Seduced to Sex

As we sat outside the tent having breakfast it seemed like a good percentage of the men in the campsite found an excuse to walk past and say hello; most coming up with some variation of the question of whether we'd had a good night. Normally that's an innocent enough question, but the raised eyebrows also made it obvious they already knew the answer.

While I could be bemused at the power I derived from the bulge that universally formed in their pants as they perved down at my bikini clad body as they talked to us, I had good reason for avoiding a prolonged conversation. I was just starting out on a law career. I didn't want to find in ten years' time that one of them was a client who recognised me.

It was really only on the walk out I realised I was suffering from various aches and abrasions from the overuse of parts that weren't used to it. A small price to pay.

Epilogue

Fifteen years, two children and a loving marriage later these events are still powerfully erotic memories retained in all their detail. When work worries keep me awake at night they are still capable of settling my mind and giving me a giant ladyboner. Somehow just about all subsequent sex fades into an amorphous mass of sexual memories, lacking details, even if they were just as intense. Not these. My husband has on several occasions been the beneficiary of their effect as I found a need for my arousal to be converted to action.

Perhaps only the time shortly after that Tim did get to do the Poseidon act on me as I sat naked and spreadeagled on the top step of the pool matches that. And while the water cascading off him as he emerged didn't manage to emulate what Hollywood special effects can achieve, the fact the emergence followed him licking me to a hip rolling orgasm more than made up for it. That and the second orgasm he gave me as he fucked me to his own climax on the step.

But Tim is not my husband; was never likely to be. Our relationship collapsed under its own contradictions after about a year. After a period when he'd felt his access to me had been rather severely rationed, supposedly because I was busy with my studies, he reacted rather too petulantly when I told him I'd be away for the whole of the holidays with another guy. I in turn responded by finishing the relationship.

Somewhat blindsided by the whole thing and feeling he'd not been rewarded for his patience and understanding, he too had trouble getting over it. For the second time I had to go through months of "You have to let it go" conversations; complicated by the fact I kept bumping into him at Uni.

And to be fair, he had been blindsided. I had been continuing to use him to meet my sexual desires. Of necessity, that had been sparsely because I'd wanted to keep him at bay emotionally. He knew I was dating other guys, but implicit in our continued non-use of protection was the fact he was the only one I was sleeping with; in effect my tier 1 male friend.

To simply be told that I was going on a lengthy holiday with another guy conveyed a whole lot of implications that I hadn't openly dealt with. Really, I should have just been fair and terminated our relationship when I realised there was another guy I might be more open to emotionally.

Still, time passes and wounds heal. By the time Uni was over, we were friends again in a passing acquaintance sort of way.

I bumped into him a few years ago and we'd shared a coffee. He'd apologised for his nuisance behaviour after our breakup, said he'd always been ashamed of it, and when I apologised too, said I had nothing to apologise for. That, he said, had been the deal he'd signed up for.

With the confidence of maturity and each with our own strong marriage, he admitted that he'd polished up his knowledge on female anatomy between the first and second times he'd undressed me; which explained his vastly different performance. I'd always wondered about that.

In a way I was dying to ask him about the mystery withdrawal after our first night encounter. But apart from such a question revealing to Tim the detail in which I'd remembered the night, there was another reason I hadn't. That little mystery had grown an erotic narrative of its own in my memories of the night.

Without any fixed reference facts, it could become whatever erotic story I wanted it to become; and there were no shortage of them.

Maybe contractions from my own night orgasm had pummelled Tim's erection into a release. Maybe I'd laid pinned to him in our mutual sleep by his great throbbing cock for hours before it had exploded into a discharge, following which the sticky soft flaccid flesh had stuck itself to my engorged clit, gently stimulating it with the rise and fall of our breathing. Or maybe even as I slept Tim had pounded me into multiple hip arching orgasms.

OK, the last one might be a bit improbable. Had I been drunk or drugged it would even have been illegal; but in this case I'd surrendered my pussy willingly to him while fully awake.

That's the nice things about mysteries; they're not bound by any rules of science or practicality.

The last thing I'd want to find out is that Tim had withdrawn a few moments after I'd drifted off to sleep because he had a cramp in his lower elbow. Mind you the possibility of a guy pulling a full erection out of the warm embrace of a donated vagina with no way back in for that reason is even less probable than me sleeping through the aforementioned pounding.

Sometimes knowledge is not always a good thing.

Would the memories have been even more powerful if I truly loved the person I was with? I don't know. Maybe; it probably does make a difference. But you still need the right sequence of events however much love is involved.

I was lucky to discover that I had wonderfully sensitive erogenous zones and a willingness to let myself go to enjoy them. I've never had any great problem climaxing if they guy even half did the right thing. But still, the way things happened that night made a big difference. After all, for many, if not most girls, their first time is anything but memorable in a good sort of way.

Even though completely out of character, the decision not to care about how much noise I made certainly helped; indeed, I discovered later in life it was crucial. It got rid of that internal conflict about really getting into it. When, with the arrival of children in our house, I needed to tone it down, it just wasn't the same.

But I have to give Tim credit for being a good first time partner even in his own inexperience. He knew how to finger me and was willing to do so without pushing for more. He also let me take complete control of my first penetration; which meant I never seized up through fear.

I never regretted it wasn't Aron. I'd had a long relationship with him, but it had grown stale. Plus I can't help suspecting he'd have been too focused on the home run to spend the time Tim spent on third base; or worse would have wanted to act on the hints I'd already had that too much porn had left him with obsessions about anal and oral. And maybe my husband too, even though we have a great sex life now, might in the early days not have spent enough time on the bases around the pitch before running for home.

It's better not to contemplate changing the past.