In hindsight we were too young. She was a year younger than me, and that night was my last lower school disco. It was the 80s, so we had these discos every month, but this was the leavers’ disco in July, so it was a big deal. We’d been together since February, and I’d had my hand inside her bra on a few occasions, not to mention once up her skirt, so when we left the disco for the music block, where I’d strategically left a window unlocked earlier in the day, I was hopeful that as well as some snogging, I might be able to get into her knickers.
There’s nothing you can do to disguise your erection when your girlfriend is sitting straddling your lap as you kiss, and you’re fondling her firm breasts. She seemed surprised it was there, and asked if I always got hard when we “get off with each other.” Of course I did, I was a teenager. And seeing as she had opened the subject, between kisses and stroking her nipple with the tip of my finger, I told her I often got hard fantasising about having sex with her. Again, she seemed surprised, but I’m sure I was more surprised when, as we rubbed against each other through our clothes she told me she thought about it too.
More kissing, more urgency, the elephant in the small room pushing us closer, raising the temperature. We were going to go further than we had before, perhaps I’d get to finger her tonight? My hand left her pert little breasts and stroked down to the waist line of her leggings, then inside the elastic and over her knickers. No objection as I stroked her through the cotton. God how I hoped she’d put her hand in my trousers. Hoped and feared it in equal measure.
Now to the knicker elastic. I’d tried to get beyond it before, and been denied. Maybe tonight, maybe. Yes, my fingers ventured inside, still no objection. Down through her light flush of pubes, still no objection. Yes, this was it, this wasn’t a drill, I was going to finger her. And oh my god she was wet. So wet. No one had ever said anything about her being wet. Was that normal? Should it be like that? It felt slippery and then my finger was inside her!
I remember her words exactly: “Do you want to put your thing in there?”
Do I want to? At that moment I’d have given any of my limbs to put my “thing” in “there”. In hindsight, I think she was just curious, but after I’d said “Yes please,” we were just carried along by the passion and inertia.
I took my hand out of her pants and started to undress her, and she tried to wrestle with my belt. I helped and between us we managed to find ourselves naked in the little music room, standing looking at each other. Well, she was staring nervously at my “thing”. My big hard “thing”. I was staring at her breasts and between her legs.
I held out my hand, took hers and helped her to the carpet in front of one of her beloved pianos and as one of our favourite songs played on the mono tape recorder, I lay on top of her and we both negotiated my cock into her.
At that innocent time when HIV was something that you could only catch if you were a gay man, or drank from the wrong glass, it didn’t occur to us to use a Johnny (excuse me, a condom) The thought that she might get pregnant didn’t seem to occur to either of us (she didn’t, don’t worry). We just quietly, sweetly, but passionately gave each other our virginity.
I’d love to pretend that I was amazing, but I was young and excited. In only a few minutes I came inside her and it was over. She didn’t come, although she said she had enjoyed it, and I think she did. We stayed, naked and cuddling for a few minutes, before getting dressed and bashfully returning to the end of the disco.
The DJ was playing “Oh, What A Night.” which made us smirk knowingly at each other.
I never boasted to my friends about it. Nor did she, but we only did it once more months later. I was better second time. I’m glad it was her.