In much the same way that a child brings an over ambitious story to a close by telling us ‘and then I woke up and it was all a dream’, an Irish roman catholic once spent hours building me up to his big virginity loss moment only to cap it off by telling me ‘and then I woke up the next morning and I was no longer a virgin’.

Today’s storyteller will do no such thing.

It's not that I personally really need to know the gory details, although if pressed, yes, I am quite nosy and I am not averse to listening to the juicy bits but even I acknowledge that the moment itself can be a bit of a let down. Getting under someone’s skin is far more interesting.

Getting to know what truly motivates a person to lose virginity is almost always the most fascinating part of getting a new story. Is it lust? Fear? Passion? Insecurity? Or all of the above?

Whatever it is, it is never as straightforward as it seems. And neither am I. Because I am digressing from the point I wish to make which is this: Today’s storyteller is going to focus every little bit of his attention on the moment itself and he’s not going to miss out a single detail. This story is not for the faint hearted I might warn you but it is also, I believe, one of the most significant stories I have ever been sent.

In a world where men and women are frequently jostling for the same piece of territory, it is very interesting to hear a house husband describe the moment when he lost his anal cherry to his high flying wife for the very first time.

‘I can’t believe you published that story on your Blog last week’, my sister said after she had read it. ‘It is practically pornography’.

She’s got a point. Our storyteller doesn’t exactly pull any punches but she followed this up by telling me exactly what I wanted to hear. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It never left me all week’.

If you are contemplating a similar act, you could do a lot worse than to use this story as your instruction manual but the gory details are really not the point for me. Many people will read this story and see the very obvious parallels between this couple’s gender swapping lifestyle and their nighttime antics but what really blows my mind is listening to the story of a man get as close as he ever will to really feeling what it is like to be a woman.

Being female and losing virginity invariably involves allowing another human being into your body for the very first time. This requires an immense amount of trust. And strange feelings, and possibly even pleasure if you are either a. very lucky or b. doing it with someone who knows what they are doing. But however this experience pans out, you are unlikely to forget what it feels like to relinquish 100% control over your own body for the first time to a person of the opposite sex. It’s a pretty major event whichever way you look at it.

I shall say no more and let the words do the talking instead of me. And of course, if you have any words of your own to add, I would be very pleased to hear them.

Brad from Arizona.

‘I am not exactly sure what qualifies as losing one's virginity.  I suppose that it's commonly thought to be when one engages in sexual intercourse.  By that definition I lost mine when I was eighteen.  But that's not what I am writing about here. 
I have been married for more than fifteen years and was dating my wife for three years before then.  I took her virginity (if that is the right way to put it) two years before we were married, when we were each in our mid-twenties.  But that's not what I am writing about here either.
I am instead writing about an experience that, even as recently as five years ago, I'd never thought I'd have had, and until very recently I'd never thought I'd ever mention to another person, let alone write about.  It was the time, three years back, when my wife and I engaged in anal sex, with me as the receiver.
I grew up as a sheltered Catholic and my wife was even more so.  I had, what in hindsight were awkward, even comical, sexual experiences, in my teens.  By the time I met my future wife, Lynette, I was a bit more experienced but still barely more than a rookie, although I didn't realize it at the time.  Lynette, however, WAS a rookie.   So by comparison, I fancied myself a real Don Juan.  And I was in love with her.  Still am.   So I pursued her, relentlessly.  She finally gave in and we made love. 

I will never forget the look on her face - a mixture of love, fear, helplessness and shame - when I penetrated her for the first time.  She was a bit traumatized and confused but in the end very proud and pleased.
We were married two years later and our relationship was very satisfying.  Lynette began to overcome all the inhibitions that had been drilled into her all those years.  On other fronts, her career as a lawyer was flourishing while mine was just going OK.  We decided it was time to start a family, and were very lucky.  Within four months she was pregnant.  She had planned to take time off work for a while but shortly before she realized she was pregnant she got an incredible promotion at work. 

The baby arrived - a happy and healthy boy - and she took her maternity leave.  Then came crunch time.  Her job was paying too well to turn away from it.  So she went back and after a series of false starts I started to work part-time.
That set into motion a series of events that led us to where we are now.  We have four kids, Lynette works, and I stay home full time.  It's been a hard adjustment for both of us, although I complain louder and longer.  Even today, when the world has become so much more progressive and accepting of alternative lifestyles, being a househusband has, let us say, it’s down moments.  These changes have carried out into other areas too.  Lynette became much more confident and assertive, especially at work.  Her world expanded as mine contracted. 

Physically, we have not changed (except for getting older - drat).  But on the inside, and how we relate, especially to each other, we have changed.  To take one illustration, I've gone from thinking myself as a fulltime worker who happens to be in a part-time job, to a part-time worker with primary duties at home, to full-time dad with plans to return to the labor force, to househusband and corporate spouse with no plans to work again.
Things changed in bed too.  Lynette became more assertive, not in an S&M way or anything, but rather more willing to experiment and, quite frankly, more willing to have a good time. 

Part of that I chalk up to her maturing and shedding past bad lessons and part of it to her outward-directed life.  Years ago she would giggle or cringe at an attempt to give her oral sex.  Now she loves it and is quite appreciative of a good effort.   
So, three years ago, while we were in bed, she first brought up the idea of anal. I was, to put it mildly, petrified.  Visions of ‘being gay’ ran through my head.  She assured me I wasn't but I tried to let the topic die.  She wouldn't.  She brought it up the next morning and eventually we made a date to meet for lunch and go to a sex-toy store, just to look.
We went, we looked, and I was astounded as to how many toys and videos there were about woman-on-man anal.  Lynette was amazed too.  We both laughed and I found myself going along with things, retreating from a ‘no way’ attitude to one in which I was saying, ‘but that's way too big.’  Eventually we settled for a harness with a dildo on the small side but still long and wide enough to do its damage.  The salesman nonchalantly rang up the sale. I went home and she went back to work.
That night I was about as nervous as I'd ever been.  She came home and suggested that we do the deed the next day, a Saturday.  I agreed.  We arranged to have the kids watched by a babysitter, saying we'd be out real late.  Instead, of course, we stayed home. 

Lynette had made over the bedroom.  Lots of candles, burning incense, everything.  We took our clothes off, kissed, and took an erotic shower.  Very hot and very clean.  There was no turning back.  She looked at me. 


‘Yeah.  I can't believe we're doing this.’

I went over to the bed and lay down.  She went over to a closet, out of my view, and finally reappeared, fully harnessed.  I must have gasped.  The sight of that missile protruding from her, and meant for me, brought everything home.  This was real.  I was about to get fucked. 

She smiled, sensing my apprehension.  ‘Don't worry,’ she said, ‘there's' nothing to be afraid of.’  She lay on top of me, pushed the tip of the dildo to my face and asked me to lube it up.  I did, thoroughly.  Then she got up, walked over to the stereo, cranked it up to full blast, and came back to bed. 
We'd talked about this moment and I remembered the rules.  Be calm.  Resist the urge to tighten up.  It will fit fine.  

‘OK, babe,’ she said, ‘all ready.’ 

On my back, I spread my legs as wide apart as I could and lifted my bottom up.  She looked at me and the next thing I felt was a plastic, sticky object rubbing up against my inner thigh and balls.  In hindsight, this was funny:  Lynette was a total amateur with the harness and dildo.  But at the time I tensed up.  ‘It's never gonna work if you're so uptight,’ she said, ‘just relax.’ 

I tried to.  She guided the head with her hand and the next thing I felt was the tip touching my anus.  Then, slowly, it began to enter.  I tensed up and felt horrible.  She withdrew, quietly applied a bit more lube, and returned it to just outside my anus. 

‘Try again,’ she said, ‘trust me.’ 

I did.  I put my arms back and got lost in the music, which was pounding and loud.  The pushing returned but this time I did not resist.  Slowly, slowly, the dildo pressed in and then all of a sudden it just slid forward.  

I moaned and gasped, ‘Ohmygod.’   

‘Mmmm,’ she said, ‘Here's some more.’ 

With that, she pushed in even further.  Another ‘Ohmygod’ from me.  Then the thrusting began.  ‘Keep with me,’ she said.  I did, mimicking what she'd done for me hundreds of times before - bucking my hips in rhythm to meet her thrusts.  I couldn't believe it.
Then she slowed down, stopped bucking and began to maneuver the dildo deeper inside me.  She hit the spot after a while and then I rolled my eyes.  Ecstasy.  Ready to come.  But she moved away. 

‘Now,’ I said, ‘do that again. 

She did, but moved again, and repeated this several times.  I got the picture.  No demands from now on.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she hit the magic spot and stayed there. 

‘Blast off,’ she yelled, and that's exactly what I did. 

It was a mind-blowing orgasm, the likes of which I'd never experienced before.  I was joyful and ashamed at the same time.  But she wasn't done yet.  Back to bucking.  This time with greater force.  Then slowing down.  Then back to the magic spot, but this time she didn't tease.  I came again.  Then she starting bucking again.  I was totally drained, and yet I did my best to keep up with her.  Her moves were smooth and not too fast.  I met them again.  What an odd sensation.  It was so impersonal.  It was as though my private parts were just there to be used by her.  She lay atop me, eyes half glazed, staring into space or at the wall or something, but not at me.  After some time, she again stopped, looked down, kissed me, and put her head on my shoulder.  Unbelievably, I felt the shaft probe for my spot again.  It hit it and just like that I came, though not nearly as much as before.  Lynette lifted her head up and looked at me. 

‘You're quite the stud, old man.’ 
In truth I felt like anything but a stud.  I was lying on my back in a daze, with semen all over me, dripping onto the sheets, lubricant dribbling out of my anus, and feeling battered.  Both reflexively and with a sense of self-preservation, I proceeded to give her oral sex.  It was a relief to be back in a more typical situation, one that probably lasted longer than the screwing I had just received.  I was shocked when she put the harness back on. 

‘Oh no,’ I said, or something like it. 

‘Just once more,’ she replied. 

I assumed the position, but she asked me to turn over and get on my knees.  We were going to do it doggie-style.  I acquiesced, and quickly felt her hands holding my butt and then the dildo pressing up against its target.  It zoomed in, I gasped, and then it began probing.  Again.  And again.  Finally, it hit the spot, I moaned, got hard and came.  Mercifully, she withdrew and we lay next to each other and cuddled.  It was over.
We said nothing for a while, just holding each other tightly.  Lynette hadn't removed the harness, so the dildo was still on her, pressed up against my stomach, a silent reminder of all that had just happened.  And what had just happened? 

The physical act had been one thing, and a weird one at that.  But the psychological effects were just beginning to waft in.  I'd just come about as close as I ever will to experiencing what Lynette had experienced the first time I had screwed her.  This was not like my first experience all those years ago, from which I took away feelings of power and exhilaration.  To the contrary, this mostly involved powerlessness - being pursued, penetrated, and under the control of another person. 

All my life I had been the penetrator and even when the woman was aggressive, there was no doubt as to who was doing what to whom.  But now, as the one being penetrated, I was on the other side.  She'd gotten me to give it up.  Four times.  She'd probed, thrusted, and done any manner of other things, all of her own urging and without regard to what I wanted.  She had been cool, under control, self-assured, while I'd been emotional, afraid, out of control.  And yet, I'd experienced great orgasms, real rock 'em, sock 'em ones.  My mind had reeled at the experience; and my body had enjoyed almost every second of it.  Even the pain (and there was pain) was rewarded in the end by pleasure. 
I told her all these things.  She hugged me all the harder and explained how it had been great for her.  She told me how she loved being in charge for a change and how great it felt to be able to control me, as opposed to usually being under my control.  She said that what really surprised her was how protective she become of me when she realized that I was now vulnerable to her.  (Yeah, I thought sarcastically, you really acted protectively.)  She said that she felt like she'd conquered me but at the same time wanted to make sure that I was OK. 

She also said, mimicking a cornerstone on which patriarchy is based, that she felt surprised at how easily I'd let her do what she was doing and in a way lost some respect for me.  I nodded.  I was surprised by that too and a little angry that that was how she felt.  After all, I'd just done what she wanted me to.
So that was that.  Since then we have added anal to our repertoire, and I must admit that it is enjoyable but I've never shed my ambiguous feelings about it.  Maybe that's part of what makes it so exciting.

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