The dorm room smells faintly of male sweat, and spilled beer. All right, more than just faintly, but I don’t care, because I am with him.
I take a quick look around. It’s what I would have expected, except with more unwashed socks. There’s a neon PBR beer sign with a couple of bulbs missing, and there are posters—AC/DC on tour, Sybil Danning in a white string bikini, a topless Monique Gabrielle from “Bachelor Party,” a woman in a thong bending over to get beer on the bottom rack of the refrigerator.
I’ve detected two clear themes here.
There are two beds, one on either side of the room, and I silently hope that his is the neater, made one. I see a mini-fridge in the corner, a rugby uniform in a crumpled heap on the floor, an open notebook, stack of textbooks and a gooseneck lamp on one of the desks, red Solo cups (some scattered, some stacked) on the deep windowsill.
I feel the need to take in every little detail, because I want to remember everything about the night I lose my virginity.
He goes to the closet, takes out a striped necktie. I watch, my heart pounding, as he opens the door and drapes the tie over the knob, flashing me a slightly embarrassed, totally adorable grin.
He doesn’t have to tell me what that means.
“Want something to drink?”
I nod. I don’t even ask what he has, because it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I am here, with him.
He walks back to the closet, reaches up to the top shelf and takes down a bottle of Svedka, then gets a clean Solo cup from the stack on the windowsill and makes us both Screwdrivers with the orange juice from his mini-fridge. When he leads me over to the unmade bed to sit, I forgive him for not being the neat side because I’ve already fallen in love with him.
He’s looking at me steadily as he finishes his drink. He has the most beautiful eyes—they were what I noticed first when we were paired together a couple months ago in our Economic Theory class. His eyes are large, dark and expressive with lashes any girl would envy...the type of eyes you could fall into and never want to come out. I noticed his mouth second—how his lips looked perfectly moisturized and supremely kissable. And then all the rest of him received a fair share of stares from me as well—his thick brown hair that always seemed adorably unruly, his broad shoulders, trim waist and muscular build.
He takes my his empty cup and slips it inside his. It feels symbolic somehow, and I involuntarily shiver, thinking of what’s going to happen soon.
“We’ve got to be careful about this. About people finding out.”
“Yes, we do.” I’m well aware. Our parents would kill us.
He looks concerned, almost troubled, and I lay my hand on his arm. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “We’ll just be careful. And it’s kind of exciting, being secretive.”
I’ve said just the right thing. He lights up. I see a simmering in those dark eyes, and heated want slides into my belly.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, reaching out to brush the hair away from my face, letting the blonde strands slip through his fingers. He slides over closer, and then we are a tangle of arms and groping hands, of hot mouths and eager tongues. His lips are soft but insistent, and I am more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life, listening to him groan as we kiss.
My blouse is off, my bra unclasped, and he carefully lays me down on his bed, taking his shirt off while keeping his gaze on me. Impulsively, I reach out to grasp the bulge in his jeans, and he groans louder. “Fuck, I want you...so much.”
“Have me,” I whisper. “Have all of me.”
We each wriggle out of our pants. He is so beautiful in the neon light of the beer sign. I draw in my breath at the sight of his erect penis. He has me help him put on the condom—this seems to excite him even more—and then, the intense sensation of him pressing between my legs.
A momentary bite of pain as he slides into me, but I am very wet, and the friction soon feels amazing. I’m not quite sure what to do, but I lift my hips as he thrusts, hooking my legs around him, and he seems to appreciate this. He says my name over and over...tells me he’s almost there...and then I feel him shudder. I haven’t come yet, but after he rolls off me, he fingers me expertly, and I cry out as I climax.
I am delirious, practically glowing. Being with him is even more wonderful than I’d fantasized.
“That was...amazing,” he grins, shaking his head. We kiss, deeply, and I make him laugh when I tell him I want to do it again.
“We will,” he promises. “This is only the beginning.”
The beginning of what I hope will be my forever.