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My First Time
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Subject: My first time
Okay, people, I have you to thank for this experience and this is how
I'm doing it. I hope it's of some interest to others. There are a lot
of unnamed friends in this story, and it's deliberate: while I am
(perhaps foolishly; only time will tell) extending trust to several
tens of thousands of readers, I don't have the right to do the same on
their behalf. (And someone can tell me if the jumping betwene past and
present tenses I do works.)
First, this sort of started when, based on favourable reviews from asb,
I got the Sleeping Beauty books (Anne Rice/A.N. Roquelaure, 3 books, in
large bookstores) and read them. Then I mentioned them to a friend,
who borrowed them and read them, who passed them on to a third person
who "couldn't put them down", and a fourth wants copies for herself...
I'm so happy I have interesting friends.
Background: I'm 23, male, heterosexual, a virgin, you name it and I
haven't done it - like french kissing, or going out on a date. (Well,
there was one thing I decided to call one. For those of you who
remember it, think of Mike Doonesbury's first date with J.J.) Still,
except for personal companionship, my social life has been pretty
active lately, and the parties have been getting better of late. This
last one, I'll never forget. I'm also a virgin with regards to B&D.
I've done mild stuff to myself while masturbating, but nothing
significant. Three days ago (speaking with STella against a B&D/S&M
split), I posted a message saying that I'd call safeword almost before
the first stroke landed, but still appreciated flogging stories.
Well, now, without anything remotely sexual happening, I'm no longer
quite a virgin. I got my first flogging. In the middle of a party.
(Big, shit-eating grin:) I liked it! As there was no sex involved,
except that I greatly enjoyed the appearance of some of the floggers, I
wonder if this is the right newsgroup, but it's the closest thing there
is. And, as I said, this is the home of the idea to try it. Thanks,
all! I owe it especially to whoever (lothie?) posted that description
of finding out how enjoyable a thorough flogging was: a backrub was almost
as relaxing. Well, I didn't get enough to find out about that, but I did
learn a few other things...
So, without further ado, the other night, a friend had a "fuzzy gender"
party, with cross-dressing encouraged. (Invitations illustrated with
pictures from biology books of the development and differentiation of
the reproductive organs - very nice.) Having to psych yourself up to
dress in odd clothing, people's inhibitions were pretty low to start
with. I met a number of very nice and interesting people. I was in a
knitted black turtleneck dress, hiked up with the aid of a belt to
above the knee, with burgundy stockings, a silver-and-black necklace,
fake nails (I've seen much longer, but these were enough to make it
almost impossible to, say, put my hand in my pocket) with bright red
polish, red lipstick, a modest amount of makeup, and, to keep it fuzzy,
I left my beard on. Taking the subway there (I was wearing a coat and
pants for warmth which covered all but the makeup and gelled hair) was
pretty uneventful, except for one little black boy who got on with his
mother at Eglinton, and his eyes just went WIDE. I smiled at that and
his mother dragged him to a seat elsewhere.
I went to a friend's house and joined 4 others - 3 male and 1 female,
who were getting into costume. Two had found some white satin 2" pumps
in women's size 11 for $3 in a junk store, Dyed black, they were
marvellous. She dressed in grebs, a kilt, a tough jacket, and generally
looked like a long-hair male rocker. A Jack Daniel's bottle full of
tea completed the image. All the males were in black skirts and
dresses, with water-filled baloons popular for breast substitutes (I
borrowed a small bra and stuffed a pair of shoulder pads into each cup
- idea stolen from an interview with a fashion photographer in the
Globe And Mail), and the female friend helping with the makeup. (It
also helps to have theatre people in the crowd.)
We ran overtime getting ready, so called a cab to get us there. The
cabbie declared he wasn't allowed to carry 5 in the cab (funny - I've
done it before, and it was only 8 blocks) and flatly refused to take
us. We didn't believe his excuse. So we bummed a lift off someone
else.
Damn, it's cold in nylons. I rang the doorbell, and was greeted by the
host in a flowery house dress and slightly lumpy bosom, then wandered
in and feel relief that we weren't the only ones, we didn't
misunderstand the seemingly clear invitation, etc. I tried to learn to
walk in a feminine way while many of the ersatz males were commenting
loudly on the charms of the ersatz females, swigging drinks, and
practicing belching.
I don't get excited by cross-dressing, but it was fun and, as I said,
it meant that everyone was a bit giddy and rather uninhibited to start
with. Nobody got drunk and wild, as there was no need to get drunk to
go wild.
Anyway, one of the nice females I met there was dressed in leather,
with a glued-on moustache, and carrying a pair of handcuffs, and a
roughtly 4 foot braided leather whip. It had fallen on hard times,
unravelling at the end, and it had been patched together with duct
tape. But it still looked good. I was tending bar for most of this
time. (I and two friends constructed an 8 foot long portable bar
recently, and now it's a regualr fixture at parties.)
Later in the party, the whip lost its owner and was being idly played
with by various people, when one female, dressed sort of half-and-half
in a rather male jacket, worn open over a black bra with only the
bottom half of the cup opaque (she *always* looks hot - her boyfriend
is very lucky), when it accidentally struck one of the friends I had
lent the Beauty books to (drunk enough to be rather cheerful by this
point). So he asked, in a bantering tone, if she would flog him. She
said yes.
"Okay," and he walks over a a clear space in the kitchen, pulls off his
shirt, grabs onto the top of the fridge, and steps back so he's leaning
into it. By this point, I'm out from behind the bar saying "I want
some of this." This female is finding her jacket flaps into the way of
her swing, so she takes it off. Standing in a half-opaque bra attracts
the attention of another friend with a camera, who wants to capture the
scene on film. I insist that his back must have at least one red
stripe (nobody's hit anyone with the whip so far), so she drags her
fingernail across his back and waits a few seconds for it to show up.
Click.
"So, are you going to do it?" asks the bottom holding onto the fridge.
"Are you serious?" "Yes!" "Okay..." Look carefully, take aim, snap.
"You missed. Try again." "Uh, okay." Snap. Better this time. I've
lost track of the exact order of events, but the boyfriend of the hot
female in the black bra and pants wants a picture in the same pose. So
he poses, and I draw a line across his back with my fake fingernails.
(Ouch! Now I know why pulling fingernails out is torture...) Click.
This seems to be losing energy, and I haven't gotten mine. I grab the
whip and start looking for tops. I find one female wearing fatigues
(well, she *is* in the army) I had been talking to earlier about how
horrible it would be for her kids to have to admit the truth that their
mother did wear army boots (:-), for the humour-impaired, and no, this
is not me at my wittiest, it just adds flavour and takes the least
background) who is willing to test the whip against my back. But first
she wants a drink.
Whoosh, I'm behind the bar giving my best service (stop that giggling
in the back row! The minds some of you have...) and then waited for
the conversation she's struck up with someone else to reach a point
where I can take her up on her offer. In the meantime, I chatted with the
boyfriend of the first whipper. We talked about fetishes a bit, and he
went and got his body harness. Very simple, 4 straps coming from a
steel ring in the back, over the shoulders and dipping at the sides, to
a ring in the front and buckles. I'm keeping an eye on my (hopefully)
whipper. After I feared she'd forgotten, I found a polite opening, and
asked if she was ready.
Hooray! I'm pulling my dress over my head (leaving the sleeves on my
arms) and grabbing onto the fridge. I presnt a good view of my
uderwear, maroon nylins over it, my legs shaved to mid-thigh, and my
bra strap. I'm thinking that I'm not doing kinky by half-measures,
here! I'm a little bit nervous, as I've never done this before. She's
standing to my rear right, whip in right hand, testing the arm
motions. I'm shuffling a few inches to the left, to give her swinging
room. "Okay. Watch your eyes." Head down, I wait. Snap! "You're
hitting long. How about I move to the left a little?" Shuffle,
shuffle. Snap! H'm... this has possibilities. "A little lower, how
about?" Snap! "Mmmm!"
I got about half a dozen strokes, then others joined in. Again, I've
forgotten the order of events, but I moved aside (pull dress down,
leave slightly askew), the friend who went first got a few more from
his original whipper (I recall my whipper giving instructions to aim
low, as the whip snaps up), then the boyfriend of the original whipper
started giving her a tutorial on whipping technique. I volunteered as
target. Up goes the dress again. Another half dozen good strokes,
then she takes over again. I get a couple of nice ones, acting as my
own forward observer to describe where to hit, but soon my left
shoulder blade is getting a trifle sore. I ask if she could move to
the right to give some from a different angle. "Um, I'm
right-handed." Her boyfriend gives forehand instruction (no strokes
land). "Um, Colin" says the friend who was first target, "are you sure
you want more? Your back is awfully red." "I'm fine!," I say from
looking at my feet so my eyes are away from the occasionally wild
strokes, "Stop when you break the skin." "Colin," the flogger says,
"your back *is* rather red." "I'm not hurting, and a promise to stop when
I am. Keep going."
But first, another female, who was intrigued by the Beauty books (and
I've tied up in a play-fight, come to think of it), rubs an ice cube
all over my back. A bit of a shock at first, but *that*'s interesting,
too! The only problem is water running down my back (I'm still holding
onto the fridge, leaning forward - an invitation for more whip
treatment) and into my underwear. But I'll put up with it for more of
this pampering.
When that's over, I get several more lashes from the other side. One
is a bit long, and curls around almost to my bellybutton. I note this
out loud. "Sorry." "No! I wasn't complaining!" Oh, yes, the camera
has come back and is taking a few more pictures.
Then my other friend who went first wants a few, and the girl whipping
tries a sort of overhand, the ceiling being too low to permit a full
swing. This leaves a nice red stripe from the right shouder-neck
junction across to above the left kidney. Two more follow within an
inch. She's getting her aim down! My friend having had enough, I ask
for some of the same. Granted.
Snap! Snap! I'm not getting sexually aroused or anything, but I
*like* this. I don't drink, so I'm not drunk, nor have I indulged in
anything else (I didn't even *see* anything else - all the tobacco
addicts had to go out to the bitter cold to get thir fixes); while I'm
having a bit of a "contact high" from social interaction (and the fact
that almost a dozen others are watching with curiosity, if not quite
approval, is maintaining it), this must be fun in its own right. I
feel it when the whip lands, and it stings, but it doesn't *hurt*. I
have not the briefest primitive urge to avoid these strokes; rather, I
want more of this intense feeling. I don't know how to describe it,
but it doesn't hurt.
About every other stroke through all of this, I've been giving
directions. Higher/lower, that hit long/short, and occasionally asking
if that was as hard as they could do.
After a few more from the other side, my whipper and audience decide
that I've had enough. I grudgingly move aside. Then the girl who
rubbed the ice cube into my back somewhat hesitantly decides she wants
to see what this is like. Off with the jacket; underneath is a teddy
that preserves modesty (but very attractively!) and exposes her
shoulders for the whip. She assumes the position. The boyfriend giving
whipping directions traces a line just above the back of the teddy, and
the girl who started the whole thing gives a stroke. "That wasn't very
good" says the target. Snap, again. "Um, still a little off." Snap,
again. "How was that?" "Just one more." Now, the boyfriend (I think;
I know it was a he) moves in and eases the spaghetti straps off her
shoulders, making her bring her elbows down and inwards to keep them
from sliding back. The teddy stays over her nipples, but another inch
or so of her back is exposed. Snap, a good one. She quietly puts the
spaghetti straps over her reddened shoulders and gets back into her outfit.
Then the boyfriend of the whipper decides he wants to try one and,
still in his harness (just 4 straps, nothing really) grabs onto the top
of the fridge and leans into it. Snap. "H'm... I think I prefer to
top."
Scene over, I go to the bathroom and, with the aid of the host in
locating a second mirror (he walked in on the scene and watched, rather
stunned, half of it), looked at my back. Nicely criss-crossed with
pink lines, but there are patches of white between them. This, I think
(from descriptions on asb), is nothing. I pull my dress down and go
back to the bar.
The main flogger and only female floggee were talking about recent
events, saying that the first had a lot of fun in the proceedings and
that they have almost enough customers here to go into business. I
told them of a contact I have to a professional mistress in Toronto who
might be willing to give some tips. (Give generously to support the
humour-impaired. Yes, I know of one, but I will not embarass myself by
passing on enquiries before I have satisfied myself of their
seriousness. There may be easier ways. She flatly doesn't do, I'm
told, sex as mundanes and the criminal code know it.)
I spent the rest of the evening tending bar, finding a flogger for
another session and generally feeling crazy. I can't belive I'm doing
this! When another female joined the two talking and they exchanged
body shots (I won't explain the whole complexity of the ritual, but it
ends up with taking a shot of tequila and sucking on a lemon wedge held
between someone else's teeth; the lemon wedge is often removed shortly
as it impedes access to the other's mouth), the host commented to me (I
was participating by supplying the salt, tequila, and lemons) that this
used to freak him out, but now it was the tamest thing that had
happened all night. Public floggings in *his* kitchen!
I spoke to the main whipper before she left, and found out more about
an expedition to Boots (Sherbourne, just south of Bloor, first and
third thursday of the month is fetish night), and got a promised her a
whip in exchange for some use of it. Fortunately, I found the owner of
the whip and got enough directions to find its source.
I then spent a lot of time talking to her, who hadn't participated in
all this (not even watching), but I was rebraiding some of the bits
that have slipped and vaguely hoping that I could talk her into giving
me some.
Later, she expressed some curiosity, so I quickly encouraged her by
flopping on a living room couch and she gave me a few strokes. While I
could take them, they hurt a bit. Attitude seems to make a significant
difference to what it feels like - if you're excited, it feels vastly
different. I can only imagine that sexual arousal must be more so.
We were both among those who eventually crashed for the night and
cleaned up in the morning. That O.J. we spilled behind the bar had
turned into gunk. When she finally left, I thanked her profusely and
gave her whip a kiss before handing it over. You see what asb does to
a guy?
This was a first time for anything of the sort for all involved. Gee,
it was different from other postings asking how one gets one's SO
interested in such things! Has anyone else had any similar experiences?
As soon as I got home I started typing this up. Then I got distracted,
and now I'm sitting here, having just finished this, and wondering if
posting this non-anonymously is altogether a good idea. Oh, what the
hell... if Lothie can do it, so can I. (And if I get the same
response, warning: wannafucks I don't approve of *will be posted* for
public ridicule. Hopefully, I'll remember to remove the From: line...)
Copyright © 1992 Colin Plumb, all rights reserved. May be copied and
redistributed so long as the decision to redistribute this work is
performed by automatic equipment, and with precisely zero human
editorial input. (I.e. if you're capable of liking this article in
particular, I do not give you permission to reproduce it. Trekkies may
argue about Data if they please, but not here, please.)
--
-Colin ([email protected], [email protected])
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