Chapter 3: my first kiss

He asked if I wanted anything to drink, but I shook my head and said I was good. My throat felt so dry I could barely speak anyway, my whole body buzzing with nerves and excitement I couldn’t explain.

God, he was so handsome. Even sitting right next to him, close enough to touch, it felt like looking at someone out of a movie. He was around 5’10 or 5’11, and I’m barely 5’0, so next to him I felt tiny—like I could fit perfectly right under his arm, something I secretly loved. People always said he reminded them of Gong Yoo from Goblin, and it was so true: same sharp features, that soft, sleepy look in his eyes that made you feel like he was seeing right through you, broad shoulders, messy slightly long hair that fell just right over his forehead. And he smelled incredible—like fresh pine and wood, warm and masculine, like stepping into a quiet forest. I could’ve breathed that scent forever. He had three piercings on each ear, little silver studs that glinted when he turned his head, and every single word that came out of his mouth sounded like the most perfect thing I’d ever heard.

He patted the spot next to him on the bed, then reached over and grabbed his laptop from the desk. “What movie do you want to see?” he asked, opening it up and leaning back against the headboard like he owned the place.

I just shrugged, twisting the hem of my dress nervously. “Anything’s fine.”

That’s when our eyes met for real, for the first time—no distractions, no distance between us. He held my gaze for a second too long, and my heart skipped about ten beats. “Have you seen 365?” he asked.

I came from such a strict, religious family—my parents monitored everything I watched, everything I read, everything I did—so I shook my head. I’d never even heard of it. “No, never.”

“Good,” he said, with that lazy, charming smile of his. “You’ll like it.”

To make a long story short, it was nothing like anything I’d ever watched before. The very first scene started with the lead woman touching herself, explicit and raw, things I’d only ever read about in secret romance novels, things I’d never even dared to imagine doing. My face went bright red, I could feel the heat creeping up my neck and burning my ears, and I tried so hard to look like I wasn’t shocked, like I wasn’t a total innocent who had no idea what any of this was.

He turned his head to look at me, his voice low and smooth. “Do you do that?”

My brain went blank. I didn’t. I was sixteen, I barely even understood my own body, had never touched myself or anything close to it. I just shook my head, too embarrassed to speak.

He moved closer, so close our knees were pressed together, so close I could feel the warmth coming off his skin. “Do you want me to teach you?”

I didn’t know how to answer. I didn’t know what to say. I just stared at him, my heart hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it. Then his eyes dropped down to my lips, slow and deliberate, and he leaned in even more. “Can I kiss you?”

I said yes.

It was my very first kiss. Not a tiny peck, not the quick, silly kisses I’d seen in movies between teenagers. It was deep, full, messy, tongue against tongue—everything I’d ever dreamed of and more. I remember thinking, Am I even doing this right? Does he know I’ve never done this before? Does he care?

He tasted like cigarettes and coffee, a sharp, bitter-sweet taste that I still remember so clearly, even now.

Before I knew it, he shifted, and lifted me up easily, pulling me to sit right on his lap, my legs straddling his waist. I could feel him hard beneath me, big and firm, and it made my head spin. His hands started wandering, slow and confident: first resting lightly on my waist, then sliding up my back, then cupping my breasts through my dress. I didn’t stop him. I didn’t want to stop him. I wanted him to touch every part of me.

He pulled the little mini dress I was wearing right over my head, leaving me in just my underwear, exposed and shivering—but not from the cold. He started kissing my neck, slow and open-mouthed, then down to my chest, over my breasts, sucking gently at the skin, then back up to my lips like he couldn’t get enough.

Then he pulled back just a little, his voice rough and low. “Have you ever gone down on someone before?”

I blinked. Gone down? I didn’t even know what that really meant, not properly. I’d kissed him for the first time barely ten minutes ago. I shook my head. “No.”

He stood up, pulling his pants and boxers down in one smooth move, and suddenly he was naked in front of me—fully grown, everything exposed. God, he was so big. It looked huge—honestly, almost bigger than my face, I swear. I stared, wide-eyed, too stunned to look away.

“I’ll teach you,” he said simply, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He guided me to kneel in front of him. “Start licking from the bottom, go up slow. Open wide for me.”

So I did exactly what he said. I did everything he told me to. He was already hard, but I could feel him getting even bigger and harder in my mouth, stretching me, making me feel small and completely his. It didn’t taste like anything much, just a little salty, but I didn’t care. I was proud I could do this for him, proud I could give him something.

After a while, he made me stop, breathing heavy, his hand tangled in my hair. “I’m close,” he said, pulling me up.

Then he pushed me back onto the bed, until I was lying flat, and pulled my inner shorts and panties down and off, tossing them somewhere on the floor.

I don’t even know why I’d shaved that morning, why I’d taken extra time in the shower to make sure I was perfect, but I’m so glad I did. Back then, I thought it meant something, that I was preparing myself for him. It felt weird at first when he touched me down there, ticklish and strange, but seeing him between my legs, looking at me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, doing that to me… it turned me on so bad I couldn’t think straight.

I never watched porn, never saw anything like this, only read bits and pieces in books, but now I was living it. It felt like a dream.

Then he pushed one finger inside me.

It hurt. It hurt so bad, sharp and burning, like something was tearing inside me. I gasped, my hands flying to his shoulders to push him away a little. “I can’t—stop, it hurts so much.”

He just shushed me softly, kissing my forehead, my cheek, my lips. “Wait, baby. Trust me, it’ll feel good soon. Just relax.”

But it never did. It never got better. It just kept hurting, burning, uncomfortable, like something I wasn’t made for yet.

Then he pulled his finger out, and I saw it: there was blood on his fingers, bright red, staining his skin. He froze, looking from his hand up to my face. “Are you a virgin?”

Clearly I was. Wasn’t it obvious? I was sixteen, I’d never even held hands with a boy before him.

He shifted, moving over me, his body pressing against mine, and I could feel him lining himself up, big and hard and ready. He looked at me, his voice soft but demanding. “Can we do it? Just once, I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

My heart was racing, my whole body aching, scared and confused. I knew what that meant. I knew that if I said yes, I’d be giving him the only thing I had left, the most important thing I thought I could ever give someone. And deep down, even then, I knew it wasn’t right. That I was too small, too young, too hurt already.

I shook my head, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “No. I’m not ready for that yet.”

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