imjustagirl2
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- Oct 10, 2002
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Captain_Kirk said:
Yes.
Your first time
- Thread starter Captain_Kirk
- Start date
Yes.
sportschick
Active Member
Girth
forever_town
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- 13,307
wicked said:
Even Al Bundy lasts longer than that. I keed. I keed.
W
wickedwritah
Guest
sportschick said:
Shouldn't you be searching for rodeo-boy photos?
sportschick
Active Member
wicked said:
I can multi-task, darling.
westcoastvol
Active Member
- Joined
- Feb 18, 2003
- Messages
- 2,450
Well, your ol' pal, Mister Grille-finisher himself couldn't resist chiming in on this one.
My church youth group made the 45-minute trip to "Young Christians' Day" at Silver Dollar City in Pigeon Forge, TN. You might know it better as Dollywood these days. Lots of, um...Christian teenagers wandering around the park, checking each other out, riding the rides. In that order. The pheromones were flying through the air at Mach 37, essentially drowning out the smell of freshly-fried funnel cakes.
I was a seventh-grader wandering aimlessly through the park. I wasn't the most popular kid in my youth group. Actually, I was more like Christian Slater in "Heathers," reading issues of Creem magazine tucked into my bible, giving the preacher the sheen of courtesy from the back row of the church every Sunday, but without firearms or Drano. Plus, I was in the initial throes of acne.
In other words, I was a loner. And on Young Christians' Day, for once, goddammit, it worked out perfectly. I wound up picking up a girl from the next town over quite by accident. Rhonda. Her name rhymed with “yum.†This. Girl. Was. Hot. Hot with a capital "J."
Her braces? B...F...D. I had only been kissed once before in my life. C’mon, here was a girl who had no pre-judgements of me. She could give two ****s in a Ziploc bag about my vast collection of topical craters and she clearly didn't give a **** about the fact that I came in third in the school spelling bee, was wearing a 70s era New York Yankees' plastic replica batting helmet and a gallon or two too much of my old man’s Lagerfeld.
We hopped on an indoor boat ride called the Flooded Mine Ride. Slow, dark, perfect for making out (or peeing off the back of the boat, whatever the case may be). And for one glorious afternoon in May, I was invincible. I was Shaft, Captain Marvel and Bo and Luke Duke all wrapped into one. I was Travolta, doing that big, swingin' **** walk in the opening sequence of "Saturday Night Fever." Had it happened two years later, I would’ve been Rambo, too.
After we macked out on the Flooded Mine Ride 20-some odd times, we parted company that evening. But somehow, we managed to stay in touch over the years. Maybe out of desperation; God knows I wasn't getting any action. Perhaps it was me, trying to recapture those moments of pre-pubescent invincibility I hadn't had before or since. We'd see each other every now and again, fool around, that sort of thing. She liked me for being me. It was as much an oddity then as it is now. Plus, she had hall-of-fame walk-off grand slam tits. Not too big, not too small. Just perfect.
Fast-forward a few years later to Election Day, 1984. There was no school that day, and I was about a month shy of my 18th birthday. Perfect. I travel the 25 miles to her house. We fool around. I wrap the rascal and begin guiding it in on the path to manhood. Like every other rookie, I had trouble bustin' her cherry.
Rhonda looks over at the clock. "Oh ****, you gotta go! My dad'll be home for lunch in ten minutes!"
Seeing how her dad was a cross between Lt. Colonel Bull Meechum and Kim Jong Il all wrapped up into a bank loan officer, I put my clothes on as I ran out the door. I was in such a hurry that I forgot to take the condom off.
With 90 minutes to kill, I went to Burger Chef for some lunch. After I had had enough of looking at a Burger Chef and Jeff tray-liner, I thought it might be nice to pick up a cassette, something with some romantic mood-setting music. Upper East Tennessee isn't exactly known for its record stores, but one place stood above the rest: K-Mart.
Cassette in hand, I return back to her pad. I pop in the tape, slap on a jimmy wrapper. Reagan was on his way to a second term and I was crossing the bridge over the river Poon into manhood (hey, at least something good happened that day). Several minutes into it...BAM! Adios, hymen!
Unfortunately, my only point of reference of what to do afterwards was from a porn tape I had seen a week prior. It was my first one. While I didn't finish like a porn star, I did manage to kinda throw my back out a bit in the process. Nice. Eventually, we said our goodbyes and I raced back home, the smell of freshly-minted woman still on my mouth and fingers as I clocked in to work at The White Store.
I saw her a couple more times over the years, but as always, life has a way of turning people into memories. Whenever we parted ways, that old Dan Fogelberg song, "Same Ol' Lang Syne" would run through my head...
Met my old lover in the grocery store
The snow was falling christmas eve
I stole behind her in the frozen foods
And I touched her on the sleeve
She didn't recognize the face at first
But then her eyes flew open wide
She went to hug me and she spilled her purse
And we laughed until we cried.
We went to have ourselves a drink or two
But couldnt find an open bar
We bought a six-pack at the liquor store
And we drank it in her car.
We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to now
And tried to reach beyond the emptiness
But neither one knew how.
I said the years had been a friend to her
And that her eyes were still as blue
But in those eyes I wasnt sure if I saw
Doubt or gratitude.
But let’s fast-forward once more, to 2005. I'm sitting in the bar at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills, waiting on a friend on business from out-of-town to come downstairs. I kill some time watching the Russian hookers work the room. When that got boring, I struck up a conversation with a guy next to me.
We shot the **** for a few minutes, when I look over his shoulder. "Holy ****! That's Paul McCartney!" I said, trying to be discreet.
"Him again?" the stranger replied, "Shiiiit, that mutha ****a's been in here every night this week." He turns around, "Hey Paul, how's it going?"
Needless to say, I'm stunned. My new friend says, "You wanna meet him?"
"Noooo, no...I'm sure he got tired of that stuff decades ago. Just let him be."
"Hey Paul," he said, "I want ya to meet a friend of mine."
As Paul walks over, my friend whispers to me, "What's your name?"
"Westcoastvol," I replied.
"Paul, I want you to meet my friend, westcoastvol." Paul extends his hand. I shake it. *******, it's calloused. Makes sense, because it's the hand that has gone up and down the neck of a bass guitar for a few decades. I'm barely able to mouth the phrase "God bless you."
He laughs and says, "Well God bless you, westcoastvol."
He talks to my new friend. I take a healthy swig of my Jack and Coke and gather up the stones to say something meaningful to him. "You know, Paul, I'm gonna tell you something you've probably never heard before."
"Go on, try me," he says with a laugh.
"I lost my virginity while listening to the "Give My Regards To Broad Street" soundtrack that I bought at K-Mart back in '84."
Paul considers it for a moment. "Hmmm...actually, come to think of it, I don't think anyone's ever told me that before." He laughs, we raise a glass. "Thanks for the help, buddy" I say.
"Anytime...nice meeting you, westcoastvol...and…God bless you again."
And with that, he turned and caught up with his posse. And instead of hearing the chorus of "No More Lonely Nights" running through my head, I heard Dan Fogelberg instead...
The beer was empty and our tongues were tired
And running out of things to say
She gave a kiss to me as I got out
And I watched her drive away.
Just for a moment I was back at school
And felt that old familiar pain
And as I turned to make my way back home
The snow turned into rain...
My church youth group made the 45-minute trip to "Young Christians' Day" at Silver Dollar City in Pigeon Forge, TN. You might know it better as Dollywood these days. Lots of, um...Christian teenagers wandering around the park, checking each other out, riding the rides. In that order. The pheromones were flying through the air at Mach 37, essentially drowning out the smell of freshly-fried funnel cakes.
I was a seventh-grader wandering aimlessly through the park. I wasn't the most popular kid in my youth group. Actually, I was more like Christian Slater in "Heathers," reading issues of Creem magazine tucked into my bible, giving the preacher the sheen of courtesy from the back row of the church every Sunday, but without firearms or Drano. Plus, I was in the initial throes of acne.
In other words, I was a loner. And on Young Christians' Day, for once, goddammit, it worked out perfectly. I wound up picking up a girl from the next town over quite by accident. Rhonda. Her name rhymed with “yum.†This. Girl. Was. Hot. Hot with a capital "J."
Her braces? B...F...D. I had only been kissed once before in my life. C’mon, here was a girl who had no pre-judgements of me. She could give two ****s in a Ziploc bag about my vast collection of topical craters and she clearly didn't give a **** about the fact that I came in third in the school spelling bee, was wearing a 70s era New York Yankees' plastic replica batting helmet and a gallon or two too much of my old man’s Lagerfeld.
We hopped on an indoor boat ride called the Flooded Mine Ride. Slow, dark, perfect for making out (or peeing off the back of the boat, whatever the case may be). And for one glorious afternoon in May, I was invincible. I was Shaft, Captain Marvel and Bo and Luke Duke all wrapped into one. I was Travolta, doing that big, swingin' **** walk in the opening sequence of "Saturday Night Fever." Had it happened two years later, I would’ve been Rambo, too.
After we macked out on the Flooded Mine Ride 20-some odd times, we parted company that evening. But somehow, we managed to stay in touch over the years. Maybe out of desperation; God knows I wasn't getting any action. Perhaps it was me, trying to recapture those moments of pre-pubescent invincibility I hadn't had before or since. We'd see each other every now and again, fool around, that sort of thing. She liked me for being me. It was as much an oddity then as it is now. Plus, she had hall-of-fame walk-off grand slam tits. Not too big, not too small. Just perfect.
Fast-forward a few years later to Election Day, 1984. There was no school that day, and I was about a month shy of my 18th birthday. Perfect. I travel the 25 miles to her house. We fool around. I wrap the rascal and begin guiding it in on the path to manhood. Like every other rookie, I had trouble bustin' her cherry.
Rhonda looks over at the clock. "Oh ****, you gotta go! My dad'll be home for lunch in ten minutes!"
Seeing how her dad was a cross between Lt. Colonel Bull Meechum and Kim Jong Il all wrapped up into a bank loan officer, I put my clothes on as I ran out the door. I was in such a hurry that I forgot to take the condom off.
With 90 minutes to kill, I went to Burger Chef for some lunch. After I had had enough of looking at a Burger Chef and Jeff tray-liner, I thought it might be nice to pick up a cassette, something with some romantic mood-setting music. Upper East Tennessee isn't exactly known for its record stores, but one place stood above the rest: K-Mart.
Cassette in hand, I return back to her pad. I pop in the tape, slap on a jimmy wrapper. Reagan was on his way to a second term and I was crossing the bridge over the river Poon into manhood (hey, at least something good happened that day). Several minutes into it...BAM! Adios, hymen!
Unfortunately, my only point of reference of what to do afterwards was from a porn tape I had seen a week prior. It was my first one. While I didn't finish like a porn star, I did manage to kinda throw my back out a bit in the process. Nice. Eventually, we said our goodbyes and I raced back home, the smell of freshly-minted woman still on my mouth and fingers as I clocked in to work at The White Store.
I saw her a couple more times over the years, but as always, life has a way of turning people into memories. Whenever we parted ways, that old Dan Fogelberg song, "Same Ol' Lang Syne" would run through my head...
Met my old lover in the grocery store
The snow was falling christmas eve
I stole behind her in the frozen foods
And I touched her on the sleeve
She didn't recognize the face at first
But then her eyes flew open wide
She went to hug me and she spilled her purse
And we laughed until we cried.
We went to have ourselves a drink or two
But couldnt find an open bar
We bought a six-pack at the liquor store
And we drank it in her car.
We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to now
And tried to reach beyond the emptiness
But neither one knew how.
I said the years had been a friend to her
And that her eyes were still as blue
But in those eyes I wasnt sure if I saw
Doubt or gratitude.
But let’s fast-forward once more, to 2005. I'm sitting in the bar at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills, waiting on a friend on business from out-of-town to come downstairs. I kill some time watching the Russian hookers work the room. When that got boring, I struck up a conversation with a guy next to me.
We shot the **** for a few minutes, when I look over his shoulder. "Holy ****! That's Paul McCartney!" I said, trying to be discreet.
"Him again?" the stranger replied, "Shiiiit, that mutha ****a's been in here every night this week." He turns around, "Hey Paul, how's it going?"
Needless to say, I'm stunned. My new friend says, "You wanna meet him?"
"Noooo, no...I'm sure he got tired of that stuff decades ago. Just let him be."
"Hey Paul," he said, "I want ya to meet a friend of mine."
As Paul walks over, my friend whispers to me, "What's your name?"
"Westcoastvol," I replied.
"Paul, I want you to meet my friend, westcoastvol." Paul extends his hand. I shake it. *******, it's calloused. Makes sense, because it's the hand that has gone up and down the neck of a bass guitar for a few decades. I'm barely able to mouth the phrase "God bless you."
He laughs and says, "Well God bless you, westcoastvol."
He talks to my new friend. I take a healthy swig of my Jack and Coke and gather up the stones to say something meaningful to him. "You know, Paul, I'm gonna tell you something you've probably never heard before."
"Go on, try me," he says with a laugh.
"I lost my virginity while listening to the "Give My Regards To Broad Street" soundtrack that I bought at K-Mart back in '84."
Paul considers it for a moment. "Hmmm...actually, come to think of it, I don't think anyone's ever told me that before." He laughs, we raise a glass. "Thanks for the help, buddy" I say.
"Anytime...nice meeting you, westcoastvol...and…God bless you again."
And with that, he turned and caught up with his posse. And instead of hearing the chorus of "No More Lonely Nights" running through my head, I heard Dan Fogelberg instead...
The beer was empty and our tongues were tired
And running out of things to say
She gave a kiss to me as I got out
And I watched her drive away.
Just for a moment I was back at school
And felt that old familiar pain
And as I turned to make my way back home
The snow turned into rain...
imjustagirl2
New Member
- Joined
- Oct 10, 2002
- Messages
- 0
Anyone can top that, I owe you a drink.
Rumpleforeskin
Active Member
- Joined
- Dec 10, 2007
- Messages
- 6,572
Well, my first time was with my first and only college girlfriend. We had been going out for a little over 3 weeks and we did everything up to the point of sex, but felt we better wait. She was the type of girl that Chris Rock talked about in his "Bigger and Blacker" tour. She would give oral to the point where she could say she did it and then stop.
I really didn't care, since I enjoy to give oral on a woman. I prefer to either be guided in on a landing strip or thrust my face into a barren joyland, but sometimes it's necessary to be like a domesticated Pac-Man and carpet munch. She was decently pruned, but it was almost necessary to pull an America and impeach the Bush. But since we were a couple, I did whatever was necessary to please her.
So anyway, like Mike, we agreed that it was at the point in our relationship, where it was about time to bump uglies. We didn't know when, but we knew that we were.
She came over to my place one night, and I decided, why not play a game of strip Mario Kart on Nintendo 64. You lose a race, an article of clothing is removed, and if you get swept, you perform a sexual favor for the other person. At other times, we played by the same rules, but included vodka shots as well.
By the time we get to Donkey Kong's Parkway, I am pretty much ready to go traipsing through her jungle. I could see it her eyes too as she whizzed around the corners and zoomed over the river. Lo and behold, out of nowhere, when she hit the peel I left for her, she began slurping down the banana. I don't know what got into her, but she became the type of girl that loved to please.
So time progressed, and the endless loop of Mario Kart music is playing in the background, and it pretty much sounds like porn music. The only thing better would be playing Super Mario Bros and plunging Luigi into her tube while the sound goes at the same time.
Well I trojan up and we get into the love-making. I swear that the next room over thought I was beating my girlfriend because all I think they could hear was a loud smacking followed by a moan. In the back of my mind, I could hear every guy I knew talking about how the first time would last all of a minute. Well, I don't know what I did, because I wasn't drunk, and I certainly wasn't thinking about sabermetrics, but we went for a long time.
We had to take a break for a minute while she padded herself dry of sweat and we switched positions. I looked at the clock and it's been over 2 hours and I still didn't orgasm, but she's had hers a few times over. My arms were getting tired and she was getting sore, so we stopped.
Granted, the second time we had sex, I lasted about five minutes, but I will take that average.
I really didn't care, since I enjoy to give oral on a woman. I prefer to either be guided in on a landing strip or thrust my face into a barren joyland, but sometimes it's necessary to be like a domesticated Pac-Man and carpet munch. She was decently pruned, but it was almost necessary to pull an America and impeach the Bush. But since we were a couple, I did whatever was necessary to please her.
So anyway, like Mike, we agreed that it was at the point in our relationship, where it was about time to bump uglies. We didn't know when, but we knew that we were.
She came over to my place one night, and I decided, why not play a game of strip Mario Kart on Nintendo 64. You lose a race, an article of clothing is removed, and if you get swept, you perform a sexual favor for the other person. At other times, we played by the same rules, but included vodka shots as well.
By the time we get to Donkey Kong's Parkway, I am pretty much ready to go traipsing through her jungle. I could see it her eyes too as she whizzed around the corners and zoomed over the river. Lo and behold, out of nowhere, when she hit the peel I left for her, she began slurping down the banana. I don't know what got into her, but she became the type of girl that loved to please.
So time progressed, and the endless loop of Mario Kart music is playing in the background, and it pretty much sounds like porn music. The only thing better would be playing Super Mario Bros and plunging Luigi into her tube while the sound goes at the same time.
Well I trojan up and we get into the love-making. I swear that the next room over thought I was beating my girlfriend because all I think they could hear was a loud smacking followed by a moan. In the back of my mind, I could hear every guy I knew talking about how the first time would last all of a minute. Well, I don't know what I did, because I wasn't drunk, and I certainly wasn't thinking about sabermetrics, but we went for a long time.
We had to take a break for a minute while she padded herself dry of sweat and we switched positions. I looked at the clock and it's been over 2 hours and I still didn't orgasm, but she's had hers a few times over. My arms were getting tired and she was getting sore, so we stopped.
Granted, the second time we had sex, I lasted about five minutes, but I will take that average.
dreunc1542
Active Member
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2005
- Messages
- 7,437
No one tells a sex story like westcoastvol. That was damn impressive as usual.
F
Flash
Guest
Is that a debut post? Hell, that's good stuff.
And thanks to westcoastvol. In addition to providing one hell of a read, he also taught me two euphemisms for using a condom: wrap the rascal and jimmy wrapper.
Damn.
And thanks to westcoastvol. In addition to providing one hell of a read, he also taught me two euphemisms for using a condom: wrap the rascal and jimmy wrapper.
Damn.
Norman Stansfield
Active Member
Flash said:
Do you have any good euphemisms up in Da Nort' for such an activity?
F
Flash
Guest
Norman,
Not really. But we do use the tender back skin of a freshly clubbed baby seal.
Not really. But we do use the tender back skin of a freshly clubbed baby seal.
