“Then stop wasting time and just kiss me.”
He placed his hand on my waist, his fingers brushing against my sensitive skin.Our lips met softly, and my tongue instinctively followed the familiar rhythm.I tangled my fingers in his hair, feeling my breath quicken.
“Wait, he's coming.Sit up—here's the book,” I urged.We both hurriedly settled onto the bed, propping ourselves against the headboard as I handed Marco the book, feigning interest in our reading.My dad knocked and walked in without waiting for an answer.
“Hey, sweetie, your mom is wondering if you two want a slice of cake.I brought some earlier,” he said, glancing back and forth between us.I exchanged a brief look with Marco, silently asking if he wanted any.
“No, Dad, we're fine, but thanks!”
“Alright then.I'll let you two get back to, um, reading, or whatever it is you're up to…” he said, the awkwardness hanging in the air.He slowly closed the door behind him, pausing for a moment before heading downstairs.
“All clear.Ten minutes until he comes back,” I sighed, feeling the weight of the moment.
“This is so tiresome.I don't think I can keep doing this.We can never find a moment alone; your family is always hovering, so controlling.I just… I.Want.You.I really want you,” he said with frustration.
“I know, my dad is always around, far too protective.But believe me, I want you too.”I caressed his face, tracing my thumb gently over his cheekbones.
“Look at me!”I commanded, locking my eyes with his.“I love you, and I truly, deeply want you.But I'm terrified of rushing things and getting caught.What can we do?One of my parents is always home, and your mom never leaves either.You have no idea how much I crave…”
“Yes, yes… I get it.You want it to be special.I heard you, and I'm willing to wait, don't you think?”He pulled away from my touch, crossing his arms over his chest.I knew I was tormenting him.We had been together for so long, yet we had never gone all the way.I mean, for the first three months, we barely spoke about it at all.When we finally did, it felt like we could never find the perfect moment or place.I definitely didn't want my first time to be in a car…
Sure, we had explored many other things, but the actual sex… At eighteen, being a virgin felt like a colossal embarrassment in today's world, like claiming to be childless and single at fifty.It always seemed like something interrupted our intimacy—my parents, his parents, friends, or life itself.
And then there was my mother, who every six months since I had turned fourteen would sit me down for the same lecture about how sacred sex was.She insisted it should only be shared with someone you truly trusted and loved, and that the first time would be a memory I'd carry with me for life.She stressed that even when I got married and grew old, I would always remember my first time.
Her constant reminders turned it into a kind of unspoken rule: it had to be special, with candles, roses, and all the romance.I had built this image in my mind of how it was supposed to be, and anything less felt unacceptable.
“Please don't be upset,” I pleaded, my eyes wide with concern.
“I'm not upset; I'm just eighteen and a guy, you know.”
“I understand…” I replied with a playful smile, leaning in to kiss him while my hand slipped beneath his waistband.
“Luna, can you please give me a pen?I can't seem to find one downstairs.”We both jumped as my dad barged into the room, his expression serious.
“Did you knock?”I shot back, irritation creeping into my voice.
“Oh, I did knock.Marco, it's late; I think it's time for you to head home.”
“Yes, Mr.Bernardi.”He quickly stood up, and attempted to conceal whatever my dad shouldn't see.“Can I see you tomorrow after school?”he asked, glancing at me nervously.
“I think so; just give me a call.Oh, but I will see you also in the morning on the bus.”I responded.He nodded, and my dad, with an angry look, escorted Marco to the door.I heard the door click shut and heard my dad begin to speak with my mom.I quietly crept out of my room, tiptoed to the stairs, where I settled down to eavesdrop.
“Calm down,” I heard my mom say.
“Do you have any idea what they were up to?”he tried to whisper, but his frustration was palpable.
“They're eighteen; what do you expect?”
“She can't be doing that; she's just a kid.”
“She's eighteen.”
“Do you have any clue where her hands were?”Heat rose to my cheeks; I was embarrassed.
“She's eighteen…”
“Oh, for heaven's sake, why are you so calm?”
