“You got the all clear?” Amy asked, referring to my final hospital visit earlier that day.
I nodded. We were sitting on the bank overlooking the millpond, eating an early lunch together. “Yes, absolutely: I can drive and do everything else as well,” I replied with a twinkle in my eye.
“So you’re going to be able to perform on Saturday?” she asked, a slutty smile flickering across her innocent face.
“Er, yeah,” I said nervously. “Look, are you sure about this?”
Amy looked up at me, with her big saucer eyes. “Yes, Jake,” she said, sincerely. “I love you, I’m ready, I want this.” She took my hand in hers. “Are you ready?”
“Er yeah,” I replied. “I dunno, I just think we should talk about it.”
“Yes, OK,” she said gently. “What are you worried about?”
“I’m just worried about hurting you,” I admitted. “And I want you to really enjoy your first time, but I haven’t done it before either, and, and I’m just afraid of screwing up.”
I’d been trying to rationalise my worries ever since Amy had announced, two days previously, that she wanted to have sex with me. Firstly there was the pressure to perform, not just to avoid ejaculating prematurely, but also to fulfil the masculine, leadership role, to be responsible somehow for guiding us both through the process. Secondly, and more importantly, I was genuinely concerned at the pain that I’d cause her. My girlfriend’s experience of the first time would, at the very least, be dominated by extreme discomfort whereas for me it would be solely pleasurable. Somehow it felt very exploitative and certainly not something to triumph in.
Amy thought for a couple of seconds. “Jake, I know it’s going to hurt the first time, and probably the next few times after that, but that doesn’t matter – it really doesn’t. And I know, that because you’re the guy you are, if I ask you just to pause, or not to push or to go slow, then you’ll do that. And I’ll let you know if it’s hurting and what feels better or worse. And because we love each other and trust each other, we’ll be able to say what’s working or not.” She paused. “And Jake, if something goes wrong like you cum too quickly, or I’m too tight, it’s alright, we’ll just try again later.”
She reached upwards and kissed my cheek.
“I just want it to be perfect for you,” I stammered, a little embarrassed.
“Jake,” she said quietly, “I wanted the Prom to be perfect. I spent years dreaming about it, imagining it, long before I met you. And it was perfect, it was the best evening of my life.” She paused. “Then you got hurt Jake. You got hurt, and I realised that it wasn’t my dress or my hair or my makeup or anything like that that had made it perfect, it was you – what we have together, what we’ve built together. A single event doesn’t define our relationship, it’s our love. So if we don’t get it right first time, we’ll try again on Sunday morning – it’s alright – I’ll still love you as much as I do now.”
I put my arm around her and kissed the top of her head.
“I’m going to be with you Jake, nothing else matters, it really doesn’t.” She reached up to kiss my cheek.
“And what do you want to do beforehand?” I asked. “Should we go out for a meal, or should we cook together?”
“Let’s cook,” Amy replied. “I’ll go to the supermarket and buy the food – I’ll sort that.”
“And should I pick you up from the Stables when you finish work?” I asked, “or do you want me to come to yours later on?”
Amy thought for a bit. “Could you pick me up please?” she asked. “It’ll be easier that way.”
“Should I buy some condoms and some lube?” I asked. If Amy was on the pill, she’d never mentioned it.
My girlfriend looked a little embarrassed for the first time in the conversation. “I think we should both get some,” she responded, “and then we both know that we’re protected.”
“OK,” I said, preparing to ask the most delicate question. “And how do you want to do it, I mean, um, should I go on top, or would you prefer to um, or…” I felt my cheeks reddening.
“I think I’d like to try it first with you on top,” she said, looking down and breaking eye contact. “But if that doesn’t work, we can try something different.”
“OK,” I said. “Is there anything else we need to think about before the weekend?”
“Jake,” Amy said, “I want you to promise me one thing. I don’t want you to ask me again if I’m sure. I am sure about this. And if I change my mind at any point, I’ll tell you. Is that OK?”
I nodded. Continually seeking reassurance from Amy was, while well intentioned, just going to stifle the mood.
“And if you’re not ready,” she said, “just tell me. I don’t want you to feel you have to do anything, just because I want you to.”
I took her hand in mine and kissed her again.
“I’m really looking forward to Saturday,” I said.
“Me too Jake,” she smiled.
–
The two weeks either side of the August Bank Holiday weekend are the peak tourist season in England and both the Campsite and Stables were fully booked. With mecidiyeköy eskort being so busy at work, Amy and I had agreed not to worry about meeting up with each other again before the Saturday.
Her family were due to leave on the Friday morning and I suggested that she stay that night at the farmhouse, partly to reduce her commute but also to have an evening meal with my parents and me. To my surprise, she politely declined. I didn’t push the issue, but as we were going to lose our virginities to each other the following evening, I reasoned that she might well want to spend some time on her own and, with her work schedule at the riding school, that would be difficult enough without staying over with me. Perhaps she also felt that a period of minimal intimacy between the two of us would make the first time that little bit more special. In the event, one of the members of staff at the Campsite called in sick on the Friday and so I worked a double shift into the evening.
Outside of work, there were a few things I had to do to get ready for Cambridge, which proved a decent distraction from the business of the weekend to come. Exam Results Day had triggered an avalanche of paperwork, which had arrived in the post early that week. All of a sudden, I was putting my barely practised signature to my rent agreement and all manner of other contracts. A few days later, one of the second-year students at my College messaged me on Facebook to introduce himself and to say that he’d be mentoring me for the first couple of weeks.
There were also some preparations to make for Saturday night. Firstly I’d been trying to do some ‘research on the internet’ into how to have sex with a girl for the first time. I knew that Amy was likely to experience a lot of pain, but I wanted to mitigate that as much as possible. Inevitably the vast array of resources online were fairly unhelpful, but the more useful advice suggested lots of foreplay and plenty of lube.
Uncharacteristically for me, perhaps, I’d also thought about what I was going to wear. Clearly Amy and I would be naked for ‘the act’, but maybe I could be a little sexier in my attire beforehand. (The thought had crossed my mind that Amy had been intending to save the lacy nightie that she’d worn the previous weekend, for her first time.) In the end I decided that it was more important that I was as relaxed and comfortable as possible, than that I arrived dressed anything too exotic.
I did allow myself to fork out for the relative extravagance of two new pairs of boxer briefs from a well-known sports brand (white ones of course – I knew that Amy preferred them to the black); they seemed to cling a little more closely to my butt and to show off the outline of my bulge more effectively than my usual bottom-of-the-range supermarket stock. I’d also agonised over splashing out on a bottle of aftershave, but in the end had decided that it just wasn’t ‘me’.
I clocked off at the Campsite just after three on Saturday afternoon and drove straight into town to buy a bottle of wine and a bouquet of red roses. If I couldn’t give Amy red roses on that day, when could I?
I felt just a hint of nervousness as I parked the car back at the farmhouse. There were two hours to go before I needed to pick my girlfriend up from the Stables; even if I dragged out showering, shaving and changing, there’d still be at least an hour before I needed to leave. There was absolutely no point rushing, yet every bone in my body was urging me to leap out and to start getting ready.
Grabbing the flowers and the bottle, I unlocked the front door of the house and headed to the kitchen. Fortunately my parents were out, and I had the house to myself. I dunked the flowers in some water and squeezed the wine into the freezer to cool it, then headed upstairs to pack and get ready.
One of the strategic purchases that I’d made that week was a cheap battery-powered shaver and hair trimmer from the catalogue shop in town. I’d toyed with the idea of tidying up my pubes several times over the previous few months, especially as Amy and I became more intimate with each other. She always kept her own hair short and neatly trimmed, and this was something I noticed and appreciated when going down on her. I thought it would be nice to surprise her by reciprocating, especially as it seemed likely that she would blow me a couple of times over the weekend. I’d also read that it made your cock seem longer.
I stood in the bathroom, with the door locked safely behind me, brandishing the electric shaver. I could see the area in question, reflected in the mirror, but was unsure how to proceed. Should I sit on the floor and try to bend forward to see what I was doing, or was standing up in front of the basin the better strategy?
I decided the floor was the best option and, juggling a mirror and comb in one hand and the shaver in the other, cautiously began my topiary. I decided to be conservative, on the grounds that trimming less was probably better than overdoing things – I didn’t escort bayan want to end up with big bald patches, just a little neater all round. I finished my work, uncertain as to whether I’d made any improvement, although the small pile of hair of dirty-blond hair between my legs showed that I had at least removed something.
I’d toyed with the idea of a tactical wank to head off a premature ejaculation, but decided I wanted my only orgasms that day to be with Amy. So instead I climbed into the shower, making sure that every part of my body was clean. I shaved my face, then pulled on my new boxer briefs. I posed in front of the mirror, before putting a little gel on my hair. I recalled the last time I’d paused to admire myself in the same way, in the hotel bathroom at the Prom, half-expecting Ritchie to appear behind me ready to cause trouble. I shuddered and tried to banish the image of his sneering face from my mind. Why was that spectre rearing its head on today of all days?
–
I sat in the car waiting patiently; Amy was late finishing at the Stables as usual – something wrong with a horse, or something. The bottle of white wine that I’d tried to chill in the freezer, was now the same temperature as the inside of the car and the roses would doubtless be roasting in their hiding place in the boot; but none of that mattered – I was spending the weekend alone with my girlfriend – I didn’t mind waiting.
I flicked idly through the messages on my phone, scrounging off the riding school wifi. Most of my classmates were posting updates from their travels – endless photos of smiling faces from towns and cities across Europe and beyond, enjoying their first foreign vacations without their parents.
My cousin had posted a selfie standing on the Charles Bridge in Prague, arms round one of my best friends – she seemed as besotted as she had been when she’d left. She’d appended a message: “Standing on the most romantic bridge in Europe with my amazing boyfriend! Can’t believe it’s been four months already!! I love you Danny Curran XXX.” It was enough to make anyone puke.
Lauren wasn’t the only one; James had posted a string of photos from the beaches of Spain and Portugal. Almost all featured his girlfriend Becky, cavorting around the frame as she showed off the assets that had bewitched almost every boy in the school. The bikinis she wore (different in almost every shot) left little to the imagination. To my shame I found myself feeling a tiny pang of jealousy – Becky was hot, there was no denying it – that had been obvious even when she was wearing school uniform. I chided myself – I had no need and no right to envy James; Amy was the most beautiful girl in the world – and she had the brains to match; an airhead like Becky simply couldn’t compete.
Perhaps James was the one whose relationship had changed him the most, I mused. He’d always been more confident and outgoing than Danny and me. But now there was an added layer of materialism on top – he’d be the party king at uni, no doubt about it. I flicked to the next photo; there was the smug bastard, lying on a sun lounger by a pool, wearing sunglasses and board shorts, drinking a tall cocktail.
No I wasn’t jealous, I really wasn’t.
But Amy and I weren’t the only ones still in Blighty; Ritchie was languishing in a Young Offenders’ Institution awaiting his trial. The plans he and Ross had had to screw their way through the party islands of the Mediterranean, had been well and truly dashed. The only action he’d see this summer, would be in the prison showers.
I heard the clang of the gate opening and Amy emerged from the Stables, red-faced and embarrassed. She opened the car door and placed a peck on my cheek. It was about a quarter to seven, but at least we’d be well clear of the traffic as we headed back to her house.
She was flustered – I could tell – she was talking very quickly. No matter what she’d said earlier in the week about not over-planning for the perfect evening, it was clear that she’d wanted us to be well into cooking supper by now. Perhaps her agitation over the timetable slipping was to cover other nerves, but it was clear to me that I needed to step forward a little and to show her I was calm.
“I had a message from Lauren,” I ventured, once Amy had rattled through her day and paused to draw breath. “They’ve made it to Prague.”
“Oh that’s nice,” she replied. “And do you know where they’re going next?”
“I think it was Berlin, but I’m not sure, it might have been Munich instead.” I thought for a second. “No it must be Berlin, because they were going to meet up with Nick and Frankie.”
“And she hasn’t got tired of Danny?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” I answered. “I’m sure they’ll come back as loved up as they went away.”
“It’s strange,” Amy mused. “Almost everyone’s doing it at the moment, backpacking round Europe. It just wasn’t a ‘thing’ at my old school – at least I don’t think it was.”
“No I think it’s pretty common round here,” I explained. “James’ bayrampaşa escort oldest brother did it before he left for uni, what five years ago. We’d ‘ve been Year 8 at the time and I think it kinda caught our imagination a bit. Then his middle brother did it too, when he was eighteen.
“Of course, when we were twelve, we thought we could visit the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the Egyptian pyramids and the Great Wall of China in a single weekend – with time to stop off at the Taj Mahal!” I continued. “When we were coming up to GCSEs we realised that running off to the continent immediately after A level results day was probably a good plan (a) to get away from angry parents and (b) to drown our sorrows as we drank our way through as many countries as we could.”
Amy laughed.
“Does it seem odd, Lauren and Danny being a couple?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, I thought it would, but it really doesn’t. I’m just happy that they’re happy together. Maybe at the start I was worried it wouldn’t last very long and there’d be an acrimonious split in the middle of exams, but no, they’re a good fit – he’s chaotic and disorganised, she’s chaotic and slightly less disorganised. But the real miracle is that his mum likes her – I mean, who saw that one coming – Danny’s mum approving of Lauren as his girlfriend?”
“Is she really that bad – Danny’s mum?”
“We used to call her the Ceiling Breaker,” I replied. “She’d just fly off the handle if he did anything naughty. It got so bad that whenever he came down to the farm, he’d borrow a set of clothes from me, so he could go home pristine. That was the thing – her behaving like a dragon didn’t stop him from doing what he wanted – he just became an expert in hiding it from her. He learnt to be a bit sneaky and I guess we did too.”
“So the farm was where he hid from her?”
I laughed.
“Yeah, I suppose. And James liked coming down because it got him away from his brothers – not because they didn’t get on, but he just wanted to be a bit more independent. That’s how the three of us grew so close.”
We’d reached the ring road on the edge of town and Amy let me concentrate as I navigated the roundabout.
“I didn’t realise it was so important to you, going on holiday before uni,” she said, a note of regret in her voice. “I wish I’d have said yes when you mentioned it back in May.”
“Well we said we’d think about it,” I replied casually, “but then everything happened at the point when we might have started doing something.”
“But we should have just booked the flights when they were cheap,” she answered. “And if we hadn’t gone, it wouldn’t have mattered too much.”
“We could always go away together at Christmas,” I said. “Somewhere warm. And we’ve earned so much money – we can afford somewhere really nice.”
“Can we go somewhere before that?” she asked. “Go down to Dorset again – spend the weekend together, before I leave for uni?”
I hesitated.
“I’m sure Mum would let you drive this time,” she added, as if reading my mind.
“She would?”
Amy nodded.
“Have you heard from her – your mum?” I asked.
“No, it’s all been very quiet.”
“You didn’t get a lecture before they left?”
My girlfriend shook her head.
“No, she just said that you mustn’t drink before driving, but that was it.”
I smiled.
“She likes you Jake, I know you don’t believe it, but she really likes you. And she trusts you – she trusts you more than she trusts me!”
–
I turned into Amy’s street. My girlfriend had relaxed a little on the journey, but she was becoming apprehensive again. I parked the car in the driveway and waited for her to unlock the front door, trying not to salivate over the sight of her pert bottom as she fumbled with the keys. I could feel the tumescence growing in my trousers as we went inside. My erection was showing up early for the party – and that wasn’t a good thing – I’d have no use for it for at least an hour. And with Amy nervous, the last thing she needed was to feel my hardness pressing against her as we embraced in the hallway.
I dispatched her upstairs for a shower, part of me wishing that I’d ripped off her jodhpurs and flung her on her bed there and then. But there was a right way of doing things – the romance element was as important to me as it was to her, and I was grateful not to have surrendered control to my lustful instincts.
I cooked as Amy got ready – something to take my mind off the events to come. She’d bought some salmon, to be served with some vegetables. The fish would take twenty minutes or so to bake in the oven and there was a hollandaise sauce to make up with egg yolks and butter.
Freshly washed and changed, Amy greeted me in the kitchen with a beaming smile. She didn’t usually wear makeup, but I noticed she’d put on some mascara and lipstick – subtle, not too bold. I hadn’t seen her black dress before; it was a fairly conservative outfit, with a high neckline, but it left her shoulders bare. A summer of outdoor work had tanned her usually pale skin and her arms and legs were well toned. The garment was tight across her waist, then opened into the skirt, ending with a mid-thigh hem. It was a dress for a bright, bubbly, confident young woman and it suited her perfectly.
