Love At First Night

34.

LISA MAKES A point of setting my underwear on my bedside table so we won't lose them this time around before she climbs up onto my mattress with me.

The rustle of my duvet, creak of the bed frame, and the patter of the rain on my windows are almost loud enough to drown out my heavy breathing. Almost. I swallow hard as I let my thighs fall open so Lisa can slot herself between them, her hands braced against the mattress on either side of my shoulders. My skin sparks with electricity everywhere our skin brushes, her body radiating warmth that melts right through me. And as I stare up at Lisa, our faces close enough that I could count the faint freckles across the bridge of her nose if she had the patience for it, the gravity of the situation settles heavy on my shoulders.

Virginity is a social construct.

I know that. I know that nothing about a girl putting her penis inside me is going to fundamentally alter me as a person. It's really not a big deal.

But, to me, it kind of is.

I'm soft. I'm sentimental. I'm a romantic. And I want to hate myself for it, but then I remember what Joy told me: I'm allowed to feel this way. I'm allowed to be shaky with nerves and giddy with excitement in equal measures, and I'm allowed to feel the weight of this moment with my whole chest.

"I don't really know what I'm doing," I warn Lisa, "so please don't roast me if I do something weird."

"No promises."

I smack her bicep. Her lovely, sculpted bicep.

She arches an eyebrow. "Is that the hardest you can hit?"

"Keep making fun of me and you'll find out, Manoban."

Lisa brings her mouth to my ear and whispers, "Joke's on you. I like it rough."

But she's not rough. She's heartbreaking gentle as she rocks forward, the muscle in her forearms flexing like a live action sculpture out of Greek antiquity. My eyes lock on her left wrist-the one that was in a brace and a sling the night we met and my heart hiccups. This is it.

My little moment to myself is interrupted when Lisa shifts her arms again, trying to find better purchase on my too-soft student housing mattress, and catches a strand of my hair where it's splayed out around my head.

"Ow," I hiss. "Hair, hair, hair."

"Shit, sorry."

Lisa quickly lifts the offending hand and presses it flat against the wall above me instead. We lock eyes. We're both a little bit mortified, but as soon as we see it's mutual, we're snorting and smothering our laughter like kids in the back of a classroom.

"I swear I know what I'm doing," Lisa says.

"Sure, sure. You seem like you're a real-"

She pulls her hand off the wall, reaches down between us, and plunges two fingers inside me.

-expert," I gasp.

I think Lisa tries to give me that smug smile she always wears when she manages to prove me wrong, but her eyelids flutter as she wiggles her fingers against my tensed muscles and then works them in and out in slow, seeking strokes.

"Fuck, Roseanne," she curses. "How are you this wet?"

"Now you're just fishing for compliments," I say hoarsely.

Lisa keeps her eyes on my face as she withdraws her fingers, leaving me suddenly and achingly empty. Thankfully, she's quick to wrap one hand around her erection and line our hips up. I feel the gentle but insistent nudge of her between my legs. And then it happens: the head of Lisa's cock notches just inside me.