“He’s very hopeful right now,” I recall Kyle answering. We laughed then, and it helped ease the awkwardness of the moment.
I was clueless, of course, about what to do with it. And Kyle, in retrospect, was pretty clueless about what to do with me. So there was no more foreplay. We both simply removed our shorts, and in missionary position, as I held my breath and squeezed my eyes shut in anticipation of pain, Kyle carefully slid himself into my body. It did not hurt as people had warned me it would. It did not feel particularly good, either. It felt bulky, and intrusive, and scary. I was too nervous, suddenly, with the idea of a penis inside of me, and the possibility that I might get pregnant, to do anything but scream.
