I Never

by Laura Hopper

  “Yeah,” I whisper.

  “Feel good?”

  “Feels so good,” I answer.

  My hands find his ass and squeeze while he moves up and down, in and out.

  “I love you,” he says.

  “I love you back,” I say.

  His hips start to move faster, his breath getting quicker.

  “Oh god,” he says. “Oh, Janey.”

  I watch his face.

  “I’m getting close,” he tells me.

  “Okay,” I say. “I want to watch you.”

  His eyes close and he seems to drift to a far-off place. His mouth opens wide and I feel him throb inside me. It takes him a moment or two to return to our present, and he fully grasps the fact that I have been watching him while he climaxed. It’s the first time I’ve ever noticed a hint of self-consciousness in Luke Hallstrom. He kisses me quickly and rolls next to me.

  “That was unbelievable.”

  “It was?” I ask.

  Luke looks offended. “You don’t think so?”

  I laugh a little. “Of course I think so. It was amazing. But I have nothing to compare it to,” I say.

  “Trust me,” he says. “It was phenomenal.”

  “I’m glad,” I say.

  “You’re not done, are you?” he asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t have an orgasm.”

  “I don’t think so, but I’m not sure,” I say.

  “What do you mean you’re not sure?” he asks.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever had an orgasm,” I say.

  “Haven’t you ever given yourself one?”

  “No,” I say, embarrassed.

  “You should.”

  “You’re telling me to masturbate?” I ask, incredulous.

  “Well, yeah,” he says, smiling, but completely serious.

  “Why do I need to masturbate if I have you?”

  “Because if you know what you like, I can do it for you,” he says, as though it’s the most obvious explanation ever.

  “Okay,” I say without really meaning it.

  “Here, I’ll help.” He reaches his hand down and starts touching me again. “Tell me when I get to a good spot.” He rubs back and forth, covering the whole area with rapid movements.

  “Is that good?”

  “That’s really good,” I say, leaning my head back and closing my eyes.

  He keeps at it, moving more quickly, applying more pressure. The feeling starts to build, radiating from between my legs to my entire torso, down my legs, up my back.

  “Have I found the spot?”

  “Yes,” I eke out.

  “Want me to stop?” he teases.

  “No,” I say in the faintest of whispers.

  I arch my back. I feel my knees shake. The feeling grows almost intolerable. I let out an audible gasp as the orgasm takes hold of my entire body. After a brief recovery, I open my eyes to find Luke looking down at me.

  “I think I came,” I say, smiling.

  “Yeah, I think so too,” he says.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I feel different. I feel like a full-fledged woman. I now know what all the fuss is about. I am in on the joke. In my dad’s apartment building, I was in an elevator full of adults, and I realized that everyone in that elevator had probably had sex. Including me. Now when I hear a song like Walk the Moon’s “Jenny” and Nicholas Petricca sings, Jenny’s got a body just like an hourglass. I want to be the sand inside that hourglass, I know what he’s talking about. I know!

  The morning after my first time, I wake up in my old bed, in my old room, in my old sheets, in my old faded pajamas, but I feel like a new person. I could swear when I catch my reflection in the mirror that I look a little different. Like it is written all over my face. It’s as though I’ve gained an awareness that exudes from my every pore. However, while I am certain my newfound status as a non-virgin is somewhat obvious, I do love walking around like I’m holding a secret. A wonderful, personal secret.

  Of course I share the details of my so-called secret with Danielle and Sloan. I tell them about the car ride to my dad’s place, the shower, and the first orgasm of my life (hopefully the first of many). I also tell them that while I had thought I was in love with Luke before we did it, the feelings I have for him now have intensified exponentially.

  As we sit on the floor of Danielle’s bedroom and I wax philosophic about the gravity of the sexual experience, I look at Sloan and see that there are tears in her eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask Sloan, worried that I’ve been somehow insensitive or selfish. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No,” Sloan says, dabbing at her eyes with the cuff of her sweatshirt. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Then why are you crying?” I ask.

  “I’m not crying,” she says, her voice cracking and her tears dripping down her face more rapidly. We all share a giggle, and Danielle rubs Sloan’s back.

  “What’s going on?” Danielle asks soothingly.

  “I want my first time to be perfect,” Sloan says, grabbing a tissue from the bedside table.

  “Then it will be,” I say.

  “But I’m worried that I’ve already done too much.”

  “That’s crazy,” Danielle says. “Lots of people have hookups that end up meaning nothing. Your first time is still your first time, and nothing else matters.”

  “Maybe it will matter to the guy I fall in love with,” Sloan says. “Maybe he’ll want someone more pure.”

  “Then he’s a dumbass,” Danielle says. “Everything you’ve done makes you who you are. And you’re amazing.”

  “The guy who gets to be your first is so lucky,” I add.

  “You think?” Sloan asks, unsure.

  “One hundred percent,” Danielle says. “Whoever he is will get the benefit of a girl with experience along with the privilege of being your first.”

  Sloan seems to be lost in thought for a moment. “I’m changing my motto from everything but to nothing but,” Sloan says.

  Danielle and I are now thoroughly confused.

  “What?” Danielle asks.

  “You’re going to do nothing but have sex?” I ask.

  “I’m not going to do anything with any guy until I am with someone I really care about. Someone I think is going to be the one,” Sloan says. “I’m going to wait for something that feels real and good.”

  “I love that plan,” Danielle says.

  “That way,” Sloan says, “I won’t just have sex, I’ll . . . make love.” She says it with exaggerated sappiness, emphasizing exactly what we all hate about that expression. We laugh and I push Sloan so she falls back onto the carpet.

  I spend a lot of time thinking about Sloan, her regrets, and her determination to wipe the slate clean. Sloan can be whatever she wants to be, and she doesn’t owe anyone an explanation. Sex undoubtedly means different things to people at different points in their lives. Aren’t we all still figuring out who we want to be? Just a few short months ago, I had never been kissed and had no plans for romance. I never could have predicted the turn my life has taken.

  Luke changed my self-awareness and my feelings about my own sexuality. For me, sex not only feels really good on a primal level, but it also makes me feel so much closer to Luke emotionally. I feel like I’ve given Luke a piece of myself that no one else will ever know.

  Finding places to have sex is not easy. We can’t just do it whenever and wherever we want. I don’t feel right about going into Luke’s bedroom and closing the door when his parents are home, and his mom is usually home. My dad has not taken any overnight trips recently, and my mom’s house is just not an option. Since we’re in the middle of track season, practices last until almost six p.m., and my mom expects me to walk in the door shortly thereafter. In fact, since I’ve been dating Luke, my mom seems acutely aware of the exact number of minutes it takes me to get home from school. I wonder if she suspects that Luke and I ar
e trying to sneak in a quickie. She’s so aware of my every move at every moment. Maybe she’s ultra-focused on me because she’s not with anyone right now. I do wonder when she last had sex. Scratch that. I don’t want to know.

  I have not told my mom that Luke and I have done it, but I have not told her that we haven’t. I’m fairly certain she assumes it’s happening, but I don’t really feel the need to confirm or deny. Do we even have to have that conversation? After all, she is aware that I have a boyfriend and have purchased condoms. One could make an educated guess.

  Despite the lack of readily available locations, Luke and I have still found the occasional time and place to be together. There have been the random (and amazing) weekend afternoons when his parents were playing golf and we took a break from studying to climb under his goose-down comforter. Also, Zach had a party when his parents were out of town, and Luke and I spent most of the party in the guest bedroom, his phone playing Red Hot Chili Peppers loud enough to cover the sounds of the party emanating from the backyard. We tried to ignore that the sheets smelled strongly of Zach’s grandparents’ Bengay.

  Where there’s a will, there’s a way is Luke’s mantra, and I fully support it.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Life with Luke has found a rhythm, no pun intended. Even though I no longer question what he’s doing with me, it still takes me by surprise when he tells me all the things he loves about me. He’s constantly reminding me that I’m different from other girls. Special.

  I guess it will take a while to undo the years of my considering myself ordinary. When I catch his gaze in the school hallway, or on the track, or at the lunch tables, a bolt of electricity shoots through my veins, landing squarely between my legs. He turns me on from afar, with merely the glint in his eye.

  One rainy day in March, as track season is nearing its end, we have a quick workout in the weight room. Chow goes easy on us and dismisses practice more than an hour earlier than usual. As much as I want to go somewhere cozy and be alone with Luke, I know I should take advantage of the free time to work on my SAT prep.

  Luke gives me a ride home, and the whole way from school to my driveway, his hand slowly works its way up my thigh. He moves so incrementally that I barely notice the progress, but by the time he shuts off the Jeep’s engine, his hand is between my legs, over my sweats, turning me on big-time. I lean back in the seat, spread my knees, lift my hips, and let him slide his hand down my sweats, beneath my underwear. I’m already completely wet, and having his fingers down there makes me long to have him inside me for real. I know we can’t take this into the house, because my mom’s car is parked in the driveway, serving as a barrier to entry.

  Luke presses the release buttons on both of our seat belts and leans over to kiss me. I open my mouth and twirl my tongue in his mouth while I reach down to touch him. His erection is trapped inside his compression shorts. I pull the waistband down to free him from the Spandex restraint. We work on each other simultaneously while our tongues twist and turn in each other’s mouths. I feel my breathing quicken while the sensation inside me builds. He knows exactly where to touch me, how fast to move, and how firmly to press to make me absolutely crazy.

  I keep stroking him while I feel myself get hotter and closer. I can feel him get harder while my hand moves up and down.

  “Are you close?” he whispers in my ear.

  “How can you tell?” I ask through labored breathing.

  “Your knees are shaking. They always shake when you’re close.”

  “I’m almost there,” I say.

  He takes that as a cue to kick it up a notch, working a little faster and harder. Within seconds, the feelings overtake me and my moans drown out the sound of the raindrops beating on the Jeep’s roof. After I recuperate, I can focus solely on him. I use both hands to cover every inch of him. We shift so that he sits back in his seat and I lean over him, kissing him while I tickle and stroke. Just as he knows how to make me burst, I know what he likes. I know where he likes me to be gentle and where he wants more pressure.

  “Oh god,” he mutters. His utterance of Oh god is the equivalent of my shaking knees. It’s the signal to me that he is closing in. I pull my face away from his to watch his expression. I love to watch the ecstasy take over—​his eyes squeeze shut and his mouth opens wide and he stays like that for a beat while he throbs in my hand.

  He opens his eyes and sees that I was watching him progress through the stages of his orgasm. It’s really the only time the formidable Luke Hallstrom is vulnerable. I like that he’s surprisingly unaware of himself in that moment. I know that when he clears a high jump or executes a long jump, he is wholly in control of his body. He has been videoed by coaches and trainers, and photographed for yearbooks and school newspapers, so he has been able to examine and memorize how he appears in almost every scenario of his life. But he does not know what he looks like when he climaxes. I do.

  “Why do you watch me?” he asks curiously.

  “It makes me happy to see you experience pleasure,” I say. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess,” he says. I sense his slight embarrassment.

  “In case you forgot, I’m still kinda new at this,” I say teasingly. “It’s fascinating.”

  “Well, being with someone comfortable enough to watch me closely while I have an orgasm is new for me,” he says.

  “If it helps,” I say playfully, “when you’re in ecstasy, you’re more handsome than ever.”

  Luke laughs. “Oh, thank god. I was so worried.”

  After straightening myself up and kissing Luke goodbye, I walk into the house, still much earlier than I would have if we had had a regular track workout. I plan to give my mom a quick kiss, answer her usual How was school today? questions, and move on to an SAT practice test.

  My mom is not in the kitchen or the den, so I plop my backpack on my bedroom floor and walk the five steps down the hall to what used to be my parents’ room. Her door is partially closed, so I give it a push and am confused and mystified by the sight before me. Clothes, including a dorky pair of Reebok sneakers, have been discarded haphazardly. Two naked bodies are moving feverishly atop the champagne-colored duvet. My mother is on her back amid her throw pillows, her legs splayed. An unknown man is on top of her, his back slightly hairy and his bald spot evident, even in the dim light of the rainy afternoon. His ass, also slightly hairy, knocks repeatedly against my mother, and with each knock, she lets out a little grunt. It takes me a second or two to make sense of what I’m seeing. My mom is having sex. My mother is having raucous, furious, daytime sex in my parents’ bed with a man who most definitely is not my father.

  What the hell do I do now? I would like to vomit and run away. In that order. But instead I just stand here, unable to move. I have never seen two other people entwined in sexual intercourse. Either my parents really didn’t do it with any frequency, or they were very careful about protecting me from these horrific images. It is, without question, the grossest thing I have ever witnessed. Perhaps the tableau before me is particularly revolting because it’s my mother. Or because it’s my mother and hairy-ass Reebok man. Or simply because heated, energetic, matinee sex is really not meant to be viewed by a third party. I have to get out of here, so I take one backward step—​and bump into the half-open door.

  The two of them jump apart so quickly that I think my naked mother is going to hit the ceiling. Hairy-ass Reebok man grabs a pillow and covers his crotch. I run. I hear my mom calling my name, but I can’t stick around to listen to whatever else she has to say. I grab my purse and the car key from the hook by the front door and leave the house as fast as I possibly can.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I text Luke as I race out the door to the car: Can I come over? I start the engine, put on my seat belt, and see his response: Sure. Everything ok? I don’t take the time to text back. I just hightail it over to his house as fast as I can, trying like mad to scrub the gruesome pictures
from my brain.

  Luke lets me into his kitchen, where he is feasting on a snack of leftover fried chicken, half a cantaloupe, and a carton of yogurt. This is merely his afternoon snack. In a couple of hours, he will be hungry enough to inhale a three-course meal lovingly made by his mother or the housekeeper, whatever we choose to believe.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “I walked in on my mother having sex,” I pant.

  He lets out a burst of laughter. “You can’t unsee that!”

  “Tell me about it,” I say.

  “Who was she having sex with?”

  “I don’t know. He has a bald spot and a hairy ass.”

  “He should take some of the hair off his ass and put it on his head.” Luke keeps laughing.

  “Be serious,” I beg. “I’m in full crisis mode.”

  “Why?” he asks, scooping out a big piece of orange flesh from the cantaloupe.

  “Why?” I mimic incredulously. “Why? Are you hearing me? My mother was screwing some random guy. In the middle of the afternoon. In my parents’ bedroom. I am freaking out.”

  “Okay,” he says, trying to be serious, but unable to wipe the grin from his face, “I get that it’s not something anyone should ever see. And it must be really weird for you, but . . .” he trails off.

  “But what?” I demand.

  “Good for her,” he says.

  “Are you kidding?” I ask in sheer disbelief.

  “No,” he says. “Want some chicken?” he asks, holding up a drumstick.

  I shake my head. He takes a bite and wipes his face with a napkin. “Look, I get it. It’s traumatic to see your mom doing it. I walked in on my parents once. I was eleven years old, and I still remember every detail. Not pretty.”

  “And this wasn’t even my dad,” I add.

  “Yeah, I get that, too. It’s really disturbing. But putting that aside, aren’t you a little happy for your mom?”

  “Not even a little bit,” I say, surprised that we’re on such vastly different planes here.

  “So you can and she can’t?” he asks.