I grew up in the 1960s. No Internet. No DVDs, CDs, or VHS tapes. In fact, there would have been something of a dearth of magazines – wink wink, nudge nudge. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t pornography. Nope, being the horny little tyke I was, I did find materials appropriate to the task at hand.
I was an avid reader when I was a teenager. Between the ages of 13 and 16, I read a thousand books. That is no exaggeration as I had the tomes stacked up on shelves in my bedroom and I counted them.
Yes, I read erotica, but I also read science, religion (the Bible!), philosophy, science fiction, and some of the classics of literature. There was fiction as well, including detective stories, murder mysteries, and all of James Bond of course. There were scads and scads of other things including the texts popular at that time like Readers’ Digest Guide to the Family and Dr. Spock (not the Vulcan, but the pediatrician). Even more notable were feminist works like The Female Eunuch by Germaine Greer. My father was a medical professional and I also studied his books on anatomy.
I lost my virginity when I was 15 years old. She was nineteen, the older woman. What was the attraction? I was fifteen. Hell, I didn’t even had a driver’s license never mind any money other than my allowance from cutting the lawn and other chores. We met on the phone and had some dirty chats. An older friend who was already driving gave me a lift to meet this woman, ah, girl. She took me upstairs and within five minutes it was over. Wham, bam, thank you, Ma’am.
So that’s sex, eh? But that wasn’t the end of it, that was the beginning.
Thursday nights in my home town were sort of special. All the stores stayed opened later, usually until 9 o’clock, and everybody including all the kids would go downtown to shop and hang out. I was like everybody else but I wasn’t like everybody else. Every Thursday, I would get on the bus and go downtown and sit on the bus as it went by all the students making the scene. I would stay on the bus and go to the other side of town where my older woman and I would spend two hours together having sex.
What was the attraction in me? She was nineteen. She had a baby. She lived on her own and I have no idea how she made ends meet. I think she was lonely but I also think she was just horny. I was an amusing diversion. No strings, no attachment, no complications, just sex.
But not really “just sex”. Maybe this was the woman to whom I had given up my virginity, but I had invested a number of years reading the instruction manual in order to bone up for my eventual practical examination. I knew exactly what the labia minora were and where they were; I just had never seen them in real life. Twice she asked me, “Are you sure you haven’t had sex before?” I had a partner willing to experiment and I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity of having a live subject with whom I could try out every little fanciful sex idea I ever had. If I caress you here, what does it feel like? It tickles. What about there? It feels nice. Okay, I will not caress you here but will continue to caress you there.
I would phone every Thursday to verify that our weekly tryst was on as scheduled and I still chuckle recalling the conversation.
Her: Would you buy me a pack of cigarettes?
Me: Ah man, you’re not going to make me stop at the store. Why do you smoke?
Her: I’ll give you a blowjob.
Me: What brand of cigarettes do you want?
There was more to it of course, but eventually we went our separate ways.
When I think about being that age and in high school, I can’t imagine a better example of the ways in which men and women are on different wavelengths. A guy goes out on a date with so many hormones in his system, it is a wonder he doesn’t self-combust. A girl goes out hoping for what – to be liked?
As a man, I give you love to get sex. As a woman, you give sex hoping to get love. What a nightmare of miscommunication and bad intentions.
This first sexual relationship was unquestionably influential for me. I discovered that an older, experienced, and passionate woman is to be savoured and treasured. There is no power play, no jealousy, no sex shaming or slut shaming; there are just two people having a good time together and enjoying each other. This was so different from the experiences I had with girls my own age. In fact, I would add that the best lover I ever had was the 43-year-old woman I dated for 10 years when I was 30. Sex is a good thing, but with the right person, it’s a great thing.
© William Quincy Belle
William Quincy Belle is the nom de plume of a mysterious writer with a flair for provocative social commentary. He is enigmatic, enterprising, entertaining and quite possibly, educational – whether we like it or not.
Part 3 in a series on first sexual experiences.
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“As a man, I give you love to get sex. As a woman, you give sex hoping to get love. What a nightmare of miscommunication and bad intentions.”
Is it bad intentions? Or, is it who we are as men and women? The only problem with it is that we fail to understand that is who we are as men and women.
Your Thursday afternoons made me wonder what my boys were doing with their afternoons a few years back. I wouldn’t mind if they had been influenced in such a way.
I agree with Mr Belle that sex with the right person is great. I also agree that many fall into the generalization that “As a man, I give you love to get sex. As a woman, you give sex hoping to get love.” That said I must be part woman as I want to be in a relationship.
When I was 18 I hand a 1 night stand with someone I knew as an acquaintance for 4 years and it did not feel good. Maybe that influenced me, maybe it was Catholic school or maybe it’s how I view love, women, sex and relationships.
Life would be much easier if I was just interested in the sex.
And, in case you find yourself desiring an older woman again, I believe I’m a bit older than you 😉
Haha Cathy. Mr. Belle writes in a sexy way, or something, because when I read I find myself sighing a lot. I loved this. 🙂
I suspect Mr. Belle has a habit of making women sigh, Cuckoo Momma. 😉
What a great personal accounting of truth when it comes to sex – and how men and women experience it differently – one looking for sex and the other looking for love. You were a lucky 15 year old.
Tangent: I wish I started writing under a nom de plume. I have even given it a try, but I have a hard time carrying it out. I always reveal myself.
And maybe it’s not the worst thing if we reveal ourselves, Rob… Though admittedly, it’s a fine line to walk… honesty, authenticity, but still the privacy we need.
I read Ms. Meyer’s second comment and immediately felt a mild flush, an increase in pulse rate, and a bead of perspiration on my forehead. Ah, the memory of a young man catching the eye of an older woman and feeling a touch of anticipation in the air, a glance pregnant with primordial possibility.
Then I suddenly remembered I’m not 15. I’m not even 30. In fact, I’m old enough that I should have the wisdom to immediately use whatever diagnostic techniques I have at hand to definitively rule out early signs of a stroke.
*bows and sweeps one arm out as if he was holding a musketeer hat* M’Ladies, tis always a pleasure. All the best to all of you in your worlds. wb 🙂
A big fan of Mr. Belle’s… Fun to read your story. I think we’d have a better world if we could create a sexual environment like the one you experienced. Open exploration, mutual desire and a real interest in getting to know our bodies and our partners’.
Cathy probably isn’t the only one who would offer herself to you….
What a charming, charming Mr Belle. “Sex is a good thing, but with the right person it’s a great thing.” Truer words were never penned. And, of course, I love what you wrote about older women.
See, he talked again and I’m sighing again. Damn this man is good.
We’re going to have to start a Fan Club for Mr. Belle, aren’t we…