I look down at my purple bed sheet. I do want to talk about it, but not right now. I can’t think straight, not when his beard is tickling my neck. Not when his firm arms are making me want to cast aside my questions and kiss him like there’s no tomorrow.
I can’t voice all that, so I just shrug.
“Cynthia, do you regret what just happened?” Nate asks.
“No.” My answer is immediate and certain. If I’m sure of one thing, it’s this. “I wanted it.”
Nate chuckles and the feel of his breath behind my ear sends a cool sensation down my spine.
“I wanted it too,” he whispers.
I cross my arms and curl my legs up beneath me. He’s still near, but his arms aren’t around me. I can’t think when he’s touching me too much.
“Do you want to grab food?” Nate asks. “We can order in something.”
He’s watching me carefully, I realize. This isn’t about grabbing food. He’s probably not even hungry. He’s concerned that I’m spiraling. He wants to keep an eye on me because everyone knows virgins are fragile. And I am spiraling, but I don’t need him to know. I need to sort out my thoughts on my own. That’s just how I am.
I shake my head and straighten up. “Thank you, but I’m alright. I think I’d like to just be alone for a bit.”
Nate pauses. He scans my face, and I try to keep my features calm and composed. I know he’ll grant me whatever I ask for. Nate is not the type of guy who is pushy or forces his way in after being asked to leave. But he’s checking for signs of distress.
“I’ll head back to my place,” Nate says. “But you can text me or call if you need to talk, ok?”
I nod. “Of course. Thank you.”
He’s being so nice, but I’m so confused. Is he just being nice because he knows he took my virginity? Or maybe he’s nice to all the girls he casually hooks up with. Or maybe there’s layers and layers of hidden meaning that I just can’t see.
All of a sudden, I feel like I’m back in my freshman year organic chemistry class, reading the textbook but not understanding any of it and wanting to cry out of the desire just to know what it all meant.
I take a breath and give Nate the best smile I can muster. I eventually conquered organic chemistry. I can figure this out as well.
He stands up, and I blush furiously at the sight of him. He’s completely unashamed of his body as he picks up his discarded clothes. And why would he be ashamed? His body is gorgeous. It’s firm and warm and now I know exactly what it feels like atop mine.
He disappears into the bathroom, and I chew on my bottom lip as I realize he’s discarding the used condom. I’m glad he had one on hand. I’m a medical student, after all. I know the many dangers of unprotected sex.
I never imagined myself needing one without warning, so I never went out and got any.
On the few times I bothered to imagine what my first time would be like, I never would have thought it would be like this. I figured it would be a tame and methodical story. I would start dating someone who was roughly the same age as me and had similar interests and was on a similar life path. We would go out to dinner and meet up after class, and eventually we would become boyfriend and girlfriend. Then, after more time getting to know each other, we would decide together it was time for sex. I would have time to go on the pill, and we might even plan the night out. I don’t know. I’ve never had sex. That’s how I assumed it would be.
Nate was anything but planned. There was no discussion, no methodical lead-up. It just happened.
I’m startled from my thoughts when he emerges from the bathroom, fully clothed. I flush as I realize that I’m still totally naked beneath my sheet. I try to stay cool and collected, but despite my best efforts, I instinctively clutch the sheet closer to my chest.
I see Nate observe the moment, and there’s a flicker of something I can’t read in his eyes. Pity, maybe? Or awkwardness?
He strides over to the bed and sits on the edge. I’m baffled by how comfortable he is.
But of course, this isn’t uncharted territory for him. Nothing abou the post-sex interaction is foreign ot him. He’s probably done this dozens of times.
“You sure you’re not hungry?” he asks.
I blink. The words take a long time to reach my head. I’m pretty sure he’s talking about food, but when he looks at me with his furrowed brow and chiseled chin, my brain just seems to make everything sexual. For a moment, I think he’s asking if I’m hungry for him. Which, yes, I am.
But I’m also confused. And a little bit in shock.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I say.
He nods once and stands up. I can tell he doesn’t want to push me or crowd me. He’s actually thinking of me and putting me first. It makes my chest throb with emotion.
“I’ll see you around,” I say.
I shift my legs as if to get up, but he holds up his hand. “I’ll get myself out, don’t worry about it.”
Then he turns, scoops up his toolbox and leaves.
I’m left wondering if I fell asleep and dreamed the whole thing.
But no, the peppermint scent of him lingers on my pillow. I won’t even be able to fall asleep, not when every inch of my bed holds a memory of how Nate touched me.
Of how he made me scream and beg for it.
After it’s been a few minutes, I roll out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. I pull my bathrobe around me and stare at myself in the mirror.
My cheeks are flushed, and my dark hair is tousled
