She is everything I wish I were at her age: social, attractive and bouncing energetically with a love of life in her step.
Why she chose me as her boyfriend might always be a mystery to me. Perhaps God decided to cut me a break after all my tragedies, or I simply had a stroke of incredible luck. Whatever the case may be, Katrina Iglesias was (for the time being) mine to hold and cherish.
We had met at the bar I worked at in New York City. She was by herself, lavender hair tied up in a messy bun wearing a blue sundress. I'd never seen someone with purple hair before so I made my way over to her. She looked me up and down and smiled, and we chatted for awhile. She left a piece of paper with her number on the back with her generous tip, much to my surprise. Fast forward several months and we were in the process of falling in love.
But there was one peculiar thing about Kate, something that made me nervous to think about. It wasn't our twelve-year age difference, but the fact that she admitted to me that she was a virgin.
Being somebody's first is a lot of pressure. I tried my best to be patient and understanding, but the truth is, I was masturbating to her constantly. She was so artsy and beautiful, but when I was on top of her she moaned for me like a wanton whore. I knew she wanted me, but I refused to let her rush things. I assured her I wouldn't cheat or leave her because she wouldn't sleep with me, as she alluded to fearing.
Then, one day, she asked to see my apartment and I knew.
She was dressed in an extra tight, low-cut pink top and her wavy hair was straightened flat-- something she only did on special occasions.
"I want you---I
need
you," she tells me in between feverish kisses. The two of us had barely gotten through the door and she is ready to pounce. She practically drags me to the nearest flat surface other than the floor---my pale green couch with my mother's grey, folded blanket at the end and a few striped pillows. "I'm ready. Please--please give it to me, c'mon!" She reaches for my zipper.
"Katie, please," I say against her lips. "You're killing me."
"
Fuck
me, Henry," she pleads, a mischievous grin on her face. "I want your cock," she announces boldly. She's acting like she's had something to drink despite being dead sober---and I only had one glass of white wine, but suddenly there's a buzz in my veins and I feel like laughing out loud in pure joy.
"Bedroom?" I ask. "Or are you so desperate you want me here and now?"
"Right here, right now." She yanks at my shirt collar so I stumble on top of her. She breathes in deep through her nose, my cologne her drug.
She reaches for my belt and this is it, I'm taking her virginity tonight. She wants me carnally. My heart pounds heavily against my ribs and my palms sweat.
She pulls down my slacks, then my gray briefs and she gasps. I have an uncut penis, the hood pulled back to reveal the pink, wet tip. A vein runs up the pale length, a thatch of curly dark hair at its base. Not too big like the ones she's probably seen in porn, but not too small, either.
Just as I was wondering if the gasp was a bad thing, she asks, "Can I suck you off?"