The first time she came was on her parent’s couch with a blanket on our lap.

I was young and impulsive, and she made an unlikely decision. She leaned close to me, she brushed my arm with her own, and when my fingers pressed into her skin, her legs opened rather than closed.

I don’t remember the movie, I don’t remember everyone who was there, but the blanket was white. It was thick and soft, and her shorts were the kind made for sleeping rather than running. My fingers crept up her leg, and I didn’t stop until she clenched her thighs around my hand. She squeezed me three times, then opened her legs wide. I searched and touched, letting her knee be a guide to what she liked and what she wanted. She was soft and wet and I felt like I was discovering something completely new.

We both watched the movie in silence as our friends laughed and joked, but in the middle of it all she tightened her thighs once again and wouldn’t let me go. She never said a word and she never kissed me. The party kept going, the movie changed to another, and we left it there as something hidden beneath a blanket.

It wasn’t until the night was ending that I had any clue. Her best friend leaned over and kissed my cheek as she whispered in my ear. It was short, quiet, and mischievous, and she didn’t give me a second to respond.

“That was the first time she’s ever come.”

Guy New York