"A Late Bloomer's First Time"
Reimagined by RareAsianPrincess
Everyone in our freshman English-101 class thought he was adorable.
Not in the "take him home" kind of way--but the "look how nervous he gets when you talk to him" kind of way. His name was Matt. Skinny, twitchy, polite. The kind of guy who sat in the second row, scribbled notes like he was training to be a court stenographer, and avoided eye contact like it might set off alarm bells.
Naturally, I chose him the second we got assigned partners in class.
Honestly, he barely said more than five words to me in person, but online? Total 180. Funny. Smart. Even bold sometimes. I liked watching his brain click. I liked watching him squirm. He wasn't like the guys I grew up with--loud, cocky, predictable. Matt was something else. I just couldn't figure out what yet.
So when my birthday-weekend party came up, I made a little bet with myself: how far could I push him before he cracked?
I invited him under the guise of needing a buffer from my ex--some guy I'd dated since high school and had no intention of carrying into college with me. Told Matt he'd be doing me a favor if he kept him distracted. He agreed, reluctantly, like everything he did around me. That was half the fun.
And he did great. They talked skateboarding for hours like best friends in a basement. I floated around, checked in, caught Matt watching me when he thought I wasn't looking. Those glances stuck to me like fingerprints.
By the time my ex left and the real party started, Matt looked dazed. But when we pulled him into Twister, I knew I had him.
He had no idea how good his body looked stretched out across that mat, too busy panicking about my ass brushing past his face to notice. I bent, twisted, arched under him--letting my skirt ride up just enough to short-circuit whatever logic was still working in his brain.
He fell trying to move, of course. Classic.
The party thinned out slowly after that. My other friends drifted off to bedrooms or headed home, leaving just Matt, my roommate Jess, and me to clean up the aftermath. I watched him from the kitchen as he carefully folded the Twister mat, his long fingers smoothing each crease with this intense focus I found strangely magnetic.
"You don't have to do that," I said, coming closer, two beers in hand.
He jumped slightly. "Oh. Sorry. Force of habit."
I handed him a beer, letting our fingers brush. His skin was warm, and he didn't pull away immediately--progress.
"Thanks for coming tonight," I said, leaning against the wall. "And for handling my ex so well."
"It wasn't hard." He took a sip, eyes darting to my bare legs before quickly looking away. "He's, uh, not that interesting."
I laughed. "Exactly why he's my ex."
We cleaned in comfortable silence for a while. I deliberately stayed close, reaching across him for empty cups, bending down to grab trash when I knew he was looking. Every time I glanced back, I caught him watching me--each time taking a fraction of a second longer before looking away.
When Jess announced she was going to bed, Matt shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. "I should probably head out too."
"It's late," I said, checking the time--2:37 AM. "And you've been drinking. Take the couch."
I grabbed blankets and a pillow from the hall closet, brushing past him in the narrow hallway. His breath caught when our bodies made contact. I pretended not to notice, but heat pooled low in my belly.
"I'll set you up downstairs," I said, leading him to the living room.
I took my time arranging the blankets, bending over the couch more than necessary. When I turned around, he was standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on me with an intensity I hadn't seen before.
"Matt?"
"Yeah?" His voice was different now--lower.
For a moment, I considered closing the distance between us, seeing if he'd kiss me if I made it easy for him. But something told me that wasn't the game we were playing.
"Sweet dreams," I said instead, slipping past him and up the stairs.
In my room, I changed into an oversized t-shirt and nothing else, then sat on my bed, listening to the sounds of the house settling. My mind kept replaying moments from the night--the way Matt's body had tensed when I brushed against him during Twister, how his eyes had followed me around the room, the slight tremble in his hands when they accidentally touched mine.
I knew what he was thinking about. What he'd be doing.
I waited, counting minutes, giving him just enough time to believe he was alone.
***
MATT'S PERSPECTIVE
Matt listened to Svet's footsteps fade up the stairs, her last words hanging in the air. Sweet dreams. If she only knew what he was thinking.
He waited until the house went quiet. Until he was certain everyone had gone to sleep. The basement was dark except for a sliver of light from the hallway above. The couch was surprisingly comfortable, but he couldn't settle. Couldn't stop his mind from spinning.
It was torture being around her all night. The way she moved. The way she smiled at him like she knew exactly what she was doing.
He shifted under the blanket, painfully hard just thinking about her. He shouldn't. Not here. Not in her friend's house. But the memory of her was overwhelming.
Matt closed his eyes and slid his hand beneath his waistband, giving in to what he'd been fighting all night.
