Booklets » Work Waste & Happiness
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A First Time For Everything
A fresh puberty graduate, I had managed to pass with minor injury but with far less self-esteem than I started with. My cracking voice served me well as a sexual repellent. With the inevitable fade of the boyish inflection, a whole new sexual kingdom was before me. Yet, I barely had the courage to embrace speaking with a vagina let alone venture on any sexual escapade.
Then she came along. I was blind-sighted without an inkling of what I wanted or what she was going to offer. Deep-down I took pleasure in being able to say that I was ‘taken'. Even though she lived an inconvenient forty minutes away, I knew having a heterosexual relationship at age fifteen entitled me a modicum of social prestige. The idea of a girlfriend overwhelmed me with confusion and exhilaration.
The heart-pounding anticipation quickly subsided into a defibrillated state. My repeated and unreciprocated requests to touch her perky dancer b-cups were met only with frustration and blue-balls. My hormones were driving dangerously fast and hers seemed to be aimlessly sauntering. In the last six months of a two year chastity marathon, I was groping in the dark for an exit sign of
any kind--without success. In an unsuspecting conversation with her, I inquired what the grounds would be for a breakup. The only consensus was cheating.
Since I never shed the stigma of awkward adolescence in high school, my options for cheating were sparse. I had a slap, three rejected notes and a little less dignity to show for my effort. I couldn't cheat, so did the next best thing
and faked it. The opportunity came in the form of an out-of-state family vacation with unrelated and untraceable friends.
In one of her routine monthly visits to my house, I broke the news with tabloid sincerity and firmness. It was the first time I had lied to her and she didn't question what I said. It was painful seeing her upset, however, consoling her for a few more hours before her departure was tolerable if it meant I could have my clean break. She left. I wiped my tears and masturbated to celebrate my sexual freedom.
Then she came along. I was blind-sighted without an inkling of what I wanted or what she was going to offer. Deep-down I took pleasure in being able to say that I was ‘taken'. Even though she lived an inconvenient forty minutes away, I knew having a heterosexual relationship at age fifteen entitled me a modicum of social prestige. The idea of a girlfriend overwhelmed me with confusion and exhilaration.
The heart-pounding anticipation quickly subsided into a defibrillated state. My repeated and unreciprocated requests to touch her perky dancer b-cups were met only with frustration and blue-balls. My hormones were driving dangerously fast and hers seemed to be aimlessly sauntering. In the last six months of a two year chastity marathon, I was groping in the dark for an exit sign of
any kind--without success. In an unsuspecting conversation with her, I inquired what the grounds would be for a breakup. The only consensus was cheating.
Since I never shed the stigma of awkward adolescence in high school, my options for cheating were sparse. I had a slap, three rejected notes and a little less dignity to show for my effort. I couldn't cheat, so did the next best thing
and faked it. The opportunity came in the form of an out-of-state family vacation with unrelated and untraceable friends.
In one of her routine monthly visits to my house, I broke the news with tabloid sincerity and firmness. It was the first time I had lied to her and she didn't question what I said. It was painful seeing her upset, however, consoling her for a few more hours before her departure was tolerable if it meant I could have my clean break. She left. I wiped my tears and masturbated to celebrate my sexual freedom.
