wearing the bustier that I bought
for prom night, the night we had first planned on being together,
but it felt far too sexy and daring for the way I was feeling. I
was glad I had brought an alternative.
I brushed my long, wet hair after towel-drying it as
best as I could. After putting on the satin slip with lace trim, I
wished it was a few inches longer. The yellow fabric looked nice
against my tanned skin, and I was happy with the color choice I’d
made. When I thought about Jon, waiting in the next room, a smile
formed across my lips with no effort. I suddenly had no anxiety or
apprehension, and I walked out of the bathroom, excited and
exuberant.
Jon had pulled back the blankets and was sitting
with his back against the padded headboard. He had on dark grey
boxers. His short hair was wet and messy. He looked sexier than I’d
ever seen him before.
As I sat next to him on the bed, my legs stretched
in front of me, my phone rang. It was late–too late for someone to
be calling without a good reason. Jon picked up my phone.
“ Donna,” he said.
“ I wonder what she wants at this
time–oh, it’s still early in New York,” I said, silencing the phone
and motioning for Jon to put it back on the nightstand. “I’m sure
she just wanted to find out how the wedding went last
night.”
He nodded and smiled, dragging a few of his fingers
up my thigh before stopping at the light green lace trim on the
bottom hem.
“ You look like happiness,” he’d
said. “Like sunshine. You should wear that color more
often.”
“ You like it?” I asked
coyly.
“ I love it.” He put his fingers
under my chin and turned my head to face him. “Thank you.” His gaze
was intense and sincere, his smile subtle but still reaching his
eyes. It was the first of many times he would thank me that
night.
When I put my hand on his chest as we kissed, I
could feel his heart pounding as quickly and as hard as mine was.
He gently laid me back on the bed, never once breaking away from
our embrace. He was so slow and deliberate about every move he
made, every kiss, every touch. With some things, it seemed like he
was too slow, my desire for him taking
over at times and causing me to be impatient. This always happened
when we made out, and in most of those previous times, when we knew
we wouldn’t go all the way, Jon got swept up in those moments,
too.
He didn’t take advantage of the weakness I’d had
that night in Mykonos, though, instead maintaining the slow and
thoughtful pace during our entire night together. He had to talk me
through a few moments, and wiped a few tears away, but never once
did he rush me.
As his arm held my body close to his, my head rested
on his chest and I was able to feel his breathing and heart rate
return to something close to normal. Although, what normal was, I
wasn’t entirely sure of anymore, because normal for us would never
be the same.
Sex itself wasn’t what I expected. It certainly
wasn’t what I’d seen in movies, and I wondered many times what I
was doing wrong to not be enjoying it as much as I should have
been. It hurt–a lot . The actual act was
not pleasurable to me, but I didn’t tell Jon. He’d been so careful
and so thoughtful, and just the way he was that night had its own
special gratification. I would cherish that, but I hoped it
wouldn’t always be so painful. I hoped I would someday be able to
enjoy it the way the women in movies did–and the way that Jon
did.
Even with my misgivings and slight disappointment, I
felt a certain sense of accomplishment. I was finally able to
understand what Jon meant when he would tell me he was satisfied
just knowing that he could make me feel that way; that he could
evoke such untamed passion in me. I got a glimpse of it that night,
and I was genuinely happy to see his passion, and to witness such vulnerability in the person that I
loved.
All of that disappeared before either of us had time
to wake up the next morning. A quick knock on
for prom night, the night we had first planned on being together,
but it felt far too sexy and daring for the way I was feeling. I
was glad I had brought an alternative.
I brushed my long, wet hair after towel-drying it as
best as I could. After putting on the satin slip with lace trim, I
wished it was a few inches longer. The yellow fabric looked nice
against my tanned skin, and I was happy with the color choice I’d
made. When I thought about Jon, waiting in the next room, a smile
formed across my lips with no effort. I suddenly had no anxiety or
apprehension, and I walked out of the bathroom, excited and
exuberant.
Jon had pulled back the blankets and was sitting
with his back against the padded headboard. He had on dark grey
boxers. His short hair was wet and messy. He looked sexier than I’d
ever seen him before.
As I sat next to him on the bed, my legs stretched
in front of me, my phone rang. It was late–too late for someone to
be calling without a good reason. Jon picked up my phone.
“ Donna,” he said.
“ I wonder what she wants at this
time–oh, it’s still early in New York,” I said, silencing the phone
and motioning for Jon to put it back on the nightstand. “I’m sure
she just wanted to find out how the wedding went last
night.”
He nodded and smiled, dragging a few of his fingers
up my thigh before stopping at the light green lace trim on the
bottom hem.
“ You look like happiness,” he’d
said. “Like sunshine. You should wear that color more
often.”
“ You like it?” I asked
coyly.
“ I love it.” He put his fingers
under my chin and turned my head to face him. “Thank you.” His gaze
was intense and sincere, his smile subtle but still reaching his
eyes. It was the first of many times he would thank me that
night.
When I put my hand on his chest as we kissed, I
could feel his heart pounding as quickly and as hard as mine was.
He gently laid me back on the bed, never once breaking away from
our embrace. He was so slow and deliberate about every move he
made, every kiss, every touch. With some things, it seemed like he
was too slow, my desire for him taking
over at times and causing me to be impatient. This always happened
when we made out, and in most of those previous times, when we knew
we wouldn’t go all the way, Jon got swept up in those moments,
too.
He didn’t take advantage of the weakness I’d had
that night in Mykonos, though, instead maintaining the slow and
thoughtful pace during our entire night together. He had to talk me
through a few moments, and wiped a few tears away, but never once
did he rush me.
As his arm held my body close to his, my head rested
on his chest and I was able to feel his breathing and heart rate
return to something close to normal. Although, what normal was, I
wasn’t entirely sure of anymore, because normal for us would never
be the same.
Sex itself wasn’t what I expected. It certainly
wasn’t what I’d seen in movies, and I wondered many times what I
was doing wrong to not be enjoying it as much as I should have
been. It hurt–a lot . The actual act was
not pleasurable to me, but I didn’t tell Jon. He’d been so careful
and so thoughtful, and just the way he was that night had its own
special gratification. I would cherish that, but I hoped it
wouldn’t always be so painful. I hoped I would someday be able to
enjoy it the way the women in movies did–and the way that Jon
did.
Even with my misgivings and slight disappointment, I
felt a certain sense of accomplishment. I was finally able to
understand what Jon meant when he would tell me he was satisfied
just knowing that he could make me feel that way; that he could
evoke such untamed passion in me. I got a glimpse of it that night,
and I was genuinely happy to see his passion, and to witness such vulnerability in the person that I
loved.
All of that disappeared before either of us had time
to wake up the next morning. A quick knock on
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