With You

I sat on the edge of your mattress, unsure what to expect; I kicked off my shoes and took in your bedroom for the first time: the bookshelves, the plastic stickers wreathing the windows, your little brother’s action figures mid-battle on the carpet, the clothing stretched out into long piles beneath your feet. I remember thinking you so strong and confident, wondering how we ended up beneath the covers together. You reassured me as you crawled out to take down your blue jeans. I looked away for fear of seeming too eager. (I wanted to look.) Your hand trailed over my back, tracing my stomach. I had never been touched before; every inch your fingers followed burned a path into my memory. I was sure there were scorch marks on the sheets. We kissed and kissed and I gasped and we kissed and I fumbled, I heard my pulse throbbing in my ears and we kissed and I couldn’t believe I had gone my whole life without knowing the feeling of skin on skin. Then, you were forcing my lips to part with yours, and your tongue surprising the inside of my mouth, a slippery, rubbery thing. I let it wander. You curled a loose hair behind my ear. I imagine you framing my face in your hands and bringing my chin for another kiss, but I find my memory inventing moments between us that never passed. But, I am sure of the sleepy look on your face every time we pulled away, the half-pouted lips, and the pressure of your hands on my back, urging me to never stop.