First Time with a Woman

It was a hot, humid night in Caracas, the kind of night where the air feels heavy and your skin sticks to everything it touches. I was 20, still figuring out who I was, still exploring what made me feel alive. And that night, I discovered something new—something that set my body on fire in a way I’d never experienced before.

Her name was Isabella. She was a friend of a friend, the kind of woman who turned heads wherever she went. Tall, with long, dark hair that cascaded down her back like a waterfall, and curves that could make a saint sin. She had this confidence about her, this way of moving that made you want to watch her, to be near her. And when she looked at me, her dark eyes smoldering with something I couldn’t quite name, I felt a spark ignite deep inside me.

We were at a small gathering at a friend’s apartment, the kind of party where the music was low and the drinks were flowing. Isabella and I had been talking all night, our conversation flirty and teasing, our bodies brushing against each other in a way that felt intentional. And when she leaned in close, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispered, “Let’s get out of here,” I didn’t hesitate.

We ended up at her place, a small apartment with soft lighting and the scent of jasmine in the air. She poured us each a glass of wine, her fingers brushing against mine as she handed me the glass, and then she led me to the couch. We sat close, our thighs touching, our eyes locked. And then, without a word, she kissed me.

It was different from kissing a man—softer, more deliberate. Her lips were full and warm, and when her tongue brushed against mine, I felt a shiver run down my spine. I kissed her back, my hands tangling in her hair as I pulled her closer. She tasted like wine and something sweet, something uniquely her, and I couldn’t get enough.

Her hands were everywhere, exploring my body with a confidence that made me ache. She unbuttoned my blouse, her fingers brushing against my skin as she pushed the fabric off my shoulders. And then her lips were on my neck, trailing down to my collarbone, and I gasped, my body arching into her touch.

“Isabella,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I’ve never…”

She pulled back, her eyes searching mine. “Do you want to?” she asked, her voice soft but firm.

I nodded, because I did. I wanted her, wanted this, more than I’d ever wanted anything. And then she was kissing me again, her hands sliding down to my waist, pulling me onto her lap. I straddled her, my skirt riding up around my thighs, and she groaned, her hands gripping my hips as I ground against her.

She undressed me slowly, her fingers trailing over my skin as she pushed my skirt down and pulled off my panties. And then she stood, pulling me to my feet, and led me to the bedroom. The room was dimly lit, the bed covered in soft, silky sheets, and she laid me down, her body covering mine as she kissed me again.

Her hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of me, and I did the same, my fingers trembling as I unbuttoned her blouse and pushed it off her shoulders. Her skin was soft, warm, and when my hands cupped her breasts, she moaned, her head falling back as I teased her nipples with my fingers.

“Cristina,” she whispered, her voice rough with desire. “You’re so beautiful.”

I smiled, because she was too. Every inch of her was perfect, from the curve of her hips to the way her body moved against mine. And when her fingers slipped between my legs, I gasped, my body arching into her touch.

She touched me with a confidence that left me breathless, her fingers finding the spot that made me tremble. I could feel the heat building inside me, a pressure that grew with every stroke of her fingers. And then, suddenly, it happened—a wave of pleasure so intense it left me shaking, my body trembling as I came undone beneath her.

“Isabella,” I moaned, my hands clutching at the sheets. “Dios mío…”

She didn’t stop, her fingers working me until I was gasping for air, my body writhing beneath her. And then, when I finally came down from the high, she kissed me again, her lips soft and sweet against mine.

“Your turn,” I whispered, pushing her onto her back and straddling her. I kissed her, my hands exploring her body as I trailed my lips down her neck, her chest, her stomach. And when my fingers slipped between her legs, she gasped, her body arching into my touch.

I touched her the way she had touched me, my fingers finding the spot that made her moan. She was wet, so wet, and when I slid a finger inside her, she cried out, her hands gripping my shoulders as I moved inside her.

“Cristina,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Don’t stop…”

I didn’t. I kept going, my fingers moving faster, harder, until she was gasping for air, her body trembling as she came undone beneath me. And when she finally came, her body shaking with pleasure, I held her, my lips brushing against her neck as she caught her breath.

We stayed like that for a while, our bodies tangled together, the sound of our breathing the only thing breaking the silence. And then she turned to me, her eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite name. “You’re incredible,” she whispered, her voice soft.

I smiled, because she was too. Every inch of her was perfect, and I knew I’d never forget this night—the night I discovered a new side of myself, a side that craved the touch of a woman as much as the touch of a man.