First Timer's Luck
I can still see her, years later. As perfect as she was to me then. The thought of that night still brings my entire body to attention.
I was 18, a senior in high school, with many girlfriends but not a girlfriend. I was friend-zoned, constantly. “I love you like a brother," all the girls said, talking to me about their crushes, teasing, as if I was one of them. I’d never been kissed and was painfully aware of the fact that I was soon to enter college a complete virgin.
My sexual appetite, unquenched, built fantastic energy in me. At times, it was all-consuming. Tight shirts or smooth legs plagued my brain while I lay in bed, slowly, deliberately stroking, fantasizing, and desperately trying to release some of the pent-up sexual energy within me. I'd edge myself, trying to last as long as I could to enjoy the bliss of desire, sometimes simply fantasizing about being held in someone's arms, kissed, lightly touched.
I decided my chances for changing the facts were slim, and so I hunkered down studying, spending long hours in front of the computer screen working my hardest to hopefully win some scholarships. Life was pretty uneventful until one weekend my older sister came home from college with her roommate, Sasha.
Sasha was from a small town in northern Washington, so home was a bit further for her. She was happy to come to our family’s place to enjoy some respite from the dorms and daily life of the university.
And Sasha was captivating. She had curves. Beautiful, full breasts and a stomach that was not flat, not carved, not muscular, but naturally flowing like a wave. Her body was like a story, telling she’d been cared for, and that she cared for herself. That she enjoyed life and lived. Her hips seemed to be asking to be held, guided, grabbed onto.
"Kelly talks about you all the time," she told me when we first met. "She misses her best friend." I was even a friend to my sister! Not even an annoying little brother, but a friend just like every girl seemed to think of me.
Sasha treated me a bit differently, though. I'd be watching TV, and she'd sneak in a quick shoulder rub. She'd peek in on me at the computer working away and tell me not to work too hard. She seemed to respect and appreciate me as someone who had helped shape her roommate—her best friend in college—into who she was. She had a loving, honest way about her that made her even more beautiful to me, though that seemed nearly impossible…
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