Before it comes and goes, we all doubt; we are all "not so sure"; we all fear the worse. But sometimes, despite all worries and concerns first-time-sex can really go the right way. These are my thoughts and hopes. This is how I imagine my first time.
Slowly the moment came and then went. "It" came and went. Strange to talk about it as “it” isn’t it? Still I believe most of you, you thirty as Manzoni once thought , will understand what I am talking about. That flower that so neatly is kept and so fast goes away, leaving nothing but bare ground and grass. Yes, some see it as this wonderful thing, that you must keep for the sake of your happiness, others as that uselessness that you must get rid of before it gains too much importance. I have a really hard time giving it a weight, because it is so difficult to make a definite decision. How can you put a number? How can you give a specific value to something, knowing that it will be certainly an influenced decision? Society decides its number and how it applies to you. So now, how does it apply to me? Sometimes I think it is better if it’s “them” who decide, rather than me. It would become just that much simpler.
Well here it comes.
Of course laughter, and smiles, fun and love. That is what always comes before it, in tales and stories. And of course that is what I want to come before it for me. I want the world to seem perfect for that very instant, despite the pain, despite my naive look, despite his embarrassed hands. I want it to feel right, as that last piece of a puzzle fits perfectly in the end, revealing the incredible and complete picture that it always was. I believe that is what I’m hoping for. I hope the pieces are there, they always have been. How can they not? The one thing I do not doubt is his sincereness and, as it is, it speaks love. So if he does love me, how can I not love him back? Is it even possible? People give what they receive, isn’t that right? Then, how is it that I do not feel myself giving it as much as I should? I feel I expect more love than I give. And then I do not feel I give much, so my expectations must be low. And low expectations are obvious to the soul, and hurt deep down, because you know it could be so much better and you are, and he is, worth so much more.
Getting back on the subject.
Laughter, smiles. Here we go. Of course as every saturday night, we sneak into my mom’s new empty house. I put my purse down, he lays his jacket on the sofa. Then the shoes come off, and we both know what is coming. I almost think there is no passion anymore. Sometimes I ask myself if there ever was. Anyways, that night all these thought are gone, everything is gone. All the concerns, all the voices, all the judgments, all gone just like leaves blown away by spring’s warm wind. Of course the wind represents love. As I write it it seems so poetic, I just hope that is really how it will be. Maybe I should wait more, so I can have more certainty? But then, how much more? We head towards the couch, but skip the chit chat, the love words, the tiresome. I know what will happen, as he does. Embarrassment covers our words, and our comfortableness. But then it goes, and flies away. (I hope the words will come to me, as they do in this moment.) “Talk to me about it” I say “I want to know what it will be like, but especially I want to know what you want it to be like.” Then boldness itself comes to me “I need to know that you really really love me. That kind of love you’d do anything for. Fifty years from now, when this moment comes back to mind, I want to remember your words and know you were the right one, and not just one”. “Please give me this certainty, give me the strength to go on, because I so much want to and so much know I will. I do not want to make a mistake knowing I am doing so.” In english these words flow so well.. i just hope they won’t seem ridiculous when I translate them into italian. (It’s so frustrating sometimes to own both languages, while the others speak just one. Sometimes words come so well into one, and look so dumb into the other.). I picture him with that worried look, that lost look. And I’m lost too. But then, as songs so often say, love takes over, and everything disappears. He slowly kisses me on the forehead as a father would do, but only he has ever done. He kisses my cheek and my neck, then slowly moves towards my lips. I hear him tell me he loves me, in that soft, oh-so-soft, voice. It echoes into my head so many times, and for a second fear comes to me. Do I really want this? Is he really the one? And right there, right in that moment, he says those words that will beautifully haunt me for the rest of my life. Words I could never anticipate, because if I could their value would drown right with them. Words that give me strength; beautiful, bold strength. I get up and move towards the bedroom, with excitement and fear guiding me throughout the dark of an untouched house, as I am. I feel his steps behind me. Do I recognize them, as I do with my sister’s or my father’s, or is it just too soon to expect it? As I enter the room, he lids candles as I begged him to so many times. For some reason, they relax me and make me feel loved. How can so small objects, hold so much importance? While he does so, I slowly remove my socks, then my sweater. I hesitate and look at him. He hits me back with the same hesitation, and again that gives me strength as I go on. He removes his shirt, and mine. I’m staring right into his eyes. My jeans slide to the floor. In a second I am nude. Still my eyes are fixed on his. His body free as mine. The duvet joins the clothes on the floor, as I slide under the sheets. This is really happening. A thousand thoughts come to mind. Then he’s there too, and they are gone. My body slightly shivers, but his slow touch calms me. I know with certainty that he will ask “are you sure?”. I wouldn’t want him to, but I would be crushed if he didn’t. “Yes” I whisper. And it goes.