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Prologue

A Prelude to the Prelude

You know, there are these stories on the internet that I used to read. Smutty stories. Really smutty ones. They'd always starts off with either one of two main characters. The first is a curvaceous woman that, despite being the definition of Aphrodite, is an absolute prude who blushes even at the subtlest implication of sex. If it's not her, then it's an unusually feminine male who's so far in the closet, he's having adventures in Narnia. Also, regardless of gender, 80% of the time it's a fox for some weird reason. At some point in the story, the main character is coerced into what appears to be some innocent affair that somehow, after about a thousand words or so, inevitably leads to he or she coming to terms with their sluttiness and/or homosexuality during the excessively lewd act of being stuffed with dick after dick after dick in every hole.

"I love cocks!!!" they scream through the gallons of jizz that they still have yet to swallow, their tongues lolling out of their mouths and their eyes rolling back in post-orgasmic bliss.

As erotic as those stories may or may not have been, the truth is I only started reading them because I thought they were hilarious. It was only after reading a dozen or so that I was admittedly able to look past the absurdity of some of them and find the appeal of them. But still, the idea of going from holy virgin to cumdumpster in only a dozen or so paragraphs was nothing short of unrealistic, even if a few fics were well-written (most of them weren't, though).

I know, I know. Those fics aren't really written with realism in mind, but I didn't know that when I started reading them at age 15. Before that point in my life, my experience with anything erotic was... not exactly positive.

The first time I had ever seen pornography, I was a pure and virtuous nine-year-old birdie. I was logging into my dad's computer, with the intent of going onto my favorite website, loaded with dozens and dozens of high-quality, safe-for-work flash games. However, I had accidentally typed in the URL wrong. Before I even had noticed my mistake, I pressed the "enter" key and was taken to a completely different site, one which greeted me with a collage of dirty pictures.

The sight of all those naked bodies definitely took me by surprise, but there was only one picture that I still remember after all these years. It was a point-of-view shot of a panda girl giving a blowjob to a lizard man. Having no foreknowledge of oral sex, I thought the panda was trying to eat the lizard's penis.

Tears rolling down my cheeks, I immediately ran to my parents and apologized, even though I had no idea what the hell just happened. Better safe than sorry, I guess. Fortunately, my parents were (and still are) very understanding people. They sat me down and did the whole talk about puberty and intercourse and everything in between. They even explained the blowjob and assured me the lizard's penis was absolutely fine. As nine-year-old, the whole thing was pretty eye-opening, but at least I stopped being afraid of women trying to eat my dick when I grew up. Eventually, time passed, and I just went back to playing my flash games like normal. I mean, I was nine, and my parents explained that those freaky biological changes and sexual urges in your body didn't start until I was a teenager, so worrying about it then seemed pointless.

And that's kind of how I viewed sex for the next six years. Pointless. I remember the eighth graders in middle school, making out with their girlfriends and boyfriends in between periods. All I could think was, "How could they stop and make out with each other when they only have four minutes before the next class to get their books?"

Even when I had a girlfriend of my own in freshman year of high school, a shy jackal girl that was in the mathletes, we acted more like besties than actual partners. We didn't even hold hands until four months into our relationship.

If you couldn't already tell, I was a bit of a late bloomer socially. It wasn't until my parents started letting me watch R-rated movies that I started having a genuine interest in sex. The time I saw female breasts in a movie I was astonished. I honestly remember thinking at some point in my life it was illegal to show them in movies, and yet there they were, in all their glory. I'm proud to say I didn't running away screaming like my nine-year-old self did once before. Instead, I gazed with wide wonder at the sight. It was the day that I had evolved from a boy to a man. It was official; the sight of a naked woman had stirred my loins.

It wasn't much after after that I recalled the talk my parents gave me, and tried to masturbate for the first time. I don't need to spell it out for you, but I can tell you that I definitely wanted more. So when I rediscovered internet pornography, my pubescent mind had thought that I had hit the motherload. The keyword being "thought."

Unlike the well-acted, well-scripted erotic dramas and sex comedies of Hollywood, most of the porn was just... bad. The dialogue was unnatural. The actors and actresses were obviously not enjoy themselves, no matter how much they grunted and moaned in order to hide it. Even when a video was somewhat decent, I just could not get it up.

Those stories I mentioned earlier? Not much better to begin with. Sure, there were plenty of well-written stories where the characters are fleshed out and engaging, but the sex wouldn't occur until the last chapter and patience isn't really orthodox for an ADHD-riddled teenager with his dick in his hand. So instead, I settled for the borderline cartoony sex plots that sacrificed authenticity for the sake of eroticism, which usually ended up making me laugh more than they made me hard.

But in the end, they did their job, along with the occasional nude portrait paired with my active imagination. Looking back, though, this probably affected me negatively in terms of how I viewed sex. It's like the Allegory of the Cave. If everything you see and read about sex involves (a) only hot people, (b) no foreplay, (c) lasting for up to two hours before orgasming, and (d) a complete lack of communication about consent, you're bound to make some assumptions when you end up partaking in the actual thing.

But I wasn't worried. After all, it's not like the crap in those smut stories actually happened. Even if they did, I wasn't some repressed, aphroditic virgin like the protagonist in those stories (I mean, I was a virgin, but I sure as hell wasn't repressed or aphroditic).

I just... I didn't have any friends in middle school. The only friends I had in high school were the squeaky clean, overachieving nerds who seldom talked about sex. The only girlfriend I ever had was a prude who ended up moving away in my sophomore year. I was an introvert. I was a victim of bullying. I was a pervert who masturbated to stories about gangbangs. I had every reason to believe that sex was something that was never going to happen for me. And some point in my high school days, I just accepted it. Because when you're a socially awkward, teenage bird with ADHD and a bit of a weight problem, you're going to have to accept at some point that losing your student ID is a more urgent issue than losing your virginity.

Even entering college, the land for parties and experimentation, I figured that the wet T-shirt contests and alcohol-fueled orgies of the movies were only that, a thing of the movies. And considering my introverted tendencies, I assumed nothing crazy was going to happen to me. Well, that is until I met Perci...