Audrey giggled. “Check them out,” she said, pointing.

On the picnic bench near us a couple of guys sat watching. I accidentally made eye contact with one. I didn’t care. Their attention confirmed this was actually happening.

Audrey said, “Fuck this. Let’s go.” We walked out to the parking lot, Audrey leading, tugging on my hand. In the car I sat awkwardly. The people at the bar had made me feel safe, like we were in a clearing in the woods, protected by trees. Being alone with her, each move required deliberation. She parked on the street outside my apartment and we went upstairs and inside.

“Want something to drink?” I said, opening the fridge.

“No. Come here.”

“Okay.” I shut the refrigerator door.

“I like hanging out with you,” she said.

“Me, too,” I said. I blushed.

She stepped towards me, more tentative than before, and we kissed. Strange to touch a girl. Her soft mouth, the fineness of her skin disoriented me. My hands were clumsy, oversized on her tiny shoulders. I leaned against the doorframe. She touched my face, my breasts. She pulled my shirt over my head, her eyes wide, observing. My nipples hardened at her touch, and my thighs tensed. She gasped as my body jerked. I unzipped her dress and lowered the loose top off her shoulders, revealing her tits, the long brown nipples I had seen on the video.

She yanked my skirt up around my hips, roughly. She pushed my thong to the side, slid her finger inside me. I cried out. The emptiness converged around her hand. I wanted more, I wanted more. She stopped and I thought I might sob.

I reached for her. She grabbed my wrists, kissed me on the mouth and down my neck. She kissed my breasts and licked them, her tongue darting out and in, sliding over my skin, warming it and leaving it wet and cool. Her grip on my wrists stayed firm. It made me less nervous, not having to do anything with my hands.

“Please,” I said, barely able to speak.

“Please what,” she said, but I didn’t know what to say.

I loved her mouth on my body. I loved her topless, seeing her nipples get hard.

“Take off your clothes,” she said.

I wiggled out of them, embarrassed at how wet I was. Strands of it fell down my thighs. I ran my fingers over her tits, the nipples against my palms. I took one in my mouth. She stood still and her breath came quicker. I liked hearing it. She stepped out of her panties. She was hairless there, slick and pink and swollen. I glanced at her face, met her eyes, looked away. She pressed my head to her chest and pushed me down.

I knelt, her hands on my head, and kissed her. She tasted like lemons, like wine about to turn. She was whispering nonsense syllables, high-pitched sighs that came from her throat. She pushed into me now, grinding. Her voice grew louder, wavered in conjunction with her body. She wouldn’t hold still. Suddenly, I had to make her hold still. It was a feeling foreign to me, akin to fury. I fucked her with my hand, faster. I wanted to bite her, but I didn’t. She gave a staccato cry, and her whole body stiffened, her muscles pulsed. She stopped moving and rested against the wall. I was amazed I could bring such a thing about.