I was at a guy's house party, and we kissed in the backyard after polishing off the last of the Strongbow, before going up to his room. There were some clues that he was a complete novice—he'd clearly never encountered a bra before, and his kisses sent saliva pouring down my chin. We ended up having good, old fashioned missionary sex, but it still took him ages to find the right hole. Seconds later, it was over.
The next morning I woke up to him looking into my eyes and stroking my hair. He said, "Good morning, sexy," and kissed my head, which was in severe pain thanks to all the Strongbow. Then he whispered in my ear: "Not bad for my first time, shall we try a new position for my second go?"
He dropped the bomb that I was his first time while asking if we could go again. Then he asked if we could hang out and date properly, promising he could be a great man for me. I sympathized—this was his first time, and he was obviously excited, but I couldn't really handle it, so I made my excuses and left as soon as possible.
What followed was a barrage of messages and calls, asking when we could meet up, why I couldn't open myself up to him (ew), and how he didn't want "one of the best nights of his life" to be a one-off. After a few weeks of me ignoring him, he got the message and left me alone, but I'll never forget waking up to those puppy dog eyes. Lesson here: be cautious of the intoxicating power of the pussy.