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Woman remembers her first love, when she lost her virginity on Valentine’s Day.


I lost my virginity on Valentine’s Day, my birthday, twenty years ago. I was just a kid, 19-years-old. The uncomfortable pain and apprehension that I felt that first time didn’t compare to the pain and consternation that I felt later, when he didn’t call me. Because it was such a big deal back then, my first love taking my virginity, especially every Valentine’s Day and every birthday, I wonder what happened to Charles.

Never having had sex before, being so careful who I gave my body, I never figured he wouldn’t call me. I remember being so excited that night, after it was over and the next day telling my friends about him. I looked upon him as if he was my boyfriend. I actually thought I loved him. Certainly, I thought he cared for me. Only it was over before it even started.

In the course of the year, whenever I’m having a bad day, I sometimes think of him. He was so different from the boys back home. He had a cocky know-it-all self-confident attitude about him and I was just a country hick.

An ageless man, it’s weird how I still think of him and even weirder how I still think of him in the same way that he looked twenty years ago. Why, after twenty-years, do I still think about him? Had it not been my birthday, had it not been Valentine’s Day, and maybe had it not been my first time, perhaps I wouldn’t have remembered him and the clumsy sexual experience, as if it was yesterday, but I do.

Filled with regret, when I remember him and our short time together, I’m still embarrassed by my naiveté. He was the first man who not only saw me naked but also who also touched me everywhere. Even though I resisted, even though I protested, before I could regain my composure, he had one hand up under my sweater and bra, while fingering my nipple and the other down the front of my pants and fingering my clit.

Admittedly I had a little too much to drink at a dorm party and he had me out of my clothes before I realized it. Sure, I was attracted to him but, our first time together, I never thought I’d be naked and having sex with him in his room. Especially for the first time, a little romance would have been nice, maybe a movie and dinner, before having him take my virginity.

I had a lot of firsts that night. His was the first penis I ever saw, touched, stroked, sucked, and fucked. I was such a dork, only crossing that sexual line was such a big deal for me, apparently so big of a deal that even twenty years later, I can’t get him out of my mind.

In the years that passed and the sexual relationships I had, going from ash blonde to platinum, as if the lightening of my hair color corresponded with and was an indication of my sexual enlightenment, growth, and maturity, had I not married, I’d probably be bald today from bleaching my hair, before allowing it to return to more its natural color. I’ve had sex with several men after Charles, before I married my husband, Andy, but the one that I remember, the one that haunts me, is Charles, the first one. I don’t know why.

I don’t even remember the names of some of the others that I liked well enough to give them my body, my time, and my affection. Huffing, puffing, sweating, and cumming, while on top of me, they all had more than a hand, no pun intended, in my sexual development. Only, I can’t even recall what they all looked like.

It was so very long ago, but longer for Charles and yet, I still remember him. Now that I look back, Charles was different. More the ladies man, he was a player. Only, I didn’t know that at the time. I just thought he liked me and I sure liked him enough to allow him to deflower me.

I remember his name, what he looked like, his laugh, his manner, and even voice. It’s an evil joke to still have him in my head in the way that I do, especially now that my marriage is unsatisfying and empty, so far as sex is concerned. I love my husband, of course, but the flame that we once had that boiled our passion and fueled our desire has simmered to a friendly warmth, when spooning, before falling asleep. I wonder what my life would have been like had I married Charles, instead of Andy. Probably a Hell with Charles cheating on me, only always thinking that I could have changed him, he didn’t give me that chance.

It’s funny that Charles was the only one night stand I had, yet I remember him more than I do the other men in my life with whom I had longer relationships. Why is that? Something that only a psychologist could unravel, maybe because he was the one who got away and the one that I didn’t control by ending the relationship myself, is why I feel my business with him is still unfinished. He was the only one who rejected me. He made me feel so special and then he made me feel that I wasn’t good enough for him.

Was the sex that bad? Probably, no doubt, it was. I realize now, after having had sex with others that the sex wasn’t any good. Only, if it wasn’t any good for him, he didn’t show it. poker oyna I remember him having a good time. I remember he really liked my tits and my ass. I remember him telling me that I had a good body and that I was so very pretty. Growing up on the farm with four brothers, I wasn’t used to getting compliments and I swooned with all the attention he paid me.

I was so nervous, terrified, actually. I was more embarrassed than excited, especially when I farted from him pounding me into the thin dorm mattress that he had. He was a college senior and I was just a freshman. He knew everything about the school and the campus and I had just arrived there from out of state.

It was my first trip anywhere without my parents. It was my first college party. Trying to be so cool, I was scared. I was drunk. I was so stupid. I could have gotten pregnant. I’m so glad he had a condom and that I had the presence of mind to insist that he use it.

On more than one occasion, typically when I’m bored, lonely, and/or horny, especially when I’m horny, which has been all the time lately, now that I’ve reached my sexual peak and Andy is busy with work, I think of Charles. Tired from having worked all week long, Andy is satisfied with just a hand job or a blowjob, but I’m looking for, wanting, and needing more. I have the urge to find him and see how he turned out and what he looks like now, twenty years later. No doubt, an ulterior motive would be to see if we had a spark and what would happen if we did.

A nice fantasy to have, I never had an extramarital affair, but sometimes I think about kissing him. I don’t remember kissing him, just fucking him. Sometimes I think about him making love to me, only this time, now that I’m more sexually experienced and know what I want and what to do to get it, the sex, no doubt, would be better.

Only, I’m hoping, that if I did find him and have an affair that the sex would be the same and not very good. Then, finally, I could have closure and forget him, instead of carrying him around in my head for the rest of my life. He’s always there in bed with me, sometimes when I’m with Andy, but mostly, after Andy leaves for work, especially whenever I’m touching myself. Feeling that I may have made a mistake and wasted my life with the wrong man, I’ve been thinking more about having an affair now that my fortieth birthday is quickly approaching.

I was so young and so naive. I thought I was in love and I thought he was the one. I truly thought that he loved me. I was so dumb to freely give him what he wanted on the hopes that he’d give me what I wanted. Only the loss of my virginity was a one-sided and lop-sided sexual experience.

I was so wrong, of course, and as soon as he deflowered me, everything changed. It was as if he didn’t even like me anymore. Acting as if he didn’t know me, he never called me. He ignored me, whenever I saw him around campus. I was crushed and cried for weeks. I was glad, relieved, when he graduated a few short months later to spare me from continually bumping into him on campus. Yet, even though I felt humiliated, as I did then and still do now, I thought of him. He weighed heavily on my mind, as if he was still on top of me and inside of me.

Still, I was hurt. I felt rejected. I felt foolish. I felt used and abused, when he cast me aside for another woman, many other women. A good looking guy, he always had different women in his bed. I was embarrassed that I gave myself to him and then, just like that, as if the whole thing had been a dream or a bad nightmare, it was over. I was just a hole he used to get himself off. I know now that I could have been anyone. My first teacher, it was my first lesson in sexual relationships, one that I never forgot and still remember with him still there in my in my head and sometimes with me in spirit in my bed.

Maybe had I been older, maybe had I been more experienced sexually, maybe had he not been my first one, only none of it was my fault. There was nothing that I could have done to change what happened. Now finally realizing that it wasn’t me, I was just another notch on his belt. For the longest time, replaying it all, as if it was an old silent film, I thought I did or said something wrong. Sweeping me off my feet, in the way he wanted me at the start, and then casting me away, when he was done with me, I guess it was never meant to be. I’m just lucky I didn’t get pregnant.

Had I gotten pregnant, that would have been a real disaster. If I had his bastard baby out of wedlock, what would I have done then? Would I have put the baby up for adoption? Would I have paid to have an abortion? Would I have quit school and take care of the baby? Or would I have stayed in school and have my Mom raise the baby? I was too young to make those kinds of life altering decision, when I was enrolled in the university to get an education and get my degree. I got an education alright, left with the scar and memory of him, acting as if he didn’t even know me, he just walked away and never looked back at the destruction canlı poker oyna he caused.

Still, I wonder about him, especially on Valentine’s Day. I wonder if he wonders about me. I guess, in a way, maybe because he was the first and shared in such a big part of my life then, deep down, imagining him looking the same, I still love him.

Love him? How could I say I love him and still love him? What is that about? I don’t love him, do I? I never loved him, did I? Without doubt, I don’t love him. If I have any feelings for him, I hate him.

He took something from me that I wish I could have back and to have given to someone else, who may have more appreciated it. He dishonored me and the gift I gave him. I gave him my virginity and he didn’t even call me to say thank you. He’s nothing but a despicable cad. How could I possibly love him, when I hate him so much?

We only had that one intimate experience. Before that, I saw him around campus, bumped into him at the library and the cafeteria, and saw him at the football games. Yeah, sure, I thought about him, before we did it and even more about him after we did it, while waiting for him to call, but he never did. Always, we talked before and always he made me laugh. I thought he liked me, that is, until, he fucked me and whenever I saw him after that, he was always with someone else. He just played me to get what he wanted. Nonetheless, I still have a place for him in my heart, my first one, my one special Valentine.

Now that I’m thinking about him again, I wondered if he’s in the phone book. I wondered if he’s online. Maybe he has a Facebook account, everyone does, don’t they? It would be nice to meet him for lunch to go over old times. I imagine myself laughing at his jokes and being so mature, cosmopolitan almost, in my carefree attitude towards sex, that is, until I throw a glass of water in his face for hurting me in the way he did, and before going to bed with him again.

Only, what if he thought I was being too forward and was looking him up, just to have sex again? So? What’s the big deal? Duh? I’m married to Andy. Still, I’m an adult now and not the child that I was, then.

If he was still attractive and if I was still attracted to him, would I have sex with him again? No doubt, he’d want me, that is, until he got what he wanted from me and then he’d hurt me all over again. Only, now that I know this about him, I could use him, get back at him, and hurt him. I could get him to wine me, dine me, and romance me and then, just when he thought he was going to get some, I’d leave.

I’d just like to see what he looks like and how his life turned out without me in it. Does he even remember me? I’d like to get all dolled up to show him what he could have had and what he’s missing in his life now. Yeah, that would teach him a lesson. Only, what if his wife or girlfriend is hotter than me. That would make me feel even worse.

I don’t know. It’s as much fun just wondering about him, as it is frustrating. Maybe I don’t want to know. Maybe if I knew how he turned out that would ruin my fantasy of bumping into him one day.

Then, I wondered, how come he never tried to contact me? I still live in the same city, the same neighborhood, even the same house that my parents left to me, after they sold the farm and died. I wouldn’t be very hard to find, if he tried and if he was still as interested or as just curious about me, as I’m about him. I’m on Facebook.

Maybe he’s already driven by my house. Maybe he’s already seen me and, after seeing me, he’s not interested in renewing our connection, that is, if we ever had one. Maybe he saw me in my bathrobe and slippers taking out the trash, when I was home sick with the flu. No wonder why he wanted nothing to do with me.

Still, I’m hurt all over again that he never tried to contact me. So different than women, guys would never put themselves out there like that and be so vulnerable. God, I was so stupid to have had sex with him and to make him my first sexual experience. That was a mistake.

Maybe having sex with me didn’t mean as much to him as it did to me. Maybe I was just another woman in a long line of women that he had to have before he settled for one. Maybe I wasn’t the only virgin he had. Maybe he’s a serial virgin user and abuser, find them, feel them, fuck them, and forget about them.

Still, I can’t help but to be more than curious about him, since he was my first real love. Maybe because my life hasn’t turned out as I hoped it would, I feel as though I somehow need him to give me closure and to make me feel that I was better off without him. Maybe there’s something missing in my life now that I’m hoping to recapture, when imagining how much better it was then and how better it could have been now. Maybe this is something that I need to do to realize how much worse off my life could have been with Charles, than with Andy. Maybe I need to see that to truly know how lucky I am being married to Andy, instead of being married to Charles. internet casino Maybe I’m just horny, sexually frustrated, and using the state of my life as an excuse to be with Charles again for one more time. I don’t know and I won’t know, until I find Charles, if ever I do.

What the Hell? It was getting close to Valentine’s Day, that fateful day, and I decided to pay my $12.95 for one of those online search agencies to find him. Within seconds I had his address and telephone number. I couldn’t believe it. He only lived a few towns over from me. I was surprised that after all these years, that I never ran into him.

I called his house from a payphone hoping to hear his voice, only I got a woman, his wife, no doubt. She sounded angry and annoyed that I stayed on the line without talking. Only the reality of him having a wife and a life without me silenced me. Suddenly, I felt small, unimportant, and a bit crazy for calling his house. I thought to apologize to her and explain that I had called a wrong number but, as if angry with her for marrying my Charles, I just hung up the phone.

I continued my stalking of him, routinely driving by his house on the way home from work and on weekends. Hoping to see what he looks like, being that today is Valentine’s Day, it would be a nice birthday surprise to finally end this foolishness. I was hoping to catch him walking out to his car or just getting home from work.

Was that his wife on the phones, girlfriend, or mother? I wondered if he’s married. I wonder if he has children. I’d like to see what his children look like to compare them to my children to see how differently my children would have looked, had I had them with him. I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t think about any of my other boyfriends in the way that I think about him, not that he was my boyfriend, officially. Had he not been my first sexual experience, maybe I wouldn’t think about him either.

Shit! There he is, just coming home from work. He drives a Buick. A Buick? Yuck! My Dad drove a Buick. I pictured him more of the sports car type, a convertible, maybe a Corvette. Yeah, the fast talking man who took my virginity should be driving a Corvette, instead of a Buick.

That must be his wife at the front door. It has to be. She’s yelling at him because he forgot to stop at the market to buy more food for her. She’s wicked fat. She looks Italian. I can’t remember, but I think he was half Italian. I need to duck down so that he doesn’t see me. This is crazy, but as if I’m a private investigator, I started following him.

I followed him to the supermarket, parked my car in a different row, checked my hair in the mirror, applied some lipstick, and followed him inside. I kept my eye on him. He was buying a lot of junk food, which explains why his wife is so overweight. He doesn’t look bad. He has a little less hair and he’s packed on a few pounds, but he looks the same.

I waited until I caught him in an aisle alone before making my move. He walked in one way and I walked in the other. I wanted to know if he’d recognized me. By the way he was staring at me, leering at me, he did.



“Wow, after all these years,” he said looking me over, as if I was a hot meal or in the way he did, when I was a coed virgin. “You look the same, only better looking,” he said smiling wildly. “You put on pounds in all the right places,” he said looking at me from my head to my toes and back up again.

“Thank you,” I said turning a little to the side to make sure he saw my trim figure and noticed my C cup breasts.

For sure, I figured he was thinking that he could had this instead of that, me, instead of the women that he has now.

“Are you married?”

“Yes,” I said now proud that I was married to Andy, instead of to him.


“Two, a boy and a girl.”

“And you?”

“Four kids, all girls, and a wife. You know me with sex.”

“You never called me,” I said.

I couldn’t believe I just blurted that out as if I was confronting him twenty years ago, instead of now but, obviously, it was something that I needed to say and something that was on my mind for twenty years.

“Called you? What do you mean?”

“You were my first and I had a mad crush on you.”

“Your first what?”

“I was a virgin,” I said with a look that if my eyes were daggers, he’d be lying in a pool of blood.

“Oh, that, sorry. I was in a different place than you,” he said looking at me now, as if seeing me for the first time. “Maybe we can get together, again,” he said reaching out to put his hand around my waist, while looking at me, as if he wanted to kiss me.

“Nice seeing you, again, Charles,” I said turning around and walking away.

Finally, while walking away from him, he grew smaller in my mind, until the thought of him just disappeared. Late at night, when I go around the house turning off all the lights, I’ve seen his car sometimes parked across the street without his lights. Obviously, thinking I’ve never seen his car, he probably figures I wouldn’t recognize his car and know that it was him. It makes me feel better knowing that I now haunt his mind in the way he haunted my mind for so long.

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