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Aaron's Writing Prompts - 2. Promt 305: The First Time

Explicit content

The sky was a bleak and impassive gray. Not that I cared—today was my day, the nasty weather be damned. It was Nathan and I’s one month anniversary, I had an amazing gift for him, and the girl at the bookstore called me “miss” once before she heard me speak. Not to mention I looked damn precious. I had on a little red dress patterned with sailboats, bright red lipstick, cream-colored Oxfords to make my Neanderthal feet look smaller, and big hoop earrings to distract from the unforgivably mannish contours of my face. I used to have hair to hide my square jawline; I was so fucking pissed my mom made me get it cut for my senior pictures.

Jay, unless you are ready to come out to God and everybody about all this girl stuff, you’re going to have to get a haircut. Your dad’s family won’t send you any graduation money, sweetie. Is that what you want?”

I bristled at the memory as I stepped off the Metro bus. I really wished I had told her to go eat a dick. I missed my hard-won luscious red locks. Having long, pretty “girl” hair made passing a million times easier. Nathan seemed to like it shorter, though. At least he seemed more inclined to run his fingers through it when I gave him head.

My face heated up at the thought. I was so anxious about this. It would be our first night together without someone’s parents in the same building. Trevor was liable to be a dick and tease us about being fags afterwards, but he wouldn’t interrupt us mid-coitus. We’d made too much money for him lately—all three of us knew he owed us this.

I wanted him so much it hurt. It made my chest ache with longing. Every bit of him. I wanted him on top of me, around me, inside me, however he would have me. We’d only “officially” had sex two times before today and it was rushed. Hasty and hushed and hot as all get-out, but still… unplanned. I was so nervous. I never had time to get nervous before. Would it be the same?

The last time we had sex was at my house and it was nothing short of life-altering. I remembered everything vividly; how could I not after all the times I rubbed one out while rehashing the details?

We were cuddled up under a blanket in the living room watching Transformers with him spooned comfortably against my back. He got hard first and started to grind on me. But then I heard my mom coming down the hall and told him to cut it the fuck out—they were on tenterhooks after my dad caught us kissing pretty heatedly in the pool earlier. She walked past us to the laundry room and shut the door, so he stuck his hand down the front of my pajama bottoms and started to fist my dick hard and fast, like he was trying to make me come before she came out. But as soon as I got close, the door opened and his hand froze. My mom picked that moment to ask if I knew where the scotch tape was. I said no. I was blushing like a schoolgirl and breathing really raggedly, so I’m almost certain she knew what was up. At any rate, she and my dad would not fucking leave us alone after that. Both of them found a hundred reasons to come in there and ask me shit about my grades or my chores or if I called Aunt Dolores on her birthday or whatever. But Nathan is not easily dissuaded. When there were about ten minutes left in the movie, and the intervals between my parents’ visits were steadily increasing, he stuck two fingers in his mouth. I knew what he was doing and hissed at him to quit, they were onto us, but my dick was still hard and it was not in my teenage body to stop him before he slipped his index finger into me. I balked at first and tried to roll away, but he just curled his bigger torso over mine and bit my shoulder and whispered shut the fuck up, Jay, all heady and wanting and I was his. It was awkward for him to move his arm at first with the way we were laying, but God it felt good. Having my thighs pressed together really turned up the friction. I palmed my cock through my pants and kept an ear out for footfalls. I remember I wanted so bad to spread my knees and let him at it, but changing positions might have given us away, so I just feebly lifted one thigh and hid my burning face in the crook of my elbow. At one point I had to feign sleepiness and mumble ashamedly to my mother, uh, yes, I still had that drawing I did in eighth grade, but had no clue where it was and I was too tired to look for it, with Nathan knuckle-deep, twitching his fingertips around maddeningly and grinning about it, the bastard, making it impossible for me to think about anything except the insistent throbbing of his hard, heavy cock against the back of my thigh. Halfway through the credits, Nathan was pistoning his fingers into me like there was no tomorrow, grazing my prostate every time, and I was on the cusp of an earth-shattering orgasm, my face buried in the carpet as I jacked the tip of my dick as subtly as I could, and my dad walked in and told Nathan they were heading to bed, and he should go home and get some rest, too, before school tomorrow. As soon as their door shut, he hauled me up to my room, laid me on the bed, yanked my pj’s down my thighs, and then told me quite bluntly that I was about to ride his cock until both of us came, and I better make it quick before they figured out we were up here alone.

I shuddered. Goosebumps raced up my arms and made my nipples hard. Would he be pushy like that again? God I hoped so. It was such a huge improvement over our first clumsy time together. Or would he make love to me? Fuck, I wasn’t sure if we technically “made love” yet or not. What was that even supposed to mean? Was it just slow fucking? The first time we had sex was kind of slow but mostly both of us were too nervous about me losing my virginity to do much. I loved Nathan and I was almost certain he loved me. Almost. Neither of us had worked up the balls to say it yet, but…

Oh God, would he say it today? One month was a pretty big deal after all. Holy shit, what if he said it and I was too scared to say it back? Or what if I just burst into relieved tears? Fuck, that was a distinct possibility. I could not take this buildup—it was going to ruin me. I had never told anyone except my family I loved them before. Was it supposed to be casual-like? Like a suave arm over the shoulders and then “hey, I think you’re completely the shit in every way and I love you,” or was I supposed to grab his face and be all dramatic or…

Just then a little girl in front of me walking hand-in-hand with her mother piped up, “Mommy, mommy, look at the bird!” as she jabbed her finger animatedly at the sky. Curious, I followed her gaze, and there was a bird of prey perched on the telephone wire with one of its legs nestled serenely in its feathers. I wondered if it was a hawk or a falcon. I was almost sure it was a falcon—hawks looked meaner. Whatever it was, the fucker was staring right at me, his head rotating slowly as I passed him by, and my racing thoughts slowed to a crawl under the calm intensity of his stare.

I was shaken out of my majestic ass bird reverie by the sound of splintering wood and then a desperate yelp. I stopped in my tracks. An older gentleman walking a few feet behind me had snapped his cane in two and fallen face-first on the concrete.

“Oh my God, sir, are you okay?” I rushed over and stooped to help him up. His glasses were askew and his eyes were unfocused, but his face instantly screwed up with anger when he saw me.

“I’m fine, God damn it. Don’t you touch me,” he spluttered as he jerked his arm from me and picked himself up from the concrete.

“Are you sure? Jesus, what happened?” He rested his hand on a nearby newspaper vending machine for support.

“I stuck m’damn cane in a pothole.”

“Can you walk? Do you need some help getting home or anything?”

“Not from you, son. You’re the reason I tripped in the first place.”

I deadpanned him. I wasn’t new to this sort of reaction, but this guy had some real nerve. I came to help him for Christ’s sake.

“How could I have tripped you? I was a good five feet in front of you, asshole.”

“I was so disgusted by seeing a man degrade himself like that I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

My reaction was instant and one hundred percent instinctual. I curled my toes inside my pretty cream shoes and kicked the newspaper machine as hard as I possibly could. It flew off the curb and rolled into the street. The bastard swore and stumbled forward, grabbing for me, but I sidestepped him, stuck out an ankle, and tripped him.

“Now you can safely say a tranny tripped you today, fuck-face,” I sing-songed as I pranced away. Everyone around me was staring indignantly since I just, you know, tripped an old guy, but nothing at that moment could have dampened my womanly pride. Nathan would love this. Hell, this would probably even get a laugh from Trevor. I sniffled haughtily and tried to console myself with the memory of the flabbergasted look on his face.

Nonetheless the words hurt. Just to know that anyone would look at me and think that was… disheartening, to say the least. Here I was convinced that I really looked like myself today.

Some of my pep was restored when suddenly the weight of the bag on my left arm bit into my skin. I grinned to myself. Nathan was going to go totally apeshit. And then hopefully make love to me. I could not believe I found an original uncut copy of The Stand at a fucking used bookstore! There were only a few thousand in print, and the fact that this one made it all the way to the west coast was nothing short of phenomenal. I remembered him ranting one time as he browsed Amazon that all of the uncut versions were not the originals. Apparently Mr. King added a few more chapters to “appeal to a new generation” and put a second uncut version in circulation. I was going to get him an assortment of cheap paperbacks with buff dudes on the front since that never failed to please, but then this thing just appeared before me like an apparition or some shit behind a stack of Lakers Cheerleaders calendars from last year. He would love me for this present—I was sure of it. I was counting on it.

I quickened my stride as I neared Trevor’s new apartment. I knew he had to choose a place in the hood with what we were doing, but The Point apartments seemed a little excessive. The place was fucking terrifying at night. Luckily there were no drunken Mexicans making exaggerated cat calls today so the walk up the stairs was relatively painless.

I hesitated before I knocked. The bag weighed heavily on my arm. It occurred to me Nathan and I had never been alone since we started dating. Not really alone, anyway. I mean, sure, we sneaked off to the park at night for heavy petting sessions all the time, but there were always other kids lurking around smoking weed. Sometimes we were alone in the theater after rehearsal, since Nathan always stayed late, but there was always a janitor or another student or someone around to restrict us.

What if he answered the door? What was I supposed to say? “Hey, baby, happy one month?” That sounded stupid. Should I just grab him and kiss him? What if Trevor was there and ruined it? Really I hoped Trevor was there to alleviate some of my tension. That was kind of fucked up since I knew Nathan hated his guts. But still I selfishly wished for him to be there just so I had someone else to look at while I worked up the courage to not be a pussy.

I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and knocked. I could tell by the heavy footfalls it was Trevor before he opened the door.

“Damn, you look especially gay today, mi mariposa. Congratulations.”

“It is my one month today—I have to look good for Nathan. In other news, you look especially like a turd today, Trevor. A big ol’ zesty bean burrito turd. Congratulations to you, too.” And that was why he didn’t hate me—I didn’t let him get to me. That simple concept seemed to elude Nathan.

“Hey hey, easy on the insults. I’m opening up my home for you to fuck my brother in peace, here. Show some respect.”

I stepped inside when his shorter but much bulkier form disappeared from the doorway. Nathan was crowded into the corner of the only couch, looking gorgeous and frazzled but nonetheless happy to see me. There was a half-empty bottle of Crown Royal on the table and the receipt from the liquor store right was next to it. Not good.

“You’re sure it’s not ‘cause we made you all that money, chunte?” I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was thoroughly pissed and maybe a little drunk. I was not quite sure what “chunte” meant but he spat out it and Trevor looked enraged so I assumed it wasn’t nice.

“You don’t talk to me that way, you fucking pendejo maricón! I will still kick your mother fucking ass, Nathan—don’t think I won’t. Say that shit to me one more time. One more time, you hear me, puto?” He rolled his “r’s” like a real half-Mexican for once so I know they’ve been fighting. This was worse than I thought. Nathan almost looked scared.

For once in his life my boyfriend did the smart thing and kept his mouth shut. He looked at me for affirmation and I held his gaze, trying to tell him telepathically to just calm down—take a deep breath and look at your present, baby. His eyes dipped down to the bag and I grinned.

Trevor looked between us, deflated with a tired, long-suffering sigh, and rolled his eyes.

“Okay, whatever that was, I’m leaving now. Make sure he doesn’t steal my shit. I’m probably gonna come back around, like, one thirty tomorrow morning, so take a smoke break from fucking for a twenty-minute window around then. There’s a gram of kush on the dresser for you, Jay. Adios.” And with that he left.

Nathan threw a couch cushion quite violently at the door as soon as Trevor shut it.

“FUCKING ASSHOLE!” he screamed, tears brimming in his eyes. He always cried so easily but never in front of Trevor.

I dropped the bag and went to him right away, wrapped his prone form up in my arms and pulled him in close. He had definitely been into the Crown. He sniffled once and sighed.

“I’m sorry. I told him he had to be gone when you got here but he kept insisting I was going to steal all his shit for some reason. Like, dumbass, I would have stolen all your stuff when you still lived with us if I really wanted to. He’s so stupid.”

“I know,” I murmured, petting his hair. “You are going to lead an easier life once you get it into your thick head that everything he says and does is to rile you up.”

“I know. I just can’t… I can’t let him get away with it, I guess. Walking all over me, I mean.”

“You can’t keep your mouth shut is what it is. Wanna hear something really funny?”

He smiled brightly and my pulse raced. I loved him so much.

“Yes.”

“On my way here some old guy snapped his cane in half in a pothole and fell smack on his face. I went back to help him and he was like “Ew, don’t touch me, girly man” and yanked his arm back and stuff. Then I asked him if he needed help getting home since he was effectively crippled and he tells me “not from you, son” and that apparently my fabulousness was the reason he tripped to begin with. So obviously I’m like, uh, don’t think so, bitch, I was in front of your slow old ass the whole time. Then he gives me the whole,” I craned my neck back and stuck my lip out indignantly to imitate the old bastard, “’I hate to see a man degrade himself like that.” This whole time he’s holding onto a newspaper vending machine thing, right? I kicked it over and when he stumbled forward, I tripped him for real.”

Nathan burst out laughing, holding his gut as he doubled over, his sides shaking.

“Bro, that’s not even the best part. Before I walked away I was like, “Now you can safely say a tranny tripped you today, fuck-face,” and I got out of there because people were staring. But it was a flawless execution of justice.”

“Holy shit, it sounds like it.” He dabbed at his eyes with the bottom of his shirt, revealing his lovely caramel abdomen and the little golden treasure trail that ran from his bellybutton to the top of his jeans. “That’s hilarious, babe. I love you for that.”

I stared at him. Not prepared. Not even a little. It took him a long moment to catch on—too long. My cheeks were blazing by the time he realized what he said.

He blinked once, twice, and then he smiled at me, like that was what he meant to say all along. As much as I worried about what I would do that first time, I understood then that this time was the first of many, and I knew exactly what to do. I held him and told him I loved him, too, in no uncertain terms, forever or for as long as he would have me.

Oh Christ, first person narration. Let’s see how this goes. There’s a first time for everything, right? #sopunny

I figured a prompt was the safest place to try it. Someone please tell me if it’s horrible or if I accidentally break into third. I caught myself using the wrong pronouns and, oddly, the wrong verb tense constantly. Apparently it’s really easy to drift toward present tense in first person.

Holy hell this ended up way longer than I meant it to. I guess that's a good thing?

Copyright © 2014 Aaron Penrose; All Rights Reserved.
If you enjoyed what you have read, please leave a reaction and/or comment for the author!

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Chapter Comments

Never thought someone tripping a geriatric in a round about way would be funny, but I had to laugh. Great take on the prompt. BTW, the scene in the living room could be the scene in a million teen oriented movies. Mom and Dad can't watch us all the time. :P

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On 02/23/2014 04:44 AM, joann414 said:
Never thought someone tripping a geriatric in a round about way would be funny, but I had to laugh. Great take on the prompt. BTW, the scene in the living room could be the scene in a million teen oriented movies. Mom and Dad can't watch us all the time. :P
Glad to have made you laugh! I admit I did not sit down with the intention of taking the story that way but Jay has a way of speaking her own mind despite me.

You know, it does seem a bit teeny looking back at it. I may wind up taking that bit out; I don't think the story would lose anything.

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