She did not agree they would do it today. Neither did he ask her. But intuitively, he knew they would make love today. For the nearly three weeks they had been going out, the closest to lovemaking they ever had was she offering him a peck on his forehead at her doorstep after their last outing to the movies. His skin tingled as he recalled the sensational feeling that singular act aroused within him. He vividly recalled the confidence and skill with which she had held his head on both sides, pulled him close and swept his skin with her lips.
And there he was, nervous and tense up, and not knowing how to react. Gosh! He should have wrapped his hands across her hips and held her close, and returned her kiss, giving her a peck on her forehead. No, on either of her cheeks. Perhaps, her lips even. Then a wet kiss. That should have been it. Ho, he hated himself!
And to think he had always thought he knew it all, after reading romance novels and seeing how it was done on movies. That kiss which he could not return went to prove to him that he was clearly an eighteen-year-old teenager who had never done it before. And come this September, they were both going to the university - different schools.
Today would be the day. It was late in the afternoon in a weekday, with the time of his parents returning from work still far off. He surveyed the sitting room, imagining her first impression as she would walk in. Then his eyes quickly dashed to his wristwatch. 3:50p.m. Ten minutes to their date. All over again, he imagined how she would walk in, take her sit on the sofa he would offer her and how he would then offer her cookies and juice. He had decidedly resolved on snacks and not food. He had read it somewhere that eating food before making love reduces sexual urge. The last thing he needed now was reduction of sexual urge.
Then he imagined her taking the snacks as he would turn on the television and then play a romantic movie he had selected the night before. Sitting by her as the movie would be playing, he would move closer, hold her hands and comment on her clothes and looks, and whisper beautiful and sweat words into her ears. A moment later, the necking would begin. Thereafter, he would lead her to his bedroom. Then the moment would finally come. He tried to relax his nerves as he imagined how he would finally conclude that final act.
He could not see anything going wrong with his plans. He had surveyed the bedroom a million times to be very sure everything was in order: neat and well arranged, with a dim light. Romance was in the air.
They were deeply in love. This much he knew. She had introduced him to her parents as her boyfriend and they had often gone to the movies and had taken walks in the beach, hand in hand. They had exchanged romantic texts and had talked on phone into late in the night. He had visited her at home every other day, but this was her first visit where they had agreed he was to host her at home. And then that memorable kiss at her doorstep. No, nothing could go wrong.
He looked at his wristwatch. 4:05p.m. Five minutes late! He resisted the temptation to call her. That would only go to show he was anxious and desperate. She would come. He was sure of that. If she was not coming, she would call. They could not have dated for three weeks without him getting to know her well. 4:15p.m.
What could be wrong? He was now agitated. His was a sparsely populated genteel neighborhood with bungalows and neat lawns. With every sound, he could tell when a car arrived, but he got up and moved to the window to take a viewing position. He began to sweat, and doubt started to grow in him. If she did not show up in the next five minutes, he would have to call her. Could she have changed her mind? If she had had a change of heart, what could be responsible? Did she think he was not mature enough for her?
Though they were of the same age, she seemed and acted maturely, more matured than him, and she was clearly more knowledgeable in the ways of the world. He began to blame his parents for restricting and deciding friends for him, their only child. If he had been an outward guy like most of his former schools-mates, perhaps, by now, he would have done it, and would have been able to handle his present date in a mature way. Now, she had broken up their date without bothering to call him up, because she knew he could not handle her.
Because he was deep in negative thoughts, he did not notice as she pulled to a halt at the kerb and walked to the front door, until he heard the first three knocks, which brought him out of his deep thoughts.
Who was it? He asked himself. The round of knocks came again. This time, his eyes went to the road and he saw her red sports car, her seventeenth birthday present from her parents the year before. Ho, she was here. Then all his plans went out of his head as he reached for the front door.
When he opened the door, she threw her hands across his shoulders and planted a kiss on each of his cheeks. He was too shocked to respond. She led him to the sofa and, in her cool voice, apologised for coming late.
Then she saw the bookshelf in a corner and excitedly walked up to see the collection.
It was then he took time to take in her blue jeans trousers and jeans jacket over white polo neck, and a pair of boots. She was sweet looking as she stood by the shelf, her young but auspicious hips in good view. His heartbeat increased sharply. Now, he just recalled she loved novels. He began to recover his nerves as he joined her at the shelf. Then they discussed novels.
'So, what can I offer you?' he finally asked, his voice thick.
'Acceptance of my apology,' she replied and smiled, her voice warm. 'You've not accepted my apology.'
'Ho, that', he returned, smiling back. 'Apology accepted.'
'Not asking why I came late?' she continued. She was controlling and dominating their conversation, which was not how he had planned it.
'As you are finally here safe and sound and happy, it couldn't have been serious.' He paused nervously. 'So, what can I offer you?' he repeated.
'Novels. There are many of my writers here. Who owns them? Could I borrow any?'
'I own some. You can have any,' he said as he walked to the television set. 'Let's watch a movie. Have you seen ...?
'No,' she interrupted. 'Let's dance. Soft music. Any soft music.'
He smiled. Not because he could dance soft music, but because at that moment, it was much better than watching a movie.
Then he played soft music and offered her his hand like he had seen it on movies.
She smiled and took his hand. Surprisingly, he discovered he could dance. And she could dance, too. With bodies held closed, and her breasts soft against his chest, everything felt normal except that his heart was beating fast, very fast, but unexpectedly, less fast than hers. He could not understand why her heart was beating fast.
They swayed and swung to the rhythm of the music. He felt she was nervous, but he was not very sure. Perhaps, she was pretending so as to encourage him and give him confidence. He felt encouraged. Gently pushing her away to face her, he then placed his lips on hers and wanted to kiss her, but she shut her lips tight.
What could be wrong? Was he not doing it right? He attempted it again. Then she slowly opened her lips, and their lips touched. He began to kiss her, just as he had seen it on movies: his first kiss.
But again, her response was naïve, or so he assumed. She was not responding as he had expected.
But as he got deeply engrossed in kissing her, he noticed her responding.
Perhaps, she had felt he was not doing it right. But it was just as he had watched it. And it felt good to him.
A moment later, he led her to his bedroom and she followed him without any hesitation or resistance. Sitting side by side on the bed in the dim light, the kissing continued. Everything was just as he had seen it on movies. He paused and smiled at her as he removed his shoes. She followed suit and they were onto bed in a jiffy, kissing furiously. There was no more nervousness on both parts and the intensity and passion grew.
Then he paused and removed his clothes, except his boxers. But she did not remove her clothes, starring at him instead, with eyes blank.
What had he done wrong? Why was she not removing her clothes? He stared around. What? Perhaps, it was the door. Yes, the door. The front door was unlocked. And the door to his bedroom was ajar, too.
'Excuse me', he muttered. 'Let me lock the front door. Anybody could be in any moment.'
But her eyes remained blank.
'Just a second,' he added.
She nodded gently, her eyes growing nervous. He gently walked out of the room, but dashed to the front door immediately he was out of her sight.
Locking the door quickly, he dashed back, paused outside the door to his bedroom and gently walked in and shut the door. But she was still fully dressed.
'Why? Why have you not removed your clothes?' he was forced to ask.
Her eyes were nervous as she said nothing and looked away.
Then he remembered some girls liked their guys removing their clothes as it arouses them and puts them in the right mood. He should have guessed it.
Then he offered to remove her clothes. Without waiting for her acceptance, which was not even forthcoming, he gently removed her jacket, then her white polo, with her raising up her hands as he pulled the polo off. All this while he forgot he was supposed to whisper some romantic words and commend her beautiful body, to make her smile, setting her in the right mood.
He was too carried away to recall all he had read and watched. And he was also so carried away he failed to realise how nervous she had suddenly grown, her whole body shivering.
When it was her bra and her jeans trousers left, he naturally went for her trousers first. He unbuttoned the steel button and unzipped her. She raised her hips up for him to conveniently pull the trousers, leaving her with her underwear.
Then he resumed kissing her. Everything seemed to be in order as she responded in sudden and unexpected intensity. He appeared to be an expert as everything came naturally to him.
It was when he reached for the snap of her bra and unfastened it, releasing her young breasts, with nipples now stiff and pointed, that the vibration began. The whole of her body was vibrating and she appeared to be doing everything in a trance.
Then she suddenly started talking. 'Quick', she moaned. 'Now, please!'
No, she was not moaning. She was screaming and crying. Tears flooded her face.
Then he quickly removed her underwear with her raising her hips. Then she spread her legs. She was shouting, crying and talking gibberish.
Using his left index finger came naturally to him. But as he penetrated her, she screamed in a great pain, 'Ha!' and snapped his hand off her.
Then she turned and laid face down, hiding her face on the pillow. And she wept profusely and sobbed hard and loud.
What did he do wrong? he asked himself. Or was he not supposed to use his index finger? No, it was the index finger. He was very sure of that. He had read it on and on only the night before. Then what? What was wrong? Even, must it be no other finger but the index finger?, he asked himself. Something else was wrong. He was very sure. He must have offended her somehow. She was more experienced than him. Yes, he must have offended her, done something wrong. Ho, this was entirely his fault. He hated himself!
'Hello, I'm very sor–,' he began before she interrupted him.
'Ho, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.' She spoke between sobs, her face pressed against the pillow, her legs tightly held together. 'I'm so sorry', she continued. 'I'm so sorry. Please I'm very sorry. The pain. I couldn't stand it. It was so painful. So painful. I never thought it would be so painful. I'm so sorry.'
What was she talking about? He wondered. Pain? What pain? It was only his index finger, which he had meant as foreplay. He was confused.
'I'm sorry', she continued, too embarrassed to face him. 'I couldn't stand the pain. Maybe some other day. I'm so sorry.'
Pause. 'I've not done it before. This is my first time.'
There was a spasm of sobs: 'I'm .... I'm.' Then she blurted out: 'I'm a virgin.'
And she continued to sob, hiding her face on the pillow.
She did not agree they would do it today. Neither did he ask her. But intuitively, he knew they would make love today. For the nearly three weeks they had been going out, the closest to lovemaking they ever had was she offering him a peck on his forehead at her doorstep after their last outing to the movies. His skin tingled as he recalled the sensational feeling that singular act aroused within h
