Oh God…I’d forgotten about this until now…
Thanks b3ta for opening a bloody great fuck-off suitcase of emotional baggage I thought I’d managed to leave behind on the great British Airways conveyor belt in the aether…

I was fifteen. His name was…um…let’s call him Andrew. He was three years older than I was. Being fifteen, I was a horny little bugger and I fancied the pants off him. There was to be a party to which we were both invited, and I decided that this would be the evening at which I would make my move. I would be a virgin no longer.

I had just recently gone from being a skinny, awkward pre-pubescent to someone, well, blessed with rather more than their fair share of curvy parts. My breasts were a bit of a novelty and seemed to have an impressive effect on men, and so I thought that perhaps the best way of pulling Andrew would be to stun him into submission by accentuating my assets. I turned up wearing a push-up bra under a V-neck vest top. I was a 28E.

That’s not the worst of it though. To go with my new figure, I was also trying to cultivate a new personality. Rather than being a shy wallflower, I would become an assertive woman. A maneater. The sort of woman who would leap across the room, rip Andrew’s glasses off his face and snog him mercilessly, before dragging him back to my bedroom for the boning of his life before he’d even known what hit him.

So I turned up to the party looking like a hooker and sat myself down next to him. Well, draped myself over him. I actually thought I was being subtle by allowing my hand to wander up his thigh. I’m cringing thinking about this now.

I was not successful. Quite apart from the fact that I looked like drunken slag, I was underage, 4ft10 and weighed about 7 stone. He’d have only got off with me if he’d been a paedophile.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 14:06, Reply)