Breathe. Relax.

On the evening that I was supposed to lose my virginity, I forgot to shave my legs. I forgot just about everything on the checklist I’d made the day before. My hair went unwashed, my nails unpainted, my strange toe fuzz unplucked. I did, however, remember to change into underwear that my virginity-stealer wouldn’t be able to make fun of.

I hated being nervous. I forgot things when I was nervous, and when I forgot things, I couldn’t control situations. And I always had to have control, because every single aspect of every single thing I was involved in went horribly wrong unless I planned out even the most miniscule of details. If I wasn’t in control, then the panic attacks would set in, and then...

Breathe, I told myself. Relax.

I couldn’t afford to be nervous. Nick would be there soon, and he was my best friend--he would certainly be able to tell if I was freaking the hell out. Plus, I had made him a promise.

And Alyssa Willett never broke promises.

So I clenched my hands into fists and walked back and forth in front of my bed, trying to visualize how tonight’s events would pan out.

First he’ll come in, probably make some stupid joke about how sexy I look when I don’t wash my hair, and make awkward small talk until we hear my parents leave. Then we’ll avoid the subject for as long as possible until finally we can’t take it anymore. We’ll kiss, and--

The visualization ended abruptly, just as it had each time I’d tried the supposed-to-be-calming exercise. I couldn’t make myself imagine what it would be like to kiss Nick. Sure, we were closer than close--he told me when his balls itched; I told him when I was on my period and had cramps so bad it felt like atomic bombs were detonating inside my uterus--but there was a huge difference between being best friends and being best friends that kissed, best friends that had sex. I knew that I trusted him, and that if I was going to lose it to anyone on earth, he would be my first choice. But those facts did nothing to change how absolutely terrified I was that the sex would change us. That it’d make things awkward to the point where we couldn’t be friends anymore. I couldn’t decide which would be worse: breaking the promise we’d made freshman year (to lose our virginities to each other if we were both still virgins by the time we turned eighteen), or going through with it and possibly losing the one person who kept me sane.

I needed a drink.

Actually, I didn’t drink, but that was what my aunt said whenever she was stressed, and it seemed to fit the situation.

After taking one last look at my room to make sure it was acceptably clean, I traipsed up the stairs from my basement bedroom and made my way into the kitchen. The dishwasher was emitting a loud yet comforting hum, and the muffled by still audible thump of wet clothes being tossed into the dryer told me that someone was in the laundry room.

“Mom?”

My mom poked her head out of the adjacent room.

“Oh! Lyss! I was just about to come talk to you. Listen, your father and I are leaving as soon as he gets his ass upstairs. There’s money for pizza or Chinese on the counter, and I’ll call if when we’re on our way home.” She shut the door to the dryer and turned the machine on.

“Okay.”

“Is Nick coming over?”

“Yeah.” To de-virginize me, I added silently.

“Oh, good. I don’t want you to spend Friday night alone again. I’ll leave some extra money in case you two want to go to a movie or something.”

No thanks, Mom. We’re just going to stay here and have sex. Is that okay with you?

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Have fun, sweetie.”

She kissed me on the forehead before walking over to the door to the room above the kitchen, throwing it open, and informing my dad that she’d be in the car and that she was leaving for the party in two minutes with or without him.

I watched her leave, wondering what she would have done if I’d told her what Nick and I were planning to do. I knew for a fact that my dad would have immediately rendered Nick incapable of so much as peeing, but my mom was a bit unpredictable. On another day, she might have sat me down for an in-depth discussion of all the diseases that being sexually active exposed you to. But judging from her frazzled mood today, she probably would have just tossed me a condom and been done with it.

My dad dragged himself out of his mancave with thirty seconds to spare, and my parents drove off to their mutual friend’s Valentine’s Day party right as I heard the familiar rumble of Nick’s truck. My heartbeat kicked into overdrive as I rushed to unlock the door.

This is it.

I don’t know how I expected him to greet me, really. Would he sprint up the front steps, slam the door behind him, and immediately start to drown me in kisses? Or would he act like he had forgotten why he was here and pretend like this was a regular night, with us pigging out on junk food and watching TV, until I snapped and jumped on him?

He ended up just saying hello and pecking me on the cheek like he always did.

I clearly needed therapy.

I watched him as he headed for the kitchen and helped himself to a glass of Mountain Dew. The muscles in his arms shifted as he twisted the cap off of the brand new bottle, and I suddenly found myself wondering why I’d never noticed how good looking my best friend was. He had dimples. Adorably wavy red hair. He was tall, too. Taller than me. And he always smelled good. And--

“Is there any particular reason you’re staring at me?” he wondered, smirking.

“No. Of course not.” I focused my gaze on the Mickey Mouse magnet stuck to the refrigerator behind him.

“You’re a terrible liar, Lyss.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Whatever. Did you come here to insult me, or...” I trailed off, wondering if my planned ending for that sentence was too vulgar. Could I really say “fuck me” right now? Would he laugh? Would he think I was being cheesy?

Breathe. Relax. You’ve never given things this much thought around Nick before.

But this was different.

“You know why I’m here.”

“...Yeah...”

We stared at each other. I felt like his eyes were laser beams boring into my skull, analyzing my thoughts and trying to figure out why the hell I was acting so weird. I didn’t blame him. If I had had laser beam eyes, I would have been doing the same thing.

“So...”

“Should we, um, go downstairs?”

“Probably,” I said.

I led the way down the sixteen steps to my room, counting each one because it gave me something to do other than silently go insane. I turned around the second I stepped away from the bottom step to say something--I’m not sure what--and found myself basically nose to nose with Nick. I was close enough to smell the fruity goodness that indicated he’d stolen his sister’s shampoo again, close enough to see the random dustings of freckles across his nose.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I replied, as I tried to figure out why I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe.

And then he kissed me.

My first thought was, Okay, so apparently, we’re not going to talk about it first. My second thought Shit, he’s a good kisser! And I’m pretty sure my third thought had something to do with how I was going to kill him if he’d forgotten to bring a condom, but then he kissed me again--softer, more tenderly--and his tongue slipped into my mouth and the rest of the world seemed to fall away.

I didn’t know what I’d been worrying about. Kissing Nick felt amazing--like running out of clean clothes, digging through the back of your closet, unearthing a pair of unworn jeans and discovering that they fit perfectly, even though they were the ones you bought without trying them on. It felt like his mouth was specifically designed to be pressed against mine, like his arms were the exact length for wrapping around me and holding me wonderfully close to him. Like I didn’t need oxygen, despite my brain screaming you need to breathe you need to breathe you need to breathe.

To sum it all up? Absolutely. Fucking. Perfect.

He pulled away after a minute or so, or maybe it was longer--I hadn’t exactly been keeping track of the time--and rested his forehead on mine. His breath, which smelled slightly but not unattractively of Mountain Dew, ghosted over my face.

“Well,” he said. “At least we know that part works.”

I giggled, a hysterical sound I rarely heard myself produce.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “The kissing part works.”

Then, not to make sure we were right but because it was literally torture having his mouth so close and not doing anything about it, I reconnected our lips. There was no hesitance to this kiss; it was less of a Let’s-Make-Sure-We’re-Actually-Somewhat-Attracted-To-Each-Other kiss and more of a Holy-Shit-I-Need-You kiss. We kissed like we were lovers coming home to each other after years apart, and things moved pretty quickly from there.

We’d seen enough movies and read enough books and watched enough TV to have a basic idea of how this was supposed to go: get hot, get naked, get horizontal. But it was different when we were actually undressing each other, with him kissing and touching places I’d only dreamed about, me running my hands over the muscular physique he’d earned through eleven years of martial arts. When we were passing the condom back and forth because both of our hands were too sweaty to tear open the package, with him reading the directions and me nervously sliding the condom onto him, pretending like I hadn’t searched for and memorized the instructions yesterday, though I suspected that he knew I had. When his body was hovering over mine, both of us completely exposed and vulnerable.

And it was most definitely different when he was poking around, trying to get things going.

“Need me to draw you a map?” I asked eventually.

He glared at me, and for a second I was worried that I’d upset him, but then he grinned, laughing softly.

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” I said, without thinking. I was expecting him to roll his eyes, or maybe kiss me. But I certainly wasn’t expecting him to suddenly figure out where to stick it.

“Ouch!” Tears stung at my eyes. I hadn’t thought it would hurt that much.

“Sorry,” he said quickly.

“Fucking hell, Nick! I’m going to kill you!”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it feels like a leisurely stroll in the park. Of course it fucking hurts!”

“Alright, I’m sorry! Here, I’ll just--”

“No. Don’t move.”

“But--”

“Shh.”

Gradually, the pain faded from searing agony to general discomfort.

“Nick?”

He was kissing my neck, which had proved to be a damn good distraction from the things going on down below.

“Yeah?”

“I think...you can move now.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

So we did it. And no, it wasn’t the steamy mess of sweat-drenched bodies and screaming screeching orgasms that the movies make it out to be. It was just us--limbs in fumbly, awkward places; eyes making contact past the point where it was awkward to the point where it was impossible to look away.

When it was over, he pulled out of me and threw the condom away before flopping back down onto the bed. We lay there for a moment, trying to catch our breath, his damp hand curled loosely around mine.

Breathe. Relax.

“So...what now?” I asked.

“...I think Family Guy is on.”

“Fuck yeah.”

I reached for the remote and turned the TV on, flicking through the channels until I found what I was looking for. And he was right. Family Guy was on.

So I curled up next to him, his arm draped loosely over my waist, and the upbeat tune of our favorite TV show’s theme song drifted out from the speakers.

Like nothing had ever changed.