He Didn't Become a Man

She opened her door slowly and awkwardly, the tension already building in the air. We weakly smiled at one another, and I shuffled into her foyer without saying much of anything.

She closed the door behind her and I nervously took my shoes off, extreme politeness taking the place of confidence. She walked off down a small hallway to my left, and since she’d said nothing I stood in the entranceway with my hands in my pockets, trying to find a pose that didn’t make me look like an idiot. I couldn’t find one. Instead her head came poking around the corner, her smile and the gleam in her eyes exciting and scaring me all the same.

“What are you doing? Come on!”

I smiled back at her (how did I get so lucky) and followed, my eyes inadvertently falling downward to look at the way her hips moved when she walked. There were many times in the hallways at school that I’d watched those hips pass me, or silently watched them get up to leave the classroom. Beyond all imagination and possibility I was here in their home territory, following them to their bedroom.

She turned and sat down on her bed, her arms casually extended to either side, almost an invitation for me to join her. I swallowed hard, my nerves still wrapping my body tightly, making my movements robotic and forced. I screamed at myself in my head to calm down. I was deaf inside.

“I’m glad you came today,” she said to me, the end of her sentence sending her mouth back into a smile. “I’ve…been thinking about this for a long time.”

“Me…too,” I said, not knowing of how to respond. I was very unsure of what to do next, and kind of shuffled forward to close the gap between us. I’d hoped that close proximity would break the ice between us, but it only made it worse.

My friend Jason had made it seem so casual, so easy to do. Many a time around the table during lunch period he would describe it to me, all of its nuances and customs and the usual order. I would listen intently, enraptured by the mystique of it all, the wanton magic and power. He was certain that no one could call themselves an adult until they’d tried it. Many of the guys looked up to him, myself included in those ranks. He was a champion, a visionary, a pioneer that braved a hereto unknown world where the enemy of our youth (our opposite sex) lurked and played. It was a world where they transformed from our greatest vexation into our full-time fixation.

“Sit with me,” she said, and I plopped onto the bed beside her quickly, so much so that we both bounced up and down a few times. I laughed, and her smile turned into a small laugh. My arm instantly went around her, and she rested her head on my shoulder. Our breathing tried to synchronize, but it was a weak attempt.

“Lay back,” she ordered, and I fell onto my back as she rolled over on top of me. For a split second, a split second that froze in my mind and that for the rest of my life I could recall in exquisite, exact detail, I saw her staring at me with a look that I will never be able to explain but at that moment sent me spinning headfirst into an experience I was not ready for at any length.

My hands gripped her sides hard, our bodies sweating and trying to move in rhythm. It’d taken me nearly five minutes to enter her, a comical display that despite my lack of aim had the added effect of making us crave it all the more. The bed made the whole exercise that much more difficult, inhibiting our ability to execute the basic thrusting movements.

Nonetheless, I was on edge in a few minutes, and from the look on her face she was at least moderately enjoying it. A few gasps for air later and it was over, my hands still holding onto her like I’d gone on a Mach speed ride through the Grand Canyon.

She laid down onto her bed facedown, saying nothing to me as I tried to decide what to do next. My clothes were scattered about her room, and I carefully gathered them, putting them on while watching to see what she’d say about it.

“How was it?” she asked me, seeming very contented and even a little drowsy. She’d rested her head sideways on top of her hands. The smile had returned.

“It was great,” I said, but it was all a lie. What was I supposed to tell her? That I felt absolutely the same as I did before, that nothing had changed, and that I felt no great surge of love for her, at least no more than I thought I’d had? The surge, the rush, the excitement; all were feelings of the past, quickly erased by a short climax. They were wants and not needs; they were selfish and not mutual. I didn’t do it for her, I realized now. I did it for myself, and now all that remained was embarrassment and a small bit of regret.

“I have to go,” I said, and she nodded at me.

“I know.”

I was fully dressed and made the long walk back to my car alone. One of life’s greatest mysteries had been revealed to me, and as it often happened with such curiosities, the power was in the secret, not in the revelation. It was common now, no longer something to attain, no longer something to cherish.

The sun was still the same, and I was too. Jason was wrong, and countless others who’d fed me the sales pitch.

I was still just a boy.