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Chapter Twelve: First Night

February 2, 2011

Our first night is on July 27th — a summer day. The God of summer in Japan has a slightly malicious streak: he makes the air in this city so sticky, unbreathably heavy: he cranks it up like a sauna so that people ooze sweat as they walk down the street, trying to look dignified in their black suits.

Our first night. It’s official — tonight is the night you will take me.

We are at your place, and kiss passionately with our clothes on, standing in front of your bed, when you pick me up and lift me up high, so that I am above you was we aggressively kiss each other with our tongues inside each other, rocking together, and you lower my body slightly so that the tip of your erection brushes against the contour of my panties. You suggest that we have a shower first before taking things further, and I breathlessly agree.

When I take off my clothes, you notice,

“Ah! You shaved everything.”

“Yes,” I blush. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“No, you can leave the hair here,” you say, brushing your hand on the now-hairless triangle of skin between my legs. “This will be very itchy for you when it grows back,” you say sympathetically.

“I see, sorry, I didn’t know,” I apologize, blushing.

You brush it off, saying it’s okay, and lend me your red tank top as something to cover my nude body as we head toward the shower.

It is still quite new to me to have a shower together with a man with your skinny, bookish male floormates fully aware of the sounds coming out of the shower room. But I learn to ignore my self-consciousness and love the claustrophobic space of the shower, water streaming down as your enormous hands soap as you lather me up, your eyes gazing into mine as you slide your index finger up my pussy, cleaning it out gently before you do your thing. I moan softly and look up at your face: your expression is so serene, like an angel.

We make quick work of the shower and walk back to your room, the jealous gaze of floormates following our backs as they sit resentfully in front of the television, alone on a Friday night.

You close the door and turn off the switch, leaving only the dim glow of your bed light. You lift me onto your bed, with my legs dangling out over your elbow like a fairy tale princess, and set me down gently on your covers.

As I lie down, naked on your bed, heart pounding, I see you fumbling with your laptop on the bed. Eyebrows scrunched, I wonder what it could be — are you checking your email when we’re about to make love?

But then you motion for me to watch the screen, and I see: it’s a BBC program, a kind of tutorial about sex. A smile penetrates my face, wiping away the look of anxiety I must have had only a moment earlier. I watch in eager fascination as the screen shows me the inner workings of an orgasm, what the brain is feeling as it reaches climax. It is slightly horrifying to see the woman’s thermograph-outlined body jiggle violently like earthquake jello at the moment of her orgasm, whatever that is.

Half my mind is still focused on your meaty, muscular torso lying beside me, the delightful ruddy colour of your cheeks as you watch beside me. Even though you are much larger than me — well over a foot taller in fact — the size difference between you and me is extremely endearing.

I am not sure how it looks in your eyes, whether or not you are pleased with having a miniature partner.

But to me, having such a large man to hold gives me a similar feeling of sitting at a table with a huge buffet, or lying on a King-sized bed with a feather and silk blanket all to myself. It’s a feeling of superabundance, a kind of richness and the satisfaction of knowing I will not have to restrain myself in any way.

After a few minutes, you reach over to the keyboard again and press a button.

I hear the wafting music, a blurred police siren, and dreamy, echoing tremble of Mylene Farmer’s song echoing in through the room. C’est sexy le ciel de Californie….

I am speechless in amazement, unable to articulate my delight. How did you know....? Did I write you once that this song is my favorite, permanently bookmarked in my mind as the sexiest song in living memory?

You turn me over on my back, holding my hands down. Perhaps I’m doing this caressing thing all wrong, and that’s why you keep pinning my hands to the bed, I think, but it dawns on me that you like to be dominant, and once this is in mind, the pressure is off me. I stop worrying about kissing your body the right way, and close my eyes to enjoy the music and the sensation of your lips planting soft kisses on my neck, my shoulders, the space between my chest, my left nipple —- oh, that feels good —  and then my stomach. I worry that I will burst out laughing, but only inhale hard — it is truly a beautiful experience.

“What is your fantasy?” I hear you whisper in my ear as you plant kisses on my shoulders.

My mind freezes. I have never been asked that before, and it seems like the fantasies I have are buried in the deepest darkest corner of my closet, in a hidden folder within a journal that no one ever reads. Probably for other people it is more like a folder in plain sight on the desk. To tell you might be a social faux-pas altogether — as a teen, I rather disturbingly got turned on by mild violence and pain-induced moans, but would rather not give any misleading ideas of me on the receiving end of a fake torture session (it used to be the reverse that turned me on, but I am not sure this would get me so excited now) — so I am left with words building up, catching in my throat.

“What do you desire?” you ask again, looking into my face. This time I think more realistically about what I want.

“I desire….I’d like to be tied down,” I say. Not bound on the floor, like some people, but tied by the wrists and ankles, and penetrated hard. This is perhaps commonplace, but no an easy one to admit because it is similar to the images of girls in third-world brothels being tied to their bed and dozens of clients a day. While being abused is hardly sexy, I would like to be “taken” this way, my breasts licked away like softened ice cream and penetrated while on my back, with your face in full view as I watch you fuck me. I am not a fan of being on top, and have rarely fantasized about doggie style — ideal sex for me is to be completely horizontal, not bent in a perpendicular angle. Anal sex I slightly want to try, but fear the inevitable mess and stench and probable bleeding would not be worth the curiosity satisfaction.

I would also like my clothes cut off piece by piece with scissors and have honey or cream licked off of me one day, but the tying down is the most appealing for now.

“I’d like to be tied to the bed, my hands tied up,” I murmur. You nod and say fine, this can be arranged, soon.

Your hands move further south, below my belly, and you reach the vulnerable hairless opening, and I feel your fingers part my labia, stroking the wet opening with a soft touch. You then roughly rub your palm over my clitoris, my juices flowing all over your hand as you pinpoint your focus on my clitoris, stroking harder and harder.

I look up at your face, and realize I have never seen anything so sexy and beautiful as your smiling face in the dim light, eyes half-closed as you look into my face, attentive, dreamy. Just looking into that face, I feel like my barriers are crumbling down. I am no longer afraid, I want to feel you inside me.

You ask me if I feel ready, and I nod eagerly — yes, I want you to come inside me now.

I see you spread my thighs, and pull back to position your intimidatingly long, hard erect penis. Only for a moment, I feel frightened at the thought of such a thing inside me, for you soon push the tip against my wet lips and gently rub against the opening.

Quickly, your hand reaches for the condom and you separate yourself for a brief moment as you roll the condom on your erect penis like a glove.

As my gaze is fixated on your now encased condom, you put your arms around my thighs and pull back into position, smiling at me, your lips turning slightly serious as you push your wide head inside — I feel a slight, sudden pain, like something too large is going to tear its way inside. I open my lips to whisper, please go slowly, but you are careful with me, I can trust you.

Time and space seem to lose meaning as I lay back and feel your manhood penetrate deeper and deeper, centimeter by centimeter, pain followed by waves of pleasure that I have never felt before.

I feel lightheaded, not longer fully part of this reality, as something

Finally, when I think I feel completely filled, like I cannot accommodate another inch more, lean forward onto me, your naked torso now rubbing against my breasts.

Exhaling sexily with satisfaction, you murmur in a low voice in my ear the words I will never forget: “You’re a woman now,” you breathe.

At those words, I felt as if a wall inside me had been shattered. You pin my wrists to the bed and start to thrust your hips, slowly, rhythmically, inside my body, my fluids dripping as your penis pushes in, and out, in and out. I am in an intoxicated state of consciousness, too much sensory stimulation to take in all at once. You grab my breasts with your hand, squeezing them, sinking your lips and teeth into them briefly, and feeling my nude body all over as you continue to push inside me, deep and hard. The thrusting rhythm picks up pace, and my first small moans start escaping my lips as I hear the sound of sex for the first time ringing through my ears. My pleasure builds and builds, like a pyramid being constructed in my nerves, and finally I hear you breathe out hard, the distinct sensation of warm ejaculation inside your condom.

You pull out, breathing hard, heavily, spent. Thank you, I whisper to myself, my gaze on your sweat-soaked forehead as you pull off the condom, and still muster the energy to rub my pussy as you lie down beside me, your chest rising and falling, your heart beating against me.

I’m now no longer a virgin.

We’ve made love.

Something inside me has changed.

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