Page 16 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

“Do you want to hear about the first time I had sex?”

“I don’t know if that will make things better or worse.” I was giggling again.

The darkness did my warm cheeks a favor. Peter’s eyes, their sclera startlingly white in the dark, were on my lap. He shifted from one foot to the other.

“The first time I had sex,” Peter said, “I didn’t have sex.”

“What?”

“Well,” Peter moved towards the bed like a rusty robot and jerkily sat down next to me, “we got into it, kissing and letting our hands do a little above the waist stuff.”

“Okay.”

The side of Peter’s leg was touching mine as I did my best to keep my eyes on his in the near-darkness. It suddenly occurred to me that erections could actually ache.

“But as soon as his hands went below my waist, it was over.” Peter chuckled. “His hands weren’t even inside my pants. That—that’s how my first attempt at sex went. I thought I’d die of embarrassment. I kind of wanted to puke, to be honest. What fifteen-year-old is ready to deal with that, ya’ know?”

“Fifteen?” I teased. “What a whore you were.”

Peter bumped his shoulder against mine gently.

“Wannabe whore,” he clarified. “I wouldn’t be an official whore for another three years.”

“Because of the embarrassment?”

“A little bit, yeah. But I also began to realize that I wanted to make my official official first time something special. With someone special.”

“Oh.”

“If you don’t think that I’m that person for you, Enzo,” Peter said, “don’t force yourself to do anything because you feel you have to—or because you feel you’re on some timetable to lose your virginity. I would never feel good about myself again if you had sex with me out of some perceived obligation. My heart would never come back from that.”

“Your heart?”

“That’s where I hold you,” Peter said, his hand reaching for mine. His fingers laced around my wrist, pulled my hand up, and with his fingers, opened my nervous fist to lay my hand flat against his chest. “To know I had any part in making you do something you truly didn’t want to do would be something I couldn’t recover from.”

This was doing nothing to relieve the ache in my groin.

“I’m very skinny.”

“I have a bit of a belly now,” Peter said. “I’ve missed the gym for a few months due to work and I’ve enjoyed too many beers.”

“Your clothes must hide it.”

“It’s there.”

“I don’t have much hair.”

“What does that mean?” He did his best not to laugh.

“My body is not—it’s not very…manly?”

“Trust me.” Peter’s hand rubbed against mine and his eyes were on my lap again. I moved my other arm so that it wasn’t blocking his view, emboldened in the moment. “It is.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to talk about the things you want to do? Or try?” Peter asked. “We can talk about what’s okay, not okay, what might be okay.”

My heart was thundering in my chest and another lower part was throbbing. I had to concentrate so that my hand didn’t shake nervously against Peter’s chest. Of course, he knew how nervous I was—I hadn’t been shy in making that clear—but I didn’t want him to know that I was so nervous it was affecting me physically. I didn’t want him to know that I wasn’t in control of my own body. Peter wanting to make me comfortable made me want to make this moment—and those that followed—as comfortable for him as possible as well.