The First Time

I like to think I’m seeing a part of you that nobody else ever has, nor ever will. Maybe in another life… but here our relationship is special, never to be replicated.

I know it’s cold in here. We both have the goosebumps to match. However, I think those could also be attributed to fear. I can feel your heart racing, but you’re not alone in that. I’m scared too, but also excited. You may not want to admit the same. Deep down, I think you’re excited, if not a little curious.

Your mother knows and secretly resents that your first word was “Dada.” As soon as it left your lips, she bore down on the pressure to add “Mama” to your repertoire.

Your school nurse knows that you broke your right wrist on the monkey bars when you were in the second grade. It was her fourth day on the job and you were the first kid she handled with a broken bone by herself. She was panicked, but proud. I think you could remember her as well, even in just a flash of memory since you were so young.

Your first boyfriend knows you in the instants before and after womanhood, though is it archaic of me to use intercourse as such an indication?

Your best friend knows everything about you. Well, almost everything. She’ll never know you like this. This is special, between just us.

The low-lit lamps around us still find bright spots for themselves in your eyes. Your beautiful, brown eyes take everything in. You watch every muscle twitch, every swallow. I’m self-conscious about whether I’m blinking too much, if I’m breathing too loud. I’ve never had someone so focused on me.

My hands are clammy, but I want to run my fingers through your hair and reassure you that everything is all right. I want to reassure myself too.

Your muscles are taut against the make shift duct tape restraints. It’s like every part of you is activated and alert, body and mind connected.

How often do we imagine ourselves in life-or-death situations? We swear we’d be the fight type when in reality a good bit of us represent the flight. I can tell you are a true fighter. You aren’t giving up. If you were to logically assess your current situation with a paper and pen, you’d know your odds of making it out alive are incredibly low. Yet, you still fight. Nobody else will ever be able to know that about you. And that is from the connection we now have.

And in reverse, what you now know about me is also intimate between the two of us. I’ve never done this before, and I'm not sure I'm doing it well. You can feel my insecurity in this. I am sure you can feel my heart beating as my chest is on your stomach, my head resting on your chest for reassurance. I used to lay on my mother like this when I was nervous or scared.

Now, a new first for us both. Your eyes bulge in disbelief. I can feel your pain. And I admire you, for you still fight. Your stomach sucks and holds in the knife like it doesn’t want to be stabbed again. I am not sure if you’ll bleed out slowly with one, or if multiple wounds will speed the process. My inexperience is embarrassing. The goosebumps are gone now and your warmth is comforting. I can relax a little. The scariest part is always just before you start. Once it’s happening, it only gets easier.

I can feel you, begging me to stop, disbelief as if you dared me to not thinking I actually would. You want it to end. You are getting weaker. The duct tape is not stretched like before. I myself am growing tired. Do you feel both our energies depleting?

Your eyes aren’t narrowed anymore. You’re just looking at me. I’m the last thing you ever saw. And your eyes still look like eyes, they just aren’t moving.