I remember my first encounter with sperm. There was nothing sexual about that moment. I was 16, and was cleaning my room. I was chucking things in the trash, and at one point had my hand far up in there. It touched a ball of toilet paper that felt surprisingly moist. Only after a moment I realized what it was. My brother must have had an enjoyable afternoon, and sadly, I accidentally touched what was left of it.
After spending the next five hours washing my hands, I quickly finished my chores, and emptied out the trash, this time only touching the can itself and not its contents.
This experience didn’t leave me scarred. Actually, it did just the opposite. I had seen semen before, in porn, and was always a little frightened of it. From the movies, it seemed more liquidy than what I touched. But, then again, in these movies women seemed to like it splattered on their faces, which I knew was just a flat out lie. I could see it on their expression. Just before they moaned in enjoyment, I would notice them flinching, closing their eyes. They were scared of it. And that made me a bit scared too.
After feeling its texture in real life, even for a split second, I wasn’t so scared anymore. It didn’t seem like something that was acid-y, or pee like. It didn’t resemble bodily fluids that I associated with going to the bathroom. So I was able to start thinking about it in a more sexual way. This wasn’t something to be grossed out by, because it comes from an act of love. Or at least lust.
My first sexual encounter was with my second boyfriend, in the last year of high school. There were a few times where I would go to his house and we would make out, ending the session with me jerking him off. It usually went that he would cum on his stomach and just a little in my hand, then we both wiped off and go back to watching Friends reruns. But there was one time when his parents were out of town and we did it in the living room instead of his bedroom.
He undressed, and I took off everything but my panties. I never took my panties off with him. We were on a boob-only agreement. I gave him the usual handjob, and this time, having no toilet paper in arms reach, we both went to the bathroom to clean off. He had two bathrooms in his house, so we split up.
I entered the bathroom with cum on my hand. I paused for a bit, deciding not to wipe it off immediately. I looked at it, and ran my fingers through it for a few seconds. It wasn’t too sticky, and for some reason it excited me. I was still semi-naked, and god knows what made me do what I did next — I rubbed it on my chest, as if it was Ben Gay. I rubbed it until I couldn’t see it anymore. I washed off and came back to the living room, not mentioning anything.
I felt wrong for being interested in this. I felt like I was a pervert. I thought most girls just wipe it off, or ignore it. It was certainly not something they would think about. But I would.
I started having sex in college. At first it was pretty ordinary. he would come in his condom and throw it out. When we got serious, and I was safely on the pill, I told him we could start fucking without rubber. The first time we did, moments before he was done, I told him to pull out and come on my tits. He probably attributed it to me being scared of getting knocked up even with the pills. But I wanted to feel it on my body.
He came on my breasts. I felt the heat hitting me. I liked it. And I hated myself for it. I felt like the girls in the porn. I still thought they were laying when they moaned over it. But I wasn’t lying. I really did like the way it felt.
We went back to the condoms. I told him I wasn’t sure enough about the pill. I didn’t want to continue being shot on, because that would be accepting my gross fascination. Blow jobs were the same – he would give me notice before coming, and would do it into a tissue, keeping the stuff away from me.
It was only with my current boyfriend that I felt good enough to accept my strange fetish. It’s funny calling it a fetish, since I’m still not sure whether this is a common thing or not. I let it come from him – when he first pulled out, he asked “Come on you or bring something”? In the heat of the moment I told him it was fine. I didn’t mind him shooting his load on me. He thought I was just fine with it, rather than it being something I really wanted.
Finally, I’ve come to accept my strange affair with sperm. I confessed it to my guy, and after a few experiments (did not like it on my face, nor in my mouth) we settled into a comfy routine of me rubbing it on my body, just like I did in my high school boyfriend’s bathroom.
Sometimes I still think I’m a pervert. Maybe I am. But I’m not ashamed anymore. It comes from love. Or at least lust.