@seblogofsorts lippy competition - what an evocative and powerful word this is, conjuring up memories of formative years. The only contact I've had with the famed magazine in decades is reading irate or hilarious posts and complaints on its dangerous anti-feminist messages and terrible, horrible sex education. There was a time, though...
When I was a girl, it was not quite the nineties. I started secondary school in 88, and finished in 94 (after a repeat year where I met my husband had more sex than I'd ever had before - or since, incidentally). It seems like such a short stretch of time. How did I fit all those growing up experiences into 88-94?
Back at the start of that period, things were different. American Pie hadn't come out yet, there was no tantalising Magical Book of How to Get Girls Off and the boys I knew at 15 didn't know what clitorises were. Boyfriend: where do you liked to be touched? Me: er, here? Him: that's a funny place!
Unpleasant, arrogant other 15 year old to me and best friend: do you frig yourself? Me: (inner sigh, debates round of anatomical education for group pf boys in garden at party: ...Yes. Best friend, uncomfortable: No. Me: inner sigh again.
But it was different for girls. Long before I'd ever had a cock in my mouth, I'd read up on Best Blow Job Techniques for Girls in the form of Cynthia Heimel's Sex Tips for Girls and the ubiquitous Cosmo. While the idea might have still made me uncomfortable, I had studied, oh yes. No one knew how to make me come, but once I'd got used to touching penises (which was scary at first - strangely, my 13 year old best frenemy had no issue touching them, but wouldn't let anyone finger her, while I was all good with that but was scared of releasing the trouser snake. I don't know why. Performance anxiety brought on by reading too many sex tips? Who knows.)
It's a further inequality between the sexes that I think has largely changed (no small thanks to American Pie, perhaps, and as far as I know, Men's mags like FHM etc, are thronging with articles on the Secrets of the Clit (though now women are irate about men's 'I'll sort you out, little lady' attitudes towards their own prowess. It is, I know, hard to win).
Fifteen... we've talked a lot about teenagers' sexual agency and how age laws in erotica do them such a disservice, essentially cancelling out young people's experiences and desire at a time when their engines run ten times hotter than yours, or yours, or yours. Do you remember? The burning, flaming, distracting desire? We could power the world on teenage horniness, if we harnessed it instead of suppressing it and jeering at it.
I had fumbling, secure, utterly non-orgasmic sex with a very beautiful, hazel eyed, read headed boy when I was 15. He had a gorgeous cock, too, larger than anyone else's I've seen, the first time I knew that quintessential velvet-hardness, in my hands, on my tongue. He was the first person I went down on too, and I loved oral sex, embraced it, was pathetically grateful for it. He boasted about it to friends in the supermarket one day and everyone wondered 'Did She Really??' which was odd, as weren't we all at that stage? Not quite. But I'd grown out of squeamishness by then, and god, oh yes, I did.
One day I wandered under the duvet, traced my tongue over his soft, white, boy's belly, impossible distances of smoothness, before finding his curling red hair (we all had pubes then, and we didn't worry about them - it was great) and happy, heavy cock, waiting for me. I don't know what happened that day, but there was some sort of magic coming-together of skill and experimentation. I slid him into my mouth and sucked and stroked and moved up and down on him, in that cave of warmth and skin on skin; it was the first time we'd taken all our clothes off. I was lost in no-time, dark and the smell of him and the feeling of him in my mouth - his hardness and my concentration - the work. And the freedom of our tentative nakedness. It was beautiful.
I didn't have TMJ problems then, but my jaw finally tired and I birthed myself back out of the duvet and into the light to find him lying, light headed, stunned, dizzy with arousal and surprise at the heights of sensation he'd reached. I asked him if it was good, and he said,
'Good?? Didn't you hear my breathing? And I didn't even come!'
I didn't used to be down with face fucking. I thought it was unfeminist. I thought blow jobs were all about being in control, back then. And, sometimes they are. Beautifully so. The power and pleasure of being able to make someone writhe and their breath rasp in astonished ecstasy is a deep and special one. I was proud of myself. I loved his cock. The study had paid off. I gave good head.
When I was a girl, it was not quite the nineties. I started secondary school in 88, and finished in 94 (after a repeat year where I met my husband had more sex than I'd ever had before - or since, incidentally). It seems like such a short stretch of time. How did I fit all those growing up experiences into 88-94?
Back at the start of that period, things were different. American Pie hadn't come out yet, there was no tantalising Magical Book of How to Get Girls Off and the boys I knew at 15 didn't know what clitorises were. Boyfriend: where do you liked to be touched? Me: er, here? Him: that's a funny place!
Unpleasant, arrogant other 15 year old to me and best friend: do you frig yourself? Me: (inner sigh, debates round of anatomical education for group pf boys in garden at party: ...Yes. Best friend, uncomfortable: No. Me: inner sigh again.
But it was different for girls. Long before I'd ever had a cock in my mouth, I'd read up on Best Blow Job Techniques for Girls in the form of Cynthia Heimel's Sex Tips for Girls and the ubiquitous Cosmo. While the idea might have still made me uncomfortable, I had studied, oh yes. No one knew how to make me come, but once I'd got used to touching penises (which was scary at first - strangely, my 13 year old best frenemy had no issue touching them, but wouldn't let anyone finger her, while I was all good with that but was scared of releasing the trouser snake. I don't know why. Performance anxiety brought on by reading too many sex tips? Who knows.)
It's a further inequality between the sexes that I think has largely changed (no small thanks to American Pie, perhaps, and as far as I know, Men's mags like FHM etc, are thronging with articles on the Secrets of the Clit (though now women are irate about men's 'I'll sort you out, little lady' attitudes towards their own prowess. It is, I know, hard to win).
Fifteen... we've talked a lot about teenagers' sexual agency and how age laws in erotica do them such a disservice, essentially cancelling out young people's experiences and desire at a time when their engines run ten times hotter than yours, or yours, or yours. Do you remember? The burning, flaming, distracting desire? We could power the world on teenage horniness, if we harnessed it instead of suppressing it and jeering at it.
I had fumbling, secure, utterly non-orgasmic sex with a very beautiful, hazel eyed, read headed boy when I was 15. He had a gorgeous cock, too, larger than anyone else's I've seen, the first time I knew that quintessential velvet-hardness, in my hands, on my tongue. He was the first person I went down on too, and I loved oral sex, embraced it, was pathetically grateful for it. He boasted about it to friends in the supermarket one day and everyone wondered 'Did She Really??' which was odd, as weren't we all at that stage? Not quite. But I'd grown out of squeamishness by then, and god, oh yes, I did.
One day I wandered under the duvet, traced my tongue over his soft, white, boy's belly, impossible distances of smoothness, before finding his curling red hair (we all had pubes then, and we didn't worry about them - it was great) and happy, heavy cock, waiting for me. I don't know what happened that day, but there was some sort of magic coming-together of skill and experimentation. I slid him into my mouth and sucked and stroked and moved up and down on him, in that cave of warmth and skin on skin; it was the first time we'd taken all our clothes off. I was lost in no-time, dark and the smell of him and the feeling of him in my mouth - his hardness and my concentration - the work. And the freedom of our tentative nakedness. It was beautiful.
I didn't have TMJ problems then, but my jaw finally tired and I birthed myself back out of the duvet and into the light to find him lying, light headed, stunned, dizzy with arousal and surprise at the heights of sensation he'd reached. I asked him if it was good, and he said,
'Good?? Didn't you hear my breathing? And I didn't even come!'
I didn't used to be down with face fucking. I thought it was unfeminist. I thought blow jobs were all about being in control, back then. And, sometimes they are. Beautifully so. The power and pleasure of being able to make someone writhe and their breath rasp in astonished ecstasy is a deep and special one. I was proud of myself. I loved his cock. The study had paid off. I gave good head.
2 comments:
Oh my God, your story brought back such memories. You entered senior school in '88. For me it was 1960. You think ignorance was bad in '88, well it was so much worse in '60 and when sex finally came for me at 14 in 1964 there was huge fear - no morning after pills or abortions in those days. Also I experienced fellatio before hand-jobs or full sex, so got to love the penis early on.
Anyway, I was reading your story because I am also in the competition as is my husband, Peter Stone, and we wanted to read the others. Peter told me I should tell you about my early stories from the early sixties. They start with the following link 1964 Story, but you might even like the earlier stories, too for a bit of escapism back into your puberty years. You could also check out my autobiography if you'd like the whole story.
Anyway, we both liked your story and think it was the best of the lot so far. Good luck.
Thanks, Angela!
I live in Ireland, so still no abortion, though the morning after pill is now available over the counter.
I dodged a couple bullets, I have to say - I was writing this thinking about how stupid we were, and how lucky we were, too! I'll definitely get to your stories.
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