Guys First Time Fucking

Guys First Time Fucking
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Use these tips to command the bedroom
Even experienced men make rookie mistakes when they have sex with a new woman for the first time. And she's taking mental notes. "First-time sex gives her a sense of your generosity and how much you care about her," says the sex therapist Sandor Gardos, Ph.D. Nearly two-thirds of the 2,385 women we polled say they consider first-time sex an indicator of a relationship's potential. Here's how to best finesse your first time together.
Put in the Time
The three-date rule is not reliable. The majority of women we polled said they typically wait eight or more dates before sleeping with a man. She'll drop hints when she's ready to have first-time sex with you. Your green light: When she creates total privacy for the two of you, says Darcy Luadzers, Ph.D., a sex therapist and the author of The Ten-Minute Sexual Solution. Has she invited you over for dinner and mentioned that her roommates are out of town? Take the hint.
Pay Lip Service
Lots of kissing reassures her that you're not simply out for sex, says Yvonne K. Fulbright, Ph.D., the author of Touch Me There! Only one in seven women would consider sleeping with you without a makeout session first, reveals a study in Evolutionary Psychology . And two-thirds of women have ended a relationship based on the first kiss, possibly because the man was a sloppy kisser. Trace her lips with your tongue, and alternate soft kisses with gentle sucking on her lips.(Of course, this lip service works elsewhere on her body, too. Follow this step-by-step guide and learn How to Kiss Her Most Sensitive Spots .)
Descend Slowly
Spend at least 15 minutes kissing and caressing before moving below. Many women take about 8 minutes to become aroused before they want clitoral stimulation, "so double that and you should have her at the brink," says Luadzers. Trace your hand along the outside of her hips, slowly working your way between her legs.
Use Your Head
If you're receiving encouragement, kiss your way down. Fifty-two percent of women in our poll said they want you to spend at least 15 minutes south of the border. Using your tongue, make your first full stroke from her perineum to her inner labia, and then barely touch her clitoris. Stop. Let her breathe while you kiss her inner thighs. Repeat. (See What Real Women Want when it comes to receiving oral sex.)
Ace the Main Event
In our exclusive poll, a plurality of women (38 percent) said 10 to 20 minutes of intercourse is all they desire. Keep your Kama Sutra on the shelf: Sixty-six percent want to keep the positioning fairly tame at first. Have her lie back with her knees slightly bent, and place pillows under her hips, torso, and head. That'll allow you to kneel between her legs and enter her as you simultaneously stroke her clitoris with your hand, says Patti Taylor, Ph.D., the host of the podcast Expanded Lovemaking . (As you get to know each other better, consider the 45 Best Sex Positions Every Couple Should Try .)
Upgrade Your Endgame
Your postcoital plan should reassure her that you're not just out for a one-night stand. Start with the obvious: cuddling. Fifty-six percent of women want about 20 minutes of closeness. It doesn't take much. "Even just taking her hand or laying your arm over her stomach is enough to make the point," Gardos says. And don't forget the follow-up: Fifty-nine percent want a phone call the next day, not a less-personal e-mail or text. Give her a quick buzz after work—you won't look overeager, but she'll still feel wanted. (And for many more tips on how to be a master lover, sign up for How to Pleasure a Woman !)

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Orgasms, getting head, or laid — there's a myriad interesting/funny stories surrounding the topic of first-time sex and though it's often terrifying, embarrassing or excruciating at the time, there's nothing more entertaining than recounting the memories later in life.
So let's take it back to the very beginning…with the boys. Way back before they knew what sex really was or how it felt.
The following is a little log of five men recalling their first woodies — the primal first step to feeling and comprehending their sexual desires.
Many interviewed couldn't remember their first official boners, but their first memorable one, memorable enough to realize what it meant to feel like a sexual being, wasn't as hard for them to recollect. They all seemed to comprehend what horny felt like while in their G.I. Joe playing days.
This boy's first hard-on was so unforgettable, it shaped his current liking for a certain body part.
“I didn't know I was excited the first time I got excited. Man, I must've been about five or six, and I was out with my family. I can't remember where — at the mall or downtown — someplace with bars, and a drunk, very top-heavy woman stumbled out of a bar and spotted me. 'Oh, what a cute little boy!' she slurred, bending over to give me an impromptu hug.
If you can imagine the height difference…that meant she accidentally pressed my face right in between her huge breasts. I remember feeling tingly, flustered and red-faced. Years later, I would look back and reflect that not only was that my first woody, but it was also the moment that an inveterate breast man was born.”
This next gentleman had many boners before he encountered his first gay-inspired one, which he remembers clearly — understandable, because he currently prefers the sexual company of men.
“I was in seventh grade and my friend was spending the night at my house to watch scary movies and eat pizza. We were staying up all night watching horror films. While watching 'Friday the 13th,' we got into an argument about Jason and the killer and it broke out into a play fight (wrestling), and then turned into a tickle fight.
During this body to body contact, I got an erection and I poked him with it. It got really awkward, but then we went back to play fighting. I was confused, but I knew I was [turned on].”
Imagine popping one while wearing unforgiving gym shorts. This dude's was way obvious and in public, specifically public school. It takes talent to hide that with technique?
“I was in fifth grade, 10 years old. This was in the morning, like third period…maybe around 10:30ish. I was in gym class and we were doing stretches, and [my classmate] Kim was wearing her P.E. uniform and she wore the [gym] shorts really short. We were doing the leg stretches where you bend over and reach down to your legs — and her butt looked really good — and all the sudden…it just happened. I just sat down and kind of covered it [till it went down]. That's the first real memory that I have of it.”
For this next troublemaking boy, luckily, when the hard-on happened he was alone in his room. And his experience may not be typical, but for some leaving some for the imagination is just what it takes.
Type of boy: Attention Seeking Troublemaker
“It was an Olivia Newton John album cover, it was a two record set. In fact, this record opened up and had a full body shot. [It was] Olivia Newton's Greatest Hits Vol. 2. I just remember getting aroused and the pieces started coming together. I'm technically from a combination of Kansas and Texas. It's very bible belt and you don't get exposed to much, to help you figure out things. It was a couple years after, [when] I knew what to do with that [boner] but I wasn't doing anything when I was 11.”
This last account is damn right hott! Undeniably. You'll understand why…
“I was in bed with [my friend] Joey, who was about five years older than me and we were sharing the space because of the shortage of beds. His mom came in after having been out and having some drinks, and she went into her bedroom, which was almost directly across from where I was lying in bed, with the door pretty wide open, undressing for bed.
She was shapely, had dark hair…nice breasts. She was wearing a black one-piece dress, almost knee length. She had a strand of pearls and some earrings….she took her jewelry off, then reached behind her…unzipped the dress, and let it slip off. She had a matching black bra and panty set, AND she was wearing a garter belt with stockings. She ended up taking off her bra. That was my first clear shot of an adult breast and nipple.
“I think [Joey] could tell, because, using the colloquial term, I was pitching a tent under the sheets and had a sizable erection. He said, 'Hey, that's pretty hot huh?' I rolled over and kind of pretended that I was asleep. In the meantime, I still wanted to look at her, so I was kind of turning and trying to keep her in my field of vision.
It has affected me ever since. Women with garter belts and stockings has been a favorite of mine, since that time. I know I masturbated to her a day or two later.”
I asked this former shy egghead if he still got off to her, and his response:
“I have not [masturbated to her] in a long time, but I'm thinking about it [now].”
So, you see, first-time experiences are not only memorable but can affect you for a lifetime. Aw.
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I was 19 when I first had full-on sex with another man. I was at college, living in dorms, and the experience—aside from the usual horrifying awkwardness and somewhat spontaneity of the occasion—was completely and utterly unremarkable aside from one thing: the guy I slept with identified as straight.
The whole thing went down near the end of my freshman year at a party, at which people from the whole dorm floor were drunk and celebrating, carelessly streaming in and out of each other’s rooms, following the various different pop songs until one room took their fancy. I can remember, although I'd had some drinks, sitting alone in my friend’s room on a single bed, the mattress overly springy and with a coarse plastic coating, attempting to stream a song over our dorm’s spotty Internet connection.
It was late (or early, depending on your outlook on the world) when I was joined by the boy who was living in the room next to mine, way back on the other side of the building. He was clearly intoxicated, but it was a party after all and who was I, quite drunk myself, to judge. The minutiae of exactly how things developed from us being together in that room to us having slightly unsuccessful sex in a bathroom in a different corridor have since escaped me. All I know is that one moment we were talking and the next minute, well... we weren’t. I didn’t tell him that I’d never had sex with someone before; instead, saturated with vodka and inflated by nerves, I was swept up in the motions.
Before that night, I had hardly been a nun. When I was a teenager, I was precocious and restless. As the only out young gay kid at my school, I took the advancement of my sexual experiences into my own hands and I did what we all do: I bought a fake ID and hit the gay clubs. Out on the scene I had thrilling and, now looking back, precarious hook ups with guys, going far but never all the way. I know now as LGBTQ people we can define exactly what constitutes sex for ourselves, but when you’re young and your only sex education comes in the shape of illegally downloaded Sean Cody videos, penetration seems like the end all be all.
Still, as I grew into my late-teens, venues started to crack down harder on underage drinking, and it soon became increasingly difficult to go and hook up with guys much older than myself. I felt, in my increasingly anxious and deflated state, that I was being left behind. My first year at college, apart from being grueling mentally, was hardly a sexual smorgasbord of one-night-stands and hook-ups. Instead, I reverted to my teenage years, pining after straight boys who I knew I had no chance in hell with... until that night.
I’d love to say that I felt empowered by fucking my first guy, but the whole experience left a lot to be desired. While I knew it wouldn’t be like a gay college erotica I’d read on Nifty.org (gay canon, really), I rather naively wasn’t expecting the fall out. The boy told his then-girlfriend (who I knew about), saying I had come on to him but that nothing had really happened. Although one thing I can vividly remember was that it was quite literally the other way around, the visceral shock of being somewhat shoved back in the closet and denied the celebratory expungement of my virginity was palpable.
For the next year, we’d hook-up on and off, usually at 3 a.m. after we’d been out partying. We’d meet surreptitiously in dark and make out in the cold British weather on a park bench before venturing back to his place to have sex. And while at the beginning I felt like I had the upper hand in the situation—I was the one who was out and comfortable in my sexuality, right?—after each time we met became more secretive and more dirty, I began to feel secretive, dirty, and most of all shameful . I’m not sure whether I really fell for the guy or not, but I do know that at the end of it he was just using me to get off.
I never learned whether the boy I lost my virginity to was struggling with his sexuality. I think, when I look back now and occasionally find myself tumbling through his Facebook page, that he wasn’t. I believe it was just sex, or at least that’s what I have tell myself now to avoid slipping into a memory induced k-hole. I realize I fell into that old gay adage of placing my feelings on a person who, for whatever reason, was never going to invest them back in me. Worst of all, though, the shame attached to the memories of those first times marred how I would approach sex for years.
It was listening to Years & Years’ new song “Sanctify,” and seeing the band’s out gay singer Olly Alexander talk about how the song was inspired his sexual trysts with straight men, that I realized that these feelings are way more common than people let on. Sure, I know all about gay guys having sex with straight guys, but it felt reassuring to see him describe the “saint and sinner role” he embodied during those experiences, and to hear the uncertainty and melancholy weaved into the song.
More than anything though, was the repeated lyrical mantra of “I won’t be ashamed.” Because as queer people, we’re buried in lifetime’s worth of shame so vivid and searing that oftentimes it’s crippling. Bursting through that shame is our badge of honor, our beautifully united experience. And maybe, like the song says, that does sanctify our sex lives and makes us just a little bit holy.
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Published March 5, 2017 12:30AM (EST)

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The first time I used a men’s room, I was 17 years old. I looked about 14, probably, with my hair freshly cut short, my head still feeling light and buoyant after getting rid of the ponytail I’d carried through most of high school.
That bathroom was nothing special. In fact, I didn’t see most of it as I walked in, head down and turned slightly away from the line of urinals. I made a beeline for the stalls, which were the same as the stalls in every women’s room I’d ever used in my first 17 years of life.
I peed. I can’t remember if I washed my hands or not. Probably not.
I do remember that there were other men in the room. Two of them. Both at the urinals, and so their backs were toward me when I entered. And maybe they were washing their hands when I was leaving, and that’s why I’m thinking I probably didn’t wash my hands.
The first time I used a men’s room with friends — friends who’d known me from before, friends who’d known me my whole life — I
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