(song: "I Get to Love You" - Ruelle)

"Why not? Everyone looks forward to your parties. It'll be your birthday, you have to have a party."

     Patrick was sitting at my dining-room table surrounded by study guides for biochemistry and pre-med books that I couldn't understand.

     We'd been dating for two months and Patrick's eighteenth birthday was coming up on December twenty-sixth. The first few weeks, people kept saying we wouldn't last and that I was just an experiment for him. The more they saw me show up to his various events and leave school with him each day the quieter they got.

     In his mind I represented all that was good. He made me feel like I was worthy of healthy love, even though we never actually said out-loud that we loved each other.

     "Well, I had those parties mostly because of Valentina. She felt it was a good way to have people at school look up to me if I invited everyone to parties. My family wants us to have dinner together. I just want to stay in and have a movie night with you at my house," Patrick said and kissed my temple.

     I avoided Patrick's house when I knew his parents were there. They knew about me, but officially, I hadn't spent any time with them. I knew they didn't like or approve of me.

     "Yeah, about that. How about we watch a movie here instead?" I offered with a hopeful sound in my voice.

     "Come on, you have to meet my parents, Jenn. It's been two months. I've met your dad and you were nervous about that, but it went well."

     My father liked Patrick a lot. They connected and went into long conversations about sports and movies. During those times my dad even made an effort to try and keep his drinking to a minimum until Patrick left. It wasn't exactly a good thing, but it was something different, and different was better than the same.

     "Fine, I'll meet your parents." I bitterly agreed.

     "Thank you," he said softly. His eyes looked from my hair to my lips.

     I felt like I could read his mind. It'd been two months since we tried to do anything beyond kissing. We wanted more, but the "special" moment we were waiting for never seemed to be the right time. There was never going to be a special moment, there were only moments.

     I leaned onto his side and kissed him with everything I had in me.

     "Dad's not going to be back home for another three hours. . ." The words left my lips breathlessly.

     Patrick's hot fingers ran through my hair and felt the bare skin on my shoulders. His face told me the story of how much he wanted me and his shaky fingers revealed how nervous he was. "Are you sure you're ready?"

     He made me feel like it was my first time too, and not just his.

     I no longer had self-control. Our deep breaths rose and fell together and with a single nod I knew we were going to reach a point we couldn't return from.

     I took his face lovingly into my hands.

     "I'm ready. . ."

     I led him back into my simplistic bedroom. Every step of the way, Patrick seemed as equally uncertain as he was excited. I knew this wasn't the ideal situation he probably had in mind. Patrick was the type to plan grand gestures and I'd caught him off guard.

     It wasn't a romantic setting, with the perfect mood-lighting, the sexy dress and a prom night promise. It was a gray comforter, twilight and awkward smiles.

     "If you don't want this, you can just let me know. We don't have to do this, okay?" He reminded me once we both sat against the foot of the bed.

     "Okay," I said, just to make him feel at ease.

     I laid against the bed and stared into his eyes. I thought I was prepared. I had more experience than him and for some reason I expected it to be just like it had been with my first love and with Chuck. He wasn't like anything I'd ever felt or known before. It didn't feel like it was just some hormonal thing. Every touch, kiss or glance felt like pure emotions spilling out. It was new and foreign to me, so much so that finally I felt just as bashful and inexperienced as Patrick did.

     Whenever he'd tremble or fumble he'd make up for it by interlocking his fingers with mine or quietly telling me in a breathy voice, "God, you're perfect."

     When everything was finished, Patrick laid at my side and gazed into my eyes. I knew I must have looked completely disheveled and my makeup was probably a disaster. I felt self-conscious about him looking at me and resisted the urge to run into the bathroom and fix myself.

     "So was that the best two minutes of your life?" Patrick asked me jokingly to break the tension.

     I couldn't even tell him how I felt. It scared me how much I felt. Skill-wise it was innocent, but emotionally was the most intense feeling of love and connection I'd ever experienced.

     I reached for him and tried to bury myself as compactly as I could against him.

     "I love you," I whispered.

     "I love you too."

     Patrick had no hesitation. It was almost like he was waiting for me to say it first so that he'd know it was okay for him to confess as well.

     I wanted this boy so much it hurt. He kissed me gently a few times, and then paused with a thought.

     "Did you take 'it' off?" Patrick asked.

     I shifted beside him. "What?"

     "Because I didn't take 'it' off—but it's off. . ."

     Suddenly, I realized what he was referring to; the condom. I tried to force my best fake smile. "Give me a minute, I need to go to that bathroom."

     I tried to return his kisses and then let him relax in my bed. I didn't want to make him panic after his first time. This was something for me to deal with in private. I slid from under the covers and kept the act going until I was safely inside my bathroom. I locked the door and then let concern take me over.

     I could handle this.

     I had to vocally tell myself, "It's going to be okay. . ."