My First Experiences With Oral Sex

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Olga Wolstenholme's picture

The first time someone went down on me, I was about fifteen and we had broken into an abandoned house on the highway walking distance from my house. The summer after grade nine was what I used to refer to as the best summer of my life. To put it mildly, I packed all the hijinks a teenager could get themselves into in two short months. For instance that very night, I had snuck out of my house to hang out with the boy I liked and his friends.

Sneaking out was exhilarating, but rather simple. I’d come home right around my curfew, say goodnight to my mom and go into my room. The moment I would get home she would go to bed. Once, I knew she was asleep, I’d put some pillows under my blanket, tiptoe out of the house and put my shoes on once I was outside. The trick was to come home before she woke up, something I forgot to do that very night.

The guy I liked, his friend and I had broken into an abandoned house. The place was a mess, clearly, we were not the first kids to enter the premises. Broken plates littered the floor, some of them broken by our very hands. Our friend passed out on the living room couch while the boy and I snuck into one of the bedrooms. A dirty mattress laid bare on the floor, but I didn’t mind. Two firsts would happen that night. It was the first time someone would explore my cunt with their hands and with their mouth. It was great. It was exhilarating. He was slightly off the mark, but I didn’t mind.

The first time I went down on someone was an entirely different situation. I was sixteen and my uncle had just died. Depressed and feeling a little self-destructive, I got rather drunk that night. One thing led to another and an older guy who I’d known for most of my life gave me a ride home. Parked in my mother’s drive way, he put the moves on me and I let him. I may have even enjoyed it a little, but my reaction was definitely fueled by the aforementioned sadness, self-destructiveness and copious amounts of alcohol. To be frank, I was WASTED. I was beyond wasted. I was drunk off my lovely ass.

Now, sitting in this guy’s car, parked under my mother’s bedroom window, he placed his hand on the back of my head and pushed it towards his suddenly exposed cock. My body gave no resistance and while my lips were wrapped around his dick, my mind was still trying to process what the hell was happening. It might have been a slow realization, but at one point I did have gumption to stop and get the hell out of there. It was a sloppy exit, but I did manage to get inside my house. I somehow made my way upstairs, but instead of taking a left into my bedroom, I took a right and ended up in my brother’s bedroom (he no longer lived at home) and promptly feel asleep with my coat and my boots still on and my pants around my ankles.

Even though, I hadn’t been forced to do anything and I certainly went along for the ride. It might be a shifting line, but my state of mind and drunkenness at the time left me with something akin to feeling wronged. I don’t know how else to put. What I can tell you is that from that night on, I have a pretty profound dislike for the other person involved and it wasn’t until I was eighteen that I would ever try giving head again and that was only after going out with the same guy for several months. I was pretty terrified, but there was definitely something missing in our sex life. In the end it was pretty amazing, but the negative feelings and fears I carried with me up until that moment were not in the least bit pleasant or productive.

What’s my point? Hell I don’t know, but let me tell you this, I had felt, for lack of a better word, abused, but I also felt that I had totally created the situation in the first place. From his point of view, I’m sure he didn’t experience it the same way at all and I guess that what I’m saying is that it’s OK to feel conflicted about something that has happened to you and that if something like that happens to you, you don’t have to be ashamed to express all those conflicting feelings and that eventually, as you grow up, you figure all this shit out. I guess the lesson I learned from all of this is sexual agency, wherein “sexual agency is defined as the ability to act according to your own needs, desires, and wishes in terms of sexual behavior, and sexual decision making.” An idea that is sorely lacking in most cases of sex education, especially since it should be the cornerstone of all sexual activity.

Crossposted from Cuntlove.

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