Editor’s Note: This is an excerpt of Juliette del Fuego’s Throb, An Erotic Coming of Age Novel. The new author has penned what can only be described as a Latina 50 Shades of Grey. Here’s a tease. The steamy Throb is available now.
I wanted to have sex with a man.
In a fit of courage, I ripped a corner off a piece of lined paper, and wrote a short note, something about how I thought he should be the boy to relieve me of my virginity, if he was willing. I folded it up small and tight, and passed it to the person next to me. Within moments, it had been passed to Kyle. My cheeks burned with excitement and embarrassment as he unfolded it and read it. I heard him chuckle and whisper “whoa”. I pretended to be paying attention to whatever the teacher was saying. I could not bring myself to look at Kyle again the rest of the class. And then, the bell rang.
Afraid I’d done and said something incredibly stupid that might ruin my reputation and get me disowned by my father, I tried to hurry out of the room, but Kyle was upon me in an instant, a smile as wide as the sky on his almost intolerably handsome face. I tried to dodge past him, my cheeks on fire.
“Really?” he asked, standing in front of me to block my path. “You mean it?”
“What?” I asked, shyly.
Kyle laughed at me. “Excuse me? You sent me a note asking me to take your virginity and now you’re running away? Not cool.”
“Please,” I said, completely discombobulated. “I’m going to be late.”
“I had no idea you had such normal feelings,” he said, still blocking my way, enjoying this game of cat and mouse. “You act like an ice queen most of the time.”
“You’re very cute,” I whispered, ashamed.
“I’d love to, by the way,” he said. “Just so you know.”
I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, so he put his fingers beneath my chin, and lifted my face to his in the middle of the hallway as a herd of kids flowed past. I only saw him then – his eyes, and his mouth. The sarcasm that was usually present in his eyes was gone, replaced by a sexual hunger. He leaned in, and kissed me, gently, with closed lips, one time on the lips. In front of everyone. Tenderly.
“Carmen Noa, I’d be honored to deflower you,” he said, with a smart-ass grin.
Trembling, thrilled, and melting everywhere, I groped for his hand, and squeezed it. “You’re one of my best friends,” I told him. “That’s why I asked you.”
He looked surprised for a moment before saying, “Okay. And now I’ll be your best friend who f***s you.” He had that Kyle humor in his eyes, but I could tell he was nervous, too. He didn’t want to show it, but I knew him well enough by then to see it.
Who f***s you.
It was such strong language. I didn’t know what to make of it. I knew it thrilled me, but I knew that it was wrong to feel thrilled about this. I was bad. Dirty. Horrible. More than anything, I was afraid.
“I have to go,” I said.
“We’ll talk,” he said, watching me trip and stumble down the hall, away from him, wondering what I’d gotten myself into now.
It was a warm spring day when Kyle finally came for me. My father was on his side of the house, reading or talking on the phone or whatever it was he did. I took the pink comforter from my bed, and the boom box, and snuck out through the back yard, handing them over the cinderblock wall to Kyle in the alley behind my house. I was extremely nervous, shaking, and couldn’t think of anything to say as I got into the passenger’s seat of Kyle’s family sedan, and away we drove, toward the enormous purple WaterMelon mountains that flank the city of City X on the east.
I cannot recall what we talked about. I probably tried to make small talk, and Kyle probably made fun of me. That was how our friendship usually went. We did not hug or kiss, or do anything remotely boyfriendy-girlfriendy. We were two friends, one older and experienced (in high school, one year makes all the difference) and the other young and naive. He was phenomenally handsome, and I remember watching him drive and feeling a shivering thrill rip through me at the thought that he was going to be mine, and my first. I truly thought I loved him, though I lacked the emotional courage or language to tell him so.
Eventually, Kyle parked in a remote camping area, and we trekked off on a hiking trail in search of an isolated spot. It was quite matter-of-fact, and my heart was about to beat itself right up my throat and out of my mouth. Kyle seemed relaxed, joking around.
Then, finally, he found a spot. It was in the middle of the forest, a clear bit of earth beneath the boughs of an enormous pine tree. The other trees were close enough to give it the feeling of a small room. No one would see us here. I spread the pink comforter, and put the stereo on softly. Then, Kyle and I sat on the surprisingly hard ground, facing each other, and I saw something in his eyes I’d never seen there before. It was worry. I realized, with a shock, that for all his big talk, this guy was maybe almost as unsure what to do as I was.
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay,” I replied.
We began to kiss. Kyle was a very good kisser. Our mouths and tongues explored each other, and he kissed my neck. As he nuzzled me, Kyle seemed to be overtaken with confidence, because he groaned a bit, and pushed me down on my back, and climbed on top of me. I fought back, in jest. We rolled around a bit on the blanket. The electricity I felt in every pore was the most powerful thing I’d ever felt. I was ready. I wanted him. To this day I can remember the sweet scent of his breath, the warmth of his brown skin. We wrestled a little. I pretended I didn’t want him to pin me, but I did. I wanted him to control the situation, to take me.
Kyle held me down, grinning playfully.
“I want you inside me,” I said, because it was true and I knew nothing about foreplay.
“Not yet,” he said, lifting my shirt and unhooking my white cotton bra. Slowly, deliciously, he kissed my breasts, first the left, then the right, every inch of them. I’d never felt anything that good. I moaned a bit, and felt my back arch up on its own. This body, I realized, carried knowledge, handed down to me from my ancestors, of what to do. My hips began to rock on their own. I looked up at the trees, and the sky, and I felt incredibly free, and alive. And scared. People said it would hurt. I didn’t want it to hurt. They said you might bleed, and that scared me, too. What if I bled so much I needed a doctor? So many questions.
Kyle brought his lips to mine, and kissed me again. I could taste my own skin and sweat on them, and it excited me. He took my hand and pressed it against his crotch. His penis was very hard, and felt to me like a tube of toothpaste in his pants. He groaned when I touched him, and with one hand, he undid the zipper and button on his shorts. He peeled them down his sides, and revealed himself to me. It was the first time I had ever seen a penis up close and in person before, and I was struck by how pink and purple it looked, engorged with blood. It sort of bobbed there in space over me, with one wide open eye at the top.
“He’s so hopeful-looking,” I remember saying.
“He’s very hopeful right now,” I recall Kyle answering. We laughed then, and it helped ease the awkwardness of the moment.
I was clueless, of course, about what to do with it. And Kyle, in retrospect, was pretty clueless about what to do with me. So there was no more foreplay. We both simply removed our shorts, and in missionary position, as I held my breath and squeezed my eyes shut in anticipation of pain, Kyle carefully slid himself into my body. It did not hurt as people had warned me it would. It did not feel particularly good, either. It felt bulky, and intrusive, and scary. I was too nervous, suddenly, with the idea of a penis inside of me, and the possibility that I might get pregnant, to do anything but scream.
“Get it out! Get it out! Now!”
Kyle had only been inside of me for a couple of seconds. There had been no motion, beyond him pushing in.
“What?” he asked, pulling out in shock. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to get pregnant!” I shrieked.
“Aren’t you on anything?” he asked. “The pill or something?”
“No! I’m sixteen and a virgin!”
“Well, I’d say you’re still sixteen. But, you know. Technically.”
“I know,” I sobbed. “What have I done?”
Kyle frowned down at his penis. I watched as the purple thing began to shrink. Kyle was angry with me now.
“Oh, my God,” he said bitterly. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“What?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing,” he said sarcastically. “Best sex ever. C’mon, Carmen. That was fairly anticlimactic, don’t you think?” he asked. “World’s fastest deflowering. Ever. Jesus Christ.”
“I’m sorry, I just don’t want to get pregnant! I thought you’d bring a rubber or something.”
“Nah,” he said. “That would hurt your first time. I can control it. If you’d give me a chance before flipping out.”
I began to cry, afraid that I might already be pregnant, because back then I did not even really understand ejaculation, or how any of it worked.
