Chapter 1

I’d just gone out on my first real date. I was nineteen and had never really been out with a guy before. There was something about the guys I knew that didn’t turn me on. I thought it was just the ones I grew up with—you know, immature, known them for years, thought of them like my brothers. When John from work asked me out, I was flattered. He was good looking and had a great job, so I thought why not? I’d give it a try.

We went out for dinner and dancing. The meal was fabulous and he paid, what a bonus. He was a great conversationalist and a sensational dancer. We had so much fun. We got on well together and I thought perhaps he could be ‘The One’.

Later, while I was making coffee in my kitchen, he came up behind me, put his arms around my waist, and nuzzled into my neck. I giggled nervously. He turned me around so I was facing him and kissed me lightly on the check before working his way to my mouth.

I responded, desperately wanting to feel some sexual chemistry between us. His fingers tugged at my dress, slowly inching it upwards as he continued to kiss me. Then his fingers were on my thigh, touching me, sliding up higher. I could hardly breathe. He pulled me by the hips firmly into him, closer and closer as his mouth sought out my neck, shoulder, and then the swell of my breasts.

I was taken aback by his forcefulness. I hadn’t anticipated it to be like this. I pulled his face away from my breasts, gasping for air. Now his fingers were stealing their way along the top of my panties towards my pussy.

I panicked, frightened, and screamed for him to stop. I was breathing hard, my chest rising and falling. Abruptly he broke the embrace.

“Bridget,” he said, uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. I thought… well, I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“No, I’m sorry. I just…it’s just that…well, I feel silly now,” I said, my face flushing beet red.

With his middle finger under my chin, he forced my face up to his. I peered into his eyes. I wanted to want him as much as he wanted me. What was the matter with me?

“I think I’d better leave,” he said kindly.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be,” he smiled. “There’ll be other nights.”

I wondered.

He kissed me good night and pulled the door shut behind him. I couldn’t believe this had happened. The man was gorgeous and he wanted to be with me, yet I didn’t know if I wanted him. I wanted to call him back, open the door and beg him to make love to me. I felt like such a fool.

Turning off the lights, I hurried to my bedroom, angry and frustrated with myself. I wanted to strip naked and explore my body. I needed to masturbate to release tension. I stared into the mirror and saw myself as he just had—hair messy and tangled, lips slightly swollen, mascara smudged, dress crushed and wrinkled from our embrace.

I stood there, slowly stripping out of my clothes, as I would have liked to have done with John. I ran my hands over my body, marveling at my firm breasts, pinching the nipples, pulling them out, making them erect. I cupped each breast, loving the way they filled the palm of my hand.

Then down over my flat stomach, into my pubic hair, I ran my fingers down and up over the mound, enjoying the sensation before plunging farther along my slit, then deliciously into my pussy. I loved the silky wetness between my thighs. I smiled, hugging myself, turning around in front of the mirror, observing my body as a lover would.

I looked hot!

Backing up, I sat on the edge of the bed. Opening my legs, I leaned forward, pushing my breasts upward, pouting my lips, licking them as I watched myself in the mirror. My pussy looked fabulous to me. I opened and closed my thighs, glimpsing it as I did. Leaving my thighs open, I ran my hand over my mound, amongst the pubic hair, then down into the folds. My clit throbbed under my touch so I slapped at it a few times, making it come more alive and enjoying the pulsating of blood as it rushed to where the heated slaps had landed.

Lying back on the bed, I parted my legs, gently exploring the lips, running my fingers up and down and in between each fold. I loved touching myself. I slipped in two fingers, finger-fucking myself before slowly withdrawing them and smearing the juices over my clit. I dipped my fingers back into my wet pussy and massaged more of the juices over my clit until it stood hard and throbbing, wanting more attention.

Holding back the hood, I peered down at my clit and gently rubbed it in circular motions. As it hardened, I quickened the rub, targeting it exactly over the centre of the nub. I fell back against the pillow, enjoying the build-up of my first orgasm of the night. I pulled the hood back farther, arched my back, the top of my body lifting off the bed, and I watched my face contort with passion in the mirror as spasms took over my body. Finally satisfied, I fell back onto the pillows, luxuriating in the aftermath only an orgasm can bring.