‘F’ number 4:

Fingering. My, my. If that doesn’t’ conjure up all sorts of
dodgy pornographic scenes in various individual’s minds, I don’t know what
would. But here goes nothing…I suppose the moment in the field with Man 1 could
be classed as a mild fingering of sorts but as time went by we became more
adventurous and hand motions gradually became second nature. A particular
event, where fingering did not go unnoticed, was the evening on the cliff face.
As I say, we were adventurous and had decided to go for a ‘walk’, which by this
time in our ‘relationship’ had come to mean more than merely a stroll along the
road, but I guess was more of a booty call. We had been wandering along the
cliff path when we came across a badger sized mud track which ran down onto the
edge of the cliff, where there was a small clearing of grass, stones and
several boulders. Well, I’m fairly sure you can guess what came next. I think
that these were my most audacious relationship moments (you can tell I was
‘young’), but I do want them again. I want to re-experience that feeling of
excitement when absolutely anything could happen, when you are lying on your
back on the edge of a cliff, jeans all in a twist, wind blowing at your face,
hands fondling and (dare I say it) fingering you in places that have never been
prone to poking. I was regularly shocked by these experiences; cliff faces,
beach, rocks etc. and when I look back on it, I wish I had been more
knowledgeable about what on earth I was doing, or what I was meant to be doing
in return. Thinking about it now is almost cringe worthy, realising that I must
have looked like a lost little girl who randomly ended up on a beach with a guy
who expected something in return for his, well um…finger.
Anyway, there was also Man 2 with whom my first experience
of ‘fingering’ is surprisingly proving very hard to remember. There was the
Easter Break where we did a lot of walking, a lot of talking and a lot of
flirting until we were forced upon each other by our respective friends and spent
the rest of this exciting evening largely in each others mouths (in the nicest
sense), until we came home and stayed at mine, cuddled up on the living room
floor. I’m sure a few fingers broke lose on that evening and if not then, I’m
positive that come May and my imminent return from University, I was exposed to
some rather adult experiences from Man 2. We stayed together in my half hearted
excuse for a bed in the halls of residence, not getting an awful lot of sleep
but having a lovely time. Fingers exploring all sorts of orifices; but in a
good way, it’s not like we were making videos. Experimenting with different
things and different ‘moves’, not just the different ways of fitting two people
into a single bed. I have a feeling that by May I was more aware of what to
expect from a person’s hands, which suggests that we must have had similar
moments leading up to this point but I guess these were just not as memorable!

F number four was certainly more pleasing with Man 2, who
evidently had a lot more familiarity with this sort of thing. Up until then I
had really only experienced this sort of thing with a boy who knew not what he
was doing and a relatively unknown individual who I had gone home with on a
drunken night out at university. Man 2 and I had many hand related occurrences,
I don’t think I can really remember any bad times; Man 1 was obviously the
practice run.

So, here goes nothing. The part of the ‘story’ I have been
dreading, opening up my little story-telling heart to tell the tale of F number
5….