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My name is Jodi Michaels. Perhaps you’ve read my mother’s account of how I recently lost my virginity. Or maybe you haven’t, so I’ll summarize and then get on with the rest of my story.
My mother is a very successful director of highly acclaimed erotic movies. How she ended up with a career in that industry is a long story, but I’ll tell you the important parts as they were revealed to me, a little bit at a time, over the years.
Pregnant with me, and widowed at the age of eighteen when my father died in the Middle East, she was desperate to land work that paid enough to provide for my welfare. With no education beyond high school, and few skills other than a bit of computer knowledge, she answered a Monday morning newspaper ad that contained little information other than a phone number.
A quick call yielded an address in Canoga Park, a short distance from the town of Calabasas where she was living with my great Aunt Barbara. Canoga Park happens to be a major center of porn production in the United States. Before lunchtime, she was employed by a studio that produced such material.
I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t like that at all.
When she arrived at the address she’d been given, a seedy looking building gave her little hope of decent employment. But with no other prospects, she decided to check it out anyway and entered to find a beautiful blonde sitting at a desk in the reception area. Seconds later, the young woman jumped to her feet, announced that my mother had the job, and then disappeared into the back of the building.
Within a few minutes, a scruffy looking older guy appeared and went into a rant about how he really wanted an ‘ugly one’ to fill the job. When my mother confessed that she had been told nothing about the duties of the position, he nearly died laughing. After recovering enough to speak, he told her what the organization was all about and Mom headed for the door, appalled by his coarseness and shocked by the nature of the business he represented.
The guy turned out to be the big kahuna and was just as desperate for an office manager as my mother was for employment. Sly was so much in need of help that he offered twice the minimum wage to start. Lured by the money, Mom agreed to stay until the end of the week. If she didn’t like working there, she informed him, she’d be gone by close of business on Friday.
Many years later, my mother told me her first week on the job was a real eye opener. On her second day, Sly took her on a tour of the movie sets in the back of the building. With no sexual experience other than what she briefly enjoyed with my father, Mom was stunned to see actors performing a variety of sex acts in front of film crews, and appearing to enjoy every minute of it. When the tour was over, Sly asked if she’d like to make a lot more money performing in his videos. He had good reason; my mother was, and still is, an absolutely gorgeous redhead with a stunning figure. Sly knew she would be an instant star. Mom declined his offer.
As it turned out, my mother was a natural organizer who enjoyed the work, quickly became friends with several of the performers, and soon made herself indispensable to the smooth operation of the business.
Sly, by all appearances nothing more than a dirty old man, actually had a soft heart and took good care of my mother. As she neared my birth date, he outfitted a small reception area with a crib, playpen, changing table, and a dresser. Two weeks after my birth, that began serving as my daycare center and many of the studio’s regular performers became my extended family, particularly Janna, the pretty blonde who briefly greeted Mom on her first day. Until I started school, that office was my home-away-from-home five days a week.
My mother and I had what can best be characterized as an unconventional relationship. She didn’t have the modesty gene, at least around the house, so I was raised to view nudity as entirely natural and soon learned that prudishness was not a virtue.
I understood at an early age that I could talk to my mother about any topic without fear of reprisal. Nothing was off limits. As I grew older, curiosity about my body, and hers, grew more acute. All of my questions were answered in an age-appropriate manner. When I was satisfied with an answer, Mom quit talking and I moved on to other matters.
As I grew older, my thirst for knowledge resulted in unorthodox measures to advance my sex education. When I wanted an explanation for something called a ‘clitoris,’ my mother chose to show me personally rather than rely on a dictionary definition. When I understood what its purpose was, she encouraged me to experiment. Not long afterwards, I enjoyed the first of many teenage orgasms. By my sixteenth year, I was an expert at pleasuring myself, often sharing the experience with Bonnie, my best friend, when we had sleepovers at one house or the other.
A year or two after my mother went to work for Sly, curiosity got the better of her and ataşehir escort bayan she was allowed to raid the studio’s pornographic archives. As she tells the story, she became a student of the industry and eventually formed some very strong opinions about what was, and what was not, high quality erotic material.
After outlining an idea to Janna, who was perhaps the best female performer in the business at the time, Mom worked up the courage to take a proposal to Sly, clearly catching him by surprise. After a lengthy period of silence, with my mother squirming in her seat, Sly agreed that her assessment of current pornography was correct. Earlier in his career he had directed several films that were far superior to what the industry was now producing and he often dreamed of raising the bar back to where it had been in the seventies.
When Sly asked my mother what role she saw for herself in the revived genre, she announced that she wanted to be the director. To hear Mom tell the story, Sly nearly laughed himself into a catatonic state. Then suddenly he relented, agreeing to give her an opportunity to direct one video after he taught her the basics. If the results of her effort broke even, she could do another. If the endeavor lost money, she would be an office manager for the rest of her working life.
Her first video, starring Janna and several other people I grew up with, was a smashing success. It wasn’t long before she became an up-and-coming director of superb pornographic material that featured natural settings, romantic plot lines, interesting scripts, excellent acting, and sensational sex scenes. By the time I entered my teens, she was known throughout the industry as one of the very best at her craft.
In all the years I spent time at my mother’s work place, the studio area in the back of the building was strictly off limits to me. The restriction was initially imposed because I was too young for exposure to what went on back there. In my teen years it was because many of the performers had been part of my life from infancy and my mother chose to maintain a clear separation between their professional activities and their role as members of our extended family. By that time I understood what everyone did for a living and accepted the prohibition without rancor. I loved Janna and the others and had no desire to watch them have sex.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t interested in the topic. Shortly after my sixteenth birthday, my questions about sex had become so focused that my mother took the unusual step, by the standards of most families, of showing me a classy pornographic video from another studio. I was shocked, repulsed, and aroused as I viewed a couple enjoying fellatio, cunnilingus, and intercourse in a variety of different positions. That experience pretty much put all my questions to rest.
As my eighteenth birthday approached, I was the only one in my circle of girlfriends who had not yet had sex with a guy. All of them, including Bonnie, had experienced the act on more than one occasion. And all of them had reached the same conclusion. Boys our age were only interested in their own gratification. The notion that their partners might have needs never occurred to them. The girls admitted that they enjoyed fucking but were forced to depend on masturbation for release.
Their revelations had a profound effect on me. I refused to relinquish my virginity to some self-absorbed, hormone-stoked, pimply-faced guy in the cramped confines of his car’s back seat. I had a boyfriend, sort of, at the time but we had only engaged in some amateurish groping. He was interested in taking things all the way. I was not. At least not with him. The result of my refusal was that, a week prior to my eighteenth birthday, I was probably the only soon-to-be-eighteen year old virgin in southern California.
Keep in mind that I have no moral objection to pre-marital sex. I understand that intercourse is the most natural thing in the world for consenting adults to enjoy. But I wanted to skip the adolescent fumbling that everyone else seemed destined to endure. The problem was that I didn’t know how to go about doing it differently. So I turned to my best source of help and advice. My mother.
And help me she did. After her initial shock that my virginity was still intact and that I wished to relinquish it for my birthday, she reluctantly began to think about a means to grant my wish. As I knew she would.
A few days before the big event, Mom showed me a short video that featured two actors from the studio that I had not yet met. Mitch, an incredibly good looking guy in his late twenties and Dani, a gorgeous blonde a few years younger, engaged in a mind-blowing sex scene that riveted my attention and induced acute arousal. When it was over, my mother told me that she was pretty certain she could arrange for Mitch to relieve me of the burden of my virginity if that was the route I wanted to take. My response was to excuse myself, retreat to my escort kadıköy bedroom, and employ the small vibrator I had requested a year earlier until I achieved a monumental orgasm. And then another one moments later.
At breakfast the next morning I told my mother that I had decided to accept her offer. Mitch was my choice, but I had one final surprise in store for her. I insisted that she be in the room with me when it happened.
Her strenuous objection to the idea eventually led to an acceptable compromise. My deflowering would happen in one of the sets at the studio, cameras would be used, and Mom would monitor the proceedings from Sly’s office. She would not actually be on the set with me but she would be close by if I needed her. As an added benefit, the whole event would be recorded on a thumb drive for my personal use later on.
I was no stranger to orgasms, having learned to take care of my needs a couple of years earlier, but I was totally unprepared for what Mitch did to me. My mother had told me not to expect an orgasm, that my chances as a first-timer were extremely slim, and I should just try to relax and enjoy the experience. As it turned out, she underestimated my capacity for responding to Mitch’s skill.
The discomfort of his entry was both minimal and fleeting. Soon I was lost in the sensation of a large stiff cock moving purposefully inside me for the very first time. It was a glorious feeling. Within a few minutes I knew I was going to cum.
Mitch carefully pushed me up the incline to what turned out to be a shattering orgasm, one unlike any I had ever achieved on my own. When it was over, and I was able to form coherent thoughts, my immediate concern was that I was ruined forever. Not from the loss of my maidenhead, but from the sudden fear that I might never encounter another lover as good as Mitch.
And that’s where things stand now, the morning after my eighteenth birthday. I am a bit sore from yesterday’s activity, a little raw from vigorous masturbation late last night while watching the video of Mitch fucking me, and uncertain about my sexual future.
Mom is sitting at the breakfast table with her coffee when I make my appearance on Monday morning.
“Are you okay?” she asks, searching my face with a hint of concern in her voice.
“I’m fine,” I reply with a smile as I pour myself a cup. “I just had the best birthday ever. I can’t believe you and Luke bought me a Beemer. Not to mention my other present,” I add, my smile morphing into a wide grin.
Luke Rockwood is my mother’s long-time boyfriend. They are deeply in love but will probably never marry. Both fiercely guard their independence but remain committed to each other far more than most married couples I know. I love Luke like a father and he treats me as his daughter. He is highly protective of me and would have a stroke if he knew what happened yesterday. He had been out of town until early evening at a San Diego showing of his metal sculptures. Mitch’s part in my birthday celebration will forever remain a secret between Mom and me.
As for the car, it was another first. I’ve been driving since I was sixteen but was the only one in my circle of friends who didn’t have my own car. My mother is a bit odd where automobiles are concerned. She still keeps my father’s twenty-year-old Camaro under a cover in the garage. It comes out for special occasions and I am permitted to drive it only with Mom riding shotgun.
Our other car is a five-year-old Camry. Mom can easily afford something better, but has chosen to keep our transportation simple. The Camry has served us both well and we have rarely had a conflict about its use. It has almost always been available when I needed wheels. If not, I’m usually able to borrow Luke’s Land Rover. In view of Mom’s automotive austerity, the BMW roadster was out of character and a total surprise. I suspect that Luke had more than a little influence.
“When are you and Bonnie leaving for orientation?” she asks, apparently satisfied that I have suffered no ill effects from the loss of my virginity less than twenty-four hours ago. Bonnie and I were both accepted at Stanford and will be roommates when classes start in a week or so.
“We’re driving up this morning to do a little exploring. Orientation is all day Tuesday and a couple of hours on Wednesday morning. We’ll be back home late Wednesday night. Bonnie’s going to have a cow when she sees my Beemer,” I add with another grin.
“You’re staying in one of the dorms, right?” my mother asks with raised eyebrows.
“Yes. They’re letting the freshmen bunk in the same rooms we’ll be using during the school year, roughing it until we move in permanently next week with all our stuff.”
“Need any help?”
“Not this week, but I’d like you and Luke to come up next Tuesday. That’s moving day. I’ll have a ton of stuff and it will be too much for the Beemer,” I tell her with a smile.
“How about Bonnie?”
“Her folks are maltepe escort going. They’ll take their Suburban so she won’t have to struggle with her Miata.”
“Well, drive carefully and behave yourselves,” Mom tells me with a grin as she rinses her mug and sets it in the dish drainer. “I’m staying over at Luke’s tonight so I won’t see you until you get back.”
“I promise to drive carefully,” I respond with a wide grin, “but as for behaving ourselves, no guarantees.”
“Give me a hug and call me when you arrive,” she says. “I’ll worry until I hear from you.”
“”Will do,” I tell her as we cling to each other for a long moment.
“Gotta run,” she announces. “We’re shooting a scene with Mitch and Dani this morning.”
“I think maybe I hate Dani,” I tell her with a pout.
“You’d hate her even more if you knew how much she’s being paid to have sex with Mitch,” Mom tells me in a stage whisper.
“Bitch,” I counter.
“Who? Dani or me?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” I respond and then kiss her on the cheek. “But I love you.”
“Love you too. Be careful.”
“I will. Hug Luke for me.”
“I’ll pick you up in half an hour,” I inform Bonnie on the phone. “I have a surprise for you.”
“What kind of surprise? Let me guess, your Mom is letting you take the Camaro.”
“I’m not telling. See you in thirty minutes.”
I arrive on time but Bonnie is nowhere near ready to go. As usual. I love her, but punctuality is not in her DNA and the Beemer’s presence adds further delay.
“Jesus H. Christ!” she exclaims when she sees what I’ve just parked in her driveway. Running outside, she circles the car two or three times, awestruck by the exquisite machine. “Holy fuck! Where did this come from?” she adds.
“Birthday present from Mom and Luke,” I answer with a grin.
“Holy fuck!” she repeats.
“So where is my gift from you?” I ask with a smile, although I know she had been out of town over the weekend at a wedding with her parents.
“I’ll give it to you tonight. It’s not much, but I think you’ll like it,” she responds with an evil little grin.
“Why didn’t you just drop it off before you left?” I inquire with a grin of my own, knowing perfectly well why. In recent years, our birthday gifts to each other have been small but a bit racy. Last year I had given her a small vibrator just like the one my mother had given me at my request the year before. Bonnie’s gift to me had been a deliciously erotic novel she had blackmailed an older cousin into buying from an adult bookstore.
“Uh…well…, I wanted to give it to you personally and in private, just like we usually do.”
“Sounds mysterious. I can hardly wait for tonight,” I respond with a grin. “Now, are you packed and ready to go?”
“That’s what I thought. Let’s go get your stuff together and hit the road.”
Many of Bonnie’s essentials are laid out haphazardly on her bed. It takes a few minutes for her to finish organizing everything.
“I don’t see your vibrator,” I announce, “and grab your sexiest nightie. I have a bit of a surprise for you tonight as well.”
“You do?” she asks with a grin. “What’s the occasion?”
“We need to put our dorm room to the test.”
“A sexual compatibility test. We’ll be spending a lot of nights there and we might as well check it out.”
“Now it’s me who can hardly wait for tonight,” she responds with a smile as she retrieves her vibrator and a tube of lubricant from a bedside table. The last item she packs is a colorfully wrapped little package from her closet,
“Ah…,” I respond with a smile as I spot the package. “My present.”
Ten minutes later her Vera Bradley bag joins mine in the small trunk of the Beemer and we are on our way.
The trip north is fun. The weather is nice so we have the top down the entire way, enjoying the wind in our hair and covering the nearly four hundred miles in about seven hours, including lunch at a nice Mexican restaurant.
Stanford is fully ready for its freshmen class. Check-in is a breeze and we are soon inspecting the room that will be ours for the upcoming school year.
As freshmen, we are relegated to less palatial accommodations than upperclassmen but we can hardly complain. Our room is spacious enough to allow two twin beds with small night tables and lamps, two desks, two armoire-style storage cabinets and some bookshelves. It is fully carpeted and there are nice curtains on the single large window between the two beds. The only bad news is that we have to share a communal bathroom down the hallway with the other students on our floor. The good news is that we have an end unit so there is just one common wall between us and the next room. Its inhabitants haven’t checked in yet, so we don’t know anything about them.
Bonnie and I are both pretty vocal when we cum, so we like the idea of neighbors on only one side. Bonnie calls heads when I flip a coin. She wins and dumps her stuff on the bed that sits along the outside wall. We’ll do any joint masturbating on her bed as far away from our neighbors as possible. We’ve been doing it together for several years now and are entirely comfortable with the intimacy.
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