Your First Fuck – Enduring Romance

Notice that I’m not diluting the subject by talking about your first love, but instead I wish to address the painful matter of your first fuck. Let’s ignore the act per se, for a starter, and let’s try to analyze the aftermath. After a first fuck, you may have got one of the following: an inferior but lovely lad head over heels in love with you (which somehow scares you), a superior and calculated man who dominates you (which some-other-how scares you), a snorting stud dressing up before he hurries for the door (which depresses you), a good friend who wants to marry you (which gives you confidence, and just a bit of that scare thing), or you can’t remember what happened to you during your first fuck because of the blackout (which has the effect of a comforting frugal hangover good feeling about what you did, so what?).

What few gals fathom immediately after their first fuck has been consumed is that those moments will mark their approach and understanding about sex for their entire life. Your first fuck will imprint in your mind one of the two opposite perspectives about sex: a) sex is dirty and tricky and a trade-off; or b) sex is wonderful and lovely and owning your man is the greatest reward that sex can give you.

Performing your first fuck without much preparation, or without any, like, say, your first cigarette (I, for one, never had a first smoke) or your first shot of schnapps (it was so utterly burning that I refused the second), may incline your mind on the slippery slopes of social prejudice. In the old times, young women were used as a matter of trade between parents and suitors. Love did not play a significant role in the premises of a gal’s first fuck — it was rather an official moment bearing even the reddened sheets exhibit item to attest for the initial purity of the maiden. Her thoughts and opinions, her words and personality counted less than exhibit A.

Gone are those archaic times, displaced by our modern hedonistic frenzy. Nowadays, young ladies have all the freedoms at hand. The feminist revolutions brought to us an entire closet of choices that we’re given to take or leave. We are our own masters, which makes us so important when taking a decision. But decision-making is not that easy when responsibility is absent from the room.

Scents and seducing whispers, maybe a glass of wine and those unstoppable hormones shaking the butterflies in your belly, all of these are not like the ingredients that you would expect to help you make a responsible decision, one about to impact your entire life from that moment on. And you give yourself to your first fuck. And to the four letter word of LUCK.

The minutes of love-making wind up like a fancy and juicy commercial. After a break you may get a second commercial (oh, years of youth, where are thee?). It is time for you to sit, eyes wide open, and await in all silence for the expected declarations, for his statements, commitments, promises, dreams and aspirations. You carve to knit your romance on his words, aren’t you? But what if the male shuts up, watching you with the eyes of a puppy, or what if he turns his back to you for a round of sleep, or what if he’s already out of the room, or the pool? How would you feel? Freshly fucked. First time fucked. And alone. Left alone! Sad or excruciatingly devastating?

360x640-doris-nude-stairs-white-pantyhose-down-highheels I could tell you, for the n-th time, how I had my first fuck in the late eighties and all about that fabulous romance. But will this help you if you already had your first fuck a way or another? I just want to notice that not all men are stupid pigs and profiteers, that sex is most rewarding when you perform it with your soul mate, that serious love is one and the same with enduring romance, that even playing in your man’s erotic fantasies (like I do) can be a declaration of love as long as you both stick together as one flesh. Sure, the concept of “one flesh” is misused in modern mainstream mantras. However, this is the key to the balance of a woman’s psyche.

We are all social beings, we have to depend on our peers, to follow a social contract in order to achieve a certain level of sanity. Then, further refining this commonly taught concept, as an individual social being, I need another individual to be unique for me in the same way that I’m unique for him. I have the freedom to make my choices and I also have the capacity to make them well. All it takes is planning, planning and — once more — planning. Before having your first fuck, it is about this (planning) that you should think most. Imagine yourself in your forties or fifties fucking the same lad — oh yes, imagine himself in his forties or fifties as well, fucking you. Find a perspective and wonder if it pleases you or not. Then act accordingly!

Oh, I guess that this planning method works even if you already had your first fuck and there was no “luck” afterwards. Keep planning for your next fuck and, this time, have a finer eye for the one flesh concept: regard his body as your body. Or else, look for another fuck… one that suits you. Spend all your mental energies on this planning matter before spending yourself in another fuck with no luck.


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