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The first time I had sex with a girl,I was just a young, wild girl, fooling around, and it wasn’t serious. But it was. So that night, under the guise that we were just friends from school, we went up to her room and shut and locked the door. She lit candles and she had this playlist on. We sat next to each other, and giggled. “Are we really going to do this?” I laughed. She laughed. I told her I had never done this before. Half of me was calmed by the fact that I had some inkling of how to touch her, because it was how I’d want to be touched. But it was more foreign to me than a man’s body. More foreign to me even though I’d had that physiology all my life. So we listed how we were going to do this. We would kiss first, and then we outlined the next steps and how we would do them one at a time and then we would stop and talk about it and make sure we still wanted to do it or go to the next step and if at any point one of us wanted to stop, that was it, we would stop. We didn’t stop. I had “boyfriends” before– pubescent men I could seduce into loving me with my body and overtly sexual nature. That was easy. Girls weren’t. Girls were what I really wanted. And when something ever matters to me, I am usually perplexed and terrified and cowardly and confused. These boys never made me orgasm, I made myself orgasm, they just happened to be there while it happened. So roughly four hours into the first night of the long awaited physical enactment of our already raging love affair, she was between me and I didn’t have any clothes on and I knew what was about to happen because we had talked about this and I can’t even phrase into words how badly I wanted it. I told her the truth. She smiled. I don’t remember what she told me, but it was something along the lines of the fact that I didn’t have to be worried, and that we could go slowly and that I just had to lay back and close my eyes and not think about anything but how good it felt. The most poignant memory I have from that night was looking down at her, and feeling like I wasn’t worthy of such a perfect person loving me like this, and even though I kept on with my nonsensical thoughts she made me come in that back-arching, oh-my-god-please-don’t-stop, repeated exhales and sighs, waves of that familiar high that keep crashing through your body and afterwards you don’t think, that was great, you think, I love her kind of way. That kind of orgasm. And I thought that was as good as it got, until I made her do the same thing, and that was even better. We laid next to each other for a while after that, limbs intertwined, the playlist still on repeat, the candles burning out. The sun was rising. My real life was dawning again. She was falling asleep!