First Sexual Act

Food for Thought Friday

Trigger warning: if you are a victim of (child) abuse, you might not want to read this.


What was the first overtly sexual act you performed on someone else or had performed on you? How did you feel about it afterwards?


Many of my ‘firsts’ were things that happened to me, that were performed on me. From the moment I became sexually active when I was still fifteen and not quite sixteen, it took years of me to be an active partner in sex. You know, I cannot even remember who’s cock I sucked first!

But, there’s one first I remember very clearly…

I stood in front of him, still clothed, but he told me to show myself to him. He wasn’t interested in the top half of me. That was something I knew very well. I knew he wanted to see my pussy. Slowly I dropped my pants and pulled my top up, exposing myself. I watched him as he watched me. His mouth was half open from excitement. His breathing was ragged. He shifted a bit where he sat on the side of the bed. In a soft voice he told me to spread my lips for him. I hook my top under my chin and with both hands I spread my labia. My soft inner pink excited him more. He licked his lips. He might have wanted to lick me, but it was not the place nor the time for it.

His hand disappeared into the pocket of his pants. I stood still, my fingers still spreading my pussy lips, and watched him. He pulled out a box of matches, opened it and handed me a match.
“Put it between your lips so they stay open,” he said.
I bent forward a bit, concentrating that my top didn’t slip out from between my chin and my chest and concentrating to put the match between my labia. The match was almost too long, but I finally managed to put it in place. My hands grabbed my shirt again, holding it in front of me while the match held my pussy lips open. It hurt a bit, but I didn’t mind, just like I didn’t mind him ordering me to do it. I had a strange feeling in my tummy, in my loins. An unfamiliar feeling that would soon become all too familiar.

“Pull up your pants,” he said and the moment my hand goes to the match to remove it: “no, leave it.”
I bent down to pull my pants up. The match hurt me, but I didn’t show it. I straightened my clothes again.
“Come here,” he said.
I walked the four steps towards him. He picked me up and put me on his lap. I kept my legs spread a bit, to ease the pain of the match between my pussy lips. The pleasant feeling in my tummy was stronger and had spread towards my pussy and my thighs. His hand brushed against my crotch. The match stayed in place. He stood up and in the same movement, he picked me up, turned around and put me in my bed. He pulled the covers up to my chin and bent forward to kiss my forehead.
“Keep the match in place until tomorrow morning.”

I watched him as he walked from my bedroom, switched off the light and walked into the brightly lit hallway. When I woke the next morning the match was in my underpants. In the days following this experience, I frequently played with the match, keeping it in for as long as possible even though it hurt. It excited me in a way I would only understand about thirty years later.

Back then, I was nine.

20160209-001wm my pussy
A pixelized version of my crotch, with my hand symbolically covering my pussy, My pussy is MINE and whatever happens to it, happens because I want it and not because it’s forced on me in any way, whether forcefully or ‘talking me into it’.
Just for the record: I am not traumatized by the child abuse, but I recognize what happened back then, should never have happened!
(click to enlarge)


© Rebel’s Notes

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