The first time I kissed you, we were at a party. It was one of those lame games that we all secretly love, Spin the Bottle or Truth or Dare or something. We ended up having to kiss, and I acted like such a stud, but I was scared I'd knock your teeth out or taste like nachos and our friends would make fun of me for being such a shitty kisser. I could feel you smiling against my lips and suddenly I was okay… and then I was okay two more times that night by the cupcakes and in the backyard and you smiled both of those times too.
The first time I fingered you, I was more nervous than you. My hand was shaking so bad you made a cheap vibrator joke and it made me blush - I fucking blushed. You saw how it messed with me and played with my hair until I calmed down enough to get the job done, but I still say you only got off because of the shaking.
The first time I drank to get drunk because Anya fucked with my head, you were pissed beyond belief at me, but you still took care of me that night and every other too-lonely night after she left for the Army. Truth be told, I don't remember much from those nights except the bellows of "I love you, you're my best friend", and being too wasted to be embarrassed by the crying on my part.
The first time you slept with me… fuck. You're why tree houses were built. I'm never going to let you live down all the splinters you got in your ass, but I think we did pretty good for ourselves. You certainly seemed to enjoy it. We opened Pandora's box that day, like Pringles; once you pop, you can't stop. You would have whooped me in the head for that one and it would have been so worth it.
Everything with you is.