Dear Diary; Jamie and I finally did it. Sex, I mean. What other “it” is there?

We were rumbling and pumping, like the pistons of a marvellous machine made of flesh.

Well, no, not exactly. What use to lie to you, diary?

Jamie sleeps on the little rez bed next to me. He is gentle, here. The bed’s really too small for one person, let alone two.

Keep on wondering if the movement of my hands as I write this, or the scratch of pen on paper could wake him. He looks utterly zonked though. Not me, of course. No. I dislodge myself from his arms and pull the diary down from the shelf.

Why record it? God, I’m anal. Just silly, really. Look at Jamie. Jamie’s a fucking cherub of contentment. Mouth a little open, breathing through it. The muscles in his face have gone lax.

How strange. Half an hour ago that face was more vital than anything. Above me. And gripped.

He told me the first time doesn’t need to hurt. That the more worried I was the more difficult it would be. So then I worried about worrying too. But, what can I say? I was determined. So we pressed on.

And now, so soon after, it’s all becoming fuzzy in my head. Sleepy I guess. Didn’t really notice the things I thought I would notice. Like the way we kissed. Or his eyes.

I remember the little surprise inches. The final shunt of his cock when I thought it was all in. How could I not know how much was in? A tactile foreshortening?

There was a screaming danger that I was about to shit. Couldn’t tell Jamie that, though. So then I worried that I was going to shit the bed. Can that happen?

Then, of course, I worried that I was worrying again and that it was going to hurt more. So I decided to just stare at the ceiling and think about something else. Thought about my homework.

But that was hard to do, what with his dick in my arse.

Only way to stop the madness was to pay attention to the sex that was going on. Which, I then realized, had suddenly become enjoyable somewhere along the line.

I started to get into it. Sort of got into a rhythm. Did a little bum dance. Look at me, I thought.

I’m really quite clever at this.

And it wasn’t nearly so bad as I thought. Had constructed this horrible scenario in my head. Imagined my ass would be sore for a week after the first time-some combination of itch and tearing. The walls of my ass would be tender, they would be sore. They would bleed, maybe, the first time. I would sit on the toilet and marble the water red. Leaning forward, over my knees, I would wonder what I had done to myself.

But no. Instead, there’s just . . . this. Me and my diary. Jamie making snorey sounds. And a tired condom somewhere in the waste bin. Hardly an emergency. In fact, with his arm over my back in a dopey sort of way, this even feels wonderfully pedestrian. Who knew?

And why didn’t they tell me?

The prostate got v. happy.

Then it went all tight, like the skin of a drum. Am not a screamer, but I think I did scream something then. Think it might have been “Oy!” Which is weird and made me want to laugh, but then I was coming and my throat filled up with cotton.

I can’t sleep, though. Lying here, listening to Jamie breathing, trying to slow the thumping under my ribs. I keep on thinking about it. About that.

That. That was some new kind of good. Some new kind of yes.

Goodnight, diary. Am going to snuggle down now into big lovely boyfriend thing.