I had always kept it locked inside me, this secret heat that built every time I touched myself at night and stopped short, too scared to go further. At twenty-two I was still a virgin, untouched by anyone but my own fingers, and the stories other girls whispered about their first times only made the ache worse. Then came that rainy Thursday when he came over, my best friend’s older brother, the one I had crushed on for years. We were alone in his apartment, the storm pounding the windows, and I finally told him. “I’ve never done it,” I said, voice small but steady. He looked at me like I was something rare and fragile, then something hungry took over his eyes.
He kissed me slow at first, letting me set the pace, but soon his hands were under my sweater, palms warm against my skin. I confessed everything between kisses: how I had imagined this moment, how wet I got just thinking about it, how I wanted him to be the one to take it. He groaned against my mouth and pulled my sweater off. My nipples tightened in the cool air and he took one into his mouth, sucking gently until I arched and moaned. I had never felt anything like that; my whole body seemed to light up from that single point.
We moved to his bedroom without rushing. He undressed me piece by piece, telling me how beautiful I looked, how perfect my untouched body was. When I was naked on his sheets he stood and stripped too, letting me see his cock for the first time, thick and already hard. I reached out and touched it, confessing again how nervous and excited I felt. He guided my hand, showing me how to stroke him, and the way he throbbed under my fingers made me clench between my legs.
He laid me back and spread my thighs, kissing down my stomach until his mouth was right there. The first lick of his tongue against my clit made me cry out. He licked me slowly, thoroughly, learning what made me shake, and I kept talking the whole time, telling him how good it felt, how no one had ever touched me like this. When he slid one finger inside me I was so wet it went in easily, but the stretch still surprised me. He worked it gently, then added a second, stretching me while his tongue circled my clit. I came for the first time with another person’s mouth on me, shaking and gasping his name.
He moved over me then, condom on, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. I looked up at him and said it again: “I want you to be my first.” He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, pausing whenever I winced, letting me adjust. The fullness was intense, almost too much, but he kept whispering how tight I felt, how perfect, how proud he was of me for taking him. When he was all the way inside we stayed still for a long moment, both breathing hard. I felt claimed and opened at the same time.
He started to move, shallow thrusts at first, then deeper. The pain faded into a building pleasure I had never known.
I wrapped my legs around him and met every stroke, confessing between moans that I loved it, that I wanted more, that I never wanted it to end. He fucked me steadily, one hand between us rubbing my clit, and I came again, clenching around him so hard he groaned and followed right after, pulsing deep inside me.
Afterward he held me close, still inside me until he softened, and I kept talking softly, telling him how it felt better than any fantasy, how I already wanted to do it again. He kissed my forehead and promised we would take our time exploring everything I had missed. The rain kept falling outside, but inside I felt warm and changed, finally part of the stories I had only heard before.
