This is a story about the first time I made love. It’s very short, and seems very simple. It wasn’t with my true love, it was with a boy I was infatuated with at the time. We’ve both moved on since then, but I think neither of us will ever be able to forget that first time we shared with each other.
It all started one night, when I was feeling especially glum. Jeremy and I, we had had another fight. Not that it was our first, or worst, but it was enough to get me stressed out. I was seventeen, and if the dog had decided to walk away from me when I wanted to pet him, it would have made me equally upset. But that’s not the point. This fight made me stressed enough to do something I had wanted to do for a very long time, but had never known I had really wanted. I decided to take a bath. Nothing fancy, just me and the hot water. No bubbles, no bath salts, not scented candles. It was so simple, yet so perfect for me. I climbed into the bathtub, waiting for the water to grab all of my feelings and take them away. The feeling of the hot water against my skin, it was almost orgasmic. Each inch lower into the water I sank, the more shivers I got. My parents weren’t home, they were at the ballet, out for their date night. It was just me alone in the house. I had put the dogs outside, the cats were downstairs, and my ipod was on full blast with the newest music I had just added. Not relaxing music, but my music. This bath was not like any baths one sees in movies. It was simple, and just right. A little more realistic if you were to ask me. I was sitting with my eyes closed, listening to who knows what song, when I heard the alarm beep three times, indicating that the door had just been opened. I shrugged, figuring that it was just the dogs scratching the door or something. And for some reason, I opened my eyes for a second. And there he was. Jeremy. My Jeremy. Here, in full color. Wearing only his boxers. And me in nothing but my purple socks, which I realized that I had forgotten to take off in my haste to get into the bath. And no bubbles to hide my shame. And no candles to dim the view. Just me. And no words were spoken. But Jeremy stood there, with his hair messed up, and slightly out of breath. From running up the stairs to come see me I presumed. He slowly walked toward the bathtub from the doorway. He made his way all the way over to the bathtub, and climbed in with me, keeping his eyes on mine the entire time, waiting for me to stop him. We had never gone this far before. Not to say we were angels, but he had never seen me this naked, to make things simple. And I blinked, letting him slide in next to me. And then he kissed me. Gently. And I kissed him back. And the rest is history. I won’t get into nasty details. And when things were over, I leaned my head on his chest, and slid my hand under his back to pull the drain in order to get rid of the water. And we lay there, my head on his chest, his arms over my shoulder. And still we said nothing. And all of the water drained. And I looked up, and laughed at Jeremy’s boxers halfway in the toilet. And he laughed too. And he laughed, and touched my purple socks with his toes. And I giggled, and then sighed. And I listened to the song playing, which was “I Kissed a Girl” by Katy Perry. And I snorted at how unromantic the song was. And Jeremy laughed too, and then kissed me again. And then he untangled his arms from mine, and climbed out of the bathtub. And I sat up, and he kissed me again, all the while putting on his boxers. And as we broke apart, our lips made that embarrassing smacking noise, and we both laughed. And Jeremy kissed me on the nose, and then he walked away. And no words had been said. And I leaned back against the bathtub, with my knees against my chest. And I smiled. And then I got up, and dried off, and got dressed. And I smiled the entire time. And I put on pjs, let the dogs back inside, and I went to bed. And my parents came home an hour later. And I was asleep. And Jeremy didn’t call the next morning. And we had a fight two days from then. And our relationship was perfect for one more month, imperfect for two, and we broke up exactly three months from that day. And we moved on, and we were still friends. And I graduated, and he graduated, and we went to separate colleges. And we don’t talk anymore. But ever so often, I feel like taking a bath. And I know that I am thinking about him, and I know that sometimes he is thinking of me.
And that’s where it ended. Far from perfect, but close enough for me.
