Carrie, Female, 15

	- Narrator, high school freshman

	- Beige, freckled skin, 5'4, 130lbs, curly back-length dark-red hair

Brown, Male, 16

	- High school sophomore

	- Dark tanned beige skin, 5'10, 165lbs, short, cropped dark-brown hair

Carrie's Introduction

The term 'Loose Girl' is a loaded one. Not one used easily or without careful consideration. I chose that name for myself, eventually, even though its beginnings were hard for me to handle. I've kept a journal since I was five years old. Puberty changed what I noticed around me, and my notes transitioned into being a sexually-focused diary. I described to myself, at length, my sexual curiosity, experiences, regrets, and acts and people I wanted to experience again.

I've used those rough notes, sometimes stained with tears and sometimes with cum, to construct a narrative for anyone who cares to read it. It isn't all roses, but it isn't all thorns, either. I tell it like I remember it, how I logged it when it happened, and how I've changed the story in my memory since.

I've had many sexual partners, men and women, and I don't consider that a bad thing. It isn't a pattern for everyone, but it's what worked best for me. I learned about myself and others, about relationships, about humility and depression and love, and all the intense emotions that go into sexual intimacy with other people. It is a journey I'm still on, even as I write this. The more I experience, the more I want to experience. I hope that you, the reader, find my life of interest, whether as material for a fap, or as hope for you when things are tough.

I offer you Diary of a Loose Girl freely, consensually, and I hope you will enjoy it. I'm the Loose Girl, but don't let that label throw you off. Like the movement to own the label 'slut,' I've owned Loose Girl for many years, and I think, considered under my definition, you'll find that it is a term of which you think fondly, of me or any of the millions of 'loose girls' around the world who enjoy sex, seek experiences and relationships, and fail as often as they succeed. Be nicer to them, they don't deserve slut-shaming, embarrassment, or your hypocritical pronouncements of their moral deficiencies. --- Carrie

- - -

The first time I had sex I was fifteen, a high-school freshman. Two weeks later, everyone knew me as 'Loose Girl'. It was bullshit, typical slut-shaming from the people, mostly boys, who would have killed to have sex with me. I didn't know that then, and the bullying crushed me. I heard whispers and shouts as they embarrassed me, isolated me from friends, made me feel very guilty, even sick, for having spent one night with a guy I wanted to date, a guy who immediately told his friends and joined the crowds that called me 'Loose Girl.' Looking back now after many years of life and sexual experiences, I no longer feel ashamed, and I've adopted the derogatory nickname as my own.

My real name is Carrie. I'm forty-five now, and though I've certainly put on pounds in the years since I was fifteen, I still hold my own with the other woman I know. I never married, never had children, though at times I wanted to do both, and a few times, I came close. I'll get to those details later.

I live now in Denver, Colorado, but my story starts out in Killeen, Texas, a crappy place during a crappy decade to be in Texas, as if there ever was a good decade to be in Texas.

My first time came about after a trip with friends to a small, private lake on one of the older girl's property. The lake wasn't much of a lake, just a large pond, really, but we could swim and leap from the rope swing, a small sandy area giving us room to spread out and soak in the sun.

It was a Friday evening when seven of us arrived to play in the water and camp out nearby. I had tied my long, dark-red hair back in a ponytail, wore a simple black dress with my bikini underneath. I was a virgin, had never done more than kissed a guy once, and I was certainly eager to see and do things that brought thrills to my body whenever I imagined them.

There were five girls and two guys swimming and playing in the lake. One of the guys, he went by the nickname 'Brown' even though his real name was 'Harold.' He was a good-looking sixteen-year old, tall, slender, rich tanned skin that I really wanted to touch. I'd known him for several years, been friends off and on, nothing more, and I had no expectations that night, though I admit to wondering what might happen.

One of the other girls, Fawn, had managed to get ahold of a case of cheap beer, and the seven of us drank and swam and got loose. 'Loose.' I didn't know how appropriate that term would be for what happened later.

Brown tossed me around playfully, and I let him, enjoying the attention, the way his arms felt strong as they held my waist and threw me out in the water. I laughed and pushed him, waited until he grabbed me again and repeated the toss. He wore a dark bathing suit, no shirt, and I loved when his chest brushed mine as he picked me up. Brown smiled at me, the others around us playing nearby.

On one throw, my leg brushed his body and I felt his hard cock pressing out in his shorts. It was just a single, quick touch, but it had me tingling and wanting to feel it again. Twice more I managed to sweep my leg along his groin, his dick hard each time. The last time, I let my leg linger just a few seconds, and I felt his body move into me, rubbing his bulging shorts against me before tossing me aside.

The next time he picked me up, I didn't rub his hardon with my leg, but he planted a light kiss on my neck. Just a playful kiss, but I liked it and when I tried to tackle him moments later, I planted a kiss of my own.

The night went on like that. Brown and I traded innocent signs that we liked each other, and by the time everyone else had settled into their tents for the night, we were the only two left by our small fire. We talked a bit, awkwardly, feeling each other out. He sat close to me on the wooden bench after grabbing us each a cold can of beer.

After a long sip, I looked at Brown and caught his eye, and the next thing I knew, my lips were accepting his kiss. Awkward, probably my fault, but I liked it and wanted more. I threw my hands around Brown's shoulders, swung a leg around his body and leaned in. We crashed together in that moment, unhooking our restraints. My hands moved over his shirtless chest, his back, his smooth, strong stomach. His found the clasp on my bikini top and unhooked it, his fingers quickly running over my breasts.

I know now that our foreplay was quick and moved on too fast, but in that moment, we just went with it. I sucked on his neck as his hands ran lower, down to my legs, my thighs, my inner thighs. He stopped before his fingers pressed against my wetness. We kissed, his hands moved again, drawing down my bottoms and exposing my pussy to the cool night air.

Brown laid me back, moved over top of me, and I saw his penis out, hard, smooth dark skin along his shaft. I didn't think about it at the time, but he was probably about six inches, medium thickness. It looked big then compared to my little puss. I knew how big my puss was. I'd studied it often in a mirror.

He brought the tip of his cock to my labia and I froze, squeaked, “Condom?”

Brown hesitated only a moment before grunting, “yeah.”

He rose off while I shivered, nerves on edge, the weight of what was about to happen making me feel light and a bit distant. I watched myself from afar, on my back on the bench, legs parted and waiting. I didn't tell him it was my first time, to go slow, didn't know if it would hurt like I'd heard it would, wondered if I'd bleed, if I'd faint, if I'd cum quickly.

Brown returned with a condom and tore into the wrapper. I watched nervously as he rolled it over his penis, stroked himself a couple of times, and remounted my body. I looked up as his cock found my virgin hole, and without warning, he tore through my hymen.

I wanted to scream it hurt so bad. I was overwhelmed, unable to speak or wail or cry out. Brown slammed through my barrier as he pounded against me. It was almost savage how hard he penetrated me. It hurt and I couldn't think straight enough to try to stop his thrusts.

My painful cry did nothing to slow him. Brown pulled back and slammed in again. My puss burned with each movement, each time his flesh slipped along my channel, my torn maidenhood cried out in anger and pain.

It wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't rape. I want to be clear about that. I never told him to stop, to wait, to give me a minute. I gave him no signs of my pain except perhaps on my face, and having watched myself in a mirror many times when I came, I suspected my pleasure face looked a lot like when I was pained. My mouth hung open in a voiceless scream, my body held still as he fucked me.

It probably only lasted 30 seconds but it felt like hours as Brown slammed in and out of my tight hole, his cock felt enormous in my young body. He humped me hard, too hard, much too hard, and it was thankfully over quickly. He grunted as he fucked me, ground against me three, four times, then growled as he released inside the condom.

I felt nothing but exhaustion, pain, a throbbing need to get off my back. Nothing that we'd done had been pleasurable since the moment he took off my bottoms. My first time was over, and I felt a bit sick as Brown pulled out of me, tore off the condom holding his warm cum, and tossed the rubber into the woods.

Brown looked down at me, panting. I was bleeding bad, managed to slowly close my strained thighs. I wonder what I looked like to him in that moment. A hot lover? An injured girl? Disgusting? Whatever it was, he took two steps back, turned around, then grunted back a “Goodnight” in my direction.

I sat shivering a few minutes, naked, trying to process things. I was overwhelmed with guilt and fear for what I'd done. It had come on so quickly, been so raw, and not the kind of 'raw' that I came to enjoy later in my life. There'd been no moment where Brown cared about my pleasure, and I wanted to know desperately what I'd done wrong to make him treat me that way, to leave without a kiss or a kind word.

I finally looked down between my legs. Viscous blood coated my thighs, had been smeared over my dark-red pubes, on my stomach, down one leg. My vagina throbbed in pain, and my insides felt like jelly.

I stumbled into my clothes, not knowing what else to do. My towel was nowhere in sight. I put on the swimsuit, then dug a pair of dark sweats out of my overnight bag. I put those on, too. I shook with each movement, traumatized, uncertain. I regretted already what I'd given to Brown, though only later would I feel the full impact of that decision.

It wasn't supposed to be like that. It was supposed to be soft, fun, to feel good. I knew I might bleed the first time, might hurt, but the boy in my fantasies had always understood, gone slow, made it feel good with his movements.

I'd discovered masturbation a couple of weeks after hair started growing around my puss when I was about eleven. I masturbated a lot, knew a lot about my body, what felt good, what I wanted more of, less of. I made myself cum a thousand times before that night and I had no idea my first time wouldn't include my own orgasm.

Instead, Brown pounded me for thirty seconds and blew his load whether I was enjoying it or not. I didn't hate him, not yet. I still wanted to be with him, wondered if he'd be my boyfriend after I fucked him, wondered what I did to make him run off too quickly, wondered if the next time would be better.

Next time. Looking back, I see how quickly I looked out for a 'next time.' Even the trauma of the first time had not destroyed my interest. I blamed myself for how it had turned out, not Brown. He may not have known better, even if I did. Or thought I did. Whichever it was, I craved the attention, the feel of skin-on-skin, even the knowledge that another person had seen and touched me down there.

That night I found my towel and put it under me as I lay on my sleeping bag. I stared at the top of the tent in the dark, body trembling less, pure exhaustion taking over. I couldn't sleep at first, my mind racing, searching endlessly for answers, cycling over the fears, the regrets, the pain in my vagina.

I didn't cry, it wasn't that sort of emotional state. I knew I had wanted it, wanted to have sex with Brown. So, we had sex. And it was awful. So awful that I blamed myself for being bad at it. Bad at it! A fifteen-year old girl worrying about being bad at it. Everyone was bad at it at fifteen, boy or girl. Brown was worse, I thought. I knew enough from watching porn scenes on a stolen VHS tape to make him feel good. I'd have gladly sucked him first, why hadn't he wanted that? Why didn't he lick me first? Why didn't he even bother to check that I was wet?

Still, I blamed myself for a while, though I certainly don't any more. Being a fifteen-year old girl, after an experience like that, is a whirlwind of intense and conflicting emotions that could be better described as a tornado from Wonderland. I relived each moment, judged my actions, my emotions, sought answers for what had gone wrong. I found few, but eventually, I found sleep.