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When I heard the message on my machine, I kinda had a hunch. "Uh, hi, Colin, this is Heather, please give me a call," and then this little hiccup which really made me think she was crying. When you've known someone for ten or twelve years, you get a sense of what they sound like. Plus, the message hit my voicemail at 3 PM, which is not when she normally calls me. Unfortunately, quite some hours had passed since then. It was now 7 PM. When you're an active freshman in college and it's the near the end of spring quarter, schedules can get pretty hectic. I hoped it hadn't been anything terribly important. "Hello, this is Colin, may I speak to Heather please." Without preamble, Heather said, "Jason broke up with me." Oh, shit. It had been something important. "What, just now," I said, clutching the handset. "Yeah," Heather said. "I called you the moment I got home." I winced. Okay, four hours had passed, not a great response time for someone who's supposed to be a best friend. Unfortunately, it couldn't have been any faster. I am not gonna get caught in that stupid cell-phone thing. My life isn't that complicated yet. ...Is it? "Why'd he do it," I asked. "It was some really stupid reason," Heather told me. She shifted into an oafish, slurring voice for an imitation. "Something like, 'Oh, you're not smart enough for me, you don't agree with me, you suck.'" Sadly, her impression wasn't very far off. I frowned. Jason Bishop had that rare combination of good looks, athletic ability and brains, and his name had settled at the top of most of the lists people really look at in high school. He was now a freshman at Stanford University. His redeeming (or fatal) character flaws were an extreme vanity and a habit of lashing out rather viciously at anyone who crossed him. But Heather had known this going into the relationship. "Well, if he's gonna be such an asshole," I said, "it's just as well you got out of there, right?" She didn't say anything. She had got out of there--but clearly it hadn't been fast enough. Abruptly Heather said: "Can I come over?" I blinked. "Sure, I'm not doing anything tonight except homework." Yeah, homework on a Friday night. I am such an exciting person. "I doubt my roommate will mind. Oh, wait, he already went home." My roommate's trips home are rare because he lives two hours away. Heather, on the other hand, lives in Nibelheim, which is weird because when my family moved to Saldaea Heights, hers followed me to the next city over within a few years. And both of those cities are about twenty minutes away from Keld, so me visiting home, or Heather and Adam and Lindsay visiting me, is pretty common. "All right, I'll come over," Heather said. She didn't sound sad; she sounded angry. That was fine with me. Anger's a little easier to deal with. "Don't run someone off the road," I said, only half-joking. "Let's pray," Heather gritted. I puttered around for half an hour, waiting for her to show up: checked my e-mail and the various websites I read, that sort of thing. The clock moved erratically: one minute I'd look and it'd be 7:43; then I'd look back, thinking it had been twenty minutes and she should be here by now, only to discover it was only 7:44. And then randomly losing five minutes while I waited for a site to load--what was going on? If I didn't know better, I'd swear someone was fooling with the space-time continuum. Or maybe I was just really distracted. Part of it is Heather. She's my oldest friend. I've known her since the first grade. My next-oldest friend, incidentally, I met in third grade, and ever since then it's been Colin, Heather and Adam, more or less inseparable. Like seeks like, they say, and they're right; all three of us were of similar mindsets concerning studying, teachers, whether to obey rules or not, that sort of thing. But after sixth grade, we split up--Heather's mom got a job transfer to Sacramento or something, and I moved to Saldaea Heights and a new junior high while Adam stayed in Guardia. It took until early high school for us to reunite. Adam called me up with the news, and I hightailed it over as fast as I could. See, the thing is: I'm in love with Heather. I'm honestly no longer sure if she knows this. She did in elementary school, because I wore my emotions on my sleeve back then, with all the naivete of the young. I know she trusted me back then, because we were each other's first kiss; she had seen people doing it on television and wanted to see what the big deal was. But then again, maybe I was just the nearest gullible sap to hand. When you're talking about Colin Anthony Watson, the answer is never clear. (For the record, I didn't think that kissing stuff was all that cool. What can I say, we were in second grade.) But then that fateful first day of seventh grade rolled around, and she was gone, and didn't come back for a while. And when she did, she was changed. Her long golden hair was cut short and ragged, and she had several piercings on each ear, and her clothes were so small that seemed to have been designed for Barbie dolls. For a while, I didn't recognize her. Heather was the product of a single-parent home, a mother who spent her days working minimum-wage jobs trying to keep food on the table and clothes on the backs of her two daughters, of which Heather was the oldest. Heather's father had divorced the family before I met her. Heather had the brains she needed to do just about anything, but endless afternoons staring at the television had left their mark. It doesn't help that she is practically the American stereotype of feminine perfection--blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect figure, the works. During high school she and Adam had a lot in common--they were both up on the trends, both fans of MTV, both knew who Pamela Anderson was... What, don't look at me like that! I had other concerns. And other people to drool over, for that matter; someone I could actually reach out and touch, as opposed to staring at through the glass wall of a television screen. But that, of course, depended on me getting the courage up to talk to her. And also whether Heather would come back into my life or not. It was somewhat dismaying to watch them spiraling into pop culture like that. I figured Adam would come back to his senses eventually, but Heather was another matter; it quickly became clear that she was actually interested in that stuff. I didn't get it--never have--so what was surprising was that she came back to me in the first place. After all, I was something like the complete antithesis of trendy hip culture--the Antichrist of the boyband craze. What did she find interesting in me? To this day, I'm still not quite sure, but I'm glad she came back. I didn't recognize her, and she didn't recognize me. For a while we had almost nothing in common. She certainly didn't seeme as as dating material. But as the years wore on her choice in men became more and more stable--don't get me wrong; Jason Bishop can be an ass, but when he isn't drooling over his reflection in a mirror, he can be quite a lot of fun to be around--and she gradually severed her ties with that whole mainstream culture thing. I'm glad. In my opinion, mainstream culture is nothing but a substitute identity for those who don't feel like they can have one of their own. Heather is definitely not one of those people. We have come to recognize each other again. And here she was now, the product of twenty years of learning and conditioning, lighting up my phone. I picked it up. "Domino's Pizza, this is Colin, how can I help you?" I have no idea why I said that. "Hi, can I get a large opening in your dorm's front door, with pepperoni, bell peppers and extra cheese?" "Hiya Heather. Coming right down." Three flights of stairs, then a door. I imagine most colleges have something like this: you have to swipe your ID card at the door to get into the dorms. If you don't have one, you don't get in, and the RAs don't let you in either. We've had cases of telemarketers actually going door-to-door down the hallways (guess they aren't telemarketers anymore), not to mention perverts trying to sneak into the girls's bathroom, so you have to let yourself in. Or get someone to let you in. I saw my own reflection in the glass-paned door for a scant second: tall, thin, almost spindly, with dark hair and glasses. I've worn glasses since I was seven. Heather always thought they were cute. Some people find me handsome. More find me engaging. I know I'm not a looker, so I've tried to make myself into an interesting person. My reflection dissolved as I opened the door. Heather, on the other hand--now there's a woman who doesn't need to concentrate on her personality. She's beautiful. She was wearing a plain white T-shirt and jeans, and no makeup that I could see, nor any of those ridiculous shove-your-boobs-in-my-face bras I had seen her wear on dates. Her hair came down to the small of her back; she had it loosely gathered, and it sang in the early May sunset. I was glad she had not bothered to primp herself up; I like the natural look on people. A lot of the makeup people wear nowadays looks ridiculous, and let's not even start on what they try to do with their breasts. Breasts were actually Heather's sore point; she thought hers were too small. The fact that they fit her frame perfectly, and that her real beauty was in the expressiveness of her face, the warmth of her smile, did not mitigate her longing for a taller letter of the alphabet on her bra size. Oh well; that's what today's standards have lead us to expect. I mean, look at online pornography. If you're a woman and you haven't got at least a 47-billion-DD cup size, you'll never be photographed. Or written about, for that matter. Of course, this is not to say that Heather is an airhead. On the contrary. She wasn't always interested in academics--her first SAT score was about a 980--but once she realized she'd need academics to get anywhere, it skyrocketed past 1400. She and Adam and I have all been in honors and advanced classes, both together and apart. That's part of why I like her; instead of falling back on her appearances, she's gone out and made a person out of herself. "Hi," I said. "Hi," she said. "Do you wanna come up, or..." "Have you had dinner yet," she asked. I shook my head. "Cafeteria?" She shrugged. "Sure, why not." I stepped outside and we set off for the cafeteria. "I'll spring." Heather looked at me. "I can pay for myself." "Trust me," I said, "it's faster. You know how we swipe our ID cards to pay, right? Well, you have no idea how much it holds up the line when people pay with cash." She smiled. We sat at one of the smaller side tables, she with her salad and I with a pasta entree. Hers was so small that she was finished practically before I got started. "You know, you can eat more than that if you want," I said. Some girls think they have to eat less than the guys sitting near them. I don't hold with that for a second. "I'm watching my weight," Heather said. I rolled my eyes. "Heather, you look fine. You know people were looking at you when we came in. There is absolutely nothing wrong with your figure. You're beautiful." Heather looked at me strangely, and I suddenly wondered if I had said too much. Especially when she asked me, "Do you mean that?" Not, "Oh, right, I'm so hot;" not "Yeah, yeah, I'm beautiful." "Do you mean that?" With a direct gaze and nary a trace of frivolity about her voice. I'll tell you a secret: I love Heather Elizabeth Norwellyn. I'm not just in love with her, I love her. How's that for tripping over your feet. I looked away for a second, and in that instant, decided to be honest. "Yes, I do," I said. "You've always been beautiful, Heather, even from day one. When I walked into that classroom the first day of first grade, you were the prettiest person there." It's not that I lust after her, because I've gotten over that. Mostly gotten over that. I realized it when she came back during high school, when I would look over at her on our infrequent weekend visits (we all went to different high schools) and think about how much she'd changed, and how much I hoped she wasn't making a mistake that would hurt her. And that I was worried, but never gave up hope that she'd be able to find herself. Heather smiled at me. "Thanks, Colin." A teasing light entered her eyes. "You were kind of pretty yourself, that first day." I gave her a twisted grin. "Oh, right. Pudgy little me, the shortest kid in the class, tripping over my own shoelaces and never having any idea of how to shut up." She laughed. "God, do you remember those days? Things were so much simpler then." I nodded. I didn't think they had been any easier, but they certainly were less complex. "Yeah. The only thing I had to worry about was whether Jeffrey would flatten me at recess." "I remember him!" Heather said. "He always reminded me of that one guy you see on T-shirt logos--you know, the one with the muscles and the short flat haircut and the glare?" "That's him exactly," I said, giggling. "I wonder where he is nowadays." "Oh, who knows," Heather said, her smile shining brilliantly. "Maybe in the military or something. Takin' it to those Al Qaeda terrorists, or something like that." I rolled my eyes and ate more pasta. "Do you remember," she said, and now her voice was soft and introspective. "Do you remember that time we kissed on the bus?" I blinked at her, startled. She rarely ever mentioned that incident, despite how thoroughly it embarrassed me--which she loved to do--and in her current emotional climate, I had no idea what was going through her head. "Yeah," I said carefully, "I do. Second grade, right?" She nodded. "I thought I was so grown-up, doing that. I was trying so hard to be grown-up." Her eyes suddenly focused on me. "What did you think?" "Of what?" I asked guardedly. "Of the kisses, silly," she said, smiling. "Oh. Uh." Well. What was there to say? "We were kids. We didn't know what we were doing. Even at the time, I kinda didn't get it." Didn't get it was an understatement. I sat in the school bus with my backpack sticking out into the aisle, looking at her and wondering exactly what this lips-on-lips thing was supposed to mean. At the age of seven, my television exposure was mostly limited to Sesame Street, so I may not have even known what kissing was. Unless I had seen it in a Disney movie or something. I was not the most knowledgeable of persons. Though, ironically, I had already discovered masturbation. Now that I think of it, I had some weird developmental patterns. Breaking out of my mental tangent, I took in her expression: at once impassive and slightly hurt. "What," I asked quietly, "you were hoping that those kisses had changed my life or something? Honestly, Heather, how likely would that have been, with us being in second grade? No one knows how to kiss at that point. I mean, you asked me to try it out with you. Remember?" "Clearly I didn't learn a whole lot, or maybe Jason would still be with me," she said darkly. "Oh, come on," I said gently. "You know that's not true." But she didn't answer. We walked back to my dorm in silence. Heather didn't seem inclined to talk, but I had a question I needed answered. "Do you have a curfew?" She shook her head. "No, I just have to call my mom before twelve and tell her where I am and where I'll be. She's pretty lax about these things. I've stayed over at boyfriends's houses a couple of times." I didn't say anything. I knew what went on when a couple spent the night together. Heather looked over at me. "What," she said. "Are you jealous?" My face squirmed. "Oh, come on," she said. "It's not like you haven't--" "No," I said, "I haven't." She seemed genuinely surprised. "Really?" "I used to date Jane, remember," I said. "She wouldn't open up if we were the last two people on Earth." Jane and I were close, but love, whether real or pretended, doesn't help when one person doesn't want the relationship to go anywhere, emotionally, physically or otherwise. "What about that other girl, what's her name--" "Selena? We only dated for a month. You know the kind of people I like: they tend to be responsible. They don't jump in bed just like that." "That's true," Heather said. She shook her head. "I'm just surprised, is all." My lips twitched in a not-quite smile. "You're not bitter," she asked. I sighed. "Well, what can I do? It sucks, but that doesn't make it change." "Just find somebody and get laid," Heather suggested. "That's not what I'm looking for," I said. "I could do that. I thought about it when I first got to college, and I decided not to. Sex is sex, it's boring. I've been masturbating all my life, it's not anything new. I do it maybe..." I cut off. We were entering the building. I wasn't exactly planning to give the RAs a rundown of my sexual proclivities. When we entered the elevator, I finished: "I want to be in love with somebody. And then have sex with them." Heather just looked at me, an unreadable look, and said nothing until the elevator stopped at my floor. Then she said: "You sound like a girl." I gave her a humorless smile. "That's my specialty." I've always been an odd one, and the latest in the line is this: I have a lot of distinctly feminine traits. I'm not very interested in sex, I want an emotional commitment when I date somebody, I'm quite sensitive to how people feel... Hell, I'm a psychology major, the ultimate touchy-feely occupation. Thankfully, I'm in college now, and people seem to accept you without much question once you reach that age. Maturity? Indifference? I don't care, as long as it stops people from beating up on me. When we got to my room, she checked her e-mail on my computer, looking for something from Jason. There was nothing. She surrendered the keyboard to me, and I floated aimlessly around cyberspace for a short time, having nothing to do. Dorm rooms are not generally stocked with provisions to occupy more than one person, especially when you left your TV at home like I did. What? I spend most of my time on the computer anyway, who would need it? There is, of course, the bed, but we're not counting that. Nor are we counting how I'd like to get Heather into mine some day. Seeing as how I love her and all. And it'd be okay if she didn't want to have sex. You know what would be nice? Someone to just hold all night. Another living, breathing presence beside me, whom I could count on to be there in the morning. One of the basic facts about my life is that I have always, always, always felt myself to be completely alone. This has nothing really to do with how many people are in the room with me; it has more to do with how often I have been singled out by groups and people. It also has to do with how nobody has ever found me important enough to visit at odd hours, just because they felt like it; or buy gifts for, for the same reason; or, well, or to have sex with me. Twisted logic, I know, but hey--I'm a college student. I'm allowed some leeway in the logic department. Heather was sitting on my roommate's bed and regarding me with implacable eyes. "What's on your mind," I asked. She looked at me for a moment, silent. Then, evidently she came to some mental decision, and spoke the results aloud: "You," she said. "I've just been thinking about how different you are." I looked at her. Different is a word fraught with meaning to me. I feel alone at all times because I am different, because I have been made to feel like an outsider by too many people, too many times, and now it’s hard-wired into my system. I could probably stand in a room full of clones of myself and still feel like an outsider. "What do you mean by that," I said aloud. "I just mean... How much you've changed," Heather said. "You know how it is: you know someone for such a long time that sometimes you don't catch on to their personal evolution until after it’s happened. Well, it's been like that for me. I'm so used to thinking of you as, you know, that I've totally missed that you changed. ...Am I making sense here, do you get it?" I nodded. "Adam and I have the same problem. Well, rather, I have it with him. He seems to be on the ball at all times." She gave me a distant smile. "Yeah, he does, doesn't he," she said. "Well, I'm up to date now, and you're very different from what I used to remember. But..." She looked at me again, her eyes focusing on me. "There's one thing I hope hasn't changed. "Colin, you... You used to have a crush on me, didn't you?" I blinked at her. For a second I wondered what to do. Then common sense kicked in. Now's your chance, GO for it! "Used to?" I said. "How could you forget? It was so obvious that everyone knew. Even, like, my cousins, who had never met you before--" Suddenly Heather was off the bed and hurtling into my arms, where she clung and buried her face in my chest. "I knew it! I knew it," she crowed, her voice muffled by my shirt. A sudden thought seemed to strike her. "You bastard!" She thumped on my ribs with a fist. "Why didn't you say anything? All through high school I thought you had forgotten about me! I was so--" A few more thumps. "Why didn't you say anything? Say something!" "Ow," I said. "Not that!" She pulled her head back and stared up at me with the fury of a brewing storm. "Why didn't you say something about liking me? All through high school I felt like I had been hung out to dry because you didn't notice me!" "Well, how do you think I felt," I retorted. "You and Adam were banding together in everything, I half thought you two would go out--" "Well, we know that's not true," Heather said, "seeing as how he's got a boyfriend now--" "--and then you started taking up with all those crazy football jocks--God, remember Trevor?" That particular specimen had gone into drug abuse rehab before the end of his first year of high school. "I certainly wasn't their type. What chance did I have? And then you yourself, and your makeup and your tiny clothes and all. I mean, I barely had any idea what to do with Pamela Lee Gifford or whoever, much less you." "Uh, it's Kathy Lee Gifford," Heather said, a faint smile dusting her lips. "And Pamela Anderson Lee." "Oh, shut up," I said, grinning. I had mixed them up on purpose, to get a laugh out of her, and it had worked. And then, because I could, I bent down and kissed her on the lips. Just a short, quick peck, and that was all. But she followed me back, and I had barely finished moving when her lips caught up with me again. We kissed, our mouths coming open, tasting each other's breath. I pulled my arm around her shoulders, stroking her back, feeling the glistening texture of her fine hair. "Well," she said when we broke for air, "you seem to know what to do with me now." I laughed. "Yeah, but then I'd better close the room door, or else people will notice that we're, uh, busy." She let me stand up and I crossed to the door and closed it. It gave me a chance to compose my thoughts. We finally had this chance--I didn't want to ruin it. "Heather," I said. She was standing in the middle of the room, and when I spoke, she turned to me and gave me a smile that shone like daylight and made my throat tighten up. All the words left my mind, and instead of saying anything, I found myself walking over and putting my arms around her. She held me just as tightly, her head resting on my shoulder. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted this to happen," I asked. "Maybe as long as I have," she said. "Did you know: back in grade school, I used to figure we'd get married," I said. "...Okay, maybe longer than I have," she said. She lifted her head to look at me, her voice serious. "It was more like when I came back for high school. For most of junior high I didn't think of you at all; I had too much other things to think about. But when I came back... It really struck me how much I had been looking forward to seeing you again. And that maybe I should ask you out. But when we first met, it seemed so..." I nodded. "Yeah. You had changed so much, I wasn't sure if you even remembered me." She laughed. "And you: you hadn't changed a bit. Still the same old Colin." "That's funny," I said. "They tell me I've changed a lot." "Well, maybe on the surface," she said, "but not so far deep down there is the Colin I always knew." "And I'm glad the Heather I knew has returned," I said. She grimaced a little. "Yeah. I wouldn't admit this to anyone else, but I'm kind of glad I stopped caring about Kathy Anderson Gifford or whatever. When I was part of that, it was like-- Dependent on who I knew. If something was popular, I had to be on top of it, and if I was, I was popular. And it was pretty cool, but sometimes I just wanted to say, 'Hey, what about me?'" "Well, that's what Adam and I are for," I said. "Yeah," she said, and kissed me again. It went on for a long time. We were in no rush. We had waited to reach this place together, and now we wanted to savor it. "Do you remember sixth grade," I asked. "Yeah, what about it," she said. "What did we learn about in Health class?" I asked. "Uh..." She thought back. "Let me see, that was..." Her eyes widened. "Oh, my God, I remember that! That was when they taught us about sex!" I laughed. "Did you ever get, you know, The Talk from your parents? Err, sorry, parent?" She giggled. "No, not really, we didn't need it. Too much TV. But all they showed was naked people putting their hips together. I didn't really understand what was going on until those classes in sixth grade. You know, the--" She giggled again. "--the mechanics." "Insert Peg A into Slot B," I offered. She laughed. "Yeah. I didn't know about the nitty-gritty details and stuff until that class in sixth grade." "I didn't get The Talk either," I said. "My parents let Mrs. Chandler do that." Mrs. Chandler was our 6th-grade teacher. I remember those classes--they split the sixth grade into male and female rotations, there were only about eight students total, and played all these weird videos about The Miracle Of Life (TM) and all that. I remember everyone burst out laughing when they had a cartoon graphic of an evolving hard-on. And these were the guys. "Did you have any idea," Heather asked, a delighted smile on her face. "You know, that people did stuff like that?" I shrugged. "Well, I had already discovered the, ahem, the alternate uses for my exterior plumbing, but obviously the pipes weren't carrying anything at that point, if you know what I mean." I can actually remember the first time I ever ejaculated during masturbation. I don't know how many other people can claim that. "By the time that happened, I already knew what was going on." She nodded. "You know," I said, almost not thinking about what was coming out of my mouth, "a couple times during sixth grade, I kind of wanted to try that with you." Heather pulled back her head and stared at me blankly. As for me, I went back over what I had just said. Had I actually said that? Yeah, I had said that. Wow. The things you say when you're not paying attention. Seeing the complete astonishment on her face, I said, "Well, I mean. You asked me to help you find out what kissing was. It'd be kind of similar, you know, just... 'What's this?'" A bit of understanding crept across her face, and she nodded, though her mouth still hung open. I blinked. "Why, what did you think I meant?" She closed her mouth, shook her head out as though clearing her thoughts. "Well, I. I kind of thought you were, you know, lusting after me or something. And I was like, Wait, he was eleven, is that normal?" I gave her a wry smile. "Well, I did lust after you for a while, back when we first met. But gradually it died out. Or maybe it became part of my friendship for you. I wasn't kidding when I said you were the prettiest girl in that classroom, and you haven't exactly lost any of your looks since then. But... Well, you know. We were first graders. It's hard to lust after somebody when there aren't any... Outlets, if you will, for that feeling. I knew you were really beautiful and that I wanted to be as close to you as possible, but, like, if you had asked me to tell you how I felt back then, I wouldn't have had the words. Or the expressions, either. It took until you moved away for me to realize I wanted to kiss you again." She smiled and sung out a line from an old song: "Don't it always seem to go / That you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone?" "Hey, that was nice," I said, smiling. "What?" she asked. "I've never heard you sing before." "Yes you have." "Well, not loudly. Not like that. You were always quiet, and, like, embarrassed. I don't see why, you've got a nice voice." "Well," she said, looking away and fidgeting. "You and Adam, you know. You guys sung a lot, and you sounded great. Especially you, making up your own harmonies and all. And now you and Adam have that whole group of friends from your choir around you, and I know you guys can sing well--" "No, not all of them," I said. "Most of them, yeah. But definitely not Sherynn, and I'm not sure about Jane either." "Well," Heather said. "Whatever." I smiled at her and kissed her on the forehead. She's just enough shorter than me to make it possible. We stood in each other's arms for a short time, standing close to each other, feeling each other's breath, each other's heartbeat. Her breasts were firm against my chest--I still maintain she has perfectly good breasts. I was developing an erection, which tends to happen when I'm hugging someone I'm attracted to. I don't hug people very often. Unless I'm going out with them, at which point it's not as much of a social faux pas to have a hard-on. Once Heather gave this contented little sigh and snuggled closer, and I thought I was just going to melt. In her arms was now officially my favorite place to be. Why had I ever left it? Finally she said, "Well, you've got me. I'm a willing prisoner of Colin Watson." I could hear the smile in her voice; I felt her breath tickling my neck. "What were you planning to do with me?" "I dunno," I said, contented. "What did you have in mind?" She was silent for a moment. "Well," she said, "you were saying you wanted to try that sex thing with me..." Oh, yeah, that was why I had stepped away. "Uh, Heather," I said. She retreated from my embrace, looked up at me, blinked. This clearly was not the answer she was expecting. I don't blame her. I mean, come on. Heather Norwellyn is widely regarded as an eminently attractive and desirable woman. What sort of person turns her down? I must be insane. But I had my reasons. "Heather, we have just this one chance to get things right. Not just sex, but, like, you know, us." "Is there an us?" she asked, mildly surprised. "Well, I'd like there to be," I said, and she nodded. "More accurately, I'd like there to be an us even if we have sex tonight. I know it can screw things up--" "How would you know, Mr. Virgin," she asked, flashing me a delightedly malicious grin. I rolled my eyes. "I may be a virgin, but I've seen what happened to my friends who stopped being so. And I don't want that to happen to us." She nodded, her face serious. We had both seen a number of relationships fall apart after its members realized that the only connections being made were between cock and pussy. Heather had been in one of those. For that matter, so had I, but mine had mouths involved, which is why I'm still technically a virgin. "Well, good," she said, "I thought for a second you were going to say you didn't want to have sex with me." I snorted. "Are you kidding? I'm a nineteen-year-old virgin, give me some credit here. Seriously, though. I would like to have sex with you, or make love with you, or whatever you want to call it. I was always..." God, how embarrassing to say this. "I was always so jealous when you took someone to bed, knowing that... He was getting something I wanted, and could probably never have. But now that I do have you... I don't want to mess things up." "Well, you do have me," Heather said softly, looking up into my eyes. "And we'll make sure we don't mess up. And that you get some." I smiled. "That sounds like a good deal to me." We smiled at each other for a moment. I looked over her face--those blue eyes now bright with joy, her shining smile, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, my favorite color and length... How the hell did I get so lucky? "Well," she said, "want to get started?" I laughed. "It isn't like a business arrangement or anything." "Well, how would you know, Mr. Virgin," she said, sticking out her tongue. "Oh, should I get out my wallet then?" I asked, laughing. "You better not, you'd make me feel like a whore," she said, her eyes dancing. "Unless you've got a condom in there or something." I shook my head. "Actually, I haven't got anything in the way of protection. Maybe we should go get some." "I thought that was what we were talking about," she said, giggling, and I suddenly realized my double entendre. "You know what I meant," I said, fighting back giggles. We must've been drunk, we were smiling so much. It hadn’t even been that funny. "Well, I am on The Pill," Heather told me, "so we can just go for it, if you want." I thought about it for a second. "Let's go to the store and get some condoms later." "And what shall we do now," she asked me. "Put that Pill of yours to the test, potentially," I said, waggling my eyebrows. "Oh-hhhh," she said with a wicked grin. "Taking some risks, I see, Mr. Watson." "Yeah, yeah, save the morality for later, you're not my mother," I retorted, grinning. "Well, I sure hope not!" Heather exclaimed, and we dissolved into random giggles. Finally we got ourselves together and realized we were still standing in the middle of the room. I held her tenderly. "I--" I love you, Heather. No, maybe not yet. She may not take me seriously if I say that. "I'm really glad you're here." She pecked me on the cheek. "I'm glad to be here." She took my hand and led me to the bed, and began taking off her clothes. "Well, come on, then," she said, smiling. I did as she suggested, after taking the precaution of drawing the blinds mostly closed. We were on the third floor, and I had already checked the angles before--no one should be able to see anything. Regardless, though. Then I got my pants and underwear off. It felt strangely formal. When I was done, I turned to her. I had seen Heather in a bathing suit before, but nothing prepared me for this. She stood before me without a stitch on her--she had even discarded her hair band. She had pale skin and enough muscles to give her body some definition. Her breasts were smoothly rounded and did not sag much; they reminded me of Heather herself--beautiful but not showy, with an elegant dignity to them. She had small pink areolas and little eraser-nubbin nipples. Her hips flared out from a slim waist, leading to long, smooth legs--and, of course, a juncture between them, a juncture I had often dreamed about. Her pubic hair was a neatly-trimmed triangle of deep, rich gold, darker than the hair on her head. I must have gaped for a while, because eventually Heather smiled and said, "You like what you see, I suppose." I tried to answer her and made a sort of gagging noise instead. I had to work moisture into my mouth. "Absolutely. I knew you were beautiful with clothes on, but, like... Wow." She giggled. "Well, you're not so bad yourself." She ran her hands over my arms and down my chest. "Looks like you've been working out a bit." I laughed nervously. Actually, I hadn't, but hey, who was I to argue? She ran her fingertips across my chest and over my nipples. I jumped a little. "Heehee. Tickles." "What," she said, "no one's ever touched your nipples before?" "Well, no," I said. "We mostly ended up paying attention to the woman's nipples." Heather rolled her eyes. "Well, I don't see why there should be any difference. Nipples are nipples, no matter which gender they're fastened to." "Yeah, but I just have these, you know, hard planes. You have breasts." She rolled her eyes again. "You know, Colin, these things are not the greatest things to have." "Yeah, I know, Lindsay complains about them too," I said. Lindsey is Adam's best friend. "But..." I reached out and covered her left breast with my hand; her nipple peaked against my palm. "I think they're pretty cool." She looked into my eyes. "Well, then, who am I to complain?" I bent down and took her nipple in my mouth, keeping my teeth out of the picture. With my hands I continued to massage her breasts, using only my fingertips to stroke across their surface, underneath them, at the tender places where they joined her flanks. Her breathing grew heavy and she pressed up to meet me. I let go of her nipple and began to kiss in rings around the surface of her breast. I paid special attention to the areole, which I could feel through its different texture. Then I kissed my way to her flank near her underarm, hoping I wasn't going to run into some sort of solid deodorant, and made tickling kisses down around the rim of her breast. The Internet says that this is a very sensitive place that is normally ignored. I don't know if that's true, but it seemed to be working. Stooped over but not caring, I worked my way across her chest to the other breast, listening to her heady breathing, feeling her hands ruffle through my hair, smelling a vague musky aroma that must clearly be her sex, smelling the clean warm scent of her body itself. Finally I reached the other nipple and felt it harden between my lips, heard her moan softly. "Colin," Heather said. "I'm going to lie down now. This is a little awkward. Think you can follow me?" "I'm right behind you," I said, my mouth full. It was an amusing maneuver: Heather trying to move slowly to lie down on the bed with me half overbalanced, teetering on one foot, following her, trying not to let go of this wonderful thing I had just discovered on her chest. It probably would have been easier to just stop and regroup on the bed, but hey, what can I say--we were so obsessed with each other we were basically drunk. "Wow," she said, once we had finally gotten ourselves arranged. "I never thought I'd be doing ballet." "I don't think--" I stopped to give her other nipple a gentle pinch and she hissed with indrawn breath. "--I don't think ballet dancers do the kind of activities we're considering." "Well, at least, not on stage," she said. My left hand left her boob and began a meandering journey over her flanks, her belly, her navel, down to her right hip, and then over and toward that secret thing she had between her legs. I felt wetness on the inside of her thigh; and then my fingers were in contact with the object that is every (straight) man's nirvana. I let my fingers wander around her vulva, feeling her fleshy lips, trying to orient myself towards her clitoris. "You seem to know what you're doing," Heather murmured. "I thought you said you were a virgin." "Hey," I said, "I am a horny college student with a broadband Internet connection and waaay too much time on my hands." "Well, I see you've put that time to good use--" she began, and then cut off as my fingers brushed gently over her clitoral hood. She gasped breath and pushed her hips upward, wanting more. I spread her outer lips with my fingers as well as I could--my head was still up near hers, watching her face grow increasingly flushed, the clenching of her eyes, her gasps and cries of pleasure. Using my remaining fingers, I rubbed gently around her clitoris. I knew some girls were too sensitive to take direct stimulation, but Heather seemed only to want more. When I touched the hood directly, she jumped and moaned a little, but didn't say anything, and I took it as a good sign. Being unable to see was getting to be a hassle. I loved her face, and I wanted to see her face light up with the joy I was bringing her... But to do a good job, I would have to abandon that. And seeing as how this was my debut performance, I was determined to do a good job. But Heather had other ideas. "No," she said, as I began to move down her body. "Stay here." "Why, what's wrong with down there," I asked. She opened her eyes and looked at me. A sheen of sweat covered her body. "I think it's time to give you what you've been waiting for." "Are you sure," I asked quietly. Women were supposed to need more foreplay than that. She nodded. "You've waited so long, I think it's time to put an end to it. At this rate, you'll have another birthday before we get started." That might have been a slight at my technique, but I had other concerns. "But what about... You?" She grinned at me. "I'll teach you how to work with me later. Right now, though, I want to give this to you." She pointed imperiously. "Get over here, Colin, and put your dick in my pussy." I had to admit, I was kind of eager. But if we were going to do this, I wanted to do it right. But if Heather was serious... I stretched out beside her, putting my arms around her, and we kissed. As we did, she used her hands to coach me into position until I was basically lying on top of her. I felt rather nervous and strangely timid. I had wanted this for years, but... Suppose I screwed up? And I'd probably want it in future too. What would happen if I disappointed her so much that she refused to do it again? I'd probably go insane. "Use your elbows to hold you up," she whispered, and when I did, she spread her legs. I could feel my cock pushing against her vulva; I could feel the warmth and wetness. She reached down between us and I felt her hand positioning me at her entrance. "Ready?" she asked. I nodded. I felt the head of my cock slide inside her pussy, engulfed in warm, slippery-smooth walls that beckoned me with their secrets. As she took her hand away, I slid my hips forward slowly, feeling her lips engulf my shaft, feeling that incredible slick warmth surrounding my shaft, until I felt the pressure of her pussy lips against my crotch. I opened eyes I didn't remember closing and looked down at her. "Hi," I said, at a lack of anything else to say. "Hi," she said, a smile lighting her face. "You know, you can, like, move or something." "I know," I said. "I've never been here before. I just thought I'd take a minute and get acquainted." She giggled and kissed me. This was, of course, nothing like masturbation. Her pussy enveloped my cock, wetter than anything it had ever felt, and far warmer as well. Every time she moved her legs I felt it quiver and shift around me. If she moved them enough, I could probably cum right there. "My arms are getting tired," I said. They were shaking from holding my weight up. Maybe I should work out. "Then just lie on top of me," she told me. "I don't think you're that heavy." I did, letting myself down slowly. Her breasts yielded to my weight and she put her arms around my back, her legs around my waist. I felt their warm tension against my hips and felt welcomed. "Heather?" "Yeah?" "Well, I... I wanted to thank you. For... Giving me this." She giggled. "You sound like you just won a prize or something. This isn't the Academy Awards. We're having sex." "No, but... Still." It was impossible to express just how I felt: how long I had loved her, how much I had hoped this one day might come to pass, how happy I was that it had, how much I loved her. "I... Just... Thank you." She rolled her eyes. "If you insist..." She looked at me with a gravid dignity. "You're welcome." Then the jesting tone left her eyes and her voice. "You're welcome, Colin." I kissed her again. Our mouths met open, our tongues intertwined, and slowly I began to move inside her, shifting my hips back and forth. The feelings of velvet friction around me were maddening. Judging from her reaction, she was enjoying it as well. She broke the kiss, her mouth still open, and began to run her nails up and down my back. Waves of pleasure broke across my body, building in pressure behind my groin, urging me forward, but I kept to my pace. "I probably won't... Last long," I said between breaths. "That's... Okay," she replied. "And you're sure... It's okay for me to... Come inside you." She giggled. "Why do you have to-- (Ooh.) --To be so responsible?" "Well, that's what, that's what happens when I'm in the vicinity of pussy." "Heehee. How would you know, Mr. Virgin--" I laughed. "Oh, shut up! I'm not anymore!" She kissed me, and I gave into the pressure, beginning to move faster. The bed began to rattle from our exertions. I could feel her flexing her hips up to meet me, wanting more. Something within me sparked: This is it. I realized she wouldn't turn me down, wouldn't turn me away, wouldn't declare this some complete disaster. We were made for this. We were made for each other. Soul-mates, maybe. But this is right. We belong. "Soon," she grunted. "More like now," I replied, and barely a moment later I rocketed over the edge of ecstasy, arms wide, dropping like a stone and loving every second. I felt myself stiffen, tense, I pushed myself as deep as I could go; and then the end was there, and my cock throbbed against the walls of her pussy, seeding her with my cum. Her legs tightened around me, drawing me in as close as she could. Then it was over, and all that was left was the sound of our breathing. Once I could get anything resembling a coherent sentence together, I said, "Sorry-- For not-- For not lasting any longer--" She looked up at me with serious eyes. "Don't apologize, Colin," she said. "Don't ever apologize for being yourself." "Uh--" I said. "All right. I'm sorr... Err." She giggled at me and I giggled back. I withdrew from her embrace slowly--with my penis in its oversensitive state, I wasn't sure I could manage anything more--and then curled up beside her. Understanding my intention, she rolled up on her side, and we spooned, her ass against my hips and my hand cupping one of her breasts, just because I could. "So, how was it," she asked. "Uh--" I said. What did she want to hear from me? At a loss, I said, "Well, it wasn't like jacking off." A giggle escaped her, making her shoulders shake slightly. "Well, I sure hope not. A pussy is very different than a hand." She giggled again. "Wouldn't it be weird if girls had pussies instead of hands?" I laughed--it was quite an image--and kissed the tender spot behind her ear. "It was wonderful. Not just the sex--it was wonderful being with you." She turned to face me. "Well, I'm glad you think so," she said, "because you owe me an orgasm or two." Then a smile broke across her face. "I'm glad you liked it. And I liked being the woman who gave your first experience to you." I pulled her close, and we held each other, her head curled against my chest, my arm draped over her. I don't really know how long we stayed there, but eventually my breathing slowed down to normal levels. Around that time, Heather spoke up again. "You know, you're the first man to come inside me." I was a little surprised. "What? What do you mean?" She gave me a level look. "I mean, I normally make him wear a condom. I'd rather be safe, and two forms of birth control are better than one. Plus, it keeps the STDs away." A playful light came into her eyes. "And it helps with the endurance aspects too, if you know what I mean." I nodded. It made sense. "Well, why did you let me, then," I asked. She was a long time in replying. She fidgeted--she looked for chest hair to play with, but I'm about as bald as she is in that respect. She settled for drumming her fingers on my ribcage. Finally she looked up again. "Because I wanted it to be special. It was your first time, it should be, you know, pure. And because... Well..." She looked down again. "Never mind." I blinked. "Okay..." After a short time had passed, I said, "You wanna go get those condoms now?" She giggled. "What, interested in another go-round?" "Well, yes," I said. "And also I have to make good on those orgasms I owe you, right?" She smiled. "I was kidding, you don't have to." "I want to," I said, and meant it. Watching her moan and twitch and push up against me as I pleasured her... Well, I wasn't exactly sure what was so attractive about it, but I knew I wanted to have that happen again. And preferably a lot. "All right," she said, "but... Well, first I want to tell you something." I blinked. What could she possibly have to tell me at this point? "Go on." "Well..." She looked away for a moment, and then directly back at me. "Colin, I love you." I was flummoxed. What were you supposed to say to that? Well, besides the obvious, that I loved her back. Which I did. But what had she meant by saying it? Was it just because we had had sex? Was she jerking me around? I doubted it--Heather could be dishonest when she needed to, but it wasn't her inclination. But what did she mean? Before I could take a breath, she dove on. "I'm not just saying that, I really mean it." (Whew, that's the major worry taken care of.) "I... I realized how much you meant to me. About halfway between my house and here. I never had sex with Jason, even though we were going out for--God, seven months? It was because you had just broken up with Jane, and every time I thought about having sex with anyone, it just kept being you... And it finally struck me how much you meant to me." Her face was vulnerable, wide open; she was holding nothing back. "You're a great friend, but even more than that, you look after me and care about me." A faint smile flitted across her face. "And you're pretty hot. But, honestly... You're just... You're my best friend, you're the most important person to me. I want to keep doing this. I want to be your lover. I want to hold you when things get tough and you cry." Her hand caressed my cheek. "I love you." "Well," I said. "I'm... I'm glad you said that. If not, I would have had to. Heather, I love you too. I love you. I think I first realized when you moved away. I hadn't ever lost anybody important, but for the first few weeks of seventh grade I was just... I walked around with my heart cut out. It was terrible. And when you were gone I realized how much you meant to me. And then you came back, and I just wanted to hold you and kiss you, and..." I sighed. "But, of course, you were seeing people, so who was I to go flirting with you. But I guess now we're both free, and I can tell you and not have you, you know, laugh at me because I'm not being serious. I am serious. Did you know that back in elementary school I wanted to marry you?" "You mentioned that before," she said. "Did you mean it?" I nodded. "Yeah." Her eyes widened and she laughed. "Honestly? You meant it?" I nodded. "Yeah, absolutely. I was worried about how it'd be, like, twenty years before we were ready for that, but I wanted to. You were the most important person in my life back then. And I guess that hasn't really changed." She smiled at me and tears filled her eyes. "Well, it's still a little too early to be thinking about marriage, but I know who I'll be looking up first when the time comes. I love you." I kissed her. "I love you." Eventually we would have to get up and get condoms. Eventually (probably all too early) Heather would have to call her mother and probably be ordered home. Eventually time would keep moving. But for now, we held each other tightly, enjoying the glow of being in love, of holding the one we loved. Of being together, finally, and never intending to let go.
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