I never considered myself a squirter until I met this man about two years back. I had just rounded up my final year at the university and was in the mood to celebrate with my friends – five years in university was no joke. We decided to go out for drinks that evening to let go of whatever post-school tension we had left, and so we had the alcohol flowing. We started with two shots each before ordering bottles of red wine and whiskey; within two hours, we were all completely drunk and wasted. To explain how drunk I was, to this day, I never remember exchanging numbers with any guy or remember how we got back to the hotel, but I’m grateful we were all safe after having that much fun. What I do remember was waking up the next morning with a splitting headache, an empty stomach and a reminder that alcohol was the devil’s drink, which everyone should avoid. I hadn’t even thought about checking my phone until later in the evening after getting the rest I so deserved, I had received a message from an unknown number, and one thing I hate about receiving messages from unknown numbers is their inability to introduce themselves immediately, but he was different.

His message had a detailed introduction of who he was and how he got my number, which to me is the first green flag and tick in the good list I had mentally made for men. Permit me to read his text: “Hey, good morning, my name is (let’s call him Mike). I’m unsure if you remember me, but we met yesterday at the lounge. You were looking really beautiful and drunk (laughing emoji), but I wasn’t sure I’d get the opportunity to see you again, so I decided to take my chances and ask for your number, which you stressed me for, but it was all worth it” I think I laughed out loud before replying him and apologising for any inconveniences I might have caused.

From that evening, we chatted for hours, and slowly, we began calling each other every evening to unwind and talk about our day. I was always stacked with juicy gossip, and he would listen attentively and end up feeling the same emotions I felt about a particular situation. In three weeks, he asked me on our very first date, and the experience was lovely; he ticked all the boxes in my head and even added more that I never knew existed. He was warm and friendly (I noticed it from how he conversed with the waiters), a good listener, and eloquent and classy overall. He ensured I had enough to eat and take back to my friends, but instead of returning to my friends, I ended up in his house, which was against my dating rules and principles.

We continued our date at his place, watching movies and gisting for hours, if he had wanted me, he didn’t make a single move until I did. I was horny as hell and I needed to quench the hunger I felt for this man, so I threw my second rule out the window, which was not to indulge yourself in any sexual activity on the first date. My people, I indulged; as a matter of fact, I overindulged because that night, I had my first squirting experience, and if you ask me what he did differently, I wouldn’t know how to explain it.

I shamelessly made the first move by kissing him – forgive me, sisterhood, but I was hungry, and this man looked delicious. Our kiss was amazing and spontaneous, from being soft and warm to being domineering and submissive. His lips trailed away from my lips to my neck, and I already missed his lips on mine, but before going any further, he straight up told me he wanted to sleep with me, not just make out and then he went ahead to ask if that was also what I wanted, and your girl nodded like an agama lizard.

He explored my whole body with his lips and hands. He wasn’t even out to get his pleasure; instead, he enjoyed the idea of pleasuring me. This man’s head game was a bomb; he knew exactly where to find my clit, he knew how to use his tongue perfectly well, he knew how to make use of his lips on my vulva, and he knew the right words to get me all pumped up and dripping. He took over forty minutes pleasuring me to both of our satisfaction; for the first time in my life, I had reached orgasm through just making out, and it was amazing.

Immediately after our make-out session, without a chance to catch my breath, he slowly slid inside me, and I gasped from the slow yet intense penetration. He started slowly by thrusting in and out of me, my hands gripped his bedsheet, and with every intense penetration, I ripped them off the bed. When this man decided to turn up the speed and intensity of his thrusts, your girl was already on cloud nine, and he groped my boobs from jiggling too hard due to his speed and intensity. My eyes had rolled far back; my knees had become wobbly. I could feel my legs vibrating, but my man wasn’t done. He flipped me over in a collapsed doggy position and kept pounding me with the same intensity but a lot deeper. I didn’t know how or when it happened, but that intensity and depth hit the right spot, and without holding anything back, I gushed out like a broken pipe. I kept shaking while the water that flowed out of me gave me the intense release I never knew I needed. I felt free and liberated; my body was weak in a good way, and when I tried to stand, my legs literally gave up on me. He was also extremely excited because this was his first experience, and he felt like a king that night.

Now, I can’t explain if squirting is the same thing as urine, but from my experience, it felt completely different from peeing, although I believe that there would be little bits of urine in the squirting. But people, the experience was so incredible that I ended up marrying the man who gave me that experience – I mean, there was no way I was letting him go!

PS: My story shouldn't motivate you to follow anyone home on a first date, but then again, you are an adult so do you!


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