The first time I had *** I was wearing a pair
of army green stretchy pants.
I accept
that they were probably not made with my body in mind:
The army green legging pattern or design.
But I have rather wide hips and
somewhat larger thighs,
so I had no choice but to go up in a size.
The leggings, of course,
were not on during the process of the act, but
worn at the beginning, as I lifted my back,
allowing for a quick peel
down the unshaven length of my legs, the leggings indeed
fell smoothly away.
At least for a little while anyways.
They got to my ankles then,
the ripples of fabric slowly unfolding, smoothly rolling,
like frosting from a baker’s hand, openly curling.
Then stopped with a peel of bludgeoned laughs
as I lay not vertical, but at some kind of acute angle, hanging nearly
precariously from my small and dainty ankles.
Then I wondered, how many drafts?
How many moments of pondered artifacts that
would eventually come down to a
pair of army green virginity pants.
The anticipation: At last!
It was interrupted by a peel of softly bludgeoned laughs.
I welcome this fact,
taking a moment to pause
and listen to the noise of the fabric’s applause
as it clung to its last moments attached to my thick and heavy rods.
Stretched in spandex I felt them let loose, feeling my feet
curl up snuggly around you.
I came to decide that I love my virginity pride and
the pants that will wrap neatly around my open and gaping
thighs.
To me, it doesn’t even matter that you never said
Goodbye.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 12:33 AM UTC
The first time I had *** I was wearing a pair
of army green stretchy pants.
I accept
that they were probably not made with my body in mind:
The army green legging pattern or design.
But I have rather wide hips and
somewhat larger thighs,
so I had no choice but to go up in a size.
The leggings, of course,
were not on during the process of the act, but
worn at the beginning, as I lifted my back,
allowing for a quick peel
down the unshaven length of my legs, the leggings indeed
fell smoothly away.
At least for a little while anyways.
They got to my ankles then,
the ripples of fabric slowly unfolding, smoothly rolling,
like frosting from a baker’s hand, openly curling.
Then stopped with a peel of bludgeoned laughs
as I lay not vertical, but at some kind of acute angle, hanging nearly
precariously from my small and dainty ankles.
Then I wondered, how many drafts?
How many moments of pondered artifacts that
would eventually come down to a
pair of army green virginity pants.
The anticipation: At last!
It was interrupted by a peel of softly bludgeoned laughs.
I welcome this fact,
taking a moment to pause
and listen to the noise of the fabric’s applause
as it clung to its last moments attached to my thick and heavy rods.
Stretched in spandex I felt them let loose, feeling my feet
curl up snuggly around you.
I came to decide that I love my virginity pride and
the pants that will wrap neatly around my open and gaping
thighs.
To me, it doesn’t even matter that you never said
Goodbye.
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