I'll Never Love You

“It’s all part of the healing process,” I said weakly, each word coming out at separate two-second intervals. 

      She took the blanket off and climbed on top of me.  “I’ll try to be gentle,” she said.  She had to try to take my pants off, too.  It was a hassle with the zipper because I had a certain way to do it and it required two hands and some serious thought.  Finally, she removed them.  I had to wait for her to remove some things (the two she was wearing). She was sneaky, too-covering herself all the way, not revealing anything.  I saw the panties.  She showed them to me, smiling, and threw them over her shoulder. 

      I once wrote poetry about her pretty eyes, and that’s what I concentrated on.  If those eyes didn’t shine or looked like they showed any signs of pain, I was out.  It wasn’t worth it; I could wait.  How old was a person supposed to be, anyway?  Two glittering green eyes stared at me. I almost felt like blushing, but the pain was taking care of where my skin should have turned red at the moment.  I wasn’t sure I could blush, anyway; was that meant for guys?  Well, if it wasn’t, I guess we wouldn’t have cheeks. 

      I embraced her, trying to do it with both hands but failing miserably.  She didn’t care; she kissed me and hugged me to her.  My underwear was off in seconds as we embraced and soon I wasn’t conscious of pain anymore.  I felt warm and cozy and surprised.  We didn’t exactly know what was going on, but once we were stuck together we pretty much stayed that way for a while.  Moaning?  Well, first times should have some of that. But I didn’t hear any; she was too busy kissing me. In between the kisses, I heard the sound of both of us breathing heavily.  The smell of peaches was fading, though.  It was replaced the smell of our bodies doing naughty things.  (If a thorough explanation is needed, I guess I can’t spare the details.)

      She stopped kissing me and came to an erect position, where I could see her exposed chest-very nice, very nice-and she flipped her hair up and down with both hands. Once, she grabbed it with one hand and pulled on it a little.  Then, I brought her back down to me with my right hand and there were more sparkly, juicy kisses and a heat like no other.  It was sweet and entertaining with lots of movement by her and a strenuous effort from me (and trust me: I was doing my best at this task). 

      Teresa and I were almost done with the whole messy situation, even though we hadn’t yet found out about the messy bits.  I had to lose the damned bed sheets. Just as they fell, the door almost opened. But someone decided to knock first.  “Terry, are you up?” It was Nancy, her little sister.

      The little girl’s voice startled me and I almost sat up, which brought me deeper into Teresa and made her moan loudly.

      More knocking.  “Terry, my backpack.  Terry, I’m late for school.”

      Hadn’t she heard?  Her voice was quite loud, but Teresa was ignoring her at the moment; she was going finish what she started.  A minute later, we did.  Some more up and down movement was involved, lots more passionate kissing, and, finally, an explosion-and the world came back to my eyes, followed by tears and non-stop smiling.  However, with it the unbearable pain returned. I almost yelled, having forgotten it so fast.

      “Uh,” Teresa said, “I guess that’s my cue.”  She got up and hurriedly put on some clothes.  She had picked a purple blouse and a blue skirt.  It must have seemed like a good idea to her, but the match wasn’t pretty.  Then she let the girl in. Had Teresa forgotten that I couldn’t dress myself?  At least she had remembered to pick up the bed sheets. I struggled with my one good hand to pull them up around myself.