He decided to skip fourth, fifth and sixth (again I presume) and I did too.

Whether or not he found my being with him a condolence or an annoyance, I stayed by his side, following him everywhere he went; well, except to the occasional trip to the men’s restroom.

You can imagine someone who barely likes to speak out loud speak even less in such a situation, and I was determined to think Jorge had enough humanity and good in him to actually feel for his grandmother’s death.

I’m hoping I’m not wrong in presuming as much.

He eventually decided to get in his car and turn on the ignition to leave. I opened the passenger door to my leisure and when he waited patiently, staring at the road ahead, I took that as I sign that perhaps I was right.

We went to his grandmothers house and from my puffy eyes do the desolation of the inside of the house, I felt deeply uncomfortable.

I withheld from saying anything as I followed him into the kitchen, where he drew out an orange juice carton and down what was left inside. He smacked his lips a bit before throwing it away and staring at the trash can.

I didn’t know what to do and not be insensitive.

He turned away from it and began to walk to a room, and dutifully I followed.

The door to what I remember as his grandmother’s room was wide open, the smell of nostalgia seeping from it like a curse.

He continued along the hallway to the door after the upcoming bathroom.

When he opened the door, the sun shined directly into my face from the curtain less windows and the simple white walls bounced it twice as strong.

His bed had a mess for covers and a single night stand at the foot of it was compact with books, papers, gum wrappers and the occasional cd.

The floor was strewn with clothes and I aimlessly wondered to thinking if he did his own laundry.

Much was my surprise when in the mists of a stereo on the floor being turned on and playing a Sum 41 album, two hands took hold of me and roamed.

I guess you could say I was in a state of shock or that I wanted it or that I had encouraged it or by far any other suggestion as to my opposing ‘going numb and confused’ routine.

He turned me to him; his head bowed and tried to push up my shirt.

And for the record, I did struggle, though probably less than I should have.

I shook my head, trying to get my voice above a whisper as I told him no. He pulled me to him, our bodies touching and with little gentleness took my chin in his hand to make me look up at him.

I regretted following him, wanting to comfort him and myself. My circulation seemed to falter.

He kissed my jaw with languid strokes of his tongue and I began to look around his room, trying to remain calm and decide on what to do. He moved his mouth to mine and I tried to be unresponsive, moving my head away, every once in a while telling him I couldn’t.

He ignored me and distracted me long enough to take off my shirt.

He wasn’t even kissing me for a full minute when this happened. There wasn’t tongue invasion or anything; just something to distract me long enough.

I stared at him the whole time, even as he moved away to push me unto the bed. I wanted to cry again and I found myself unable to do it.

He stopped kissing me to lean forward and hug me.

I was also wrong about that.

I hugged him in return, thinking this was the end.

He was trying to unclasp my bra and when I noticed a shrugged away from him whining.

It was becoming impossible to discourage him. I wasn’t even sure who to blame for it.

He pulled away with the patience he usually had with the world and tugged down a cup of my bra, exposing a breast.

I gasped and was shocked.

Even when he lowered his head and took it in his mouth I had a difficult time thinking.

I couldn’t even stop myself from moaning. My fingers went through his hair and I tugged them to pull his head up to mine to kiss him and he bequeathed a small one on my lips, hugging me and successfully managing to unclasp my bra and remove it, tossing it to the other side of the bed.

I glanced at it and closed my eyes as he pushed me flat unto the bed, running his lips along my belly and the valley between my breasts as he unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, tugging them free along with my panties.

I had removed my shoes off at the entrance of the house, a rule for cleanliness, I suppose, leaving me with only my socks covering my skin.

He loomed over me, kissing my jaw again, using his tongue along the shell of my ear, and I, being hormonal and frankly pushed into horniness, yanked at his shirt.

He sat up, pulling off the shirt, throwing it alongside my clothing and standing up to remove his pants and briefs. I watched him with hot eyes. He was slender and not at all boney with a slim waist and wide shoulders. He opened a drawer from his nightstand and pulled out a condom.

I wasn’t paying attention to the situation or the possible severity and only watched him slide it on with fascination. I watched him as he spread my legs looking at me and making me blush but with the usual blank face and moved on top of me. Adjusting himself on his forearms, he spoke to me for the first time in hours.

“Are you a virgin?”

“Yes, but my hymen is broken.” He merely shuffled a bit, resting my thighs on his and he placed himself inside me.

I gasped as I clutched his shoulders. He moved rapidly, giving me little time to fully enjoy it and making me moan loudly every millisecond.

As I felt each new wave of pleasure I busied my mouth and fingers. Though his head was turned away, I kissed and sucked at his nape and shoulder, my fingers carving into the beginnings of his underside.

And twenty minutes of thrusting later, he paused and asked me if he could come on me.

I just nodded; I wasn’t in my right mind to make decisions. So he thrust quickly a few more times, pulled out, removed the condom, and masturbated over me till he came on my abdomen.

I didn’t orgasm but I wasn’t in need for something more. Once he finished coming, making a few soft moans, he stood and left the room.

I stared at the ceiling. What the hell did I just do?

I heard water running in the bathroom and I looked down at myself. How stupid could I possibly be?

He came back, still nude and handed me a towel to clean myself. “You can go wash in the bathtub.”

I sat up, and walked to the bathroom, turning on the water and waiting for it to get at a comfortable temperature. I sat down, spreading my legs to rinse, soap and rinse again.

I felt dirty.

My first time was with someone who couldn’t care less about me and someone I hardly trusted, even less now.

He looked into the bathroom, glancing at me before turning back and I turned the water off.

I stood up, toweling myself dry and left the bathroom. I picked up my clothes from his room and got dressed behind his back as he removed his covers to wash them.

He was still naked.

When he came back, he wiggled his nose and rummaged on the stuff on the floor for his underwear and pants. I stood watching him.

He finished getting dressed and said, “Come on.” picking up the keys on his nightstand.

I followed him to his car and he drove me home.

I whispered goodbye and closed the door behind me, going into my house and making sure no one was around so I could take a bath and have a nice long cry in the shower.

Bloody hell, what was I doing?