Amanda.

That was her name. The first girl I kissed. I was 15; she was older. Red-auburn hair, pale skin, a sprinkle of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Her smile is what got me, and her breasts. I felt an energy towards her that was new yet familiar. At 15 I was boy crazy- then she came along.

What I recall as my first sexual experience with a girl had nothing to do with sex. Amanda and I were in the back of a van with no seats, sitting on the floor. She was tired and I offered my lap to lay in. I ran my fingers through her hair- it felt maternal...something my mother often did for me. Her long hair flowed through my fingers like water. I could feel her relaxing into me, her fingers playing with my pant leg, tracing the folds. I started to follow the nape of her neck with my fingertips. Her cheek. Barely audible sounds of delight escaped her throat and something inside me reacted subtly. I was completely in that moment, feeling every part of her that made contact with any part of me. Wanting to touch more of her, to take her face in my hands and kiss her lips, feel the fullness of her breasts, wrap my arms around her and feel her body pressed against mine. Then just like that, someone came to the van and broke the spell. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it as she got up to leave. My entire body wanted more.

A week or so later we kissed. Her face was soft and smooth, her tongue gentle in my mouth. It didn't have the same spark as before, but I something comforting. The kiss only happened that one time and deep down I knew it was wrong. Dangerous. So I pushed those feelings down and became ashamed of them. I went back to my path of boys, guys, men. Doing more and more to try to get that buzz back that Amanda gave me in the van.