Discovering I'm a Dirty Slut

I love books and I love writing because they give life beauty through order. All those confusing emotions felt in ephemeral moments can be paused, held and observed in peace without time harrying you on. Even if my words still show an incomprehensible chaos, there is still comfort in an ordered disorder. I suppose this is the reason I am writing this; I am confused and made crazy by sex, and putting that into writing gives me release. Part of the problem is that I can only write about sex when I am aroused and after alcohol. The everyday me would recoil at erotic words, her face will contort with disgust if you mentioned the word 'cum.' But how I am now, I find it so exhilarating; I want to cum and I feel like writing again.

A previous partner of mine told me that when we had sex I could be very 'porny' with my moans and mannerisms which is funny because I'm not very into watching porn. I think because I am so repressed that when I get aroused the floodgates open. I love the loss of control and the feeling of being exposed. And it's not as if I'm being dishonest when I'm being prudish-- I am sincerely disgusted by sex most of the time, but when I'm in the mood I love being dirty. I love being gross and nasty and slutty.

My first sexual experience came as a shock to me. I had never masturbated before because it was too "icky;" the look, texture and smell of vagina made me uncomfortable so I left it alone. I had moments where I felt myself, but I always backed away out of nervousness.

However, once I had grown to an adult age, when my parents allowed me more freedom, they relented to letting me visit one of my friends for the summer. She was half French, and her family owned a holiday home in Southern France. It was a large house with a converted barn off to the side, which was where I stayed. It was more than a guest room; it was almost an entire house in itself, and it was fancier than the home I lived in with my parents. I had an entire double bed, covered in Egyptian cotton, air conditioning and an en suite bathroom all to myself.

The first week I spent settling into this new luxury. I spent most of those days resting, visiting the local village and practicing my French with my friend's father. And after that week, I felt as if I lived there.

It wasn't all comfortable, however. I did struggle to adjust to the heat. Although there are heavy summers in England, the French sun was far more oppressive. I sweated at a constant drip. There wasn't enough deodorant or perfume in the world to cover my body. Even getting out of the shower, the activity of drying off was enough exercise to break a sweat and make me stink again. I didn't bring enough clothes, and while my friend's dad offered to throw my things into the wash with everyone else's, I felt too embarrassed to hand him a damp sundress and sticky underwear.

Soon though I did begin to stop caring. I felt like my armpit hair was sexy, and even if they did smell like sweat, I gladly wore my sundresses regardless. I remember starting to see spirals of pubic hair poking out from my bikini, but I didn't care. Or I cared very much about my friend's dad and brother seeing my pubic hair. I don't think I was conscious of it at the time, and I didn't want to sleep wither either the dad or brother, but on some level I wanted them to know I had a pussy and I didn't shave.

This was also the first time I had access to a bathtub. I began to love soaking in the water for hours, and I'd look down at my feet and feel my eyes up my body, past my long legs, bush, tight tummy and small breasts. I remember the first bath I had during this period made me feel aroused. I saw myself in the bathroom mirror, my naked head and shoulders peering back. I could barely look at myself but I felt excited. That first time I lingered my soapy hand a little longer over my pussy, but not too long. I remember feeling that tingle, but I didn't pursue it further.

It was the perfect storm to lose my virginity. Not long after a barbeque was planned for a Friday evening. My friend's extended family were invited, along with family friends. I put on my prettiest dress-- a white halter with a pink floral pattern-- and helped in the kitchen to make the food. I felt so cute running around the house in my bare feet. I felt like a woman who had a place, and who was beautiful and sexy in her own right.

The man who I had sex with was a school friend of the brother. He was older than me, and of course he was French with a perfected French accent. We sat next to one another at dinner and talked for hours about books and music and he complimented me for my interests as well as my beauty. I don't know how to describe him other than he was very French, like a young Serge Gainsbourg. And I still remember he had the most beautiful hands too: they were big but not brutish and violent, and delicate without being flimsy and feminine.

After dessert and some more wine, we both went for a walk. At this point I think it was an unspoken thing that we were romantically walking. I didn't intend on sex just yet, but we went through the winding roads holding hands. The sun had almost disappeared, but it was still warm and bright. Our hands clammed together as we rushed back to the house before the sun had fully set.

We arrived late to humid blue air hugging our hot bodies. I was flustered and excited. It looked like all the guests had gone home and the house seemed completely empty in the night.

We stood outside my room for a second and he motioned for a kiss; I was unsure and nervous but I didn't pull away. It was a cute, pleasant kiss just on my lips. He motioned a second time and I felt a tingle as we touched this time, only now he pushed his tongue into my mouth and tasted me. I could taste him too, the wine especially. At that moment, and even now recalling it, I felt an intense desire fill my loins. I remember thinking instantly at that moment, I could have sex with him. Images of strong hands gripping me and a hard cock fucking me covered my mind. I think this was the first moment I felt that real insatiable appetite that is so familiar to me now.

It was awkward following the kiss. I don't think either of us knew what to do or say. It was clear both of us wanted to fuck, but getting to that point was tricky. In all honesty, I wanted him to grab me and fuck me there without a word. I lost the ability to think, my mind filled only with sex, I surprised myself by making the move.

It's hard to think back now, and I'm sure whatever I attempt to write will sound much sexier than reality, but I told him I was horny. Just in a straightforward manner: "I'lm horny."

Regardless, he understood what I meant and after we kissed again and he took me inside. I was anxious but so fucking horny.

In my room we sat side by side on my bed and made out. I felt his arms and chest as we licked each other's tongues. After a while he gently pushed me off the bed onto the floor in front of him, telling me I'm a "good girl" as he did so. I think I would have done anything he wanted after hearing those words. I took the hint and began undoing his belt.

I was nervous since this was my first time seeing a penis in person and all of a sudden I was going to put it in my mouth and suck. I was going to taste and smell him. I took him in my mouth and felt his cock grow with my tongue. As he got bigger his head pushed out of his foreskin and I began sucking and lapping the precum that came up with it. I must have been doing a good job because I heard his grunts and moans, he stroked my hair as I bobbed up and down.

I guess this was the time I found out I love giving head. I was always fascinated with the idea, but I was unaware of how much a turn on it is for me. Having something long, thick and hard go into your mouth and push your throat is not super comfortable, but it really does crowd your senses. It's so intimate in that way. Maybe you have guessed by now, but I have a thing for being dirty; I adore the smell of sex, and that first night we were both pretty worked up and sweaty. While I was doing my best to give a blowjob, I was intoxicated by the smell of his sweat and cum.

I've liked the smell of everyone I slept with and even found that my own scent turned me on. I used to be very embarrassed and concerned it was gross but that night Thibault laid me down on the bed and kissed my pussy. Maybe because it was the first time, but I've never had anyone eat me out so well. He took my lips into his mouth and pulled gently and teased the inside of me with the tip of his tongue before sucking lightly on my clit. Despite me leaking the whole time, he still kissed me down there until I came.

While I was half unconscious with ecstasy he fucked me. The moment his cock entered me I was shocked awake. I felt so full and heavy with his sex. He kissed me again and the smell of alcohol was replaced by the smell of my juices. I could taste myself on his lips and it turned me on so much. I felt like I had let go of all my worries and anxieties and became his to use. He just kept fucking me and every pump sent a warmth through my whole body.

I can hardly remember thinking back now. At some point I found myself on my knees again staring at his cock and sucking it, gladly tasting and smelling even more of my pussy but this time mixed with his scent. He pulled out of my mouth, and still connected by a string of saliva, he stroked himself and came on my face. It shot out in small pulses, this white creamy fluid. Some went in my hair, my breasts and some on my lips.

I felt weirdly proud of myself. Like I did that. I made him cum. I made him do this with my sexy body. I furtively licked my lips, embarrassed he'd think I was too much of a slut but I loved the salty taste and I only wish he could have fucked me more.

I wish he could fuck me now with how wet writing this has made me.