I said, trying to make his name sound like I, too, enjoyed saying it. But the end curled up into a strange ball of sound, high and tight. And before I knew it, I was crying again.
Within a few seconds I heard the short, sharp breaths coming from David that meant he was crying too. And then I felt his hands on my shoulders, and a shifting of weight on the bed, and now he had me in his arms.
I wiped my face with the palm of my hand and raised it up, and kissed him. I don’t think he was expecting it, because he jerked his face away for a half second. But then he kissed me back. Fast, with energy. He moved his hands to either side of my face and I felt like I was falling, not into a place or a hole, but into colors. Red and orange and purple. Deep and rich.
David took one hand off my face and pressed it against my chest, pushing me down into the bed. Then one of his legs was on one of mine and the feeling of weight there, of being covered, was suddenly the best thing in the world.
You slut! said a teasing Meg in my head, as we kept kissing. David ventured away from my mouth and onto my neck, my ear. I giggled.
“Is this okay?” he whispered, and I just nodded, not sure what he meant. Was anything okay? Did it matter?
And now David’s hand was slipping under my nightshirt collar, reaching for what passed for my right breast. Practiced, experienced. I wondered for a second how much sex he’d had when he was out in the David Zone, and whether it was with anyone really pretty.
Is this it? Is this going to be where I actually do it for the first time?
It was an intellectual question, like I was sitting at my vanity table a few feet away, watching myself on the bed. Then David’s other hand slipped down to the bottom of my frogs-with-candy-canes nightshirt, and started to push it up.
I felt my body get tense, like it was fighting him off, but forced my mind to override that. Now both of David’s hands slid smoothly from my waist to my head, taking my nightshirt with them. Before I knew it, it was off, and all that was left was my underwear. I couldn’t remember which pair I was wearing and could only hope it was one of the new ones.
David stopped and looked me up and down, his face full of wonder, as if seeing a sculpture unveiled. I looked back at him, this boy so beautiful all of a sudden—or maybe always—and knew I should be doing something. It’s my turn, right? I wanted to but was still frightened to make that first reach.
With a deep breath I did it anyway, reaching my hands under his T-shirt and laying them on his stomach, which still felt cool from being outside. I ran my fingers across it, the soft hair, what felt like an exceptionally deep belly button. David sighed, and I felt brave enough to keep going, lifting his shirt and kissing him where his skin met the top of his jeans.
In another quick, expert motion, David pulled his shirt over his head and pressed his chest to mine. I was falling into colors again, but this time a little too steeply. It made me dizzy, and the beginning of terrified.
David reached one hand down toward my underwear, lifting the elastic away from my skin.
That’s when I stopped him and said, “No.”
As David pulled his head away from mine, I noticed we had matching sweaty patches of hair where they’d been connected. “Please don’t tell me to stop,” he said breathlessly.
“I have to tell you to stop,” I said.
“Laurel . . . please.”
“David . . .” The dizziness ebbed. It was like stepping off a merry-go-round.
He rolled over onto his back, still panting. “I thought you wanted this.”
“I don’t know,” I said, then after a horrible silent moment, “I’m the girl who’s not sure what she wants for herself, remember?” I tried to make my voice sound normal again, and not like I’d just been teetering on the edge of losing my virginity.
David threw his arm over his face now. Was he embarrassed to look at me, or for me to look at him?
“Can I want some of it, just not all of it?” I asked.
He nodded from behind his own