Sex IRL: The lesbian having sex with her first guy and loving it


sex IRL  • 

Sex IRL: The lesbian having sex with her first guy and loving it

‘Five years of eating pussy did nothing to prepare me for this’

Sex IRL is a series by babe dedicated to detailing the ups, downs and in-betweens of real girls’ sex lives. It’s unfiltered, graphic and, most importantly, real. This week, a 22-year-old lesbian who loves the sex she's having with her middle school boyfriend. It's the first penis she's seen in years. 22, bisexual, I guess, Michigan.

Day one

11 a.m. Just yesterday we got back from a weekend of drunken fun at my alma mater, but it feels like I’ve been waiting ages for the next time he’ll be inside of me. The memory of our sloppy sex behind my best friend’s garage keeps replaying in my mind. Reaching behind me to grab for his dick pushing out of his jeans after he made me cum…

“I’m so hard,” he whispered in my ear before starting to unbuckle his pants.

After dating exclusively women for at least five years, wanting a man puts me on edge — especially wanting him this much. But knowing each other for almost a decade has its advantages. He was my middle-school boyfriend, and we agreed that since then, we’ve always had a soft spot for one another. I mean, he was my first kiss after all. Becoming comfortable with him has been easy. But I certainly didn’t think that after two previous serious relationships with women, I’d be back with a guy for the first time since high school.

4:30 p.m. A text drops in. He wants to stop by after work. I’m excited as hell, but don’t want him to know that. I’m definitely playing the chill girl, so I jokingly reply “fa sho” — the most neutral text I could think of — realizing he recognizes my excitement anyways.

He says we’ll get ice cream before hanging out for a while. He owes me Coldstone for the time he was motivating me to finish a cover letter for a job application. Ice cream before getting dicked down? Sign. Me. Up.

9:30 p.m. We’re back in my room after sneakily creeping past my sleeping puppy, successfully avoiding a mood-killing eruption of barking. We don’t waste any time. We enjoyed our ice cream, but I want him, and he knows it.

We’re laying side-by-side, and I close my eyes as he slips his hand between my legs. I’m already wet, so he promptly removes my leggings. We’re kissing softly as he puts a finger inside of me. The pressure increases. As my breathing grows deeper, he adjusts my body, leaving my legs open toward the edge of the bed. He kneels down and tastes me. When I feel my climax building, I ask for his hands again.

“Can you have him move his car?!” FUCK. It’s my stepdad calling from downstairs. I take a deep breath, screaming “uh huh,” losing my orgasm. Cheers to being a recent grad back home with her parents.

10 p.m. I’m laying in bed waiting for him to return after moving his car. When he walks in, he immediately rejoins me on my bed.

“You’re still wet for me.” He starts using his hands hard and fast. He’s making up for the lost time. I cum within seconds. He’s happy, but there’s a smirk on his face that tells me he wants something else. He asks to use my vibrator on me. I show him where I like it, but he lets go, letting me make myself feel good. He moves to my ear like a personal cheerleader: “Come on baby, come for me, baby. I need you to come for me.” My free hand alternates between digging into his beard and his chest hair. I’m still not used to being with a hairy partner, but it’s such a turn on. I bring myself to climax again.

He lays down next to me, reaching for his belt. “Do you want it?” Fuck yeah I want it. He gets on top and slides inside of me. When he pulls out, I watch his cum as it forms a pool in my belly button. I notice a hickey forming on my left breast.

11:30 p.m. He texts on his way home. “I got out of my car at the gas station. Went to walk and almost fell. My hips are dead.” We did good.

Day two

5:30 p.m. I’m at happy hour with my mom. We usually hit at least two happy hours a week, but today I’m especially excited because we haven’t been out since my mom’s surgery the week before. I order a bloody — my typical day drink.

6:30 p.m. He asks what bar I’m at and tells me he’ll be there in five minutes. It’s not unusual for him to hang out with my mom and I, but stopping by unplanned isn’t generally his style. Of course the surprise made me excited to see him.

8 p.m. I’m probably about five or six drinks in, but I started early, so I’ve been pacing myself. He’s had three — which is exciting since he’s not much of a drinker. We start talking about what’s been going on between us. The last time we DTR’d, it ended with him declaring that he isn’t looking for a relationship, but was interested in being exclusive. While I wasn’t explicitly looking for a relationship myself, I was a bit unsatisfied with his answer. Who starts something by automatically ruling out a relationship?

He digs a little deeper into his relationship complex. He says he wants to have his own place before he’s in a relationship, that he’s ultimately looking for something end-game, and that he doesn’t want to feel obligated to see me or talk to me all the time. Blah, blah, blah. I blame his past with unhealthy relationships and the fact that he’s a Sagittarius. But he says a future relationship isn’t completely off the table.

I’m certainly not the type of girl who needs a label to be happy. But I also know that being a part of something exclusive, but non-committal puts me in a vulnerable place. Is he trying to avoid a commitment so when he’s tired of me he can dip, no questions asked? Or does he want to make sure he has something real before committing again? All I know is that dating women was much less complicated — if they like you, they tell you. The. End.

10 p.m. I join him outside so he can smoke a cigarette. How is it that something so unhealthy can look so attractive? He thinks I join him on smoke breaks just to spend time with him, and while partially true, it’s a bit of a turn on, too. And tonight in particular I have an ulterior motive.

“So, are you trying to stop by my house before you go home?” I ask him as he’s finishing the cigarette. He laughs, pretending to be caught off guard by my question. Of course he can’t say no. We promptly return to the bar, say goodbye to my mom, and head to my house.

10:15 p.m. We’re laying in the darkness of my room. I’m soaking wet at the suspense of him touching me. We start kissing, and he reaches between my legs. I relax into the bed as I let him make me feel good, but tonight, I have intentions to go down on him. I pull away, putting myself on top and sneaking a few kisses on his mouth before pulling down his pants.

Blow jobs might be a requirement in most straight hookups, but not in mine. I told him from the beginning that giving head is largely out of my comfort zone, thanks to my past with women. Five years of eating pussy did nothing to prepare me for this. But he’s always been accommodating — I never feel pressure to do something I’m not comfortable with. It’s not the first time I’ve given him head, but I’m still unsure of myself. I think about my every move each time my mouth lowers around his dick. I want to do good. I try to hype myself up in my mind, hoping that confidence will help my performance.

After a while, he pulls me up, telling me to ride his dick. We start off slow — I’m moving my hips back and forth, gaining our rhythm. His thrusts grow faster and harder. I lean forward, putting our chests together and my mouth against his ear. He wants me to cum. “Come on my dick, baby. Let me feel you drip down my dick.” He knows how to talk to me.

He flips me over. I wrap my arms around his body, digging my nails to keep my hands from slipping down the sweat on his back. He leans into me, and I can feel the moisture from his face rubbing against my cheek. It’s getting intense now. He cums, and we can’t help but to lay for a moment, catching our breath.

We cuddle for a while, but it’s getting late and he has work the next day. I don’t want him to leave, but he suggests a sleepover at his house the following night, so I take the compromise.

11:30 p.m. He texts me to let me know that he made it home. “I can’t believe how amazing that was.”

Day three

11:30 a.m. We’re exchanging texts about our sex from the night before. He starts by telling me that he had an incredible time, and I’m more than thrilled to hear that. “I cannot put it into words that would be able to give it justice,” he says. I reply: “And to think we’ll just keep doing better.”

8 p.m. He asks me if I want to see a movie tomorrow. While that sounds fun, I know what he’s really saying. We’re not hanging out today as he originally suggested. He says his ex needs to come by the next morning to drops some things off. Yikes. I appreciate his transparency, but it sounds messy.

Day four

8 p.m. I’m drunk. And I mean drunk. The kind of drunk that sneaks up on you when you stand up and you’re like holy-shit-what-the-fuck-did-I-just-do. I was trying to start off slow, thinking I might be heading to see a movie tonight. But after being at the bar since 3 p.m., I’m pretty toasty — and pretty convinced I won’t being doing anything besides getting Taco Bell tonight.

His text drops in, pushing our plans back another day. Doesn’t he know how hard it is to act cool about the change in plans when I’m this drunk? It’s basically impossible. So I get a little passive aggressive, giving him “yeah, whatevers” when he promises to make it up to me. Catch me on a normal day, and I’ll be pretty cool about adjusting plans. But after a couple bloody marys, several craft beers, yesterday’s already-cancelled plans and his ex, I’m feeling a lot more upset than I probably really am.

9:30 p.m. Taco Bell is life-changing.

Day five

5:30 p.m. He follows through on our plans today and comes over after work. We want to cook dinner together. We decide on black bean burgers, something that I cook often being a vegetarian. I’m excited to broaden his palate. He chooses mac and cheese to go with our burgers and offers to make brownies for dessert.

We play music as we cook and are really enjoying ourselves. He tries to jokingly dance with me to the music and lets me taste the brownie batter off his finger. Spending time together feels really good. After we eat and start the dishes, he makes a joke about how we would make a good clean-up team if we lived together.

11 p.m. We’re watching a movie in my bedroom. He’s cuddling me from behind, and I feel his head starting to nod. He falls asleep. As much as our dinner together had me ready to fuck after this movie, I can’t help but to let him sleep. He was up at 7 a.m. this morning and worked a full day before spending time with me. The fact that he works really hard is one of the things I like most about him.

12 a.m. I officially lay down to join him for bed. I wake him up to set an alarm for work in the morning, and he pulls me in close to him after setting it. He apologizes for falling asleep and kisses me goodnight. I turn my back to him, and he follows suit, pushing his body against mine and wrapping his arm around my waist. I’m immediately wet feeling his dick pressing against my ass. Waking him up is so tempting, but I know he has to be up early. It’s going to be a long night…

Day six

7 a.m. His alarm goes off. As he gets up and dressed, my mind drifts to the dream I had the night before. We were sleeping together in my bed, just as we were in real life. But in the dream, I climbed on top of him, waking him up by pressing my mouth and hips against his. We started kissing, and he slid inside of me.

I force myself to stop thinking about the dream — it’s making me wet, and I know he’s about to leave. Dangerous territory. He lays back down in bed after he’s dressed, cuddling me for a few more minutes before he has to leave.

12 a.m. A text comes in, long after I thought he went to sleep. He misses me. Instead of falling back asleep, he wanted to text for a while, which made me happy. I tell him I hated that he had to leave for work so early, but that I appreciate him choosing to spend some of his time outside of work with me. He says he misses holding me at night and offers to pick me up the next day.

Day seven

9:15 p.m. He picks me up after work. We grab a pizza on the way to his house.

11 p.m. He rejoins me in his bedroom after taking a quick shower. He always showers after work. Pulling the towel from his waist to dry his hair, he’s completely naked in front of me. My body shifts a little with discomfort — casually seeing the full male anatomy outside of sex is still a lot for me, but I appreciate his cavalier comfortability. He throws on some shorts and immediately heads toward me.

He lays on top of me, and we start kissing. The hair on his chest is still moist from the shower. I can tell he has something to say. “I want you to give me a blow job.” He never asks for head. I like that he feels comfortable telling me what he wants, despite my inexperience.

He grabs between my legs as I’m giving him head and feels how wet I am. He immediately pulls me up to him, ready to be inside of me. And I’m ready to feel him too. I lay on my back, and he gets on top of me, telling me how tight and wet my pussy feels on his dick as he works his way inside. Soon, we flip over, and I’m on top. Then he flips me over again. We’re getting sweaty from changing positions.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he tells me, and I’m surprised. As vocal as he is for me during sex, he’s never said anything like that before. Of course I love it, and the sex grows a little more intense. He turns me onto my stomach. I’m burying my face into the pillows, and he’s laying against me. He tells me my pussy belongs to him as he comes on my back.

“So was it good?” I asked, already knowing the answer. He leans in and gives me a confident, open-mouthed kiss. I’ll take that as a yes. This is turning into some of the best sex I’ve ever had. I don’t want it to end.