I’m not in the habit of doing that, but I do it anyway. Properly lean up and press my lips
to his. It’s wet and soft and there’s a feeling inmy stomach that is both pleasant and unnerving
and then he’s pulling away.
“Feeling okay about it?”
I nod, “You?”
He leans back in.
Two months later, we are in his bed. A little sweaty,sticky, sore. It took many steps to get
here. A lot of fumbling and making out and changingmy mind about taking my shirt off, but
weeks later we’ve done it. My body feels kind of lightas I count the tiny mountain ranges on his
popcorn ceiling. I ask if he’s okay, and he says yes,curls his hand around mine. He asks if I’m
okay, and I say yes. I don’t even have to think aboutit. I’m not used to feeling this certain about
things.
There’s not a grand revelation or anything. I stillfeel like the same person I was before,
virginity being a social construct and all, but it’shard to feel fundamentally unlovable when there
is a warm body I can trust with my own. And perhapswe should have figured out a way to feel
like this by ourselves, without seeking validationfrom each other, but my therapist isn’t here
right now. It’s just me and Eli. Playing house.