I’m just going to say it straight out.
Here’s the truth: It was my first time. Not just my first time with you. My first time ever. I’m so sorry.
On that night, we walked down the path along the river with our basket and you sang that Dobie Gray song, “All I Want to Do Is Make Love to You.” I grinned at you, like it was no big deal, making love, even though it was.
I knew it wasn’t your first time. We were seniors for god’s sake. You assumed I’d had lots of boyfriends, loads and loads of sex, piles of it, so many guys I didn’t even remember them all. Didn’t people tell you I was a slut because I’d dated a couple older guys?
Maybe I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to make a big deal. I wanted it to be normal. I didn’t want you to keep saying, “Is it okay?” every two minutes, or “Does it hurt?” And maybe, if I’m being real, I didn’t want you to be able to say that you were my first if we ever broke up.
So we packed our cheese and our grapes and our cheap-ass wine and our blanket and our two condoms in a basket, and we made our way down the trail at sunset. The sunset was all purples and bright orange.
The gnats were going crazy—they kept going up your nose. You kept pinching at it, making that funny gargle sound. And the mosquitos were feasting on you too. We kept having to smack at them. They loved your scent. (I do too.) Remember how we were giggling?
We pulled off our clothes, fast, kind of avoided looking at each other. It was really happening. I was nervous.
“Come over here,” you said.
The way you kissed me. You pressed both hands on my cheeks. Your lips wrapped around mine. My whole body unzipped.
We dropped down onto the blanket, but it was all rough wool and itchy. I sat on top of your legs, so that only my knees were touching the scratch wool. You undid my bra.
“Boing,” you said.
I slid off your boxers.
“Boing,” I said.
You didn’t know it was my first time, but you were slow and careful, kind of like how you are with everything, even when you wash your truck. You put on the condom, like you’d had practice doing it. Once it was on, you didn’t go right to it. Instead, your fingers tickled down my body. And then your tongue. And you kept saying, “Is this okay?” And I kept saying, “Yes.” Finally, I couldn’t stand it. And I said, “Come on!”
So you did.
It was a little painful, I’ll admit. And after, I hid the blood. Which is kind of shitty. You had this real soft look on your face, the tension drained out. You said it was the best Thanksgiving ever. Thank you, you said. Thank you.
I said, “Thank you.”
And you know how you say we have to be grateful? I did feel grateful. It was real special, having that first time be with you. That’s more than most girls can say. But I should have told you.