Wrong

I tremble slightly as the cold breeze from outside wisps past my bare body. Seeing me shiver, he closes the window. I wish he hadn’t. It just seems like a last way for fleeing, my last inch of freedom, shut. I mean, I probably wouldn’t have gone out the window. It’s a two-story building. I guess I just like the option.

Slowly, he comes close to me. Slowly, he takes me into his arms. I shiver more, but this time, he doesn’t notice. I’m not really sure I want to do this. I mean, how can you really be sure of something? The last time I was ever sure of something, I was wrong. Anyways, this is not for me. This is for him. I should remember that.

Most girls, I guess, are kind of emotional. They all believe it should be “romantic” or “special”, but the fact of the matter is, what does it change? We’ll all have done it some time or another. Does it really matter with who, or when, or if you were ready or not? If everyone conformed to being ready, many children would never have left their parents’ side. Kindergartens would no longer exist, and order in society would more or less be disrupt. In life, everyone needs to be pushed a little. And I’m being pushed right now.

Slowly, he leads me to his bed. Everything seems to be going slowly right now, but I have this feeling things will be speeding up real soon. I certainly hope so. I hear that it’s pretty painful the first time.

He lies me down on the mattress. It’s surprisingly warm. He climbs on top of me. I guess this is it. I close my eyes. I don’t really want to watch. I just have to remind myself: this is not for me. This is for him.

So far, no pain. I don’t know if it’s begun or not. He seems to be shifting around. I open my eyes, just a teeny tiny bit. He is no longer on top of me. He’s right beside me, stroking my hair. He’s smiling, but, I don’t know why he’s smiling. Should he be smiling? I’m pretty sure we haven’t gone through anything yet.

“Aah, I knew you weren’t ready! Why didn’t you tell me!” he exclaims.

My eyes grow wide. What is he saying? And how would he know? I certainly didn’t tell him. I didn’t know!
Then, lovingly, his passes his thumb over my cheek to catch the falling tears. He kisses me, and covers me up with a blanket.

“But, you wanted to—“ I begin.

“I want to, yeah, sure! I want to... when you’re ready! If you’re not, afterwards, you’d probably be upset, or sad, or distant. And I would hate myself if I ever made you more distant. I love you. I hope you know that I do.”

He kisses me again. I smile, and sigh. Looks like I was wrong again. This isn’t just for him. This is for me, too.