I was 17 years old and already working in a store that sold various products—TVs, refrigerators, stoves, etc. My job was in the back of the store, which had access from another street; that's where the merchandise came in. I worked there.

During our lunch break, two other colleagues and I would stand there watching the people go by, waiting for the girls from a nearby school to pass by. One of them would always become more cheerful and agitated whenever she passed, saying a few things to her classmates, and they would all look at me.

One day, she was walking alone on that same sidewalk. I mustered up my courage and went up to her. She was friendly, sweet, and beautiful—Lisa, 16 years old, the daughter of the manager of a major bank in the city.

These encounters ended up becoming frequent; she started walking by on the sidewalk alone, occasionally with at most two colleagues who were walking along, and she would stop so I could talk to her.

I lived with my mother and my siblings; my father was no longer involved in our lives.

From these encounters, which later increased and took place in other parts of the city, we ended up starting a relationship. A casual, no-holds-barred relationship. Soon, we were also meeting at the city's social club, which was one of the meeting points for young people.

The first kiss, accompanied by a tight hug, happened more than a week later, at the club.

So I already knew she'd had a boyfriend before me. I admired him and sometimes mentioned his name and complimented him, but in those compliments she always added, "...he respected me, always wanting to teach me something." At first, I didn't listen, but after a while, I started to understand that she was saying he was very reserved, and I became more forward.

Her apartment was above the bank branch; we would enter from the side of the branch, and there was a staircase, and at the bottom of the stairs, there was a good space for us to talk and hug.

We used to meet at the club; there was always a youth dance party on Saturday afternoons. Afterwards, on the way back, we'd stay there at the foot of the stairs, hugging and touching each other. She let me put my hand everywhere. Several times, I pulled her hand and put it on my hard penis inside my pants. At first, she'd squeeze and let go, but soon she'd be holding it and squeezing.

I soon managed to get her to masturbate me. I'd pull my penis out, and many, many times I came in that little corner, always on my handkerchief.

The most I could do with her was massage her vulva with my fingers through her panties; she would tremble all over. Age and hormones led us to push further and further. One night, standing there, I managed to lift her skirt and put my penis between her thighs; she let me, and I ended up ejaculating there. She immediately sent me away.

That was our usual spot for making out. I repeated the movements of lifting her skirt, and when I went to put my penis between her thighs again, she turned around, facing the wall with her back to me. In seconds, I pulled down her panties and started brushing my penis between her buttocks. She was firm, not even moving. What caught my attention was that she bent over slightly; I understood that she was offering her ass. I stopped brushing and started looking for her anus, which I soon found. I applied pressure, but nothing; my penis kind of bent. She stayed in that position without moving. Several attempts and nothing. I ended up ejaculating on her anus from the outside. Later, some time later, I learned that she was contracting her anus that time.

The routine then became this: to ejaculate between the buttocks. One day, a friend I had in school was talking about it—of course, I didn't say it was with her—he said that you needed lubrication, an ointment, a gel, and even spit worked.

In a huge search for what I could get, I found a small sachet of gel in a sex shop and bought it. We already had the freedom to talk about everything, absolutely everything, so on our way to her house after the club, I showed her the sachet and explained what it was. She gave a short smile but didn't say anything.

It was that Saturday evening, as soon as we started hugging and touching, she turned around, and soon I had my dick out, her panties pulled down almost to her knees, her fingers with gel on her anus, and then on my dick. I touched her and started to push; nothing happened. I told her to relax. She answered softly, "...it's going to hurt," but she relaxed, and I felt it starting to go in.

Holding her by the waist, I managed to get almost all of my dick in, but I also came quickly; the lust was too much. I came inside her anus, then she pulled her panties up, and as usual, she sent me away. I understood her urge to go wash up, something like that.

Later, at home, already in bed thinking, I remembered that she mentioned the pain. At first, I thought maybe a friend mentioned it. Then I wondered if she hadn't already done that.

The relationship continued steadily. I always wanted to eat her pussy, and she… no, no, no, she really wouldn't let me. She'd moan about her ass several times, still complaining a little about the pain, but sometimes I don't even think she felt pain because she didn't say anything. I started using condoms and lube.

One time, I was inside her ass with everything I had. I put my hand on her pussy; it was soaked, super wet. I started rubbing her clit, which was hard and very prominent. She moaned soon after, and I felt my penis being squeezed by her ass, and that's what gave me the most satisfaction because she had orgasmed, contracting.

Always discovering new paths...

The relationship went on for a while, and I started hanging out with her whole group of friends at the club. I became close friends with one of them (Augusto, 19 years old). We started seeing each other and talking often. He had never mentioned my relationship, but one day at the mall, in a café, he brought it up.

He started by complimenting Lisa—beautiful, sweet, polite—and then blurted out, "Did you know she had a boyfriend before you? Carlos, he was in love with her, and when she dumped him, he wanted to kill himself because of you,” he said, laughing.

That's when I found out she had broken up with Carlos because of me.

He said Carlos talked a lot about their relationship, about how she was, didn't let her progress much, and said she was very afraid of getting pregnant. I then became more attentive; he was talking about things that had happened to me. That's when I understood how she knew about pain. Carlos must have slept with her; that's the only way she could know. But I brushed it off; we talked about other things, but he was quite interested in knowing more about her, probably to tell Carlos.

The relationship went strong. I was always in love; she reciprocated, with some jealous scenes on both sides. On my side, because I knew she really enjoyed it. At the club, it also happened; she would ask to dance with one or another of the friends. Since I never danced, I let her, but you could see that the guys were getting too close to her. I confronted her once; she made a face and complained that… it could be with you, but you're slow, you never wanted to dance with me, she insulted me. I never spoke to her about it again. She also showed jealousy when she saw me talking to other female friends.

As time went by, we grew more and more intimate, and we continued dating.

So now we're heading into our second year.