The Three Basic Varieties of Virgin


There are three basic varieties of virgin.  Most virgins are itching to lose it, ready to lose it, and it doesn’t take a whole hell of a lot of effort to get them to nod and say “I’m ready” and it’s done.  The easy virgin.
There’s another type, the perennial virgin, and this girl ain’t gonna give it up till she’s said “I Do” and there’s no two ways around it.  She’s keeping her legs closed but good, and unless you’re in it for the long haul you might as well consider that shit a cold case and move the fuck on.
But the best?  The most enjoyable virgin to hunt and win?  That’s the one that’s right in the middle—the goldilocks virgin.  Not too hot, not too cold, but just right.  She’s not dying for the chance to spread her legs and have her cherry popped, but she might be persuaded that ‘love’ is an acceptable reason, rather than waiting for marriage.  She won’t sleep with just anyone, but will consent to giving her chastity to ‘the right person’ even if he isn’t sporting that little gold band.
And these virgins are the most delicious, because before they give up the prize they’re likely to experiment with all sorts of other options first, to ‘tide’ herself over or keep the fella sufficiently satisfied.  These goldilocks virgins, true to their name, are willing to try things out and see how they like them.  Because they aren’t willing to jump right to the deflowering, but they are willing to be ‘active’ in a committed relationship; they’re likely to get really good at hand jobs, at oral, and these are the quietly erotic beauties who’re likely to consent to anal—so long as you promise to be gentle.  They are the fatted calf, the Golden Fleece, the little ring you reach for at the carousel in summertime.
Grey had recently had a string of easy virgins, and they’d been great, been fun, but he was hungry for a change of pace.  But the kind of virgin he wanted wasn’t so easy to sniff out.  It took care and patience and could often be a frustrating waste of time if the lady walked that razor’s edge between perfect and prude.  He was craving the thrill of a good, long, measured hunt.  The satisfying, delayed gratification kind of stalk, the courting and the romance and the getting-her-to-fall-in-love kind of experience.  Nothing was quite as rewarding as a job well done with one of those goldilocks creatures.
And, he wasn’t sure yet, but he believed he may have just found a perfect candidate.  He’d run into her at his Uncle’s wine store when he’d popped in to pick up something for a date that night. 
She was adorable.  Young and Latina and slim but curvy, achingly innocent but undeniably attracted to him.  She’d been so easily flustered by his charm it was endearing.  So skittish it was arousing.  He’d thought about her all week.  About her perfectly high, round ass, her full breasts, and that amazing pair of lips.  He liked the warm caramel-mocha color of her skin and the thick, fat, dark curls framing that wide-eyed little face. 
But.  Was she going to yield results?  He went back-and-forth with Catholics, and this girl had definitely been a Catholic.  Some of the best lays he’d ever had were repressed little Catholic hellions.  But they also ran high numbers in the ain’t-gonna-happen-not-without-the-vows category.
He decided he’d need to suss-it-out.  He needed to revisit the wine shop and test the waters.  Though it was tricky, though there wasn’t an exact science, Grey had become quite skilled at sizing up virgins, administering his own personal litmus test, and, with some degree of accuracy, predicting whether he’d be wasting his efforts or not.
So he’d made a second visit to the wine shop— to bait and tease the virgin shop girl until he’d figured her out.  A ridiculous amount of money later he walked out grinning.  She was perfect and he’d be seeing her that very night for a first date.

And Grey Delaney was really fucking great at first dates...


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