My sex life is so bordering on non-existent at the moment, I forget at times that I have had a hundred dicks.

Ages ago I did say I’d detail how I ended up losing my anal virginity. I’d like to say it took a long time, a lot of persuasion and seduction but that would be a lie. It took an Irish man, a slow dance and an awful lot of Red Bull and Vodkas.

Back in the time machine to the early noughties and back to the Norbury – February 2000 I do believe. By now L and I were practically part of the furniture. This isn’t too far form the truth. I remember one night the titchy toothless goon that mumbled broken English through his broken teeth, responsible for cleaning the decimated club at 4am on Saturday took it upon himself to empty an ash tray on L. I’m not sure why exactly. Perhaps he just wanted us out of the club so he could clean or perhaps it was because he had overheard L and myself discussing the sizeable owner of the Norbury in a rather unflattering way. Whatever the reason, we certainly didn’t hang around that night and left promptly brushing the ash off L’s favourite black skirt and not a man in tow.

The night resulting in bursting my bum hole open was on all accounts a success (as ashtray goon wasn’t around to reduce our leaving routine). Eoin was his name and being a solicitor was his game (I confess I still have his business card in a box tucked away in the loft). It all sounded so impressive, coupled with the accent and the combination of black hair, blue eyes and a rugby players build I found myself unable to refuse the offer back to his place to continue the night. L had scored with his model-esque friend – sadly she was in such a state of shock at his beauty and unable to comprehend his attraction to her she quite convinced herself it was too good to be true and decided that he would ultimately be unattainable and therefore gay. He wasn’t and spent a good part of the night trying to convince her of this.

Still for all her protestations, she decided not to end the party early and we all went back to Eoin’s place. It wasn’t a foursome though. Through the amber haze of excessive Red Bull I think there was at least four men, to the two of us. We crashed into there house and I can really only remember what I was after – and that was cock and some sexual attention.

L was not after this. She was after….some sleep.

On reflection, back in the day, we did some very careless and dangerous things. What on Earth possessed us to think going back to a strangers house with at least four men (that I recall) was a good idea is now beyond me. But in youth we see only our immortality and how good it might be, not how disastrous it could be. L was not in good shape. I grabbed a condom from her purse and hoofed it upstairs to Eoin’s bedroom, assuming she would entertain the others downstairs.

I’ve moaned about bedroom etiquette and how important it was but at this point in my sexual career it was certainly not something I had an abundance of. To my shame I vividly remember him ready and waiting naked in bed and me standing in the middle of the room, whipping the control knickers down to my ankles, peeling my tights down, bending over – big bumwiggling ungainly in the air – undoing the straps of my shoes, kicking the lot off and then hitching my dress up and climbing in the bed. I am fully aware there was nothing gracious or saucy about the strip tease. It screamed amateur and ‘use me’.

And he did. Or rather he wanted to. In those heady days he started in the most conservative way. A simple missionary style pumping. Still new to me, as he furiously thrusted, without any affection or tenderness I spent my time just trying to fully experience the sensation of having a cock inside me. This was only the second man I’d slept with, so I was trying desperately to learn what to do, how to lie, how to move rhythmically, how to touch, where to touch in a drunken soulless scenario. One thing that stuck out was that it hurt a lot less than the first time. In fact I half wondered if perhaps (having only seen one previously) he had a small, or smaller than average cock. Certainly his cock didn’t have me yelping out loud, nor did it bring tears to my eyes…but I still liked it. So much so that no sooner had he filled one condom than I was practically shaking him and begging him for more. More cock…but not in mouth…that practise was still unsavoury to me at that point.

At this stage, I think he realised I was a cock hungry bitch or rather my 22 year old vagina needed to be satisfied and was insatiable. It was dictating the terms of the action thus sleep after his first orgasm was not on the cards. He played a good hand and sent me downstairs for another condom if I wanted to continue – little did I know what I was in store for.

I trotted down the stairs into the living room. I had assumed L would be there – or in a bedroom, but she wasn’t. I think she was in a reception room. Sleeping on all fours. A position inviting doggy style sex but communicating sheer exhaustion – dancing to Wham can take it out of you. I loved L and I was very concerned that she was sleeping with her shoes on. It looked uncomfortable. I felt inclined to make her more cozy. Did I wake her or find one of the flatmates to pop her on a couch or in a bed or find a blanket? No, I decided to take off her shoes. Only my minge was aching for more cock and that particular desire was far stronger than that of playing the good friend. After removing one shoe, I raided her handbag and grabbed two condoms. One condom I popped in her bra – just in case she should wake and decide to go for gold she’d have protection. The other I held like a precious flower and flew back upstairs.

I flung the door opened, hitched my dress up and hungrily handled his cock. However in the excitement of getting fucked twice in a night and having missed sex education at school due to band practise (thus bananas and condoms were never part of my school curriculum) I ripped the condom. Fatigue had gripped Eoin, he tried waving me away, as if the broken sheath was the Universe telling me that a second shot was not going to happen, but cock fever had gripped me and I was back out of the bed and back down the stairs into L’s handbag.

When I returned with a third condom Eoin looked a little perturbed, as if having access to so many condoms cast some sort of doubt as to my alleged innocence and ‘girl next door appeal’. That we should have actually bought condoms for this eventuality may have meant we were ‘professionals’. Maybe it was just his Catholicism, but me excitedly waving the third condom almost killed that second session. Perhaps though my childish excitation and the fact I was waving the Durex like it was a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory reassured him of my sexual naivety. So he let me back into bed, and lulled me into a false sense of security by adopting the classic position. I thought it was very daring that he flung my legs over his shoulders. His cock ploughed much, much deeper and much much slower. This sensation was instantly more gratifying and because it seemed more about my pleasure I felt physically more content and emotionally more hopeful. But he’d adopted the position and pace for a vastly different reason.

I thought his cock slipped out naturally and due to my inhibitions and insistence the covers remain on he was struggling to replace it. Only he knew exactly what he was doing and there was enough natural lubricant from me and the rubber protective shield for him to force his cock into my arse. I didn’t say no, nor did I want to. My bottom though was naturally inclined to say no. After all it had 22 years of releasing things not ingesting them. As far as my virginal arse was concerned it was a one way passage, and the force of him stretching and sporadically sliding his hardness into me didn’t really persuade my bum into thinking otherwise. His assumptions I was eager, inexperienced and foolishly romantic were all bang on. I allowed him to because I thought it might mean more than one night. But it didn’t. It just meant I had anal sex. It hurt. In fairness though he did it the best he could – that is for a guy that wants to fuck a girl in the rear, knows she’s a virgin but has no real consideration of her feelings or her body. The position though made it bearable. The surprise of it all, the tension and tenderness of my ring-piece afterwards meant I wasn’t going to be getting a fourth condom and forcing him for another fuck.

I certainly scurried back down the stairs, but that was to grab L and flee before my bleeding bottom was penetrated again.

L was awake and in a panic when I found her (apparently someone stole her shoe)…until I pointed it out to her so we could go.

The sun had risen and bed beckoned us both. Given we were without transport and L’s home in Essex was a hike from Norbury she decided she would cajole her father, who worked at Liverpool Street in Central London, to allow us to take his car home. We could get home quicker and go to bed and he could rely on public transport to make his own way home from the weekend shift.

As fantastically well turned out as we were on the Friday evening, I’m not sure the façade was still in tact as we rocked into the factory L’s dad worked at on the Saturday morning. He didn’t look unhappy to see us, but I suspect he knew the reason as to why we were making an appearance at his half empty workplace. L was doing her best to please him and offered to make tea for the skeleton crew working the graveyard shift at the factory. Before she got down to milk, teabags, sugar and hot water she shrugged off her faux leather biker jacket, in front of all her father’s colleagues. And there it was poking out of the top of her bra and the low cut top – the corner of a Durex.

As I wasn’t in a position to sit down comfortably (at least not without an inflatable ring cushion) like a well practised magician I was able to snatch it out and slip it down the sleeve of my matching faux leather jacket. L looked flummoxed at my groping her breast so openly in public but my expression told her not to pursue the issue there and then. It wasn’t until I was sitting on an inflatable ring cushion in the car home that I explained alongside being the culprit for removing her shoe for the sake of comfort, I had also come to her aid offering emergency protection should her invitational yogic cat pose whilst sleeping be taken advantage of during our visit to South London’s House of Sodom.