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My First Time – Female • 15 • Ireland
I had only visited Ireland once before in my life. I was six years old, visiting with my mother’s side of the family. My grandparents’ closest friends, the Walshes, were with us a lot of the time, and my sisters and I played with their only son, Brennan.
Nine years later, we returned to Ireland for my youngest cousin’s wedding. A lot had changed over those nine years — I’d learned to tame my wiry red hair, and I’d discovered the wonders of mascara. But, being a ginger, I looked unnatural wearing too much makeup, so when I was around my grandparents, I kept my look as bare as I could shy of looking like my six-year-old self again.
I recognized Brennan’s voice at once — the same accent, but it was so much deeper.
When we arrived at my grandparents’ house, they were so happy to see us, and by five o’clock the fireplace was alight and everyone had a mug of beer in hand. At about seven o’clock that July evening, we were watching the ocean from my grandparents’ house, across a field of small rolling hills. And then there was a knock at the door, and Grandma jumped up to answer.
I recognized Brennan’s voice at once — the same accent, but it was so much deeper. It was like hearing a song I’d once known all the words to, but had half-forgotten. My sisters and I ran to greet him at once, and we all sat down at the table and played a game of poker, catching up on what we missed over nine years. By midnight, we were all lying on the couches — the jetlag was catching up to us. We retired to our bedrooms, and fell asleep almost right away.
The next day, I woke and found everyone gone. The note on the counter, written in Grandpa’s elaborate hand, told me that they were all out golfing and then were going for dinner at the Walshes’ house, and I could come join them at around six o’clock. I settled down in my pajamas on the deck, sitting with my grandparents’ dog, Shyla, reading an old romance novel of my grandma’s. I didn’t really keep track of the time — it was warm out for once, but I could see clouds rolling in far away.
I put the book down on the table and stretched, my baggy shirt rising over my belly button as my arms rose in the air, and just as I did so Shyla ran inside and towards the front door, barking. I got to my feet, messy hair falling over my shoulders, suddenly conscious of how makeup-free I was, and opened the door, expecting to see someone I had never spoken to in my life. But Brennan walked in casually, apparently paying no mind to my pajamas and lack of cosmetics. He greeted me with a friendly hello, and walked out to the deck.
We talked until the sun began to set, and then I went upstairs to get changed for dinner at his house, putting on a pair of jeans and a floral, baggy tank top. I opened the door of my bedroom to Brennan standing in the doorway. “You know, Marley,” he said, “I care a lot about you. It hasn’t changed over nine years.” My heart thudded inside my chest. I didn’t realize what was happening, but I took his hand, and he took my waist and kissed me. It was my first real kiss with a boy, and I was up on cloud nine.
We made our way over to his house, holding hands all the way until we got to the front door, where we slyly broke apart and walked into the house, the secret weighing heavy between us. Dinner was just like the night before, casual, and when everyone was in the living room, Brennan took my hand as I was coming around the corner of the kitchen and led me outside.
We ran through the immense field in his yard, past a flock of sheep, and he pulled me down into the grass with him. I laughed and kissed him, and after about half an hour — his breathing heavy, his face fading in the half-light — his brown eyes met mine, and he didn’t need a moment. His hands moved from my hips to the button of my jeans, his fingers smoothly unbuttoning them. I wondered if he had done this before, but didn’t have time to care. He almost knew what to do, and I had never felt something like this before.
I whimpered, and he stopped kissing me, putting his lips to my neck and breathing deeply. I was so wet, and he slipped off my jeans, my underwear going with them. He took off his, then removed our shirts. I let him do all the work, partly terrified, but a bigger part of me felt like this was right.
I was impressed to see him take a condom out of his jeans pocket, and he handed it to me. I was confused, but we had learned how to do this in health class, so I unwrapped it and put it on him, and then he was inside me. It hurt like hell for a moment, and I moaned, and he breathed deeply on my neck again. But then, it felt amazing. His breathing turned me on most, and I wrapped my legs around him. His breathing grew faster, and to my surprise, so did mine, and when he came, I came too.
We disposed of the condom quickly and sneaked back into his house to our unsuspecting families, feeling a little ashamed and guilty. But I returned to Canada knowing I loved him, and he stayed in Ireland knowing he loved me, and here I am, twenty-six now, in my last year of medical school, lying in bed with him once again.
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