Born Again Virgin?

Back then, when I felt the first stirrings of sexual arousal, I would notice as the day went on, that I was wet down below. By the time I got home from school, I would often have to shower and change my underwear. Even my bra seemed to smell....sexy, not just sweaty....there was a definite musky scent. 

Later, though, sometimes I would go to our bathroom at home, lock the door and lie down. I would spread my legs, bringing my knees up and letting them flop apart. I felt deliciously naughty doing that becuase once I had caught a glimpse of mom and dad fucking through a crack in a door frame. I knew mom lying in that position was “naughty” and just doing the same myself added to what was already a horny day. 

I would touch my panties, knowing already that they were wet. Sometimes, I would position myself so I could see my crotch in the full-length mirror. The wet patch....oh...that wet patch! How many uses did I put that to? Sometimes I would imagine it was just my cunt wetness, but sometimes, I would tell myself it was a boy’s sperm running out of me. Sometimes, building on that brief image of mom and dad, I would i,shine it was dad’s. 

I would stroke myself until I felt “good” down there. Oh, they weren’t orgasms by any means, but they were, for me, anyway, highly arousing. 

Then came the times I would really get into it...imagining I was being fucked onthat green carpet. I was brave enough then to slip a hand into my panties and touch my cunt. Oh, I loved how wet I got, how slippery. But more, I loved how even the slightest touch on my clit sent waves of pleasure through me! 

Then that day....that day when like all girls, I had brought myself so often to that “I’m gonna pee” feeling, but this time, I couldn’t stop. One extra touch and my body exploded into orgasm. I knew, beyond doubt that I had cum. I also knew that I had squirted...and that it wasn’t pee. My interest in panty-peeing would come later. 

Last night, and again this morning, I masturbated. No fucking myself with my lovely dildo. No vibrator. No butt plug in my ass, hell, not even a finger in there! Instead, I slipped my hand down over my panties, and felt again that initial surge of “naughty but nice” that I felt years ago. I even sucked the knuckle of my left hand thumb. I felt....virginal? Is that the word? 

Oh I suppose I teased myself, but not in any deliberate fashion. I just Tories the material of my panties, feeling myself get ever wetter, ever more ready. I felt my cunt lips become puffy and I felt my clit harden. Then, I slipped my hand into the waistband. How long did I take to travel,over my belly down to my mound, and then further, between those moist folds? I don’t know, but my head was filled with that bathroom floor, that image of mom and dad fucking, that focussed image of his dick stretching her, and pumping in and out. How had I felt at the time? My own cunt seemed to jump and I instinctively placed both hands between my legs. Protection? Masturbation? Probably both.

Back in my lonely bed, my right hand has found my clit and is circling it gently before tracking down to my hole and worming it’s way deep inside. That image won’t leave me. His cock buried in mom. My finger begins a delicious slow finger fuck all on its own. It curls on the way out each time to massage my G spot. I spread my legs and begin to rock my hips. Oh...I remember! I used to rock my hips as a teenager too. Something about thrusting or circling made me feel reall “dirty”. With that memory comes another. I used to whisper obscenities to myself. The feel of the dirty words in my mouth really helped...especially if I called myself names. 

Its strange how the body and mind become autonomous...how, sometimes...they work in complete harmony, almost without any direction from me. 

“You fucking whore” I whisper into the brooding night. “You dirty little cunt.” Each utterance seems to drive me closer to orgasm. A phrase, meaningless in itself, wrenches itself from my puberty “You fucking spunk bag”. Biting my knuckle, as I did back then to keep quiet, I cum into my panties. 

I realise that, although I have made no conscious effort to do so, I seem to have reverted to a very fragile state. Oh, the things I’ve done! I’m no shy retiring virgin, God knows! I’ve done things, and enjoyed things people think are depraved, disgusting, yet I have gloried in them...wallowed in the climactic filth of depravity....and will do so again. 

But this, this is new. This feels like some kind of rebirth, Stevie took with her a piece of my soul, and it will take time for me to heal. 

No dicks for me right now. Although I thought I wanted to be pinned up against a wall and fucked in the ass, I don’t. Not yet anyway. I thought I wanted to be groped in a crowded place and brought to orgasm by a total stranger, but no. I don’t. Not yet. Although I felt like I wanted to be treated as a whore, or have a girl pee in my mouth, I don’t. Not yet. All the things I’ve ever enjoyed, lusted after, demanded, and once, yes, even paid for, are for the moment on hold. 

For now, I’m being that 13 year old virgin again. It feels safe, this journey of rediscovery. My hands are safe. My mind, my sexual imagination is safe. That is, for now, where I will rest awhile. 

The following morning, I slept late, and woke, as expected in damp panties. I loved that scent as a teenager. Hot, sweaty, hormonal, girly. I loved peeling my overnight panties off and seeing the crotch heavilly stained with the products of my vagina. It meant I was becoming sexual. Perhaps that’s what’s happening now. So, this morning, I peeled my panties off. Yes, they were stained. Still wet. I smelled them up close, as I did when I was 13. Again, I felt that shudder go through me. Back then, I knew that this was the scent boys liked. They would lick it off their fingers. They would lick it off me! It was the stuff that helped their dicks slide in, and I loved it then as I love it now. 

I tossed my panties into the hamper and ran the shower hot. I love the sting of a really hot shower. I like to feel, literally, the burn for a minute or two before running it cool and refreshing. 

Oh, that day. That glorious day, when the shower mounting broke and the shower head fell onto the floor, jetting up at my pussy! I discovered purely by accident what other girls had learned by intent. The spray had hit my pussy, but I didn’t move away. Instead, I spread my legs. Oh, it felt wonderful! I felt some of the warm water go inside, and that was even better.

it wasn’t long before I learned that holding the shower head there meant I could directit where I needed it. On my clit for the most part, but just as the cum hit, I would move it so the water went inside me. I imagined it was how it felt when a boy shot his load in me. Again, that image of mom and dad. I knew that it would have ended life that for them. Dad would have shot his sperm into mom. Did I sometimes imagine it was his sperm? Yes, sometimes, but by the time of the “shower incident” I’d also seen my brother shoot his cum high into the air and onto his chest. 

I stood in the shower, and took the shower head from the wall. Using my left hand to steady myself, I bent my legs slightly and opened my knees a little. The shower hit my sweet spot. I closed my eyes in anticipation. It doesn’t take a girl long to cum like this...well...not me anyway. 

Eyes closed, shower hitting the right spot in all the right ways. Mind? Hmm. When I used the showerhead as a girl, I didn’t need a lot of imagination, certainly no “scenario”...just as well, because the only scenarios I had came from other girls saying what they had done....or wished they had done. No, showerhead masturbation was more image based, and based on me mostly...but not exclusively

I thought of my stained panties. I recalled how I looked in the bathroom mirror with my knees spread wide and a finger inside myself. I thought of a friend called Lucy. I had seen Lucy once with her hand between her legs in the showers. I was sure there was more than washing going on. I remembered the first girl in my year to shave herself smooth. Adrienne was the least likely to do such a thing...or so we thought, yet there she was, almost 6’ tall, and completely hairless, and so confident in herself. She almost paraded herself in front of us and didn’t mind in the least our wide-eyed inspection of her crotch. (Sister Angus-Mary nearly blew a gasket thought!) Adrienne, we thought, was the ultimate virgin, but it turned out that she had a married lover who had taught her everything. Adrienne told us what she had done, and even showed some of us right between her legs, not just her mound. Every whisp of hair has gone. I remember well, in  Gillian’s bedroom, as Adrienee, who had succumbed to our please to “see it again...oh please...go on...” just sat there, panties round her ankles, describing how her boyfriend had shaved her. I remember definitely seeing her getting wet. Adrienne was strictly dick only. Back then, I wasn’t even that, but I did know, looking at that beautiful pussy that one day I might just do more than look. 

The orgasm came right out of left field, hard and fast. I felt myself contracting inside, and spurts of water that had nothing to do with a showerhead squirted down my legs. Again, those whispered obscenities “Oh God...fuck....fuck....fuuuuuuck.” 

Drying and dressing, I realised how conservative I have been since Stevie left. No thongs for me. No semi transparent short skirts or tops. I’ve certainly not been flirting or dressing to attract. Ordinary, bikini cotton panties (the only kind I possess apar from thongs...or nothing). Some days, I realise to my shock, I’ve even been using pantyliners! How unsexy is that? My sex toys lie unused, in fact, everything apart from my vibrator is packed, and the batteries are flat in that. (Must swap them out before they leak). 

I wonder what will emerge from this transitional phase of me? 

It might be fun finding out, but, for now, it will be just me, my fingers and my mind.