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Hot Fetisch Kurzgeschichte: Mein erster Freund

Hot Fetish Short Story: My First Boyfriend

The first great love - an 18-year-old between desire and fear

I was 18 and walked into a diner. When I was young they still existed, far away from the big snack bars of today, the small shops, cosily furnished. The store was almost empty. A woman was waiting at the counter for her order, and a young man was leaning against a bar table, operating a slot machine. As soon as I opened the door, he literally stared at me. He was older than me, not a boy my age. They were uninteresting anyway, much too childish in their behavior. In front of me was a grown man. I closed the shop door, the typical smell of fried fat and spices hung in my lust, mixed with a subtle note of tobacco. Smoking ban was still unknown. The man looked at me openly. I reacted instinctively to his smile, immediately feeling a little daring.

Somehow I had the feeling that I was doing something forbidden. This man in front of me wasn't a student, he wasn't one of those quiet classmates who often looked at me, but not so directly and coupled with a certain rawness. I stood behind the woman and briefly considered what I would take my parents with me. Dad loves to eat fries, and Mom doesn't like making them because the whole house smells like it.

I felt the man's eyes on me. Greedy, like a cat about to leap, he straightened up to his full height. I shouldn't be looking, I knew instinctively. Luckily Dad wasn't there because this was the type of man my parents used to warn me about - a bad boy.

I turned my head in his direction as if remotely controlled. He whispered a deep "Hello beauty" in my direction. Blue-green eyes, slim, fit, three-day beard, dark blonde short hair, a head taller than me. A small talk ensued. He tells a little bit about himself that he is 23 and had never seen such a beautiful woman.

First love forever?

At 18, that impressed me a lot, I suddenly felt very grown up. As we spoke, he automatically grabbed a strand of my hair, my hair hanging loose over my shoulder. He pushed that strand of hair through his lips, which I found incredibly sensual and erotic, at least that's what I would say today. At 18 I stood spellbound, unable to speak or move, following his hands as if mesmerized. Something magically drew me to him, I couldn't put it into words. And of course it appealed to me because he was a born rebel, he was forbidden company for me, I should never have introduced him to my father, he would not have accepted him.

Suddenly he took my hand, twisted it and ran his fingertips over my palm. An unbelievable tingling sensation ran through me and sent shivers down my spine. I was deliberately wet by a man for the first time. For the first time I felt my femininity, the power over the opposite sex, the attraction between a man and a woman. An overwhelming feeling, because until now I hadn't had any sexual contact other than holding hands and kissing, and that with a boy of the same age. And suddenly this wicked man stood in front of me, wrote his number in the palm of my hand with a pen, looked deep into my eyes again and then suddenly said goodbye. Before he left the snack bar, he winked at me again and said nonchalantly: “Call me. Don't forget.” I stood there transfixed. What had just happened? The employee at the snack bar must have asked for the third time what I would like. I gradually got my act together and ordered the fries for my father. The employee knew me and was already a mature lady. When I paid, she said to me, "Don't call him. He's not for you. You're too young for that kind of man. It only makes you unhappy. Hands off!"

"You're just jealous," I thought to myself in my youthful flair. So I left the store and went to my bike. There was a flower on the saddle. Excitement seized me, euphoria rose in me. I studiously ignored the small voice in my head: “He's not good for you. forget him Definitely don't call him.”

We've been together for nine months now, the bad boy and I. We had just celebrated my 19th birthday and it was New Year's Eve. I hadn't really felt comfortable in the relationship for days before, and that evening I finally realized that he wasn't right for me. We spent New Year's Eve with his family. She was so completely different from the family I knew. It was loud and became increasingly vulgar and eventually vulgar. I was surrounded by a whole crowd of people and yet I felt like the loneliest person in the whole world. All of a sudden I just wanted to go home.

We left the party, got into his car, a small Ford Fiesta. He had hardly been drinking and insisted on driving me home. The distance was 30 km. During the drive he put his hand on my thigh. It didn't feel good anymore. I told him to please take her back. He got angry and asked why. And so I made a mistake that I would never do again in the same way: I broke up with him while we were driving at 70 km/h on the country road.

The first boyfriend - a hot but dangerous bad boy

At first he was very quiet. Then he said the words I'll never forget: "If I can't have you, no other man can either!" I'm going into a tree now."

As soon as he said the words, he accelerated. The little car swayed, obeying the driver's commands instantly. The car accelerated rapidly. The sudden acceleration pushed me into the passenger seat. The landscape around me blurred more and more to an unreasonable black.

Panic suddenly rose up in me. I got a feeling that I couldn't name at the time, but today I would describe it like this: fear of death. He meant every word exactly and accelerated more and more, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Paradoxically, at that very moment, a great inner calm came over me. Today I no longer remember what gave me the strength, as a young woman, to act calmly and calmly and not just scream. I felt instinctively that only if you remain calm will you survive. I could hardly breathe and could hear my pulse pounding in my ears. "You need to calm him down, don't tease him further." Said the voice in my head. He steered the car sharply to the left. The ground became more unstructured, the car swayed and rattled his
inmates through.

A big tree opened up in front of us. The trunk of the tree was already illuminated by the headlights of the car. He accelerated again. I don't know what gave me the strength, I heard myself say quietly: "Honey, I love you. That was just for fun.”

He suddenly steered the car to the right back onto the main road, the car skidded, fortunately recovered, tires squeaked, the smell of charred rubber treads rose in the driver's compartment. The car's pace slowed until the speed returned to the prescribed value. I sat frozen inside, still acting calm and considered, as if I was standing beside myself giving stage directions to my self.

"Yes, baby, we belong together forever. Forever. Nothing can tear us apart.” I kept thinking, “Don't tease him anymore. Don't argue with him any further. You have to get out of this vehicle alive somehow.”

Panic in the car – will the 18-year-old have courage?

This was the first and last time in my life that I was scared to death by this person I once truly loved. Now I was only afraid of him and maneuvered my way out of a dangerous situation with a completely unpredictable person. Eventually the car finally came to a stop. He leaned in and wanted to kiss me again; I mumbled something about "I'm tired" and yanked open the car door and got out, almost tripping because my knees were buttery soft. "I love you baby," I heard his voice behind me, then the car drove away. I hadn't turned around. All my feelings for this person, which I still carried within me, died in the moment of mortal fear.

The night was silent and felt unreal. Somehow, at the young age of 17, I felt that I just had a guardian angel and could have been dead now. I quietly entered the parents' house. I sat in the hallway for a while. From the living room I saw the television flickering, father just had to laugh. The kitchen door was open, my mother's voice came out: "Honey, is that you? You're there early. Wasn't the party nice? Come to me, are you hungry?”

I just sat there. "You're still alive." It says to me again and again. "Honey, what's the matter?" asks the lovely voice from the kitchen. I walked slowly into the kitchen, as if remotely controlled, swaying a bit. Mother was cooking, standing at the stove and bending over the pots. I would never have seen her again, it occurs to me.

Mother turned to me. Her smile suddenly froze. "Oh my god, kid, what happened? Your face is all white and your hands are shaking. Did he do something to you?” “Mom, I just nearly died…” I answer quietly. My voice cracked and I finally felt tears spilling down my cheeks as Mother hugged me.

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