Virgin
She was laying on top of him, her lips upon his. Moments of intimate contact. Their hands feeling upon another’s body. She began working her way down.
"What's wrong?"
"It's nothing", he said.
She leaned in and kissed the bottom part of his lip, and they continued. She paused, then sat up on the bed, "what is it?… is it me?"
He didn't say anything.
She began buttoning her partly opened shirt back up. He was hesitating for words. "It's not you", he said "I just… never did this before.” It was difficult for the truth to be experienced, a vulnerability behind the front portrayed in protection. The sensitive heart lies deep within, hidden and protected, despite the outward give. Something pure was kept within. "It's okay", she said.
"If you're not ready", she put her hand on top of his. "I'll wait for you."
Why should we wait? Waiting and willing to save it for someone. To be able to show them how much you value yourself to be willing to wait for them. To love them, for better for worse. The wedding lines… For rich for poor. In sickness in health. Till death do part. Locking in words of trust, a trust that you build together. Because it is the day after your wedding day. The first night. That night would always be the most unforgettable. You never forget your first love… and if you wait until the day of your marriage for a loss of virginity, the very first time will be a fairy tale. Her in her wedding dress. Him in his tuxedo.
But that doesn’t necessarily mean not waiting means anything less, or living a life separate to this idea being less significant. For it can be just as much so. Only in a different manner, from that point, a different experience and way of seeing things. Experiencing and realizing what is, and isn’t, for you. He waited for her, but he didn’t expect her to wait for him. He hoped she would wait for him, but then again he was perfectly okay with walking by himself alone. Because marriage is simply a union in law, waiting, on the other hand for what feels right to hold on to, is what truly matters. The trust should come before the marriage, for a marriage doesn’t guarantee a trust in commitment.
She flipped her long flowery scented hair to the front of her body, picked up her comb and started brushing it. She slid the glass pane door from her bedroom and walked onto the porch, but was stopped by hands along her curved waist from behind. He turns her around and pulls her closer, unexpectedly. He begins gently unbuttoning her shirt with one hand, while holding her body against his with the other. When he reached the bottom button one side of the shoulder slides down and her shirt falls onto the floor. He looks at her. Their breaths inches apart, an evocation in a smell of attraction.
Their lips never left as they kiss and move blindly against the wall, into the furniture- undressing, tossing, and scattering articles of clothing throughout the porch. He opened the screen door without looking and pushes it closed, holding her towards him, laying her down on the bed both of them still covered by undergarments. Making his way on top of her, his lips touching against the skin of her body, delicate heavy tones of her breathing.
"Are you sure?", she said in a restrained moan. A bite of the lip in resistance. She was his first lover, security for her in knowing that he waited for her. That there was nobody else that he could’ve wanted to share the moment with, other than with her. But even if he didn’t, that didn’t matter, because in the end, it was a choice. A choice to choose who to share your life with, to share your intimacies with, your dreams, your hopes, your future. And that, that is even more important than waiting. To be the one.
"I'm sure”, he said kisses against her neck. From her neck down to her belly button, moving slowly further and further down.
...
A nervousness and reticence at the start, and as they learned about each other, explored each other, it grew into an openness, a desire for new experiences together. Sometimes concealing, giving each other time until they would re-meet. They didn't always make it easy for each other, they wanted the other to work for it, to make it all the more interesting. She played hard to get and he liked the chase. He was distant, and she wanted to bring him back. She was passionate and sensual, but gentle and kind. And he wanted to see her happy, he wanted her for who she was, accepting her in the bare skin. Recognizing that she came first, her pleasure always came before his, whether in or out of sex. To which she would reciprocate. And as they held each other's hands. Her desire for him to touch her the way he touched her, to be with her. Her pleasure right then and there. Words were released in a whisper and only echoing sounds remain.
The night ended with the fire still crackling outside. White rose petals scattered across the floor and into the room. White roses, a favorite. Innocent and pure. White candles all across the room that were still left burning, blown away by the breeze of the night. They fell asleep together, they lost track of time.
