Take My Virginity

When something seems to be too good to be true, then walk around it and look at it from all directions. Poke it. There’s a good chance that something is rotten somewhere and you’re about to fall in it up to your neck.

However, if you can spot the catch, there is an excellent chance that you can mitigate the potential downside and get away with a nice prize.

Let me tell you a little story about something that happened to me.

First, who am I? The name’s Roger. I’m twenty, six foot plus, two hundred pound plus, IQ of one thirty plus, quite reasonable features and reasonably athletic. The pluses I just mentioned are none of your business, neither is the size of my penis. Just be happy for me that I have one.

I work for myself via a .com, and I do quite nicely. I’m also reasonably attractive to women. Reasonably attractive means just that. I have my share of successes and I have my share of failures. Casanova or Romeo I am not.

Rachel is one of my failures. She is also about twenty, a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter than me, and what she has is packed into a very attractive package. She has always struck me as intelligent, but a little shy. She didn’t seem to have a steady boyfriend, and I suspected that she was still a virgin. No-one ever seemed willing to put up their hand to indicate otherwise, and boys do talk about that sort of thing.

For some reason Rachel has always been able to resist my charms, and any suggestions for a date have been either laughed off or met with a flat refusal if I persisted.

I can take a hint, so I have never really tried to pressure her. I would occasionally offer her a chance to change her mind, but it seemed that as far as she was concerned I was well and truly planted in the friend zone.

So my first suspicion that something was too good to be true was when I casually suggested that she looked like she needed an escort for dinner and a show on Saturday. She turned to me to casually suggest that she had an urgent hair dresser appointment for that time, or something similar when she stopped. I could practically see little lights flashing as an idea struck her, and she looked at me harder.

A look that I can only describe as half desperation and half determination crossed her face, and then she was smiling and saying that she had just been wondering what to do on Saturday, and could I please pick her up about seven?

What could I do? I accepted like a shot and watched as she walked away with a smile and a wave.

And I knew, I just knew, that this was too good to be true.

I mean, a lovely, intelligent and popular young woman who I really liked had agreed to go out with me. What could possibly be wrong with that?

I didn’t know, and it irritated me that I didn’t know because something surely was.

I picked up Rachel on Saturday and we went out for dinner and a show as expected. The dinner was good and the show was excellent, but there was a tension about Rachel that she was trying to disguise. It showed up in little things, not actually spoiling the night, because she was good company, but I could sense this little niggle in the background.

I drove Rachel home after the show and she invited me in for coffee. This was another break from tradition for her, as she was not known for doing that. I’d heard that it would be a kiss or two at the door and then goodbye.

Anyway, nothing loath, I escorted her inside and wandered into the kitchen with her while she set about making coffee. She was so nervous she didn’t know what the hell she was doing. So I kissed her.

Rachel almost jumped out of her skin when I started to kiss her, seemed about ready to fight me off and them acquiesced, kissing me back rather sweetly. Then she, not me, suggested that we continue this in another room.

She took me down the hall and we were in her bedroom. Rachel was blushing but determined as she started undoing the buttons of her blouse. It was plain that I was getting lucky tonight, and that I’d be finding out if she was a virgin or not in the nicest way possible.

Once Rachel’s blouse was off and she had slipped off her skirt, she seemed to freeze, not knowing what to do next. Manfully I stepped into the breach, first unclipping her bra and then slipping down her lacy panties.

I think I mentioned that she was a very attractive package. Naked, I have to upgrade that rating and mark her as sensational.

It was at this point that I decided to deviate from her planned course and start prodding around the edges of a situation too good to be true.

I sat on the side of the bed, smiling and letting my appreciation of Rachel’s figure show. I reached out and took her hand and drew her towards me. She was trembling like a deer that is wondering if the wolf pack is closing in.

Still smiling, I suddenly flipped her across my knee and spanked her hard, giving her half a dozen solid smacks on her pretty little tush.

I then flipped her around again, sat her on the bed and glared at her.

“Now, sweetheart,” I said, “you will tell me precisely what you think you’re doing and why you’re doing it. You can tell me sitting there, or you can tell me while you’re across my knee having your bottom spanked, but tell me you will.”

Rachel was astounded. I was supposed to be kissing and seducing her, or being seduced by her, not spanking and yelling at her.

She dithered for a moment, and tried to bluff, but as soon as I went to put her across my knee again she collapsed and started crying and trying to talk through the tears.

Not understanding a word she was saying, all I could do was draw her to me and hold her while she cried on my shoulder. Not that this was any hardship. I defy any man to not feel really masculine when a delectable and naked young woman is cuddling you and crying in your arms.

Eventually the crying stopped and Rachel seemed ready to talk, so I sat back, prepared to listen.

“It’s George,” Rachel told me.

“George?”

“You know George, George Woulder,” she said.

I did indeed know George. Football hero and great lover, built like a bull, with a bull’s intelligence and sensitivity.

Slowly I drew the story out of her. She was in love with George, and wanted to date him. George had politely told her she was out of luck as he only dated girls who were non-virgins and had some experience in pleasing men, as his dates always finished up in bed. It appeared George didn’t consider it part of his duties to actually initiate virgins.

“I was wondering what to do,” Rachel continued, “and then you asked me out. I suddenly realised that I could get you to take my virginity and then George would be willing to date me.”

I was speechless. But not for long. Fortunately, I was speechless long enough to not tell her what I thought of her idea and to point out that stud duties was not what I’d expected.

Also, I was appalled at the idea that if I didn’t take her virginity she might just run out there and latch onto someone else who wouldn’t value her or treat her right.

I thought the whole thing over and then told her in a calm and considered way that I thought she might be making a little error.

“You’re out of your tiny mind,” I snarled at her. “Do you seriously think you can just whistle up a man and ask him to take your virginity? And what the hell makes you think that George would date you anyway, even if I did fuck you first. The man’s obviously a moron or he would have taken you home and shackled you to his bed as soon as he got a chance, instead of letting you run loose.

What are you going to do if George wants even more experience? Go and gangbang a bikies club or become a free lance hooker? I’d recommend hooker. You could at least make some money doing it.

Am I supposed to find George and tap him on the shoulder and say ‘Hey, Rachel’s a sweet fuck. Why don’t you try her now?’

Or were you going to break the news to him personally?”

I took a deep breath, but didn’t give her a real chance to reply.

“It’s bloody obvious that I should have used a blasted whip and beaten some sense into you instead of just giving you a short spanking. Just what are you intending to do now that your little scheme seems to be falling apart?”

Rachel was crying again now, but also looking belligerent.

“Just go away,” she said. “It’s my problem and I’ll work it out.”

“No. I’m your problem. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re naked, and you have a large angry man in your bedroom with you and he’s now getting all sorts of interesting ideas.”

“If you think I’m going to have sex with you, you’re mad. Just get out.”

I sat there for a moment, furious, but thinking. Finally I sighed and spoke in a more reasonable manner.

“Now that I know what your game plans are, I’m quite willing to go along with you to a point. Are you prepared to listen to my suggestions?”

Rachel glared at me, but nodded.

“OK. Earlier, you were gritting your teeth and preparing to lie back and think of George while I initiated you. You would have probably found the whole experience painful and humiliating and I suspect that I wouldn’t have enjoyed the experience all that much either.

Now you are much more relaxed, assuming that it is not going to happen, and you’ve been too upset with everything to even remember you’re naked.”

Rachel flushed at this point and covered her breasts, but didn’t really resist when I gently pushed her hands back down away from them.

“Now what I propose is that I will make love to you for a while, getting you used to having a man touch you and letting you get used to touching a man. We don’t have to have sex tonight. We can always leave that for another time.

But I am not going to just be a one night stand. If we start making out tonight, I will expect to see you every night for at least the next week.

Then when we do make love, you will have some idea of what you’re doing and, on subsequent days, I’ll be able to teach you more.”

“But we won’t be having sex tonight?” Rachel said, sounding irritatingly relieved.

“Not unless you really want to,” I told her. “Are you on the pill?”