tagFirst TimeLost Lover Ch. 01: The First

Lost Lover Ch. 01: The First


Chapter 1


Note: The similarities between my characters and any real person is, in fact, intentional. These are stories about people and things that really happened to me. To some, they will seem quite tame. To others, they will seem the height of the Erotic. But I believe that a true story beats a fantasy any day.

And if you should recognize yourself in these stories, then you should know that I hold you in a very special place in my heart. It was not coincidence that I chose the title "Lost Lovers" instead of "Notches in my Bedpost".

Rate and comment at will!

Welcome to my first chapter detailing...well...my life. Or, at least, a part of it. These stories are meant to detail the various stages of my growth as a sexual being. True, amongst the Pure Deviants out there, I know I do not hold a candle. But, to the lovers, the romantics, the ones who make love with their hearts as much as their bodies, I know I have a place of pride amongst you.

I have had to skip over two stories in the series due to a legal issue. See, the truth is no one's life journey, sexual or otherwise, starts when they're eighteen. It usually starts much younger than that, as was the case when met and encountered two wonderful women in my life. I may decide to fudge the facts for the sake of age but, for now, I figured I'd start with something age appropriate. Ironic, really, because the year I lost my virginity wasn't even a month after I started University and turned 18.

Her name was Nicole.

When I entered into school at Christopher Newport University in Newport News, VA, I have to admit that getting a girl was the farthest thing from my mind. I'd lost a very dear friend that year, and emotionally, if not psychologically, I was nothing short of a mess. But, as is usually the way of the world, life deals out the cards and all a man can do is play the hand he's dealt. So was my first meeting with Nicole.

One of the requirements for school was a seminar dealing in what to expect from Campus life. Virginia's way of squeezing a few extra grand out of students by requiring an additional course just to outline how they were going to squeeze all your money out of you. Virginia is annoying that way (and I can say that as I've now been to three different parts of the state, and I'm personally hoping for one of them to sink into the ocean). It was there that I'd meet Nicole, though no connection was made right there.

If I could describe her in two words, I'd have to say Bohemian Firebrand, as that was truly what she was. A striking redhead with a truly bohemian style, I'll admit that, at first, I didn't pay attention to her. Most women like her were so far out of my league I'd need a spaceship in order to get near orbit. Shorter, about five foot eight, the top of her head would barely reach my chin, which makes sense as I was then and am now a six foot four giant. Lanky, shy, self conscious, it was a wonder I ever attracted this young red head's eye.

Once the course was over, I did my best to put her out of my mind and go on with my life, trying my best to study as well as I could. It wasn't until a couple weeks later that I heard a knock at my dorm door. When I opened it, who would I see but that same striking red head.

I was shocked! We hadn't talked while we were in the course, we hadn't talked since that time, and now, here she was! At my doorstep!

"Hi!" I said, a little shy and unsure, thinking that maybe she was here to see my roommate.

"Hey!" she replied, a big smile on her face. "I'm Nicole, we had that one class together..."

Thank God for a very good memory. "Oh, right! Hi!" I said, a little more enthusiastic. "Um, can I help you?" I was a real smooth talker back then.

"Yeah, I hope you don't mind, I asked a friend of yours where your room was and he pointed me in the right direction."

"Really?" I replied. I didn't have many friends, so I was curious who I had to thank for an angel on my doorstep. "Who?"

"Oh, tall guy, long blonde hair," she described, pursing her lips. "I can't remember his name."

"nnnnNo, sorry, don't recognize anyone like that," I replied. Which was strangely true. A near photographic memory, and I couldn't place her description to a face. I combed a hand through my own dirty-blonde hair. "Um, well, come in." I said, regaining my manners.

I offered her a seat on my bed while I took a seat in a chair, still full of gentlemanly virtue being a virgin and all, and wanting to be "proper".

"So," I said, trying to fill in the uncomfortable tension in the air. "What brings you by?"

She shrugged. "Well, was tired of studying and wanted to just hang out with someone. You seemed like such a nice guy that I thought 'Why not?' You know?" she said with a shy giggle.

Now, before you all roll your eyes and say "Sure, that's what brought you here" need to understand a few things. For starters, I am not, to quote a certain cultural icon, a "sexy beast". In those early years, I did not exude a confidence that said "I'm a great lover, want a free sample?" So, it seemed perfectly logical, if improbable, that she'd visit me just to "hang out". I'm a man with a named parking space in the friend zone, it's expected. And, at the time when she decided to hang out with me, I'm pretty sure that's why she came to visit.

Of course, I'd be lying if that "pull" wasn't there. That intangible urge to get closer to each other. And as we sat and talked for hours about everything from the weather (yes, we did talk about the weather) to our lives up to this point (she was half a year older than I), that pull became very strong. Strong enough to the point where I was forced to say:

"Hey, I don't want to sound forward but this chair is kind of uncomfortable," I said. Which was true, Dorm chairs are absolute shite. "Ok if I sit on the bed next to you? You can cover up with a blanket as a...a barrier, or something."

Yes, to my embarrassment, I did say "Use the blanket as a barrier". But, in my defense, it was one of those extremely comfortable ones that had at least half a foot in thickness and was perfect for cold winter nights. And I was trying to be proper, a gentleman. I should have known a "blanket barrier" would have made little difference, but, hey, I was young.

She sat at the foot of the bed, by the door, wrapped in my covers, while I sat at the head of the bed, leaning against the wall. But, of course, if you concede to the "pull" by a little, you will eventually concede for the lot. It wasn't long till I had edged closer to her. Not much longer till she edged closer to me. And soon, we were sitting next to each other, nearly cheek to cheek. Her eyes were a calm shade of blue, like a lazy flowing river. And her hair wasn't so much red as a strawberry-blonde, once you were this close to it. I could smell the scent of her shampoo, one of those amazing fruity concoctions that tell you "Yes, I am a woman, and my hair smells like a fruit salad. Don't I smell yummy?" A question to which most men, myself included, would answer with an emphatic "Yes!"

Which is what I did.

You see it in the movies, you read about it in books. Hard to believe sometimes that it really happens. But, that night, for me, it did. Looking into each other's eyes, leaning in close, and then your lips make contact with hers. And, suddenly, as if your life has always been missing something, you feel whole, complete in that kiss.

It starts out slow, tentative. Feeling each other out, getting to know one another: how they taste, how they feel. How your arms wrap around each other, how long you can hold the kiss till the need to breathe forces you to separate. But then, it starts to grow, you start to feel the need, the desire. You hold onto each other tighter, you pull each other closer. Your feel their hands as they hold your cheek, wrap around your neck, hold tight to your shoulders.

For me, a man of deep, fiery passion penned up for too long, it was amazing. I wanted more, needed more, craved more. Like a man needing his fix after too long sober, I craved the woman who was Nicole.

When the kiss finally broke, when we were finally able to pull free of each other, I was doing everything I could not to grin like an idiot. I failed mostly because she was already smiling brightly at me. I felt whole again, complete. And yet, still, there was something missing.

I took comfort that night, as Nicole slept in my arms. Just sleeping, peacefully. I would have been a very crass gentleman if we'd "done it" there and then. Instead, it was just the two of us, lying beside each other, feeling each other's heartbeat.

It wasn't until three weeks later, having visited each other and spent time together during that time when things started to heat up.

Alright, picture this. Go back to that first fumbling moment. Maybe you'd planned something special with your beloved, maybe it had just happened one night, maybe it was just one of those things where it was blue moon.

Me, it was something else entirely.

After that first night together, snuggled up like two kittens on a pillow, we'd spend an evening with each other, here and there. And, while I was a virgin, she was not. Though, not by much, as she'd only had one other man before me. But, I digress.

You know how it is. Those early days, as you're getting to know each other, find out more about each other, you start to explore. Your hands and hers laying claim to new and exciting territory. A fondle here, a playful spank there, all in good fun, and all just to tease and torture the hell out of that special someone.

That night is when everything came to a head. That night, my roommate was out again, and it was just Nicole and I, snuggling in bed, waiting for sleep to descend. But, as if there was something different in the air, we were more awake than we had ever been. And this is how the scene played out.

Allow me to paint for you the picture. There we were, spooned against each other. Her head resting on my arm as her body formed itself to mine. Our feet entwined, my arm around her, holding her close. My virgin hormones going on full alert, for no other reason than to be an embarrassment to a young man who hadn't a clue. And she could feel it, pressing against her backside, complimenting her for how well she attracts me. Propriety starts to fly out the window when a woman knows, with certainty, that you're interested, that you want her, desire her. Which is why she held my hand that was around her and guided it into the top of her shirt.

At first, I was only touching the cool skin of her collarbone. But that wasn't enough for her (or for me, for that matter). Edging it down, she guided my hand to where she wanted it. Underneath her bra, she encouraged my hand to cup her, hold her full breast in my palm. The feeling of her nipple poking me. That erotic sound, a woman's moan, escaping from her lips as I tease her with my tender, hesitant fumblings. I have never been able to resist that sound. More than my own desire, I want to hear the sound that I am pleasing my woman.

Her other hand is not idle, seeking her own plaything. It settles in between us, cupping the bulge in my jeans. I can't help but groan, trying to stifle it, afraid to let out. But it's such a deep feeling, pouring up from where she touches me, that the sound can't help but come out.

I turn her to face me, pulling her in for a kiss, filled with equal parts passion, lust, and love. We are new, together in a way that I had never experienced before in my life. I'm eager, hungry. I take her shirt and bra off with the speed of a devil, and she has my shirt off before I can blink, already fumbling at my pants. She rolls me on top of her, hiking up the skirt that she's wearing and removing her panties, as I finish removing my constricting jeans and underwear. I'm suckling at her breasts in fiery need, when she touches me. I gasp, unaccustomed to the sensation of a female hand on me. All through my groin, it's as if my rod was a screw that had been tightened. She plays with me as I kiss her, knead a breast in one hand while I hold myself up with another. But she's eager, she gives me no time to think, placing a condom on and positioning me into her moist entrance.

I look into her eyes. I'm unsure, afraid. I wasn't sure if this was a line I wished to cross. But what I see in her eyes...I can't describe. It pulled at me, tugged at me, begged me. Enough stimulation had coursed through my brain to override everything I had ever believed before. An as her arms pulled me into her, I felt her warmth envelope me.

Gentlemen, recall with me. That first time you entered a woman. Put aside your crass views and deviant morals for a moment, and just feel it. Did you love the woman you were with? Had you, by your own decision, tied yourself to her by your own heartstrings so tightly that you could never think straight? And then, that moment, when you first enter her, when you're bound in heart and body, can you remember it?

With my memory, I can never forget, nor would I want to, the sensation so overwhelming. It was like my mind and body had been opened to a world I had never even dreamed of, had in fact believed no longer existed for me. Her lips curled into an "O" as she took me, her eyes shining brightly as she felt me buried deep within her. The scent of her hair and her sex. The feel of my shaft in her warmth. The sound of her saying my name so sweetly. Ecstasy.

And it was only the beginning.

When you're young and new, you never really do last long. But I tried. Oh, did I try. I wanted this to last for as long as possible. Going slow, feeling the sensation of her sliding on me, of me sliding into her. Picking up the pace, feeling the pleasure build exponentially with each thrust. But her moans were my undoing. When she started moaning my name. That was when the pleasure became too much. I spilled my seed into her, into the condom, and felt my strength leave me.

For a moment, I could not move, could not think. I had masturbated before, of course, yet it was nothing compared to what I had just experienced. But the one thing that astounded me was the feeling that came afterward.

Most men, so I have been told, feel relieved, empowered by the act of sex. At that moment of their release, they actually feel good. And there's plenty of medical reasons for that. For me, my memory cannot lie. That first time I made love to a woman, I felt a wave leave my body. All that pleasure, leaving as my seed was spent, leaving room for only one sensation.


I imagine it's what Adam and Eve might have felt after eating from the tree. A new knowledge imbedding itself in your mind, leaving you with the knowledge that you can never go back. I had broken a promise that I had made to myself long ago.

But, at that moment, I didn't care. I had in my arms a woman I believed I loved, had chosen to love. That was all that matters.

So began the longest relationship I have yet had in my life. For a solid eight months, we were together. Through a two week separation where I went to visit my family in Europe for Christmas, to a two month separation when I dropped out of University because I wasn't driven enough and didn't want to waste any more money.

It was during those final two months apart that I lost her.

But that's a story for the next chapter.

I hope you liked the story. As embarrassing as it sounds, it actually is all true, if a bit odd. If you like it, rate it, comment on it, give me feedback. If you don't like it, rate it, comment on it, give me feedback. If I get enough feedback, maybe I'll post another one! Remember, I was only eighteen when this happened to me. In the time since, I've had a few more lovers in my life, with stories even more amazing since. But you never forget your first, though.


Joseph Degrep

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