No matter whether I like it or not, Freddy was–and will always be–the first guy who ever had sex with me. And as far as I’m concerned, Freddy will always be that “special guy” who took my virginity, when he fucked me with his “verga” and fertilized my “panocha” in the bathroom that Sunday afternoon.
So even though I love my husband dearly, I still kept finding myself fantasizing about Freddy quite frequently throughout my adult life–although I have to admit that I do it much less nowadays than I used to, back when I was a younger woman.
The point I’m trying to make here is that my single sexual encounter with Freddy in the bathroom that Sunday afternoon ended up drastically changing the very core of my sexuality. And it permanently altered my sexual desires and preferences to this very day.
By the way, there is something extremely ironic about my sexual encounter with Freddy. You see, Freddy, never got married, and he is now paralyzed from the waist down, and has been wheelchair-bound ever since he was in his late teens. I know that Freddy continued to live with his mother until she finally passed away a few years ago. And now he’s finally living by himself in the family home, far away in a different state from where my husband and I live. And of course, the irony in all this is that it’s quite possible that I may have been the only girl that Freddy ever got to fuck in his entire life.
However, just for the record, I do realize that it’s much more likely that, during his adolescent years (before he became paralyzed), Freddy may have sexually molested and raped other young girls, besides me. If that is actually the case, then I can only hope that those other young girls were able to mentally and emotionally cope with the experience, so that they could go on to live a wonderful, satisfying life, just like I have.
I have one final thought about my experience with Freddy. I’m very grateful that Freddy chose not to try to kiss me, or hug me, or show any kind of affection towards me during our encounter in the bathroom. Instead, he chose to make our encounter all about pure raw sex, and nothing more than that. Looking back on everything, it’s the total lack of affection on Freddy’s part that helped to make the whole situation much less scary and much more tolerable–and yes, ultimately enjoyable–for me. Let’s face it. I would not have orgasmed my ass off, like I did that day with Freddy, if I were not thoroughly enjoying the sex itself.
In other words, that Sunday afternoon in the bathroom with me, Freddy knew exactly what he was doing, and how he was going to do it–even though I didn’t, at the time. And that was a very good thing, as far as I’m concerned. Sometimes naivety can be a blessing. And it definitely was, in my case.
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