“But do you think I’m sexy?”
“Yes. Very.”
I sat up at the edge of the bed as he set the camera on the nightstand. I took the last sip of my wine just as the song “Fake Plastic Trees” came on. “I love this one.”
He reached down for the hem of my dress as I went for the button of his jeans.
“Stand up, baby.”
“I don’t know what to do, Matt.”
“You will.”
He lifted the dress over my head and then braced the back of my neck and kissed me like it was his only purpose in life. The temperature around our bodies tripled. His other hand ran down my back, to my bottom, and then slipped under the lace. I could feel him hard against me.
Breaking the kiss, I stepped back. His chest was pumping in and out. I watched as he took me in, standing there, waiting for him, wanting him.
He nodded with wide eyes. “I like this.”
Something came over me, and I felt encouraged and confident, for once. I closed the distance between us, pulled his jeans and boxers down, and dropped to my knees.
“Wow.” Wait, did I just say “Wow”? I felt so silly. I was incapable of being the hot girl; I couldn’t just act like I knew what I was doing, especially now that I was staring that thing down. All the unabashed confidence disappeared in an instant. I heard Matt chuckle.
“Stand up, Grace.”
“Why?” I whined as he lifted me from under my arms. I looked up at his face and he was smiling, teeth and all.
“You are the cutest fucking thing in the world, do you know that?’
I crossed my arms over my chest and made a pouty face. “I was going for sexy, dammit.”
“You’re that, too. Let’s just lie down and take it slow.”
People never tell you that these moments can feel really awkward. When you’re trying to do what you see on TV or read about in books, everything feels strange. I reached for the bottle of wine and took a swig. Matt was completely naked as he fell back onto the bed. His quiet self-assurance was a blessing in disguise; he wasn’t “that guy,” trying to be hot and smooth. He didn’t have to try to be hot or smooth—he just was. I took off my bra and underwear with little ceremony and lay down next to him as he stared up at the ceiling.
Rolling over onto his side and propping himself on his elbow, he leaned in and said, “Close your eyes.”
He kissed me, the heat spreading and the urgency building. When he used his teeth to tug on my bottom lip, I thought I was going to lose it. His hand moved between my legs and then he touched me down there. My breath didn’t hitch, I didn’t gasp, and I didn’t stop him. I wanted more, more pressure, more contact. I placed my hand over his and pressed. Just like he said, I knew what to do. The awkwardness was gone.
His lips traveled all over my body, stopping at my breasts, his tongue toying with one nipple as his hand went to work on me. I could hear myself making noises, quiet little “ahhh” sounds. Not the way women do in the movies, just in the involuntary way that comes with pleasure. He gripped my hip hard and kissed me even deeper on the mouth. He went to my neck and ear and sucked and kissed until I was writhing underneath him. Pure. Bliss.
“Just feel me,” he whispered. How could I not? I felt so ready for him. I wrapped my hand around his length and pulled him toward me with my other hand. “Not yet,” he said.
He sat back on his heels and ripped a condom wrapper open. “I’m on the pill!” I shouted awkwardly. He jerked his head back in surprise. I stared at him, unblinking. There was just enough dim light in the room for us to see each other’s faces. You have to admit that comic relief isn’t always a bad thing right before you’re about lose your virginity.
When Matt laughed, I brazenly leaned in and wrapped my hand around him again. “Just do me, okay?”
He was smiling but there was something else in his expression that looked like reverence. “You’re so unexpected, Grace.” He moved his body so that he was hovering over me with his weight on his elbows. He kissed me tenderly, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth. Everything slowed down in a good way, and then he moved his hand to the space between my legs and touched me again, more gently than before.
“Ahhhh,” I whimpered.
He made a satisfied sound, then gripped the back of my thigh, hitching it up. My body was open to him. I waited. The anticipation increased everything, the heat, the intensity, the throbbing inside of me. I knew it was right.
“I love you,” he said near my ear, and then he was inside of me. There was a moment of pressure, but it wasn’t as painful as I had expected. His pace was slow until it felt completely normal, like something I had always been missing. We moved faster together, our quiet moans unstudied and real. It was such a strange idea knowing he and I were moving for our own pleasure while giving it back to each other, equally. Like nothing else in life, sex is perfectly selfless and selfish all at once. Hot and cold, yin and yang, black and white, and all of the shades in between. Finally, the whole world made sense. I was in on the secret now.
The echoes of his voice kept playing over and over in my mind as we moved together. I love you. I love you. I love you.
I love you too. Always. Forever.
13. Did Things Change?
GRACE
Matt and I slept a total of twenty minutes before his alarm buzzed. After turning it off, he rolled over on top of me, our naked bodies pressed together. My hands went into his hair as he sank down and took my nipple into his mouth, grazing lightly with his teeth and tongue. The room was still completely dark but totally charged with electricity. “Are you sore?” he whispered.
“No.” I wanted Matt everywhere . . . again. I fully expected some residual pain or blood or a nightmarish reminder that a few short hours before, I had been a virgin. But there was nothing, just two insatiable¸ hungry young people aching for each other.
He moved back up to my neck and kissed and sucked from the hollow up to my ear. I was panting, and the two days of growth on his face tickled my neck in the most exquisite way. I could feel him hard and hot against my thigh as he pressed his body into mine. “Ahhh, Matt.”
“I love that sound.”
His voice near my ear shot jolts down my legs. My whole body quivered. There was no stopping us at that point. The intensity left me totally breathless. Our bodies were a blur, gripping, tugging, kissing, sucking, moving up and down, rolling over and back, every motion somehow perfectly fluid on Matt’s tiny twin bed. He pulled me on top to straddle him. “Like this,” he said, and then he lifted my hips and guided himself inside of me. I arched my back, pressing my hands against his taut stomach.
I could hear my tiny mewling sounds mixed with the deep, quiet, satisfied sounds rumbling from his chest.
“Do you feel it? Do you feel it, Matt?” I started moving faster.
“Yes, baby,” he said, his voice strained. His eyes were drowsy with desire and his lips slightly parted.
I moved harder against him and then leaned back, putting my hands behind me on the tops of his thighs, making the friction even more intense. He pressed his thumb to the bundle of nerves right above where we were connected. His small, subtle movements shut the rest of the world out to me. The walls could have been crumbling, my cello could have been on fire in the corner, and I would have stayed right where I was until the very end, moving above Matt, our bodies connected.
When the quickening began, he gripped my waist and tensed. I felt my mouth fall open but no sound was coming out. I couldn’t breathe at that moment for fear that it would all go away. I closed my eyes and let go. It was strange; it wasn’t that I forgot that Matt was there—how could I?—but I had very little self-awareness and self-consciousness. It was like I forgot that I was there when the buildup began and the tingling waves of hot and cold shot through my body. Down below, the pulsing began, harder than it ever had before. Matt made a strangled sound from his chest.
The word “Yes” inched from my throat, almost painfully. It wasn?
??t triumphant, like you see in the movies. It was quiet. Euphoric.
One last thought ran through my head before I collapsed on top of Matt. I’ve got to get my hands on that book his mom gave to him.
Moments later, he stirred under me as I lay splayed over his body. He kissed the top of my head and took a deep breath.
“We have to go, huh?” I grumbled into the smattering of hair on his chest.
“Yeah, we better get going, although staying in bed with you all day and spending Christmas in New York doesn’t sound bad at all.”
“Won’t you miss Christmas with your family?”
His expression was inscrutable. “No.”
“No?”
“Seeing my mom, maybe. But I’m definitely not going to miss stuffy dinners with my obnoxious brother.”
“What happened that made you two so different?”
He rolled me over onto my back and pushed himself off the bed. “I just got lucky, I guess,” he said with an arrogant smile. “I’ve gotta take a shower.”
I stared at his glorious backside as he walked away. Even in the hazy early-morning light, I could see the fine, cut muscles of his back.
* * *
ON THE WAY to the airport, I fell asleep in the back of the cab with my head on Matt’s shoulder. “Wake up, baby. We’re here.” Matt looked at his watch. “Shit, we gotta hurry.”
He pulled his bag and my small rolling suitcase from the trunk. We sailed through the check-in line, and before I knew it, we were boarding the plane. I sat in the middle seat and Matt had the window. I was asleep on his shoulder again before we even took off.
About halfway through the flight, there was a little turbulence that woke me up. Matt was asleep with his headphones on. I made my way to the bathroom, and by the time I came back, Matt had ordered us both Bloody Marys. He looked up at me, eyes beaming, as I scooted in toward him.
“Gracie,” he said, handing me a plastic cup.
“Matthias,” I replied. There was a current of electricity in the air between us.
“I got you a double.”
“I’ve never had one before,” I said, buckling myself in. “But I’ll try anything once.”
I took a sip and was immediately surprised by how much I liked the spicy and salty tomato flavor. “You can’t even taste the alcohol.”
He laughed. “That’s the point.”
I turned my head to look Matt in the face. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his brownish black hair was sticking out in every direction. Somehow he still looked gloriously sexy. He took a sip, looked over at me, and grinned all the way up to his eyes. “Good, huh?” His voice was low and just rough enough to send shivers down my spine to the space between my legs.
“Uh-huh,” I said, breathlessly. I thought about what Matt and I had done hours before and what that meant for us . . . what that made us.
As if he could read my mind, his expression changed and his smile faded. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I was okay—happy, even, and bubbling with anticipation—but I still felt a tiny bit of trepidation. Why? My first time had been perfect—almost too good to be true. After hearing so many horror stories from girls in high school about how awkward, painful, and messy their first times were, how could I not memorialize what we had done? Every single moment with him had been amazing. He hadn’t pushed me and he’d been totally patient and respectful. He’d been gentle but in control, and then afterward he’d been sweet and attentive. All the thoughts and memories started swirling around in my head . . . the way his hands touched me under the covers of his tiny dorm-room bed . . . his mouth everywhere . . .
Matt watched as I stared, blankly. His eyes dropped down to my open mouth. He knew what I was thinking about. He blinked. “I love that mouth.”
Leaning in, I touched my lips to his, seeking comfort. We surrendered to the charged energy between us, almost like we were feeding it, trying to satisfy it. We kissed slowly and softly, our tongues dancing around, until I heard the unmistakable sound of an intentional throat-clearing. I looked over my shoulder to see the woman in the aisle seat, watching us intently. She seemed like a jovial southern woman, with lots of makeup and big, white-blonde hair.
Were we being rude twisting tongues in the cramped seats of an airplane? Probably, but I didn’t care. I was almost willing to strip naked right there, if Matt asked me to. I smiled at the lady. With a sort of wise “I get it” look, she smiled back and then rolled her eyes dismissively.
Matt looked worn out. He reached languidly for my hand and clutched it with his before resting his head back and closing his eyes. I reached for my drink from the tray table and sucked it down in three large gulps. It was delicious and the alcohol took effect almost immediately. I leaned against Matt’s shoulder again and fell asleep.
* * *
“I FORGOT TO ask, how are we getting to your mom’s?”
Matt reached for my purple suitcase off the luggage carousel. “She’s coming to get us.”
When we reached the curb outside of LAX, a maroon minivan pulled up. “That’s her.”
Matt slid the large door open and threw his arms out to his sides. “Mama!”
She beamed with happiness. “Matthias, I’ve missed you! Get in here, you two.”
“Mom, this is Grace,” Matt said. I stood by, nervously as he loaded the luggage into the back.
“I’ve heard so much about you, Grace. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Aletha.” She reached out and took my hand in hers. She had a subtle Greek accent and was small-boned, with exaggerated but beautiful features and the same perfect nose as Matt. Her dark hair was streaked through with gray, and she wore a long, thin scarf wrapped around her neck so many times that it looked like a high-necked sweater.
“Nice to meet you too, Aletha.”
Matt got into the front seat and I buckled up in the middle bench seat in the back. The third-row bench seat that was normally in minivans had been replaced with art supplies, including a large metal pottery wheel.
“Matthias, I just picked up that wheel in the back for pennies. I need you to set it up in The Louvre; it’s too heavy for me.”
“Of course, Mom.”
She shot a glance his way and smiled radiantly. “No more Mama? Is my son too old to call me Mama?”
“Mama,” Matt said in a squeaky baby voice.
“You silly boy.” There was an ease between them. I wished my mother and I had that kind of relationship.
“So, Grace, Matthias tells me you’re a musician?”
“Yes, I’m studying music.”
“The cello, is it?”
“Yes, but I can play other instruments, too. I’m just best at the cello.”
“Well, Matt’s father has a beautiful grand piano at his house. You must play for them while you’re there. It would be a shame for that instrument to live out its life as a piece of furniture.”
“I agree,” Matt chimed in.
“Maybe I will. I’ll have to think of something to play that they’ll like.” I wasn’t sure if I liked that idea, though. From what I knew of Matt’s family, they sounded judgmental toward artists of any sort.
A short while later, we pulled into a long, narrow driveway next to a small but charming Craftsman bungalow, with green wooden shingles and maroon-painted double-hung windows.
The front yard looked like an English garden of wild, waist-high plants but it was manicured enough so it appeared more enchanting than overgrown. The air was crisp but it was nowhere near as freezing as New York.
“This place is so neat,” I said, stepping onto the path.
“Now that my boys are big, I have a lot of time on my hands to putter around in the garden.” Aletha unlocked the front door, flanked by bronze mica sconces. “Come on, Grace, I’ll show you to your room. Matthias, please get the wheel, honey.” We stepped into the house as Matt ran back to the minivan.
I didn’t know what to expect. Was she going to give me the third degree or state the house r
ules? I felt terribly out of place and nervous. I stumbled into the guest room behind her, and she immediately opened the window to let in some fresh air—the same thing Matt did upon entering a room. They were so similar in their graceful movements, their easy temperaments. It made me wonder what traits Matt had gotten from his father, if any.
She came toward me and clutched my arms. My stomach dropped.
She smiled warmly, “No need to be nervous. I wanted a moment to tell you that Matthias seems so happy lately, and I imagine that has something to do with you.”
“Oh?” I tried to be cool.
“Well, I just want to say welcome to my home.”
I set down my suitcase and noticed that she had put Matt’s bag in the corner. “Thank you so much for having me, Aletha. I feel really lucky that Matt was able to bring me out here for the holidays.” I pointed to the double bed, covered in a floral quilt. “Is this where I’ll be sleeping?”
“Yes, I think you two will be comfortable here. Matthias loves this bed.”
I swallowed. You two. My eyeballs felt dry and pasty, as if I hadn’t blinked in a while. Maybe I hadn’t. Aletha laughed and then pulled me in for a hug. “Oh, Grace,” she said, “Sweet Grace. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
She left the room with me standing there, stunned. I plopped onto the bed, exhausted.
* * *
LATER THAT EVENING, after a long nap, Matt and I sat at the oak dining table while Aletha served us steaming bowls of hot, fragrant chicken soup.
“Have you spoken to Alexander?” she asked Matt after she brought the bowls to the table.
“No.”
She looked up from her soup and squinted over square spectacles balanced on the end of her nose. She looked incensed, but I didn’t know her well enough to tell for sure.
“I haven’t, Mom. Alex and I didn’t have a great talk the last time I saw him.”
She put her fork down, glanced at me, then back to Matt. “You’re brothers. You two were inseparable as boys. What’s happened to this family?” Her voice cracked.