I had my first orgasm when I was eighteen. You might wonder what took me so long. I’m sure all the other guys blew their first load way before then. I liked women just fine—their beautiful hair and faces. The internet didn’t exist yet, but I’d seen their wonderful boobs and curves in magazines and liked what I saw. I was drawn to them like a magnet. The problem wasn’t a lack of interest on my part. I blame my education.
Sex ed in school taught me the mechanics but fell short when it came to practicalities. Take orgasms, for example. They told us orgasms happen when you’re married to a woman and you want to make a baby. They never once mentioned masturbation, so the idea that I might make myself have an orgasm never occurred to me. They told me about intercourse, too, for all the good it did. They said you put your penis in her vagina, and you have an orgasm. I didn’t even know I’d have to rub it in and out. They never told us that.
My parents didn’t help. I can’t even picture them having sex. How they brought me into the world is anyone’s guess. I’ll wager immaculate conception.
It simply took me a while to figure things out. Maybe I’m just a slow learner.
Here’s how I got my education.
* * *
It was the middle of summer, right after I’d graduated. I still remember the buzz of locusts high in the neighborhood trees. I had a friend down the street, Jason, and I walked over to his house with a basketball under my arm, hoping to play pickup in his driveway. I didn’t bother with a t-shirt, not when it was that hot.
In my neighborhood, everybody’s house had nasty little aluminum frame screen doors. I hated knocking on them because it sounded like beating the crap out of a garbage can. Instead I shielded my eyes, pressed my face against the screen, and announced myself.
“Hey Jason. Wanna play pickup?”
When my eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight, I saw his sister Julia laying on the couch reading a book. A tight white t-shirt, hiked up to expose her midriff, barely contained her breasts. Two tanned legs seemed to burst out of her faded cutoffs.
Julia was home from college for the summer. I’d known her for years. She used to walk to school with Jason and me when we were kids. When I started to learn guitar, she taught me some basics, and I still remember her arm around me, teaching me how to finger chords. But I’d never thought about her in a sexual way. She was a year older than me and seemed out of my league.
“Oh! Hey Michael,” she said, tucking a lock of her shoulder-length black hair behind an ear. She told me their mom just took Jason to the dentist and wouldn’t be back for a while.
I turned to leave, and as I was walking down their front steps, I heard that flimsy screen door opening behind me.
“Hey! You want some lemonade?”
Man, that sounded good. She held the door open. I stepped in and sat on the couch in front of the fan.
From the couch, I could watch Julia in the kitchen, and when she stood on her toes to reach into the cupboard, the fringe of her cutoffs revealed the crease below her tender white ass. Her t-shirt was tight, but I didn’t see any bra straps. When she caught me checking her out, her apple cheeks drew her lips into a clever smile.
She put my lemonade on the coffee table. Droplets of water ran down the glass and pooled in the coaster. I felt heat coming off her body when she sat next to me. Hair had recently come in on my chest, and she seemed fascinated by the rivulets of sweat that trickled slowly from one follicle to another.
“Topless—that’s a great idea.” She sat forward and pulled her t-shirt over her head. My earlier guess was right on—she wasn’t wearing a bra. She sat back and fanned her naked breasts right in front of me. They were beautiful white orbs the size of grapefruit with flat red nipples. She picked up her ice-cold glass and touched it to each breast. Her nipples came to life, poking out like caps on toothpaste.
“Damn!” I exclaimed, then took a long drink of lemonade, not sure what to do and trying to play it cool.
“I bet you’ve never seen a girl’s breasts before,” she said with a coy smile.
“Sure, I have.” Magazines counted, didn’t they?
“Do you like them?” She held a breast in each hand, lifted them, and pushed them together.
I couldn’t help but stare. Was the fan still running? It definitely felt hotter.
“You know, I’ve always thought you were cute, Michael. If you want, I could give you a hand job …”
A hand job? I had no idea what she was talking about. Not knowing what to do or say, I chuckled like I thought she was making a joke.
“Let me know if you change your mind. The offer’s still open.” She let go of her boobs and sat back. As she drank, lemonade dripped between her perfect tits and pooled in her belly button.
She returned to her book as if she’d lost interest in me. Her red fingernails moved across the page, keeping her place in the text. The fingers on her other hand pushed her hair back, then skimmed across the curve of her collarbone and down onto the hilltop of her breast. As her fingernails grazed her areola, she looked up at me. She put her hand on my thigh and made the offer again, this time with a more serious tone in her voice.
“C’mon, Michael. I’m bored. Let me give you a hand job.”
“Okay,” I shrugged, not really knowing what I was getting myself into. “Sure, I guess so.” But I remained on the couch.
“Well, stand up, take those pants off.” Her eyes stayed glued to my crotch as she laid her book aside.
I stood and swallowed. I’d never taken my pants off in front of anyone. The boy’s locker room at school didn’t count.
“C’mon!” She opened the snap of my cutoffs and pulled down my zipper.
It didn’t feel right, taking my pants off in front of her. But I didn’t want to look naive, and I did want to learn about hand jobs. So, I stood and dropped my shorts.
She squeezed her tits while she looked at me in my underwear.
“Undies too,” she said as she pinched her nipples.
“Oh, uh, right.” I took a deep breath, then took off my underwear.
At this point, most guys would be bragging about their big hard cocks. But I’d never been naked in front of a woman before. Stripping in front of Julia embarrassed me. I didn’t need to worry about my limp noodle of a penis, though. I would be hard soon enough.
Buck naked, I sat back down and nervously took a drink of lemonade. Cold water on the outside of the glass dripped down my chest, and my hard nipples looked like a smaller version of Julia’s.
She moved close to me and ran her hand up my thigh. Then she put her hand on my sweaty limp penis. No one had ever touched me there before, and it felt awkward. But at the same time, it felt naughty and exciting.
With gentle squeezes, she manipulated me in the palm of her warm hand. And the more she played, the better it felt. I could feel blood rushing into it, filling it, making it hard. Soon, it stood straight up, and I saw hunger in her eyes as she stroked my stiff cock up and down. With each stroke, my balls rolled around inside the loose skin of my sweaty nut sack.
“Squeeze my tits.” She shifted to give me better access, and I cupped one in my hand. It was the first boob I’d ever held, and it felt like a soft cozy pillow. Her rigid nipples demanded pinching, and she moaned as I rolled them between my fingers.
As I held her creamy jug, she continued stroking my cock. No one had ever played with my dick like this before, not even me. I never knew it could feel so good. I sat back and pushed up with my hips as my heart tried to pound its way out of my chest.
“That’s a nice hard cock.” I felt Julia’s hot breath as she panted. Her eyes were glued to my meat as she jacked me off. Her soft hand felt wonderful. While I held one of her boobs, she squeezed and pinched the other.
Something amazing was happening to my cock, but I didn’t know what. It grew bigger and harder with every stroke, and as it got harder, she hammered me faster. Clear juice oozed from my pee hole, turning my cock into a slippery shaft in Julia’s relentless pumping fist. The room was silent but for the hum of the fan and the sloppy sounds of her tight grip on my hard, wet cock.
When I thought it couldn’t feel any better, an indescribable sensation took my whole body. I gave myself over to it, no choice really. I spasmed and convulsed without control. My vision filled with explosions of light. My cock was the epicenter of the sensation, and every stroke of her hand felt like the touch of an angel. When I shot my load, spurt after spurt flew in every direction. Finally, breathless and spent, I relaxed back into the couch.
My vision finally cleared enough to see Julia staring at my cock, mouth open and wide-eyed, her breasts draped in a sash of jizz. She bent over me, stuck out her tongue, and licked cum off the head of my still throbbing penis.
“Wow, I’ve never seen a guy shoot like that.” She went to the bathroom and returned with two towels. While I wiped my thighs and belly, she did the same for her breasts. A glob had landed squarely in the middle of the coffee table, trailing a line from my crotch. As she cleaned that up, I dabbed at a puddle on her couch.
“I think we got it all,” she said, looking around the living room.
But we realized that was wishful thinking when a blob of cum descended between us like a colorless spider, dangling from the ceiling by a glistening strand of jizz.
“Wow, Michael! That’s got to be like a world’s record!” she laughed. She stood on the coffee table and reached up to wipe away my jizz.
Jason and his mom arrived a few minutes later. Jason kicked my butt shooting baskets. I guess my mind was elsewhere. Julia had introduced me to new possibilities. I’d entered a new world, warm and wet, and for the next several days, I explored it thoroughly until my right hand ached.
* * *
This was a true story. My very first orgasm actually hit the ceiling. I’ve spent a lot of time investigating male ejaculate distance on the internet, hoping to find an explanation of that one explosive cum shot.
My gut tells me it had something to do with the fact that it was my first orgasm, but data on that is practically non-existent. However, ample evidence supports the relationship between the force of male ejaculation and pelvic floor strength. The years I spent playing basketball as a teen must have strengthened my pelvic floor muscles, enabling me to expel my load like a cannon. I guess basketball taught me to shoot more than just baskets.
Still, I’ve never hit the ceiling again, and that leaves only one possible explanation. It was Julia; it had to be. I still remember that clever smile, those perfect legs, and her creamy jugs and erect nipples. Nothing has ever aroused me as much as her tight fist on my slippery meat. If only she would have jacked me off again, er, I mean, if only we could have repeated the experiment.
I dropped by their house many times that summer. When she met me at the door, she gave me a knowing smile. I dreamed of finding her home alone, but it never happened again. Jason was always ready to shoot baskets. Or her dad had just came home from work. Or her mom was watching a soap opera. That fall, I left for college and lost touch with Jason and his hot older sister.
I may have been a slow learner, but I’ll always remember my excellent teacher.
