First Times: Nine Tales of Innocence Lost

by Natalie Deschain

  I thrashed back as the release came in an explosive wave that swept through me in rolling shocks of hot and cold as electric currents shot down my legs. I pressed against him hard as the feeling hollowed me out and sucked all the strength out of my body. He bucked up, and tried to push me away.

  “I’m cumming,” he growled, trying to drag me off him.

  I pushed down, taking him to the root as he throbbed inside me, spilling me with his seed. His face turned into a slack stare.

  “Give it to me,” I murmured, rolling my hips and tightening my belly. I wanted to squeeze it all out of him, be filled up. I relaxed as he finished, his head lolling back before rolling forward so he could touch his lips to my forehead.

  It turned to a kiss. I lay on top of him until he went soft, and finally lifted up. His seed slid down my leg, yet more inside me. I flopped onto the cold hard floor next to him and leaned on him while I gathered up enough strength to shakily stand up, leaning on the bench.

  He kissed me as I stood up.

  “Are you coming back next year?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “Wait for me,” I said, running my fingers over his chest.

  “No one can know about this.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You were my student.”

  “I’m an adult. What does it matter?”

  “I could still lose my job. The administration-”

  “Fuck the administration,” I said, pressing against him. I rose up on my tip toes to kiss him. Lightly. Chastely. “Fuck my parents, too. I want you. I’m coming back and I want you.”

  He gave me one last embrace. Our bodies were slick with sweat. When he let me to and left, the look he gave me ripped my heart out. I didn’t want to shower, but I did. I went home. I went to college.

  I came back the next summer.

  So did he.

  Melissa

  “Melissa, would you remain after class?”

  I paused in gathering up my things. Professor McCray was not one to give much individual attention to students. The archeology professor was notoriously aloof, communicating mostly through his teaching assistants. He only gave about half the lectures and maintained the bare minimum office hours. To we mere students he was a mystery. Rumors flew even outside the history department. The wealthy, handsome professor was a recluse, and recluses naturally become the subject of wild speculation. I kept out of it, for the most part. I was more concerned with earning a high mark in Archeological Methods II, though I did dream that McCray might write me a letter of recommendation when it came time to apply to graduate school. My academic advisor was pushing me to apply to PhD programs in American Studies, even though ancient history was my passion.

  My heart was pounding. The truth was, as silly as it must sound, I had a crush on him. He was the perfect image of the adventuring archeologist. Six feet and six inches of lithe, graceful power with a firm square jaw that could never shed its stubble and piercing eyes that made my stomach flutter every time there was a brief moment of eye contact during one of his lectures. As he gathered up his briefcase I finished shoving my things into my bag and hurried down the auditorium steps to greet him. I had to stop myself from taking them two at a time. I pushed my glasses up my nose and flinched at the gesture. With my sweaters and baggy clothes and unkempt hair in a loose ponytail I must have been the very image of a geek. I felt half my age as I stood in front of him, shifting on my feet.

  “Professor McCray?” I said.

  “I read your paper,” he said, not looking at me. “Fascinating.”

  I felt my cheeks grow hot and knew I was blushing. I’d taken a risk on that one, I knew. I wrote a paper on the bowdlerization of archeological finds. The centerpiece of my work was the censorship of the discoveries in Pompeii, the Roman city smothered by ash from the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. When the city was discovered mostly intact, preserved by the ash, the archeologists of the time hid and some times deliberately destroyed dozens of murals depicting all sorts of taboo subjects. Nude nymphs and Priapus, the demigod famous for his huge, permanently erect penis. I stifled a smile just thinking about it. I had a severe case of the giggles the whole time I was writing the paper. Professor McCray cleared his throat.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “I”m told you’re looking into graduate schools.”

  The professors were talking about me? “Yes, sir.”

  “No need to be so formal. Join me in my office?”

  My heart slammed against my ribs and I swayed a little on my feet. Visions of amateurish seductions floated through my head. I thought of tugging the loose neck of my sweater to expose my shoulder a little. My outfit was less than flattering and far from sexy, and I suddenly felt self conscious about everything, from my battered sneakers to my hair which I hadn’t washed for two days.

  “Sure.”

  He nodded and shouldered his bag. “This way.”

  I followed him out of the lecture hall and through the building. The faculty offices were on the upper floors. The elevator ride up was awkward. I sunk into the corner, all my courage gone as he stared straight ahead. Like a gentleman he held the door so I could pass first as we stepped out of the elevator. I knew the way to his office by heart. I’d almost knocked on the door once, and one time I very nearly visited during office hours. He was only available for two hours on Wednesday and Thursday, and the one time I went to speak with him I realized I had nothing of any relevance to say and slunk off, defeated. Now I was watching him open the door. He swung it open and motioned me inside, then closed it behind us as I stepped into his office. My heart fluttered a bit more. Every professor kept their door open when conferencing with students. It was an unwritten rule.

  This was the first time I’d ever actually been in here. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. His office was better furnished than the department head’s. The plain white walls and ugly indoor/outdoor carpet were hidden beneath elegant appointments and antiques. He had more books than anyone I’d ever seen. His desk was enormous, and old. He sank down behind it and dropped his bag at his side and motioned for me to sit in the club chair beside the desk. I dropped into it and tried not to sigh as I sank into the richly padded leather. My nerves jangled up again and I swallowed, folding my hands in my lap so they wouldn’t shake.

  “It’s an interesting issue, isn’t it, the way we censor ourselves?”

  I noticed something on his desk. It was a carven statue, ivory maybe, I wasn’t sure. A stylized man and woman intertwined with another man, in some kind of lewd sexual pose. The more I stared at it the hotter I felt. The little ivory woman was having sex with both men at the same time, pressed between them, a look of pained ecstasy etched on her face. He noticed I was staring at it and turned the base in his fingers as he spoke.

  “What turned you to a controversial subject like that?”

  I shrugged, and I sensed disappointment clouding his features, so I immediately started explaining myself. “I noticed it the Pompeii murals in a book and I started doing research. Once I found they’d been censored I started looking in other places. The temple in India…”

  “Khajuraho,” he said.

  “Yes, that one. It struck me how uptight western attitudes about sex are reflected in our archeological methods and historiography. Even our own mythology is heavily bowdlerized. Did you know the norse god Loki got pregnant by a horse and cross-dressed?”

  I immediately felt a rush of embarrassment. Asking this man if he knew something? Who the hell did I think I was?

  “I’m familiar with the stories,” he said. If there was any resentment for my rudeness he didn’t show it. “What do you think about that? Western attitudes about sex, I mean.”

  I shrugged again, and bit my lip. As I looked down I could swear I caught a flash of his tongue from the corner of his eye, licking his lip.

  “They’re backwards, I guess. Other cultures are much more open.”

  “We have a way of hiding that aspect of ou
r lives from ourselves,” he said, fiddling with the little statue. “In other cultures, sexuality is not treated as a secretive or dirty thing. It’s part of every day life, as it should be. Even religion. Did you know that many pagan practices incorporate a sexual component? Even major religions outside our sphere acknowledge the power of sex.”

  I nodded, vigorously. “Maybe I should do a paper on that.”

  “Perhaps. I remember once I went on a dig in the south of France. My team and I were uncovering a pre-Roman Celtic ritual site. I spent most of my time there sleeping in the ritual chamber we uncovered. The roof was long gone, so there were only stars above. I think it’s important that we avoid the clinical, detached distance that Western scholarship advocates and immerse ourselves in the cultures and ideas we’re studying. Don’t you agree?”

  I nodded, not really sure what that meant. It sounded good, though. I agreed that we were too detached, and “We’re too judgmental,” I said.

  “Exactly. You mentioned the Norse myths. Are you familiar with the seidr?”

  I shook my head.

  “The sorcery of Scandinavian witches. I was looked down upon, for a time, for suggesting that the sexual epithets used to describe the ritual implements were literal, rather than mere metaphors. My colleagues were less than amused. It takes a certain bravery to challenge the establishment, especially in a slow moving field like this one.”

  I nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  He stood up. “It’s fascinating what we’ve lost in our transition to a closeted society that fears its own sensuality.”

  His fingers rested on my scalp and I froze.

  “What are you…”

  His fingertips sank into my hair. He loosed my ponytail and let my hair spill over my shoulders. I had two conflicting thoughts in my head. What does he want from me? and My hair is so greasy! When his other hand joined the first and he stood behind me running his fingertips lightly over my scalp, I felt an intense shiver of sensation that passed down through my body. It was like a wave that crashed against my toes and fingertips and spread back up, and I gasped. His fingers moved in lazy but precise patterns, and the feeling only intensified. It was like being dragged from a neutral state into sudden, full arousal. Heat pooled between my legs and spread up my stomach, and I felt an urge to tear away from him but my body wouldn’t let me. It was like I went from nothing to riding the edge of an explosive climax, all at once.

  “Wh-what are you d-doing…” I managed.

  “Intensity of sensation brings us closer to gnosis, a zero-state. A little crack in the universe.”

  “The F-french call orgasm p-petit mort,” I said, not knowing why. “Little d-death.”

  “Exactly.”

  He continued to caress my scalp, and my hands clenched the arms of the chair. This was agony. I thought I would explode at any second, but I never made it over the edge. He just kept stroking my scalp, and when he changed up the pattern of his moving fingers the sensations only intensified and I started grinding my legs together, my hips rolling on their own. I moaned softly.

  “Some mystics find the zero-state through intense pain, like the Hindus who drive hooks through their flesh and swing from chains. The pain clears away doubt and unfocused thoughts. Pleasure can have the same effect. Pleasure is sacred.”

  I squirmed, rising up a little as my body clenched. It was getting so hot I was starting to sweat. He moved his fingers down the sides of my head and worked them into the neck of my sweater, and along my collarbone. Everywhere he touched me was like a scarlet line of bliss, like the aftertouch of something hot rolling across my skin, too quick to burn. He leaned forward and his hands pressed lower, his fingers moving lightly down the slope of my breasts to slip under the cups of my bra. He pinched my nipples sharply and I yelped and jerked, pulling my legs up. Still standing behind me, he withdrew one hand and began undoing his belt. He pulled his zipper down and drew his cock out of his trousers. His hand cupped the side of my head and turned me to face him. I put my hand down my pants and began playing with myself. I couldn’t stop.

  It was like he had me under a magic spell.

  My lips wrapped around his cock. I’d never held a man’s penis in my mouth before. I’d never seen one before. I was not a popular girl, by any means, and my appearance and bookish nature led to many nights curled up in my dorm room with a book or my laptop, working. I swirled my tongue around the head of his cock and it stiffened in my mouth. Instinct or whatever it may have been, I sucked. Hard. His cock went rigid, thicker and heavier than I thought. The skin was soft and velvety, wrapped around a hard core of hot iron. As I sucked his cock and ran my tongue around the ridge of the head, he spoke and stroked my hair out of my eyes.

  “The Norse witches believed they could empower themselves by taking a man’s seed. I’m going to give you that power. Do you want that?”

  I nodded, and he began to stroke my head again, one hand. I gasped and sucked his cock harder, driven to the edge.

  “Take your hand away from your pussy.”

  I pulled my hand out of my pants. I put one hand on his shaft and with the other I slid my fingers under his balls and guided them out of his underwear. I let his cock pop out of my mouth and licked his balls, feeling them go hard under my touch.

  “I need your help,” he said. His voice was strangely even as I sucked his shaft harder and moaned softly around it. “I want to get close to my subject. I want to perform a ritual. Are you a virgin?”

  I nodded, and rolled my tongue around his shaft. His only reaction was a tension in his belly and the hardening of his balls, and the way his fingers went from stroking my scalp to clenching in my hair, making an almost painful fist as he pushed his cock into my throat. I gagged and choked a little until he drew back, and his tight grip guided me as I sucked him off.

  “You need to swallow it,” he said, stroking me lightly with his free hand as he gripped me hard with the other. “Not just hold it in your mouth, swallow every drop until you have it all.”

  I bobbed my head harder, stroking him with my lips while I sucked. I tasted salt on my tongue and closed my eyes, knowing it would come soon. If you’d asked me that morning the idea would have disgusted me, but I felt so good with his manhood between my lips, ready to swallow his seed. A jerk of his tight body and a soft grunt was all he gave me when his seed burst in my mouth and I began gulping it down, too fast to taste until there was so much I couldn’t taste anything but salt and musk. I swallowed and swallowed, squeezing out the last drops with my lips and tongue. Finally I squeezed the base of his shaft and ran my fingers up his length, pushing the very last of his seed onto my tongue before I swallowed it. When I pulled back, his wet cock was sticky with my lip gloss. It hung in front of me, half hard and pulsing.

  “This is what you’re going to do. Every day, you’re going to come here and received my seed, and until I tell you, you may not touch yourself. Do you understand?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s a good girl. Turn.”

  He tucked himself back into his pants and wiped his hands, and massaged my scalp more until I twisted out of his grip. It felt so good I thought my heart would explode.

  As I stood up, he took my arms and stood behind me. He put his lips to the back of my head and sniffed, breathing in the scent from my hair.

  “Remember what I said. You are not to cum until we finish. Do you understand?”

  “Why me?” I croaked.

  His hands slid around and cupped my breasts through my sweater. “You’re special.”

  I took my bag and I headed back to the dorm. My roommate, Caitlin, ignored me as she usually did. I put on my bathrobe and went to take a shower. I stood under the water, running my tongue around my mouth. I could still taste his seed. I Imagined it hot in my belly. The taste didn’t fade until I brushed my teeth.

  That night I had strange dreams. I dreamed there was a brick wall, but it was wet and rotten and covered in vines and something was pushing on it
from the other side, pushing through the wall. I woke up sopping wet and sweaty and I had to shower again before I went to class. I didn’t have McCray on that day. After my classes ended, I wandered up to his office, wondering if I’d dreamed the day before. I knocked on the door and he opened it and put his hand on my shoulder and guided me inside. Then he locked it, and sat down behind his desk, turning a little so I could get on my knees in front of him. It was all natural, the way I sank down between his leg and undid his clothes. This time I pushed his shirt up enough to see his hard, muscular stomach and the coarse hair that covered it. I stroked his cock to hardness and sucked him off while he graded papers. He looked down at me once in a while.

  I felt strange while I had his cock in my mouth. A few times I sucked hard, and it made him gasp and stroke my head, run his hands over my head like I was some kind of a pet. Nestled between his legs, I felt strangely encircled and protected, especially when his thighs pressed against my arms. I rested my head on his belly as I sucked the cum out of his cock and swallowed it. I could feel it sliding hot down my throat, or maybe it was just my imagination. I swallowed it all and held his cockhead between my lips for a while after, until he pulled me back and made me stop, gasping and shivering from the wet touch of my lips. I’d skipped the lip gloss this time and I left him clean except for a slick wetness of spit. He said nothing but caressed the curve of my jaw with his thumb as I stood up and bent to tuck him back in his pants.

  Just being in the same room with him made my sex throb. I couldn’t believe I was so wanton, that I was just letting him use me this way.

  The next day I went back, and the next. On the fourth day he sat on the leather chaise and read from an old book while I curled between his legs and rested my head on his hip and slowly sucked him off. I could tell he liked it better that way because he put the book down when he was close and put his hand on my head and whispered Melissa, Melissa, so low I could barely hear it, but it was there and it made my stomach tighten. I was so full of desire that it took every effort not to touch myself as he spilled his seed in my mouth again. I didn’t waste a drop. When I stood up he slipped his hand under me from behind and teased me, his touch softened by layers of cotton between his fingertip and my sex. It made me quake with excitement and clench my fists. Just having his cock in my mouth made me so wet.