first girl

So I wondered how I would appear in comparison. Less beautiful, less feminine, less. Generally less.

In the wild a female animal will mate with another female to make sure that her place in the pecking order is secure. Maybe I slept with her because she seemed so worldly, younger than me, perhaps, but more experienced. And when I was up close there was just the taste and texture of her, the idea that there was more to her, my hand, half disappearing inside her, my tongue, pushing as far as I could manage. The idea that somewhere inside her there would be something of myself, my feminine side, somehow buried inside her skin.

I found that I was shaking. I could not still my hand. It was the smell of her, the taste, my tongue thick with her viscosity. The back of my palate tingling with a strange new and not unpleasant taste. The pungent smell of her on my fingers, the sudden urge to push too hard, to enter her completely, to climb inside her.

I felt the lack of whatever it was I would need to enter her. I thought of Freud and how he would be proud of this kind of penis envy. I wanted to be inside her in a way that men had been inside her. I ached with the need to enter her. This would be the first of many nights of longing. I have grown used to this.