For Vagina
then...
My desert-island, all-time top five most memorable sexual experiences, in chronological order:
1. Amy Amberbrook
2. Penelope Wetpuss
3. Jennifer Atkins
4. Crystal Never
5. Sexie Kallgirl
These were the women who really left their mark. Canyou see your name in that lot, Lust? I reckon you'd sneak into the top ten, but there's just no place for you in the top five; those places are reserved for the kind of desires and first-experiences you're just not capable of delivering. That probably sounds crueler than it's meant to, but the fact is we're too old to really influence each other's sex lives, and that's a good thing, not a bad thing, so don't take your failure to make the list personally. Those days are gone, and legendary fucking experiences seem gone too. Sexual stuff really meant something back then. Now it's just a small boost like a coffee or having a whisky. If you really wanted to change me sexually, you should've got to me earlier.
1. Amy Amberbrook - 2010
Most nights we used to go for drinks in the pub round the corner from my house. I lived in Huffardsfield, but I might just as well lived in any suburb. It was that sort of suburb and that sort of pub, attached gaming room, restaurant and cafe, three pool tables and an attached bottle-shop. There was nothing around to give you your geographical bearings. We were 18 and had recently discovered the wide range of alcoholic drinks available at pubs. We'd try all sorts of beers and even some cocktails so long as the name sounded impressive, or the drink had been made famous by a movie character or actor (James Bond: Vesper Martini, Marlon Brando: The Godfather). If you could somehow show that these fancy or snobbish drinks had an incredibly masculine creator or aficionado, then consuming them became OK somehow.
We had no versatility when it came to sex. One minute we weren't having it and weren't interested, the next you couldn't not have it; opportunities were everywhere, all over the place. One moment you wanted to clonk girls on the head for being your sister, or someone else's sister, and the next you wanted to... actually, we didn't really mind the particulars. So long as it involved your cock and her pussy; and hopefully her mouth first. Almost overnight, these women and friend's sisters (always the hottest with the most sexual tension) had become sexual opportunities, new experiences even.
But, what did we do different each time we fucked a different girl? This time me on top; that time her on top, the other time doggy-style, and every so often a blowjob first. Girls had somewhere along the line sprouted breasts, and had found a new way of dressing. Tight clothing that hugged every curve, that simultaneously covered and drew direct attention to what had happened. And then there was makeup and perfume. Invariably applied with precision over a serious of hours before any night-out. A clear mocking of the concept that we had 'won them over'. These girls had decided long before they left their houses that they'd be going home and having sex with someone that night.
I started going out with one of them... no, that's not right, because I had absolutely no input in the decision making process. And I can't say that she started going out with me either: it's that phrase 'going out with' that's the problem, because it suggests some change in actions from the norm with an underlying parity and equality. What happened is that Dan Amberbrook's hit-as-fuck sister peeled off from the ladies table in the corner near the bathrooms and had a drink with me. I can't remember how she did it exactly, as I was halfway through a beer she'd bought me before I'd realised what had happened. I recall being temporarily bewildered and uncertain, and spending the rest of the night buying drinks for her and myself that night, and the evening after, and the evening after.
What did I think I was doing? What was she trying to do to me? When I wanted to drink with women then and now, I wanted other things immediately. Sex that night, no ongoing connection, her to buy half the drinks. But I didn't seem to want that with Amy. So what was the significance of this girl? There is no significance. The truth is we were just lost in a brief augmentation of reality. One part imitation (people I could picture using repeated alcohol and bar banter to seduce women: James Bond. Enough said.) One part hormonal slavery to one part uncontrollably attraction to friends' sisters. We were little animals, which was to say we had only just matured and been able to appreciate a quasi-emotional relationship prelude to sex as enhancing of the overall experience.
But listen Lust. On the fourth night of me buying her drinks and us talking, she pulled me back into the pub bathrooms. She chose the men's room, but it was like she didn't really care either way; and she pushed me back to park my arse down on a toilet in the largest cubicle available. In an instant, my fly was undone and my dick was out and my knob was a couple of centimetres past her tonsils. Amy's tits had come out somewhere along the line, and I was happy to look st them, as her beautiful face and slender neck were like a pogo stick bouncing down to my balls. Then there was the sex. Missionary and cowgirl were clearly never even a consideration, and no one trusts pub bathroom toilets enough to use the floor for doggystyle. She put one leg up on the toilet bowl and we fucked face-to-face and I did her again from behind. Then with her supporting her weight on the top of the cistern, then she puts one leg in the air like a gymnast, then one where she's pushed against the cubicle wall and I fuck her from behind then infront. It was amazing. One minute I was drinking with her at the bar, then in the bathroom getting my dick sucked and fucking her in positions I've not used before or since, then blowing my wad into her mouth and watching her swallow it, then back at the bar having another drink. She bought me a Godfather cocktail and acted really alluring, leaning to show all parts of her body's bare skin.
"Slut!" Commented someone from down the bar, and I couldn't help myself but smile at that.
And that was that. What had I done that led up to this life-changing sexual experience? First night: drinks, talk. Second night: ditto. Third night: ditto. Fourth night: amazing sex. OK. OK. Maybe that's how it's meant to happen. Maybe I've been playing too short a game before and since. Round about that second ditto I think we've found a comfort with each other that lets us explore further sexually. Was I an amazing experience for her, or do all of her relationships burst in boots of colour and amazement with exotic and erotic sexual activities? Could she have at least let me know what made what we shared so special. She could at least have given me a few hints on how to make things so right!
My relationship with Amy Amberbrook lasted 24 hours (six hours drinking times three, plus the drinking and sex, plus trying to recapture the magic and failing times two), so I could hardly claim that I'd gotten used to her amazing personality or soul-fulfilling sex. In fact, I can hardly remember her at all, now.
Long brown hair? Maybe. Small? Smaller than me, certainly. Big green eyes and a slightly freckley complexion? That could have been her, or it could have been someone else.
Whatever.
But if we were doing this list in sex impact level, rather than chronological order, I'd put it right up there at number two. It would be nice to think that as I've got older times have changed, sexual appetites have advanced, females less reserved, sexual horizons broader, senses more stimulated, fetishes further developed. But there seems to be an element of those 24 hours in everything that has happened to me since; all of my other sexual stories seem to be a scrambled version of that first one. Of course, I've never been right back at the bar immediately afterwards, and my ears haven't been greeted with others calling the girl a slut again immediately following, and I haven't had the glory of the girl buying me drinks afterwards and flaunting her flawless body at me afterwards to the envy of all in the bar.... not really, not actually, not as such. I just wish it was that way sometimes.
2. Penelope Wetpuss - 2012
Penelope was a nice girl, and, nowadays, I'm all for nice girls, although then I wasn't so sure. She had a nice bum and tits. Nice apartment in nice neighbourhood, and nice haircut. She had nice smiling eyes and a nice face, and a nice younger sister who I fucked a few times about a year later. Penelope was nice looking, and her top 5 sexual fantasies were in a penthouse, in a jacuzzi, in a limousine, in a school, and on a trampoline. She was so nice, in fact, that she wouldn't let me put my fingers, tongue or dick inside her vagina. I got so much oral sex, and anal whenever I wanted. This was absolute heaven for awhile, but I started needing pussy more and more so I finished with her, and obviously, I told her exactly why. She cried and cried and I hated her for it as it meant she wasn't even open to the idea of change.
I can imagine what sort of person Penelope Wetpuss became: a nice person. I know she went to college, did a lot of guys and landed a reputation as the anal slut. I would guess that she is sexually more open now too, and willing to try new things, but not sick stuff that'd make you vomit. She was a version of these things when we went out, and at another stage in my life I would have found all this anal and oral a godsend. Then, however, I wasn't interested in mouth and ass anymore, just pussy, and she was therefore no good to me.
I would like to be able to tell you that we had long interesting and deep conversations and looked into whether had a relationship really developed we'd have been able to progress further - she would have made a lovely full time girlfriend - but I don't think we ever talked. We went to movies, we had dinners together, and I got my dick sucked and fucked her ass in her bedroom and my bedroom and her living room and my living room and in empty rooms in parties and in a jacuzzi and a school and on a trampoline at least. We were wrestling over the same old issue. Sometimes I got so tired of trying to rub her clit that I tried 'accidentally' fucking her pussy instead of her ass, a gesture that had a sort of self-parodying wit about it: it was like trying to borrow a fiver, getting turned down and asking for fifty-grand instead.
These were questions mates at the pub asked: "How much pussy are you getting?" "Do you finger her mutt loads?" "Are you even getting vag at all?"; and so on. Penelope wanted to save her pussy as the special hole for marriage only or something, which we just felt too young to really contemplate. As I reached around for her pussy while fucking her ass, she moved my hand up to her tits again for the one hundred thousandth time. Attack and defence, invasion and repulsion... it was as if anal was commonplace and pussy was the hole that was forbidden under all circumstances - but it was lawfully mine and I wanted it back.
I was aware Penelope was one of a kind. I'd wanted oral and anal from girls all my life, and here I got it, but I still needed pussy, and that became the problem.
