by Ann Ostrander
“If it hurts at all, just stop me,” Brian whispered. Even with the thick plaid blanket underneath us, the forest floor felt damp. He fumbled with the condom as I undressed.
We didn’t kiss or touch each other. I wasn’t comfortable with that. Weird, I know. Sex before any of the things my friends did first. Maybe it would come later.
“Are you all right?” Brian asked, positioning himself between my legs. I nodded, wishing I still wore a bra as his eyes darted in that direction.
“If it hurts…” he breathed, while fumbling between my legs, “Make sure to tell me.”
But it didn’t. I felt pressure and his hips pushing against mine. I waited for the pain my mother had told me about with her first time, but there was none. Just another lie to scare me … to keep me ‘pure.’ Mom. I couldn’t think of her now.
I opened my eyes and concentrated on a shaft of light penetrating the canopy. Brian groaned and shook. It’s over. I’m fourteen and it’s happened. He moved his mouth towards mine. I snapped my head to the side.
“Still no kissing, Nessa?” he laughed. I smiled and kept my eyes on the light.
Three weeks later and Mom still doesn’t know. She always said she would, but that wasn’t true either. Every time she asks if I’m still being ‘chaste,’ I tell her, “Mom, I haven’t even made out with a boy yet.” At least I’m telling the truth.