A dangerous night

Do you ever try to seduce yourself, like “oh I’m not the mood” but then you convince yourself to maybe lay down in bed for a bit, nothing’s gonna happen, you’re just resting.

Then you find yourself flirting a little, shy, tentative. an innocent brush of the hand against some body part. Then maybe not so innocent. “It’s okay Christa, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

But I can be very charming, persuasive. so it’s not too long before I’ve won myself over and I give up the goods.

It occurred to me recently that a lot of my sexual thoughts and inspiration and fantasies relate directly back to my youth, and my first true sexual encounter.

It happened during a sleepover at my best friend’s house. That in itself wasn’t unusual. I spent a lot of time at her house and slept over often. They were my second family and a place I wanted to be more than my own house.

It’s weird though. For as much as I slept over, I can’t remember where I would typically sleep. She only had a twin, too small to share. So I think I probably just slept on the floor?

But on this particular night, I was sleeping in the bottom bunk of her brother’s bed. It definitely wasn’t the first time I had done it; her brother was gone that night, so the bed was open to me, I think this may have been a semi-regular occurrence?

whatever the reason, I was in his bedroom that night, in his bed. He was not home. And I liked being alone there, in his room, in the dark. I liked his smell, and the maleness of it all. Knowing I was laying where his body usually laid. It felt dangerous and exciting.

I wouldn’t say that I had romantic feelings for her brother, it isn’t like I wanted to date him. He was a year or two younger than me and more of a jock (whereas I was into bookish nerds).

But we were ALL crazy hormonal teenagers at the time, and there was definitely chemistry and sexual interest between us, her brother and I. It would come out in different ways but my favorite was at church. I’d go with their family to church, and he and I would inevitably end up sitting next to each other. During the mass, we’d slowly move closer until our legs were touching, my thigh against his, my arm touching his. Not a big deal right? but god it was so exhilarating. So intense. With every little shift of our bodies, I would feel that tingling ache throughout my body, the heat from him radiating into me. I was addicted to that feeling.

Anyway, so there I am, in my pajamas, in his bed, inhaling that musky boy smell and loving it. Drifting off. but then he comes home! He wasn’t supposed to but there he was. He says I can stay, he’ll just sleep in the top bunk. My friend and her parents are asleep. So I stay there in his bed. He climbs onto the top. Did we talk? I can’t remember. Probably we did a little.

But then it gets quiet. This is the part where we close eyes and go to sleep. But it’s late at night and he’s so close to me, he’s right above me. I’m too amped up to fall asleep. He must be, too, because his arm slides down the side of the bunk, against the wall, where I am laying. It surprises me, yet every single nerve in my body is crackling with anticipation. He starts to move his arm back and forth a little, lightly grazing his hand along my shoulder. I don’t say a word. I just inch a little closer so he can reach me easier. I’m pretending to be asleep. We both know I’m pretending.

His hand keeps moving, along my arm and shoulder. Stroking. Gentle but with purpose. My breathing starts to quicken. It seems like forever but then he starts getting closer and closer to my breast. So I scoot up a bit. And suddenly, the back of his hand grazes my nipple. So light. Barely a whisper of a touch. I’m not wearing a bra. My nipple is instantly hard.

Does he stop when he feels that? Not at all. Maybe a slight hesitation. But he doesn’t say a word. He just keeps sweeping his hand back and forth. Over my shirt, across my nipple, back and forth. the ache inside me is exquisite. I’m afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. Afraid to make a sound. Does he know what he’s doing? I don’t want him to stop. My head is swimming. I hear him up there, shifting, his breathing thick and heavy. Then he turns his hand and now his fingers are pinching it.

I cannot take it. I need more. So I whisper “lick it” and his hand stops. “Lick it” I say again. Nothing happens at first. Feels like an eternity. But then he is climbing down and he is kneeling on the floor next to the bed. and it’s dark so dark but he looks at me, and I whisper it again. He’s looking me right in the eye as he slides up my shirt and over my breasts. Then he dips his head down and I watch him lick his lips and then watch his lips cover my nipple. His hand has grabbed my other breast, he’s squeezing it, while his tongue, warm and wet, laps away. He’s new at this, I’m new at this, but this is how I want to die. I’m sure of it.

I don’t know how long it lasts. hours? seconds? My entire life? Then he climbs into bed next to me, and I feel him hard against me, and I don’t know what’s going to happen next, I don’t know how to have sex, what to do with a penis! But then we hear something. Out in the hall. The door is closed but someone is coming. We panic! Ahhhh! he quickly jumps back in the top bunk. and then his dad comes in. Her brother and I both keep our eyes closed, we are asleep, nothing is going on, look at us here fast asleep, all our clothes are still on. I keep my eyes closed real tight. He walks out (but leaves the door open).

Whew! Close call! We totally thought we got away with it, but as an adult looking back at it now? His dad 100% knew something was happening and he came in to stop it. He didn’t say anything then or later, at least not to me, but I was not allowed back into that bunk bed again.

So that was my first real sexual encounter. It was amazing and it affected me and my sexual desires and interests in a deeply profound way, one that carries on to this very day. We eventually had sex, of course, and he taught me how to give proper blow job and I taught him how to slow down and be gentle and kiss with purpose and intent.

But what I recently realized was that I wasn’t alone that night. I had never thought about it before, not really, but of course that experience also affected him. I know the impact he had on me, but I did the same for him. I was there at the beginning, a major part of his developing sexuality, just as he was with mine. We formed the basis of each other’s sexual foundation. We are inextricably linked in a way that cannot be forgotten or discounted.

And realizing this made me feel so much better. Especially lately, when I’ve felt so undesirable and lonely. I’ve been really down on myself, thinking about how little I matter, how easily I am tossed away, forgotten, ignored, made trivial and inconsequential. But there is a lot of power in that one night, and I’m going to hold on to it.

Because somewhere out there is a man who still thinks about me, when he returns to that night and relives it, a man who holds all other his other sexual encounters up against that one. And none live up to it. How can it?

And even if it’s not true, let me have it okay? Let me pretend it’s true. It makes me feel good. I deserve to feel good.