Open, Sesame

In the summer following my freshman year of high school, a big group of my friends and I walked to the beach to lie about on the sand, play volleyball and chicken (there’s a game invented just for horny teenagers) in Lake Michigan, and secretly perv on each other’s bodies.  At fifteen, our hormones were raging, which resulted in a lot of ridiculous “I’m flirting with you without flirting with you” language and furtive touching. 
I’d had a massive crush on a classmate for months – a tall nerdy guy with soft hair, glasses, and a wicked sense of humor.  We were good friends; he knew how I felt, but said he didn’t want a relationship.  When the sun got too hot to bear that afternoon, we all walked to his house to relax and cool down.  His room was dark; we had turned the lights out, and the blinds were drawn down, letting in only small rays of bright July sunshine.  We smelled like lake water and all of us piled on the small bed together to be cooled by his ceiling fan and warmed by each other’s bodies. 
I snuggled up to him as close as I dared, desperately wanting to reach out and touch him, even more desperately willing him to touch me.  I could almost feel his heart beating, and the fabric of his shirt touching my bare skin sent excited shivers throughout my body. 
And then he did touch me. 
He touched my stomach, and I moved into his touch.  His hand moved down to my leg, which I pressed against it, afraid to breathe, silently begging him to go on.  He traced his hand up my thigh and slid his fingers up my jean shorts and over my panties, moving them gently and deftly over my vulva.  Moving them back and forth, back and forth, until my body was a quivering mess and I thought for sure I was going to moan out loud and give myself away. 
I’d already lost my virginity at this point; had been fingered, had given blow jobs, had kissed lots of boys.  But this was the first time I’d ever felt genuine sexual desire.  Hunger.  It was like there was a parasitic beast inside of my gut saying, “Godohyesgodpleasepleasepleasetouchmetouchmemoretouchmetherefuckyes, yes, yes.”
This came out of not wanting to please someone else, but wanting someone else to please me.  This came out of a throbbing place in my cunt that welled up and said, “Yes.  This is for me.  This is something I crave.”  This came out of a growly place inside of me. 
And I loved it.  I knew when it happened: This is important.  Pay attention to this feeling.  Embrace this.
I still love it, but things are different now.  Now it’s much easier to say, “I want you,” and get on with it.  I miss that place where you know you want to fuck someone, and you know they want to fuck you, but you’re both trying to keep that desire in check, and sometimes, in the dark, with your friends around, it bursts out of you anyway – because it’s more powerful than you are.   



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