Young Writers Society

It’s been a couple of weeks now, I probably should, she thought, settling her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat, as they watched a film, intertwined. She gazed at Paul and Fiona on the couch across from them. I wonder if they’ve done it yet, she thought. At fourteen she didn’t have much idea about how long girls Michael’s age waited to have sex with boys. Fiona had reassured her that two weeks was definitely enough to have secured his respect.

It might not have worried her so much if it was just sex, but her virginity was at stake here.

Michael’s sixteen; he’ll think I’m tight if I don’t do it now, surely, she thought, feeling like she was in a mental wrestling match with herself - should I, shouldn't I?

Sitting up to face him, she decided to bite the bullet,

“Want to go down the road; I’ve got a free house?”

Smiling at her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him to kiss her cheek,

“Yeah, okay.”

Walking to Lisa’s house, she ran a few steps to catch up with him.

“Why do you always walk ahead of me, do you not want to be seen with me?” she joked, although it had been worrying her since they had started going out. It always felt like she was staring at the back of his head.

“Don’t be silly.” he grinned, slowing down to meet her pace.

She wished he would take her hand.

They started off on the couch, with the customary fumbling and kissing. She wondered if it would be like she’d seen in the pictures.

“Want to go upstairs?” she whispered, her legs trembling.

She followed him up, admiring the almost triangular shape of his body, where his broad shoulders narrowed into a slim waist, and his arms, she’d always loved his arms. But did she love him?

They continued from where they’d left off on the couch downstairs, her leaning over him, stroking his cheek and neck. His hands wandered over her not yet fully formed figure. Maybe when they started doing it, it would feel good, she thought. He slid his hand under her jeans, and done that familiar thing he always done, where he put his fingers inside her. Although this didn’t bring any particular feeling (which worried her), she moaned and writhed appropriately.

It was like it always was – you touch me, I’ll touch you. She began to feel him out, doing that thing he liked so much. She hoped she was doing it right, this always scared her.

“So… do you want to do it then?” he asked, midway.

The lack of romance astounded her. Perhaps it’s not as romantic as it it in the films, but she expected it just to happen, like it should be - natural.

She gawked at him, “You got any?”

He reached down into his jeans pocket and waved the packet in front of her, like a prize trophy.

She was glad that no foreplay was involved. It usually consisted of him biting her nipple in a similar manner to which you would a particularly tough steak, until her blushed nipples resembled angry red scabs.

I hate condoms, they’re always too tight.” He whinged, as he removed the hideous green condom, which resembled a snotter, from its wrapping.

She watched him put it on, like a child observing a teacher’s demonstration in a science class. Suddenly, in realization of her own nakedness, she blushed, pushing her legs tightly together and folding her arms over her breasts.

“C’mere.” He laughed, opening her arms and putting them round his neck. Although she met his lips with ease, inside she was having a breakdown.

“Me on top? He wants me on top?!”

She bit her lip, to stop it quivering, and reluctantly moved a leg over him, so she was in the dreaded position. She closed her eyes for a second, almost crying as she tried to imagine how stupid she looked to him from down there. She sucked in her belly and done what had to be done.

Grasping him, she forced him inside, ignoring the pain with all her might.

“I’ve lost my virginity.” She thought, “Shouldn’t something happen now - fireworks or something?”

She moved how she thought she should, kind of forward, kind of back, kind of up, kind of down. Her mind was all over the place, screaming at her,

Oh fuck, what am I doing, what will he think?

She placed her hands on his chest, and moaned,

How long is this supposed to last? Am I doing this right?

She prayed that he would give her some kind of guidance, hold her hands or her hips and move her the right way, something.

Those were the longest twenty seconds of her life. Maybe they would lie for a while and cuddle; she needed something to make her feel better, a little reassurance. Her heart sank as he sprang from the bed and dressed in front of her.

“You coming then?” he asked the limp figure on the bed.

“Yeah...” She sighed.

She tried to make a joke of it as he walked back up the road as she locked the door,

“I don’t even know if we’ve done it right.”

She hoped they hadn’t, because whatever that was there, it hadn’t been worth her virginity.