Goth Boy and I waited for a while before we made the decision to sleep together. Or rather, I did and he patiently agreed. We didn’t really have much of a choice. After the disaster that was The Very First One my parents were on us like hawks, even more protective than they were before. Originally, I’d told my parents that Goth Boy was gay – and we pulled it off for a while, too. Eventually, though, my mother realised that my feelings towards him were not, in fact, platonic – and GB was not gay at all. Then, she watched me like several hawks. An army of the fuckers. And they always knew where I was and what I’d been doing despite every action taken to keep things secret and discreet. To this day I don’t know how she knew everything.
Soundtrack: Headstrong by Trapt.
One afternoon, though, GB and I found ourselves alone in his house.
“Let’s go upstairs and make out,” he said, and with a deep breath I agreed.
I don’t know if it was his intention for us to sleep together that afternoon, but it certainly was mine. We’d done all the kissing and dry humping and one handjob… it was time for something else, something more. As I placed my hand in his and let him lead me up the stairs, my stomach somersaulted like crazy. It’s happening. I’m going to have sex with him. Let’s do it. I felt almost cocky. Confident. Like *I* was in control.
Well, up until I climbed on his bed, at which point I lost all my nerve, every ounce and shred of it. My entire body trembled with nerves as he fiddled around with the midi hifi in his bedroom. Puddle of Mudd’s Control filled the almost deafening silence. I was grateful for the noise, convinced that he could hear my racing heart pounding through my chest.
GB joined me on the bed and as previously agreed we started to make out. He must’ve felt my trembling because he pulled away several times to check if I was okay. Each time he did I reassured him. Everything is fine.
And, mostly, it was.
Shy
Making out soon turned into frenzied snogging, and it wasn’t long before we yanked his t-shirt off, then mine right after. His trousers went next, then mine… and there we were, him in just his boxers and me in a bra and thong, Drift and Die now blaring through the room. I wasn’t really worried about the bra coming off, but how was I meant to tell him that my only sexual experiences up until that point had involved never taking the bottom half of my underwear off? That was the problem, what I was so nervous about: being completely naked in front him, without the ‘dignity’ of my pants left on.
“I need to tell you something,” I burst out.
“You a virgin?” he asked, sitting back quickly and with a look of… something. Shock? Horror? Confusion? I wasn’t sure.
“No,” I laughed. “I didn’t lie about the ex… but there is something.”
He waited, mouth slightly open, eyes wide, clearly anticipating an utterly insane bombshell. I could almost see the ideas as they whizzed through his mind, and I almost laughed at the sight.
“It’s not that bad,” I laughed again. “But the ex… he never took my underwear off. Pants, I mean. So, you know, I’m just a bit shy. Nervous.”
His face looked even more confused after my explanation. “But you said, you’d had sex?”
“Yes, but he just kinda pushed my pants to the side, you know…”
The more I explained, the more I wanted to ground to open up and swallow me whole. I can still remember the embarrassed flush of red that crossed my face, the heat of it rising and burning almost as hot as the embarrassment itself. I waited for him to say or ask something else, but he just continued to stare at me with that same look of confusion.
Fuck. Now what do I do?
He stared at me. I stared at him. Neither of us moved or said anything else. Thirty seconds past, then sixty, then ninety. I could hear the ticking of his clock, each tick and tock mocking me. I couldn’t bear the silence any longer.
“Look,” I blustered. “It’s not a big deal. I’m just nervous about being completely naked.”
“Oh,” he said, his face full of relief that I’d broken the silence. He thought for a second or two, then continued. “What if I blindfold you?”
“Blindfold… me?” I was baffled. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to be blindfolded if we’re trying to calm my nerves.”
“I just thought that if you couldn’t see me, then you wouldn’t feel so nervous?”
It made no sense to me at all. Not one bit. But… I did quite like the idea of being blindfolded.
“Okay, do it!” I told him, and once again he stared at me with a look of pure confusion.
Fifteen minutes, two explanations, and three reassurances later, we were back on the bed with a black scarf before us.
“Shall I lie down…?” I asked.
Goth Boy nodded yes.
“And you’ll do the rest?” I asked next.
“Mmhmm.”
It seemed a little too good to be true, to me. For the most part I’d done all the hard work in my first relationship. I was almost always on top. His pleasure was more important than mine. Yadda yadda yadda. Goth Boy didn’t want that, though. It was strange. New. Different. Still, I let myself fall back on the bed, closed my eyes, and prepared myself for what might come next.
An eternity seemed to pass before he did anything. I could hear him shuffling about, opening drawers and occasionally throwing unknown objects on the bed, the noises moving further away, then closer again before going completely silent. I’d opened my eyes at least once to check that he was still in the room. It was already disorientating, and we hadn’t even gotten to the blindfold yet.
Shit. What if I don’t like it?
I felt the bed shift as GB climbed onto it, and he ordered me to keep my eyes shut as he slowly wrapped the scarf around my head, shifting it so that I couldn’t see but could still breathe.
“You good?” he asked.
“Mmhmm,” I muttered back.
And again, mostly, it was. (Damn those pesky nerves.)
My whole body almost jumped right off the bed as his fingers brushed against my bare stomach. Having my sense of sight taken away had, apparently, heightened my sense of touch… and my sense of smell, if the overwhelming waft of Kouros was anything to go by.
“You need a safe word,” he whispered. “What’s your favourite fruit?”
I giggled at his question and squirmed under his touch. “What’s a safe word? Why do we need fruit?”
For the next few minutes, with me still blindfolded and sprawled, half-naked across his bed, Goth Boy explained the concept of safe words. We finally settled on ‘pineapple.’
“I still don’t understand why stop isn’t an acceptable safe word,” I said.
“You’re going to say stop and not mean it soon,” he replied, and I could hear the wicked smile in his tone.
I might not have understood the meaning or context of his words just yet, but I had a pretty good idea that we’d both have fun regardless.
“What’s the safe word?” he checked.
“Pineapple.”
“Good.”
And with that, the games began…
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Blindfolded: My First Oral.
Thank you so much for reading my little blog today! 🖤
You can read the entire Goth Boy story, from start to finish, right here.
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