“What are you so worried about?” Hannah asks, crinkling her eyes. “It’s only sex.” I wish that were the case. But I was raised in purity culture where they told you: Having sex with outside of marriage is like giving a piece of yourself away, giving your destiny away. It made little sense to me.
I choke back a lump in my throat. “I don’t wanna go to hell for premarital sex and—”
“We won’t stick it all the way in. Like halfway type thing,” Hannah says, raising a sly brow. She gave me a come-hither look. It was the look they had taught me to flee. But I couldn’t. Not this time.
I nod, tapping my chin. “I mean, that’s not really sex, right?” Aside from what my pastor said, my parents told me that sex before marriage is like signing up to eat vegetables for the rest of my life. No meat. No ice cream. I believed them at the time. But once I got older, it wasn’t vegetables I had to worry about; it was hell. Being burned forever didn’t sit well with me. I mean, no shower? No time out for bedtime? No, nothing, my parents would tell me. Hell is forever. So most of my childhood revolved around me cringing at the opposite sex. I avoided beautiful women until Hannah came along. Something is tantalizing about Hannah, and I can’t avoid even if I wanted to.
Hannah shrugs. “Well? I see the gears turning in your head and pants.” She drops her gaze to my jeans. Heat rushes through my cheeks. “Just think of it like…”
“That might work.” I drop my gaze, thinking about it to rationalize this with myself. I didn’t want to feel the unbearable sting of regret later. I had to make sure I wasn’t doing anything that couldn’t be forgiven.
“Listen, if you don’t wanna…”
“I’m not some loser,” I say, almost offended. I thought not to say it before I did say it. “I want to. I just don’t wanna go to hell.” After hearing the words leave my mouth, I felt embarrassed for thinking them. What kind of loser have I become? I can’t keep a girl with the same old excuses. At least my parents won’t hate me for being gay, right? Don’t look at me like that; I’d grown up believing being gay is a sin. As a kid, I didn’t know what to believe. Right now…I know I want Hannah and an excuse to give her what she (and I) want: each other’s bodies.
“Politicians are literally murdering people overseas, and you’re worried about… sex?” Hannah has a point under Trump; the civilian deaths are up four-fold, and no one bats an eye. We assume because people live overseas, they’re not people worthy of dignity and respect.
“But sex before marriage is different though, right? I mean, it’s a sin against God to have sex with a woman before marriage.”
Hannah rolls her eyes. “Fuck this. Do I have your consent?” Hannah says in a commanding tone.
“Sure, for what?”
Hannah straddles me and presses her palms against my chest. “Bed. On it. Now,” Hannah says, climbing atop my body as if dead weight.
I swallowed several times and took a deep breath. My face motionless; Hannah’s face unmoving, trembling about her waist. I could feel what she could throughout clothed bodies.
Hannah strips my body nude, and her clothes disappear, shifting her thoughts, shifting her hips, squeezing her thighs, tangling our bodies; Hannah drove me like a car as if she’d just gotten her license to sin.
My breath quickens from within, and whatever inspiration I had left to give evaporates under my tongue. The rise and fall of her chest, forcing moans and gasps through her lips like toothpicks, pulling me apart at the seams, prickling what’s left of my thin skin. Her soft olive skin slid, warmed against mine.
As if a word left hanging in the air, her tongue clasps mine; her lips lock mine. Our bodies tangle in her sheets. I thought I heard my Mom pull into the driveway, and I almost sat up and pushed Hannah off, but the fear of getting caught flew out the window.
She’s gaslighting her father’s mistakes as she gyrates to an unknown rhythm, tightening her red lips, biting her cheek. Tears form in her eyes and a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth at the same time.
Hannah throws her hand to her mouth to cover several “oh, fuck, yes’s” left hanging in the stillness of a solitude without expectation of solace.
First comes heavy breathing, then awkwardly staring at the ceiling, losing control, losing my insecurity. My immaturity fell to the waste side.
“Don’t stop!” Hannah says. “Don’t slow down! Don’t stop.”
I hold out another 10 minutes. It was rather interesting to see Hannah moan and cry at the same time. And when I asked her why she was crying in between kisses, she said that this was the most beautiful thing on earth. I wondered if she was seeing the same person I see in the mirror because we can’t be looking at the same person. I’m an average-looking guy. Hannah is a beauty queen.
“Oh, my fuckin’ gosh!” Hannah’s eyes roll. I thought I might be killing her. Then I’m going to hell for sex and jail for murder!
“You almost there?” I ask. No way in hell was I gonna finish before her. I wouldn’t let her tell her friends I’m some loser. I thought of rocks and sand instead of her clear pale skin, long red hair, and her Calvin Klein perfume.
“Ah…!” she says as her body tenses and her eyes roll back.
“You ok?” I ask of her breathless expression.
“Shut the fuck up,” Hannah says.
She comes to a sudden halt, kissing me as if I’d just returned home from a long flight from God knows where. She kisses my neck, my collarbone, and my chest. Her lips press mine, tasting like salt.
Hannah rakes her fingers through her hair. “Oh my God, that was awesome,” she says, crawling off my body, flipping on the light.
“You lasted ten minutes longer than I would have thought.” she cackled to tears, shoving her feet in her skinny jeans.
I look down, and blood drips from my hands.
“what the fuck is this?”
“So, like, it always happens the first time.”
“Mom’s gonna wanna know what happened to my sheets.”
“Tell her the truth.”
“Not sure that would flyover so well,” I say.
“Listen, dude. I gotta get home before dinner,” Hannah says, giving me several pecks on the lips. “We’ll text later tonight.”
Hannah hurried to the door and scurried to her house.
I sit up in my bed. My mouth dead weight, hanging open, not closing.
“Hannah lost her virginity to a total loser. Yes!” I say.