<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d10160736\x26blogName\x3dMiss+Hag.\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dTAN\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://misshag.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://misshag.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d546574539864072076', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

3.06.2005

Like a Virgin. Touched For the Very Sixth Time

WARNING - IF YOU WANT TO MAINTAIN THE PERCEPTION THAT MISS HAG. IS PARTICULARLY INNOCENT OR ABOVE REPROACH, OR IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HER SEX LIFE OR IF YOU ARE RELATED TO HER, DO NOT READ THIS BLOG ENTRY. IT MAY BURN YOUR EYEBALLS.



I found most of this information in a journal I kept during the fall of my sophomore year of college.

11.26.94
A Compendium of My First Six Fucks

The first time I had sex was on December 13, 1991. I was fifteen, M.D. was nineteen. We were in his grandmother’s car parked in the driveway of my parent’s house listening to the Metallica Black album. We didn’t use a condom and he pulled out and came on the slipmat on the floor of the passenger seat. While M.D. scrambled to untangle himself from the awkward position, I told him I was on the Pill. He said, “Why didn’t you tell me before?” It didn’t occur to me to explain; I just remember making out with him for a bit and then grabbing him and pulling him on top of me. We had fooled around many times before that – kissing, blow jobs, etc. It was quick and painless. I was impatient not to be a virgin, but when I got out of the car, I realized I didn’t really feel anything. I ran up to my room and called my best friend, Angie, who drew a certificate of congratulations on notebook paper and gave it to me the next day at school.

Losing my virginity was like opening the doors to those metal gates that holds back racehorses at a track. Once I got that pesky virginity thing out of the way, I felt the need to acquire the sexual history of a much looser (and surely, older) woman. Thankfully, I have always taken a weird interest in listing the men I’ve slept with, and in the early years of my sex life, I was particularly detailed in tracking dates and places. Fourteen years later, it would require a little more effort for me to even come up with first names of some of the men in my spotty past. When they still numbered in an amount I could count on my two hands, I spent some time pouring over the details of the men I had chosen.

And certainly, it was my choice. Although the boys were willing partners in my choice, it seems that I exerted my sway on these candidates. If you peruse my notebooks, you may find elaborate pie charts and graphs detailing my personal racy statistics.

Now, I have the benefit of these old lists to help me reference some of the less memorable moments of my sexual history. According to a list I found today, if the dates I wrote down are correct, I slept with three different boys within a month of losing my virginity. One of the boys was a virgin himself. I went from innocent to corruptor in less then thirty days.

The second boy I slept with was an old boyfriend from years before. JF and I were infamous for make-out sessions on the top bleacher of the junior high gymnasium. Once, we sucked face for the entire half-time of a junior varsity basketball game. The head coach was so appalled by our intensity that we got banned from attending games together. This was quite a controversy since JF was the starting forward for the varsity team. I had to join the cheerleading squad just to watch him play.

By high school, he still ran with the jock crowd and I got more interested in the people smoking pot. But we remained secondary friends. JF and I had done “everything but” until that night which was again in a car in my parents driveway. Apparently, the boys were fine to fuck, but not to meet my parents. He had a girlfriend at the time and she was one of the really good girls in school. My status changed overnight into “maneater” and I loved it. Girls grabbed their boyfriend’s hands when I passed in the hall and I just laughed. It was never a matter of my “stealing” boyfriends, just borrowing them. I would rather fuck the boys then pretend to be interested in whatever they had to say.

The third boy was the boy I devirginized. He was one of my friend’s brothers. (Did I have any moral fortitude?) My mother, whose parenting skills were questionable at best, allowed me to skip school that day because I told her I had a date. He had called me because he was home from college on break and wanted to take me to a movie. We drove half and hour to a theatre to watch Beauty and the Beast but the theatre was closed. The natural second choice to missing a Disney movie is apparently to lose one’s virginity. His penis was small and fat like an overstuffed cocktail weenie and the sex (if you could call it that) lasted as long as a sneeze. He was so nervous and freaked out that he immediately stripped the bed and washed his sheets. I felt like such a pervert.

Boy number four was my first uncircumcised conquest and the first time I think I experienced any degree of pleasure during the act. Mind you, I don’t think I had actually had an orgasm at this point into my sex career. We did it on multiple occasions over a short span of time; the most famous being the night we did it on the 50 yard line of the school football field while everyone else was at a school dance. Why? Because we felt like being in a John Hughes film.

I barely remember what happened with boy number five. We fucked in my best friend's parents' bed during a party. I woke up next to a different boy whom I don't think I fucked.

Most of my sexual knowledge was gained through a relationship I had with the sixth boy I had ever slept with. Over a period of less than ten months, we had sex 863 times. I kept track in a little book. We had sex in a movie theatre while watching The Crying Game, in every room of his parent’s house, in his car while he was driving, at the 1993 Woodstock concert in upstate New York, in all of our friend’s beds and some of their parent’s beds as well. We fucked in hotels. We did acid and fucked. We got high and fucked. We drank forties of malt liquor and fucked until we passed out. His dad was in charge of deploying the plow trucks during snowstorms and we would always know before the rest of town if there would be a snow day at school. We took those days as opportunities to have 6 to 8 hour fuckfests. Anything we wanted to try, we did. It was ridiculously fun.


Thirteen years later. Posted by Hello

link * Miss Marisol posted at 10:12 PM * posted by Miss Marisol @ 10:12 PM   |