I don't know when it stopped being about taking care of her, and became about what I wanted, but it did, there's no denying that. I suppose being with her, having her hold and kiss me was a timely reminder of something I'd been craving ever since mum died; I'd envied the fact that James had his fiancée to lean on and wanted a piece of that for myself.
Connie was pretty astute though, she guessed that that was the case, and as I sat sobbing on the sofa she gently wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close to her again.
"Sweetheart, this isn't about me. You're just looking for someone to cling to, just like I was."
She was right, but I wasn't about to let her off the hook that easily. It may have been more to do with having anyone, rather than her particularly, but that didn't change the fact that at that moment, she was the one that was there.
I looked up at her, still in tears and gently stroked her cheek, "Please…."
She shook her head, apparently denying me all that I wanted, but I couldn't be angry with her because in her eyes I could see that she wanted it as much as I did and was only refusing because she felt I was too young and that made it wrong.
I knew then I had to make her see that I wasn't the innocent little kid she thought I was.
"Please…" I whispered a second time, bringing my lips closer to hers and brushing against them gently, "I want this." I moved one of my hands to her breast and began stroking her again as I had before, only this time deliberately, with purpose. She pulled back but there was a hesitation there that hadn't been evident previously.
She was giving into me, and we both knew it.
I lowered her back down onto the sofa, bringing myself on top of her, resting on my elbow so as not to crush her, and kissed her, while bringing my hand back to its previous location and gently caressing her. As I touched her she moaned into my mouth, and it didn't take Einstein to work out that it wasn't in protest, even more so when I felt one of her hands sliding down my back and onto my rear, where it pulled me tightly against her.
While my experiences with other women were limited, as she'd quite rightly pointed out, to drunkenly snogging for the boys, I was sexually experienced enough to know what came next and I slowly began to undo the buttons of her shirt. I half expected her to stop me immediately, or at least protest, but she was so engaged by our kisses and caresses that I'd completed my task and her shirt was off her shoulders before she realised what I'd done and broke away from my kiss to complain.
"We can't…." It was a breathless and half hearted protest, and I was able to silence it by bringing my lips back to hers, and when she broke away a second time her argument had taken on a new twist, "… not here…"
Much as I'd longed for her to back down, and suspected that she would, it was still a surprise to hear it and I found myself having to check that I'd fully understood what she was saying and the connotations thereof.
"Shall we take this upstairs?"
I've never seen anyone look as torn as she did in that moment – she was obviously conflicted but the fact that her hands hadn't left my body and were still gently stroking and caressing me made it clear what she really wanted. All the same she carried on looking at me numbly for a long time before she eventually nodded with a look of fear in her eyes.
Climbing off of her I got to my feet and then held my hand out for her, "Come on then… let's go…"
She stared at my hand for a long time, and then with a heavy sigh, reached out and took it in her own.
"Yeah. Let's go…"