Sunday, March 16, 2014

Fantasy First Time - Part One

Make Me Believe: 
Short Story – 
Part One

Danielle Atali lay on Chris Carey’s bed in just her t-shirt and panties, leaning on one elbow, as she watched him—still fully dressed, shoes and all—shift uncomfortably in his desk chair. She watched him fiddle with his music program on his computer as some kind of metal—some singer who was half-singing, half-screaming about dragons or wizards or something—streamed, slightly muffled, through his speakers.

Her lips quirked up at him as she studied the flush coloring the back and side of his neck. His face too, she’d bet, if he bothered to look at her. He was such an awkward guy. Skinny and slumped over. Shy and kinda quiet. He had the freckled, pale skin of a guy who spent far too much time indoors, cooped up alone.

He was not the kind of guy she thought she’d ever be with.

But he was sweet. And cute. And fun.

And—though she knew, if the genders were reversed, it would be incredibly sexist to say—there was something about being with someone who was experiencing all this for the first time. It didn’t quite make her feel all fresh and virgin-y again. This was not her first time and there wasn’t an amount of innocence Carey could have to make it so.

But it made her feel...honored. Special. That Carey had waited this long. Had chosen her. 

It was a heavy thing, being someone’s first. She hadn’t really thought about it with her own first—the senior who tutored her in high school chemistry, who probably hadn’t really thought much about it at the time either—but it was kinda a crazy thing to ask someone. To entrust to someone.

And, while she didn’t think that losing her virginity had changed her all that much—not in the grand scheme of things—she remembered it feeling huge and life-altering then. She remembered it’d felt like being held over a precipice. Like she were about to plunge into a deep unknown. And she’d—perhaps a bit unwisely, definitely naively—trusted her tutor to guide her through that moment.

And, sure, her first time hadn’t been the monumental event she’d thought it would be—and she wasn’t quite so vain as to think that she could shake Carey’s world either—but she just wanted to live up to the trust he was putting in her.

So Danielle sat up to sit cross-legged on his bed, grabbing a pillow to hug, as she worried her lip. “Are you sure you’re ready?” she asked, eying his hunched-over back. “It’s cool, if you want to wait.”

He swiveled the chair around, finally facing her, his hazel eyes wide and confused behind his thick lenses. And a little worried too. “Why?” he asked, his words quick and a touch too high. “Have you changed your mind?”

“No,” she assured him, scooting closer to perch on the edge of the bed. “No, of course not,” she told him, reaching out to touch his knee. “I’m just saying that this is up to you.” They’d go his speed. Do what he wanted. Whatever he wanted. And only what he wanted. She didn’t want him to feel pressured into anything. “This is your night.”


God, that was a lot of pressure.

“So,” he said slowly as his brow arched and he pushed up his glasses nervously, “it’s all up to me.” ’Cause that made sense; put the guy who had no on-the-job experience in charge. “Great.” He reached for the hand she’d placed on his knee, his own hand hesitating—almost grabbing and almost chickening out a million times over in that short span of space and time, like his very own mini time paradox where both scenarios were simultaneously happening at once—before just clutching his indecisive hands in his lap. “Great.”

He watched her bare feet as they stepped onto the plush carpet in his attic room, grateful that his parents and his sister were far up north at his uncle’s cabin for the weekend, so no one was here to even regionally witness his humiliation.

Groaning internally as he ran his hands over his close-cropped, red hair, Chris saw Danielle’s slim, tanned feet step and stop between his bent legs. He sat back and looked up her body—her slim ankles, the curve of her calves, the thick length of her thighs, the sweet swell of her hips, the swift sweep of her waist before the subtle rise of her breasts—before finally looking up at her face.

He wanted to roll his eyes. 

Aw, man. 

He frowned at the oh-so understanding pity in her beautiful, black eyes. Sympathy curved her pretty, painted mouth. God damnit.

He sighed as he felt her small, soft, but still so capable hands cup the sides of his head. “You nervous?” she asked as she rubbed his temples.

He snorted. She was kidding, right?

It was just... 

He gave a little laugh. 

He didn’t know what it was.

It was just sex.

Most everyone he knew had already done it.

Why—whenever he thought about it, got close to doing it—did his brain blow it up into this huge thing?

“You want to take a break?” she asked him as she let her soothing hands slide down to rub his shoulders. “Grab some food or a drink or something?”

No. He wanted to have sex.

He wanted to have sex with her.

Why did that seem so fucking impossible?

“Talk to me,” she urged him. “What’s up?”

He rolled his shoulders as he squirmed in the swiveling desk chair. “I,” he began, feeling his face heat, “I just...” He winced, shutting his eyes. He just couldn’t look at her while he said this. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” she asked. “Don’t know if you want to do this? Don’t know what you want?”

He shrugged again, making a helpless sound. At the moment, he felt like he didn’t know anything. “I’m such an idiot,” he mumbled as he leaned back and threw an arm over his eyes, crushing his glasses to his face.

It was just sex! The most basic thing in the world. How could he not know how to do this? In porn and in movies, the guys always knew exactly what to do. They just knew. 

There weren’t all these questions. 

There was never all this doubt.

They just got naked and everything—all the people and parts—just fell into place.

Why did his life never work like that?

“You’re not an idiot;” she said, rubbing his shoulders in a comforting—but still vaguely patronizing—way, “you’re just...” 

“A virgin,” he said pathetically.


He said it as if it were the worst thing in the world to be. She sighed, wishing he could just have a bit more confidence. Without quite knowing how to give him that.

Danielle bit her lip. Hmmm. “What if,” she mused as she looked about his room, looking for some kind of inspiration. 

Her eyes lit up as she noticed his screensaver had switched to a brightly colored image of some comic heroine. The buff and busty beauty stood tits-out and confident, ready to take on the world. 

“If I had superpowers,” she asked idly, not entirely sure where she was going with this, “what ones would you give me?”

He jerked his head up to look at her, confusion wiping away the sad, sorry look on his face—which actually made the odd question more than worth it. “What?” he asked, bewildered laughter coloring his voice.

She shrugged, feeling a little more awkward—but strangely excited too. “If I were a superhero,” she repeated, gesturing to his screen, “what powers do you see me having?”

He gave a snort as he pushed up his glasses, giving her a strange, assessing look over his lenses. “Really?” he asked, looking her up and down.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “C’mon,” she encouraged, holding her breath, just hoping that he’d play along, “role play with me.”

Read Part Two Here

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