feel slightly light-headed. I’ve been on his bed so many times, but this doesn’t feel like sitting on Andrew’s bed. This feels like sitting on the bed of a boy, and it’s terrifying. I take a long sip of my drink and swallow it too quickly, sputtering a bit. Andrew pats me on the back.
“So, um. How should we do this?” I take another sip. “Do we need to take off our clothes? I guess our pants at least, but maybe not our shirts.” I feel jittery, like I’ve had twenty cups of coffee. “I brought some . . . condoms from the nurse’s office, but I don’t know if they’re the right size. Does that matter? Or is it more of a ‘one size fits all’ thing? Do you have a condom that you want to use instead?” I realize I’m rambling, but I can’t stop.
“We can use the ones you brought,” he says. “Or, I mean—one of the ones you brought.” He clears his throat. “It’ll be fine.”
“Okay, so we should put it on,” I say, taking a deep uncomfortable breath. “You should probably do it, because I don’t know how.” I finish the rest of my drink in one go and put the bottle down on the floor. He sets his beside it.
“Hey,” he says. “Slow down. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I’m sure,” I say, smiling weakly. “Oh!” I jump up and grab my backpack. “I forgot. I brought some books. For reference.” I unzip the bag and pull out The Art of Love and Wings of Passion, setting them both down on the mattress. Andrew picks up Wings of Passion, smirking at the illustration on the cover. He leafs through it and begins reading aloud from one of the pages.
“‘Maryanne had made love in the sky before, but never with a pilot quite like Captain Reynolds. Their lovemaking was fast and intense, full of a passion she had never known. He was hard and throb—’”
“Hey!” I scramble to grab the book back from him, feeling my ears go hot. “I thought it might be helpful to read. This one’s better though.” I crack open The Art of Love, flipping through the pictures inside. “It’s got a bunch of positions and tips, like a how-to guide.” I find the table of contents and run my thumb down the page until I get to the chapter I want. Then I show it to Andrew.
“I think we should try this one,” I say, pointing to the first drawing. “It seems like the easiest. We can work our way up to numbers two and four maybe, but I don’t know. They look kind of . . . scary.”
He takes the book from my hands and folds it closed, setting it aside on the bedside table. “We don’t need a book. Okay?”
“Oh,” I say. “I guess it’s all intuitive. I mean, animals learn to do it, right?” I think for a second. “Do you think animals watch other animals first so they know what to do? Or do you think they just know?”
“I think they just know,” he says. “And we will too.” He takes my hand.
“Okay,” I say. “So what do you usually do with girls? Show me the first step.”
“C’mere.” He uses our clasped hands to pull me closer to him, close enough I can feel the heat radiating off his body. His fingers thread through mine, rough and familiar. “We can be natural about this.” His voice is a whisper. “No steps. No planning. No books.”
I nod, unable to speak or breathe.
“Just tell me if you want me to stop, and I will.” He lifts his other hand to my face, resting it lightly against my cheek, and then tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. I lean in to his palm, getting used to the feel of him in this new way. He leans closer to me and I close my eyes, my lips parting slightly. My heart is thudding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.
And then his lips touch mine, soft and tentative, and I inhale in surprise. I press back, leaning into him, and his hand on my cheek moves back