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 wait.

“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.”

Click.

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.

Nothing.

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 memories.

December 2013