High school savages are ransacking the place. It’s like a fog machine went off in my basement. Cans lay everywhere, the whole house smells faintly of cherry. My brother just finished putting out his disco ball, trying to impress all his little friends. The thing starts lighting me up in pinks, blues, and yellows every time the bass kicks. I take another hit. I’m like a stoned Christmas light that can’t make up its mind.
A cute blonde is putting her hands all over me. Isabelle is her name. She’s practically sweating alcohol. My brother and his friends are laughing in the corner, pointing. It’s the Isabelle they always talk about. I should’ve known. It’s the end of December and she’s dressed like the trees, nearly bare. So I give my brother a wink, he shakes his head, and I start talking about college. She’s into it. Why wouldn’t she be?
I put my arm around her waist and I’m not disappointed. She’s got a nice body, and I’m thinking this little shindig is about to turn into a real party for me and her. She keeps touching me lower. She’s now on my thighs.
“It’s big,” I whisper. She laughs, acting all coy, like she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
She’s leaning in closer and closer, telling me something or another about a basketball game. She’s a cheerleader. I like that. Pretty soon, her face is almost against mine. Her mouth opens and I kiss her. It’s sloppy, but good. She likes it. She’s not resisting.
Someone yells that we should all go upstairs to watch the ball drop.
I tell Isabelle I’m not really feeling it. The ball drops every year, but this moment is now. We’ll never get it back. She laughs. She’s always laughing. She’s loving it. I give her my hand and we go up and keep going, leaving everyone behind.
I throw her onto my bed and we’re making out again. I’m on top of her, she wants me to kiss her neck. She’s moaning and so am I. We both know what we want.
Sitting her up, I throw off her shirt and take her bra off in one motion. I doubt she’s had a pair of clumsy high school hands do it that quickly. I’m already halfway done with her pants, I want to keep impressing her. Black panties. She’s practically begging for it.
I unzip my pants and her head perks up. “Wait,” she says. So I take off my shirt. “Happy?” I smile.
It was great, she felt amazing. She closed her eyes and bit her lip the whole time, the way a girl does when she’s really turned on.
Then I look down at the sheet. It’s disgusting, and some of it is on me.
When I come back from the bathroom, she’s already gone. Surprising for a high school girl, not wanting to cuddle afterward. Maybe she’s really a woman in disguise. It’s over and there’s minimal mess. The party is still bumping downstairs, but I’m done with it. I go to bed.
Later, my brother tells me she acts a lot differently ever since that night. And I can’t blame her. He says there’s even a rumor going around that she’s had sex. Or told someone she did. Something like that. Either way, she does online schooling now.
It wasn’t until I was on my way back to school when I wondered: Will she think of me as her first, or the person who made her bleed?