When I met my wife she was a 23 year old total innocent abroad, not very street wise or savvy. The sort of girl who seems like she doesn't belong in the era she's growing up in. Never had a boyfriend at 20, despite being a good looking girl. There'a bit of the 'librarian' look about her, then and now, the sort of girl who read 'War and Peace' for fun, played a musical instrument, went to church. Everything prim and proper. You know the type. We've all known one girl like that. Guys either run a mile, or come on too fast for a girl like that to put out, even though in many cases there's a right little raver hiding underneath.
Eventually, when we'd been dating for a while we got to that 'how many sexual partners have you had' question that arises in many relationships. I didn't care, but still being very innocent and a bit insecure, she wanted to know about my past.
'You go first', I said, 'since you brought the subject up'.
One.
I didn't believe her at first, but then, having got to know her for a bit, and with me playing it totally cool as far as sex was concerned, not wishing to rush her, I did believe her.
She told me that in her early 20s she was still a virgin, very innocent of the world at large, and was sharing a flat with a guy, in the sense that they were university students sharing the rent and had separate rooms. He was the exact opposite to her, a slob who never washed dishes, rarely washed himself, and fucked anything with a pulse. He'd bring girlfriends back for loud, energetic sex while my wife was in the next bedroom, listening to it all unfold while he pounded the living daylights out of a different girl every night and, she admitted, getting totally turned on with the assistance of her teddy bear!
This went on for a semester, but then he became besotted with one girl and they became an item for most of the second semester until she dumped him. He was heartbroken and came home one night totally drunk and started crashing around in the kitchen downstairs.
My wife had been in bed, asleep, but she heard the commotion and his voice so got out of bed and went downstairs to find him pouring a whiskey. Over the next hour he pored his heart out to her about losing the love of his life while my wife tried to be a good listener.
Of course, in all of her innocence, she was sitting opposite the guy in her short nightie, unaware that her hairy clam was on full display to her flat mate. Unaware until he told her.
'It's nice. You're nice. I like you', he said drunkenly, then lurched over to the sofa where she was sat, sat down beside her and was able to slip his hand down the voluminous sleeve of her nightie to begin fondling her bare boobs. At first, she resisted and tried to discourage him, but eventually they ended up kissing while he moved his hand to her fully exposed pussy and began stroking her.
Despite her innocence, she said she knew instinctively to get her hand on his cock -still inside his jeans- and rub it. He unzipped and she began stroking him off. Within minutes they were both naked and he was in her on the sofa before cumming after what she said was a very pleasurable 20 minutes and a lovely, memorable loss of virginity. She said it didn't hurt, wasn't quick, wasn't messy and was maybe one of the best ways she could think of to finally pop her cherry.
After that, their relationship altered a bit. From being prim and proper around him, she'd lie in the bath while he'd come in, put the toilet seat down and once again analyse where he'd gone wrong with the love of his life, now departed.
Maybe he'd strip off, climb in behind her and soap her back, but nothing further sexually would happen. Sometimes she'd come home to find him wearing nothing but a dressing gown, cock inadvertently displayed, and nothing further sexually would happen. And then every now and again they'd be fuck buddies to work out their sexual frustrations. And then again, nothing more for weeks. She learned to give and receive oral from him, learned how to climb on top, a position she still likes (and I do too), do it doggystyle and -the real turn on for me- be his photographic muse. He eventually became a professional photographer. And, by the way, all the way through this on-off fucking, she says it never occurred to her to use contraception! Talk about innocent? Guess she was just lucky enough never to get pregnant.
So out there, somewhere, there's negatives (it was the pre-digital era) of my lovely wife, mother to our four children posing nude in soft and hardcore porn photos. Simple outdoor nudes and posing in wet T shirts through to him shafting her, to her sucking his cock, to posing with his cum on her tongue, to being tied up in bondage photos. She's only ever kept one, a lingerie photo taken outdoors, which is kept under lock and key in our safe and which our children definitely haven't seen. I've never seen any online. It looks like he was professional enough, gentleman enough, not to share them on the internet.
There's a postscript though...
All of this happened in the pre-digital, pre-internet days. They moved out of each other's lives after they finished uni and that was the end of that. Until recently...when I did an internet search for the guy's name and found him living in a town hundreds of miles away, still working as a wedding and portrait photographer in that town. In recent months I've been torn between making contact with him (it would be easy to just ring or send a message on social media) and asking if he still has those negatives or prints. I'm not sure if she'd approve, but I'd love to see them and the thought of doing so is an enormous turn-on. Maybe he's destroyed them. Maybe my contacting him would encourage him to process them and then share them online. Who knows? For now, I'm doing nothing, but the curiosity grows each time I have to go to the safe for something and I look at that single lingerie shot.