I was a sophomore, and she a freshman.
I’d never had sex, and neither had she.
It was January 13th, 1995, when her mom allowed her to come to my foster parent’s home.
We listened to Jodeci and awkwardly glanced at one another. It’d been the first time we’d been this close.
Close enough to smell her breath and her mine.
Close enough to smell her body and her mine.
Close enough to see her breasts and place a pillow over my lap, hoping she wouldn’t see a rise.
She covered her mouth, laughing, telling me that she saw what I was hiding.
I blushed. And. She blushed.
She scooted closer to me; my breathing had become heavy.
She inched her fingers closer.
I reached, and our fingers touched, and then our hands embraced.
She leaned in for a kiss; I was sure to miss.
I swallow spit and a lump in my throat.
And I turned my head, shivering with terror.
We kissed, and my shyness disappeared.
She stripped her shirt and tucked her bangs behind her ear.
I unbuttoned my shirt, and she climbed on top of my body.
She kissed me more as if I were a soldier going off to a land far away.
We stripped nude, still kissing.
We twisted and tangled in the bedsheets.
Her mom came, and she had to leave; we talked when she got home.
Her makeup stained my pillowcase.
I held it close to my heart, smelling her body through the night.