This is an honest telling of my first time, with all of the quirks and less-than-fantasy details. It is told from my memory of how I was thinking while it happened. I have tried to capture the awkwardness and the innocence as I remember it.
Janelle was an art major, and I was an electrical engineering major. We were a good contrasting pair. Both of us had never had a serious relationship before. She was from Canada, a child of Dutch immigrants. I was from Arizona, with no strong heritage except suburban American desert life. Janelle was an artist through and through. She wore round leather shoes, argyle socks, plaid pants, rugby shirts, and homemade scarves and hats.
She came from a family five sisters. All were platinum blonde, tall and very European looking, except for her. She was beautiful in a quiet, unassuming, organic way. Her hair was brown, her eyes were brown, she was medium height, with wide womanly hips and a slight pook in her belly. Her face was kind and sweet, with wrinkles of good humor creased into the corners of her eyes.
We were both extreme idealists who lived on a plane of impracticality that only college students can exist on. We got to know each other when a mutual friend invited us and a few other friends on a spring break trip to his uncle’s house in Regina, SK. We talked and flirted for a week. We chased geese at the park and tried to avoid falling poop. She put cornrows in my bushy blonde curly hair. We stayed up late playing cards at the uncle’s kitchen table, telling stories and getting to know each other.
Coming back to the university, we went on a walk along the river one night. We were enjoying our conversation so well that we walked to the end of the river trail and realized that it was very late and we had a long walk back. We didn’t care though, until it started to rain. We were freezing, and walking next to each other she leaned into me. I felt her slender shoulder bones against my chest, and her feminine form pressed into mine as she tried to steal some of my warmth. I put my arm over her shoulder, and she took my hand and placed it over her breast. I was giddy from the cold and the thrill of her body and the permission of her gesture. We drove back to the apartments on campus, and I felt like my heart would burst from joy as I dropped her off and said good night.
Since we had the same group of friends, we saw each other all the time. I wrote her long letters with love notes, philosophical ponderings, interesting things that had happened to me, anything. She would reply back with similar letters, and we relished the communication and the attention that we gave each other.
Janelle lived in an apartment with 3 other girls. The apartment had three bedrooms. The girls paired off between two of the bedrooms and filled the third bedroom with couches to use it as a movie theater with a projector.
We would watch documentaries together in that room but quickly get lost in kissing and forget about the show. After a few hours, we would be parched with thirst and bashfully exit the room into the living space where the other roommates would look at us with raised eyebrows and knowing smiles. I would be bashfully covering the giant wet spot on my pants where the precum had soaked through.