“Not yet,” he said, lifting my shirt and unhooking my white cotton bra. Slowly, deliciously, he kissed my breasts, first the left, then the right, every inch of them. I’d never felt anything that good. I moaned a bit, and felt my back arch up on its own. This body, I realized, carried knowledge, handed down to me from my ancestors, of what to do. My hips began to rock on their own. I looked up at the trees, and the sky, and I felt incredibly free, and alive. And scared. People said it would hurt. I didn’t want it to hurt. They said you might bleed, and that scared me, too. What if I bled so much I needed a doctor? So many questions.
