By Anonymous, Contributor, Wellesley College
It wasn’t the first time, but it was my First Time. It wasn’t the first time we’d been naked, or almost. We’d messed around, used our fingers, done things that some people might call sex. When no one in the bed (or the couch, or the back seat of the car, whatever) has a penis, then it’s not always clear what counts as the First Time. For me, though, there was never a doubt in my mind. Until I’d eaten a girl out, I was a virgin.
We were making out on her bed, the door wedged shut with her violin case and the music turned up so her grandmother wouldn’t hear us. I took her shirt off and kissed her stomach, sliding my hands from her breasts down to her waist, then hooking my fingers under the waistband of her shorts. I looked up and met her eyes as I unbuttoned them, pausing for a beat before I pulled them over her hips. Breathing in, I kissed lower on her stomach as I looked down. I opened my lips and made eye contact one more time as I let my tongue glide over her.
I’d spent more hours thinking about this moment then I’d care to admit. Ever since I was 13 and I discovered the internet, I’d been reading anything I could find about queer sexuality. Between middle school and that summer afternoon when I was 17, I’d imagined over and over what it would be like to have sex with another girl. I was good at envisioning the foreplay—everything surrounding the actual sex. When it came to my mouth on the other girl’s pussy, though, I drew a blank. Would I like it? Would it taste weird? And wouldn’t I just want to get eaten out myself? Wouldn’t it be kind of a chore? Most importantly, how exactly would I go about doing it? Is that the kind of thing you have to discuss beforehand? Or do I just dive down under the covers and go?
I almost stopped and asked her whether it was ok. I didn’t want to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with, and we hadn’t explicitly discussed sex. Or rather, we’d talked about sex plenty—but never about exactly what it meant for us. At the last moment, though, I just went for it. It probably lasted less than a minute in total, just a few flicks of my tongue before I raised my head and moved on to more familiar territory. She tasted salty and a little sweet, not at all like I had imagined. While I was eating her out she smiled and moaned a little, and a few minutes later she briefly went down on me. I drove home with her taste still in my mouth, feeling like I’d accomplished something.
I lost count long ago of how many times I’ve given head since that summer afternoon. The taste is the same, but almost everything else is different. I’ve learned to do more than just flick my tongue a few times, and my stamina has improved considerably. I’ve gone from being a curious, sexually frustrated 13-year-old to an experienced oral-sex enthusiast. Giving head can be dominant or submissive, sweet or aggressive. In general, the longer it lasts the better it is. It can be the main event, or a fun afterthought. There’s something addictive about the feeling of holding every fiber of delicious tension in my mouth, of being able to make her come or keep her waiting with a single arc of my tongue. It’s not a chore, and it’s definitely not boring or gross. When my words aren’t enough, when I can’t articulate the force of my love and affection for her, going down on my girlfriend is the best way I know to show her what she means to me.
It wasn’t the first time, but it was my First Time. It wasn’t the first time we’d been naked, or almost. We’d messed around, used our fingers, done things that some people might call sex. When no one in the bed (or the couch, or the back seat of the car, whatever) has a penis, then it’s not always clear what counts as the First Time. For me, though, there was never a doubt in my mind. Until I’d eaten a girl out, I was a virgin.
We were making out on her bed, the door wedged shut with her violin case and the music turned up so her grandmother wouldn’t hear us. I took her shirt off and kissed her stomach, sliding my hands from her breasts down to her waist, then hooking my fingers under the waistband of her shorts. I looked up and met her eyes as I unbuttoned them, pausing for a beat before I pulled them over her hips. Breathing in, I kissed lower on her stomach as I looked down. I opened my lips and made eye contact one more time as I let my tongue glide over her.
I’d spent more hours thinking about this moment then I’d care to admit. Ever since I was 13 and I discovered the internet, I’d been reading anything I could find about queer sexuality. Between middle school and that summer afternoon when I was 17, I’d imagined over and over what it would be like to have sex with another girl. I was good at envisioning the foreplay—everything surrounding the actual sex. When it came to my mouth on the other girl’s pussy, though, I drew a blank. Would I like it? Would it taste weird? And wouldn’t I just want to get eaten out myself? Wouldn’t it be kind of a chore? Most importantly, how exactly would I go about doing it? Is that the kind of thing you have to discuss beforehand? Or do I just dive down under the covers and go?
I almost stopped and asked her whether it was ok. I didn’t want to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with, and we hadn’t explicitly discussed sex. Or rather, we’d talked about sex plenty—but never about exactly what it meant for us. At the last moment, though, I just went for it. It probably lasted less than a minute in total, just a few flicks of my tongue before I raised my head and moved on to more familiar territory. She tasted salty and a little sweet, not at all like I had imagined. While I was eating her out she smiled and moaned a little, and a few minutes later she briefly went down on me. I drove home with her taste still in my mouth, feeling like I’d accomplished something.
I lost count long ago of how many times I’ve given head since that summer afternoon. The taste is the same, but almost everything else is different. I’ve learned to do more than just flick my tongue a few times, and my stamina has improved considerably. I’ve gone from being a curious, sexually frustrated 13-year-old to an experienced oral-sex enthusiast. Giving head can be dominant or submissive, sweet or aggressive. In general, the longer it lasts the better it is. It can be the main event, or a fun afterthought. There’s something addictive about the feeling of holding every fiber of delicious tension in my mouth, of being able to make her come or keep her waiting with a single arc of my tongue. It’s not a chore, and it’s definitely not boring or gross. When my words aren’t enough, when I can’t articulate the force of my love and affection for her, going down on my girlfriend is the best way I know to show her what she means to me.