![]() “Well, it’s kind of like a handle,” he said, “and you just move your hand up and down. I contrived some reason for him to take me home shortly after, and we didn’t talk about it again until a few days later, when I worked up the courage to ask him what I was supposed to do, once we got his member out in the open. (I know, I know, but I was fifteen, remember.) I kept thinking that I didn’t even know where the important parts were, and worrying that he wouldn’t be impressed. He gave me zero instruction, so I just kind of rubbed while trying to act completely nonchalant. ![]() I should have anticipated this, but I guess I figured that it would come later. Marco grabbed me in various places while we were kissing, which I was by then used to, but a few minutes in, he grabbed my hand and put it on his pants, and I quietly panicked. I mean, I’m an Atheist, but I’ve met so many cool Mormons that every time I think about it, I feel shame. He decided to park behind a Mormon church, and I still feel bad about that. He had picked me up, under the guise of going to the mall, but we both knew we were going to end up making out. I hadn’t even gotten to second base with any other guy, but things with Marco progressed quickly, and it wasn’t long before I realized what was expected of me. When he first kissed me, he had a girlfriend, but this seemed okay to me, because I was fifteen and I wasn’t used to being wanted. His name was Marco, and that’s his real name, because he’s an asshole and I don’t care about his privacy. No details, but it’s definitely a plus, because I have a long and tortured history with this particular type of foreplay. He has a lot of great qualities, but one of them (and this may be oversharing, but that’s kind of the point of this) is that it’s really easy to give him a hand-job. ![]() My boyfriend (who agreed to feature in these essays on the condition he be called Sergio Danger) is fantastic, and I’m not just saying this because he’s right next to me.
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