This is a blog post written in the style of a short story. A true story—about me!

I’m not writing here about my very first time—about the first time I ever had sex. Some stories are better left where they belong: in memory, not in the middle of an erotic blog. #TooYoungAtTheTime

But my first time having anal sex? That’s a different story.

I was an adult by then. Curious. Pretty nervous. And open-minded enough to push open a door behind which I would later learn a hell of a lot about pleasure, trust, and my own body.

This story can be told. So I’m telling it.

My First Time Anal: Eighteen, Inexperienced, and Pretty Uptight

I was eighteen. Sexually inexperienced. A little uptight too. Unlike my boyfriend at the time, I was anything but adventurous. I was happy if I could somehow manage to focus on the sex at all. Because back then, that was many times harder for me than it is today. I’m not entirely sure, but I think I had experienced barely a handful of orgasms by that point.

I don’t think my boyfriend was unhappy with me. After all, we had sex often. Despite my nervousness, I was frequently aroused. That must have been down to the urges of a young woman—urges strong enough to outshine her fears and worries. But he was the one who had to put in the effort to get what he needed.

So I was the stereotypical starfish: I lay there. Ready for anything, but relatively motionless. I opened myself to his manhood but contributed little more to the whole affair than providing my tightness.

His foreplay was always fantastic. Thorough and wet. His tongue work was pure poetry, and my clitoris was grateful for it. Sometimes, I managed to work myself up to giving him a blowjob, usually terrified that he would come too soon and shoot his load into my mouth. But he was sensible enough not to do that. So I did it as often as I could bring myself to.

From Starfish to Wildcat

At some point, my caution began to shift. My shyness gradually turned into genuine interest. Slowly—veeeery slowly—I became more confident. I understood that despite the flaws I saw in my appearance, I was desirable. That I didn’t need to hide. That my small breasts and generally very slender frame were nothing to be ashamed of. And the more I allowed myself to embrace those new thoughts, the better I became.

Eventually, I transformed from a starfish into a wildcat. Instead of lying there and breathing quietly, I purred and hissed whenever the moment called for it. I moved with him and learned that other positions had their own hot appeal. I learned how to ride. How to kneel. I switched between submissive and dominant depending on my mood. Sometimes, I took control. Other times, I let myself be guided.

But enough about that.

Let’s get to the back door.

An Evening on the (german) Reeperbahn

My boyfriend and I went to the Reeperbahn. Unlike on other weekends, we weren’t there to party in the clubs. Nope. After visiting Hamburg, we simply wanted to take a relaxed stroll along the noisy strip. Grab a bite to eat and then head home. Watch something on TV and go to bed.

Plans are one thing. Reality is something completely different.

Thanks to one particularly likable promoter, we stepped inside a sex shop. It was huge and spread across two spacious floors. And wow, the things we saw in there...

Porn, lingerie, toys, fetishes, cages, gallows, crosses, masks—and yes, things people stuck up their asses. It was a world I had never encountered before. My boyfriend was absolutely thrilled. With a wink, he held anal plugs in front of my face. Showed me beads, gels, dildos with progressively larger diameters, and enemas. The gleam in his eyes told me that he would have loved to try some of those things with—and especially on—me.