My first Experience

How I lost my virginity to a strange lady

I was 28 and still a virgin. Not by choice, but because I grew up in a house where “sin” was a word you heard more often than your own name. My parents in Abeokuta kept me on a tight leash. By the time I moved to Lagos, I was carrying that awkward shyness like a backpack I couldn’t drop. One Friday night, my friends dragged me to a bar along Allen Avenue, Ikeja. The place was alive. Fuji music vibrating through the walls, pepper soup aroma mingling with cigarette smoke, beer bottles sweating on every table. I sat in the corner, nursing my drink, pretending to enjoy the noise. That’s when she walked in. Tight red dress clinging to her like paint, hips swaying as though she knew every man in the room was watching. Her eyes locked on mine, and in that moment, I forgot how to breathe. She smiled... a slow, knowing smile, and made her way over. “You look… tense,” she said, her voice low and warm. Before I could answer, she leaned close, her perfume filling my head. Her fingers brushed my arm, light, deliberate. My friends laughed in the background, whispering things like, “Na tonight e go happen.” Minutes later, we were outside, walking toward a small lodge nearby. My heart thumped like talking drums, but she held my hand like she’d been holding it for years. Inside the room, the air smelled faintly of vanilla and something else I couldn’t place. She locked the door, turned to me, and slowly unzipped her dress. I froze as the fabric slid down, revealing smooth brown skin that caught the light in ways I’ll never forget. “Relax,” she whispered, stepping closer until her body pressed against mine. Her hands moved with confidence, unbuttoning my shirt, tracing my chest, her nails sending shivers through me. I didn’t know where to put my hands, but she guided them, placing them on her waist, then higher, then lower. My body responded before my mind caught up. When she kissed me, it wasn’t gentle. it was deep, wet, and hungry. I felt my knees weaken. She pushed me gently onto the bed, straddling me, her dress now pooled on the floor. Her breasts brushed against my chest as she leaned down, her lips moving to my neck, then my ear. “You’re mine tonight,” she breathed. What followed was slow at first, her movements teaching me without words. The warmth of her body, the way she rolled her hips, the soft moans that escaped her lips, they’re burned into my memory. She took control, but never rushed, letting me find my rhythm, letting me touch, explore, learn. By the time I released, I felt like I’d been emptied of more than just desire. I lay there, chest heaving, sweat cooling on my skin, while she rested her head on my shoulder for a moment before slipping out of bed. She dressed without saying much, left some cash on the table as if paying for the drinks earlier and kissed my forehead. Then she was gone, her perfume lingering in the air. I’ve been with other women since that night, but none ever felt like my first when a stranger, a woman of the night, made me feel like I belonged in a body I’d been too scared to use. Till today I didn't know who among my friend was responsible for that night... But I know such lady doesn't come out of the blues