I like to fondle and caress, and kiss a lot, and sometimes lick thoroughly before mounting. I like to work my fingers in into the cookie jar, and get them smeared with jam real good. But she had resisted my fingers going in and dipping in her honey pot. I knew she was all ready: stark nude and spread out before me, her firm small breasts jutting upward like twin hills. My tongue had explored the nutty crests of those breasts, and the crater of her belly button. The little hill further south, had also been fully explored, and nothing anymore was hidden from me. There was practically no inch of her smooth fair skin over which my mopping tongue and caressing fingers had not raced each other. Then I mounted, but she turned me over so expertly like a Greco-Roman wrestler. That little wild cat, Nneka.
I like a woman on top. Woman on top is a most libidinal and comfy position for me, next to doggy. I waited for Nneka to get hold of my shaft and shove it into her oozy coochy, but no, there was a heedless delay. I took charge of the turgid and throbbing cock to give it the headway it was crying for, but Nneka rolled off me and onto her stomach. I rolled onto her back, smouldering her with my weight, she remained still. I ran my tongue several times up and down her spine- from the nape of her neck to the cleavage of her rounded buttocks, sending shock-waves that vibrated her entire body again and again and again. I shoved my hands under her body, found her breasts and started to gently and nicely squeeze the hardened nipples, my passion-heated and pulsating dick pressed hard and grinding against the cleavage of her buttocks. I was liking it, and she was too- I could tell from her moans. I almost couldn’t hold back my cum as the sweetness of her was killing me nicely. She was gloriously wet, and my pre-cum was smearing her bums, making the entire region very slippery. A still small voice admonished me to slot my dick in the arse hole, but I shunned that voice for I wouldn’t know if Nneka was cool with anal sex, since it was the first time we would be making love. Alternatively, I considered her already wet pussy- to take it from behind. My knees were pressing into the hard mattress at both sides of the two meaty mounds of her cute arse. I was in position, a good position.
I was just beginning to wet the tip of my dick in the fluid from her core when she sudden rose, and turned to face me. A stern look on her face.
“Uh?” I asked in my confusion. “…what is it my love? What is the matter with you…?” I probed gently, in a tremulous voice I hardly recognise as my own. But she placed a hand on my heaving chest as if to keep me calm and at arm’s length, looked me straight in the eye and said
“Christ, there’s something I want to ask you…”
I held my breath, waiting for her to come out with her request, but she was taking forever to do so. I didn’t have forever in my eagerness to get laid. She turned her eyes away as if she was embarrassed at what she was going to request from me. A little birdie whispered in my ears that “what else, in the world, would a little spoilt brat be wanting from a lover at such crucial moment but money?” But I perished that thought. Nneka: yes, was a brat, but she had never asked me for a Dime for the more than one year we’ve been seeing each other. When she wouldn’t come up with her request, I surmised that she wanted me to use condom. “Oh. Good Old condom! every players companion. Stupid Christ me, I should have figured it out that Nneka wanted safe sex”. I thought to myself. I was glad then, that condom was never lacking in my room. In those days, I had them everywhere- Under the mattress, in my wardrobe, in my desk’s drawers, in my wallet, in the inner pockets of my favourite jeans. They were never far away. They were very cheap too, but I hardly buy them. Who would waste money on condom?
As the realisation that safe sex was what the Little Vixen wanted dawned on me, Something under my chest gave and dropped into my stomach that moment. The “The Little Slut” story her friend, Pat, had regaled me with about The Prettier Nneka, came back flooding my mind. Pat was Nneka’s best friend and more mature, but I had ignored. She was more than 2 years older than Nneka, and very, very, very experienced in matters that will shock the Pope into a seizure or heart attack. She had told me to stop dating the bitch, that Nneka was always like a bitch on heat, running after boys, and opening her legs for every John, Thomas, and Dick. And that she’s had contracted an incurable Gonorrhoea. That if I had any self respect, I would steer clear of the Little Slut. I thought Pat liked me and wanted me all to herself, but when she spurned my overture to take her to bed (the first time) I began to take her words seriously. I actually observed that Nneka had far too many male friends, and that she was too popular among boys. Some of my hostel mates actually bragged to me that they have had series of hot sex romps with The Little Slut. All that story, had actually fired my imagination to fuck Nneka, but she was so vulnerable-looking and I concluded that men had taken undue advantages of her innocence, and I wasn’t gone and do that.
I became more friendly with Nneka. She followed my advice and reduced the number of her male friends, and I forgot what Pat said about Nneka’s infestation with an Incurable Gonorrhoea. I had made a mental note to never fuck her without condoms, when I would make up my mind to forget her age and take my share of the apple, though rotten it may be.
“Christ, do you care for me?” Nneka asked, startling me out of my reverie. Then I got frantic, and cast about for a condom “Yes, baby, I care a lot about you. And you know it… You know it baby, don’t you?” I replied without thinking and without looking at her. I was off the bed, ransacking the wardrobe for my stash of Gold Circle™. I found a opened pack still containing three condoms attached together in the pocket of a old suit. (I remember this pack- it has a memory that will fill pages of a great story) I was aware that those rubber-tubey-thingys had expiry dates, but little did I care in my haste to get the armour and finish my conquest.
Nneka watched me tear away the polymer covering wraps of the branded Condoms. She observed as I expertly held my stiff prick in one hand, place the flying-saucer-shaped rolled latex rubber disc on the “helmet” and roll them down to the thick hairy base one after the other. I observed her nod grimly and said further.
“there’s something I want to let you know about me, Christ”.
In my mind, I was ready for whatever she was going to say next, but what she hit me with shook me to the foundation of my being. Why my flagpole of a penis didn’t wilt that instant, still surprises me as I am telling you this factual story.
“I have never done it in my life” said Nneka.
“What?” I asked before I could articulate my scattered thoughts.
“Wha… Wha… What did you say… Nneka?”
“I have never had sex before” she reiterated.
“Oh, ah… Like… Uh… You mean… Like… You are… virgin?” I asked blurting out the almost incoherent words.
“Yes Christ, I am still a virgin” she stated shyly, but with conviction that shattered my doubts.
“But… Uh… Uh… Uh Pat… Well never mind” I blurted further.
Though my flagpole was still up, I had lost interest in sex. I didn’t want to fuck Nneka anymore. I couldn’t come to terms with what “The Little Slut” meant by she was a virgin. Virgins don’t exist, anymore more than fairies do. These days girls are born in disvirgined state. I knew because I had seen many girls. And I know what my eyes have seen. Then I asked her if there is any veneral disease she was living with. To my mind, she was shading me away from contracting her purported gonorrhoea. She said ‘yes’ that she had a disease she contracted at age 13 or 12, from the pit latrine they used in their former residence, before her father built their house and had water closet fitted, and that she had been completely cured of the disease by the herbal medications her parents had procured for her. I found it all hard to get my head around the whole story too, like you reader must be finding this story now.
I was confused and I was scratching my head. I was beginning to lose my erection. When she laid back on the bed, drew up her knees to her chest. Her vagina became very conspicuous as she spread the labia majora with her hands. Nnka showed me something she said was called “hymen”. She said the name in three other languages, but “hymen”, and “maiden head” were the only two nomenclatures that stuck in my perforated brains that time. I looked but didn’t see a thing- there was no hole in there beneath the Labias of her genitalia either. She lectured me that the presence of hymen was the evidence of virginity. But I knew, the sign and proof of virginity was a girl’s bleeding and staining the sheets with the flower of her first sexual intercourse. She guided my probing fingers around her vagina, soon I had found a hole that swallowed my forefinger halfway. She said her flower was mine for the plucking; that she loved me, and was giving her self to me.
She had started wriggling her hips as my thumb was intently rubbing her pronounced clit, as the forefinger kept poking, and deepening the little hole I had made in her honey pot. She was whimpering, moaning like some beasts in dying throes. Many times our limbs would get entangled in passionate embraces; our lips would be locked in the most sensual kisses- deep and soul-sucking kisses. I have never had such intense passionate moment with any other woman till date.
Nneka gave up her virginity to me as a birthday present on her own birthday- her 16 birthday. I had scratched my head some, and had said no, that only her true love, being her future husband, deserved such treasure . I assured her of my committed friendship, and of my willingness to help her treasure her virginity. That we shouldn’t be having penetrating sex but to be making love in this fresh new sensually-gratifying way we have discovered together. She disagreed, and challenge me to accept her flower and make her a woman. And so I did. She bled from her vagina when I forced my way past her hymen into her feminine core, ripping her maidenhead in that passage. I actually felt the rip, and the warmth of her fresh blood on my penis. She screamed out briefly in epiphany of pain at the moment of entry. A light also lit up in my own head, that must have shown as a visible halo around me. Soon she was giving me a run for it, bucking faster and faster, gyrating and wriggling her waist rhythmically to the music of my love.
After series of climaxes, Nneka laid and cried to sleep on my chest, my arms wrapped protectively around her. Her tears (joyful tears) were mingling with our profusion of musky sweats was washing my shoulders and chest and soaking the mattress beneath me. We were happy satiated and content. She looked more beautiful than she’d ever seemed to me, and I wanted us to be like that forever. It was a profound experience for me. Taking Nneka’s virginity was a sacred obligation foisted on me. With God helping me, I had performed my duty with the sacerdotal punctiliousness it required. Nneka was not a slut. And she was not diseased. She bled a little more the next day when we made love again. She just turned 16 that first day, and we made love often until she was well over 17 when she gained admission to a faraway private university leaving me behind.
Lust, just like Love, will make you do crazy things- things you will never want your mama to hear about. I did such crazy thing with Nneka. Nneka was only Fifteen when we met, and I did it on her sixteen birthday. She told me, and showed it too, that I had given her the greatest gift of her life. It wasn’t the first for me, but for Nneka it was. I have this little confession to make that for me, and it was Lust that drove me to love in the time of gonorrhoea. A risk well worth it.