I love thinking back to my first experiences with the female body.
Part 1
My dad finally let me set up the tent in the backyard in August of the summer before high school. It was an old canvas thing that smelled like dust and damp earth. My best friend Mark was supposed to sleep over, but he bailed to go to his grandma’s. So there I was, alone in my sleeping bag with a flashlight and a comic book, feeling both adventurous and incredibly lonely.
Around ten o’clock, I heard the zipper on the tent door move. I froze, my heart leaping into my throat. The flap opened, and a silhouette slipped inside. It was Leah. She lived next door, and our bedroom windows faced each other. We’d been best friends our whole lives, which mostly meant we built bike ramps together and argued about which video game was better.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered, my voice coming out as a squeak.
“Shhh. My parents think I’m asleep,” she whispered back, zipping the tent shut behind her. The darkness was absolute, except for the beam of my flashlight, which was shaking in my hand. “I saw your light on. Are you scared out here by yourself?”
“No,” I lied.
She giggled and crawled over to my sleeping bag, pulling her own blanket from home behind her. She was wearing pink footie pajamas, the kind with the plastic grips on the bottom of the feet, the same kind she’d worn for sleepovers when we were nine.
We lay there side-by-side, two lumps in the dark, just talking. We whispered about school starting soon, about the mean dog at the end of the block, about nothing. But the air was different. The small space of the tent made everything feel important. I could hear every breath she took. After a while, the talking stopped, and we just lay there in the quiet, listening to the crickets.
My hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, but I moved it across the small gap between our sleeping bags until my pinky finger touched hers. She didn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers curled around mine. We lay like that for a long time, just holding hands in the dark.
I shifted closer, and she did too. I turned on my side to face her, and her face was just a pale shape a few inches from mine. I could feel her breath on my cheek. I leaned in, and our lips met. It was just a soft press, nothing more. It wasn’t exciting as much as it was… strange. Like tasting a food you’d never had before. We pulled apart, then tried again. This kiss was longer. Her lips were soft, and I felt a weird buzzing sensation start in my chest and spread through my whole body.
My free hand, acting on its own, came up and rested on her arm, then her shoulder. I touched the fuzzy fabric of her pajamas. The front of them had a long zipper that went from her neck all the way down. My fingers found the cold metal tab. I just held it, not knowing what to do next.
“What are you doing?” she whispered. Her voice wasn’t angry, just curious.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.
I pulled the zipper down. It made a loud zzzzzip sound in the quiet tent. I pulled it down maybe six inches, exposing the collar of her pajama shirt underneath. My hand slipped inside the opening, past the warm cotton of her shirt, and touched her skin. It was the first time I had ever touched a girl like that. Her stomach was warm and incredibly soft. My hand just lay there, flat against her, because I had no idea what came next. I could feel her breathing, her stomach rising and falling under my palm.
She reached out and put her hand on my leg, high up on my thigh. I was hard, and I knew she could feel it through my jeans. Her hand just rested there, still and warm. We were frozen, two statues in the dark, both of us having crossed a line without any map of where to go from there. We were terrified and thrilled and utterly clueless.
A dog barked from a few houses away, a sharp, sudden sound that shattered the moment. We both jumped.
“I should go,” Leah whispered, her voice tight with panic. “What if my mom checks on me?”
She scrambled to sit up, her hand pulling away from me. She zipped her pajamas back up to her chin with another loud zip. In a flash, she was at the tent flap, opening it just enough to slip out.
“Leah, wait,” I started to say, but she was gone.
I lay there for the rest of the night, wide awake. My hand still tingled where it had touched her skin. Nothing had really happened. We didn’t take our clothes off. No one finished anything. It was just a fumbled kiss and ten seconds of forbidden touching in a dark tent. But I knew, lying there in my sleeping bag, that everything had changed.
Part 2
The next three days were a special kind of torture. The memory of that night in the tent played on a loop in my head: the zzzzzip of her pajamas, the impossible softness of her skin under my hand, the ghost of her fingers on mine. I saw her watering her mom’s petunias on Tuesday, and when she looked up and saw me watching from my window, she gave a tiny, hesitant wave before quickly turning away, her face bright red. The secret was there between us, humming in the summer air, and it made my stomach feel like it was full of bees.
I couldn’t stand it. I had to know if it was a one-time thing, a weird dream we’d both had. On Wednesday night, I went to my mom while she was washing dishes. “Hey, Mom,” I started, trying to sound casual. “They said on the news there’s gonna be a meteor shower tonight. A really big one. Is it okay if I sleep in the tent again so I can see it?”
She gave me a funny look. “Another night in that musty old thing?” But she relented. “Fine, but don't track dirt all through the house tomorrow.”
This time, setting up the tent felt different. There was no comic book, no pretense of adventure. I just laid out the sleeping bag, turned off my flashlight, and waited. The minutes stretched into an hour. Every rustle of leaves, every distant car door, made my heart hammer. I was starting to feel stupid, my hope deflating into a familiar loneliness. I told myself she wasn’t coming. It was a fluke. I’d imagined the whole thing.
Then I heard it. A faint whisper of sound, the stealthy unzipping of the tent flap.
My breath caught. Leah slipped inside, a dark shape against the slightly less-dark night. This time, there were no blankets or whispered questions about being scared. She just crawled straight to my sleeping bag, her knee bumping mine. The silence was thick with everything we hadn't said for three days.
I reached for her hand, and our fingers intertwined instantly, a silent agreement. She wasn’t wearing the footie pajamas. This time it was just shorts and a t-shirt. I remember thinking that she had made a choice before she even left her room.
The kiss happened without the awkward fumbling of the first time. We knew what we were doing, at least that much. It was still soft and new, but it was hungry, too. My hands found the hem of her shirt, and without hesitating, I pulled it up and over her head. In the faint moonlight filtering through the canvas, I could see the pale outline of her chest. She wasn’t wearing a bra.
My hand was shaking as I touched her. My fingers grazed over her ribs and then settled on one of her small breasts. It was soft, and her nipple was a tiny, hard pebble under my palm. She made a little sound, a sigh that was half fear and half something else. Her own hands were at the waistband of my sweatpants, her fingers tracing the elastic band.
The feeling of her hand, this time on the bare skin of my stomach as she pushed my shirt up, was dizzying. We were a clumsy tangle of limbs again, but this time we were working towards something, even if we didn't know what it was. She helped me with the button on my jeans, her fingers brushing mine. I managed to get them unzipped and pushed down a little, my erection springing free against the fabric of my boxers.
She touched me there, through the thin cotton, and I gasped. Her fingers were light, tracing the shape of me with a sense of wonder that mirrored my own. I was shaking, completely overwhelmed. The sensation was too much, a wire pulled too tight. I arched against her hand, a shudder running through my entire body, and that familiar, embarrassing warmth flooded my boxers before I could even think to stop it. It was over before it had even really begun.
I pulled back, my face burning with a shame so hot I thought I might actually be on fire. “I’m sorry,” I whispered into the darkness.
But this time was different. Leah didn't panic or get quiet. She just lay there for a second, then she let out a little giggle. It wasn't a mean laugh. It was soft and kind of amazed. “You’re so weird,” she whispered, but she was smiling; I could hear it in her voice.
She sat up and grabbed the t-shirt I’d taken off earlier. “Here,” she said, pressing it into my hand. We didn’t talk about what for. In the dim light, I cleaned myself up, the silence between us no longer awkward, but comfortable. Shared.
She had to leave a few minutes later, saying she heard her dad’s window open and close. Before she slipped out of the tent, she leaned over and gave me one last, quick kiss. “See you tomorrow,” she whispered.
I lay there for a long time after she was gone, staring at the canvas roof of the tent. It had happened again. It was real. And as I finally drifted off to sleep, I realized I wasn’t just thinking about her body anymore. I was thinking about her laugh in the dark, and I knew I was in serious, serious trouble.
Part 3
I woke up to the sound of birds chirping and the feeling of the morning sun turning the tent into a sauna. For a second, I forgot where I was. Then everything from the night before came rushing back in a hot, embarrassing wave: the zipper, the feel of her skin, the clumsy, sudden end. I quickly checked my sweatpants and boxers, balled them up, and stuffed them deep into the bottom of my sleeping bag. I felt like a criminal sneaking back into my own house, my heart pounding with the fear that my mom would somehow know just by looking at me.
The whole morning was a fog. I moved through breakfast like a ghost, pushing cereal around my bowl. Every time the phone rang, I jumped. Every time I looked out the kitchen window into our backyard, I expected to see Leah, and my stomach would clench.
It wasn't until around noon, when my dad told me to take out the overflowing garbage cans, that I finally saw her. I was dragging the big plastic bin down the driveway, and she was sitting on her back steps, tying her sneakers. She looked up, and our eyes met across the fifty feet of green lawn that separated our houses. The world seemed to stop for a second. I froze with my hand on the garbage can lid.
She didn't look away this time. A slow smile spread across her face, a small, secret thing. I felt my own lips stretch into a goofy, involuntary grin. She gave a tiny wave, just a little wiggle of her fingers, before ducking her head to focus intently on her shoelaces, her cheeks glowing pink.
It was enough. That little smile was a signal, a confirmation. The knot of anxiety in my stomach loosened. After I’d wrestled the garbage to the curb, I saw her wandering over to the picket fence that divided our yards, pretending to inspect a loose board. I knew what it meant.
My feet felt light as I walked over, my hands shoved deep in my pockets. “Hey,” I said, my voice sounding unnaturally loud.
“Hey,” she replied, not looking at me, still focused on the fence. “Did you… see any meteors last night?”
The cover story felt so ridiculous now. “Uh, no. I guess it was too cloudy.”
We stood there in an awkward silence for a moment, the summer air buzzing with the sound of a distant lawnmower.
Finally, she looked up at me, her green eyes serious. “Was… was it okay?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Last night?”
The question hung there, so fragile I was afraid to breathe. My brain fumbled for the right word. I wanted to say it was amazing, terrifying, the best and weirdest thing that had ever happened to me.
All I could manage was, “Yeah. It was. Was it okay for you?”
“I wasn’t laughing at you,” she said quickly, as if that was the most important thing. “It was just… surprising.” She looked down again. “My hand was on you, and then… it just happened.”
“I know,” I said, feeling my face get hot all over again. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said, and then she did something that made my heart feel like it was going to beat its way out of my chest. She reached through the fence and briefly squeezed my hand. Her touch was warm and quick. “Are you… going to sleep out there again tonight?”
I looked from her hand back to her hopeful, nervous face. The world narrowed to that single question. This wasn't about a meteor shower anymore. This was about us.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice steady for the first time all day. “I am.”
Just then, her mom called her name from the house, and she pulled her hand back. “I gotta go,” she said.
“Okay,” I said.
She gave me one last look, a look that held all the secrets of the night before, and then she ran back to her house. I stood there by the fence for a long time, the imprint of her fingers still warm on my skin. I wasn't just hoping anymore. I was waiting for the sun to go down.
Part 4
That night felt different from the others. Before, it had been a mix of hope and nervous energy. Tonight, it was a certainty, a quiet hum of anticipation that lived under my skin all through dinner. I didn’t need an excuse for my parents this time. The tent was already there, a silent fixture in the yard. As soon as the sky turned dark blue, I was out there, zipping myself into our secret world.
I didn’t have to wait long. It was barely nine-thirty when the tent flap opened and she slipped inside. She was already in her pajamas, the same shorts and t-shirt as the night before. She didn't say a word, just crawled into the sleeping bag with me, the fabric rustling as she settled in beside me.
Her skin was cool from the night air. We started with a kiss, a real one this time, open-mouthed and sure. There was no hesitation. We both knew why we were here. My hands, bolder now, slid under her shirt, and I explored the smooth skin of her back, my fingers tracing her spine. Her hands were in my hair, pulling my face closer to hers.
After a few minutes, we broke apart, both of us breathing a little fast. “Okay,” I whispered, my voice shaky. “Your turn first.”
I wasn't sure what she would do. I didn't know what I was offering, really. My hand found hers, and I guided it to my chest, then down to my stomach, trying to show her what to do, what I liked. But she had her own idea. She shifted, her body moving over mine. I felt her hair tickle my chest as she lowered her head. Her lips, soft and warm, touched my stomach. Then my ribs. She was kissing me, leaving a trail of little, hesitant kisses across my skin.
Her exploration was slow and meandering. I lay there, rigid, every nerve ending on high alert. Her hand rested on my hip, her thumb stroking my skin. I could feel my body responding, my dick growing hard against the sleeping bag, but I fought it back, clenching my jaw, trying to make this last for her.
Her kisses trailed lower, past my belly button. She paused, her head resting on my lower abdomen, her warm breath ghosting across the most sensitive skin. Her hand moved from my hip and her fingers lightly, curiously, brushed against my erection. I flinched, the sensation almost too much.
“Is this okay?” she whispered against my skin.
“Yes,” I breathed out.
Her fingers wrapped around me, a little more confident than the night before. She wasn't just holding on; she was exploring, her touch tracing my length. At the same time, her lips found the spot just above where her hand was, and she kissed me there. The combination was dizzying. I felt that familiar, unstoppable wave begin to build, and panic flared in my chest. Not again. Not this fast.
“Wait,” I gasped, my hand covering hers. “Leah, wait.”
I stopped her hand, but it was too late. The feeling was already cresting. My body betrayed me once more, a single, powerful convulsion that sent a hot splash of fluid onto my own hand and stomach.
I groaned, a sound of pure frustration, and fell back, covering my eyes with my arm. “I'm so sorry,” I mumbled into the darkness, the shame washing over me. “I can't... I don't know why.”
I waited for her to giggle, to call me weird again. But she was just silent. Her hand was still resting on me, now soft and shrinking. After a moment, she slowly moved her hand away.
“Did it… happen again?” she asked, her voice small.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, unable to look at her. “I’m sorry, Leah. I don’t know why…”
“It’s okay,” she said, and her voice was so gentle it almost made me want to cry. She sat up and blindly fumbled for my discarded t-shirt again. Without a word, she started wiping my stomach, her touch careful and methodical. There was no disgust, no disappointment. Just a quiet, steady acceptance that made me feel worse and better all at once.
When we were both clean, we lay back down, not touching. The silence stretched on, but it wasn't empty.
“Maybe,” she said finally, her voice thoughtful. “Maybe next time, it can be my turn first.”
The words hit me with the force of a physical blow. *My turn first.* It implied so much. That there would be a next time. That she wanted something, too. That this wasn’t just about me and my fumbling body, but about *us*.
“Okay,” I whispered, my voice thick. “Yeah. Next time.”
Part 5
That next week felt like a dream. School had started, and the tent in my backyard was gone, packed away with the rest of summer. But the secret world Leah and I had created was still there, living in the spaces between classes and in the charged silence when we’d pass each other in the hallway. We were back to being just friends on the surface, but underneath, we were accomplices. The memory of that last night—of her soft cries and the surprising, powerful feeling of pleasing her—was a constant hum in the back of my mind.
The opportunity came on a Friday afternoon. My parents went out for dinner and a movie with my aunt and uncle, leaving me with a frozen pizza and the entire quiet house to myself. As soon as their car pulled out of the driveway, I was on the phone.
“My parents are gone,” I said when Leah answered, my voice lower than usual.
“I know. I saw them leave,” she replied, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “Five minutes.”
Those were the longest five minutes of my life. I paced the living room, my heart thudding a nervous rhythm against my ribs. When the doorbell finally rang, I practically yanked the door open. Leah stood on the porch, wearing jeans and a simple gray sweatshirt, but she looked like the most beautiful girl in the world.
We didn’t go to the basement this time. I led her upstairs to my bedroom. It felt different from the tent, more serious, more real. The room was bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun. We stood in the middle of the room for a moment, both of us suddenly shy and uncertain, the confidence of the dark tent having evaporated in the light of day.
I broke the silence by reaching for her hand. It was cold. I brought it to my lips and kissed her knuckles, a gesture I’d seen in some old movie. She giggled, a real, bright sound. “You’re such a dork,” she said, but she squeezed my hand.
That broke the tension. The kiss that followed was slow and deep, full of the longing we’d held back all week. We ended up on my bed, a clumsy tangle of limbs. This time, there was a shared understanding. When my hand went to her stomach, and then lower, she arched into my touch without hesitation. And when my turn came, she was patient, her touch so gentle and knowing that for the first time, I felt like I could actually last.
I guided her hand, showing her the slow, steady rhythm that I had discovered worked best for me. My mind wasn't racing with panic; it was focused entirely on her, on the look of concentration on her face in the fading light, on the soft feel of her skin. The wave still came, but it wasn't a frantic, embarrassing crash. It was a slow, rising tide, and when it finally broke, I pulled her hand away just in time, spilling the evidence of my climax onto the old quilt my grandmother had made.
We lay there afterward, our bodies still tingling, the room now almost dark. My window was open, and the cool September air washed over us.
“See?” I whispered, my voice thick with relief and pride. “I waited this time.”
She rolled onto her side to face me, propping her head up on her hand. In the dim light, I could just make out her smile.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “You did.”
She didn’t say anything else, but she didn’t have to. We both knew what it meant. We had stumbled through the darkness and figured something out together. Lying there in the quiet of my room, I realized this wasn’t just about fumbled encounters anymore. We were learning a new language, and tonight, we had just spoken our first real sentence.
Part 6
The phone call came two weeks later, on a crisp Saturday in mid-October. The last of the leaves were clinging to the trees, and the air had the sharp, clean smell of impending winter. I was in my room, supposedly doing homework, but mostly just staring out the window at her house. When our phone rang, I knew before my mom even called my name.
“It’s Leah,” she said.
I took the phone, my hand slick with sweat. “Hey,” I said, trying to sound normal.
“My parents just left for Duluth for the afternoon,” she said, her voice a low, nervous rush. “They won’t be back until after dark. The back door is unlocked.” She hung up before I could even reply.
The journey across our two backyards felt like crossing a border into a foreign country. I slipped through her screen door into the quiet of her kitchen. The house smelled different from mine—like cinnamon and laundry detergent. I found her waiting in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs. She just looked at me and then turned and led the way up to her room.
Her room was a universe I’d never seen. The walls were light purple, covered in posters of bands I’d never heard of and pictures of horses. A collection of tiny glass animals sat on her dresser. It was so completely *her* that I felt like an intruder, a clumsy giant in a delicate world.
We didn’t speak. She just sat on the edge of her bed and patted the space beside her. I sat down, the mattress dipping under my weight. The silence was heavy, but not awkward. It was full of knowledge. We both knew why I was there.
The kiss we shared was a continuation of the last one, a rediscovery of a language we were still inventing. We moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm that felt years older than we were. Clothes came off piece by piece and were folded and set on her desk chair, a neatness that felt both strange and respectful. Soon, we were under her flowered bedspread, the afternoon sun slanting through the blinds, casting stripes of light across our bodies.
I remembered her words. *Her turn first*. I moved my hand over her, my touch now practiced and sure. I knew the exact spot on her stomach that made her shiver, the way her breath would catch when my fingers brushed the inside of her thigh. I brought her to that humming, trembling place, watching her face in the striped light, my own pleasure coming from the soft sounds she made.
When she lay still, panting softly, she reached for me. “Okay,” she whispered. “Now you.”
I shifted on top of her, my body aligned with hers. This was the precipice we’d been approaching all summer. I pressed myself against the wetness between her legs, the entrance to a mystery I couldn’t comprehend. She parted her legs a little wider, her hands gripping my arms.
“Is this… are we going to?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“I think so,” I said, though I had no idea how. “Tell me if it hurts.”
It was a clumsy, fumbling effort. I pushed, but the angle was wrong. We had to stop and shift, our slick bodies sliding against each other. It was nothing like the confident thrusts I’d imagined. It was a negotiation, a series of small, hesitant adjustments.
“Like this?” I whispered, lowering my hips.
“I think so,” she breathed.
Then, with an awkward push, I felt a sudden, small slipping sensation. I was inside her. It wasn't deep, just the very tip of me, but the line had been crossed. For a moment there was only the feeling of her — hot and tight and real. The feeling was so intense, so completely new and overwhelming, that my mind went blank. It was a circuit overload. And within a few seconds I felt the tell-tale clenching deep inside me, the undeniable signal that I had already lost control.
I tried to pull out. But I was frozen for a crucial second, stunned by the sheer reality of being inside her. With a desperate gasp, I pulled back just as my body convulsed, spilling hot, thick fluid onto her stomach and the top of her thighs.
We both lay there, frozen, not breathing. The only sound was my own ragged breath in the quiet room. My forehead was resting against hers, and I could feel the frantic beat of her pulse against my skin. We had done it. Sort of.
“Did it go in?” she finally whispered, her voice full of awe and fear.
“A little bit,” I croaked. “At the start.”
We didn't move for a long time, just letting the enormity of the moment settle over us. We weren't kids in a tent anymore. We were something else, something new and scary and fragile.
The sound of a car door slamming in the driveway below shattered the spell.
“My parents,” she gasped, her eyes wide with panic.
We scrambled, a frantic rush of limbs and clothes. I pulled on my jeans, hopping on one foot, my heart hammering against my ribs. I gave her one last, terrified look before slipping out of her room, down the stairs, and out the back door. I ran across the lawn, not stopping until I was safe in my own kitchen, my body still trembling from the fall.
Part 7
The rest of that Saturday was a blur of muted terror. Every time I heard a car in the street, I flinched, expecting to see her dad's truck pull into their driveway, followed by me getting yelled at on my own front porch. Nothing happened. The world kept turning. I ate dinner, watched TV with my family, and answered "fine" when my mom asked how my day was, all while the ghost of the afternoon replayed in my head on an endless loop. The feeling of her, the shocking warmth, the unbelievable reality of being inside her, even for a second, was burned into my mind.
At school on Monday, we were strangers again. We passed each other between second and third period, and the space between us felt like a mile-wide canyon crackling with electricity. I saw the same fear in her eyes that I felt in my gut. We had done something real, something irreversible, and we had no idea what it meant. The silence was worse than the panicked escape. By Tuesday, I couldn't take it anymore.
After school, I saw her through the kitchen window, taking their dog out into the backyard. I took a deep breath and went out to the fence. She saw me coming and walked over slowly, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket.
"Hey," I said. My voice sounded thin.
"Hey," she replied, her eyes fixed on a spot on the ground somewhere between us.
"Are you okay?" I asked. "From... you know. Did I hurt you?"
She finally looked at me, a quick, darting glance. "No. I was okay. Just… scared. When they came home."
"Me too," I said, relieved. We stood there for another minute, the silence stretching.
"It was so fast," I finally mumbled, feeling my face burn. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," she said, and her voice was a little stronger now. She looked at me again, really looked at me this time. "It was... a lot. For a first time."
"It was only for a second," I said.
"It was enough," she said softly. Her words hung in the cool air. It was enough. We had done it. We had crossed the line.
She reached out and put her fingers on the top of the fence post between us. "My parents," she started, then hesitated. "They're going to my aunt's house in a few weeks. For the whole weekend."
I looked from her hand to her face. I understood immediately. This wasn't a warning. It was an invitation. An invitation to a time and place where there would be no ticking clock, no fear of a car door slamming. A place where we could finish what we started.
"Okay," I said, my heart starting a slow, heavy drumbeat. "Just… tell me when."
Part 8
The call came three weeks later, on a Friday night that was so cold you could see your breath. "They're gone," was all she said. "Come over whenever."
This time, I walked through the front door. She met me in the living room, where the TV was on, casting a blue light over a half-eaten bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. It felt impossibly normal. We sat on the couch and watched the end of some dumb sitcom, not touching, just letting the quiet reality of being alone together in her house settle over us. When the show ended, she turned off the TV, and in the sudden silence, she took my hand and led me upstairs.
Her room was warm and familiar now. There was no panicked rush, no nervous fumbling. We undressed each other slowly, deliberately, our movements careful, as if we were handling something precious and fragile. Under the covers of her bed, we took our time, rediscovering each other with kisses and touches that were no longer hesitant but questioning and sure.
When the time came, I positioned myself over her, my heart beating a steady, powerful rhythm. "Okay?" I whispered, my forehead touching hers. She just nodded, her eyes wide and dark in the dim light from the hallway.
I pushed forward, slowly, carefully. There was resistance, then a giving way. This time there was no fumbling, no partial connection. I pushed again, and again, until I was buried deep inside her, the unbelievable heat and tightness of her body surrounding me completely. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, and her fingers dug into my arms. I froze, looking down at her, my whole body trembling with the intensity of it.
Her eyes, wide and dark in the dim room, stared right into mine. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. That was all the permission I needed. I began to move, a slow, deep rhythm. One stroke. Two. The friction was incredible, a feeling so profound it was almost painful. Four strokes. Five. Her legs, which had been tense, began to relax and part for me. Seven. Eight. Her hips started to meet my thrusts, a small, rocking motion that was purely instinctual. Ten strokes. Eleven.
I felt it then. The familiar, deep clenching in my gut. The signal. It was coming, and it was coming fast. All I could think was pull out, pull out, pull out.
I started to withdraw, my body moving on instinct to avoid the final, irreversible step. Leah must have felt the change in me, as if she knew what was about to happen. Her eyes, which had closed, snapped open and locked with mine. In a swift, surprising movement, her legs came up, hooking behind my own, her muscles tightening. She wrapped her legs around my waist, locking me to her, holding me deep inside. There was no pulling back. My body arched, and I felt a deep, pulsing release flood into the very center of her.
I collapsed, my mind empty, my breath gone. When I finally found the strength to push myself up on my elbows, my body still trembling, she was just looking at me. Her gaze was direct, unwavering, holding mine in the silent room. Her face was perfectly still, except for the very corners of her mouth, which were turned up in the slightest, knowing smile.