After
the first time, it was if I couldn’t get enough. The rush of blood through my veins and the
feeling of almost fainting was astounding.
It was the best feeling I ever could have imagined. It was the most intense feeling I had ever
felt up to that point in life and the meaning was beyond the comprehension of a
child. I was about 12 when I learned it
was called an orgasm.
O-R-G-A-S-M. The word that meant pleasure…and it became my
everything. Stuffed animals, pillows,
chair arms, blow up kid toys from carnivals, blankets. You name it...if it was soft, I was fucking
it. The only person who knew was my
sister. I’m not sure if she ever fucked
as many inanimate objects as I did, but she did teach me that it was not okay
if mom or dad ever found out.
Sex
with one another became the norm. Our
ginormous house worked to our advantage as we had a huge play area in the
basement. We had a pool table, a dart
board, a closet full of toys and a sofa that easily folded and un-folded. It
had no frame so it didn’t make any noise when we let it down or put it back up.
The
basement also had a door. My mother would shut it so she couldn’t hear us playing
Barbies or video games or whatever we were up to downstairs. Thanks for making it so easy, Mom. Perhaps
instead of talking to random friends about how hard being a mother was, you
could have pulled the bottle out of your mouth and spent more time with us.
Our
acts were always preceded by the question, “You wanna do it?” The basement made it easier for me because
the guest bedroom had pillows on the bed.
My sister liked to do it bare, crotch on crotch. I can remember laying there while her hips
circled on top of mine. It would always
kind of hurt the bone on the top of my crotch, but I never said anything. Once we were started, I just wanted to get
off.
I
almost always went second…and always with a pillow. I didn’t like to have a bare skin
orgasm. It was as if I knew it was wrong
and I justified that the pillow made everything okay. Instead of circles, I moved up and down/back
and forth. I rarely moved in to kiss
her. It wasn’t because I didn’t know how
(because she always kissed me when she was on top), but kissing just didn’t
feel natural to me. Yes, I just said
kissing didn’t feel natural. Know this,
reader, we fucked before we ever starting kissing so adding something else
sexual to the mix made me a bit uncomfortable.
She brought kissing home after she learned it from a boy at school.
Unfortunately,
I have gotten to the point where I can’t write anymore because the alcohol has
overly kicked in!
Until
next time
-M
