Page 49 of Feeding Hope
His hands went to the straps, pulling them to the edges of my shoulders.
“There’s a zipper,” I whispered. “In the back.”
He blew out another shaky breath. “Right.” A soft laugh came forth. “I’m nervous.”
“It’s okay, Jesse. I am too. But we’re together, so it’s all good.”
He nodded and licked his lips.
“I’ll turn around,” I suggested.
As I turned, I pulled all of my hair over a single shoulder so he could better access the tab.
When he touched the back of my dress, I felt the tremor of his fingers against my back. The rasp of the zipper seemed deafening in the quiet, and I shivered in anticipation as he lowered it past the small of my back.
Turning back around to face him, I held my arms up close to my chest. With the dress loose, I wanted to savor this moment before plunging further. Jesse was my first boyfriend. My first kiss. Now he’d be my first lover, and hopefully my only one.
He pulled my hands away from my dress, helping it down my arms, over my hips, and allowing it to pool at my feet. I stood before him in nothing more than my bra, panties, and the sandals on my feet.
My bravery finally found me again. I unbuttoned his short-sleeved khaki shirt, one by one, until I reached the waistband of his pants. I pulled the tails free, slipped the last button, and slipped it over his shoulders, revealing his undershirt and the rippling muscles he’d developed.
He folded his shirt and laid it on the dresser beside his cover, then pulled his undershirt over his head, folding it and placing it with his shirt. Once again, he pulled me close. His hands smoothed across my cheeks, and his lips brushed my forehead.
As his lips lowered to mine, my hands went to his waist and trailed to his belt, fumbling to undo the buckle and open it.
He pulled away and took a step back. “Lie on the bed, sweetness.”
I backed up the three steps to the bed, sat, and moved to remove my sandals, but before I could, he knelt and brushed my hands away. Never taking his eyes off me, he reached for my left foot, unbuckled the sandal, and slipped it off my foot. He repeated the process with my right foot.
Slowly, his eyes still focused on me, he removed his shoes and socks, placing them at the foot of the dresser. Finally, he removed his pants, then folded them and added them to the pile of clothing he’d started. He unzipped the bag he’d brought into the room and withdrew a small box, which he opened, removing a foil packet from its confines.
A condom. Right. I’d been so consumed with just being able to see him, talk to him, have him near, I didn’t think ahead to this possibility. Luckily, he had been thinking ahead.
It seemed like forever before he joined me on the bed, lying between my legs. He was careful not to put the weight of his upper body on mine, holding himself aloft on his forearms. His hands returned to my face, smoothing the hair back from my forehead.
We kissed again, and slowly we peeled the rest of our clothing from our bodies until we lay naked in each other’s arms.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
I nodded.
He rose onto his knees and opened the condom wrapper, tossing it onto the nightstand beside the bed. The few moments it took, I looked at his shaft. I had nothing to gauge whether he was small, big, or average. Not really. Textbook drawings from sex ed in school always made the organ look rather sad, causing lots of giggles when we were ten.
In high school, I’d heard discussions amongst girls, still often giggling about their date’s size or how the sex had been. Since I didn’t date, and Jesse and I had engaged in little more than touches over our clothing, this was my first time understanding what a man looked like. I’d barely touched myself below the waist, but there was a moment where I worried he wouldn’t fit inside me. He certainly looked larger than the space between my legs.
He’d hardened further while we’d been kissing, and I noticed it looked nothing like what was in textbooks. After a few strokes of his fist along his shaft, he rolled the latex around him before laying back down between my thighs, drawing them up on either side of his hips.
As if sensing my nervousness, and maybe to help ease some of his own, he rubbed his hands along my arms, sides, and legs. He even lowered his mouth to my chest and placed a line of kisses across the tops of my breasts.
“I’ve heard this will hurt a little. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Next time it won’t.”
“Jamie told me a few things that might make it less painful.”
One of his hands drifted to the apex of my thighs. Gently, he slid a finger inside my channel, rubbing it back and forth along my inner walls. After several passes, he withdrew his finger and brought it to my clit, softly circling the nub, experimenting with speed and pressure.
My breath hitched, and my hips bucked into his hand. On rare occasions, I’d tried touching myself to see what others talked about. The increasing pressure. The growing pleasure. The overwhelming euphoria. While I’d felt some tingles, I’d experienced nothing like this.
