Chapter 1: Masturbating While Thinking About Steve

When you’re growing up, there are a lot of milestones marked by birthdays. Turning thirteen announces you’re a teenager, sixteen allows you to drive, seventeen makes you “legal” (at least in my state), eighteen gives you the right to vote (even when there’s nobody worth voting for) as well as the liability to be convicted as an “adult”, twenty marks the end of your teen years, and finally twenty-one makes it legal to drink.

So far, for the most part each one has marked something new and better, more freedom and less supervision. But what about after that? It seems to me it’s all downhill. I mean, who REALLY wants to turn thirty (or forty or more)? People rationalize but face it, your body starts to deteriorate, boobs sag, hips increase, arms get flabby. God, I don’t want to get older! As you may have guessed, I do NOT look forward to birthdays anymore and my twenty-third was no exception. What good was it other than to remind me I was just one more year closer to that dreaded 3-0?

To be fair, there IS one thing that is good about a birthday - gifts. OK, so I’m a little selfish and I enjoy receiving gifts - sue me. Of course, there are gifts and then there are GIFTS. Most people give you something because they feel obligated. They buy you something that is good enough to fulfill their obligation but nothing more if at all possible resulting in the inevitable sweater, gift card, joke gift, and so forth. I’m not trying to say that they don’t mean anything to me - hey, a gift is a gift after all. It’s just that there are sometimes one or two gifts that are special, that really mean a lot to me when I receive them.

Sure, sometimes they are expensive, like when my dad gave me a car. Other times they can be heart-warming, like when my friends all sent flowers to my school on my first day. While expensive clothes and jewelry are certainly welcome, deep down it’s the ones that tug at my emotional strings that I treasure the most.

This year my birthday fell on a weekend - Saturday to be more precise. At the time, I was still working for my escort agency although interviews for a potential teaching position were going well. Thus typically my Saturday nights were booked well in advance but my agency was kind enough to let me off when I told them it was my birthday. I don’t know, something about spending my evening with a total stranger just staring down my blouse and fondling my leg while telling me all about his life problems just wasn’t my idea of how I wanted to spend my birthday. Instead, I figured that I would probably spend the day at my parents as this was the first time that I’d been around for my birthday after four years of college and my mom had already forewarned me that she was inviting some of the relatives over for a party. Hmmm, maybe the escorting gig wasn’t such a bad thing after all!

Saturday morning rolled around and I treated myself to sleeping in. Yesterday had been a wild but wonderful day. My dad had taken me out to buy me some beautiful diamond earrings and before it was over, we were doing it in the back room of the jewelry store while the clerk watched. As he drove me home, I figured the day was over since my birthday was the next day and my mom had plans for quite the party. My cell phone rang and it was my escorting agency, asking me if I could fill in for one of the girls who had a “personal problem”. I agreed and kissed my dad goodnight, knowing I would be seeing him the next day again.

The client had insisted on a late dinner and then he droned on for what seemed like hours later. Sheesh, talk about boring! Some guys just seem to need someone’s shoulder to cry on and I was blessed with having to listen to his many woes concerning his unfaithful wife, ungrateful kids, and a dead-end job with a boss from hell. Well, that’s what I get paid for but it doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.

Of course, he didn’t just talk to me. His hand would wander under the table and fondle my leg, pulling my skirt up and trying to reach between my legs for a feel. I let him get away with touching my leg but anything more was off-limits. No doubt he wanted me to offer to go to his hotel room and must have figured that if he kept going on long enough I would cave in and head up the elevator with him (we were having dinner at his hotel). Of course, he knew better since he was told when he hired me that the girls in our agency never have sex with clients (a firing offense), but he was a guy and so had a genetic need to try anyway. Small wonder I didn’t wake up until almost ten in the morning. If it hadn’t been for my about-to-burst bladder, who knows when I might have woken up!

After taking care of that little detail, I flopped back on my bed again, debating whether I should go back to sleep, get up, or what. Ugh, I remembered it was my birthday. Damn, it was hard to believe that I would never be 22 again! In the stillness of my empty apartment, I could practically hear my heart beating as my thoughts drifted back to when I was younger. God, was it really almost NINE years since I lost my virginity? Thoughts of my Steve, my first boyfriend, began to worm their way into my thoughts. Oh to be fourteen again and all excited and horny, still curious what a boy felt like or how it would feel to have sex with one. There was the innocent excitement before a date as I would wonder whether he would touch me or do even more with me. Steve was sixteen at the time, SO much older and mature, at least in the eyes of a fourteen year-old virgin getting ready to enter high school.

A shiver ran down my back as my pussy suddenly tingled, causing my hand to instinctively move down to touch it as I recalled the first time I touched Steve’s dick. OK, technically his wasn’t the first penis I’d ever touched but changing diapers and cleaning off baby boys certainly doesn’t count. True, I touched my dad’s dick six years before back when I was eight but that didn’t really count since there wasn’t anything sexual about it for me at the time, just the curiosity of a young girl starting to learn about herself - and men.

In my heart where it counts, Steve’s dick will always be my “first” and regardless of how you score it, he was definitely the first one I ever took in my mouth. My finger rubbed gently around my clit as I recalled how it felt the first time I opened my mouth and felt his dick on my lips. God, I was so scared yet extremely excited at the same time. I really had no idea what to expect. I had SEEN plenty of girls sucking dick in my dad’s porn movies but that’s not the same as actually experiencing it for yourself. There is one thing I will never forget - I knew from the very first moment I took him in my mouth that I LOVED sucking cock.

As my finger continued to rub slowly around my hardening clit, I could feel my pussy warming up and getting wetter as I closed my eyes and licked my lips, remembering the musky odor of Steve’s hairy crotch, the warm smoothness of his cock head against my tongue, the feeling of his shaft as he hardened with my mouth around it. My lips moved and I sucked on a finger from my other hand as I played back my first BJ in my head. As much as it excited me to suck him, what was best for me was the way Steve reacted. It didn’t take long for me to realize that he was completely under my control, that he would do literally anything to keep his dick in my mouth. Damn, now THAT was power and I’d never felt so controlling over a boy before - over anyone for that matter.

It wasn’t until later that he fucked me and I plunged my middle finger deep into my pussy as I recalled how he had taken my virginity. Needless to say I was tighter back then, a LOT tighter although most men still tell me that my pussy is tight - for a girl my age (oh my god, that sounds terrible!). My pussy was throbbing as I remembered how hard it was for Steve to force his stiff dick into my virgin pussy that first time. Damn, it HURT, a lot more than what most people seem to say, especially in those silly sex stories where they make it sound like it is just some momentary thing that goes away quickly. Well, let me tell you the pain never did go entirely away that day, but it was true that the more he fucked me the more it was masked by the pleasure he was creating within me. Imagine fucking while someone is sticking a hot needle in you and you get the idea. The pain is still there but at least you get something to help you feel better about it.