Having My Pie and Eating It (Too)

Seeing Tyler Watson every day still tickles my “Am I being punked?” bone.

He’s handsome. Funny. Respectful of the fact that I recently turned eighteen and I’m not ready to give him the big V.

My parents both claimed to have lost their virginity on their wedding night, as did both sets of grandparents.

I wasn’t present at any of those consummations, obviously, but the stories always came with wagging fingers to emphasize how important the fact was.

I’m not especially susceptible to finger-wagging, and I’m definitely not waiting for marriage.

I’m not delusional enough to think I’m the only eighteen-year-old virgin in Kansas either. I just want my cherry-popping to be special, and with someone I love.

I think Tyler could be that person.

I also don’t want to end up like my parents, who split when I was two and are still pissed about their own sexual mistake.

We’re taking things slow, but I’ve given him a hand job at the drive-in and played with his penis the last couple of times we’ve gone out.

The first time I had it in my mouth for a couple of minutes and gagged a little.

The second time I impressed him with my stamina, though I could only take a little more than half of his six inches.

I’m definitely going to improve. I’ve even practiced with a carrot and I’m considering upgrading to a cucumber.

Tyler’s fondled me a lot—especially my big hooters—but I haven’t shown them to him yet.

Maybe I’m a prude, but being naked with someone is still embarrassing.

Truth is, my hang-ups come from insecurity.

In sixth grade I was the first girl to grow boobs and got harassed and bullied for it. Even now they’re not just large; they’re abnormally large for my frame.

I moved to Wichita in eleventh grade.

Once there was no more hell-on-earth physical education, I lived in baggy sweaters, walling off the twins and whatever agenda they had that I wasn’t privy to.

Tyler is awesome.

We’re both into retro eighties music, both honors students, and both in concert and marching band.

He’s funny, quirky, and caring. I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love… and considering giving him my virginity soon. But not yet.

While I’m not ready for sex with my young lover, I am damn curious.

I get off a lot to online porn and erotica.

According to various sources (not the videos—those guys are clearly horse hybrids), Tyler’s is above average.

I’m estimating six inches.

So when the time comes (pun accidental), I’m expecting to cum.

I’ve experimented with my finger, a hairbrush, and an empty commemorative Coke bottle from the eighties—broke my hymen with that one.

It’s almost like my muffin has some kind of latent, long-range penis sense. Longer and thicker equals good.

In short, I’m not dead inside. I’m very much alive below the belt, curious as hell, and ready for something special.

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Dating Tyler has major perks.

For one, his mother is major goals.