“O-K?” I repeated, my heart soaring. “It’s more than okay!”
I’d been so worried that when the time came for me to leave Japan and go to college, I would never see him again. It had been like a doomsday timeclock hanging over our relationship. But now…. “You’ll be just a few hours away from me in Mount Holyoke. Even less time if I get into RhIDS, which is weirdly closer. New England geography—so weird, right? But, oh, my God! Oh, my God! This is so amazing!”
I jumped out of bed. “Let’s go celebrate. I’ll tell my parents that I’m going out with the girls from art club.”
Victor climbed out of bed, too. His body was as powerful as a jaguar’s underneath his school uniform. I still can’t figure out how he had the nerve to think I didn’t find him attractive when we first met.
I mean, yeah, I get that a lot of girls my age prefer the dainty, pretty guys in bands like SMAP and Kajani8. He’s also probably self-conscious about being mute. But Victor is built like an Olympian god. I can’t believe he seriously thought there was a chance any girl in her right mind wouldn’t say yes to being his girlfriend.
Victor winced and signed, “I cannot stay out too late. I have a meeting later tonight. But I know an izakaya that will serve us quickly. We can go there.”
I raised my hands to take him up on his invitation. I’d never been to an izakaya before. And I was curious about Japan’s version of a tapas bar. But somehow, even that didn’t feel like a big enough celebration for us getting to extend our relationship into the fall.
An alternative plan popped into my head.
“Or, if you want…” I hesitated, self-conscious and shy. “We could…”
Ugh! Sign language. Most of the time, I loved that it was easy and direct. But sometimes, it forced me to say things way more plainly than I wanted to.
Like, if I were just speaking, I would have used a clever euphemism like “go all the way” or “smash.”
But for this particular conversation, my whole face burned as I made one of the very graphic signs for HAVE SEX.
Victor froze.
Then he raised his hands to slowly sign, “You want to have sex?”
Oh God, could this conversation be more embarrassing?
We’d made out. Man, we’d made out. Behind the school. In his Bentley. Against walls. On top of his bed. And we’d touched a little. My hands had found my way underneath his shirt a few times, and I’d thrilled at the feel of him, all hard muscle covered in taut skin. A few times, he’d settled a hand on my breast.
Some of our bed kisses had gotten pretty intense too. We’d crawled all over each other, and I could feel his hard length against my soft stomach. But he’d always backed off. He’d never asked for more.
But here I was, asking for more.
Kind of.
Look, I had zero experience. I could only push myself so far. So instead of admitting that yes, I was an eighteen-year-old girl with sexual wants and needs, I asked-signed back. “Do you want to have sex with me?”
He lowered both hands to his hips. Looked to the side. Then he raised them again to ask, “Have you done this before?”
I told him the truth with my heart beating in my throat, “No.”
He expelled a harsh breath. Looked at me. Looked to the side again. Finally, he signed, “Dawn…I love you. I don’t want to hurt you.”
My heart stopped beating. He loved me?
Cue all the gooey feelings. And suddenly, the conversation became easy.
“I love you too,” I spoke-signed back emphatically. “That’s why I want my first time to be with you.”
He responded to my heartfelt statement with a flutter of signs I only sort of understood. What he’d called “frustration words” that were “better for you not to know” when I asked him about them previously.
Then he turned his back on me. Like he was thinking of walking out.
Now, it was my turn to look at the floor, my cheeks burning with shame.
He’d said he loved me, but obviously, this conversation was upsetting him. Maybe he loved me but didn’t desire me like that? Maybe he didn’t want me like I wanted him.
“It’s okay,” I mumbled, still looking down. “We don’t have to do anything. Let’s just go to your izy—”
I cut off when he slammed into me like a train, taking my mouth like he was gulping me down. I thrilled at his all-consuming kiss and the feel of him hard and heavy against my stomach.
He came at me hard and fast, but took his time removing my clothes like he was unwrapping a present until I was in my underwear.
Some feminine instinct told me to take off my own bra. To treat it like a reveal. And I was immediately rewarded for my showmanship.
