[TRIGGER WARNING!!! Dubious consent flashback. Reader discretion is HIGHLY ADVISED.]

That night, as I sat alone in the guest bedroom, the table lamp drowning everything in warm, glowing light, all I can think about is Tristan. My brain is so hooked on him. Everything about him. His looks, what we had been through, the good and the bad. I loved him so damn much it was hurting my head.

I didn't know if I would ever be given the opportunity to make amends with him. It was an unknown variable if he would pick up, should I call him. My mind drifts back to the hospital; how he told me I could have called him. I (in perfect jerk-Orion fashion) questioned if that option was really there after I broke up with him. Tristan assured me that it had.

Was it still on the table?

I began to write down everything I would tell him if I ever got the chance to. And the more I wrote, the more frantic I became. With every passing minute the words flowed from the deep recesses of my mind down my arm, through my pen, onto paper. After a point I realized I wasn't even writing a letter, but composing a song. Through realizing that, the melody that had been stuck in my head for absolute months now began to play in my head. It fit the words I was writing perfectly.

I grabbed my acoustic and began to pluck out the melody. As quietly as I could, I sang my apologizes into the night. I sang about how I was scared because I needed him so much. I sang about how I wanted him still.

Surprising myself, I referenced myself taking pills. I sang about how he made me feel like a mess, but in a good way. I poured my heart and soul into the lyrics, my insecurities, my failures. But through it all, I just wanted him to come back.

I would give anything if he would just wait for me.

I know I didn't deserve that, but I wanted it.

By the time I'm done with the song it's long and it's rambling, and I don't think it's very good, and I'm crying. Crying because it felt so good to write a song again. Also crying because, here I had written a song for Tristan, and he was never going to hear it. 

So I put down my guitar, curled up into a ball, and cried myself to sleep.

~

I was dreaming.

"Hey you!" I greeted Stacy enthusiastically.

"Hi!" she said somewhat shyly. Before she let me into her house, she leaned forward and put a kiss on my lips.

When I enter I slip off my shoes. Her demeanor seemed immediately off. It's...weird. I can't pinpoint yet what's off, but she just seems...different.

Thinking nothing of it, I smile brightly at her. "So! What's on the agenda today?"

Stacy looks shy. "Well, my parents aren't home. They're down in their lake house, in Wisconsin."

"Oh," I tease, walking into the house, holding up my hands. "Well, la dee da! A lake house. Sorry I barely have milk money."

Stacy laughs and shoves me. "Shut up."

"So," I say, turning around and walking backwards through her dining room. "Whatdoyawanna do?"

"You," she blurts out, but then turns red.

I don't know how to respond, so I just blink at her. Stacy barks out a laugh.

"I'm joking. Let's go swimming, okay?"

"Oh..." I say. I look down at myself and bite my lip. "I didn't--I didn't know we'd be swimming. I didn't bring my trunks."

"It's okay," Stacy replied brightly, "you can borrow my brother's."

I laughed. "Are they even gonna fit?"

"You're tiny--it'll be fine."

Sure enough I fit into them. After about an hour of hanging out in the pool that was in her backyard, we went back in. We were both dripping wet, having forgotten to grab towels beforehand. I felt bad, but Stacy assured me it was fine since her parents weren't home. Stacy led me up to her room where our clothes were. I was going to grab mine and get dressed in the bathroom. Stacy, however, had other plans.

We began making out in the middle of her room. We had messed around a bit, so I was no longer embarrassed by my physical response whenever we kissed. Even so, everything we had done was relatively innocent. Well, as innocent as budding sexuality can be. I was her first, and she was mine, so we were taking it slow.

Or at least I thought we were taking it slow. I yelp when she pulls down my swim trunks, going down with them. I go to cover myself, but instead she takes me into her mouth.

I'm stunned. For several reasons. Mostly because she had never done this before. I had never asked her to, nor did I have any inkling this was what she wanted. Any misconceptions of Catholic school girls being innocent were quickly deteriorating in my head.

"S-Stacy--" I tried to say.

She grinned at me, lustful, and stood up. I watch as she peels off her bathing suite. And she's kissing me, which is kinda gross considering what she had just been doing, but at the same time it was kinda hot.

I was so confused. So, very, very confused.

Stacy is giggling maniacally against my lips. I try to break the kiss, try to talk to her, but she won't let me. I back away until the backs of my legs hit her bed. I'm a little dismayed when she shoves my chest, causing me to tumble back onto the soft, fluffy mattress.

"S-Stacy!" I tried again.

But instead she straddles me. For a moment she strokes the side of my face, and I notice how different but similar our breath is. Hers is quick and shallow, her flushed cheeks showing just how turned on she was, which I could only assume was what was causing her erratic breathing. I, on the other hand, was gasping because I suddenly felt like I was choking on oxygen itself.

Stacy leans over and kisses me, shoving her tongue into my mouth. As she begins to stroke me, all I can do is stare at her. Usually when we make out I close my eyes. Now, however, I appear to be utterly frozen in place. And as she stops just a moment to grab a condom and lube that I didn't even know she had bought, I kinda feel like puking.

"W-where d-did you get th-that?"

She either doesn't notice my discomfort or doesn't care. Stacy laughs, taking a moment to open the box and peel off the cellophane from the lube. "From CVS, silly."

"W-when?" I squeak.

Instead of answering me, she opens up the small foil square and holds up the condom, eyebrow raised. "Do you know how to put this on?"

I feel utterly humiliated. When she notices this, she reaches beneath her, encouraging me on with her hand. I swallow thickly, and I start to shake, and it's not from gleeful anticipation. "N-no."

Stacy giggles again and momentarily gets off from on top of me. She takes out the instructions, double checking, even though we had both learned this in health class once we hit High School (because Lord knew our Catholic schools only taught abstinence). I feel utterly emasculated as Stacy rolls it onto me, double-checking to make sure it's on correctly.

Stacy resituates on top of me, and I no longer can tell what's water from the pool and what's my sweat. This entire time I've remained motionless, stiff as a board. Stacy leans down and gives me a tender kiss, and for just a fraction of a moment everything feels alright.

I wanted to do this. I wanted Stacy to be the one. I loved her.

So, if I wanted this, why did everything feel like it was spinning out of control?

Stacy leans back. "Ready?"

For a few moments I just blink at her, my mouth completely parched, bile gurgling in my stomach. No, I wasn't fucking ready. I felt totally unprepared. With all the porn I had watched, and health class, and my fantasies, I thought I was ready.

I wasn't fucking ready.

"I--I love you," I whisper out as tears start to form in my eyes.

And then she's on top of me. And it's awkward just like all first times are. My arms are hardened at my sides, and I know I'm looking up at her with wide eyes, but what they're conveying I don't know. Stacy leans over me, and presses my arms down into the bed, effectively pinning me. And I let her.

But then we find a sort of rhythm, and I eventually lose myself, and it starts to feel good, and I tell myself, see? It's not so bad. You were just scared.

I end up finishing before her, but I want her to finish, too, to complete this hedonistic ritual. I wanted to complete this act which, according to society, meant I was a man now. So I fingered her until she came, and I felt so completely, utterly ashamed. I felt ashamed and dirty.

Stacy, still floating in the aftermath, asked me where I was off to as I pulled on my underwear and pants.

"Don't you want to snuggle?" she implored.

"N-no."

A pause, and then she sounded scared. "Did you--did you enjoy it?"

I wanted to lie. I wanted to tell her I enjoyed it, but I felt so sick. I tried to mask it behind a smile. "I came, didn't I?"

And before I knew it I was back at my parent's trailer, and I went into the shower immediately. I barely turned on the hot water, wanting a nice, long, cold shoulder. My virginity had felt like some kind of sacrifice to appease an ancient sex goddess. I just wanted to recover from what had happened.

It was with that thought--that I wanted to recover--that I realized maybe that hadn't gone as it should have. I spent the rest of my shower crying, wishing I could have do-overs with my virginity.

But I couldn't.

Oops.