I know this is his way of distracting me while at the same time trying to get information from me, so I pretend to give him half of what he wants. Between kisses on his neck, I say, “I don’t talk to my parents.”
Rubbing my back, he asks seriously, “Why not?”
I won’t be deterred this time as I unbutton his shirt, then his shorts. “I just don’t. It’s a long, boring story. They haven’t been there for me.” Sliding my hand down the front of his pants, I look up at him beseechingly. “I promise I’ll tell you about it some other time, but I’ve heard it’s bad form to talk about your parents during sex.”
He flares his nostrils, his eyes drooping as my hand curls around him. It’s the first time I’ve ever made skin-to-skin contact with… it. He’s hard and bigger than I thought he’d be. Not that I thought he was hiding a baby carrot in there, but I’m trying to picture him fitting inside me, considering how many times bigger he is than, say, a tampon. Before I lose my nerve (and his attention), I pull off my t-shirt one-handed. I rub my chest against his and suck on his bottom lip.
“Wibby…”
“Shh… You’re only allowed to talk if it’s dirty. Or you’re moaning,” I say playfully.
To my satisfaction and delight, he grunts what I take as his agreement, and he becomes an active participant in the deed. “God,” he breathes in my ear as he removes my bra. He sounds tortured almost, which I’d feel bad about if I could feel any emotion other than lust. “I can’t say ‘no’ anymore!”
I laugh a little. “Good. I’m… uh… ready. Don’t move. Unless you’re going to take your clothes off, which would be a great help.”
He complies while I reach into my nightstand for a condom. I can’t believe this is really happening. I see my hand close over the foil packet. I watch it pass the packet to Jude, who quickly rips it open and pulls out the rolled-up piece of latex. As he unrolls it down his… oh, gosh! I can’t watch that! Instead, I busy myself removing my clothes, tossing them away.
Jude’s fingers flutter against my belly as he places his hands on my waist. “Are you sure about this?” he asks one last time.
Careful to keep my eyes above waist level, I nod. He pushes me onto my back and guides himself into me slowly. Instinctively, I tense. He stops. “No?”
“Keep going,” I beg. I squeeze his shoulders, gripping them harder as the pressure increases. I’m really scared, suddenly, that this isn’t going to work. We’re not the same size, maybe. I’ve read about people being sexually incompatible, which is one of my biggest arguments against abstinence before marriage. I mean, what if you get to the honeymoon, and the key doesn’t fit into the lock? You can’t just replace the cylinder or grind down the key. And then you’re stuck. For life.
He stops trying to go in, backing out a fraction. “Aaahhh…” I’m trying so hard not to react to the pain, because I don’t want him to give up. I don’t want to fail my first time out. This has to work! And “work” it is. It’s definitely not turning out to be the magical fireworks display I’d envisioned.
“Relax,” he says softly, withdrawing completely.
“No! Where are you going?” I can’t believe he’s abandoning me already.
Touching his nose to mine, he smiles. “Nowhere. But you need to relax some more.”
“I am. I will. I promise. Try again.”
“What’s your rush?” He kisses my nose, then my mouth, slowly, deeply, gently. I arch my back as he kisses my breasts, then my belly. I thread my fingers through his hair and play with it as his mouth travels further and further down my body. When he kisses one of my inner thighs, I feel a zing in my core that almost brings me off the bed. He kisses the other one after making a comment about possibly needing a helmet for this job.
“You have to get back inside me,” I plead.
“Not yet,” he answers. “Almost.”
He wraps his hand around my ankle and pushes on my foot until I bend my knee. He could probably twist me into a pretzel right now without any resistance on my part.
But I’m a little worried about what’s going on down there, suddenly. I think he might be about to do something that I’ve read about and seen on HBO, but I’m not sure I prepped correctly for that. Plus, there are things he may see in that region that would raise even more questions. Some of the psychological tension I’m feeling transfers itself into my muscles near his face, because he looks up at me through his eyelashes. “You’re not relaxing.”
“What are you doing?”
“Trust me. You’ll like it.”
“Okay. But will you like it?”
My question catches him off-guard, and he starts laughing. When he stops, he says, “Would I be down here if I didn’t like it?”
Mousily, I answer, “I guess not.”
“I thought the rule was no talking unless it’s dirty or moaning.”
“I’m just not sure about this part,” I defend myself. “I was expecting something a little more… basic… my first time.”
He joins me up on the pillows, brushing a piece of hair away from my face. “Libby?”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
I smile shakily. “Okay.”
“Before I come to my senses and put my clothes back on.”
“Don’t do that,” I urge him, grasping his upper arm, just in case.
“All right, then. I’ll be back in half a mo.”
He resumes his earlier position, and I try to focus on what I’m feeling while at the same time clearing my mind of any doubts. In a matter of seconds, I don’t have to try at all to do either of those things. It becomes an involuntary, physiological… thing.
“Oh, God,” I moan. “That’s just… Oh! God!” Repeat that about fifty times, and you get the extent of my vocabulary for the next several minutes. Then I
