And Then My Cherry Popped! Lady Confessions

Sex for the very first time.

The first time, it hurt. Luckily I was with a guy who wanted to make sure I was okay. He didn’t come out of the doors pumping like a mad man. He was considerate.  I never thought I would give this advice, but after your first time, it’s best to just do it a few more times soon after. This way you get all stretched out and it can start to feel good. 

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My first time wasn’t painful. I was about a week away from my 18th birthday and it was with my boyfriend of a year. He was average sized and I had plenty of lubrication (I was a horny teenager, so it doesn’t take much to get good and wet), so everything went in smoothly. I didn’t orgasm, but it wasn’t bad for a first-timer! I’ve had much worse sexual encounters since then!

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It was my first year of college. He didn’t even finish. I was very disappointed. Found out he was a real player after that.

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My first time was stereotypical awkward in a parked car. Nothing to write home about, the feelings didn’t change after. But somehow you’re still a different person afterwards.

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I lost mine with no intention that night of doing it. Wasn’t in a relationship, didn’t use protection. (Stupid, I know) If I could go back, I wouldn’t have lost it with the guy I did. He was only in it for himself.

>>>> As always, please have safe sex! Use protection! Think smart! For more info go to: It’s Your Sex Life <<<<

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Categories: Ladies Confess, Lady Talk Forum, Sex, Spill It: Confessions, Welcome!

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3 Comments on “And Then My Cherry Popped! Lady Confessions”

  1. October 19, 2012 at 3:45 pm #

    It was the first time for both of us at age 13. It wasn’t so great physically, but I was “in love”. He changed out of his clothes in another room out of embarrassment. I forgot (as did he) to take off my bra. No pain and no orgasm.

  2. October 20, 2012 at 6:10 am #

    great collection of confessions

  3. November 1, 2012 at 11:52 am #

    This great. Here is a poem I wrote. What do you think?
    Aberrations Concerning True Love in a Coffee Shop

    I could tell by her buttocks that she should be mine
    To affirm and consider with my lonely incisors
    Like a wayward, rebellious, despairing, drunken, yet mostly holy,
    Schizophrenic Jesuit priest.
    She mesmerized me by standing there,
    At the half-and-half table,
    All taught in her Calvin Klein blue jeans
    Around her Saturn-like, two-moon butt,
    Unrepentant like a Barbie doll,
    Though more chunky.
    My core and soul retreated
    Then acted like a Flying bomb, fire-bang missile
    Blasting off from Cape Canaveral
    Or Hamburg, Germany.
    I looked at her with sex eyes,
    And she looked at me back.
    Her face was moon-like too,
    Gazing at me like a honey bear.
    I was rearing all sexist
    Like a moo-cow bucking at a rodeo in that backward land Texas.
    After I had steeled myself, as Adonis would,
    I began to utter my prepared words,
    Which I had practiced daily for eight, solid, insidious months now
    Before the bathroom glass:
    “Would you like to function with me?
    I’m apparently judiciously labeled insane,
    By a Louisiana convention
    Of 11 professional quacks,
    But I’m really not. I’m a rocket ship instead.
    How to do. I’m Harvey Thrilling, and I like your bangs.
    Shall we sit together cozy
    And talk of Toulouse Lautrec
    And the schizoid-effective mal-effects of old-time, Parisian absinthe?
    Or perhaps we should discuss
    The protozoan manners of the Japanese in World War II,
    The repentant bastards.”
    But before I could utter my oral recitations,
    She turned like Ingrid Bergman and walked away,
    Goose-stepping her fine ass in sway.
    I looked for another woman, hoping in my abdominal tract
    To discover rescue, redemption, affirmation and ascension,
    And I examined, Plato-like,
    My mother’s complex.
    Sigmund Freud—in prodigious, comatose, cocaine-induced analyses—
    Should consider these things.

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