It’s Ally’s birthday, but there’s no party. She says she’s sick of all her friends, that all they ever do now is talk about boys. “It’s so boring,” she says. I tell her that we should watch a movie at my house.
“I have one in mind.” she says. “You’ll like it.”
She arrives around 9:00 p.m. wearing a big sweatshirt with the hood over her head—prime sneaking-out attire. She seems nervous, constantly looking over her shoulder. A car rushes past and she pushes her way into my house.
She pulls out a box with a grainy black and white image of a madman on it. Eraserhead, it reads.
“Have you ever seen this?” Ally asks.
“No.”
The stark contrast on the screen puts the room in an eerie glow. I keep double-checking to see if the shadows in the corners are cast from the television or something else. I scoot closer to Ally and pull a blanket over us.
From quick glances at the movie, I can tell that I probably would like it, but that interest quickly fades when I slip my hand under her shirt, resting on the bare skin of her waist. She wiggles closer, filling any space between us with her body. We become twin lightning bolts. I try to hide my excitement by pulling away but she keeps pushing. We pretend to watch the movie.
I sweep my hand up her side, brushing my fingers against the bottom of her ribcage. My hands are sweaty, and my pulse pounds. I curse myself for not being smoother. When she makes no attempt to stop me, I decide to take the plunge and move higher up her body. I almost make it up to her boobs when I chicken out and end up in her armpit. My sweaty hand rests under her arm. She giggles and tells me that I’m tickling her. I retreat back to her ribcage where my thumb can still scrape the bottom of her bra. Ally’s breathing hard. Her stomach muscles are tense too.
I suddenly have to sneeze, and I take my hand out from under her shirt to cover my mouth. She takes the opportunity to turn around. We face each other.
We make out.
My hand moves back under her shirt. It finds confidence. I move up past her ribs so I’m cupping her padded bra, and try to enter from below and above but just end up crumpling the material in my hand.
I relax, lick the inside of her mouth some more.
My fingers slip under the wire until I’m skin to skin. She’s colder than I though she’d be; no amount of pillow-holding could’ve prepared me for the softness of her flesh. The bra presses my hand hard against her breast. Once I’m in I can’t really do very much but hold it.
She gets rid of her bra with some amazing trick that doesn’t require her to take the sweatshirt off.
Back to making out.
With no bra, I’m free to roam the territory. I move from breast to breast, cupping the sides. Kneading them. I even pinch her. She lets out a little yelp when I do this, but reaches up to grab my head and run her fingers through my hair. I take this as passion and grind harder onto her leg.
I hold her face and mess her hair, like she did for me. Hopefully she appreciates this passion.
My hand is now at her waist. My pinky feels around under the elastic of her pajama pants, lifting it up, inviting the rest of the fingers in. They all follow until they reach the beginning of a small patch of coarse hair. They stop.
“Um …” Ally begins.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Never mind.” She closes her eyes and pulls my head to hers.
In her pants, I hesitate longer at the hairline and casually buy time by sweeping my hands around her thighs in a U-motion. She rocks her hips in anticipation so I move down.
Ally groans deeply and shivers.
“Careful,” she says.
I’m careful.
While I’m doing this, Ally reaches down. She pulls my belt loose, pinching my belly with the latch. Then she opens the button and unzips the fly. When she slides my boxers down, I’m exposed and volatile without the comfort of fabric. She glances down and looks back up at me with what I hope is approval. She wraps all her fingers around me.
We begin a rhythm.
Breathing hard in each other’s faces, we don’t even pretend to make out anymore. I know this is a moment that I should be noting every detail. It’s hard to concentrate though, and my mind becomes light. A small pressure builds. My toes curl. I desperately reach for Ally’s mouth with mine.
A door from somewhere in the house opens and shuts.
I throw the blanket over us. Ally grabs for her bra on the floor. Shuffling footsteps pass behind us. The kitchen light turns on.
Dad opens the refrigerator and grabs something to drink. He’s in his pajamas and doesn’t make any attempt to acknowledge us. He settles on some old milk, drinks, burps, and returns to bed.
We put on our clothes and watch the rest of Eraserhead without any more interruptions. It actually turns out to be pretty scary.
***
We wake up around 5:00 a.m. and Ally kisses my cheek before she goes home. I go back to sleep. I forget to tell her happy birthday.