My First Time: Awakening my Body

SophieMac1

*****This blog was chosen as the winner of our July Blog Competition, be sure to leave your comments below to congratulate the author!*****


I've never been one to much share my private life with strangers. I've always been very honest, and incredibly open, if I do say so myself, but it usually takes a while for me to let my guard down.

I find it hard to trust people, because being trans so many men you meet seem to be only after one thing and that's not all I'm about. True, I love sex as much as the next girl, but my expectations on men are high. Very High. But that's probably because when I first fell in love, and when I first started having sex, I was with someone who raised the bar very, very high.


I met Vincent when I was only young, at a birthday party where he quite clearly claimed me as his own before he really knew anything about me. That I was a transgirl didn't matter to him when he found out and mattered even less when it came to sex. But for me, sex was something scary. It was something that I desperately wanted to do with my boyfriend as we got older, but I was so ashamed of my body parts that I didn't want that I felt awkward even thinking about what we might do, especially if it was something girls didn't do. Like be a top.( Well, unless they have a strap-on. 😛)


In the end though, my worries were for nothing because Vincent understood. He got what it meant for me and did his best to take care of that first experience. And now I want to share it with all of you, because I think it's time to take a chance on a community who loves girls like me, and to just... be unashamed of my sex life and myself. Because it's time for me to just be, to love myself as much as many others have, and will in future, loved me.

I was on my way to being an adult, and gone to a party with a group of friends. I was still living in a Boarding House for students attending an international college at the time, but it was the summer holidays and the nights were hot and humid.
The Australian heat was a sweet one I enjoyed best on the beach for the way that the sharp sting of sea air would soothe the humidity and cool the back of my neck.
It wasn't late, only late afternoon when we arrived.

My friends and others from the local town were sprawled all over a beach house that sat not 10 meters from the sands edge, whilst a bonfire raged outside.
The music was typical for the time, Metro Station's 'Shake it', A Rocket to the Moon's 'Baby Blue eyes', The Secret Handshake, The Veronica's, Panic! At the Disco, and all the other bands and singers that had made up our growing-up albums. But the song that seemed to be on repeat, that everyone requested over and over again was Youth Group's cover of 'Forever Young'. It was fitting because that's how we all felt. Like we were, and would be forever, forever, young. Many of us danced in the sand, tops came off and we swam in our underwear in the sea, laughing and crying, getting drunk and falling in love over and over again as we broke our own hearts.


I watched everyone as if they were stars shooting through the sky from my perch on the upstairs balcony. I'd been drinking raspberry mixers and my head was buzzing with soft light. The sun was setting over the ocean, sinking down into the waves as my love, Vincent, played a game of rugby on the sand. He and his friends were sun-kissed and golden, wrestling like a pack of idiots as they laughed and hollered back and forth. They were, all of them, beautiful. Like the actors of some Australian tween drama not yet released. Yeah there were the spotty ones, and the arrogant pricks, but even then they were glorious. I loved them all in that moment, but him most of all.

He was my anchor, the earth to my moon, and as he scored a try and did his victory dance -ironically, the haka, no doubt in my honor- I knew that I would never want anyone in my life as much as I wanted him in that one, perfect, infinite, moment. And when he looked up at me where I stood, dressed all in white linen with brown leather boots and flowers in my hair he'd picked up specially for me to wear, he knew it too.
It was like.... electricity, that look. His eyes were hooded and he walked towards the house, climbed the outdoor steps up to me and kissed me. It was gentle, sweet, like many of the kisses he had given me before. But this one was charged with something else. Something that was almost raw with his desire, his need to possess me as much as I wanted to be possessed by him.


Our friends laughed and teased us, making crude jokes or yelling at us to stop being so disgustingly sweet, but we didn't care. He only looked at me, and took my hand. The doors we shut behind us and he took me to the attic. There was a bed there, beside a wide bay window. The door was locked and he touched me. Just little touches, stroking my hair placing kisses on my neck, my shoulder, my fingertips, each one soft as the brush of a butterfly's wing. My heart raced in my chest with longing, anticipation and an overwhelming need for more. More of him. More of those eyes on me.

Gently, he lay me on the bed. He ran his palms down my thighs, slid off my boots and kissed the soles of my feet,, one after the other as he looked at me and told me I was his. I was embarrassed, I said he shouldn't that my feet were dirty, they smelled. He just smiled at that and kissed them again. "Love is dirty. Love stinks. That doesn't mean it still isn't beautiful. It's beautiful because it's messy and imperfect. And that's why you are, too. "I felt awkward, but was in that moment, more in awe of him than anyone I'd ever met. He could take the simplest, most mundane things about me, or about life, and make them shine and sparkle.


He stood over me, the bulge in his pants obvious. I blushed, and he leaned forward, climbing over me to kiss me, he pressed himself against me and I moaned, crying out for him. He just smiled. "Tonight?"


"Tonight." I whispered.

Slowly, we pulled off my dress until I was just in my underwear. He took me in, caressing every inch of my skin until I tingled all over. The hairs on my arms stood up, my legs I rubbed against his hairy ones, enjoying the sweet friction as I enjoyed the gentle burn of his bristles on my chin. His lips were still gentle, but sooner than I had thought my own became demanding. I wanted more, I needed more. It was almost unbearable, the intensity I felt to be filled by him. I couldn't contain it and as he slipped his fingers over the silk of my underwear, I saw stars.

When I finished panting, I said I was sorry. But Vincent only licked his fingers and said:
"That, was so sexy. Want some more?" I couldn't speak, but he knew what I needed. My bra came off and his shorts were forgotten. His lips sought my cleavage, sought my belly and licked at the pearls that had slipped into my naval. When he took his jeans off, and I saw him completely for the first time my heart jolted. It was beautiful. I took him in my hand and stroked my fingertips down his length. It was like... velvet over burning steel. Hot and heavy he jerked in my hand and a single bead of cream glistened on the tip. I licked it off and tasted a man for the first time. I was naïve, inexperienced and a little sloppy, so he told me to slow down and just enjoy it. I did. It seemed like an hour with which I held him there in my mouth, but it couldn't have been. His hands were in my hair and he whispered words of encouragement, soft moans leaving his lips in amongst a litany of curses. When he was about to lose control, he gently pushed me back, turned me over, and spread my cheeks, using his tongue to prepare me alongside his deft but gentle fingers. When he touched that special area inside me, I shuddered, crying out. He didn't stop and I'm glad he didn't. He stayed there, behind me until he felt I was ready. And then, he entered me.

Painfully sweet, it burnt as it chilled me. I couldn't control myself and for the second time, without even needing to be touched, I lost myself onto the sheets underneath us. His hands roamed my back, pulled my hair and nipped gently at the skin of my cheeks.
I could feel the thrust and swing of his undercarriage against my own, felt every roll of his pelvis and contraction of his abs. And it was glorious. The most erotic, tangibly sensual experience I'd ever hand.


He turned me over, wrapped one leg around his waist as the other went over his shoulder and he worshipped me with his body. I couldn't believe how good it felt, how much pleasure he was giving me and unable to contain myself, I again lost control.


When he followed moments later, he growled out that he loved me and collapsed on top of me. We stayed there like that, he and I for minutes, hours, days. Sweaty, still connected, listening to the sound of the party below and the crash of the waves.
Kissing, we dressed and went downstairs. Many had guessed where we'd been and what we'd done whilst we were gone, and we got a fair amount of hell for it, but we didn't care. Instead, we laughed and played and ran into the sea.



We bathed there in starlight and let the salt water cleanse us of sweat and the essence of love making. And for that entire night, I felt renewed. I felt as though my body was beautiful and desirable and worth everything. My sex was not to be ashamed of, not if it was so beautiful to him. And if he could love my body so, then so should I.

End.

• Add Comment