My First Time

They say you always remember your first time, no matter how quickly it’s over.

For me, it didn’t even last two minutes, and I say that with a small twinge of shame and a slight pang of guilt.

After this experience, I know this will not be my last. It can’t be. It won’t be. 

How is it possible to acquire such an addiction post-haste? 

As I share this with you, I am still processing this otherworldly event.

My body, awoken, continues to tremble, my breath shallow and rapid. My chest, still heaves in delight at the lingering memories.

 I try to focus on the words I put down for you, but acuity escapes me. 

I am enraptured. 

The small raised bumps covering my still trembling skin are steadfast reminders of the consummate sensory explosions that so recently wracked my yearning, hungry body. 

This story, like all stories I share with you, began innocently enough. As they always do. 

I was over a friend’s place celebrating a birthday party. It had been some time since we’d all been able to get together, such is the adult life we had all hoped and dreamed for in our youth. The drinks were flowing as was my hair. 

There was an energy in the air. 

Laughter filled and expanded in between all the comfortable silences. It felt like one of those special nights – the ones where deep down inside you know something magical is going to happen. 

And the night did not disappoint. 

I saw her across the room. Our eyes met and there was an instant connection. It was electric. 

Since you, dear Reader, know me so well, I won’t regale you with the stories of charm and wit that I managed to exude as I sidled up beside her. We hit it off and soon were engrossed in deep conversation. As the night grew longer and the drinks grew stiffer, we danced without moving our limbs. While I didn’t realize it then, I do now.

She was going to be special to me. 

Soon, the other guests made their exits discussing babysitters and nannies. It was at that moment that she bade me follow her to the kitchen, away from prying eyes. 

We found ourselves alone, standing next to each other, heads close together, excited whispers and giggles exchanged. We stood in that distance that intimates a closeness, an eagerness for discovery. Holding us up, supporting us, was the marble centre island replete with a dazzling array of snacks and treats, many of which I’d never seen, let alone experienced. 

She turned to me, locked her eyes on mine, and in a request that I had no hope of denying, asked me to close my eyes and follow her lead. 

I could feel the pressure against my lips. The texture, soft and firm at the same time. Yielding. It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. A switch flipped. Instinct took over. My tongue, as if with a mind of its own, darted out to sample the wares. The taste was exquisite.

I knew, at that moment, there was no going back. She had ignited my hunger. A drive like no other that welled up from deep inside me, in places I had no idea existed. 

She awoke it from it’s 40 year slumber. 

For 40 years I had never tasted life in all its splendour until that moment. 

I wanted more. Longed for more. 

She obliged. 

She had read me like a snake charmer taming the wildest King Cobra. I was under her spell. 

She whispered about those sweet nothings again. Shivers ran up and down my spine. Tingles.

On the second taste, I was in heaven. Impulses, previously foreign to me ignited synaptic connections I’ve only dreamed of. Impulses cascaded through every fibre of my body, electrical gymnastics cascading through my nervous system, sending fireworks to every edge of my being. 

Compelled by emotions and feelings I’ve never felt before, I opened my eyes, panting slightly, licking my lips. 

We hadn’t been more than two minutes in that kitchen, and I was at my peak.

I could see her gazing at me, her head tilted to one side, an eyebrow cocked up quizzically. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, a slight edge to her saccharine voice.

“I’ve never tasted such sweetness.”  

My words tumbled out limp and useless. They could not do it justice. There are NO words that could do it justice. 

“It’s like you’ve never done this before…”

Guilt. Embarrassment. Shame.  

I looked down at the ground, unable to return her gaze any longer. 

After such excitement, I was spent. Done. Finished.

She knew. I could tell. It was in her voice. Her tone had changed. 

Softer. Kinder. Understanding. 

I owed her an explanation. It was the least I could do. Perhaps she would look past my shortcomings. 

“I grew up in a very strict household. It was forbidden. We weren’t allowed. And then after years of that, I convinced myself it wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t what I wanted. That I didn’t need it. After a while, I lost my drive for it. In the end,  I just didn’t want anyone to know – my dirty little secret.”

I mustered every ounce of courage I had and looked up at her, the soft glow of the kitchen pot lights creating a halo around her head. Her eyes glistened, as did mine.  

“This was my first time having chocolate cake. And I think I’m in love.”

Photo by Azamat Zhanisov on Unsplash