History of Sorts

This post is a bit of a departure from my usual content. Today marks 44 years since I lost my virginity as a 14-year-old boy to a 16-year-old girl. Being reminded of that day inspired me to write this poem

—

The room grows quiet, standard noise recedes,
As hesitation gives way to where warmth leads.
A quiet tremble in the shadows cast,
The silent knowledge that the wait has passed.

Her fingers reach to lift the fabric high,
A breath held tight beneath the evening sky.
Slowly unveiled, her breasts emerge to view,
Soft curves lit gently in the twilight hue.
A rush of focus, stunning, raw, and clear—
The sudden marvel of her drawing near.

Beneath the shift of skin and quickened pace,
Answering heat takes hold and fills the space.
A firming surge, the body’s honest sign,
Where nervous wonder and desire align.
An erection rising, pulse made fierce and deep,
A waking instinct out of quiet sleep.

Fumbling, uncertain, yet completely present here,
Stripping away the old reserve and fear.
Two bodies learning what it means to yield,
In this first quiet, uncharted field.