“Right on the edge of fear was where trust could grow”
When I was a boy I wanted to be an amoeba. I liked the idea of being a creature that didn’t have to bother with sex. I adored Debbie Harry, I masturbated till I was sore, I took my mother’s magazines to bed, I picked a model from the fashion pages and made her my wife, my lover in my fantasies. I imagined the house we would live in, the dinner parties we would host (which were oddly similar to the ones my parents hosted but they were the only templates of adulthood I had), the bedroom where we would make love. I wanked to her in quiet adoration but when the sticky ejaculation flowed out to matt my pubic hair and dampen my pyjamas I felt a desperate sadness. These were things that would never be more than fantasy for me. Women belonged on posters, in magazines. In real life they were to be feared. Feared because, some time, a woman might ask me for sex. I avoided girls at at school. I took up trainspotting. I don’t even like trains. I found my fellow trainspotters weird. Yeah I know, I’m weird too but compared to these guys? But it was a safe environment, a long long way from sex.
I was 37 and a virgin when I met Anita. She was a few years older than me, divorced with 2 grown up children. I guess she was lonely. She must have been. Why else would she have been interested in me? But we starting meeting up. Just a drink in the local pub, a country walk. I liked her. She had a ready laugh, she could talk about football, she began to look after me. On my birthday I took her for dinner. She bought me a present, shirts and I realised she might be looking for more than friendship. That evening she invited me back to her house for coffee.
Coffee. And it’s not always with granules is it? I made myself comfortable on the sofa. . She poured whiskies and sat next to me. We talked, she sat closer, pressing her knee against my leg, played with my hair. When she sat on my lap and pressed her lips gently against mine I felt sick. I was alone with her in her house, the bedroom was directly above us, the bedroom, the bedroom. Shit! The bedroom! This is real. This is going to happen. I felt my head go light as she took my hand and led me upstairs.
I failed. I cried. I apologised to her, told her I felt a failure. She cradled my head against her chest. kissed me gently on the top of the head, assuring me it was fine, she wasn’t angry, it would be better next time. I unburdened myself there and then and 20 years of pain flowed out onto the soft sheets, like waters from a broken dam. She hugged me close, reassured me.
Next time, she kissed me gently, moving her lips from my mouth, down my body to my cock, she took my cock into her mouth and sucked and licked and flicked the end with her tongue until I was hard. I knew I could keep this erection. I knew I could. I wanted this. My fear was gone as she lay back, took me in her hand,and guided me into her wet, warm cunt. It didn’t last long. I felt the foreskin rolling back, felt wonderful sensations I had never known before. I pushed in and out as she told me what to do. I came, felt the pulse of the ejaculation, saw a brilliant array of lights and colours as I sank down onto her and submitted to its force.
I was spent. I was high on the joy of the moment. Anita said she hadn’t come but that she was happy for me. She would come next time. She had enjoyed it anyway and next time would be even better. I cried as I thanked her. I knew that she had dome something special for me, something loving. She had taken my fear and turned it into trust. And as for amoebas well………imagine one splitting into two and the second is so much better than the first. It wants to fuck. It needs to.
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