He was quiet for a minute. Then he looked at me again. “Wait a second,” he said. “So if that was the first—and last—time that you were ever kissed by a guy, until now, are you telling me that you’ve never slept with anyone before, either?”
That coming out hadn’t really been part of my plan, either. “Um, yes,” I said. “That’s what I’m telling you.”
“Wow,” he said. “Wow.”
“So have you never met a virgin before or something?” I asked. “You’re acting like this is earth-shattering news.”
“Well, it kind of is. I mean...you’re gorgeous.” I blushed, but I didn’t think he’d be able to tell in the moonlight. “Someone as gorgeous as you usually isn’t a virgin... I mean, I guess it’s possible, but...” His voice trailed off. I could hear the genuine confusion in his voice, as this new revelation had really thrown him for a loop. “I just wasn’t expecting that at all,” he finally said.
“Which makes it sound like you think I’m some sort of slut,” I replied, kind of joking but also sort of not. “Though I heard that you’re the one with herpes.”
“Yeah, that’s completely not true,” he said. “So, I can take a few guesses as to where you heard that—actually, I know exactly where you heard that from—and it’s entirely false.”
“You’re not a virgin, though.”
“No, I’m not. I’m also a 31-year-old man, so that shouldn’t be too surprising.”
“How old were you when you lost your virginity?”
“Fourteen.”
“Fourteen? Really? That’s so young.”
“She was 16. And definitely not a virgin.”
We sat there quietly for several moments, and I tried to replay the past couple minutes in my head. How did we end up on this topic, anyway? Oh yeah—I had bit him. “How’s your tongue?”
“My tongue? Oh, it’s fine. I completely forgot about that, actually.”
“I guess that’s one way to make someone forget about an injury.”
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“It’s not that bad.” He regarded me again, squinting. “You’re really a virgin?”
“Maybe we should talk about something else.”
“Sure,” he said. “Sure, that’s fine.”
But there was a long silence after that, and I tried to think of something to say, but everything that crossed my mind just sounded sort of dumb.
Something out in the middle of the pond splashed, breaking the smooth surface of the water, sending ripples reverberating outward.
“What was that?” I asked.
“A fish,” he said. “Trout, maybe.” I waited for him to say anything else, but he didn’t. He didn’t make a move to try and kiss me again, either. Finally, he pushed himself up, then held his hand out to help me up.
“We should probably get going,” he said.
We eventually found our way back to the car. I couldn’t figure out if I was imagining it or not—was there some sort of awkwardness in the air now? There seemed to be, or things weren’t flowing as they had before we’d gone up on that bluff and started to kiss.
When we got back to the neighborhood, instead of just pulling into his driveway, he stopped in front of my house, put the car in park.
“I’ll just let you out here,” he said. “Thanks for hanging out tonight.”
“I’m sorry I bit you.”
“That’s all right. Tongues heal fast.”