When I was 18, I met a boy. Of course, I had met many before, all of whom I had considered in my search to find someone to help me get rid of my accursed virginity. But they had all seemed so ridiculously young, and those I let kiss and touch me left me cold - they pawed my breasts, shoved their hands between my legs and their tongues in my throat. I was beginning to wonder if I was a lesbian and that was why I didn't like them touching me.
But then I met this boy. He appeared suddenly in the middle of the school year, and I heard vague rumors about something terrible he had done to get expelled from another school. When I mentioned his name to my mother, she said, "Oh god, Emma, stay away from that Miguel. He's bad news."
There was something about him that intrigued me. We had the same study hall and would occasionally chat. I thought he was funny and he had the most beautiful smile - the first time I saw it, I felt like my heart was going to explode out of my chest. And there was something about the way he would look at me sometimes that made me blush furiously and turn away. When I was able to look at him again, he'd have such a quiet, thoughtful look in his eyes and I'd want to know what he was thinking, but was too afraid to ask. I figured he thought I was just an inexperienced kid - which I was - and he seemed so grown up to me. But once, after he'd done that thing of making me blush again, when I turned back to him, he leaned forward and said quietly, so no one else could hear, "I wish I could kiss you." It almost felt as though he had.
One day during study hall, there was a fire drill. Outside, in the general confusion of hundreds of milling, laughing, talking students, Miguel grabbed my hand and said, "Come on - let's get out of here." I went without thinking dashing quickly around the corner so no teachers would see and call us back. When we were out of sight, we slowed down and walked, still holding hands, and I was trying to be so casual but feeling like my heart was pounding a mile a minute and like I could hardly catch my breath. Finally, I asked, "Where are we going? Your house?" He made a face and said, "Nah - not there." I stopped and looked at him.
"I live close by. Let's go there," I said finally.
That thoughtful look was back in his eyes again. "You sure?" he asked.
"Yes."
We were quiet the couple of blocks to my house, but he held my hand still and I felt reassured. I let us in with my key and we walked into the stillness of the house. He asked where my parents were and I explained that they were out of town together at the moment and that my older sister stayed with me at night, but that she worked and went to college during the day. I offered him something to drink, thinking that when I went to get it I'd have a minute alone to try and calm down, but he followed me into the kitchen and stayed close as I got glasses and ice and soda. When I turned to give him his drink, my hand was shaking so much that I was amazed I didn't drop it. He took it from my hand and set it down, moving closer so that I had to back up until I was up against the counter. I could smell the scent of him, he was so close - musky, warm scent. His voice had an edge of laughter as he said, "Calm down."
I blushed and said sharply, "I'm calm!" My voice was shaking, and it was so patently untrue that we both suddenly laughed. The tension was gone for the moment. I felt his hand in my hair and then he kissed me.
His lips felt so smooth and soft against mine, his breath warm. It was a sweet first kiss, like a sigh of relief. I waited for that moment of revulsion I'd always felt when boys touched me, but it didn't come. When he took his mouth from mine, I made a small sound in my throat and he smiled at me, his hand so gentle as he touched my cheek. "Pretty Emma," he said, and I could still hear the laughter in his voice. "Sweet 16 and never been kissed. Isn't that the expression?"
"I've been kissed," I protested, but then turned away, feeling the flush of embarrassment on my face. I finally gave up my pretense of experience. "Oh Miguel," I said. "I don't know anything, I really don't. You can't want to be with me, I'm such an idiot about boys."
"Emma, take me to your room, take me to your innocent bed. I want to be with you, god I do." Something in his voice went through my body with a rush, taking my breath away.
In my room, we stood facing each other next to the bed and took off our clothes. He was so beautiful to me - dark, glowing skin, dark eyes and hair, hard boy's body still not fully filled out. I was shaking as I got out of my clothes, still not comfortable with my body, wanting him to like it, afraid he wouldn't. I heard his voice saying, "You're so pretty, Emma." I kept my eyes turned away and shook my head. "No, I'm too big."
"You're beautiful," he said insistently. "You need to look at yourself."
His hands were on my shoulders, brushing back my long hair. I could feel it tickling my back, every nerve so hypersensitive. "Emma, look at yourself," he said again, and I finally looked, watching his hands move down over my chest and enclose my breasts. I'd never been touched like that before and it was so intense, I gasped and closed my eyes.
"No, don't stop looking." I heard him say, and I opened my eyes once more and watched as he touched me that first time. Something happened as his hands moved over my skin - breasts I'd thought too big, nipples I'd thought embarrassingly large, swelling stomach and hips, soft thighs - all became beautiful as he touched them. I finally met his eyes again and we smiled at each other. "See?" he said.
His hands dropped away from me and he stood before me, smiling still. "Now you touch me," he said. I ran my hands down from shoulders to chest, as he'd done to me. "I don't know anything, you know," I said softly as I caressed him. "Tell me if I do anything wrong."
"Um, Emma. This is making love. You can't do anything wrong," he laughed. I thought he was teasing and looked up quickly to see his eyes. It was a revelation, this thought - I'd spent the last couple of years wanting to have sex and afraid I wouldn't do it right when I finally did. "Okay," I laughed with him. "Then tell me if I do anything that you don't like."
"I will." He smiled.
My eyes were back on his body again, moving down finally to where his cock stood firm, projecting from his body. I'd seen cocks before - pictures in books I'd sneaked, even one real one, when a boy had fumbled around as he groped me and taken it from his pants, whipping it out for me like an obligation to be taken care of. But this beautiful young man and his hard cock before me were another revelation and I felt consumed with hunger to touch it, but still gripped by anxiety that I wouldn't please him. I licked my dry lips and started to speak, "I…" then stopped as he took one of my hands from his chest and moved it down. "Touch it, baby," he said softly and then I heard him moan as he wrapped my hand around his cock and I felt him finally, hard and pulsing in my hand. "Oh Emma."