My first real CFNM experience happened when I was nineteen. I was not expecting it and, to this day, I admire her artistry and skill in getting me to do it. Quite simply, she left me no choice. In short, I was all but raped.
I began with the innocence of a subway ride in Boston, Massachusetts. The year was 1975. I was a few months away from twenty and living in the city, a hotbed of the countercultural revolution and of Gloria Steinem’s women’s liberation movement, then swirling around that revolution. Women were marching in the streets underneath banners of “our bodies, ourselves,” and many other slogans. The magazine, Playgirl, the first magazine (to my knowledge, to feature naked guys in between its covers had recently come out. It was not unusual to walk into a girl’s dorm room and see the walls of their apartments or dorm rooms covered with Playgirl Centerfolds
I was just another hippie of the countercultural revolution. My hair was long, I had a beard, and I had a backpack beside me. I had boarded the train at a station in Boston. My destination was a certain entrance ramp to highway 93 north near a certain stop. It had a good place for cars to pull over without fear of getting rammed from behind. From there I was going to hitchhike north to northern New England to see my friend, Betsy, and party with her for the weekend.
I never made it. The subway was packed full. We were all squished together as if we were sardines. Those few lucky enough to have seats seemed to guard them zealously and from one of these seats I saw a nice pair of legs crossed a few feet away from me. I did not take any special notice of them; my mind was on my trip north and my friend, Betsy. The subway screeched into a station where we had to change trains and the crowd surged forth through the doors as if relieved from being suffocated to death. I, too, got out and then heard a female voice beside me saying hello. It was the owner of those nice pair or legs. The rest of her was as nice as the legs — moonbeam brown eyes, long black hair, pleasant face, and dressed in an office suit.
I wondered if she knew me from somewhere. I could not remember her. To make a long story short, I was soon eating lunch with her which, much to the confusion of the servers, she insisted on paying for. I was completely oblivious to what was going on; my mind was on the road going north. Yet, before I knew it she was steering me back down in the subway and we were on a train back toward where I had just come from, except a few stops further on. Then I was in her apartment, which was not plastered with playgirl centerfolds, though I did see a calendar on the wall and a naked man on it. By then, I was figuring out that she had done a superb job of picking me up, using her natural features in such a subtle way that I remained thorough ignorant of them until she had shut the door behind us.
Then she went to work and, before I knew it, I was naked. Her deft hands slipped off my shirt, the dropped everything else onto the floor and, for the first time, I was completely naked in front of a dressed female. When I tried to render her in the same state of nature as me, she adroitly refused me. I finally accepted the circumstances and just got out of everything and stood in front of her like I was offering myself to her. I cannot describe how nervous I was or how intense it felt as her eyes panned me up and down at first from a distance and then up close. I was astonished that my body did not collapse from how much I was shaking over it. I had never been that way before. I was very surprised that the mere thought did not make me explode right then and there.
Yet, I did not want to get dressed again. Much to my shock, I discovered that I rather enjoyed it. She made me get things for her, walk around her apartment, and so on as her eyes feasted on the bounty she had created for herself. I felt like I was on stage. It was fun to walk around naked while her eyes followed me. She made me do things for her and I was amazed and turned on by how easily she got me to do things for her while she watched me. We stayed that way for hours until she finally relented by her own volition and threw me onto the bed and had her way with me until we both couldn’t take it anymore.
She later told me that she had seen a playgirl shoot in some edition where a lady does that to a guy and she wanted to duplicate it. She liked me well enough to keep inviting me over and it was always the same. I was amazed at how much I enjoyed it. She often put me into positions that she liked to see. One time, for instance, I did not even give her the opportunity to rape me, but just did it myself. She left town at the end of that spring and I have never seen her again. The mark she left on me, though, is still there to this day. Through her, I became a devotee of what was unknown then and is called CFNM.
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