Found something I wrote about my ex over a year ago. LOL
I was watching the movie, “First Time”. Although amongst its sheer melodramatic ridiculousness and insincere sentimentality from its stars.. In a small part, it was very relatable. It made me relive my teenage years. All those awkward first touches, and the quivering, terrified hands doing them.
I had a very hard time trying to find anything substantial with anyone in my teenage years. I tend to get caught up in the here and now, rather than thinking about how it affected anything else, my own life or the lives of others. Life was all about wearing the slinky top you thought your breasts looked perky in. About stealing mom’s push-up bras to make them look even better, at the risk of getting caught doing so. It was all about getting that right moment with the boy whose lips constantly permeate the depths of your imagination. It was all about trying to make your way in the dark, to fumble around foolishly in a world you knew nothing about. You wanted nothing more than to explore and uncover it’s mysteries and all of its firsts.
My skin can still feel the first time someone grazed up my back lightly with the tips of their fingernails, and then back down with the pads of clammy fingertips, catching with friction on my skin. I am still ignoring that old, itchy flannel blanket barely keeping me warm, as to focus on the calloused hand resting on my hips, knuckle deep into the belt loops of my jeans. The folds of his shirt still indented into my spine, from those times he would sneak to my house late at night, laying down, side by side, extending his arm around me. I can remember the first time, warm, perspired air tickled my ear lobe; his soft, short hair grazing my neck, my collar bones, down my sternum toward my thighs. My imagination still lingers over how the dresser feels firmly pressed against my back, my head thrown back with purposeful, excited giggling to expose the nubile skin on my neck. My heart stopping the moment it spills out onto my sheets. My mouth opening and pursing to accommodate its motions with his. I still see the shallow light of the nearby street lamp, the one that created the perfect glow when I glanced to my window in the dark.
I see many nights of lust and wanderlust, still trying to make my way through a world I don’t understand. It is a world I have since explored, but have yet to uncover its mysteries. But I think, no, I know, that I have started to find the gleam amongst the dark. In the distance, like the street lamp just outside of that window. That one that lit up just enough of the room to see the outlines of objects within it. And it is getting closer to me. It’s tall, and it’s comforting, and he’s perfect.
Amid all the constellations, all the unsolved crosswords, the fake words, and the lies.. I’ve found a light. And suddenly, none of those first few, quivering, terrified touches matter much anymore.
