Camping

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tagFirst TimeCamping

My first sexual experience was with two boys.
It was not what you might think – it was silent, secret, in the dark, gentle. But it was intense, for me.
I had gone camping with my girl friends. Some boys were at the same site – we interacted with them only a little, and mostly through them teasing and showing off.
I was 18, had never had a boyfriend: had been kissed once by a boy, at age 14, and had not liked him or the kiss.
My friend Sue was the main target of the boys' attention: she always was – much prettier than me, with blonde hair and a buxom figure: we are still best friends and she is still the focus of male attention when we are together, and I the plain, quiet one – the eternal wallflower.
There was a huge storm one night: very intense, thunder and lightning, torrents of rain. My friends all went to shelter on the shower block but I love storms so I stayed in the tent – on my back, in my nightdress, on top of my sleeping bag, my head out of the tent looking up into the flashes, feeling the rain drench my face, watching. There is something in me that loves overwhelming awesome power – the sheer intensity, the raw primal natural force of nature in a fury is one example.
The boys came to check we were all right, and went on to join the girls: but two stayed with me, to watch the storm. I do not know which boys it was: it was dark and after the others left we did not exchange even a single word: nothing was said. The lightning was blinding and the darkness between deeper because of that – the whole world was lit by flashes and roiled by crashing thunder.
The boys laid either side of me – each of us on our backs, our heads out of the tent, looking up. It felt intimate, nice – I was pleased they had decided to stay with me, it was unusual for boys not to go off with my other friends.
When I felt the hand on my leg I thought it must be an accidental touch – that he couldn't have realised he was touching me. I dared not move in case he realised and took his hand away – I didn't want him to take his hand away, it felt intimate, tingling, exciting. I had imagined boys touching me, in my sexual fantasies, but this was at once a lighter, more tentative touch than I imagined, and at the same time incredibly more intense – a real hand, a real touch, a real boy touching me.
When he shifted his hand higher, up to my bare thigh, I knew it was not an accident. I kept very still because I did not want to alert his friend to what was happening. Where his fingers touched, my skin tingled like electricity – a sensual heat that washed out througgh my hole body, radiating from that soft gentle slight contact.
I could not hold back a tiny quiet soft whimper when his fingers at last brushed, teased, through my soft dark curly cunt hairs: my body wanted to buck, to arch, and it took all of my will power to hold that urge back. I could feel I was biting my lip to stay silent. My wetness surprised me – and I was naive enough to be embarrassed for his finger to find me that wet – I remember thinking very clearly that I hope he would not think I had wet myself.
I didn't feel the least shame, or anxiety, or any urge to stop it. I was naive, but not stupid: I knew what sex was, how it might progress from an intimate touch to full sex – I just didn't want it to stop. No, more than that – I wanted it to happen: not only my mind but also my body wanted it with a hot sexual fire I had never until then experienced.
He fumbled clumsily beside me and I knew he was tugging his sorts down. That is when I realised his friend was not unaware, because a hand lifted my nightdress, slipped it up, and settled on one small bared breast.
The boy rolled over me easily, mounting me – his knees between mine, pushing my legs apart gently. He was big – his cock was big, much bigger than in my fevered sexual imaginings – bigger, and hotter, and harder as I held it and guided it. There was no difficulty, no awkwardness, no pain as he penetrated me – sliding in, easily, lubricated by that new copious wetness. Right in: all the way; all of it; fully in.
I think I came – orgasmed -= almost as soon as he penetrated me, because my whole body snaked, arching, so that I actually lifted his weight with mine, my buttocks rose right off the sleeping bag: and then it rolled through me – wave after wave of shattering, shuddering feeling that I now recognise as orgasm – so much more intense than the feelings I had excited by my own self stimulation – all-consuming, awesome with the power of raw primal sex to match the crashing thunder of the storm. I could see his shape silhouetted above me in each flash – his chest felt so firm, with soft curly hair, as my hands reached up to him.
I do not think he was any more exeprienced than I: and I do not think my immediate orgasm helped him to hold back because he too cam every quickly, flooding me with his cum: but it didn't matter, it was enough – more than enough – I was in heaven, my head going side to side, moaning wordlessly as he thrust and emptied himself in me.
He rolled off when he was done, and his friend rolled on to take his place – entering me easily, fucking me with more purpose, so that for the first time I felt the real force of a man's fucking me – the hard deep full thrusts, the feeling of his need to do it to me, to empty himself inside me. He too came quite quickly – but none of it mattered, I was on fire and then hot with the slowly fading embers os unrestrained, fully abandoned fucking.
They lay for a few minutes eitgher side of me, breathing hard. Nothing was said – not then nor ever, even the next day. They slipped away and left me on my own without a word. But I didn't need their words: I didn't need anything more, not for ages – I didn't even masturbate again for a week. I lay there, on my back, feeling their cum ooze inside me. I remember thinking – very clearly, as I do – I form the words, in my head, clear and concise – I thought about Sue, and how they all fluttered around her: but, I thought to myself, I was the one who got fucked. That's how I thought of it: I got fucked.
The storm faded, and I literally hugged myself: I felt like a sex goddess – I got fucked.
I have a photo, taken the day after, of me in my bikini on the beach, combiong my hair after swimming – I look like the cat that got the cream – so smug, so satisfied: I can see it in my face in that photo – what my husband used to call me 'just fucked' face.
The following week I met my husband, and remained faithful to him with few exceptions till this day, 37 years later. I never told him my experience – I now know he would be fine with it, but too long has passed with too little said and now is not the time. But I am sharing it with you, who are reading – and I hope you enjoy it.

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bySarah_1964© 0 comments/ 0 views/ 0 favorites

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