How will I ever truly understand my motives? Was I curious about what my ten years of sexual experience would bring to this young virgin's education? And was that driven by ego? Was I, rather, yearning for a clean slate, one who wouldn't judge me because she didn't know any better? Or is there just something sickeningly fundamental about wanting to fuck an eighteen-year-old virgin?
It's harder for me to admit that I might have actually liked Chloe. A couple weeks in, after her mom started to suspect that Chloe and Hailey weren't as inseparable as Chloe's lies made them out to be, I even fantasized about a future together down the line. I imagined that I could shape her into a well-rounded, literate, free-thinking woman. That I would help lay her foundation, and Chloe would find me again a couple years out of college, after earning her own life experience, and turn out perfect for me.
It felt both romantic and disgusting at the time, but now it just feels disgusting.
The faults I consistently attributed to Chloe's youth finally ended up proving to be less callowness and more personality flaws. It took three strikes for me to understand this:
1. One thing I made clear before anything happened was that her teachers could not find out about our affair. I knew her high school English teacher because he used to be mine, and he hustled to get me my old teaching position. Well, the precocious auteur that she is, she couldn't resist making such hints in her creative writing assignments, and he overheard my name during class once when she was chatting with a friend. That wasn't a fun email correspondence with Mr. Derry. But I let it go.
2. She got my friend fired. Not on purpose. My friend Jeff works for a company that does focus testing. He hired Chloe as part of a group to test a product whose brand name was being kept under wraps. Afterward, while the three of us were having dinner, he spilled the beans in confidence. Granted, he never used the word secret, but he never thought she would pass his cell phone number to her New York Times reporter family friend over dinner the following week. Well, it got traced back to him and he got canned. I gave her the benefit of the doubt. So did my friend. (This is big-hearted Jeff who never thought less of me for infusing the stitch of his duvee with vomit.)
3. Figuring it only proper to show Chloe my manuscript after she let me judge so many of her essays, this time I explicitly stated not to show it to anyone. She claims she didn't recall me saying that while she proudly read it aloud to her friends to "try and get feedback on it" for me. That finally crossed the line.
In some ways, I chalk all of these mistakes up to her age, but, at the same time, I doubt every eighteen-year-old would commit these same follies. Chloe called me the day after I yelled at her for showing off my manuscript and told me that she couldn't be with someone who made her feel as bad about herself as I did. She told me that I was wrong to blame these mistakes on her age, and, in doing so, I wasn't letting her be her own person, but rather, that I was turning her into "an eighteen year old" and not Chloe.
I was surprised to hear her break up with me, mostly because I thought that I had already done that on the phone the previous day. I also thought it a mistake for her to try and take responsibility for her actions, as I was giving her an excuse that she apparently didn't want. I wasn't sure whether or not to respect that attitude.
I can't say that I regret anything that happened with Chloe, though I probably wouldn't have done it if I had envisioned this outcome. While I may repent it now, I do know that if I hadn't have fucked the girl, I would have always wondered what it would have been like. And now I know. So there's that.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Finish What Ya Started
I found out Chloe was a virgin before Christmas. It wasn't a shock, but the way she wrote made me hope it wasn't so. After her birthday, Chloe laid it on thick, and all of the topics I had postponed discussing because she was underage, she sucked from my brain like a thirsty embalmer. It wasn't too long before she was lying to her mom and visiting my house instead of Hailey's.
I tried to be careful with her. At first I didn't let her enter my bedroom, and when I finally did, I made sure to sit on separate furniture. I don't really know what my hesitation was, but something compelled me to release the brakes slowly.
It was the day we sat on the same couch that we first kissed. My heart lunged into my rib cage. My hands sweat, but not more than hers.
It felt wrong to kiss her and I stopped. I absolutely felt like I was kissing a teenager, not because she slobbered all over me, but because she took my cues like directives. The inequity was apparent, and I knew that this path would lead to emotional attachment, if not for eternity, than at least for longer than I could support. I tried to explain this, and, as one would expect, she denied it.
I couldn't stop seeing her. Something about the way she hugged me, letting her fingers slide down my forearms as she released, the way she pressed her cheek against mine and breathed warmly onto my neck, it was more than I could give up. She looked at me like she wanted me to change her life, and I knew that she would remember everything that I said and did.
I asked friends their opinions and the ones who read my blog wanted me to do it, and the ones who didn't thought I should be careful. No one said a definitive no, except my father. I wanted to listen to him.
I met her on the beach on Christmas, close to sunset. It was an extremely windy day and we took refuge next to a lifeguard tower. I told her that I had decided we shouldn't keep seeing each other. She asked me why. I told her that I couldn't support a relationship with her, and that she can't see now how she would get attached to the guy who took her virginity.
Her response: Then fuck me and don't date me.
After all of my deliberation and counseling, these crass words suddenly flipped a switch. It might sound awful, but those were the sexiest words I had ever heard spoken to me. All of a sudden, the realistic possibility of sleeping with beautiful Chloe seemed tangible, and my fantasies for the past two months were on the verge of materializing.
That night she made arrangements to sleep over. As we started to take our clothes off, she seemed happy and relieved. I felt a pang of disappointment when I saw that she was shaven. How did porn chic infiltrate the 18 and under crowd?
I soon found out that Chloe hadn't had any type of sex, which made me hesitate for no more than a minute. Although the situation now felt that much more ridiculous, I had already made the decision, and I was going to follow through.
It hurt her a lot, more than the two virgins I had slept with during college. Regardless, it went well. She cried appropriately and we laid together in bed looking at each other for a long time. I thought that I had done right by her, that I had made the experience everything that I could.
She told me that she was happy that I was her first, and that she couldn't imagine someone better to lose it to. At the time, I believed her, and I did for the next couple of weeks. It is only now, a month later, that I know I was deluding myself.
I tried to be careful with her. At first I didn't let her enter my bedroom, and when I finally did, I made sure to sit on separate furniture. I don't really know what my hesitation was, but something compelled me to release the brakes slowly.
It was the day we sat on the same couch that we first kissed. My heart lunged into my rib cage. My hands sweat, but not more than hers.
It felt wrong to kiss her and I stopped. I absolutely felt like I was kissing a teenager, not because she slobbered all over me, but because she took my cues like directives. The inequity was apparent, and I knew that this path would lead to emotional attachment, if not for eternity, than at least for longer than I could support. I tried to explain this, and, as one would expect, she denied it.
I couldn't stop seeing her. Something about the way she hugged me, letting her fingers slide down my forearms as she released, the way she pressed her cheek against mine and breathed warmly onto my neck, it was more than I could give up. She looked at me like she wanted me to change her life, and I knew that she would remember everything that I said and did.
I asked friends their opinions and the ones who read my blog wanted me to do it, and the ones who didn't thought I should be careful. No one said a definitive no, except my father. I wanted to listen to him.
I met her on the beach on Christmas, close to sunset. It was an extremely windy day and we took refuge next to a lifeguard tower. I told her that I had decided we shouldn't keep seeing each other. She asked me why. I told her that I couldn't support a relationship with her, and that she can't see now how she would get attached to the guy who took her virginity.
Her response: Then fuck me and don't date me.
After all of my deliberation and counseling, these crass words suddenly flipped a switch. It might sound awful, but those were the sexiest words I had ever heard spoken to me. All of a sudden, the realistic possibility of sleeping with beautiful Chloe seemed tangible, and my fantasies for the past two months were on the verge of materializing.
That night she made arrangements to sleep over. As we started to take our clothes off, she seemed happy and relieved. I felt a pang of disappointment when I saw that she was shaven. How did porn chic infiltrate the 18 and under crowd?
I soon found out that Chloe hadn't had any type of sex, which made me hesitate for no more than a minute. Although the situation now felt that much more ridiculous, I had already made the decision, and I was going to follow through.
It hurt her a lot, more than the two virgins I had slept with during college. Regardless, it went well. She cried appropriately and we laid together in bed looking at each other for a long time. I thought that I had done right by her, that I had made the experience everything that I could.
She told me that she was happy that I was her first, and that she couldn't imagine someone better to lose it to. At the time, I believed her, and I did for the next couple of weeks. It is only now, a month later, that I know I was deluding myself.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Drop Dead Legs
Yes, Chloe has those. She has drop dead legs, though I am historically more of a boob guy. Her boobs are small but finely shaped - I love those kind too. Recently, I have tended to desire plump asses, as that last girl, Morgan, left me wondering where to grab when she was pressed against me.
Chloe has thin, long legs, perky, smallish boobs, and a butt to hang onto...I can imagine. No, I have experienced it, and I will write about it next post. However, this post is about something else. It's about what Chloe has.
What some women don't realize, and what I didn't realize until a month ago, is that not all guys get turned on simply by an attractive naked female body. There are several things that feed into a man's sexual desires, whether they be physical, mental, aural, or olfactory. What I've found is that certain aspects of a girl that I normally find sexy might not be working for me on any given day, so the more tools I have, the easier it is to stay excited, and, let's now be honest, keep my erection.
Maintaining an erection with a new girl is easy - something is always exciting about a new body, different clit, unique sounds she makes. But, now that I'm older (it started at the ripe old age of 26), my erections have not been automatic. I use the tools of a girl's anatomy and personality to keep me good for her pleasure, but they do wear down. My friend Jon suggested that work stress and general self-confidence can also play a part in it. He may be right, but I know - and I've thought a lot about this - that I'm right too.
It happened a month into it with Sofia. To backtrack: on the second date Sofia let me under her Peruvian quilt and it was splendid at first. We had gone meringue dancing earlier that night and she made me feel like a born-again Bar Mitzvah boy - popped my first boner on the dance floor in 14 years. Her hips twisted like curly peyes, and when she rocked them against me, I couldn't help but nudge her back.
However, after a few weeks of pretty consistent sex, the condoms began to feel thicker, and her moaning turned into a good song that I played on repeat one too many times (think Paper Planes circa August 2008). While it may seem as though I am destined to tire of every girl at some point for all eternity - and I'll admit that the possibility pains me every day - the box of tools Sofia gave me, though they were powerful ones, felt like a starter kit compared to the walloping contractor's package Chloe slid under my Christmas tree that December 25th we took the plunge.
You see, what Chloe has on her side is excitement. Her legs, breasts, ass, and lips are supplemented by her sexual curiosity, youth, and impressive learning curve(s). Knowing that the songs she moans are being written for the first time, in real time, grows my sexual exhilaration. She writes well and plays piano better. She makes me laugh with terse, acute text messages, and follows my eyes when I look away. She moves like I taught her to, and she orgasms with intensity that I haven't known for a while.
It's been a month with Chloe, and while I feel there is something wrong about this, that I should have moved past this kind of pleasure by now at 27, almost 28, I still haven't softened for the girl.
Chloe has thin, long legs, perky, smallish boobs, and a butt to hang onto...I can imagine. No, I have experienced it, and I will write about it next post. However, this post is about something else. It's about what Chloe has.
What some women don't realize, and what I didn't realize until a month ago, is that not all guys get turned on simply by an attractive naked female body. There are several things that feed into a man's sexual desires, whether they be physical, mental, aural, or olfactory. What I've found is that certain aspects of a girl that I normally find sexy might not be working for me on any given day, so the more tools I have, the easier it is to stay excited, and, let's now be honest, keep my erection.
Maintaining an erection with a new girl is easy - something is always exciting about a new body, different clit, unique sounds she makes. But, now that I'm older (it started at the ripe old age of 26), my erections have not been automatic. I use the tools of a girl's anatomy and personality to keep me good for her pleasure, but they do wear down. My friend Jon suggested that work stress and general self-confidence can also play a part in it. He may be right, but I know - and I've thought a lot about this - that I'm right too.
It happened a month into it with Sofia. To backtrack: on the second date Sofia let me under her Peruvian quilt and it was splendid at first. We had gone meringue dancing earlier that night and she made me feel like a born-again Bar Mitzvah boy - popped my first boner on the dance floor in 14 years. Her hips twisted like curly peyes, and when she rocked them against me, I couldn't help but nudge her back.
However, after a few weeks of pretty consistent sex, the condoms began to feel thicker, and her moaning turned into a good song that I played on repeat one too many times (think Paper Planes circa August 2008). While it may seem as though I am destined to tire of every girl at some point for all eternity - and I'll admit that the possibility pains me every day - the box of tools Sofia gave me, though they were powerful ones, felt like a starter kit compared to the walloping contractor's package Chloe slid under my Christmas tree that December 25th we took the plunge.
You see, what Chloe has on her side is excitement. Her legs, breasts, ass, and lips are supplemented by her sexual curiosity, youth, and impressive learning curve(s). Knowing that the songs she moans are being written for the first time, in real time, grows my sexual exhilaration. She writes well and plays piano better. She makes me laugh with terse, acute text messages, and follows my eyes when I look away. She moves like I taught her to, and she orgasms with intensity that I haven't known for a while.
It's been a month with Chloe, and while I feel there is something wrong about this, that I should have moved past this kind of pleasure by now at 27, almost 28, I still haven't softened for the girl.
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