Welcome to my second post. I am having ongoing adventures with C and V, of course, and we are going to meet a new partner next week for some fun while we travel, but I have people asking me for more writing, and I’d like to deliver, so I decided to start writing about memories. Here’s the first one I’d like to share:

“The Cellist’s Virginity.”

Some years back, as I was finishing up my music degree, I was the soloist in a small orchestra project at my university. It was an incredible work, with the most gorgeous, evocative poetry set to music that at times was thrilling, and at other times, absolutely titillating, in the most classic sense of the word. Benjamin Britten’s “Serenade for Tenor, Horn and Strings,” if you’d like to look it up.

The chamber orchestra for the project was made up mostly of volunteer undergraduates, and they were all stellar musicians. I could write a whole blog about the experience of performing that work, but that’s not why we’re all here, is it? We’re here to hear about the Cellist.
We’ll call her Elaine (not her real name), or El for short. She was about 20, short-ish with straw blond hair, beautiful, engaging blue eyes, and lips that caught my attention immediately. During rehearsals, I’d catch her eye… I could tell she was really enjoying my performance of the piece, always a genuine grin and eye contact that lingered longer than most. That smile is what sticks with me to this day, this inviting, beautiful grin.

We start to talk as rehearsals went on, and after the performance, kept in touch here and there. Chatting in the hallways of our university building, grabbing a cup of coffee between classes, you know, flirting. I was about to finish my program, and departure from this city was both imminent, and destinationless, so it was not the time to start a relationship, but El and I had an easy, light hearted connection. As the days of my program waned, and the demands on my time from my coursework became lighter and lighter, I spent more and more time with her, walking her home here and there, talking about everything, and laughing a good bit.

We started to hang out in short bursts at first, and frankly I am hazy on the details of how we got to the night in question, but I do remember finally walking her all the way into her small apartment, not far from the university. Not much bigger than a dorm room, really, though it had a small galley kitchen. Her bed was lofted, with a futon tucked slightly under the bed and jutting out making an upside-down L to frame the room. To the right of the futon was the kitchen, and across from the bed was a small bookshelf littered with music and textbooks. The room was no wider than the bed, if i stretched out my legs on the futon I could rest them on the bookshelf. It was cozy.

The sun had gone down an hour or so ago, and the reading light she had clipped to the side of the futon under the bed was the only light, minus her dim little twinkle lights she had strewn about the place. The subject of conversation that night was how thoroughly we had enjoyed working on the Britten piece together, and as we were sitting on the futon, being music nerds and geeking out about a favorite composer, the inevitable happened. Those lips I’d admired from across the orchestra while my eyes should have been following the conductor’s baton parted, those blue eyes landed on mine, and we fell forward into a breathless kiss. The kind you only know in those moments where your body is in total control, hot breath mingling between our two mouths as our lips parted and our tongues began to explore each other. She was a shockingly good kisser, which came as a surprise to me due to a detail she’d shared with me not too long prior to this night. She was a virgin. You may have met serious instrumentalists before, and if you have, you know they tend to have very little time for relationships. El was serious. And beautifully talented, as an aside.

One aside further - do you know why the Cello is the sexiest instrument in the world? Picture it. The curves of a cello mirror the curves of a woman’s body. It is played by gently squeezing it between the player’s legs, and passionately drawing a bow across the strings while deft fingers manipulate the fretboard with a tenderness and accuracy befitting a lover. I had watched her play, watched her let the music pour out of her through the instrument. It was a breathtaking sight, and I had wanted her since the first time I saw her play.

And now it was happening, that breathless kiss was permeating my every pore. I wanted to savor the evening, and of course, I didn’t want to rush her or pressure her to go further than making out, so I pulled back and cuddled with her on the couch, not saying much but enjoying the sweetness of the moment.
We both knew it was just a moment, it couldn’t turn into anything for a million logistical reasons, but we wanted each other in this moment, and the lightness of that lack of possibility was intoxicating.

Our conversation shifted back to Britten, there was another piece I wanted to introduce her to, in fact I’m listening to it now, as I write this. It was a piece called “Les Illuminations,” a song cycle featuring the poetry, in French, of poet Arthur Rimbaud.

I wanted to share it with her, so I got up to grab my iPod (this was a while ago y’all) and queued up the piece. When I turned around, she had taken off her shirt, and stood before me in a lacy bra and a knee length skirt. I asked her if she still wanted to listen to the piece. She nodded enthusiastically. I could tell she was taking leaps that were both large for her and thrilling to her. Her breathing was high in her chest, she was waiting for validation from me.

I put my arm behind her back, and pulled her towards me, loving the feeling of my arm against her naked back, and her belly and chest against mine. I kissed her again, took my own shirt off, and pressed play.

The piece is a good 30 minutes, so we sat down on the futon and listened. Over the course of the piece we would remove another article of clothing, piece by piece, until we sat there naked in the dim light, her back against my chest, listening to the music and relishing in the delight of just the contact of our bodies.
As the piece drew to a close, and our continued occasional kisses drew our bodies in to higher and higher states of awareness, I asked her: “I know you haven’t done this before - is this something you want tonight?” Both of us knowing full well what this was. She turned her head to me and looked me in the eyes and nodded. She was relaxed, I had watched her body go from nervous and tight when she had first removed her shirt to lupine and relaxed as she had melted into my embrace as we listened. Now, that relaxed easy smile spread across her face as she said “yeah, I do,” and nodded again.

Now, if you’re going to truly understand what the sex was like between us, I’ve robbed you thus far of some necessary physical details. Let me correct that now. I was 5’10, and in the best shape of my life. Strong at 23, having spent a year playing operatic characters that had to be shirtless, I was in “performing artist” shape. I sported a light beard and short dark hair. She was small and light, no taller than 5’4 if memory serves. Her breasts were small and perky, with velvety nipples that felt perfect between my lips. Her butt was tight but gradual, callipygian, if you’d like to learn a new vocabulary word (google it). And she had a small tuft of curly blonde hair where her legs met.

Got it? We were hot.

And so I reached behind her once again and pulled her into a kiss, feeling her body relax into the embrace and that hot, sweet breath, rank with anticipation, poured into my open mouth. I put on a condom, and we found a position on the futon where I could get on top of her. I asked her one more time if she was ready and wanted this. She insisted that yes, she did, and reached down and guided the tip of my cock to the opening of her pussy.

We had put the music on again, listening from the beginning, as I started to slide very slowly, very gently, into her.

I watched her face carefully. It wasn’t my first time having sex with a virgin, and I knew that experiences could vary wildly, so I wanted to give her as much time as I could to adjust. At first a grimace of pain, then a sigh, then a jagged breath in, almost as if she was about to sneeze, as the tip of my cock passed her vulva and entered her.

I left it there, still. I held her tight in my arms, I gave her a moment there, just staying totally still.

“Are you ok?” I asked.

She closed her lips, licked them, and nodded her head. I asked if she was ready for more. She nodded again. I started to slide deeper inside her, bit by bit, allowing her to adjust, until we felt that sweetest moment when the base of my cock and the mound of my pubic bone pressed against her, my cock entirely inside her. I kissed her open mouth, her neck, squeezed her tits gently with my greedy hands.

“Are you ok?” I asked again. This time she didn’t nod, instead she responded by starting to rock her hips against me. She began to follow the voice of pleasure within her begging her to move in certain ways, to share that lovely pressure with other parts of herself.
She felt incredible, all these years later I still remember the sensation with clarity. She felt the way women do at the peak of their orgasm, not just tight but enflamed, only it was constant.

Our rhythm increased, as the initial pain she experienced gave way to pleasure. At one point, I wanted to feel her in a different position, so I wrapped my arms around behind her, pulled her hips close and pushed my cock deep inside her, and I stood up, carrying her in that position over to the counter in the mini kitchen. The counter was at a perfect waist height for me, so I set her bum down on the countertop and fucked her gently as she held her arms tightly wrapped around my neck, her legs knit together around my waist.

We explored all the different ways we could make that position feel, thrusting gently and rhythmically with the music. I don’t know if she came that night, she definitely may have, there was a moment where her body shuddered hard, and she went totally still and rigid in my arms while I continued to fuck her, which was followed by rapid, rhythmic gasping. The sight and sensation of this, her soft, rapid whimpers in my ear and tightness of her pussy took me in, and I spilled over into orgasm. I felt her tighten her grip on my neck and with her legs as I began to contract and spasm, releasing my cum into the condom buried deep in her. She inhaled sharply with every spasm. It was delicious.

As we started to feel the heat subside, I noticed a small trickle of blood dripping down her leg. I asked her for the millionth time if she was ok, and she looked me deep in the eyes, nodded gently, and in a deeply satisfied voice said “yes.”

We stayed like that a while, before finally slipping apart. We cuddled on the couch a bit more, finishing our second listen through of the Illuminations, and I noticed she was starting to fall asleep. I laid her legs on the futon, covered her with a thick, luxurious blanket, quietly slipped my clothes on and left.

Over the next few days, we hung out a few more times, only one more time where we able to fuck, this time at my place, but I’ll save that story for another post.
I’m not in touch with El anymore, which is a shame, because for me this is a beautiful, core sexual memory. I really hope you’ve enjoyed reading it. If you have, please leave a comment or shoot me a DM, I made some lovely friends from the last post I submitted, and am excited to hear from anyone else who enjoys my work.
My commitment as I continue to write is that all of the stories I post are 100% true and drawn from my life. I hope that makes it a bit more exciting, or something.
Til next time friends <3