The first thing I did
when I bloomed to the woman I was eagerly waiting for was to have a Crime Scene
sex. I did not know that I would be waking up in the middle of a crime scene,
bloodied. For the record, I was not to spend all of my teen years imagining sex
as a passionate, transcendent melding of two souls till I was an adult, but I
was not shocked when I found out that it was a kind of transcendent melding
that incorporates stray bodily fluids, strange noises, and the occasional
wayward butt crack hair.
There was blood on the
bedsheets, on the floor trailing the path I had taken at night to the bathroom.
I surveyed the scene evaluating, making mental notes of the biological evidence
present. I hugged myself and pain shot through
me from my boobs. I expected it.
I sat on the bed picturing
myself seducing my classically handsome hunk of a boyfriend to having sex with
me that day. I wanted to debunk the myths and prove menstrual sex naysayers wrong.
It was the only time of the month I knew my womb would be baby-free.
I found him in his room revising for the biology test we were to do the
following day. Just as always, he maintained my
hugs-only-keep-hands-where-I-can-see-them policy but I surprised him when I
kissed him. Well, it was not our first, but I never initiated it.
I was all over him, and before he could imagine a nut had loosened in my
head and offer to tighten it, I pushed him on the bed. Tony had been waiting
for the time he would lay his hands on me, but he never imagined I would do it
before my eighteenth birthday. Poor chap, my pussy had had a fair share of my
fingers long before mom and dad sat me down and gave me the story of the bees
and what-have-you. The latest foreigner in me was a sex toy I stole from mom’s
dress armoire.
Well, his skull wasn’t as thick as I had imagined. Being two years older
than me probably he had experience with other girls in senior school. He read
my mind like the back of his palm and dropped his pants with speed that
startled even me.
On my way to him I had removed the tampon, and before I could start
gushing again with Hollywood crime scene red dye I straddled him, pulled my
skirt up and pushed my panties aside to leave a small leeway to expose the
pudenda. His pink penis was erect, twitching, and ready. I was not up for
menstrual foreplay. I just wanted him in me. The book had said I start in
cowgirl before we went doggie to avoid getting all bloodied and spook him.
That’s what I did. YouPorn video clips had given me enough theory, now it was
practical.
He did it. Moved in and out of me rhythmically. Before he got excited and
pulled my pants down, it happened. I squirted blood. He withdrew from me as
though he had stepped on hot embers. I knew what was happening, but I did not
care to explain.
Well, I had killed two birds with one stone—undergone transition to
womanhood rite of passage and ‘broke my virginity’ with a human penis. I enjoyed my first crime
scene, and I looked forward to it happening every month. I hate to think menopause
will relieve me.
