Flash Fiction
by R.L. Smith
So there I am on the couch, straddling
the only boy in America who’s still a virgin at
nineteen. His hands are up my shirt, and the brick
in his pants is pressing up between my legs. He
kisses me, and a million tiny fireworks explode
inside my body. I could do this forever.

But Romeo is getting restless. “Let’s go up to the
bedroom,” he breathes.

“Not now,” I say. “My husband will be home soon.”

“I can be quick.”

“I’m sure you can.” I force a smile. I’ve put him off
for weeks now, and he’s getting impatient.

“I’m tired of waiting,” he says. He slides his hands
around my back and tries to unhook my bra. I
stop him. “This isn’t the right time. Not yet.”

“It’s never the right time,” he complains. “Why
can’t we just do it?”

I tell him we can’t just do it because we might get
caught, but the real reason is that I want his first
time to be special, for him and for me. I want
nothing less than to go down in the history of his
life as the fabulous first lover that he’ll never
forget, the one to whom no other can compare.
I’m talking satin sheets, black lace lingerie, Kama
Sutra positions—the whole works. But that
requires planning, and Studboy doesn’t want to

“Come on, let’s just do it. Please?” He’s starting to
beg. This is not good. Why can’t he see how great
it will be if we wait until we can do it right, not
rushed? I know he won’t wait much longer. The
girls his age are younger, prettier, easier. He
could bed one on a first date, and he knows it.
Why should he wait for me?

“Please?” he asks again, grinding his brick against
me for emphasis.

Lord knows I would love to feel his hot body on
top of mine, to feel him inside of me, and to have
an orgasm like I haven’t had in years. But I can’t
give in just yet. I have to hold him off until I can
arrange our big night. I touch my finger to his
warm lips.

“Shhh,” I say. “Just kiss me.”

The phone rings, spoiling the moment. I let the
machine pick up.

“Hi hon, it’s me.”

My husband. I’m struck with the irrational fear that
he somehow knows what I’m doing.

“Hey, I’m going to be late tonight. I should be
home around ten. See you then.”


Studboy is grinning. He’s going to win this time,
and he knows it. Our perfect night will have to
wait. I stand up and take him by the hand. I lead
him upstairs to the bedroom. I sit down on the bed
and look up at him.

He wipes the sweat from his forehead.

I can’t believe I’m really doing this.

My lover whips off his shirt, as if he’s in a hurry to
change for gym class. I start to take off my own
clothes. His eyes widen, and his face flushes red.

When we are both naked, he steps closer. He
reaches out to me. His hands are shaking.
I pull him down on top of me. His skin is so warm,
so smooth. He presses his body against mine and
I feel our mingled heat rushing through me.

I reach down to guide him into me.

I think I hear a noise outside, like a car pulling into
the driveway. My stomach flips and my heart
pounds. I stop moving and stare toward the
window. I hold my breath and listen.

“What?” My lover sounds annoyed.

“I thought I heard a car. Look out the window!”

He lets out a sigh, then gets up and looks.


My head is throbbing. My passion is waning. Now
I’m just scared of getting caught, and feeling more
than a bit guilty. What if my husband found out
about this? What if my lover’s parents found out?

I wonder if there’s any way to get out of it now.

“Let’s hurry up,” Romeo says, and gets back on
top of me.

So much for making great memories. He just
wants to get this done, so he can shed his virginity
and get on with his life. I’m not his dream lover,
after all. I’m a doorway to a more confident future.

It dawns on me that we will never have our
perfect night.

My desire for him is gone. I feel only sadness and
disappointment. Only a minute ago, I would have
been happy just to make him happy. Now we both
just want to get this over with.

Numbly, I guide him between my half-open thighs
and feel him enter me. He thrusts tentatively at
first, then quickly and more forcefully. I turn my
head and close my eyes.

Not that he’s looking.

In a second he’s gasping as his body stiffens and
releases. And then, with a sigh, he’s done.

He pulls out of me and rolls over onto his back.
His face and hair are damp with sweat. He gives
me a quick smile, then jumps up and steps back
into his jeans. He stares down at me, trying to
absorb the fact that he just nailed the neighbor
lady. Sure, she’s somebody else’s over-the-hill
wife, but he got laid just the same.

He pulls his shirt over his head, smoothes his hair,
tries to put himself back together again. He stares
between my legs, then clears his throat. “Um, I
should probably be going.”

So it’s over. The Big Moment has passed. He got
what he wanted, and now he’s ready to move on.

He bends down and kisses my forehead, says
goodbye and walks out of the room.

I watch him disappear down the stairs. He’s on his
way now, a new man ready to make some