#283) Safe Sex Part I

From an early age, my mother was open with me about all things sexual. We had “the talk” before I started to menstruate, and she took me to the gynecologist as soon as I mentioned that I had a steady boyfriend in high school, so that I could be fitted with a diaphragm. Mom’s mantra was, “Practice safe sex!” and it was drilled into my head constantly (while boyfriend, Kurt, was constantly drilling me further down my body).
I went away to college, and then I really discovered myself, including sexually. It was at college that I recognized that I’m a serial monogamist. I commit to one lover whole-heartedly, until it’s time to move on to someone else.
So this is a photo (taken by a girlfriend) of Jeff and me on the night we were introduced to one another at a coffee shop. We spent over four hours talking and sipping expresso. I remember almost every detail of that evening.
I remember shaking Jeff’s hand when we first met, thinking he was cute. He impressed me as articulate, bright, with a keen sense of humor almost right away. As is typical for me, I made up my mind quickly, I remember thinking after about ten minutes of conversation that I wanted to have sex with Jeff that night. Back in those days, I was more open-minded than I am now. I’d sleep with men who were not necessarily kinky, who might even be politically conservative! The rest of those four hours were spent in discovering how good that potential sex would be, just how much we shared in common. I let it show in my eyes and body language that I found what he was sharing to be fascinating. I sat on one hip or the other, as if I’d just been spanked and was titillated in the extreme from it. I brought up sports, just so I could use a variation of the phrase, “The Cardinals really spanked those Cubs last night!” Then, in that last hour before the coffeehouse closed, I got specific. I pointed asked things like, “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done in bed?” and “What’s your favorite body part on a woman?”
Jeff passed all these tests with flying colors, so much so that, as we walked home to my apartment together (separated from our friends by several paces, so that we could flirt unabashedly), I tackled him.
“I’d love to fuck you right here in the crosswalk!” I enthused, lying on top of him in the street.
“Well, at least we are in the crosswalk. So it would be safe sex,” he replied.
As if on cue, a crack of thunder boomed, splitting the sky open and it started to rain hard. It was so sensual and sexy and prescient. I really was just a whisper away from getting his cock out, pulling my panties to the side, and humping him right then and there.
“If you only knew what a good answer that was!” I decided to edit myself and not tell Jeff about my mother’s mantra, or the fact that I actually had my diaphragm in my purse.
A friend took a flash photo of us giggling and grinding there on the pavement. I thought it was a flash of lightning. That was when I bid my friends adieu; I didn’t want them eavesdropping on us any further.
Jeff took me home, and we stripped out of our soaked clothes, and he spanked my rain-moistened bottom. He wore a condom while I wore my diaphragm to insure that it was super safe sex. And it was super satisfying!

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