Firsts

A Story by Liz

Perhaps this is letting go

There was that awkwardness, of course, that comes the first time a boy with knobby fingers fumbles at the strap of your bra, or the button of your jeans. There's that giggling and shaking with fright that comes as you help him and do it yourself, without even thinking if you're ready or not. And then of course there's the embarrassment because what if he realizes that you've not shaved in a few days? And what if you're not normal? Because no matter how much they say they will, no info-for-teens website will tell you anything about what it's actually going to be like when fingers that aren't your own touch that strange, hidden place for the first time.

And the awkwardness continues as you fake a moan because even though he hasn't found the right place yet, it's what the girls in the pornos do so there must be something to it.

And at the time you think it's endearing and you think this must be what love is and you feel safe and comfortable and taken care of and look at you, you're letting a boy touch you and hold you and kiss you and this bunk bed of your's now has so many memories.

But after the fact, after the blocked calls and the love letters being used as coasters and to mop up spilled juice, after you've found the last sock of his shoved into the corner of your bed, after you're able to look at that drawing he made for you and you don't cry anymore and you instead smile at the memories, after all that, you realize that maybe humans weren't meant to have only one lover. And there will only be one first lover and maybe you'll always remember his lips when you're kissing those of another and maybe he will creep into your dreams every now and then, and you'll cherish the experience and the joy and you'll hold it with you without having to carry it's weight anymore.

And thank god for that.