In Fidelity Ch. 00: Prologue

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.

Read any women's magazine and you'll see the same complaint over and over again: men - from teenagers to grown adults - want to fuck women's asses and get their dicks sucked and disgusting semen swallowed. They lose interest in pussy and want to fuck the painful ass because it's forbidden. These complaints, to me, are kind of ironic. Back then I got all the anal and oral I wanted. Penelope didn't want her pussy touched, fucked or stimulated. The perfect match really is Penelope and the horrible man described by women in Cosmo.

If somebody had asked me why I was so hell-bent on touching Penelope's pussy and not being happy with the ass and mouth till she was ready I wouldn't have known what to say. And if somebody were to ask Penelope if she thought she was stopping me by letting me have my way with the more private regions of her body dick was never intended to enter, I bet she'd be stumped for an answer too. What was in it for me? I wasn't after any emotional importance or pussy significance. Why didn't she want her most erogenous zones stimulated? I have no idea.

And in any case, maybe I didn't want to experience Penelope's pussy as much as I thought. Maybe other people wanted me to fuck her pussy more than I did. After too many months of getting fought away from her pussy, I'd had enough. I gave Penelope one last try, but I did everything I could to be seductive and arousing more than committed or long-term. The anal was great, but she fought me off her pussy, and when I walked her home we hardly spoke.

I was offhand with her the next time we went out, and she gave me a blowjob and swallowed as I drove her home. She invited me inside when we got to her place, but I shrugged her off. "What's the point?" I asked her. "It never goes anywhere."

The time after she asked whether I still wanted to hook up with her, and I looked the other way. We had been fucking around for months and months. These days I would kill for someone as open to oral and anal as her, but we broke up and she made me feel really guilty for calling it quits.

I went off and had some easy sex with the town slut, but for whatever reason, her pussy just wasn't all I'd hoped it would be. Then when I was in the bar getting drunk about a week later, the man-slut of our group burst through the door in pride one day, "Oi Fucktard! Guess who's pussy I knobbed last night!"

I felt the room flip.

"You never got so much as a finger in her pussy in months, and I shagged her the first week!"

I believed him. Everyone knew he fucked anything he wanted from whomever he wanted. I felt outgunned, outperformed and humiliated.

It shouldn't have mattered so much. He'd been fucking pussy the whole time I was restricted to mouth and ass, and he's fucked more women than the rest of the bar combined, but I still couldn't understand what happened. How had this change in Penelope happened?! How had Penelope gone from doing anything but strictly not pussy, to just letting a man-whore root her cunt? I didn't feel sorry for anyone except myself.

I expect Penelope's turned out alright, and I know I'm alright. Short of a few STI's, maybe the man-whore's alright too? Or maybe he's knobbed one too many colleagues wives and gotten himself into the shit.

Women who disapprove of men - and there's plenty to disapprove of - should remember that if they give us unlimited access to all three holes, we'll do almost anything in the world for them, and that's got to count for something.

3. Jennifer Atkins - 2013

Jennifer was a close friend's girlfriend; and I slowly pinched her as my fuck-buddy over a period of a few months. It wasn't easy: it requires a great deal of time, application, and giving her unforgettable orgasms. My mate and Jennifer started going out when I started fucking around with Penelope, but they lasted. They were the golden couple representing the golden example of what was possible. I'm not sure why I was so determined to fuck it all up for them, and for everyone who needed a positive example that people could stay together. You know when you see beautiful women at the pub looking like amazing images of perfection, and you take her home to your place? She never looks the same in the morning. She only looked good in the evening after lots of hours infront of the mirror and lots of drinks, around lots of peer pressure and influence. Well it was kind of like that when I had sex with Jennifer. Don't get me wrong. She makes this list for her promiscuity alone. No matter what, where or when or in front of who, Jennifer was keen no matter what. Generally pussy, occasionally oral and only very rarely anal, but I was okay with this.

You'd say this was childish, Lust. You'd say I'd been waiting for this girl during my whole time with Penelope, then I get her and ditch her for not having a totally different non-physical thing. You'd say that I clearly value more than just just sex and it's clearly the case right here, but you'd be wrong. I have fucked many different girls in many different holes since, and none of it was as soul crushing or depleting as sex with Jennifer became.

What shook me most was how it felt when Jennifer broke it off with me. I'd been planning on ending things with her for awhile, but holding on knowing Jennifer's promiscuity was unlikely to be matched again. I wasn't ready to just end things though, I tried to prove I was fit real with her. I bought a cheap ring that looked like the real deal and tried proposing to her.

I don't know. Selling my soul to marriage seemed easier than admitting to Jennifer that it had all been a stupid mistake, that I'd just been fucking around; if I could show her my life commitment, my perculiar logic ran, I wouldn't have to bother trying to prove myself or our relationship, and things would just be easier.

She quite rightly turned me down of course, and we broke up a few days later. In this time period I came to realise I'd flipped my perspective on long-term relationships, all female body-parts used for sex, and had become bitter and contradictory, wanting both more and less.

See Lust? You won't change everything around me like Jennifer could. It's happened too many times, to both of us; we'll just go back to the friends and pubs and fuck-buddies we had before, and leave it at that, and nobody will notice the difference, probably.

4. Crystal Never - 2014

I met Crystal at a strip-club. I was studying entrepreneurship, she told me she was saving as she studied medicine.. or nursing... or childcare... When I first saw her, I knew she was the type of girl I'd wanted to fuck since I was old enough to want to fuck girls.

She was tall, with long blonde hair and legs that just went on forever, and she looked dramatic and sexual. Even her name seemed dramatic and different and erotic, as up until then I had lived in a world where girls had precious names, not named for precious stones, or last names so provocative.

She was naked a lot, so you didn't have those awkward moments where you weren't sure if you were allowed to slip your hand below her clothing yet.

And she liked fucking me. She liked fucking me. She liked fucking me. She liked fucking me. She liked fucking me.

At least, I think she did.

I think she did. Etc.

I have never been entirely sure what it is women like about me, but I know that ability in bed and confidence help. Even I know how hard it is to doubt doubt someone with self belief who satisfies you, and I certainly did my best in that area. I didn't make a nuisance of myself, and never outstayed my welcome, not while there was a welcome to be outstayed, but I was kind and thoughtful and honest and straight-up with her. I told her she was beautiful and remembered her birthday and bought her little gifts to show I was thinking of her. None of this was an effort though, as her sexy naked body just stayed on my mind constantly, and she showed her thanks when you made her happy. There was no effort involved. Crystal's friends started envying me, and I was okay with that, as it didn't hurt for your girl to know you're a guy in demand and a wanted man, even though all I ever did was act out of self interest.

I moved house to follow Crystal, which moved me to a new group of people who didn't have preconceived notions of me, and I liked who I was with her. Crystal knew me as an adult. An adult who visited strip clubs; but held his own in conversation, sex and personality, and I could feel myself becoming a desirable man alongside Crystal. But still, I felt like a bit of a fraud. Like one of the guys who shaves his pubes for a girl and pretends he's always cared about what it's like for girls to go down on him. I felt as though I was going to be found out at any moment, someone would burst into the room just as Crystal and I were kissing saying "Rob only care about pleasing his dick!" With a full track record of my penis's performances. Crystal would see it and pack me in. It never occurred to me that to get to where she was when I met her, she'd likely have had obscure and sexual goals and visions, and a disregard for the abscurity of sexual history. As far as I was concerned, she was born with a hairless pussy and beautiful body; and remained that way to this day.