We’d talk about it, a lot. Of course we did. What teenage couple didn’t talk about the possibility of having sex? But one thing Robert was brilliant at was reassuring me. He was in no rush to lose his V-card (it’s what the cool kids were calling it), and neither was I. That was until he told me he loved me … from that point on I just wanted to do it more than anything. There was a desire that surged through me, threatening to cause an almighty explosion if something wasn’t done sharpish.
It ended up happening over the Christmas holidays, just a month after we got back from Paris – yes, I’m aware that it would have been nice to wait a little longer, but there was no stopping our lascivious behaviour once the cogs were in motion. Plus, we’d known each other since we were nine years old – we trusted each other unconditionally. So many qualities you’d hope to build in a new relationship already existed between us. I didn’t feel the need to wait any longer.
It happened on a Tuesday.
Our parents were at work.
Ben had taken himself off somewhere for the day – I’ve no idea if this had been planned between the two boys, or if he’d arranged it himself not knowing what we were about to get up to.
I spent the morning making myself look and feel wonderful. I shaved my legs, armpits and everywhere else I thought shouldn’t have been displaying hair, put on some simple, but matching black underwear (it’s not as though I had anything lacy or provocative at that age – my mum would have killed me), some make-up, a pair of black trousers, vest top and a red cropped jumper and tidied my hair back in a pretty, loose fishtail plait. I hoped I looked effortlessly cosy and gorgeous – like the girl next door that all boys seem to want to sleep with.
On the short walk to his house I started to worry. What if I wasn’t very good at it, I wondered. What if I was so bad Robert decided he never wanted to do it with me again?
My heart was beating so fast by the time Rob opened his front door – but one tiny smile from him brought back all the desire I’d experienced in the lead up; it was all the reassurance I needed. I was nervous, more nervous than I’d ever been about anything, but I knew it was what I wanted.
Robert took me by the hand and guided me over the threshold. As soon as the door was shut he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me, slowly and with such a pensive look on his face – I realized it wasn’t just me who was nervous.
‘Should we go upstairs?’ I heard myself squeak.
He just nodded, took my hand and led me to his room in silence.
Once we were in his blue box of a room with the door shut, he exhaled sharply and drew me into him for a hug – a tight, loving embrace. I felt it was to comfort not just me, but himself. All the cheekiness and cocky behaviour Robert possessed was just a façade to win others over, I knew that, but it was still a surprise to see that front completely dropped – to have the vulnerable part of Robert stood in front of me feeling, perhaps, that he didn’t want to be the leader for once. He needed to make sure it was what I wanted. That it was right.
Still held in his clasp, I took his fingers in mine and brought them to my lips, kissing each of them individually in what I hoped was a tantalizing manner, as I looked into Robert’s eyes intently. They questioned me, asked if I was sure. In response I backed on to the bed away from him, before reaching my hand out and beckoning him over.
He didn’t come. Instead he put his hands on his hips and stared at me in his new-found shy manner.
‘Should I put some music on?’ he mumbled, before turning to his stereo and playing with some buttons until he finally settled on a radio station playing cheesy love songs.
‘Sounds good,’ I encouraged, willing him to stop acting so weird.
‘Let me just shut the curtains …’ he faffed, going over to the window. ‘There …’ he declared once they were closed and the room was a little dimmer.
As soon as he was next to me on the bed, our lips about to kiss, something else popped into his brain and he was back on his feet once more.
‘Candles. Shit, I forgot I bought candles,’ he said urgently, before practically falling from the bed in a clumsy manner as he reached for his rucksack. He pulled out a fifty pack of vanilla-scented tealights from Ikea.
‘You’re not planning on lighting all of those, are you?’ I asked, wondering how long it would take.
‘Sorry … I was going to have it all done before you arrived but …’ he said with a panic-stricken face, as he rested the bag on the bed.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I insisted.
‘It doesn’t?’