She plopped onto the corner of the strange boy’s bed and crossed her skinny legs. Her eyes flitted about his room. How would she describe it all to Shelley? A poster of Megan Fox? She’d leave that out. Dusty ribbons on a broken bookshelf? They’d be glittering football trophies. And that videogame pistol on his desk? It would be a weapon of uncertain caliber. Maybe a .38.
She glanced at the desperado now. How would she paint him for Shelley? Shelley’s boys were dark and mysterious. This boy was pale and earnest. Hmm… her eyes darted to the gun… he’d be edgy and dangerous, of course. For Shelley, he’d be a gangster.
She smiled at this thought, and, although she wasn’t even looking at him, he took it as a signal. He eased her back onto the bed and tugged down her jeans and panties.
She was startled. Shelley said they always went straight for the breasts, pawing them numb, before trying anything else. And they hadn’t even kissed.
This one was all about his mission down below. He was touching her now, gently. For a moment, she felt something, a tingling building towards a tremor. She made a little gasp.
Then, he stood. She heard his belted pants hit the floor, a drawer open and something tear. He must be putting on a condom, thank God.
How big was he? she wondered. What would she say about it to Shelley?
She tilted her head forward and moistened her lips. According to Shelley, it should come rocketing towards her face right about now. She’d need to look fast.
A sudden poke made her realize she wasn’t going to see it at all. He was pushing directly in. She hesitated a heartbeat and opened her legs.
Now his hands moved up her shirt and onto her breasts. Now his mouth rooted towards hers. Now it hurt.
She’d tell Shelley he was big. He certainly felt big.
They kissed. It was sloppy, but she knew what she’d say to Shelley. She’d say, “he’s the best kisser ever.” It’s what Shelley had said after her first time. It’s exactly what Shelley had said, even though she and Shelley had spent months practicing together, perfecting the art of the kiss, or so she’d thought.
Then, it was over. He shuddered and collapsed awkwardly atop her. She wriggled to free herself, and he sat up, head down, face averted.
She felt an unexpected prick of regret, and had to remind herself that this was what she’d wanted. Shelley could never again flash that pitying smile and call her “still-a-virgin.” She had her own sex story.
She was thinking about this and what Shelley would say and pulling up her panties when her eyes flashed to the strange boy again. He turned to look at her. Biting his lower lip, he tried to smile.
“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry I couldn’t last so long. It’s just, you’re so incredibly hot, I…” He stopped talking, but kept watching her.
She stared at him sitting there, still naked, shrinking, on the edge of his bed. A faint aftershock from her nascent tremor rippled through her.
She considered the boy’s crooked, hopeful smile.
She decided that she liked it.
For the first time, without even thinking of Shelley, she smiled back at him.
L.E. Elder is a first grade teacher. His stories for grown-ups have appeared in Ideomancer, AlienSkin Magazine and here.