A Virgin Wants to Learn to Write

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This little story is pormotion … Whoops! That was an entirely unintentional typo! Didn’t you also read “pornotion”? Hmm! Nice new word, maybe an inkling of porn. This story is. I’ll start over. (Something like that happens in the story and is a pivotal event for my virgin.)

This little story is promotion for Literotica’s articles about how to write better. Who needs them, reads them, you might ask; I’m here to read about people doing it. Right, that is also how I started. Then I got curious about submitting some of the stories I had been writing for my own pleasure and started checking out the process, reading the Q&As and finding out what could not be submitted. I also discovered that lots of authors should have read the many excellent articles about how to write.

It isn’t likely they are going to change their ways just from people complaining in comments about spelling, grammar, punctuation; nor is it likely that they would find my views, if posted in the Reviews & Essays category. Maybe, however, they and other prospective authors will find them in this story.

I owe special thanks to Selena Kitt, Whispersecret, Jengarnish and Teenage Venus for inspiring the sexual content of this story, but also to the many authors who have made the effort to write articles to help other authors.

The articles mentioned in quotation marks can be accessed by entering in the Firefox or Google search box: .com/s/… with the title of the article, leaving out punctuation marks and separating the words with a hyphen, and typing “and” for an ampersand (&). For example:

“How to Pleasure a Lady – & Yourself” would be entered:


But wait till you get to that article in the story.


Betty-Jo grew up in a very small community in the Deep South. She had a double name because that is still common down there – like those of my two grade school girlfriends.

Even in the 21st century, it was the kind of place William Faulkner could have described. Everyone – I mean, EVERYONE – went to church on Sunday, and the choice was between the fundamentalist Protestant one and the very small Roman Catholic one, which was a lot more conservative than those in cities with larger parishes. In its little diaspora, it couldn’t be more liberal than the “competition.”

Betty-Jo had no problem with that. She went to Sunday school, like all the kids she knew, who were a little curious about what their few RC classmates did. When she was twelve, in the sixth grade, she “graduated” to the youth group that met Sunday evenings. That was nice, older girls and boys, but she was still flat as a board, like a couple of her classmates, but not all of them.

But she discovered that she had a few pubic hairs, and her mother also did. Betty-Jo was surprised, since she didn’t know anything about puberty and certainly had not seen any pictures – heaven forbid! – of a person with hairs down there. There was no sex-ed in her school.

Her mother sat her down for a very embarrassing conversation, embarrassing for them both. Betty-Jo learned that one day she would bleed “down there” – not just once! And that it was about having babies when she grew up, after she got married, of course. She was still so innocent as to ask: How?”

Then her mother was more embarrassed than Betty-Jo, very embarrassed! She couldn’t think of anything else to say:

“He sticks it in you.”


Her mother is terribly flustered; her daughter, didn’t even know what was boys’ pants!

[I’ll save the reader and myself and Betty-Jo’s mother’s from her attempt to explain what is in boys’ pants.]

Betty-Jo only understood that it was something that could stick in her. Things that can stick are unpleasant, painful. That had something to do with having babies? She thought that getting married to someone she loved and having babies was supposed to be the ultimate – not that she knew that word.

Her mother had not, of course, told her that it could feel good for “him” to stick “it” into her, down there? But nothing could fit in “there.” But it had to. Curious, she tried to look at it, then using her fingers to “see” what she couldn’t.

[The reader can imagine what Betty-Jo discovered to her surprise. 😉 I’ll omit the details, just say that eventually she had her first period.]

When she was fourteen, she had to start wearing a bra. Her mother didn’t seem pleased that she had to, but was very insistent that she did. Of course, she was even more curious about boys, thinking that they must also have hair down there, like all she now had. How to satisfy her curiosity? The town’s small library, where she was a regular visitor?

She wasn’t going to ask the librarian, that was for sure. Pictures? Art books? Luckily, the few were in an area where she couldn’t be seen, since she was blushing, and blushing more when she found a survey of classical art. Plenty of paintings of nude illegal bahis women, most of them overweight, but nude, but all with something covering them down there, but she knew what that looked like. Nude men, too, well-built – Mars, Adam, Hercules, even Christ – but their “things” were also all hidden by something. Couldn’t be very large from the small area covered. Of course, there were some little boys shown entirely naked: Amor, “putti,” baby Jesus, but they weren’t what she wanted to see.

But then she discovered pages with photos of statues! Completely nude men and women, naked! She hardly dared look, but she did, looking first at the women. Funny, none of them had hair, but they all had nicer figures than the overweight women in the paintings, and the breasts of some of them weren’t larger than hers. Pleased, she held one, smiling to herself, then glancing to be sure that no one could see her.

While concentrating on the women, she had, of course, had glimpses of the men, but now – blushing again – she really looked at them. People really had statues like that? Big ones in public? David was standing in front of building, twice life-size! And naked as a jaybird! “It” didn’t stick out, of course, and didn’t look bigger than one of his fingers; maybe it would fit. He also had hair, not as much as she had. But he didn’t just have a “thing;” there seemed to be a sack of skin with round things in it.

All the other nude men had the same, some of them with bigger “things,” but not sticking out, and some, whose “thing” had been broken off. Betty-Jo could understand that, just making her wonder more about the ones that weren’t. Or had those been sticking out – easier to break off?

She had been too long in a corner of the library with no books that she would normally read. She put the book back in the shelf and left the area, grabbing the first book that looked like something she would normally choose and checked it out.

[It would be fun here to tell that it was a novel full of sex, but the library didn’t have any books like that. Betty-Jo had now, however, something to fantasize about.]

With her new knowledge, she spent the next few days in school looking at boys’ crotches.

Betty-Jo was the best scholar in her class, which didn’t help her social life in high school. She read everything she could find and had much more intellectual interests than were common in the community. Despite her curiosity about boys/men and their penises – she had discovered the word for their “things” – she finished high school without getting closer to one.

Betty-Jo was the only person in her class who was going on to junior college, the highest expectation of further education in the community. She was going to have to know how to use a computer. Her parents bought her a used laptop, and the librarian, a young spinster, agreed to help her.

Betty-Jo thought that she wanted to be teacher or librarian, the only female professions she knew. She loved books and writing, hoping that after junior college she could major in English at the state university.

Early in September, her parents drove her to the junior college, proud that she was continuing her education, but apprehensive about her being away on her own. Their admonitions were unnecessary; she was just as apprehensive, agreeing to write each week.

She moved into her room in the all girls dorm.

She was pleased to discover that she held up well with her fellow students, including guys who were also interested in literature and English history, a contrast to all the boys back home. A couple of them were also interested in her, and she, in them. But they are just as nerdy as she was, having also missed out on the social experiences of their less intellectual classmates. That made their company pleasant and harmless, easy to write home about.

Some of the less academically oriented students were casting off whatever constraints they had felt at home. For Betty-Jo and her new friends, that was both an abomination (their upbringing), but also titillatingly arousing to discover that other eighteen year-olds could carry on like that. She and her friends didn’t. By then, she assumed that boys also satisfied themselves the way she did. She did.

One day in the library, alone with her laptop, she began a search for “literature 19th century.” But she mistyped: “literot”. Immediately Google completed her entry: “.com” Before she realized her error, she clicked on the first website.

[Okay, I know this wouldn’t happen, but it could, and I need it for the story.]

She started, staring at the page, recognizing her error, reading:

“You must be over 18 years old to enter this site. If you are under 18 or do not wish to view adult content, you must exit now. Adults Only.”

She was over eighteen, an adult, reading further:

“Welcome to Literotica, your FREE source for the hottest in erotic fiction and fantasy.”

She knew illegal bahis siteleri the word “erotic,” blushing at the recognition that she did, wondering where she had seen it. Her eyes continued to read. Did she want to read further? She shouldn’t! But she wasn’t a little girl at home any more, and the libertarian, new classmates probably knew all about it. Maybe she should know more; one day she might want to, need to. She scrolled down: “SITE INDEX,” “Stories & Pics” and even worse: “Sleazy Dream”! Was that the kind she had?

She hesitated and then clicked on it. Shit! A screen full of naked people! She clicked back off it. “Stories & Pics” couldn’t be like that. Click. It wasn’t, thank goodness! “Site Contents,” just text.

She scrolled down: Erotic Stories! That word again, and then …! What was Anal, BDSM, and all the other topics? “First Time – Memories & stories of people’s first times.”

At least, she could identify with that, but they all had had their first time. Blushing, she scrolled back up, still disturbed by the blue part of the screen: “erotic stories” repeated all across and down her screen. Shit, she was going all wet! And she hadn’t yet read anything arousing – erotic.

She clapped her laptop shut and returned to her room. Did she want to dare to look at the website again? She didn’t have to click further, just browse the site contents page. She did. People wrote stories about all that?! She hardly knew what some of the topics were. Scrolled back up. “Writer” Resources” sounded safe and interesting; she liked to write. Another long page of titles – safe. And most of them sounded like things that could interest her, nothing about sex, erotic. Oh, a few, several, but she didn’t have to open them. Back to the top: “ESSAYS & HOW-TO’S, These articles are sure to improve your writing.”

Sure, she thought, even people perverse enough to write about sex need to use the language properly. She wasn’t going to open the first article: “GUIDE FOR AMATEUR WRITERS OF EROTICA,” but the second one had to be harmless: “Strunk and White’s Elements of Style,” and also the next one: “The Columbia Guide to Standard American English Usage.” They both had to be safe.

She clicked on Strunk and White and was pleased to find a table of contents that seemed to address any question she could have. The other link wasn’t what she had expected, but also safe – no sex.

Then she ventured to open the first link: GUIDE FOR AMATEUR WRITERS OF EROTICA.

Betty-Jo was relieved that it also was just about correct usage of the language, obviously directed at the amateur writer. She was pleased to read basics that she already knew, and then about writing fiction. Of course, even erotic stories were just a form of fiction, the same general rules applying. Oooh! Oh! But the difference between erotica and pornography! Blushing, she read on, just a short paragraph. She wasn’t going to write about either.

She was relieved that the next topic was “Story,” nothing about sex and even mentioning Homer’s Iliad. Oh, but the second paragraph mentioned the “good bits” – eroticism. She read on. The next topic told her not to write about something she didn’t know. No way she could, not about sex, accepting that the article was directed at persons who wanted to write about it. But then she read that if she had to write about it, not to stint on research. Research? Reading erotic stories so that she could write about them? Not likely! But just to know what it could be like – one day?

She read on, scrolling faster when she saw words like sperm, vagina, and that four-letter word for it. How did she know the word?! She scrolled on, safer topics, and then clicked back, seeing the long list of other articles to help writers, some of them obviously about grammar and punctuation.

She wasn’t going to open any more of them, but feeling more comfortable with the subject, she read down the list, chuckling at the title “26DD vs. 36B.” Her bra size was 34B. She held a breast, recalling that she had the first time she had found pictures of nudes in the library at home. The first time: she had looked at the book again, and again. She suddenly thought that there could be more – better – books in the college library. She only chuckled, now without blushing, as she scrolled past articles that were obviously about how to write about sex. Lots of “how to” articles, and she recalled that that was a general category. Maybe she would dare to read a couple of them, she thought, but not today.

That night in bed, she pleasured herself. She still had never had an orgasm, but it felt good, and doing it reduced her compunctions about looking at more on that website. One day she would have to know what it was all about, and if “he” expected that she had more experience than she did? Okay, St. Paul had said that thinking about was a bad as doing it, but that was 2000 years ago. Still with a slightly guilty conscience, she decided to postpone her canlı bahis siteleri adventure until Saturday afternoon, promising herself that she would do all her homework Friday evening.

After lunch on Saturday, it occurred to her that it would be best to write home before she did something that she knew she shouldn’t – at least in the context of thinking about home. It was a shorter that usual letter. She even went and mailed it, before she opened her laptop.

She was still apprehensive about looking at articles that were obviously about sex, and the titles that popped up when she clicked on “How To” didn’t make her feel better. Some were obviously just about writing, but she wasn’t there to read them. She clicked back and found “Reviews & Essays.”

Click. Hmm? Did she really want to do this? She scrolled past the random articles and discovered “Reviews & Essays — Hall of Fame.”

What qualified as “hall of fame?” Strange list of titles. “99 Things That Make Me Wet” She knew what the author was talking about, but 99 things? Betty-Jo only knew one, when she had her fingers down there, well, also that time when she had first clicked on Literotica, but 99 things?!

And then there was a title: “35 Personal Turn-Ons” – by the same author, who must be a woman.

Betty-Jo clicked on her name, Selena_Kitt. Wow! An endless list of stories, and then many poems. Did someone have to be over-sexed to be so prolific and count so many thing that aroused her?!

Betty-Jo clicked back to the list and scrolled further, then finding that she could click for more hall of fame articles. This was too much! But she clicked on the second page of the Toplist. More of the same; she shouldn’t be here doing this! The third and fourth pages; no she really shouldn’t be! Ah, “Ramblings of a 20 Year Old Virgin.” Someone like her, and two years older and still a virgin. She could click on that, figuratively and on her laptop.

The virgin sure knew a lot more about sex than Betty-Jo did! Getting and giving “oral sex!” Doing something with her mouth, and “him” doing something with his? She hadn’t, that virgin, but she knew about it. And with another girl? She hadn’t done that either, but apparently girls did – what?

At least, the girl was still a virgin and had misgivings about doing all the things that she apparently knew so much about.

Betty-Jo found her sympathetic, but did she, herself, need to knew all about that before she did anything? At least, the girl had admitted that she masturbated a lot, like she did. Betty-Jo hadn’t known the word, but it was obvious what it meant, and the girl said that she always had an orgasm that way. What was that? Apparently more than just the good feeling Betty-Jo knew.

Was she really going to read more? What? Not any nasty stories! She clicked back to “How To:” there, at least, were articles just about writing. Oooh, no, those “how-tos” were under “Writer’s Resources;” she was seeing a screen full of titles that were mostly about sex. If she didn’t understand a title, it must be. Okay, a couple were about writing: “How To Make Characters Talk,” “A Checklist for a Good Editor,” and she already knew the different between “It’s and Its,” but knew that some of her fellow students still didn’t. She clicked on the title to see how the article confirmed what she knew.

It did, but then she read “Joe’s cock,” Jane’s luscious tits,” “lesbian’s dildo,” “wives’ pussies!” What was a dildo? Stories that told about two wives?! Forget about their private parts! Betty-Jo unconsciously crossed her legs.

For a several lines, nothing bothered her, but then:

“Betty sucked the cock. Its tip touched the back of her throat, making her gag …”

Betty-Jo almost did, at seeing her own name and then in that the context. Girls sucked boys’ cocks?! All the way in their mouths?! She squeezed her thighs together. It couldn’t get worse; she read on. It didn’t, much to her relief.

She clicked back. The list of top “how-to” articles now looked less threatening, but she still had a reflex to squeeze her thighs together. Was she going to read more, risk seeing more about sex? Or should she? She shouldn’t, but maybe she should. One day she would need to know, and it shouldn’t be like that first kiss. Well, he didn’t know either, so that wasn’t too embarrassing, but if everyone else knew all about sex, shouldn’t she know more than she did. Her thighs clamped together again.

She scrolled down, her thighs twitching as she read blowjob, “Worshiping His Cock,” blowjob again. Was that sucking his cock? She blushed at her having thought the words. “How to Eat Pussy Like a Champ.”

“Oh my Go… gosh!!” she exclaimed, as her thighs clutched together again, This time, she was fully conscious that they were squeezing her own pussy. Boys did it to girls, like that girl sucking his cock?! She squeezed her pussy with her thighs again, feeling that it was getting moist.

Did she want to, dare to read what it was all about? Wicked! But wouldn’t she, sooner or later? She certainly wasn’t going to do that to a boy, but if he wanted to do it to her? Nasty! Down there with his mouth?!! But apparently some did. She squeezed her wet pussy again.

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