His name was Andrew
and he was my second boyfriend. Very into keeping fit, he was one of those blokes who would take his shirt off at every opportunity in the hope that people would be impressed by his muscular, toned, tanned, waxed and possibly oiled torso. I cannot adequately describe how chuffed my 17-year-old, speccy, geeky, low-confidence self was to have pulled a guy this fit. Other girls were jealous of me, that had never happened before. It was great.

Until we got round to having sex. I was too naive to find it strange that he didn't want me to touch his cock. After a certain amount of fumbling about I was getting a bit bored.

ME: Stop teasing, fuck me.
(silence)
HIM: Um, I am. I've just finished actually.

I disentangled myself and true enough, there was a condom full of spluff hanging off a knob that reminded me of nothing so much as a champagne cork.

I subsequently "lost" his phone number but fair's fair, he also "lost" mine. We next met by chance about a month later, when we both acted like we'd never been an item.

Thankfully my sex life since then has been a considerable improvement.
( Batsgirl, Fri 15 Jun 2007, 14:27, Reply)