Losing My Virginity
This story probably isn’t what’s you think it’s going to be. The first guy I dated was 22 and I was 17.
Me and my friends would go to our local pub 2 to 3 times a week to drink and play pool or darts. It was a pub for metal heads but mostly filled with a small group of female friends from my year and a larger group of my brother’s friends from the year above. My cousin was also in this group and their presence probably explains why I had stayed single up to this point.
There were 4 older guys that would regularly turned up and sit in one of the booths. They were old school, hardly ever spoke to us but would often pay for my drinks. I made a game of trying to catch their attention. Bending over the pool table, sucking on lollipops and pulling on the chain attached to their jeans that made their wallets swing free from their pockets. The more I drank the more attention I received.
One evening on my way to the pub I was grabbed and shoved against a wall. He tried to undo my jeans but I managed to break free and made a run for it. Entering the pub I was still panicked and breathing heavily. Brad noticed me and came over. He asked if I was okay and too embarrassed said I was fine. His fingers brushed over the graze on my cheek. I hadn’t realised I’d been hurt but now it began to sting. “Come on I’ll buy you a drink”. He started paying a lot more attention after that. Nobody spoke about it but I’d always have an escort home usually wearing one of their leather jackets. My dad would’ve picked me up but this was more fun. Brad wasn’t my normal type but he did have a six pack and a deep scar from an apparent stab wound.
Eventually he invited me out to a fancy restaurant and then we went back to his place. He kisses me as his hands slide under my dress and removed my panties. He stuffs them in his pocket and pushes me back onto the sofa. He then made some dickhead comment about me dying my hair (which I hadn’t) I should’ve left then but I was so unsure of myself and couldn’t get myself to move. His hands dug into my thighs and he started to lick between my legs. He pushed a finger into me and I gasped and tried to clamp my legs together. He sat back and looked up at me. “Are you a virgin?” My cheeks began to burn and I wish the ground would swallow me. I nodded sheepishly. I’d believed the stories that riding bikes, horse riding and contact sports could break your hymen. I didn’t think anybody would be able to tell. My friends all started to lose their virginity a couple of years before but the way I dressed and flirted outrageously people assumed I had too. He went on to explained he thought I’d been with another friend of ours after he’d carried me back to the tent, too drunk to walk properly on the groups holiday. None of my friends would’ve ever taken an advantage like that. He called me a taxi and I went home commando. Too shy to ask for my panties back.
It took him a week to call me. I thought I’d put him off or he hadn’t found me attractive. I went round to his and he lead me into his bedroom. He kissed me quickly and immediately took off my panties and pushed me onto the bed. His head went between my legs but I felt that same wave of embarrassment. He was going too fast so I closed my eyes to stop the rising panic. I chanted in my head “Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out”. Then I felt his cock push into me. My eyes flew open with the pain and all my focus went into holding back the tears. He didn’t last long and I was glad he was finished. Just to round off this perfect moment he made a snarky comment about me no longer being a virgin.
Despite all of his failings and now obvious red flags he somehow had this ridiculous control over me. I mean wasn’t this what I’d wanted? We dated for nearly a year. He made some bullshit excuse for taking me to a different pub and stopped me from seeing my friends. If I brought it up he’d get angry and tell me that I should go if that’s what I wanted but I’d have to walk across town by myself to get there.
He would take me to watch him kickbox and he’d get me to run my nails down his back to draw blood so he could show off like some kind of stud. I never understood why we couldn’t at least have sex when I did it. I could count the number of times we’d had sex on my fingers. It was always in missionary position, quick and I never got to orgasm. I was annoyed that no one seemed to work out that the scratches on his back curved inwards. If I was underneath him they should have curved outwards.
I wasn’t upset when he broke up with me and I’d managed to steal back the panties he’d taken. I’d found his secret compartment when he’d left me on my own for an hour once. I half contemplated taking the rest of his trophies too but I didn’t have my bag with me and at least this way maybe he wouldn’t even realise they were gone. This little victory made me smile.
I went back to my local with my friends. They told me how he bragged about what we’d done in bed and how often we’d done it. I set the record straight pretty quickly and then he strolls into the fucking pub! My anger instantly rises. All that bullshit he’s given me about why he wouldn’t drink there anymore. I storm over and we start having a shouting match. Everything I’d been unable to voice before flies from my mouth. I don’t slow down and I can’t stop the vicious words I throw at him no longer caring that everyone can hear our private business. The rush of anger and the relief I feel from finally standing up for myself is overwhelming and I start to cry. Everyone assumes it’s because I’m upset. His friends quickly usher him out and I’m pushed into someone. His arms go around me and it feels so comforting I sink into his embrace. That was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
Me and my friends would go to our local pub 2 to 3 times a week to drink and play pool or darts. It was a pub for metal heads but mostly filled with a small group of female friends from my year and a larger group of my brother’s friends from the year above. My cousin was also in this group and their presence probably explains why I had stayed single up to this point.
There were 4 older guys that would regularly turned up and sit in one of the booths. They were old school, hardly ever spoke to us but would often pay for my drinks. I made a game of trying to catch their attention. Bending over the pool table, sucking on lollipops and pulling on the chain attached to their jeans that made their wallets swing free from their pockets. The more I drank the more attention I received.
One evening on my way to the pub I was grabbed and shoved against a wall. He tried to undo my jeans but I managed to break free and made a run for it. Entering the pub I was still panicked and breathing heavily. Brad noticed me and came over. He asked if I was okay and too embarrassed said I was fine. His fingers brushed over the graze on my cheek. I hadn’t realised I’d been hurt but now it began to sting. “Come on I’ll buy you a drink”. He started paying a lot more attention after that. Nobody spoke about it but I’d always have an escort home usually wearing one of their leather jackets. My dad would’ve picked me up but this was more fun. Brad wasn’t my normal type but he did have a six pack and a deep scar from an apparent stab wound.
Eventually he invited me out to a fancy restaurant and then we went back to his place. He kisses me as his hands slide under my dress and removed my panties. He stuffs them in his pocket and pushes me back onto the sofa. He then made some dickhead comment about me dying my hair (which I hadn’t) I should’ve left then but I was so unsure of myself and couldn’t get myself to move. His hands dug into my thighs and he started to lick between my legs. He pushed a finger into me and I gasped and tried to clamp my legs together. He sat back and looked up at me. “Are you a virgin?” My cheeks began to burn and I wish the ground would swallow me. I nodded sheepishly. I’d believed the stories that riding bikes, horse riding and contact sports could break your hymen. I didn’t think anybody would be able to tell. My friends all started to lose their virginity a couple of years before but the way I dressed and flirted outrageously people assumed I had too. He went on to explained he thought I’d been with another friend of ours after he’d carried me back to the tent, too drunk to walk properly on the groups holiday. None of my friends would’ve ever taken an advantage like that. He called me a taxi and I went home commando. Too shy to ask for my panties back.
It took him a week to call me. I thought I’d put him off or he hadn’t found me attractive. I went round to his and he lead me into his bedroom. He kissed me quickly and immediately took off my panties and pushed me onto the bed. His head went between my legs but I felt that same wave of embarrassment. He was going too fast so I closed my eyes to stop the rising panic. I chanted in my head “Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out”. Then I felt his cock push into me. My eyes flew open with the pain and all my focus went into holding back the tears. He didn’t last long and I was glad he was finished. Just to round off this perfect moment he made a snarky comment about me no longer being a virgin.
Despite all of his failings and now obvious red flags he somehow had this ridiculous control over me. I mean wasn’t this what I’d wanted? We dated for nearly a year. He made some bullshit excuse for taking me to a different pub and stopped me from seeing my friends. If I brought it up he’d get angry and tell me that I should go if that’s what I wanted but I’d have to walk across town by myself to get there.
He would take me to watch him kickbox and he’d get me to run my nails down his back to draw blood so he could show off like some kind of stud. I never understood why we couldn’t at least have sex when I did it. I could count the number of times we’d had sex on my fingers. It was always in missionary position, quick and I never got to orgasm. I was annoyed that no one seemed to work out that the scratches on his back curved inwards. If I was underneath him they should have curved outwards.
I wasn’t upset when he broke up with me and I’d managed to steal back the panties he’d taken. I’d found his secret compartment when he’d left me on my own for an hour once. I half contemplated taking the rest of his trophies too but I didn’t have my bag with me and at least this way maybe he wouldn’t even realise they were gone. This little victory made me smile.
I went back to my local with my friends. They told me how he bragged about what we’d done in bed and how often we’d done it. I set the record straight pretty quickly and then he strolls into the fucking pub! My anger instantly rises. All that bullshit he’s given me about why he wouldn’t drink there anymore. I storm over and we start having a shouting match. Everything I’d been unable to voice before flies from my mouth. I don’t slow down and I can’t stop the vicious words I throw at him no longer caring that everyone can hear our private business. The rush of anger and the relief I feel from finally standing up for myself is overwhelming and I start to cry. Everyone assumes it’s because I’m upset. His friends quickly usher him out and I’m pushed into someone. His arms go around me and it feels so comforting I sink into his embrace. That was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
