-1Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em, just write about 'em
A/N: Yeah, it's kind of naughty. But isn't that nice?
Chapter 1
Desperate to keep her mind off her troubles, Daria found herself resorting to games of her childhood, ghosts from the days of taking long walks through suburbia to escape her family. Usually her choice distraction lay in books, but once in a while it felt good to just run away.
Run away. That would be nice, wouldn't it, she mused.
Daria found herself counting her booted footsteps as she made her way home, avoiding cracks in the sidewalk, stomping on leaves to hear the crunchy crunch of her triumph, and benevolently allowing bugs to pass along their way unscathed.
Or maybe it would be nice to be a bug. Bugs didn't have to worry about such things as rights of passage. Nothing in nature was so absurd, so complicated. Nothing in nature bothered to dwell on such concepts as losing one's virginity, the appropriate time, and gauging if one felt ready. Nature simply did. Constantly geared towards going forward, being life, it simply knew. Cycles ebbed and flowed without conscientious regard to when or how.
Saturday evening. 6:00. Tom's parents would be out of town.
They would have the whole house to themselves.
Jesus, would they need the whole house?
Probably not. Probably just Tom's room. On that bed, where she'd sat before so many times reading or writing, while he clacked away at his computer. In three days, the world would never be the same again. A new age was upon them; a world in which innocence had no place.
Rolling her eyes, Daria scolded herself. "You're over dramatizing this, Morgandorfer." This was a perfectly normal step in every young woman's life. In every couple's time together, if they make it long enough. To crave more and more intimacy.
Though the word crave seemed to indicate a certain sense of urgency, a certain acknowledgement of lustful feelings Daria didn't exactly feel. Well, at least she didn't think she felt. It was difficult at times to get in touch with those pesky feelings she worked so hard to beat down and hide in the dungeon of her fortress.
Alright, so what did she know she felt? There was a tingle. An itch, inspired by she and Tom's lip-locking sessions on the couch. A curiosity about what power she held, to inspire that telling and nearly comical bulge in his khakis. A curiosity of what would come next, if she didn't stop him from sliding her jacket from her shoulders, or his fingers from sliding beneath the hem of her skirt.
And so they'd discussed just that, academically, the way they talked about everything. They'd set a date. A time. It was almost like a planned experiment, in a way. No surprises. No acts of wild random passion. Did that disappoint her? Perhaps vaguely, but then again, it was nice to know what was coming. To have time to prepare.
Daria found herself thinking of Saturday as the date of a battle. Preparing for an onslaught, a siege, and invasion of her body. It wasn't exactly right, she knew, but in a raw sense she couldn't help but feel that way a little. Tom was a gentle man. Caring, and he loved her. But she'd worked so hard to build her walls, and the sexual act of allowing another person inside, so very close in both a physical and mental sense, frightened her.
She surmised that most couples didn't do it this way. She suspected most high school sex was more of a random romp and accident in the back seat of dad's car than a planned event of romantic intimacy. And other couples probably tested the waters a bit more first. Sampled the fruits. She knew there were other ways to share sexual...favors, but they seemed a paltry comparison to the actual act. Whether it was accurate or not, to Daria, they seemed as more of an act of seeking carnal pleasure, as opposed to intimacy. And intimacy was her goal, she told herself.
Wasn't it?
She and Tom were different from other high school couples, she told herself. Special. Their level of maturity would allow for nothing less. Perhaps it was elitist in a way, her way of separating herself from her peon peers, but that was why jumping straight to intercourse seemed the best course to Daria. Conventional sex. It wouldn't just be two kids fooling around in hopes of an empty orgasm, but two like souls joined in hopes of finding some comfort in another in a cold lonely world.
Wouldn't it?
Groaning, Daria kicked a stick, sending it skittering across the street. She feared she was overcomplicating this. Over romanticizing it. She'd read enough realist adult fiction to know everyone's first time is usually a fumbling, dissatisfactory shot in the dark. Well, dissatisfactory mostly for the girl, anyways. Nature's cruel joke on women, it took time to learn how they worked. A woman's most intimate pleasure wasn't a rocket, lit and fired off roaring into space, but a bed of coals, slowly stoked to flame, and returning to smolder and wait to burn again.
Well, she didn't particularly expect to smolder much, or even to burn, with Tom. At least, not the first time. It would take many times. Many learning experiences, probably, to reach something passably good. There was no class one could take on such things, though the comedy of such a situation caused the corner of her mouth to tick. It would be useful, wouldn't it, to be able to acquire this knowledge with some sort of instruction, before one was stuck in the moment with someone one cared about, desperately wanting things to go right but just not having a clue of what to do.
Mostly, she just expected pain, and hopefully mental satisfaction. Her mind was her shelter; she could always find refuge there, when the physical reality of life was just so damn disappointing.
Was it normal to view one's first time with a man with such apprehension? Was she making a terrible mistake? Was she totally lying to herself, and should just wait until college like Jane?
Oh Jane. She needed Jane. Finding she'd come to reach her own house, she decided to keep walking for the Lane residence. It wasn't exactly something she wanted to discuss at a booth in the Pizza King, but she definitely wanted a second opinion.