Sexual Autobiography Story

The only reason behind not disclosing my identity is because I am expecting true feedbacks for my writing! If you really like the story you can write me at “unidentified at live dot com”.

This story covers the desires of a GIRL before loosing her virginity & also expectations after that! NO MORE WASTING OF TIME, the story goes like this…

He laid me on the bed, his technique displaying his sheer adeptness. The angle, my descent, how he didn’t take his eyes off me yet I landed on target with no wiggling needed. He had to be seasoned in the art of sex, because my landing was perfect. My head hit the pillow softly, and the pillow sighed while adjusting to the curves of my neck. Smooth, yet with buoyancy, the pillow had enough firmness to steady my pretty face and allow some recoil, so I could float up slightly and allow him to kiss me without any unnecessary movement to adjust myself.

His hands were confident. Their movements were writing a story in a mystic font. What were they telling me? Across my breasts, his fingers unclasped my bra without a stumble. Then to my stomach, his hands glided me effortlessly, as if I were a sheet of glass and his hands were pieces of silk cloth polishing me, making me shine, my vivid moaning making me see-through. I’d never felt so safe, yet so exposed. All the ingredients for the perfect wedding night were there, except I was living in sin. But it felt so right.

I vaguely knew him but damn he was fine.
His blue-green eyes had a hint of gold, and when I looked closely, I could see my reflection in the gloss. I could see myself in him.
And I could definitely picture him inside of me.

His brawn was dominating my vision. His biceps were bigger than my thighs and his abdomen was more rippled than a trail of speed bumps. Yet, everything about him was perfectly proportioned. I smiled, wanting to giggle, remembering the words of my best friend. “A man who is perfectly proportioned is good at math and even better in the sack.”
I felt comfortable, warm, safe from the cold, harsh, outside elements. And it showed when I took a little initiative. I strummed his stomach, my fingers hurdling each ripple to the end, stopping at his unbuttoned jeans. I wondered what lay beneath, behind the zipper.

I looked at his smooth face, his lips moving toward me. They whisked over mine and I puckered slightly then slammed my lips into his, like he had a magnetic pull over me. He kissed me a second time and I felt something different radiating from him. A tremble. Maybe he was just as nervous as I was. But his manhood made up for it when his tongue decisively parted my lips, flying me first-class to France.
His tongue danced inside my mouth with a combination of twirl and rhythm, insatiable enough for me to return the favor, not bothered with whether or not he cared if I knew how to kiss.

Hopefully my secret was still hidden. This was my first kiss and it was profound. I was lucky. Many virgins were not fortunate enough to get a first kiss like that. One that was so good it transported a woman across the waters. I was grateful that I kept my mouth closed until the night I would open my legs. It deepened the intimacy and somehow made it innocent.
No words were spoken but I knew it was time. He started at my calf, rubbing his way up the side of my body until he reached the silkiness of my secrets. My lingerie never stood a chance.

He was still clothed. Was he waiting for me to make a move? Maybe it was his way of staying in control. I didn’t care. I just wanted him stripped.
That’s when I knew I was in love. My intimate playground began to rain and I desperately wanted to experience the thunder.

He undressed himself horizontally, his mouth never leaving my flesh. His skill at multi-tasking had me on fire. His breathing heated my neck, leaving a semi-sheer sheet of condensation. I couldn’t take it. I had to scream. I would’ve called out his name, except I wasn’t sure if he’d lied to me when he told me what his name was. After all, I’d lied to him too. It was my safety net. If he were to not be thrilled with my opening night performance, and if he were to feel the need to tell his friends, my true identity would be still be protected.

The size of my lover’s legacy preceded him. He joined me slowly, holding my hand as he stretched me. I think he knew I was in pleasant pain, but that I also needed a little comfort. I wanted him to believe I was experienced, but my constriction gave me away.

My first time was everything I expected and nothing that I hadn’t dreamed of. He moved inside me as if he’d been there before, maybe in his own dreams. He knew how to move and just where to go, not needing a map to find out how to please me. We kissed continuously as he hunched his body and stroked me like he was an oiled piece of machinery.

I saw the lightening then felt my thunder building. Finally, it rocked me, pounding inside body, leaving me moist. I knew he felt the friction, because his movements intensified, as if he absorbed a bolt of confidence in the lightening. He commanded my body and demanded obedience as he shot me to the moon. After the fiercest, hottest, blistering moments of my life, my lover slammed down on my body, his reactions uncontrolled. He held me during the flood.

I looked at the ceiling as he lay on my body, smothering my breathing. I never knew gasping for air could feel so erotic, so good. I wanted to say those three little words. I barely knew him, but I knew how I felt.
I loved this man. This was our first date yet I felt I’d known him all my life. I fell in love with him six hours ago on the dance floor, and our new-found intimacy had just solidified my feelings. Some things can’t be explained.

Our chemistry just clicked. If that just sounded crazy, then I will give anybody permission to call me insane.
But if I told him how I felt, would he reciprocate, or think I was immature?
He lifted his body. I was scared. What would his next move be? He finally spoke. “I have to get up early tomorrow.”
I cringed and held onto my heart, as if my most vital organ was hanging out of a twenty-five story window. Did he think I was easy? How did he feel about me? Was I yesterday’s headline?

His words must have been my queue to leave so I decided to protect myself. After all, I was in his place, in his bed, in his world. I gently pushed myself out from under him. I had to be gentle. He was too heavy for me to be swift.

I rose in my bareness, my chastity belt unbuckled, my broken-in body now mature. I was forcing his hand. How would he react? It was hard to believe after what I’d just done, but I’d never considered myself promiscuous, and I’d never planned on giving my virginity away to a one-night stand, and I still hoped I didn’t have to. But I was willing to take the risk. Ironically, I had the opposite hopes of most virgins. My self-esteem in the area of sex was low, and I didn’t want to be in a vested relationship, open my heart and my body up to judgment, only to disappoint. Plus I never found a man that had intrigued me enough to show him that side of me, until now. I prayed he liked my performance, because I sure as hell didn’t want him to walk away.

I whispered, “Please don’t think I’m easy.”
I felt a gentle grip on my arm. I froze, knowing he would probably speak. But what would he say? Would he offer me money for cab fare?
I looked back at him, and for some reason, I felt in control. His eyes spoke of a satisfied man. His grip revealed his desire. I realized that my body had just made his night. My innocence was all over him. And he definitely didn’t want me to leave.

“How can I think you’re easy when this was your first time? If you were going to be easy, you would have been so a long time ago.”
I shrugged my shoulders, feeling like an embarrassed little girl, yet I was a grown woman. I felt relieved. I knew he was right.
“I feel like I’ve known you all my life,” I said. I didn’t what else to say.
“Then why are you leaving? Where are you going?”
I wanted to cry tears of joy. But as seductively as I could muster, I answered, “Nowhere.”

I kissed his beautiful chest. I grabbed his strong hand. I put him at my mercy with my amazing foreplay. After I brought him out, I laid my head on his chest, still not knowing our future.

Then he said, “If we are going to have a shot at a decent relationship, you’re gonna have to tell me your real name.”
I laughed at his sharp intuition. I was truly happy and I didn’t feel like I had sacrificed an ounce of my dignity. But I kept my feelings to myself, knowing I had a lifetime, or at least a little while, to see where our path would lead us. I may have been a virgin, but I was smart enough to know that a man’s heart was nothing to gamble with, and that his emotions couldn’t be preempted. His feelings for me would have to be revealed in his own time.

But one thing was for sure, he felt something more than like. A man can fake a lot of things, but not his heartbeat and not his hold.
And it was in the way he held me.

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