How He Roughly Popped My Cherry
Valerie Grey
Copyright © 2012 by Valerie Grey
Cover © 2009 AutoFolio, used by permission.
A much earlier version of this story exists online. This version has been significantly revised and is authorized.
I did not lose my virginity until I was almost nineteen. I’ll tell you just how I happened to get my cherry popped by an older man, and how I learned to enjoy rough sex…
Every girl at Clifton College thought Charles Ashton, the freshman art teacher, was hot. Well, he was. He was at least 45 but he didn’t act like it. He let us call him ‘Charlie’ instead of ‘Professor Ashton’ and didn’t get upset when we were late for class. He had a thick Cockney accent, he was cool; it was his physical presence that made him so desirable: shoulder-length dark brown hair, pale skin and a lean, toned body. He wore t-shirts that showed off his muscled arms and tattoos—the story was, he used to play stand-up bass in a rockabilly band before turning to teaching (although the other theory was that he got those tats in prison, which only made him hotter, because what prim and proper upper class young lady at Clifton College didn’t fantasize about being ravished by some brute criminal?). Any girl lucky enough to acquire his attention during class had to fortify herself as he leaned over their drawing board to offer advice; being that close to him could melt all the bones in your body.
Every girl and even a few boys did their best to throw themselves in his path, trying to get his attention. There were plenty of schemes to gain one-on-one time with him and after class every day, quite a few girls hung around just to ask him questions when they didn’t really care about the answers. I’d watch them surreptitiously as I packed up my things, feeling envious of their boldness. They were pretty girls with cool clothes and Charlie seemed amused by their adoration of them. Did he know all these girls, even the few gay guys, dreamed of his cock penetrating them? He never shooed them away, just stood there, answering all their ridiculous questions and smiling slightly when they finally left, often with their girlfriends in a giggling group.
I would’ve liked to be one of
those girls but I was too shy to approach him. I blushed just
thinking about how sexy he was, how being around him made me feel
turned on. The problem: I was very inexperienced, still a virgin, and
had barely even done much kissing on the few dates I’d been on. I
was an eighteen-year-old virgin but I still had my fantasies.
When Charlie singled me out in class one evening, taking my drawing from my board and displaying it as an example for all the other students to see, I felt my insides turn to fire. He’d leaned close to me and said, his face inches from mine, ‘I hope you don’t mind if I show off your work, Elizabeth.’
I blushed scarlet, half from embarrassment and half from arousal. He’d been close enough I could see the delicate lines beside his eyes and the few strands of shining silver hair.
I barely heard his words as he directed the class to look carefully at my work. He praised me openly and I saw a few of the cool girls look at me with hateful jealousy. When he returned my drawing to my board he simply smiled and winked. I felt a shiver pass all the way to my toes and spent the rest of the class in a breathless daze.
Charlie seemed to find a reason
during each class to stop by my drawing board and make a comment.
Each time he’d lean close and speak to me in a hushed voice. I
could feel the heat from his body and it always made my heart race.
Sometimes he’d trace a line I’d drawn with his finger, almost
touching the surface of the paper, his long finger moving smoothly,
and it was all so intimate, I’d feel my face growing hot as if he
was touching me instead of my paper. Sometimes I would look up from
my work to find him staring at me from across the room. I’d blush
immediately and try to look away, but he’d smile just slightly and
I’d feel myself caught in his gaze. It was difficult to work like
that. I often left class so turned on I’d feel dizzy for an hour or
two. At night, all I could think about was Charlie’s dark brown
eyes, his gorgeous body, and the sound of his voice. All my sexual
fantasies involved him, and when I masturbated I came hard, imagining
all kinds of dirty, which probably didn’t help my shyness around
him in class. When he called on me to give an opinion or make an
observation I tripped over my words, my face turning pink with
embarrassment. I was mortified during these moments, convinced he
must think I was a complete idiot.
His amused smiles only made it worse.
When I missed class a whole week because of the flu, I fell behind the other students in my work. Luckily we were working on a still life which was set up in the studio so I could easily make up my lost time by staying late after class. After the rest of the students had packed up their things and left one Thursday after class I continued working, happy to have a chance to work without the distraction of their chatter. I’d been working for half an hour when I heard the classroom door open. I looked up and saw Charlie Ashton strolling toward me. He looked delicious in his dark grey jacket and jeans. I felt my mouth go dry and I stared as he closed the distance between us.
He smiled at me but didn’t speak and something in his manner told me I should just continue working. He came around behind me and surveyed my drawing so far. I heard him slip out of his jacket and drape it over a stool. I heard his easy breathing and then he was standing behind me and I felt his hand touch my shoulder. The pressure was gentle and warm and it sent a shock of excitement through me. I jumped just slightly, trying to cover up my jittery nerves by quickly placing my pencil on the paper and making a few short strokes. He leaned next to me, his face level with mine. My breath was caught in my throat. I could see his profile out of the corner of my eye…
‘Very nice work, Elizabeth,’ he said quietly. ‘Extremely well-done. This part is especially nicely rendered.’ He indicated a section of my drawing where I’d drawn folds of cloth. I saw him smile appreciatively. ‘What a talent you have, my dear.’
The combination of his praise, the phrase ‘my dear’, and just the sound of his voice sent a warm surge through my whole body. I felt light-headed and all of the sudden very aware of my quick heartbeat, my building excitement. His hand on my shoulder tightened gently and he turned his face toward me. I stared straight ahead, suddenly unable to move.
‘Are you feeling better?’ he asked, his voice full of kind concern. ‘I hope you’re not working too hard.’ he said. ‘After all, you just got over a flu, you shouldn’t push yourself until you’re sure you’re better,’ he said.