't, but I would only agree to that sort of an arrangement if I knew the person very well; if you were good friends. He agreed. This is where I become confused. He propositioned me - why don't we become friends with benefits? We can get to know each other for as long as you like before I come over for a shag. Disappointing people has always been something I hate to do, so I agreed. Maybe I could fob him off before we actually do the deed? Fingers crossed.
Let it be known that these two boys are in no way connected, I'm not sure they know the other exists (thank christ); but they did have one thing in common. Dick pics. It's a new phenomenon (again, thanks to smartphones and snapchat) and something which both R and J were guilty of. "Got any pics?" asked one "I like sending naughty photos" said the other. Apparently I'd get one if I asked nicely, but the simple fact of it was that I didn't want one. I didn't want a picture of your penis - a close-up of your balls or a comparison of how your old soldier looks with the foreskin peeled back and without. They'd ask if I wanted a pic and eager to please, I'd say 'alright then'; 'if you want' or some variation thereof. I'd receive the unwanted picture, cringe as it popped up in full HD glory on the screen of my phone and then delete it just as soon as it had been sent. Then came the dreaded 'your turn ;)' and I realised that I was expected to send a picture back. Of my tits. My bare tits. I sent one to each guy, the same photo: bra on, boobs pushed up. They were pleased but wanted more. Fuck.
Pictures (or lack thereof) turned out to be the downfall of mine and R's "relationship" (if you can even manage to call it that). He had sent me an album full of pictures. A headless shot of him in front of the mirror; showing off his torso (completely devoid of muscle or definition - a pointless pic) and then a plethora of dick pics. His willy mid-wank, his willy erect, his willy lying flat on his belly, with R's cheeky chappy face just visible at the top of the shot. I cringed so hard I thought my ears were going to bleed. He would always ask for photos from me whenever we spoke and I'd stall - claiming to be too busy to get my tits out - 'I'm not in at the moment and there's no toilet. Maybe later!'. He'd take it every time until I managed to pluck up the courage and tell him that I didn't feel comfortable sending pictures to him - to anyone really. He then said that he'd sent photos of himself so we were both out on a limb - I said I'd deleted them, so there's no reason for me to send any. Oh no, I don't mind you having them, he replied, but I think I should get at least a full body shot of you in your underwear.
I didn't reply and haven't since.
Now back to J. J came over to my flat in the early hours of a Monday morning, when all my flatmates were in bed. He was due to come over the previous thursday evening but apparently he had 'work to do' and couldn't make it. In all honesty, I was relieved. He did insist on a raincheck, however, and the second time we agreed to meet, we actually did. I hastily necked four shots of Absolut Raspberri - dutch courage, but also so that I'd taste nice when we kissed.
I opened the front door of the building and he scurried in. I led him to the lift and waited after pressing the button. In the intervening moments, he pressed me against the wall and began kissing me passionately - this was happening. He hitched a leg between mine and made a blind grab at my tits. The lift arrived and I pushed him off to get inside. As the door closed, his cold hand went down my pants. I was dry as a bone. Considering I barely knew the guy and therefore had no affectionate feelings toward him, this wasn't surprising. We got to my flat and he walked over the threshold after being assured that all my flatmates were in bed. I took him to my room.
Once the door was firmly shut behind us, we kissed some more, he asked what I wanted to do, as if there was any answer to that question which wouldn't make me sound like a whore or a nymphomaniac. I shrugged and turned off the light, realising that there was no way I could manage this with illumination.
We were on my bed, he dragged my pants down and tried to finger me. Unsuccessfully (still not wet) - it was like trying to put your finger into a stale loaf of bread - no moisture and no pleasure. So, he turned me over.
That's right, he went straight for the arse which is never cool under any circumstances ever. EVER. E. V. E. R. EVER!!!!!!!!
(in hindsight I am angry about this, hence the gratuitous exclamation marks). Although, to his credit, it didn't feel terrible. He spent a lot of time licking my arsehole, an odd sensation, but not entirely unpleasant - a bit like running your fingers against the grain of velvet. Then he put a finger in. He moved it about for a while, I gave (absolutely fake) moans of appreciation, hoping he'd give up. But no, "let's try for a second finger" I heard from behind me. A SECOND FINGER?! It already felt like he had a fucking fist up there for fuck's sake.
I pushed him away after giving the impression that I'd just had an orgasm, and he flopped down next to me, expectantly holding his cock in one hand. I took it from him, understanding that it was my time to perform my duty.
He came after a short while, in my mouth. I swallowed his seed like I swallow shots - not breathing, not tasting, just getting rid of the stuff. His legs were twitching, his fingers curled into the hair at the back of my head, and his head pressed into my pillow. I sat up, grateful that this encounter was now over.
He departed just as swiftly as he had arrived; leaving my arsehole two fingers wider, the taste of his cum at the back of my throat and the aroma of his cock on my left hand. There was no satisfaction on my part and it was an experience I was no eager to repeat. Not with him, not with anyone.
Maybe I'm a lesbian and I haven't quite realised it yet.
By this point, I had already started talking to R. R was a second year and I realised I'd met him before; he'd sold us tickets for the nightclub once. I remembered how cute he was and so I didn't mind talking to him on Tinder. He was lovely, and interesting and I liked talking to him, maybe more so than J. He asked me what I was on Tinder for. I told him the truth - that I honestly didn't know. I knew I wasn't on there for casual sex - J was an exception - I wasn't going to make it a habit. He agreed that casual sex and one night stands probably weren't for the best - but what about friends with benefits? They weren't so bad surely?! I replied that no, they weren't, but I would only agree to that sort of an arrangement if I knew the person very well; if you were good friends. He agreed. This is where I become confused. He propositioned me - why don't we become friends with benefits? We can get to know each other for as long as you like before I come over for a shag. Disappointing people has always been something I hate to do, so I agreed. Maybe I could fob him off before we actually do the deed? Fingers crossed.
Let it be known that these two boys are in no way connected, I'm not sure they know the other exists (thank christ); but they did have one thing in common. Dick pics. It's a new phenomenon (again, thanks to smartphones and snapchat) and something which both R and J were guilty of. "Got any pics?" asked one "I like sending naughty photos" said the other. Apparently I'd get one if I asked nicely, but the simple fact of it was that I didn't want one. I didn't want a picture of your penis - a close-up of your balls or a comparison of how your old soldier looks with the foreskin peeled back and without. They'd ask if I wanted a pic and eager to please, I'd say 'alright then'; 'if you want' or some variation thereof. I'd receive the unwanted picture, cringe as it popped up in full HD glory on the screen of my phone and then delete it just as soon as it had been sent. Then came the dreaded 'your turn ;)' and I realised that I was expected to send a picture back. Of my tits. My bare tits. I sent one to each guy, the same photo: bra on, boobs pushed up. They were pleased but wanted more. Fuck.
Pictures (or lack thereof) turned out to be the downfall of mine and R's "relationship" (if you can even manage to call it that). He had sent me an album full of pictures. A headless shot of him in front of the mirror; showing off his torso (completely devoid of muscle or definition - a pointless pic) and then a plethora of dick pics. His willy mid-wank, his willy erect, his willy lying flat on his belly, with R's cheeky chappy face just visible at the top of the shot. I cringed so hard I thought my ears were going to bleed. He would always ask for photos from me whenever we spoke and I'd stall - claiming to be too busy to get my tits out - 'I'm not in at the moment and there's no toilet. Maybe later!'. He'd take it every time until I managed to pluck up the courage and tell him that I didn't feel comfortable sending pictures to him - to anyone really. He then said that he'd sent photos of himself so we were both out on a limb - I said I'd deleted them, so there's no reason for me to send any. Oh no, I don't mind you having them, he replied, but I think I should get at least a full body shot of you in your underwear.
I didn't reply and haven't since.
Now back to J. J came over to my flat in the early hours of a Monday morning, when all my flatmates were in bed. He was due to come over the previous thursday evening but apparently he had 'work to do' and couldn't make it. In all honesty, I was relieved. He did insist on a raincheck, however, and the second time we agreed to meet, we actually did. I hastily necked four shots of Absolut Raspberri - dutch courage, but also so that I'd taste nice when we kissed.
I opened the front door of the building and he scurried in. I led him to the lift and waited after pressing the button. In the intervening moments, he pressed me against the wall and began kissing me passionately - this was happening. He hitched a leg between mine and made a blind grab at my tits. The lift arrived and I pushed him off to get inside. As the door closed, his cold hand went down my pants. I was dry as a bone. Considering I barely knew the guy and therefore had no affectionate feelings toward him, this wasn't surprising. We got to my flat and he walked over the threshold after being assured that all my flatmates were in bed. I took him to my room.
Once the door was firmly shut behind us, we kissed some more, he asked what I wanted to do, as if there was any answer to that question which wouldn't make me sound like a whore or a nymphomaniac. I shrugged and turned off the light, realising that there was no way I could manage this with illumination.
We were on my bed, he dragged my pants down and tried to finger me. Unsuccessfully (still not wet) - it was like trying to put your finger into a stale loaf of bread - no moisture and no pleasure. So, he turned me over.
That's right, he went straight for the arse which is never cool under any circumstances ever. EVER. E. V. E. R. EVER!!!!!!!!
(in hindsight I am angry about this, hence the gratuitous exclamation marks). Although, to his credit, it didn't feel terrible. He spent a lot of time licking my arsehole, an odd sensation, but not entirely unpleasant - a bit like running your fingers against the grain of velvet. Then he put a finger in. He moved it about for a while, I gave (absolutely fake) moans of appreciation, hoping he'd give up. But no, "let's try for a second finger" I heard from behind me. A SECOND FINGER?! It already felt like he had a fucking fist up there for fuck's sake.
I pushed him away after giving the impression that I'd just had an orgasm, and he flopped down next to me, expectantly holding his cock in one hand. I took it from him, understanding that it was my time to perform my duty.
He came after a short while, in my mouth. I swallowed his seed like I swallow shots - not breathing, not tasting, just getting rid of the stuff. His legs were twitching, his fingers curled into the hair at the back of my head, and his head pressed into my pillow. I sat up, grateful that this encounter was now over.
He departed just as swiftly as he had arrived; leaving my arsehole two fingers wider, the taste of his cum at the back of my throat and the aroma of his cock on my left hand. There was no satisfaction on my part and it was an experience I was no eager to repeat. Not with him, not with anyone.
Maybe I'm a lesbian and I haven't quite realised it yet.
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