Ever since making a comment online about my innocence being stolen by Jenny K on the bathroom floor of her parents’ house, I have been inundated with a slew of requests (two is a slew, right?) for more information about said event. So here it is: but I must warn you, gentle reader - this story may contain traces of nuts and the use of the word “cunny”…

I was brought up in a strict, religious household, and despite having moved out of that environment and belief system, I still as a young man had a foolish lingering idea that sex was better left until after marriage. Little did I know then that sex after marriage was left as a foolish lingering idea. That restraint, coupled with my awkwardness around women, and general hopelessness in picking up signals of any kind meant that I remained technically a virgin until my early twenties. Oh, there had been a couple of girlfriends - and some fondling and fingering and stroking and nudity and sucking and licking: just no sexual relations as defined by Bill Clinton.

That is, until Jenny came into my part of the world one summer. She was a friend of a flatmate, and was back home from overseas for a few weeks to look after her parents’ house while they were away on holiday. She was smart and worldly and outgoing and cute – one of those impossibly lovely creatures who I assumed I was destined to admire from a distance, not up close and personal-like.

We hung out in a group of friends for a week or two, and I realised one night that her ‘accidental’ touches, her playful punches on the arm and laughter at my stupid shenanigans might have been her subtle way of showing that she actually LIKED me. ME!

(The clincher was one night when she said that she liked my dancing - was she insane? Did she like getting trodden on?)

One evening we ended up alone at my flat, lazing about on a couch watching ‘Dead men don’t wear plaid’ on TV: “Was she real? There was only one way to find out…”

The playful touches turned into playful wrestling which lead to a glimpse of tit, some accidental groping, lips meeting and hands sliding under bra straps, zips being pulled, and - suddenly she sat bolt upright, grabbed my hand, pulled me off the couch and said, “We’re going back to my place."

Five minutes of driving with her hand in my lap and my eyes firmly fixed on her breasts (don’t drive while horny, kids), we tumbled into her house and ran up the stairs to the bathroom. We left the lights off and undressed each other in a seam-ripping rush. She knelt down to remove my jeans and sucked my rock-hard cock noisily into her mouth, then we stepped into the shower together.

Dear reader, if you have not experienced the joys of showering with a lover in the dark, and have the opportunity to do so, I suggest you take that opportunity (and that lover) with both hands.

There was light enough from the window to see, but this was all about touch – soapy wandering hands on firm breasts and my erection sliding all over her slippery buttocks, my hands sliding up the inside of her legs, and her lips sucking and gently biting on my nipples. Ahh, is there finer foreplay than this? We were only partly dried before she pushed me onto my back on the floor. She was kneeling over me with her legs astride me, feeding her tits into my mouth, and then substituting them with her mouth.

And then, just as the little voice in my head was saying, “I’m not sure if we should do this,” and I was about to say it out loud, she took my cock in her hand, fed it between her hot sweet cunt lips and slid down onto me in one slow, glorious, languid motion.

Forget your hand and glove, your Ben and Jerry, your Bert and Ernie. Cock and cunt, now there’s a partnership made in heaven. Warm, squelchy, wet, slippery heaven.

She rode me frantically, with such a rhythm that her tits slapped together on each downward thrust, and she was crying out fuck and yes and god in time with our fucking. Yes, fucking – so this was fucking! Why had I waited so long?

I grabbed her arse cheeks with one hand and her tit with another, forced her down onto me and held her there while she squirmed and struggled to pump her hips - and then I was coming, pulsing and twitching and spurting deep inside her.

Half a league*, half a league, half a league onward, into the valley of life rode the ten million (as Lord Tennyson may have once said…)

She collapsed onto me and we lay there panting, stuck together with water and sweat and semen. We lay there in silence. I watched her pulse on her neck slow and gently stroked her buttock; then we untangled ourselves, showered again, and went to bed.

The next day people at work kept asking me why I had a stupid grin on my face, and I nearly put my hand into some machinery while I was thinking about her.

Later, there was more sex, and she showed me how to suck her clit, to fuck her hard and slow, and lick my cum from her tits, and she begged me to hurt her – and I wouldn’t, which hurt her. Before she left the country there were angry words and slammed doors and things said that couldn’t be unsaid. But we made up before she was gone. I have never seen her again. I am sure she was more memorable to me than I was to her but I like to think that if we ever met again, we could have a drink and a laugh, and I could thank her for her gift.

*a little poetic licence here