I Mean I Really Like the Sex

I find myself feeling as though I was less than honest in my last post. As I was ten years old when I gave it up to my brother, I feel a bit embarrassed to say that I liked it.  But the truth is that I did like it.

I liked it a whole lot.

I liked that it was somewhat painful and yet felt so good at the same time.

I liked it that Paul wanted to fuck me and that when he got his dick inside of me that he enjoyed fucking me.

I liked it when he tightly grasped my hips and held me as his cock throbbed inside of me.

Of course it would be easier to say that I liked it if I had not been ten years old and if it had not been with my brother.  But I LOVED TAKING DICK.

Now I will not say that losing my virginity changed my life.  It is not like I got dressed every morning and went out looking for some boy who would fuck me.

I pretty much accepted it as a one-time thing and that it would be a while for me before I would know that pleasure again.  And yet, so often I found myself looking at boys and thinking (hoping) that they could tell I was 'that kind of girl.'

I think one could easily learn what happend between Paul and I that evening and want to be critical of Paul.  But the truth is  -- as much as it is possible to say I had any idea of what I wanted  -- I had been wanting Paul to fuck me for quite some time.

Once again, I did not know anything about what it meant to be fucked.  I did not even really know if fucking was an option on the table.  What I did know is that there were times Paul would look at me and it made me get 'tight' up inside of my belly.

I knew that day when the family went off to the lake that Dad would be disappointed that two of us had decided to stay home.  If I was being totally candid, if it had been Ryan staying home, I most likely would have gone to the lake.  Part of me wanted to stay alone with Paul in a way that would not have been the same if it had been Ryan.

Admittedly I doubt my parents would have allowed me to stay home with Ryan and almost as likely they would not have allowed Ryan to stay home, but that is not the point.  I wanted to be alone with Paul because of the weird way he made me feel in my belly.

But it went beyond just how he would look at me.  Paul and Ryan had been generally speaking on Dad's side when it came to Yvonne.

They were happy when Dad suggested that they go to a ballgame or some other distraction that would leave me and Mom alone at home with my baby brother.

However lately I had noticed a change in my brother.  When Dad was around, he would always call me Glen.  When it was just him and I, and I was dressed as Yvonne, he would call me Yvonne.  As I said, there was something different about the way he would look at me.  And plus there was the whole jerking off in his room thing.

I mean sometimes I knew it had nothing at all to do with me or rather had no reason that it had anything at all to do with me.  But there would be other times when I just knew that something about me had him jerking off in his room.

There was one other aspect of this and  that was that  I had no idea what I could or could not do for a boy, but I often felt as though Paul 'knew' what I could do for him.

I am not entirely certain what it means when one makes reference ot a 'cat-and-mouse' game, but to a certain extent I felt there was something going on between Paul and I that  . . .

Well as I said, when I heard Paul was staying home, I found it very easy to convince myself that I wanted to stay home too.

It should be noted that while I did not really know anything about what was going on between Paul and I, when the opportunity presented itself that night, Paul fucked me.  He did so after asking if he could.  He did so after I said he could.

And when he was done, he could have done me again.  Anytime.  Anyplace.