Vi's first time

His first arrival at my school had cause an incredible stir among my house mates. The dashing young conte, all of fourteen, a musical prodigy it was rumored, was not at Gstaad to ski, but to see me. Sneaking off to his chalet was an easy affair. With conspiratorial roommates and an alcoholic Hausfrau who was perennially short of cash, I was soon in his arms, drinking champagne and smoking Hawaiian pot. When I asked his purpose for being there, he’d responded boldly that he’d come to claim my virginity, believe you my love, a virtue of little value in 1966, one I was eager to dispense with. When is lovemaking between fourteen year olds not clumsy? I was so afraid, but in the end, I fairly certain that the deed had not been done that night, for although we'd been naked, our bodies rubbed together like kindling wood and I recall what seemed to be la petite morte, it seems little penetration had actually taken place. There’d been no pain nor blood and he had sprayed all over my stomach.

Le mie amiche were divided on this issue. A year later, during the American Summer of Love, Marco visited me again in London. We’d gotten very high on opiated hash and he’d had instructed me precisely as to how to lash him to my bed with lengths of hemp he’d carried in a leather valise. Bound just so and tightly blindfolded, he immediately became firm. This time I didn’t hesitate. I straddled him passionately and for the first time, planting myself down forcefully against the tip of his glans, I pushed again and immediately felt intense pressure as I impaled myself, the delicate tearing inside, a sharp pain, then the raw shivers of pleasure as his penis, rubbed and rasped my poor clenched, trembling cavity. A half dozen quick thrusts later and he’d exploded inside me and God I felt every twitch and spasm of it, the sensations sending me into a frenzy of animal victory. I was an Amazon, a no longer a pathetic, dreamy little girl, but a warrior queen, a woman of action, a woman, at last.

Though raw inside, I pulled myself off him, ignoring the pain and drip of warm liquid running down my legs. I removed his blindfold so he could see the red sheen of my sacrificed virginity coating his glistening member. Scrambling between his legs, I took him entirely into my mouth, in gratitude, aroused again, I freely admit by the perversity, the sharp, metallic taste of my own blood coating his rapidly softening member. But my oral attentions failed to re-arouse him and he quickly grew bored and demanded release. I blamed myself for being clumsy and awkward but in retrospect I recall the incident in detail and my sucking was greedy and firm ! I circled my lips around the head of his penis and swore I heard him initially groan with pleasure but his mind refused to allow himself to enjoy my oral attentions.I didn't care. Nothing, nothing could ever spoil the incontrovertible joy with which I had finally joined the ranks of womanhood like so many of my schoolmates.
It's funny my loves, it would be another five years before we’d be intimate again. Certainly I'd had other experiences, lovers my own age and older, once with a French teacher, hurried, fumbling, unmemorable affairs, save for one. And when I use the word "memorable" you have to understand that I don't always use it in the positive way you Americans do.

I never asked Marco how he’d come to his proclivities or learned their intricate practices, but clearly he’d had expert guidance. On my 20th birthday, I was by then his fiancé, he presented me with a black leather dress of exquisite workmanship. He demanded that I undress and put it on in front of him. As I zipped and buckled the numerous stays and belts built into the garment, he watched me with what I assumed to be interest. That night began his systematic introduction to me to his secret network of clubs and special houses in the drab, lower middle class neighborhoods of cities like London, Berlin, Paris and Rome. In each of the cities we visited, he became more inspired by what he saw at the dungeons, acquiring increasingly bolder and more extreme equipment of mastery, sparing no expense. In his own mind, I'm sure he believed he showed the greatest restraint and delicacy, introducing his new implements and demands with gentle, but firm patience, so as to not to scare me. For a while, for a very short while, I had to admit to myself that I did find it exciting. Soon I suppose, I came to my senses and understood that the churning in my bowels and the trembling in my limbs was not arousal after all, but a sense of repulsion that built like nausea with each instance where the humor and animation left his face as he instructed me as to how he should be trussed up and dominated. Each incident, I see now, had been stored up in black boxes in the back of my mind. One day they all collapsed and the contents spilled out and overcame me. I told him, no, I showed him in no uncertain terms that I would never wish to participate in this side of his life anymore.

It is only through the sweetness and passion that I have have discovered with you, my loves, so unexpected, awakened here in the middle of my life, that I am strong enough to revisit these events and feelings of decades ago. It puzzles me so. What is it about me? What hidden perversion or defect within my soul could have ever derived pleasure in such places, with such people, with such things being done to my and my man's body. I further confess that there is a coda, another act to this story, but I find I simply cannot reveal it in print, so you must wait. Sofi, my love, forgive me, for I have already told far more than I intended, but less than is true. Whatever more I can say, when I can say it, will be only for Riccardo's ear at first. I am not sure why this is so, perhaps I feel the need to protect you, to shield you, so young, from the depraved things I have done in the name of love. I only know that it is right that I withhold my most painful secret and perhaps in the fullness of time, I will be able to share all there is to share, holding nothing back. For now, please respect my wishes and do not press me for more. Rather, accept my apology and my story, for though incomplete, it is entirely true and what it says or doesn't say about me is a source of continuing shame and pain. How different and loving was your first time. Your first 'dance', caro Ricc, compared to this, mine! Yes, the truth hurts.

Yours, Vi