First Times

I remember the night when you told your sister and her boyfriend that we were going to put make-up on my face. I remember the bathroom door, the grind of the lock as we made sure no one would intrude.

You bent at the waist, laid face down on the sink, and looked at me through the mirror in front of you; looked at me as an invitation. Your shorts unbuttoned, unzipped, and uncovered your silky, floral panties that I had wanted to see against your tanned skin all night. The panties formed a silk curve border, a gentle, snug, silk hug encircling your waist, legs, and crotch. The panties had a sophistication, a beauty, that shouldn’t have been touched by my rough hands.

I eased my fingers under the waist-line, and I touched skin underneath that I had not yet seen. I remember your quick gasp as the panties descended down your curves, and how you stood on tippy-toes when they fell past your knees. I remember hurried attempts at my zipper as you smiled at me in the mirror. The zipper down, the pants and skivvies around my thighs; the freedom of release consumed me.

I remember your devious smile as you arched your back, pushed your hips into me, and groaned. I remember your face’s beauty taken by powerful emotion, your open mouth, the white gleam of your teeth bared, your crinkled forehead, eyes and nose, and your moan...loud and full. Your sister and her boyfriend had to hear.