“One of you has to come back up here,” Mitchell said. “I don’t want any fluids in the Malibu.”
Seth laughed with his head thrown back and pulled me into his lap. We made out the rest of the way to school while Mitchell kept making abrupt stops and hard turns and telling us we’d better keep it in our pants on or else.
And even though I’d promised my father just moments before, neither of us were wearing our seatbelts.
NOW
Dr. Denovo and I talk a lot about my choices over the past couple of years. He tries not to label them as “good” or “bad” but remains neutral, even though I was obviously making some very poor choices. He tells me about how using drugs rewires your brain, and overcoming addiction requires a consistent commitment to changing your behavior and avoiding the triggers that might cause you to make those same choices again.
I feel comfortable talking with Dr. Denovo about most things, but there are some aspects of my addiction I can’t articulate, especially because it seems to me drugs were the symptom but not the disease.
Finally, one day, I work up the courage to ask Dr. Denovo if it’s possible to become addicted to a person. He talks to me about codependency and unhealthy obsessions, and it all makes sense to me in the abstract, but even with all the REASON, FACTS, and RESEARCH, I can’t seem to shut off my fixation with Seth.
Where is he? What is he doing? Is he thinking about me? Missing me? Does he still love me? Regret me? Does he crave my body the way I do his? Is he lying awake at night aching for me, or is he fucking his way through the pain?
And even with everything we’ve been through, knowing I should run away as fast as I can, I want him,
I want him,
I want him…
THEN
It was right around the time of my first piercing when things between Seth and me shifted in the physical realm as well. Of course, we’d messed around a few times, and he’d given me that one exceptional blow job, but beyond that, Seth had been treating me more like a friend than a boyfriend, which left me frustrated and bewildered and caused me to doubt my own sex appeal, which was not something I was confident about to begin with.
Perhaps when I thought Seth had been remaking me into someone cooler, he’d actually been trying to remake me into someone older.
I’ve since talked to friends about their first relationships and how they started having sex, and they’ve more or less told me it just happened. They were horny and decided to do it or they wanted to wait but couldn’t stop themselves. It was impulsive, rash, lusting, sometimes messy, often awkward, but the thing they had in common was that they didn’t seem to give all that much thought to it.
Seth approached sex with the same meticulous attention he’d given to my lessons in musical theory. There was an order to things. A method. There were corrections to be made and feedback to be elicited. He trained me in the way he liked for things to be done. Seth liked to be in control in most areas of our relationship but especially in our sexual explorations, which meant there were several demands and not many negotiations. Not necessarily because Seth wouldn’t listen, but because I didn’t try. I had no boundaries with him because it never occurred to me I might need them. And perhaps because I was young, and my body was still somewhat of a mystery to me, I let Seth do all of the testing and probing to see what kind of responses he might get. I sensed that his other experiences were far briefer and more hurried and that he’d never before had the opportunity to take his time in the way that he could with me.
The things we did, even the things I initially questioned, all feltreallygood and if our goal was to get off in increasingly thrilling ways, then I’d be an idiot to stop him.
The only rule I had was that he had to wear a condom for anal. Our first fight was about that. He didn’t want to, but I insisted. It took me leaving in a huff and ignoring him the next day for him to agree to it.
In one way, Seth gave me the gift of exploring my own sexuality in a safe setting without judgment or shame. In another way, he made me beholden to him because I didn’t think I could possibly reach those heights without him.
Our first time wasn’t so great. Our second time was only a little bit better. But our third time was memorable. Perhaps it was because I was more relaxed by then, and I knew what to expect. I didn’t tense up, but instead, as Seth had instructed, I gave into it. Seth was behind me, my face buried in the pillows, ass in the air. He hit my prostate with unerring accuracy, and his mom wasn’t home, so we were both able to get loud. I came first with him chasing right behind. Afterward I felt so taken care that all I wanted to do was hunker down in his arms and bask in this warm, satiated contentment.
“That was incredible, Seth. Thank you for that,” I whispered into his ear and then kissed the corner of his jaw.
“You’re welcome,” Seth said, glowing from the praise. He held me closer. “I live for these moments, you know.”
I thought he meant sex, but perhaps he also meant our moments of connection.
I nuzzled against his neck, and he rolled me over so that I was on my back. He was laid out alongside me, propped up on his elbow and looking me over. I used to shy away from his gaze, but I’d grown accustomed to his attention and in moments like that, I relished it.
“I feel like Pygmalion,” Seth said as he dragged his fingers lazily across my stomach. My abs tightened because that was one of my ticklish spots.
“Is that a rock band?” I asked. I didn’t know much about mythology, but it was one of Seth’s passions. He loved to tell me stories about the Greek and Roman gods—he thought their passions much more accurately reflected human behavior, as opposed to the Christian examples of morality.
Seth chuckled and kissed my forehead. “No, it’s not a rock band. Pygmalion was a sculptor who fell in love with his creation. He made offerings to the gods, and Aphrodite turned his sculpture into a real live person. As a gift.”
I bit my lip and stared at him. I didn’t know if he was trying to tell me he loved me or if it was something else about the story that struck him. I knew that I loved him, but I didn’t want to be the first to say it.
“Am I the sculpture?” I asked.
Seth nodded and kissed the tip of my nose. “I couldn’t have dreamed you any more stunning than you are. It’s like you were made for me.”
