New Year’s Night: My First Taste of Her

The studio bed felt like a raft in the gray dawn light. New Year’s party haze clung to my skin, booze and laughter still buzzing in my veins. I stripped naked, dove under the covers, eyes heavy. Fatigue pulled me under fast. Then the mattress dipped. Lydie’s voice, soft and shaky: “Can I sleep with you? My bed’s a mess, no energy to fix it.” Half-asleep, I mumbled yes. She slipped in, naked too, her body ice-cold against mine. “I’m freezing,” she whispered, pressing close. Heart skipped. Her skin prickled mine, goosebumps rising. I wrapped arms around her, rubbed her back hard, thighs trying to hug her thicker ones. Chest to chest, her nipples hardened against me—or was it the cold? Mine tingled too. Hands roamed slower now, not just warming. Her hips shifted, pubes brushing mine in tiny grinds. Pulse raced. What the fuck? Fear twisted with heat low in my belly. No turning back. Our breaths synced, quickening. Mons pressing, wet friction building. Innocence cracking.