Valentine’s Day

by

Cole Parker

colepark@gmail.com

Marcie calls me up and tells me our date is going to be a little different from how we’d planned it. Pisses me off when I hear what she has to say, but you know girls. They kind of do what they want, and if you want what you want from them, you go along with it.

This is going to be the first time I’ve ever taken a girl out to dinner on Valentine’s Day. Someone told me that was the hardest day of the year to get dinner reservations, you had to do it way, way in advance, so when Marcie and I became a couple at the New Year’s Eve party we attended, and then became real close pretty soon afterwards, if you get my drift, I knew I’d be taking her out for dinner on February 14, and so in the middle of January I started calling restaurants.

I’d never done that before, made a restaurant reservation, and that was a learning experience, I’ll tell you. About half the people I talked to seemed like snobs to me, and almost all of them called me Ma’am, and of course that pissed me off but I couldn’t say anything because I was trying to make a reservation. When they told me they were booked solid and some of them laughed and told me I should have called six months earlier, then it didn’t matter if I said something, and I did. But most of them had already hung up.

I’d had to call about twenty different restaurants before I’d found one that still had reservations available, and it was a more expensive place than I’d had in mind and the only time they’d had a table available was six o’clock, much earlier than I’d have liked. Six o’clock didn’t seem very romantic to me, and I had plans, romantic plans, for later. My parents liked it, though. They had to pick us up afterwards and thought an early dinner was great. 

Getting the reservations and telling Marcie I’d got them and inviting her to dinner all worked out great, though. She didn’t care what time it was. When you’re 15 and never had a Valentine’s Day date before and you’re a girl, learning you’re going out for a romantic dinner is pretty special, I guess. And she showed me how excited she was by the whole idea of it. We’d fooled around a little at the party when I’d asked her if she’d like to go out with me, not that we did too much, just kissing, really, but then, after a couple dates, we’d started getting pretty hot, and she was into it as much as I was.

 On our first date, when I’d taken her home, I’d kissed her at her door, and was surprised when I felt her tongue pushing between my lips. Wow!, I thought, and what had been just a good night kiss went on and on. What made it even more exciting was I’d been pressed against Marcie’s stomach; I’d got hard when I felt her tongue between my lips, and she’d felt it! I mean, I know she felt it. She kind of moved her body back and forth, sort of rubbing it between our stomachs. That was cool! When I walked back to the car afterwards, the front of my pants was sticking way out. I was glad only Donny was in the car. He laughed like crazy, sure, but there are worse things. I was still too excited about the kiss and how it’d made me feel to really care about what Donny thought, anyway.

Then, on the second date, we’d been watching TV in her family room and her mom had said she had to run to the store real quick and would be back in 15, and when she left, Marcie leaned over and kissed me, and before I knew it I was lying back on the couch and she was on top of me, and we were kissing like mad, tongues and all. I got bold and moved my hand to her breast, outside her shirt of course. She didn’t seem to mind, and in fact moved her chest away from mine so I could feel her better.

I was hard as a rock and it was pressing into her. She sort of rolled halfway off of me, looked down at where it was bulging in my pants, and felt it with her hand. She grinned at me, we kissed again, and I tried to slip my hand into her bra, but it was really tight. I heard the door from the garage open and Marcie did too because she was up off me sitting straight on the couch when her mother looked into the room and told us she was back.

I was still flat on my back, breathing hard, but her mother didn’t walk in, thankfully. My pants were still sticking out, and Marcie giggled and put her hand on it again. Just put it there, like she was resting it there, maybe gripping it a little. 

I don’t know when you were last a 15 year old boy, but if it wasn’t so long ago that you’ve forgotten, you probably remember when you were on that couch in my place and remember how if she’d left her hand there on you much more than the few seconds she did on me, you’d have been jerking and vibrating all over the couch just like I’d have been doing if she hadn’t taken her hand away pretty quickly. I was all red in the face and she laughed at me and patted it twice and said we’d have to do this again some time. I think it took me five minutes before I was breathing normally again and my face wasn’t flushed. Why do girls think something like that is funny, anyway?

When I told her about the reservations, that I was taking her to dinner on Valentine’s Day, we were in the back seat of Donny’s car, and she let me know how excited she was. I told her, and then she got so excited she stuck her hand down my pants. I put mine it her blouse, too. I figured maybe I should because she’d undone the clasp on the back of her bra before loosening my belt. So I put my hand in there, and man, that was good. 

She’d felt me before, but only from the outside. Now, she loosened my belt, then slid her hand down and inside my underpants, and I’d swear I almost came as she wrapped her fingers around the monster and started checking out what it felt like, and then said breathily in my ear, “You’re really big, Cory. And it’s so hot.”

I was rubbing her breast, trying to be real gentle like Donny told me they like. I felt her nipple and it was hard and sticking up, and there were little bumps all around it that were sticking up, too. Her whole breast was soft and felt nice. I very softly ran my fingers over her nipple and all around it and I heard her gasp, so I guess I was doing it right. I hadn’t got this far before. The time on her couch when I’d stuck my fingers in there, the bra was tight enough that the edges kept cutting into my fingers and I couldn’t move around much. This was better.

I could tell you more about being in that back seat, but this isn’t really about that, it’s about the Valentine’s Day dinner, more than anything else. Maybe we can come back to this, later, huh? If you want.

Anyway, I am getting all excited about the dinner, even if it is at six PM. Her mother is going to take us; one of my parents is going to pick us up when we call after we’re done. When I’d first told my parents I was hooked up with Marcie, my mother, being the sort of busybody that has to be involved in everything and sees no harm at all in embarrassing the very life out of me, had called Marcie’s mother and now they are friends, and they’d arranged the evening’s driving together. I was going back to Marcie’s house for a while after the restaurant.

I wouldn’t have to go home till around midnight, but then my mother or father would pick me up. Marcie’s mother, who was a young widow, had a date herself that night and Marcie had said we might be alone in her house if her mother’s date took her out instead of staying in, that they hadn’t decided yet. I had a pretty good idea what it would mean if we had the house to ourselves for a couple hours, and I was excited as hell. I’d even scored a condom from Donny. I’d asked for two, but he’d just laughed at me.

So it’s now four in the afternoon and I’m getting nervous. No reason I should be, except I’ve never taken a girl to a nice restaurant before. Actually, Marcie is the first girl I’ve ever dated, so just about everything I do with her is a first, but a dinner date on Valentine’s Day still is something special. This is a semi-big deal. I’m going to wear a suit and tie and I’ve bought her a corsage I’m going to surprise her with. So I’m nervous about all this, and especially about what we are going to do later, after dinner, something I’ve never done before but am looking forward to about as eagerly as I’d been looking forward to my first kiss only about a month ago. Hey, I’m 15. It’s about time I did these things, don’t you think? And I’m not talking about only the kissing and the manual explorations.

I’m starting to get ready. I take my shower and think about the pros and cons of jacking off. If I do, I won’t be so eager tonight and that might be a good thing. When she touched me before, I almost came, I wasn’t just kidding about that earlier, and I don’t want that to happen tonight. What if I’m just putting the rubber on—no, wait a minute, what if SHE’S just putting the rubber on me, oh wow!—and I come. Can you use the rubber again? I don’t think you’re supposed to, are you? But I only have one.­­ That would be bad. Actually, that would be a catastrophe! 

So I probably should. Do it, I mean. However, if I don’t, I’ll be a lot more excited all evening and that will be fun, living with all that excitement and the anticipation building up, and there’ll be a lot more excitement if I am really horny, the kind of horny you get when you haven’t just jacked off. I’ll hardly be able to stand it, and then when the time comes, I think it will be a lot better if I haven’t already taken care of myself earlier, something like the first hill on a roller coaster being the best, and the anticipation being part of what is making it so great. You don’t go over a smaller hill first; it would take away some of the rush.

I’m not sure what to do, but then the issue settles itself. It’s difficult to be in the shower when you’re 15 and thinking about things like that and have a bar of soap in your hand without nature stepping in and settling the issue for you. Unless you’ve got more will power than I do.

I’m out of the shower and drying off, still a little hard, when I hear the phone ringing. I’m the only one home at this time of day so have to run to get it. I don’t wrap the towel around myself. It always feels so, what, liberating, I guess, running through the house naked, and now, still a little big like I am and still feeling some of the excitement of the shower, it feels really good.

It’s Marcie.

“Hi, Cory,” she says, in reply to my hello.

“Hey, Marcie.” I’m a little out of breath, for whatever reason. “I was just starting to get ready. Just got out of the shower. You excited about tonight?”

“Sure. It going to be great, I’m sure. But I have to tell you something. I hope you aren’t disappointed.” Her voice sounds concerned, so I get a little worried.

“You’re not canceling, are you.” The worry grows to close to panic. I’m so counting on what I’m sure is going to happen later actually happening. I was sure when I got up this morning it was the last time I was going to get up a virgin. Now, instead, I can feel my plans for the evening going up in smoke.

“No, not that. It’s just, well, I guess I just have to say it. My mother can be a real bitch sometimes, and she is right now. I told you my mother might have a date tonight, and she has. But her date has a kid and the guy couldn’t get a babysitter for her so my mother told him to bring her along and she could join you and me and we could go out to dinner as a threesome instead.”

“But Marcie!”

“I know, Cory. I’m sorry. I was really looking forward to this being a romantic dinner, too. Just the two of us, a dim lit restaurant, maybe candles on the table, both of us dressed up, my first date like that ever. And on Valentine’s Day! I’ve been dreaming about it since you asked me.”

“It’s not only the dinner, Marcie. Afterwards, too!” I don’t tell her that as the day has progressed, the dinner has been getting more and more pushed into the background of my thinking, something for me to just get through before we get to the really good part.

“Me, too, Cory! I was thinking about that all day. Now I don’t see how we can, unless somehow we can ditch Robin—that’s her name—in front of the TV set, but even that might not work. What if she came looking for us and we were in my bedroom with the door locked? Even if she didn’t tell, she’d have that to hold over my head forever, if like, her father and my mother become a couple.”

“How old is Robin?”

”She’s 15. At least it won’t be like we’re dragging an 8-year-old to dinner with us.”

Marcie says her mother has been dating this guy for a while now and Marcie thinks they might even be getting serious. She’s met the guy several times and likes him okay. She’s heard he has a kid but has never met her. Tonight will be the first time for that. It also looks like no matter what, she is going to absolutely ruin our plans.

“Isn’t there something we can do to get out of it? Hey, I know! The reservation is only for two! No way can we bring a third! That’s it. Just tell her the restaurant doesn’t have room!”

“I already thought of that, and told my mother. She asked the name of the restaurant and called them. They have us scheduled at a table for four, so it’s no problem for them.”

“Wait a minute, Marcie. Your mother is supposed to drive us to the restaurant. How can she do that if she’s on a date?”

“She says they’re going out later, that since we’re eating so early, she can take us.”

“Damn! Really damn. Shit! Oops, sorry Marcie.”

“It’s okay. It is shitty.”

I laugh. If you saw Marcie, you’d understand. She was small and blonde and cute and you could never imagine a word like that coming from her. She always surprised me, how eager she was to mess around. She looks like a pure and innocent choirgirl. Dresses like one, too. Yet when we are together alone, she acts as horny as I do, really eager, you know? It is one of the things that really turn me on about her.

Then I stop laughing, remembering how our evening looks like it is going to be ruined. We talk about it and neither of us can see any way out. 

There is one good thing, however. Because Marcie’s mother knows she is screwing up Marcie’s date, she’s told her that she’ll pay for all our dinners. That is good news for me, because this is a pretty fancy restaurant and it is going to cost me about half my savings to take Marcie there. So I am going to trade a free meal for no sex. I would have preferred the sex, but free food is good too.

I am suddenly glad I’d jacked off. Now there is no reason not to have.

- - - [] - - -

It is only about a ten-minute ride to the restaurant from Marcie’s house, so Dad drops me off at the bottom of her driveway at quarter to six. I’m dressed up, hair combed, shoes shined—I think I look pretty sharp. I guess as sharp as I get. My mom always tells me that I’m handsome. She’s always saying that. She said it tonight, just before we left. My dad told me, when I came downstairs, he supposed that was the best I could do with what I had to work with. My dad thinks he’s a riot. At least he was cool enough to grin when he said it.

I go up and knock on the door, the corsage in my hand, sort of behind my back. Marcie opens the door, and my mouth probably falls open a little. She’s gorgeous. She always looks real pretty, but now she looks older somehow, and, well, wow! She has just a little makeup on and her eyes and lashes look bigger, more mysterious than usual. She’s done her hair differently and it shines. She has heels on and a black dress that leaves her shoulder bare, and she’s wearing a thin gold chain around her neck with a gold heart dangling against her bare skin. I can’t help myself and I look down. I can’t see her breasts, they’re covered, but I can see the top of them and the curve they make disappearing into her dress. She’s hot!

I tell her how good she looks. She blushes because maybe I go on too long or because of what she hears in my voice, and then she steps back from the door and lets me walk into the front hallway. I hand her the corsage. It’s the type worn on the wrist. I’m glad I bought that kind. I never would have been able stand next to her to pin a corsage on that dress without getting so hard I’d probably split my pants, or maybe have to change them.

She’s putting the corsage on and I’m watching her when I feel someone else in the hall behind me.

Thinking it’s Robin, I turn to greet her. For the second time in only about a minute, I feel stunned. Standing there is probably the most gorgeous boy I’ve ever seen in my life.

He looks to be my age. He has black hair that is so black it seems to have purple and auburn highlights which shimmer in the light when he moves. It is long and thick and wavy and styled so it frames his slightly pale face, complementing and contrasting with his light skin, skin that is absolutely perfect with a slight flush along his high cheek bones. His dark eyes seem to have a life of their own which sparkles from deep within them. His full and deep red lips are slightly parted and white, even teeth can be glimpsed inside. He is slightly taller than I am, and slimmer. 

He has on dark dress pants with sharp creases down the front of each leg, a crisp white long sleeved shirt open at the throat which has the cuffs rolled up only two turns so they are just above his wrists. He had a gold wristwatch on one wrist and a gold chain bracelet on the other that contrasts with and sets off the pale color of the skin on his thin wrists. A matching gold chain hangs around his neck and I catch a glimpse of his hairless chest because the top two buttons of his shirt are unfastened. His black dress shoes are perfectly polished and shine so brightly they almost look like patent leather. He is incredibly handsome, and that coupled with the effect his dress and presence make, leaves me almost stunned, and totally speechless. 

Marcie looks up, sees me looking at him, and says, “Cory, this is Robin.”

As I’m speechless, I don’t answer, but just remain looking at him.

“Hi,” he says, his voice a tenor, like mine. However, mine makes me sound like a girl. His voice is rich and vibrant and sounds sexy. Even if I only have heard him speak one word. Maybe it’s the way his eyes flash when he says it.

He sticks out his hand, and I come out of my trance. I take his hand, and it’s warm and feels good in mine.

Then, finally, some sense comes back to me. “But, you’re supposed to be a girl,” I say.

He laughs. Incredible sound, his laugh. Not a titter, not a roar, just a really pleasant, full laugh, showing he’s happy and having fun, and it makes me tingle, hearing it.

Marcie says, “That’s what I thought. Robin is a boy’s name, too, I guess. I just assumed he was a girl. Mom never really said, just used the name Robin when referring to her, uh, him, and I just assumed. It’s okay, isn’t it, Cory?”

I suddenly realize Robin never let go of my hand. We are still holding each other’s. I let go. I am still looking at him, and in fact finding it difficult not to. 

Finally, I force myself to break my eyes away and turn to Marcie. “Sure. No problem. Hi, Robin.” I smile at him.

He smiles back, and then the smile fades.

“Guys, I’m really sorry about this,” he says. “I know I’m butting in. I told my dad I’d just stay home, and he said nothing doing, and arguing with him doesn’t ever get me anywhere. Then I told your mother, Marcie, that I could just watch TV, but she said it was all arranged with the restaurant and all right with you two. I’ll bet she never even asked you two! Now I see you both looking so great, I just know I’m ruining it for you. This was going to be a big romantic evening, wasn’t it? Marcie, you look so beautiful in that dress, and, well, I’m not supposed to say things about another boy, but Cory, you look, I can’t say handsome, can I? Or also beautiful, either, which is true. So I’ll just say you look like a million bucks.” He looks a combination of embarrassed by the phrase and like he was laughing at himself and it made him look so cute it was unreal.

“This was supposed to be a special night for both of you, wasn’t it?” he asks, looking back and forth between us.

Marcie nods and her smile fades a bit. Robin sees it and his face changes. He looks at me, and I’m not smiling either, the memory of what was to have been brought back by his question.

“Damn! I’m so sorry.” He’s looking upset, and suddenly I don’t want him to be upset. This beautiful boy should never be upset. I realize I want him to feel good, and not to worry about my feelings at all.

“Hey, Robin, it’s okay. It’s just a dinner, and it’ll be fun if you join us. Now that we’ve met, I’m glad you’re coming with us. It’s okay with you, too, isn’t it, Marcie?”

She briefly looks surprised by my sudden change in attitude, but then just as quickly smiles at Robin, not her thousand watt smile but a smile nevertheless, and says, “Absolutely. We’ll have a chance to get to know you better. It’ll be fun.”

“Do you have a jacket,” I ask him. “When I made the reservations they said it was coats and ties on Valentine’s Day. Seems the women like an excuse to dress up, so that’s the rule.”

“Yeah, Dad made me bring one.”

“You’d better get it. We’ve got to run or we’ll be late.”

While Marcie is collecting her mother, Robin opens the hall closet and brings out a bright blue blazer and darker but matching blue tie. “I’m ready,” he says.

He slips on the jacket, and I suddenly realize that his eyes aren’t just dark, they’re a really dark blue, and the jacket brings the color to life. As if he needs more help to look amazing.

I sit in the backseat with Marcie; Robin sits in the front. Both Marcie’s mother and Marcie seem to treat Robin like just another kid. Can’t they see how remarkable he is? I don’t get it.

But then, I don’t get other people in general. Take sex for instance. I think about sex all the time. I’ve decided I’m just not normal. Other kids just don’t do that like I do. They don’t! I watch them. I sit at one of the picnic tables in the outside open area at school and watch all the other kids. One group of boys will be roughhousing, chasing each other, laughing, pretend fighting, obviously not thinking about sex. Another group will be talking to each other, sitting around casually, some of the guys with an arm thrown over another’s shoulder.

Some guys will be chatting up girls in groups and they’ll all be laughing together, smiling, teasing each other, some of them blushing. Some loners will be reading or thinking or, like me, just watching what’s going on. But none of them are thinking about sex. None of them are fidgeting, or holding a jacket or book in their lap, or have a hand in their pocket secretly touching themselves, or sporting a full boner and not caring if their pants are pooched out a bit. Not one. I’m the only one who thinks about sex all the time.

Now don’t get me wrong here. I’m not complaining. If I’m abnormal, so be it. It’s better to be like I am than like they are. I wouldn’t trade or anything. I like thinking about sex. For the past year or so, it’s been a big part of my life. A good one.

I think about it all the time. And now, with Robin in the car, I’m having these thoughts. I’m talking to Marcie, I’m listening to the conversation Marcie’s mother is having with Robin, but I’m still thinking about sex. What bothers me is I’m thinking about Robin and sex. I’m wondering what he looks like naked.

Now I’m not gay or anything. Sure, I look at the other boys in the locker room. Who doesn’t? But that doesn’t mean I’m gay. I’m going out with Marcie, aren’t I? That proves it.

But I can’t help but wonder about Robin. I mean, he’s so perfect! So I’m wondering, wondering if he’s perfect down there, too, and what it looks like, and I’m imagining it, and I feel myself responding a little. Well, more than a little. No problem there. No way Marcie will see it, dark car and dark pants doing what they do, and even if she does, she’ll think I’m thinking about her. Might even be a good thing!

But a little part of me wonders, why am I thinking about him like that, and is that all right? Should I be doing that? I don’t really have an answer. I don’t stop thinking about him, either. Sometimes when I start thinking about sex, which I do a lot, it’s hard to stop.

The restaurant is beautiful. Waiters in tuxedoes, white tablecloths and fresh flowers on all the tables, candles providing their lambent, romantic light, soft and unobtrusive dinner music playing, the low hum of conversation, the smell of rich food, it all combines into an atmosphere of elegance. I guess some of those things don’t qualify as beautiful, do they? Smells and sounds and all, they’re not beautiful, but together that’s what they add up to. The maitre’D says he can seat us immediately and escorts us to our table. I hold Marcie’s chair for her. She actually blushes, then gives me a look that sort of makes me melt and wonder what time Robin is leaving tonight. Damn, I want to be with her after dinner. Especially if she is going to look at me like that.

Marcie’s mother told Marcie she’d pick up the tab up to $120 and gave her that much cash. After that, we have to pay the rest. I look at the menu and gulp. The prices run about $30 an entrée, and everything is ala carte. I can explain that. It means you have to pay extra for everything you order besides the entrée. Order some asparagus with hollandaise sauce, you pay extra! Not that I was about to do that. Not even if I didn’t have to pay extra for it.

I start to worry, but then realize, I have my money, and can easily pay for whatever is over $120. 

We all order. The food is great. I am enjoying myself. Robin is fun. Marcie and I seem just a little shell-shocked by the restaurant. It is much fancier, much higher class than either of us is used to. It doesn’t seem to be affecting Robin at all. He is a smart kid; you can tell by the way he talks and how quickly he picks up on things. Being here, being with us, two kids he doesn’t know at all, doesn’t seem to faze him in the least. He just carries his part of the conversation and is natural and at ease, although he keeps apologizing for being a spare boy at the table.

Actually, we are all having fun. We are all laughing a lot. I think Marcie and I are doing it a little to relieve the tension of being in such a fancy place, but Robin is making jokes and they are causing us to laugh, too. He’s totally charming. I realize I’m not talking much and in fact seem to be mostly just staring at Robin. I find it difficult to look away. His looks aren’t the only thing fascinating me; his whole personality has me transfixed.

We are eating when Marcie starts rubbing my foot under the table. I guess I don’t need to say that, do I? Where else would my foot be? But she is rubbing it with hers, and almost immediately I am hard. I told you I think about sex too much. But if some fantastic looking girl who seems to want it as much as I do, and who is wearing a dress that makes her look like an angel but you can see the top of her breasts, starts rubbing your foot, and you don’t get hard, then you’re not 15, I’ll guarantee you that. At least that snaps my mind off Robin.

I can see that Marcie is thinking about Robin a lot, too. He’s so comfortable with himself, doesn’t seem nearly as self-conscious as I always am and is such a good conversationalist that it’s almost like he’s entertaining us when he’s talking. Marcie’s watching him intently; I begin to feel maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bring him. She’s supposed to be looking at me that way, not him.

Then I watch as she starts talking back to him, being funny and clever too, her eyes bright, and I suddenly realize, she’s flirting with him! She’s batting her eyes and fidgeting with her hair and smiling and, hell, she’s flirting!

I look at him to see if he notices, and maybe he does. I can’t really tell. I look at him and about all I can see is handsome, incredibly handsome, and it detracts from any other thought. It’s like it sort of numbs my mind, freezes it, and all I can focus on is him. But he’s smiling at her, and answering her, and I realize that I’m getting jealous. What takes the cake, though, is, I can’t tell who I’m jealous of, her or him. I just feel really weird.

We have a great meal and then have Bananas Foster for dessert. They bring this cart to our table and mix up a lot of stuff in this shiny silver frying pan, throw in some sliced bananas and brown sugar and cook if for a while, then, poof, light it on fire! It goes up like it was gasoline or something! They let it burn for about a while, then pour it all over some dishes of ice cream. Man, that stuff is goooood! I think it might even have had some liquor in it!

After dinner, we walk outside. I’d had called my dad on my cell when we were eating dessert and he’d said he was on his way. We look around, and there’s my dad’s car waiting.

We get in, and I introduce Robin and Marcie to him. He smiles and says hello to each. I’m expecting him to at least blink. These are about the two best looking kids I’ve ever seen, and they’re dressed like they came out of a fashion magazine, for cripes sake. He doesn’t seem surprised at all. Am I the only one who can see how special they both are? The waiters hadn’t seemed flustered or even surprised either. What’s with all these people?

I remind Dad he’s taking us to Marcie’s.

“There’s been a change in plans, Cory. Marcie’s mother called. She wondered if we’d have room for you three tonight. I guess she’s having a late date and thought it would be better if you guys could stay at our house tonight.”

He turns back to see where he is going, but I can see his face in profile from the back seat and it looks to me like he is blushing a little. It makes me think about what Marcie’s mother might really be needing her house for tonight. It is Valentine’s Day, after all.

“I stopped over there and your mother had a bag packed of what you’ll need, Marcie, and I picked up your bag, too, Robin. If either of you need anything else, I’m sure we’ll have it.”

Damn, damn, damn! There goes any hope at all for getting it on with Marcie. I’ve been so eager. I am going to get up tomorrow just as virginal as I was today. Crapola!

When we get home, it isn’t even eight o’clock yet. The evening stretches ahead of us. I like Marcie fine, but sitting around and simply talking to her isn’t what I most like about her. And I don’t know Robin very well, and frankly, he is so good looking I feel a little intimidated by him and don’t think I can hold up my end of any sort of conversation with him. I’ll look like a doofus, and I so don’t want to do that with him.

To my surprise, the solution to the problem comes from a totally unexpected source. My younger brother Bradley, all energy and enthusiasm as usual, talks us into playing Clue. We all sit at the kitchen table and I can’t believe how much fun it is. Marcie’s changed out of her gown into jeans and a sweatshirt and both Robin and I have put on casual clothes as well. Robin says he loves Clue, and as we play, he provides accents for all the characters and has us all laughing. We play three games, all having a great time. After that we watch a little TV and then my mother says it’s time for bed.

We have four bedrooms, which means there’s one guest room. Marcie gets that, and Mom says Robin can sleep with me. I have a double bed. When everyone’s said goodnight, we’re in my room with the door closed.

Robin looks at me, and for the first time, his self-confidence seems to leave him. He actually looks nervous.

“Uh, how are we doing this?” he asks.

I’m nervous too. I’m sleeping in the same room with this guy, and even though I’m not gay, he excites the hell out of me. I’m 15, I think about sex all the time, and now I’m supposed to sleep in the same room with this guy. Of course I’m nervous.

I look at him, and then giggle. He looks confused, and I giggle some more. “I think you look nervous. I’m nervous too. And that’s funny because neither of us have anything to be nervous about. Let’s just talk about it.”

He looks relieved, and takes a deep breath, then smiles. “I am nervous. You’re right, no reason I should be.”

“Good,” I say. “Now there’s the bed, and there’s the floor, and the bed is more comfortable and there’s room for both. But if you want the bed by yourself, I’ll sleep on the floor. You’re the guest.”

I see just a flicker of his nervousness return, then he says, “Can we both sleep in the bed? I don’t want to kick you out.”

“Sure, that’ll be great. How do you sleep?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, do you wear pajamas?”

“No, I don’t wear anything to sleep in at home, but can wear boxers and a tee shirt tonight.”

I don’t know where I get the nerve, but I giggle a little and say, “Nude’s okay with me.” I’d love to see him nude.

He looks shocked and asks, “Are you going to sleep nude?”

“No, but you can.” I wiggle my eyebrows, doing a weak Groucho Marx impression, and he just looks at me, and I suddenly feel like I’m five years old and stupid. I stop smiling and say, “Hey, I’m just being silly, and it isn’t working. I’m sorry. I’ll wear a tee shirt and boxers, too.”

“Okay. Now can you tell me where the bathroom is?”

I show him, and while he’s there, I undress and put on clean boxers and a clean tee shirt. He comes back, and I go to the bathroom.

When I’m in the hall on my way back, Marcie steps out of her room and we meet.

She grabs my arms, looks around quickly, then pulls me into her room, mostly closing the door. She kisses me, and makes it a passionate kiss. I get hard, and she reaches down and feels it through my boxers, then strokes it a little. I hear my parents’ door open, and get really nervous.

“We can’t do this here, Marcie,” I breathe in her ear.

“I wish we could,” she says, taking my hand and putting in on her breast under the tee shirt she’s wearing.

“We can’t! I have to go.”

“Come back in the middle of the night. 2 AM or something. Wake me up! We can do it.”

I look at her. Her eyes are full of desire. I’m hard as a rock. She’s still got her hand on it. 

“I’ve got to go,” I say, hating the words.

I move away from her and peek through her slightly opened door. The hall’s empty. I quickly go back to my room.

Robin’s in bed with the bedside lamp on. He looks up at me, then down at my boxers. I quickly glance at them, afraid I’m sticking out through the front gap, relieved to see I’m not. This is bad enough. 

“Saying good night to Marcie?” he asks with a huge grin on his face.

I blush. I can’t help it. I also put my hand over myself out of embarrassment and walk over to the bed, get in, and turn out the bedside lamp as quickly as I can.

“Sorry about that. Yeah, a goodnight kiss.”

“Wow! She must be some kisser.”

“She really is,” I answer, and just thinking about it, and what she wants to do later, keeps me hard as steel.

Robin is quiet for a moment, and I’m thinking about Marcie, so don’t say anything either.

Finally he speaks, and I’m surprised at the tone I hear in his voice. The confident timbre of before is gone, and what I hear sounds more like a young, timid boy.

“I sure wish I had someone like that.”

I’m shocked. “Robin! You can have anyone you want.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Robin! You don’t need me to tell you how great you are, do you?”

“I’m not great. I’m just me. I’ve never had someone to love like you do Marcie. I’m not handsome like you are; I don’t have your personality, your way of carrying yourself. Just by standing quietly and watching something, there’s a presence about you that’s incredible. I talk all the time to cover my nervousness. I fidget and move my arms too much and look geeky. You’re just incredibly cool and have the nerve to ask someone like Marcie out. I can’t do any of that.”

I don’t believe my ears. On a scale of handsomeness, one to one hundred, I’m probably in the teens and he’s about 99 and a half. At dinner he held both Marcie and me under his spell, chatting effortlessly and amusingly. He’s got everything, but he really doesn’t have a clue. 

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you how amazing you look?” I ask him.

He gives a sort of grunt. “My mom did before she died. I guess a couple of girls have told me they think I’m good looking, but they just wanted a boyfriend to go to school dances with. I look in the mirror. I know I’m nothing special.”

“Robin, that just isn’t true. You’re gorgeous. You’re the handsomest boy I’ve ever met. Everything about you is, well, I don’t know how to say it. You’re terrific, Robin. You really are. I can’t believe you’re unaware of it!”

He is quiet, I guess thinking about what I’ve said. When he speaks, there is a longing in his voice. “I wish that were true. I see how Marcie looks at you, and you at her. I’ve never had that. I’ve never done anything with anyone, and I really want to. I want to so badly it hurts. But it’s harder for me.”

“Why?”

“Because most boys have half the population to look at. I’m gay, and I have maybe 10% of the same half. And I don’t know who they are.”

“You’re gay?”

“I thought you knew. Didn’t Marcie tell you?”

“She knows?”

“Yeah, I think so. My dad told her mom a long time ago. I don’t keep it secret. I would have said something earlier if I’d thought you didn’t know. Hey, you didn’t, did you? And now we’re in bed together. I’m sorry.”

He begins to get up. I am a whole mixture of feelings. I really like this boy. He excites me, turns me on, like no boy I’ve ever seen before. I’ve been telling myself, almost constantly since I’d met him earlier, that I am straight. I’ve kept telling myself, and myself has kept responding as though it didn’t speak my language. So there is that. Also, it is incredible to me that he has felt the same uncertainty, the same self-doubt, I’d had before I’d had the courage to ask Marcie out, that I still felt afterwards if you want to hear the real truth. And also I guess, hearing him like this, this beautiful and lonely boy, I feel some compassion for him. I hate the idea that he is this unhappy.

Without giving it much thought, just knowing I have feelings for this boy, I reach over and grab his arm. “Don’t get up.”

“But I’m gay.”

“So what? You’re not going to rape me, are you?”

“No.”

“Okay then. And we’re not through talking, anyway. Even if you’re gay, the way you look, I’d think other gay boys would be making passes at you, coming on to you, and the very least making friends with you. Robin, whether you believe it or not, you’re incredibly good looking! Really.”

“Well, no one has ever told me that, or come on to me at all. I’ve never even kissed anyone.”

“I hadn’t before, either, till I had the guts to kiss Marcie.”

“What was it like? As good as you’d thought it would be?”

“Better, really. I got hard right away. I think there’s a direct connection between my lips and dick. Every time she kisses me, I get stiff.”

He sighed. There was a pause, then, softly, “I hope I can find out some day.”

I’m not sure what to say. Before I can think of anything, he has another question. “Have you done anything besides kissing her?”

“Yeah, we’ve touched each other. That feels fantastic. You have no idea.”

“I wish I did. I’ve dreamed about it. I think about it all the time, and wonder if I’ll ever meet someone I can try stuff with. Touching another boy, that would be so good. Another boy who wants to touch me back. I’ve thought of doing other things, too.”

“We really haven’t done anything else other than kissing and touching. We were going to—” I stop. I realize what I’ve said too late.

He sits up in bed. I can see him in the dim light through my window. “You were going to do more tonight, weren’t you? And I ruined it. Oh, Cory, I’m so sorry.”

I want him not to feel bad. So I say the only thing I can think of. “You’re not stopping anything. She wants me to join her tonight. In her room. She told me to come in later.”

“Really! How great for you! Damn, that’s hot.”

He’s happy for me. He’s not thinking of himself at all, not like most teenagers do. I can tell, he’s genuinely happy for me.

I want him to be happy, too. And, I am still hard, from what Marcie has planned, from her touching me, and from thinking about Robin, from lying in bed next to him, talking about sex. I’m really mixed up.

I try to think, but my thoughts are too jumbled by my mixed up emotions. I try to think, I lie there, the silence builds, and then I hear something. Robin’s on his side, facing away from me, and I turn to look at his back, and see it’s shaking slightly. I put my hand on it, and he stiffens. I roll over to him and say, softly, “Are you crying?”

He doesn’t answer, but I feel the shaking resume.

I feel awful for him. And something else, too. Desire. How can I feel desire for Marcie, and for him, too, at the same time? I don’t know. But I do.

I want to roll over next to him and hold him, cuddle him. But I’m still hard, and with only two layers of boxers between us, it’ll be awfully obvious, and what will he think?

He shakes a little harder, and I stop thinking. I just slide over to him and press my body against his back, wrapping my arms around him, one over the top, one sneaking under him and holding him from underneath. I pull him tight to me. My boner settles comfortably against his ass, and I try to ignore it.

“Robin?”

It takes a few moments, but then, “Yeah?”

“I want to kiss you.”

No reply.

“I said, I want to kiss you.”

In a shaky voice, he says, “You’re feeling sorry for me.”

“A little,” I admit, “but it’s a lot more than that. I find you so sexy I can hardly stand it. I’ve been mostly hard all night, and mostly because of you.”

“But you’re straight.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself, too. But I’m still hard.”

He thinks about that. Then he turns in my arms, and we’re facing each other, me still holding him, our faces only inches apart. “I’ve wanted to kiss a boy since I was eight. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment I saw you in Marcie’s hall,” he says, and there is urgency in his voice.

I look in his eyes, what I can see of them in the dim light. He looks back at me just as intensely and says, “I’ve been perving on you all night.” He grins, and I think I fall in love at that moment; he’s so beautiful.

Then our lips come together.

It takes me about two seconds to realize kissing Marcie and kissing Robin are two things that are not a bit alike. I know I love kissing Marcie. It is exciting and gets me hard immediately and turns me on and I love it. It helps me understand the meaning of the word “lust.” I mean, if you don’t understand what “lust” means, try kissing Marcie. You’ll know.

Kissing Robin is different. The entire experience is different. He feels different to hold. He is hard where she is soft, even his lips are firmer. He smells different, and the smell, subtle as it is, mixed with the scent of a man’s deodorant rather than a girl’s, awakens my senses. His reactions, too, aren’t hers. She melts into me when I kiss her. If anything, he stiffens up and tries to pull me tighter into him.

And then, of course there are the differences down below. And, I quickly learn, feeling his hardness there isn’t something to disgust me or turn me off. If I were straight, that would be my reaction, wouldn’t it? I’d wondered about that. But that isn’t my reaction at all. While he is trying to pull me closer to him, I am trying to do the same thing to him. I want to feel that hardness against me as close as I can get it. No, it doesn’t disgust me. It just increases my excitement to another level, or maybe ten.

We kiss for I don’t know how long. I have no idea, but suddenly I need air, and I pull back to take a deep breath. He takes one too, and then our lips are against each other’s again. This time, I open my mouth a little, he keeps his lips with mine and so opens his, too, and then our tongues are dancing with each other.

I’d like to tell you how this makes me even harder than I had been, but I was already as hard as I could get, our two erections pressing against each other, moving a little side to side as we both wiggled and squirmed, neither one of us able to stay still. No, I don’t get harder, but it seems like I do. The feeling of his tongue against mine wakes up every nerve ending in my body.

When we both need to rest, we pull apart slightly, the top part of us at least. His eyes look glazed. I smile at him. I remember what my first kiss had been like, and realize that even though this was nothing like my first kiss with Marcie, I remember how that kiss had been almost overwhelming to me. If this kiss, his first, has been anything for him like what my first kiss had been to me, if this has been as intense for him, as soulful, and moving, and exciting, he must be in overload about now.

“Now you can’t say you’ve never been kissed,” I say to him. My voice sounds hoarse. I don’t recognize it as my own.

He just keeps staring at me. Well, staring and subtly moving his hips.

Finally he speaks. “That’s what you’ve been doing with Marcie?”

I’m not sure how to answer. But I am in bed with him now, not her, and I’m not about to lie. “No, that wasn’t what I’ve been doing with Marcie. What I’ve done with Marcie has felt about a tenth of what this was.”

He pulls away a little more to get a better view of my face. “Really? What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve never felt anything like this before in my life.”

“And it was good?”

“Are you kidding? Of course it was good! Didn’t you think so?”

He doesn’t answer. He just moves back and kisses me again.

After a while, he stops, then asks me why I kissed him when I first did.

“I’m not sure I can answer that entirely. It’s lots of things. But the one thing I know is, I really wanted to kiss you.”

“Do you want to do more than that?”

I don’t have to think about that. I can’t think very clearly at this point anyway, but I don’t need to. “Yes, I want to do more.” And I reach down and grasp his erection through his boxers.

“Wait a minute,” he says breathily, and pulls his tee shirt off, quickly followed by his boxers.

I catch on quickly. I do the same.

We fool around with each other, and in a little part of my brain, I can’t help but compare what I’m doing with Robin to what I’ve done with Marcie. There’s an analytical part of me that compares sensations and reactions and responses and excitement levels. Marcie is as eager as I am, wants sex as much, and I didn’t think anyone could be more eager than I was. Robin is. He’s never done anything before, and now he is getting to do so, and he is so excited it doesn’t take him long to reach his climax. Me neither, really. But then we have more time, and we use it. I’ve never done these things either. Things I’m doing now, they’re as new to me as they are to him. Every boy dreams of doing these things. Now I start to know what some of them feel like. I learn what it feels like to give as well as to get. I know a lot of things now I didn’t know before. 

I’ll still wake up a technically a virgin tomorrow, but that’s because we decide we don’t want to go that fast; we want to save new stuff to do; we want things we can still look forward to. What we have already done is plenty enough for tonight.

When we are both exhausted and deliriously happy, we are lying on our backs, our sides touching. He grins, I can hear it in his voice, and tells me, “Uh, I think it’s time for your appointment with Marcie.”

I roll my head to look at him. Yep, he is grinning. Now he’s laughing. I’m in love with a sadist! 

“I couldn’t even get out of bed if the house were burning down, and you want me to do that?”

“No, I don’t want you to. I’ll hate it if you do. But aren’t you obligated or something?” He’s laughing. He’s really enjoying this. The bastard.

“Fuck obligation. Oh, and I’ve decided something else.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m not so confused about that straight or gay business.”

“No?”

“No,” I say with an exhausted, completely self-contented smile on my face. “And if you’ll shut up, I’m going to sleep.”

And I do.

I see disappointment and questions in Marcie’s eyes at breakfast. It is then I suddenly realize I’m never going to be with her again, not like I was before. I know, right at this moment, that Marcie is behind me. I have some sadness about that, but it’s a fragmentary sort of feeling, nothing of great importance. I’ll have to tell her, and pretty quickly. That’s for later, though. What I’m feeling now, feeling about Robin, is so much more than what I felt when I was with her. I lusted for her. It was wonderful, it’s what 15-year-olds do, but it isn’t what I feel for Robin. That isn’t lust. I don’t really have the words to describe the difference in how I feel when I’m thinking about Marcie and then when I’m thinking about Robin. But the different is huge. It’s everything.

Okay, I’ll try to compare the two. Being with Marcie was great, rather like a cold winter morning when you’re snuggled in bed with warm blankets over you so only the tip of your nose is cold and you’re cozy and warm and it’s wonderful. You get up and go downstairs and your mother has a bowl of warm oatmeal waiting for you and it’s got brown sugar on it. She gives you a smile and a hug. It’s pretty special.

Being with Robin is like skyrockets and giant waterfalls, roller coasters and a hot air balloon rising overhead with the roar of its propane burner overwhelming all other sounds. It’s not oatmeal for breakfast, it’s eggs ranchero with rice and beans and hot corn tortillas and a salsa hot enough to bring tears to your eyes before you laugh and dig in for more.

Valentine’s Day is for falling in love, and for telling the one you love how you feel about them. I’d done both those things last night. My Valentine’s Day was perfect.

The End