Losing Virginity

The scent in the car was mildly odd. Giaconda, next to me, sat with her legs apart as a straightforward seventeen-year-old might. She wore a modish brown and black dress, short, designed to mask the bosom and draw all attention to her crutch. I wondered why she did it. I was driving her somewhere. I forget now. She'd been sea-swimming most days for the past week - her mother's house stood right on the shore - and I wondered whether the odd smell of her was of dried salt. Or it might be the oil she'd put on her brown legs. Anyway she wasn't supposed to touch them and they itched like mad because we were driving through marshland and tiny black thunder-bugs were appearing all over us. She stared at her wide legs, swearing, and fluttered her hands above them wildly, in rather too dramatic a way, I thought. Probably seen someone do it on  television.

She touched my hand. "Can I ask you something personal?" Giaconda leaned forward in her seat. She was lower than me, looking up - yet her voice betrayed that confidence a pretty seventeen-year-old sometimes feels over an older boy.

(Before I could answer) "Has anyone ever asked you to go to bed with them? To show them what it's like? I'll bet they have."

I objected. "What about Sebastian . . . ? He thinks he's your boyfriend after all. 

(Pause) "He wouldn't know unless you told him . . ." 

(Later) "Don't you fancy me then . . . ?" 

Later still she gave me her puppy-dog stare, lips pursed so tight her face shook. Eyes wide and bulging. I laughed. It's one of the images all of us in the friend group adored about her. 

"Turn the car round if you dare . . ."
"What? Now? You must be . . .  Where then?" 

"Home of course. Nobody's there." 

I turned round. Headed back. We'd not travelled far I suppose. Honestly - even now, recalling it - I was in shock. I started down the hall. She stopped me, took my hand in hers, pulled me gently towards the stairs and led me up; the two of us connected by straight arms. "Up here silly . . ." 

How could she do . . .  how could she . . . ? So sure of herself. Aren't you, also, shocked by the (apparent) confidence of some virgin girls . . . ? Not all, I know. But some. She went to the curtains, drew them closed, returned and closed the door behind me, then lifted off her dress. I flinched. As she took off her underclothes she looked straight at me, frowned, said "Come on, I'll get cold." She stood absent-mindedly as I stripped; that stupid schoolgirl stance one foot at right-angles to the other like a bad dancer. 

Her hands on my shoulder, she sat me down and bent forward to kiss me. Before everything went dark with the closeness of her face, I glimpsed her breasts, her hair . . .  She climbed round me, playfully bouncing the bed a little, and began to lie on her side - "Listen! I might not want to go all the way, right? You might have to be satisfied with just looking okay? You can kiss me of course . . ." 

"Sebastian's the only person who's seen my breasts. . .  Apart from you of course. Men are obsessed with them - obsessed! (She hisses the word and rolls her eyes). Men fantasize over girl's boobs don't they! Are they special then? . . .  Suppose not."

She's lying on her back, legs apart. I'm kneeling between them, inside her. 

"Are you in? . . . Are you sure? . . . I can't feel anything . . .  move about, wait, take it out, let me see." I slip out, wet, rubbery. I glance into her eyes about to apologize. She says "Do you think Sebastian will like it . . . ?" 

"What's it feel like when a boy comes inside you then? I might let you. I suppose I might - I doubt it. What's it feel like?"
"Do you want me to?" I ask. (Later) "Often you can't tell when he's come or not . . ." 

"I'm definitely not going to bother then . . ." 

She couldn't face looking like a fool in front of her damned Sebastian . . . A few weeks ago she'd said she could only ever sleep with someone she loved. She'll fit 'today' into her scheme, of course. This was not really sleeping with someone. Or if it was, then it's the one exception to her moral rule. They (girls) always bend principles to fit what they want to do. Never bend what they want to a principle. Always. Don't they?

This is horror. Can you understand that . . . ? This is how it happens. The detail. Gia has prepared herself for her 'proper' boyfriend. She has used me (a few times now) for practice. But they don't consider the one they practise on, do they? I am in love and this has finished me.