Tag Archives: heterosexuality

February 1, 2011 · 11:02 am

The First Time I Fell in Love with a Girl

It was like a shooting star, bright but it faded as quickly as it came or rather as no one came.  This all happened so fast, I was still digesting the idea of us before it was all over.

To be honest I have always been attracted to both men and women, a bit of a bi-curious streak.  I think I just never wanted to admit my attractions to women to myself.  It was like everywhere I looked society, people, family and friends kept explaining how wrong it was in there eyes.

I worked as a as manager at a restaurant.  She started working as a waiter, fresh from the UK, with all her UK ways, living her life as fully as she can as a “full blown” lesbian.  I instantly found her attractive but as usual I dealt with like I always do, ignored it.  I think I came across as an uber bitch that didn’t care much.  Eventually she became a manager which meant we had to interact more.  I tried to keep it as professional as possible but it seemed impossible.  Before I knew it, she was joining us, my friends, at home for dinner, movies, coffee, drinks, anything we did.  The friendliness didn’t go far, for now.  She still had a girlfriend in the UK who called her at least twice a day.

Things started to get more intense, especially at work.  It was as if my attraction consumed my every thought.  It got to the point where I could barely be in her presence without dropping something or walking into something or uttering incoherent ramblings.  I felt like a complete idiot.  It felt like the more I became idiot like the more she pursued the matter.  It didn’t really matter that she had a girlfriend of like 2 years back in the UK.  She already travelled down under with a few doe eyed girls here in the land of opportunity, South Africa.  My mind kept screaming at me:  “step away from the girl, I repeat step away from the girl” while red alarm bells were blaring in the background.  But like a moth to a flame, I couldn’t resist.

And she caught on to it.  She started to intently pursue the matter, always saying and asking suggestive thing.  It got to a point where she walked/followed me home (the whole 5km-talk about being persuasive/pushy).  And of course the whole conversation back home was about what ifs.  I was very confused, nervous and scared.  She was leaving for the UK anyways so why take on something that would change my life.

The following day after the walk/talk/reason home, she somehow invited herself over for dinner.  It wasn’t really a problem except that there was enough energy between us to blow the roof of the house.  So it became later and later.  Eventually my roommate suggested that she sleeps over.   AARRGGHH!!!!!   All I wanted to do was to try to ignore the energy or somehow diffusing it but now it was literally closer to home than I can deal with.  I retreated to my room while she stayed behind on the sleeper couch.  My heart was racing, a million and one things ran no sprinted through my mind.  I laid in my bed unable to think straight, unable to sleep.  I was at a cross road, in the next room was someone that I was so attracted to, that it scared me.  I never felt like that about anyone and to top it I was engulfed by confusion.

So I chose one of the crossroads, I couldn’t take the tension/energy anymore so I smsed her to come to my room.  The moment of truth.  We just sat on the bed for a few minutes, which felt like a mini eternity, and then started kissing.  One thing led to another and before I knew it I lost my virginity for the second time, this time to a beautiful girl.  There were no real firework moments and I think the best was afterwards, just lying there cuddling and just being in the moment together-CHEESY I know.  We stayed awake most of the night talking, just being and a bit of exploring.

The next few days we just smsed each other.  I was very nervous to tell my roommate who also happens to be my best friend.  I kept thinking what if our friendship changes, what if she felt that she couldn’t even be friends with me anymore.   I have a special talent to always imagine the worst extremes. To my surprise my friend was perfectly fine with it and even suggested to invite her out.

The sleepovers kept going  on for about a month, she was going back to the UK.  No one at work knew and it just added fuel to the excitement of the experience.  There would be glances, words, looks and subtle touches.  However I kept telling her it was just for fun, an experience.  I was actually trying to convince myself it was just for fun.  People have flings, fuck buddies, one night stands all the time without getting attached, why would this be any different.  But to be honest, each sleepover wasn’t just about the sex, it was also the emotional and intellectual connection we shared, getting to know each other better.  To make matters worse, the dreadful goodbye was upon us, we had one week left.  And I wasn’t falling in love, I was crushing in love.

We, the work crew, held a “going away drinks” out for her.  It felt weird, 4 days left then she will be back in the UK, back with her girlfriend.  After the night out she came over to my house for a sleepover again.  During the day she told me she had to tell me something, I instantly felt uncomfortable about it, suspecting that it must be more than I was willing to deal with.   So when we got home after drinks, I asked her.  She confessed that she slept with one of the other managers, a guy, and it happened at work the previous weekend.  Suddenly the whole fairytale just crushed into a million pieces, the fairytale unrecognizable.  I was upset, I couldn’t believe it.  Her excuse, her dad didn’t want her to be gay so she gave it one final shot with a guy, or so she said.  She told me she loved me and it made me furious.  How can you break someone’s heart like that and then tell them you love them.   It is like deliberately punching someone in the stomach and then saying sorry and expecting that person to accept your apology.  Needless to say the next day at work was horrible, I was shattered.  Couldn’t stomach being at work, with her there.

She left that Monday.  We did talk before she left.  I wanted  to fix the unfixable.  I kept saying it wasn’t her fault that I felt so depressed, that it was my own because I should have never allowed myself to fall in love.   All the alarms and smoke signals were there.  I blame it on the movies, on fairytales.  Making us believe that if you love someone nothing can stand in the way of that.  I even got a crazy idea to go to the airport, running in slow motion saying  NOOOO DOOONT GET ON THAAAAAT PLANE.  Crazy I know.  But thank goodness sanity prevailed in the battle of craziness.

The months after she left, was very bad.  I felt desolate, disconnected and in disbelief about the whole experience.  I was depressed and couldn’t believe that someone who knew how you felt could make you feel so miserable.   One of my friends once told me, don’t screw the screw.  If only I listened.  I am fine now, survived the FIRST TIME I FELL IN LOVE WITH A GIRL!

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August 18, 2010 · 11:35 am

The First Time I had Sex with a Woman

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Sex, is a weird thing. It seems to me that what the eye sees the body wants.

The first time I had feelings for a woman is when I was in high school. Ours was an all girl school, girls everywhere. I was not allowed to attend any school socials or even my matric dance, so I never had a boyfriend until first year.

I mean like most school girls I had fantasies about my male teacher (we only had one), but it was the girls at school that I was intimate with, you know talking sharing stories and even hugging. I had feelings for this one girl but I think it was because at the time she felt sorry for me. She would come up to me and hug me when she thought I needed it. I responded but I think at some point, it became uncomfortable for her, because people thought I was lesbian.

Man I didn’t even know what that was then. To be lesbian. She stopped talking to me eventually.

I was still obsessed with women well into my varsity years however, especially when I understood that some of my attentions (I would say fascination) towards women actually had a name. Lesbian.

Eventually I did end up having sex with a woman. I did initially for my boyfriend (now my husband). He knew I had feelings (sexual) for women but, I had never acted on it.

When finally did it, it was an experience (the first one) I could confidently say I will never regret but will never repeat. I lay there as the woman touched me and poked me in places only men have ventured. It was empowering to say the least. I thought yeah this is what I have been missing out, this woman knows exactly were to touch me. I was extremely aroused by all this. She was experienced and I was not (with women). But as the night went on, I realised that there wasn’t much difference in the way of the act as it is when I had sex with a man.

I was at this point convinced that I was bi-sexual after that. And I had sex with two more women after that. But every time I did it I felt hollow and empty afterwards. Not because I was involved with someone else but because I realised it was and only was a school girl fantasy.  You might think I am only saying this because I have not had a real relationship with a woman, but I have. Even then it did not feel right.

This has made me have a new respect for people who date others oF the same gender. It seems it’s easy to do and just a fantasy, but it isn’t feelings of want have to be involved in the transaction. As in you would really have to be interested in women to sleep with them and not just some fantasy.

I also now know what I want sexually because I did it. So sex can be what the eye sees and the body wants, but it does not mean that is what your heart wants.

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May 28, 2010 · 10:19 am

My First Time Down South

My high school boyfriend and I weren’t too sure of how to go about the whole relationship thing.  I’ve always been a debilitating romantic, and spent most of my adolescence obsessing about boys who wouldn’t give me the time of day.  I was an avid day-time soapie enthusiast and blame that for my getting the impression that serious commitment at a young age is really quite a good idea.  Anyway, when I was 16 and finally found this gorgeous boy that actually liked me, I was at a total loss.  We were obsessed with each other and seemed to be miserable every minute we were apart.

When we were actually physically together it was a bit more complicated though.  A typical visit to his house entailed a meal with his family followed by a good couple of hours of us, alone, sitting on opposite sides of his bedroom.  Considering we spoke for hours on the phone every day there was usually very little of substance to say to each other, and we spent most of the time making small-talk.  Throughout the evening we would slowly move closer towards one another, almost as if by levitation, until somehow we were suddenly kissing frantically.  This would go on until about 4 o’clock in the morning when he would slip out to the guest bedroom so we didn’t get into trouble with his parents.

We had fumbled our way through the first couple of months and started getting more comfortable in our relationship when one evening, after a few successful hours of making out, he started moving my hand southwards.  He had been providing me with unreciprocated pleasure for about 2 months at this stage, so I wasn’t exactly shocked by the move, nonetheless I was frightened.  This was my first live penis.

I’d spoken to my friends about it before and they’d given me some tips, and I thought of these over and over and tried to perform exactly as instructed.  Almost immediately I knew that it wasn’t going to work.  I had expected my hand to just slide around down there and for it to be over in 5 minutes, but it was all dry and a bit sticky, and I knew from my tutorials that the pushing and pulling I was doing was entirely wrong.

After a while he rubbed some spit on himself – how was I supposed to know to do that? – and things started getting somewhat easier.  Still, I kept thinking that he, being far more practiced than I, should have just been doing this himself.

After 10 minutes I started swapping arms but I just couldn’t sustain the movement and my arms were killing me and every time I stopped he said he was just about to cum.  He never did.  Well not by my hands anyway.  After what seemed like a lifetime we called it a day and he went about his own business in the bathroom.  All I achieved was a bit of a work out.

We gave up on our latest venture and, for a while, got our kicks out of the occasional awkward grinding.  I really put my back into it too, scared as I was of another penis encounter, but teenage boys are not so easily satisfied and it was only a few weeks before he suggested our relationship move to the next level: oral sex.

Luckily he offered to go first, so I had a good 20 minutes to devise a plan of action.  When he eventually emerged like a man victorious (which, believe me, he wasn’t!) I had built up a fair amount of confidence.  I figured that, with the mouth automatically being involved, I wouldn’t have to worry about my hands sticking or jolting and I was pretty convinced that the thought that he was getting a blow job would be enough to satisfy him regardless of technique.   I was still somewhat scared that I might accidentally throw up on him, but from our previous experience I knew that he had a rather small penis and I resolved it was unlikely.

What I didn’t consider, however, was the consequences of success, which came far sooner than expected.  My first thought as I tasted this salty goo in my mouth was relief that whatever I had been doing had somehow worked.  Suddenly though, my whole mouth was full of the stuff and for a few seconds I sat, a bit traumatised, before I bolted down the corridor into the kitchen and spat it into the sink.  I rinsed my mouth out about five times and downed a glass of orange juice.  When I went back into the room my boyfriend was still recovering and looked at me expectantly, so I put on my sexy face, cuddled up to him and told him that, really, I’d quite enjoyed it.

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