tagNovels and NovellasSexual Biography of a Young Woman Pt. 01

Sexual Biography of a Young Woman Pt. 01

bysammican1©

I've started writing a series of accounts about my life in London; mainly true accounts, with just a little embellishing here and there. They're about my sex life to be precise, but then what other type of life is written about on Lit?

A biography I suppose, but a short one and an unfinished one. Is it arrogant for a, nearly, twenty one year old to write a bio? Probably, but then, hey, what the hell, I want to tell my short story so let's see just how many want to read it.

How many want to read about how I lost my virginity when I was eighteen, had an affair with a thirty something man just after that and how since then I've been strongly attracted to older men. About my time at university, learning about girls and how male lecturers ignore the no fraternising with female students rule. How I became a glamour model, part-time and my conflict over what goes on in the studio when there's just the model and the cameraman there.

The accounts flow naturally and are intrinsically linked. I strongly urge you to read them in the sequence I wrote them. Whatever way you do read them, though, enjoy them, leave whatever comments you wish and e-mail me if you'd like to discuss anything.


*

Account One

Getting Started – Part one.


Chapter 1

I've come to realise at the grand old age of twenty years and eleven months that I'm a sexual oddity. There's rarely a minute that goes by in any waking hour that I don't think of sex, yet I don't yearn to do it. I can go ages without it and, unlike what some of my more active friends at stage school, say, I don't get warts and pimples after a month without sex. In fact I don't even get that frustrated if I go months with out it. Maybe part of my oddness is that I enjoy mental sex. I can sometimes be shagged six or seven times a day up there, but be celibate down below.

I also prefer older men. Not because of their paunches or baldness, but because of their experience. A slow lazy fuck based upon years of knowledge always beats a quick urgent one where we're learning together, or, mega times worse, where I'm the teacher!

I have no inhibitions about sex. Well intellectually at least. In theory I'd do anything, children, animals and body waste apart that is. I cannot see that anything that two people want to try or do that gives them both pleasure and excitement can be wrong. Come to that I can't think of anything that one person wants to do that I'd say is wrong, with the above caveat on children of course.

So summing me up.

I'm an inexperienced, incredibly open-minded sexual adventurer, who doesn't do it much but when she does she prefers it with older men.

Now is that odd or what?

Sweet smelling candles, luxurious, silk sheets preferably on a four poster bed, wine or champagne, vases overflowing with roses and me in the finest, sheerest, laciest, sexiest nightdress imaginable. With me, a handsome, tall twenty something man with the consideration of a Samaritan, the tenderness of a nurse, the experience of an octogenarian and a cock like a bull. That's was how I imagined being deflowered. Loving, caring, considerately and so absolutely romantically it would make Mills and Boon, yes both of them, cry with envy.

An Audi TT isn't the ideal car to get laid in at any time. It may look funky, corner like a train and go like shit but as a fuckwagon, forget it. There's no proper back seat and the tunnel running down the middle with the gear lever sticking out makes acrobatics essential for all those brave enough to try. So, in the back, half standing, half kneeling bent over the pushed forward front seats I gave up my virginity. Maybe it was inelegant, unladylike, undignified and uncomfortable, but for me it was also fabulously exciting and pleasurable. I'm the only person I know who thinks they had an orgasm when their cherry popped; possibly that accounts for my sexual oddness. On the other hand, of course, it may have been pins and needles or a bout of cramp, but as the somewhat nerdy kid from down the street shoved his thing in me, squeezed my tit, my left one actually, and humped away for a few seconds I believe I climaxed.

(Oh yes that's another part of my oddity. I adore intelligence, hence the nerd. A really smart remark, an incisive comment, a statement about a little known fact or an analysis of a complicated issue can, literally, have me creaming myself. And if someone tells me something that's wonderfully intellectually challenging I can almost feel my knickers sliding downwards before the end of the sentence, well let's say paragraph, after all I'm not that easy!)

I could hardly believe when I got home and mum said.

"Had a nice evening dear?" that she couldn't see that I'd changed. Surely she'd notice I was no longer a kid? Surely she can see I was now a woman? But no, all she said was.

"You'd better get off to bed Samantharrrrrrrrrr,"

She always emphasised the ending a of my name as a long arrrr, like the sound you make when a doctor looks down your throat. That's why, to all but her, and dad when he's trying to get in her good books or wants shag, I'm now Sam or Sammi.

It was the same with dad the next morning. Not a spark of interest in his new daughter. No reference to my new womanly look, well I guess that was diluted somewhat by the cream and red striped summer blazer we wore at my ultra posh private school. I forgave him for not welcoming me to the grown up world of people that fucked, for I was also wearing the blue gingham, pleated skirt, white blouse and tie of a schoolgirl.

I desperately wanted to tell someone, anyone almost so the lollipop lady was extremely lucky I didn't whisper as she showed us a cross the road by the school gates.

"I got laid last night, I'm now a woman."

I mulled over who I could tell but couldn't think of who I wanted to tell. I wanted loads of girls and some boys to know that I was now in play, up for it, fully experienced and ready for anything, but to tell them it was that prick Kelvin Adams and that he'd had me in the back of his mum's car, an uncool Audi TT with no back seat at that, just wasn't on.

I decided to be enigmatic about it, although I wasn't quite sure what that was, but it sounded good. So I wandered around for the next few days with an enigmatic smile on my face and an enigmatic look in my eye.

"Are you ok Samantharrrrrrrrrrr?" Mum asked after a day or so, "you sure you're not sickening for something?"

So much for me being enigmatic.

I had sex with Kelvin a couple more times; more as a reward really for services rendered rather than as a strong need on my part, but I could see it was going absolutely nowhere. Not that I wanted it go any special place, for, after all, there is a limit to how much raw intelligence compensates for looks; and being able to decline Latin verbs as you deflower a maiden doesn't really compensate for acne!

In any case I'd got what I wanted and needed. I was a woman now. I was experienced; after all I'd been fucked six or seven time now. The mystique had gone; I could have sex whenever and with whoever I wanted. I think that may well have been the first time I realised just what a sexual oddity I was. For now I'd done it, I didn't have a desperate urge to keep doing it.

Chapter 2

I was a bit of a whiz at tennis. I'd played for both my school and my county and with a little more dedication I could probably have been even better. My coach told me that with a little more dedication I might be able to get to get into the Wimbledon tournament, but dedication and a teenager finding their way in the grown up world aren't natural bedfellows. So by the time Kelvin had plucked my cherry, my love affair with tennis was on the wane. I still belonged to a club and played quite a lot but not with the ambition of improving. After all I'd found men, well Kelvin, and sex. They were much more interesting.

"We've been drawn away to a couple from Colchester" Richard said to me, "I'll drive you down, OK?"

"Sure," I replied over my shoulder pretending not to be too keen.

Richard was a thirty something, single guy at the tennis club. Quite a good player and an even better looker, we'd been paired up by the club's match organiser to represent the club in a county mixed doubles knock out tournament.

He was tall, well built and always seemed to have a tan. He was funny and witty and spent quite a lot of time with the junior section, not just the girls but also giving tips and help to the boys as well. Nearly all of the girls, me included, fancied him like hell, but at the dances and parties he always had a cracking looking, sophisticated woman on his arm, who, he is reputed to have told others, "was just a friend, nothing serious.". Although he flirted quite outrageously with us younger girls no one admitted or claimed to have bedded him.

"Fancy a drink Sam, or wouldn't your mum like that?" he asked looking at me and smiling as we bowled along the A12 in his BMW.

"Sure, I'd love to," I replied ignoring the mum remark.

"You are old enough aren't you; it's so difficult with you young fillies?"

Sort of sitting up straighter in my seat and probably pushing my chest out a bit I said, rather grandly.

"I am over eighteen you know."

He laughed and glancing across patted me on my knee.

"I know, just joking Sam, I can tell you are."

I didn't quite know how to take him. He was always joking and taking the piss so you had to be both on your guard and on your toes when with him. I really couldn't tell whether he was sending me up or chatting me up most of the time.

"Are you at school tomorrow?" He asked as we sat in the pretty little bar of the country pub he'd pulled into.

"Yes I am."

"And what time do you have to be home on a school day?"

"Oh mum and dad are pretty cool about such things, so around eleven's fine."

He looked at his watch. "Good, we've got ages then, so there's no rush."

We'd won the tennis match love and love and the whole thing was finished in just over half an hour. We'd had a quick cup of tea and a sandwich with our opponents before setting off for home at around seven so it was now just eight o'clock. As he said, plenty of time. For what though, I wondered, my heart beating a little faster.

I'd had a shower after the match, even though I'd hardly perspired, and had put on a clear pair of panties and bra under the white track suit I was wearing. I guessed Richard had done the same but had no idea what he was wearing under it.

"Would you like another?" he asked pointing at the emptied glass that had contained white vermouth and soda, a drink I thought sounded all sophisticated and grown up when I'd asked for it? "Or shall we go and take a slow, lazy drive home," he went pausing before adding, "as you don't have to home until eleven."

As he was saying that his eyes were boring into mine and he had a slight smile on his face. That made me feel slightly nervous, for he was clearly flirting and I knew I was out of my depth.

"Whatever, I don't mind."

"You sure Sam, you don't mind?"

I laughed to cover my embarrassment. "I'll leave it up to you what we do."

Still with that smile on his face he leaned forward, glanced around at the other drinkers in the small bar, put both hands on my knees, lowered his voice and whispered.

"Sam, if you leave it to me do you know what we'll do?"

I could hardly breathe let alone talk so I stammered.

"No Richard, no I don't"

"Shall I tell you what I would like to do?"

"Yes, yes please," I croaked lowering my eyes so I escaped from his almost hypnotic gaze.

He paused for a while his gaze running over me as he seemed to be deciding what to say. Then again with that little smile and with his fingers pinching my knees he said.

"I'd like us to get in the car, find somewhere very quiet and isolated and then I'd like to kiss you Sam."

"Oh God," I couldn't help blurting out in amazement, shock and surprise.

He laughed. "It's not that terrible an idea is it?"

"No, no," I laughed, "you just surprised me that's all," I went on trying desperately hard to appear to be cool about it and give the impression this sort of thing happened to me all the time.

"So the ideas ok then?" he asked cleverly putting me on the spot, "It's just the surprise is it?"

I had no idea how to handle this so I had a sip of my drink, completely forgetting the glass was empty.

Again holding my gaze he said. "So shall we then?"

Trying to be smart I said. "What have a drink or a surprise?"

Leaning even further forward and quite unashamedly peering right down the front of my tracksuit top, he kissed me on the cheek.

"No Sam neither of those, this," he muttered as his lips found mine.

BMW 5 series do have back seats: big, wide, deep back seats: luxurious, leather back seats: back seats that are big enough to lie out on. And it was on one of those that Richard fucked me. He didn't just fuck me, though; he taught me and educated me. And I loved every single minute of those two and a half hours on the back seat of his BMW.

I was easy, I guess. I put up only a cursory struggle after we'd pulled into a little car park in some woods just off the busy A12. When he leaned across and kissed me, I did say, "Richard you shouldn't." But I knew as his hand so confidently found and so maturely and properly squeezed my breast, my words lacked conviction. He knew it as well for he took not the slightest bit of notice and continued caressing my breast just as if I'd said nothing.

In some ways, no in most if I'm honest, I was pleased he was being so assumptive about me. He obviously thought I was far more experienced than I was for he was treating me so grown up, like a woman, like an adult lover really, I suppose. But seeming experienced and play-acting at it are far different from actually being experienced, for I had no real idea how to act or what to do.

"God I've wanted to do this to you for so long Sam, you can't imagine," he breathed into my ear as his hand on my breasts and his tongue and lips on my mouth did such delicious things to me.

I thought I knew about kissing, knew how to kiss and knew what a good kiss from a boy was all about. But I was so wrong, as Richard showed me so quickly. What he showed me was that I may well have known how boys kiss, but not men and their lovers.

They kiss with adventure, excitement, confidence and passion. They kiss with mouths wide open, tongues deep in the other's throat and lips grinding and squirming together. They suck on each others lips, firstly the top then the bottom, they nibble their partner's tongue, they pull it and the other's lips into their mouth and they kiss all over the mouth, face, throat and neck. Yes, I soon learned I knew nothing about kissing, but I learned very quickly and soon I was kissing Richard with the verve, energy, eagerness and passion that he was kissing me.

I hardly realised he'd slid the zip down on my trackie top down. That is until I felt his hand right on my bra, then with hardly a hesitation, inside it and without further ado lifting it from its cup as he pinched the rapidly hardening nipple.

"Oh Sammi you have such magnificent breasts, I've lusted for them for ages."

God did adults really talk like that? Did they say such expressive things? I knew they did in films, but in real life?

"I've wanted you do badly Sam is almost hurts. When I see you at the club, especially in your tight tops and that skimpy pink skirt you wear, I get an instant hard on."

"Oh Richard," I sighed as I ran my fingers through his long, rather old fashioned hairstyle, "I bet you think that about all the girls at the club."

"No Sam," he said sounding very sincere, "it's just you." Then, playing what was probably his trump card, he went on. "You're different to the others, more adult, more grown up, they seem like little girls, you're a woman."

I was gone. I was totally out of it; out of my depth, out of my mind and, had he have asked, I'd have been out of my clothes as well.

"Let's get in the back?" he asked, saying it, though, more like and order than a suggestion, "I want to be able to undress you, properly."

Oh God he's going to undress me, and properly, in a car, I repeated in my mind, fervidly wondering what, properly, meant when applied to undressing. No may I or would you like that? No simply, I want to undress you properly. So wonderfully assumptive, so erotically perfect, so shudderingly exciting and so, so, so grown up. It was obviously such a natural and normal thing for two such grown ups to say to each other that I was on my feet struggling back between the seats with no further asking. As I sank back into the corner of the big, black leather, BMW, backseat waiting for Rick to join me, I realised I'd always preferred beamers over Audis and now I knew why. Thinking like the woman I now was and like the mature lover that Richard was treating me as, I mused, "they're so much better to be fucked in than Audi's!"

But I had little time for musing, for he quickly clambered into the back and took me in his arms. Pulling me to him, he was half lying on me and half on the seat as we again kissed deeply and, I thought, quite wildly, certainly wilder than any I'd ever done previously. His hand was again all over my breasts, outside the thin bra squeezing and rubbing and inside pinching and caressing. My trackie top that I'd covertly zipped up as I transferred from the front to the back, came, as if by magic unzipped again and his fingers were easing the bra cups away from my boobs as we continued kissing and kissing and kissing.

He reached up and switched on a dim light in the corner that was presumably used for passengers to read and not disturb the driver. It doubled very well, though, as a light for the driver to look at a passenger's tits by.

"Oh God Sam, your breasts are gorgeous, so firm, so full and so fucking lovely I could eat them," he moaned into my ear, his words arousing me almost as much as his hands and the large lump of his erection pressing into my hip.

He was fumbling behind me with my bra clasp. That made me smile for the three or four boys and Kelvin who'd done that to me all seemed to struggle with that and I thought, "even experienced men find undoing a girl's bra a mystery.

"Oh fuck," he said right into my ear, "these bloody clasps, I don't know why they aren't made of Velcro."

"Oh Rick, don't be silly, they're easy."

"Well if they're so bloody easy you do it."

I fell for that line, for, somewhat foolishly, I sat up, reached behind me and as quick as a flash undid the clasp. Letting the strap go the cups slithered down my boobs a bit but stayed on them, covering my breasts a little. In a thick voice he croaked.

"Take it off Sam, please take it off."

I knew that to get the bra off I'd have to remove the trackie top and that once that was off I wouldn't easily get it back on and I'd be in the car half naked. Well at least half I thought, for he'd clearly only just started and I didn't for one moment think he was going to stop there, nor really did I want him to. But it was dangerous; anyone including the police could suddenly come into the car park and catch us. I couldn't bear to think of the repercussions if they took my address and then told my parents.

I didn't want Rick thinking I was a wimp or that I was unused to such things, for so far I think I'd done a pretty good job of giving him the impression that I was far more experienced than I really was. I was, though, scared.

"No Richard I can't"

"Why, why not?"

"Someone might come."

"Well I hope we both do," he laughed pulling the cup away from my left breast so that the nipple was bared.

"Don't be silly," I smiled back pulling the track top back around me. "I can't undress here."

"But you would if you were sure it was safe then?" he cleverly retorted kissing me and slipping his hand inside the top right onto my boob.

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