Virgin lips waited anxiously
in the company of a girl
with many more notches on her belt.
I was just another boy in line to her.
An opportunity presented itself,
but we waited.

Her big, expressive eyes fluttered
like blue jays, staring back at mine.
She always had an intoxicating smile,
drawing me in as she played with my hands.
We tolled away the daylight hours on my porch,
ignoring the opportunity.

It wasn’t until late that night,
sitting on my couch, that we used the opportunity.
She expected the rookie to make the first move,
but she made herself easily available.
She sat close to me, waiting.
The opportunity was overwhelming.

She was beautiful, she was willing.
I cared about her, I really did then,
and I was thoroughly convinced I wanted her,
but I was scared.
My heart was pounding in my throat,
my sweaty palms fidgeted.
“Just do it” repeated in my head,
and she took notice of my nervous excitement,
but she waited.

She listened to my throbbing heart intently,
commenting on it that only made it worse.
Her wordless insistence on waiting
was an almost cruel anticipation,
but somehow in my incessant thoughts,
“Fuck it” came to my mind,
and I kissed her.
It was sloppy, and it was messy,
as our lips failed to properly unite,
like pieces of an unsolvable jig-saw puzzle
being crammed together.
If I had had any sort of comparison,
it was terrible.
In that moment, though, it was wonderful.

That opportunity was my first,
while also our last.
My number had been called,
my time in line was over.
She moved on from me –
in her eyes, no complications needed to follow.