The First Time

We have many firsts in our lives. Our first kiss, our first drink, our first date or for some of us our first marriage. Fortunately or unfortunately depending upon the outcome, we can get past these little vignettes of life and continue on our merry way. Sometimes we are able to get past our initial disappointments and muddle on. Sometimes, these first times are just a warning of things to come.

My first cigarette should have been a warning. I got dizzy and threw up. My first drunk had a similar outcome which was only exacerbated by the ungodly hangover the next day. My first "piece of ass" was nearly a disaster as well. Fortunately it happened in the back seat of my dad's 1960 Oldsmobile on a double date. God, I miss bench seats! I say fortunately because my buddy was there to advise me to turn the young vixen over so I could find her vagina. It seems "piece of ass" wasn't meant to be taken literally. I was 16 how was I to know? The outcome of that peccadillo was a tad different. I was dizzy and she threw up. God was obviously warning me I was doomed to go through life either dizzy or throwing up and sometimes both.

My first marriage resulted in both of us striving to be dizzy and throwing up.

But the first that really stays in my mind was the first time my wife, meu caro, and I made love. Now some of you may need a bit of background here. My wife is a beautiful lady from a faraway land. No, not Uranus, bunghole! A Latin American country. She is short, only 154 cm which is about 5 feet tall for you non-metric types. She has lovely cinnamon skin, long black hair and is an incredible hottie for being in her late thirties with 3 children. We have been married for a while now but it very nearly didn't come to pass.

You see, she had a lot of misconceptions about North American men. First, she thought we were rich. I wasn't. She thought we were tall. I wasn't. She thought we were good-looking and, well, you can guess. And she thought we all liked to have lots of marriages and she wasn't about to be one of a string of several! I had asked why she thought this. She informed me that she had never met an American man which had not been married at least three times! I hadn't. So, there I was: 4 for 4! And lastly, she thought we were all lousy lovers. Hmmmmm

I was able to overcome most of her preconceptions eventually. But dispelling that last one nearly ended a beautiful relationship. As I remember, we had just returned to my rented apartment from a night of dinner and dancing. (The curse was still on me, however. The dinner made me throw up and the dancing got me dizzy. Sucks to be me!)

As we talked over coffee, very strong and black, Mr. Suave and Debonair here managed to finesse her into my boudoir. Here I prepared to give her the fucking of her life. As she lay on my big ass bed, I mean my big brass bed; I did my best imitation of Sean Connery from the movie Diamonds Are Forever. I had stepped away and taken off my clothes. I was watching her, expecting her eyes to be glazed over with wanton lust. She looked at me quizzically.

For those of you who have seen the movie, this was the part where I, being Bond, would walk to the light switch and say "I suppose I am the condemned man and you are the hearty breakfast?" And she, in the Tiffany Case role, would say "Why, there is so much more to you than I expected!"

I said my line on cue and flipped off the light. Lady, get ready for a trip to heaven, I thought! Once I finish with you, you will throw rocks at other men! In the blackness, I made my way to the bed and was just crawling in when a small voice said "Can you turn the light back on?"

Okay, no problemo, I thought. She just liked doing it with the lights on. Hot damn! Kinky little thing! I made my way back to the switch.

"Fuck, shit, hell, damn!" I hissed

"What happened?"

I flicked up the switch and bathed the room in light. "Nothing I just stubbed my toe on the table" I looked over at her and noticed the same quizzical expression on her face. What the hell was she looking at? Her head looked one way and then shifted to the other all the while staring at my navel. Then I realized that she was looking at my cock! Looking isn't the right word. Evaluating? Appraising?

"It's called a cock in my country, dearest. You were married. Surely you have seen one before." I said, somewhat jocularly, always trying to put the best light on things.

She continued to stare at my nether regions her head cocking from side to side. The action reminded me of my sister's cocker spaniel, no pun intended. "Darling, you were in the Army, right?" she asked.

"Yes. Why?"

"Were you wounded?" she asked with innocent concern.

"Yes. That is this scar here." I replied pointing out a puckered scar in the meaty part of my shoulder. "I was shot during a light recon but managed to live through it", I smiled manfully. Did she really need to know that my buddy had accidentally shot me while unloading his weapon before clearing it?

"No, I mean..." she gestured to my scrotum. "lower down."

I was beginning to get dizzy. Could nausea be far behind?

"No, why?" I replied in a somewhat hurt voice.

"Your ...your thing looks different."

"What it's not big enough?" I was in love with a size queen? God help me, not that!

She made a gesture that told me 'well, that too' but then she said," No, it LOOKS different."

"Different? Different how?" I was now beginning to be both dizzy and panicky with nausea tapping his foot waiting for the room key.

"It's missing something." She replied struggling for words.

Panic outran dizzy and I looked down at myself. No, it was all there. "Missing something?"

"Yes, it doesn't have, how you say any..." she began making gestures with her hand.

"Any what?!!"

"Any...ohhh...any" She was still looking for a word.

Then it occurred to me. "Foreskin?"

She lay back on the bed, mystery solved. "Yes, foreskin!"

Dizziness and panic receded. Nausea decides to hang for awhile. I made my way back to our love nest.

"Darling, you are Hebrew?" she asked.

What the hell? "No, my father was born in Ireland. I was reared Roman Catholic just like you. But what does that have to do with anything?"

"You are sure you are not Hebrew. Because many Hebrew in my country are...are...how you say..."

"Circumcised." I replied flatly.

"Yes, circumcised." She repeated, clearly pleased with mastering a new word. "It really is okay if you are Hebrew. I love you anyway"

"I AM NOT JEWISH!!" I exclaimed. Her eyes were open in shock surprised at the tone of my voice. I would have to back-pedal quickly! "Look, caro, in my country it was considered healthier to be circumcised. For years it was a common practice for newborn males. Okay?"

"It is a common practice in America to cut on their sons? Very Strange." She took my cock, which should have been a throbbing example of prime American manhood in her soft hand and began to examine it like a jeweler examining a stone for cut and clarity. If she pulled out one of those eye thingies we were through!

"Did it hurt much" she asked, inspecting the remaining skin.

"I suppose it did but I was only 3 days old, I think," I replied wondering if that had been the first time dizziness and throwing up had visited me. "I really didn't have much choice at the time." This was not the way I planned the evening to unfold. I tried to recapture the mood by reaching for her to kiss that wonderful mouth.

She kissed me back but I could see her mind was elsewhere.

"Does this really bother you? " I asked.

"Nooooo," she replied deep in thought." Just trying to understand, meu homem velho."

I rolled over onto my back. Dizziness and nausea were knocking at the door again. "What are you trying to understand, meu caro?"

"They believed that cutting this 'foreskin' was healthy for a man-child?"

Man-child? I hadn't heard that one in years! "Yes, "I sighed.

"Explain this to me," she ordered.

Damn, this woman was like a bull terrier once she got her teeth into something. So much for oral sex. "Yes, they believed it was more sanitary. Healthy."

She knitted her brows deep in thought. "Cutting a penis in half is healthy? Maiming little baby is healthy? What a strange country!"

"They didn't cut off half my penis!" I exclaimed.

"Do not be angry with me!" she huffed. "I did not maim you!"

"I'm not maimed!"

Her eyes widened as she began to get up a head of steam. "And what does this 'condemned man' mean? You are condemned to make love to your woman?" He voice had raised several octaves.

Where the hell had that come from? "It was an expression from a movie, darling. I didn't mean anything by it." I tried to explain.

She was really on a roll now. "You come from a country where they cut off half of a man-child's birthright and then condemn them to make love? I am going home!"

She moved to get out of bed but after all this, that wasn't happening! Someone was getting fucked tonight, half a cock or no! I pulled her back to the bed and rolled over on top of her and proceeded to show her that even with half a cock I was a good as she was ever likely to get.

It can be said that, at my age, I may not be as good as I once was, but I am as good once as I ever was. It must have worked because an hour, and 3 orgasms, later (2 for her and 1 for me) she lay curled up next to me a satisfied smile on her face. She nuzzled next to me, soft and warm. I was duly pleased with myself.

(Just between you, me, and the wall, if Lit writers are to be believed, women orgasm almost every time with the consistency of a freight train. But women say they usually fake orgasms. I think that they all lying. A ratio of 3 to 5 and you are doing pretty damn good fellows!)

I nuzzled her right back. I loved my little caro. She and I would have a good life together. Sleep stole into the room and I began to drift off into post-coital oblivion when my little darlings voice came drifting back to me.

"Meu homem velho?" she inquired tentatively

"Yes, my love, "I mumbled.

"Were you able to keep what they cut?"

I barely made it the bathroom.