We had talked for a long time about our first time and what it be like and what I wanted David to do. By this time it was completely obvious that he was a submissive, he was comfortable with that, after some initial embarrassment and shyness. After a while he opened up and told me his feelings, he was relieved and I was then certain that my intuition had been correct. Being the dominant member of our relationship was entirely natural for me. It worked for us both.
Yet, for all of our extended make-out sessions, the orgasms we gave each other and the deepening love we each had for the other, there was a tiny, lingering unease in my mind. We knew each others bodies and responses, we had refined our techniques through observation and quiet talking, and yet there was this unease that I felt but couldn’t understand. I talked to David about it, reassuring him that I wanted to move on to this next stage in our relationship, he said little as usual, other than saying that he didn’t feel anything like unease, he just wanted for us to do it and get it over with. His penetration of me was the last of the great taboos that we had to deal with, it was like a keystone in an arch, what we wanted couldn’t be realized without him being in my vagina.
As I look back over what I have just written I can see a cool analytical detachment that might strike a reader as odd. That’s just how I am, I consider and weigh up, then I talk about whatever it is that is the issue, but it didn’t even minutely alter the decision that we made together. I wanted David in me and he wanted to be in me.
We talked about the how and when. Mom and daddy had to be at least out, but preferably away. We had to be certain that we wouldn’t be disturbed. I wanted the first time to be perfect, but without the rationalization of romance, no candles, rose petals, no sobbing violins. Just David and me, my vagina and his penis. He was worried that being his first time that he would ejaculate too soon, he was worried that he would hurt me. I didn’t expect to be hurt as I had been fingering myself for years, once putting the handle of a hairbrush in, and I’d never felt anything like a hymen. When he fingered me he couldn’t feel anything. I reassured him. He said the first time for him was a really big deal, that he was sure that he’d be nervous, he asked how I thought I would be feeling. I said I wasn’t completely sure, but that I expected to feel a little detached until I got used to everything and settled into this next phase.
Mom and daddy told us that a week after the party for my birthday that they would go to the west coast for a week, perhaps two. That’s all they said. This was our time. The party came and went, they packed, David drove them to the airport and Mom said that she’d ring and catch up in a couple of days. She looked at me very directly and said quietly and carefully, be safe, and enjoy yourselves. A mother’s intuition Her eyes were tired. She kissed me on the cheek and got into the car. She didn’t look back. Half an hour later David came back. He stood with his hands in his pockets and looked at me. We went upstairs to our room and undressed each other. I was wet but it didn’t run down my legs: other than in fantasy, does it ever run down a girl’s legs We lay on our sides facing each other and kissed and caressed each other. We talked about how we’d do it, I explained that I wanted him to come into me very, very slowly, so that in fifty years we could remember what the first time was like. David told me again that he was so nervous that he was afraid that he would come immediately or not at all. I told him that it didn’t matter. I turned onto my back and opened my legs and guided him onto his knees between them, then, holding my lips open I reached for a hand mirror that I had ready for just this moment and whispered for him to put the head into my opening and then not move. He did that and I held him close and ran my hands down to his bottom and gently pulled him toward me. Nearly half an hour later, it might have been more or less, I’m not sure now, he was all the way in. I watched him gradually disappear into me until he was right up against me and there was nothing to see. I put my hands on his chest and pushed back a little, he pulled out slowly, all the way out, my hands back on his bottom he came back in. Not so slowly. If the video cameras that are everywhere now had been available then I would have videoed it for us.
He told me that he was feeling wonderful and that he wasn’t going to cum too soon. In fact he didn’t manage to cum in me for about three weeks, but when he did it was the culmination of all those years, his desire took over completely and he drove himself in and out as hard as he could. Even the first time there was no pain, no blood, all I felt was my opening being stretched as he went in. As the days passed and he became more confident we discovered new feelings, new rhythms, things to do that seemed to come out of nowhere. And yet for all the pleasure and intimacy, the fulfillment, I still felt a tinge of sadness, I didn’t tell David for a long time until I understood what it was about: when he entered me for the first time it was like a door closing behind us, one through which we could not ever again pass, we had gone into voluntary exile, into a world that only we could occupy. Later I read a novel by an Australian author, Patrick White, The Aunt’s Story. In the frontispiece there is a quotation from a South African author, Olive Schreiner…
She thought of the narrowness of the limits within which a human soul may speak and be understood by its nearest of mental kin, of how soon it reaches that solitary land of the individual experience, in which no fellow footfall is ever heard.
That summed up my final, lingering unease that I couldn’t articulate then. We are still together, older now. We live publicly as brother and sister, we rarely see anyone other than our parents. We never had children.