My First Time (Unrated Version)

Karen Gilmore
Karen Gilmore
October 20, 2020

I’ve waited so long for this. Now that it’s finally about to happen, my heart races. Most of my friends have already done it, but I felt apprehensive asking them about it. They were all so matter of fact. I want to play it cool like them, like it’s no big deal. I don’t want him to see how nervous I am.

I didn’t picture my first time being in a car, but at least it’s a nice car. I breathe in the pine smell and tug at my skirt. The song on the radio changes to “Touch my Body” by Mariah Carey. I cringe, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Is this your first time?” he asks, gently. He smells of alcohol mixed with something sweeter.

“Yes,” I admit, somewhat sheepishly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” he says, his piercing blue eyes staring into mine intently, like we’re the only two people in the world.

“It’s okay, I’m ready,” I whisper, breathing heavily. Part of me is scared and doesn’t want him to, but deep down I know it’s right.

He slides it in. “Relax,” he tells me. “It will hurt less if you relax.”

My breath catches.

“Are you ok?” he asks. He’s attentive, but also very practiced. After all, it’s certainly not his first time. I’m lucky he’s my first. Clearly, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I’m ok,” I assure him. “Keep going.”

He goes deeper and I gasp. My eyes roll back in my head and I claw the leather seat. “Ahhhhhh, oh my God,” I moan involuntarily.

“Just a little further,” he says, his voice strained. I find myself tearing up. This is so embarrassing. Get it together, I tell myself silently, as I stare over his shoulder into the dusky twilight.

Just as I’m starting to relax and get used to it, he pulls out, abruptly. I feel disoriented and flushed. He hands me a tissue to wipe myself. There’s the sound and smell of snapping rubber.

“You can pull that back up now,” he says, pointing at my leopard-printed mask. “You’ll get the results within the next 5 days. They’ll call you if you’re positive for COVID, but not if you’re negative.”

“Thanks,” I say, smoothing my hair and sniffling as I yank my mask back up hurriedly.

But he’s already looking past me to the next in line.