We went up to his room. It was quite neat for a teenage boy’s room.“Wow very… clean.”“Haha yeah. Well, I’m not in here much.”“Where ar... you usually?”“Outside. I don’t like to be cooped up.”“Words to live by”I sat down on his floor and he joined me. It was Friday, so his brother would be out all night, and his parents were going out with some friends and wouldn’t be back till late. I called my mom and told her where I was, and she told me to have fun and be home by midnight. Our conversation. The soft warmth, the gentle curves, the swell of a breast, the ample fullness of the buttocks. I remember the feel of her body against mine, how we fitted together in sleep, my protective arm over her, my hand cupping her breast. I remember the impulsiveness of our youth, when we didn’t sleep, when the hunger of our bodies required an urgent coupling; and the intensity of our love, when we tenderly explored each other’s bodies and discovered the needs and gratifications of the flesh. I remember. More

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