Do you remember your first time?
It was her first time too. Her face contorted, a regretfully painful look, but quickly relaxed as her eyes rolled back. You were scared when she bled, but she begged not to stop. How strange it was to be so close to someone, so face-to-face. You thought you knew what intimacy was, until you were inside her and kissing her lips simultaneously. Shhhhh, they’re right underneath us. You never imagined it’d feel so hot.
Do you remember her first time? It was safe because her sister was busy enough with her own boyfriend. You went beneath her skirt, recalling how distracting such a simple piece of pleated, plaid material could be when walking behind her in the hall. She made no sound, and you began to doubt whether she was comfortable anymore.
Do you remember her first time? It was at the end of summer, when the days were getting shorter. You had the windows open, and wafting through the room was the smell of healthy trees and sunset air. Even though the breeze was cool and dry, she was hot and sweating against you on her brother’s bed. You were listening for the swing and slam of the back screen-door, but all you were thinking about was how good it felt to finally touch her bare, sticky skin. There was no nervousness anymore. She trusted you with devotion, as you guided her through her blossoming sexuality.
Do you remember her first time? It was your first time too. You had always wanted to save this for marriage, but you were both caught in the moment, and her dirty mouth wouldn’t stop prodding you. She once told you how she had always imagined being tied up, someone taking this from her by force. It was too late now, and she wanted this as much as you did. Her screams were almost rudely loud in your ear, but there was indication of pain in her voice. Afterward, she had take a moment to collect herself before she could speak, making a remark about how comforting it was to still feel you inside her.
They say that we always remember our first time.
But do they remember you?