The other night I was kind of stuck on my story so I decided to write something else using the same style of writing that I may or may not be able to integrate into the story:
You remember that first night together. You’d gone outside to look at the stars on the college soccer field. You’d laid out your blanket, laid on top of it and pulled a comforter over the top of both of you. There was a slight chill in the air on that late August night. It was all so new to you, she was the more experienced one.
There was a feverish intensity in all of your movements, over nineteen years of sexual frustration that had been bubbling under the surface was starting to boil over. In hindsight, you aren’t entirely sure about when it happened. You don’t remember how you got from point a) clothed, to point b) naked. In all memories of that evening you’re both completely naked. But at some point that journey had to have taken place. You know you didn’t walk to or from the soccer field wearing nothing but your birthday bests
You do remember the rather sophomoric (was it any small coincidence that you were both sophomores at the time?) fondling and caressing. You remember following her lead, her direction. It may have been your first time but you wanted to please her, you wanted to do it right.
She knew it was your first time, she knew of your inexperience. She had been one of your closest friends the year before. She had opened up and vented to you about her issues with her then-boyfriend, and you had shared the tales of the long distance relationship you’d been in at that point.
You had been the poster-child for late-bloomers. Look it up in the dictionary, and there was your virginal mug. Your first kiss had only been a few months before with an attractive redhead at the Hinsdale Oasis just off of I-294. But that’s another tale for another time. And your partner, she knew all of this. In hindsight there was never any real romantic chemistry between the two of you.
There was a certain level of comfort between the two of you. Neither of you really lit the other’s romantic fire, but at that point you figured you weren’t getting any younger. There’s nothing wrong with stoking the coals between the sheets a bit.
So there you both were, and maybe it was the surreal nature of the experience. Or perhaps the sheer belief that you’d finally reached the culmination of what you’d built up in your mind as the end all and be all of sheer physical pleasure. Maybe it was the disappointment in knowing that while you cared about her, trusted her, and felt truly comfortable with her. You didn’t really love her. But at some point in the experience you realized you had to pee. After a half hour or forty-five minutes of your clumsy fumbling, the two of you threw in the towel, pulled your clothes back on and went back inside.
And well there it is, your first time.
Current Music: Dan Fogleberg - Same Old Lang Syne