Blue Dress

Under the overhead light, a glow from the windshield illuminating her face, Edith shuts off the radio. She sits very close to him, smelling of lavender, holding her eyes steady. "You're so handsome." She murmurs, making herself comfortable on the passenger seat beside him. She's hypnotic, a fresh wave of warmth, parting his lips with hers so that heat fills his chest.

Beneath the shadowed windows, there's only Edith. There was only ever Edith.

She whispers, pressing her forehead against Roscoe's, sending a tingle through his body. "Panda, I want to make love to you." Edith isn't shy. She never has been. She's the type of woman to know what she wants and go after it.

His mouth is dry. "Here?" If it were anyone but Edith, he'd be self-conscious.

She nods. Outside, there's nothing but the trees and the birds and the faraway gushing of water. "It's okay if you don't want to. I just want you to be comfortable."

It feels stupid to be nervous. Maybe they'll be spotted by a camper, or a cop, or a wild animal. When Edith touches him, it's hard to breathe. "I want to. I don't have a condom."

"It's okay." Edith smiles, though she looks rather wistful under the faint overhead light. "You don't need one. You're....."

"Shooting blanks?"

Edith looks away. "Yeah." If it were anyone but Edith, he'd be embarrassed.

Foreplay is essential, Matilda said, weeks ago. No girl likes it when a guy just shoves it in. Work up the suspense first. Maybe do some teasing.

"I love you," he says, and pulls Edith's dress over her head.

Falling in love is like setting a fire. It starts off small and contained, and then erupts and explodes, becoming a whirlwind of chaos, so large and powerful that you don't bother trying to contain it. Even the touch of a hand, or the sound of a voice, or the twinkle of an eye is enough to set the fire ablaze again.

The thing about a fire is once it gets big enough, you can't put it out.

Edith is soft and heavenly, curling into him like a magnet, her neck back against his mouth. Don't fall asleep. Sex is raw and vulnerable, but it's also so intimate. Until recently, Roscoe believed sex was the only way to be intimate with someone else. A breast doesn't feel the way he expected it to. Edith's are small and squishy, fitting into the palms of his hands. She's the perfect little spoon: short and cuddly, filling in all the empty spaces between the two of them.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Edith lies across the back seat of her car, naked except for a pair of yellow underwear. Roscoe's seen her naked before, but they were kids, and it didn't count. "You're pretty." There's so much more he wants to say.

Don't fall asleep.

He kisses her, angrily, feeling unusually assertive. Edith has slim fingers, long, seeming to be swallowed by his hair. Your first time is supposed to be awkward and clumsy. It doesn't feel this way. She tastes sweet, all the way down her body, leaving a tingle on his mouth with every kiss.

It's important to ask for consent, even if your partner has given it before. Roscoe's mother used to say it was a woman's job to be available to her husband always, but this isn't the case, not in this generation. Sometimes, the older generations seem to forget they aren't living in the past.

Don't fall asleep.

"Firefly, can I go down on you?"

Edith has goosebumps. In the nighttime, he can barely see her. "Yes, Panda."

When he realized he had feelings for Edith, it was hard to continue being friends with her. He'd put so much effort into trying to stifle those feelings behind facades of nonchalance and apathy, but Roscoe's never been a good liar. As time went on, he tried to find distractions, to date other girls to get his mind on other things, but Edith was always there. And as long as she was there, no one else mattered. When he puts his mouth between her legs, she wriggles.

"Your son is very disruptive to the rest of the class," said the staff to Roscoe's parents. He hated the attention, the trouble, all of it. The more he slept in class, the farther behind he'd fall on assignments, and the harder it would become to catch up again. He'd spend countless hours in detention, penalized for disability, blamed for the uncontrollable. The neurotypical don't think about it. They don't have to. But having a typical brain isn't a privilege, it's a luxury. There's so much more to disability than just sitting in a wheelchair.

Edith breathes loudly. Roscoe is tired.

"Wake up."

Edith sweeps her fingers down his back, which tickles. It's hard to tell how much time has passed. "You were asleep for fifteen minutes. I was enjoying myself."

"I'm sorry." His head has fallen onto the seat beside Edith's thigh. "Did you-"

She smiles. "I didn't know how long you'd be asleep. Come here." She pulls his arms, gives him a kiss. Every time he kisses her, there's a prickle in his stomach. Letting their noses touch, Edith whispers. "Take off your pants. I'm ready."

Edith knows about all of Roscoe's insecurities, and she'd never dare point them out. Edith has insecurities, too, about her nose and her chest and her stomach. It's part of being human. Roscoe pauses, undresses, feeling briefly rested. It's easy to get hard, since starting hormones. It's easy to feel horny.

"Panda," says Edith, tracing circles on his body, "I wish you could see yourself the same way I do." She sits, leaning over him on the warm seat, much more forward than he. "Are you ready?"

"Make sure to get her off first. If it's your first time, it's probably not going to last very long."

"Yeah." The music plays softly, all of Edith's favorite songs. It's nerve-wracking, the anticipation, the fear of doing a bad job. Edith kisses his neck, chest, sliding her fingers around his dick. Aside from the doctor, nobody has ever touched it before. "Are you?" She nods, electric, like a current that runs up and down his legs. Lifting an arm from his side, he presses one finger gently inside of her.

It goes on like this for a while, touching each other. Neither can catch their breath. Later, after rubbing impatiently against him for a minute, Edith slides his dick inside of her.

It feels so much different than Roscoe imagined it would. Edith gasps, moving slowly, clutching his hair. All that anticipation did the trick. If he isn't careful, he'll never last. Edith's breath catches, exploding out of her in sudden bursts. "I always wanted it to be you." She smiles, clutching both of Roscoe's shoulders tightly. "My first time, I mean."

It's indescribable, the experience. It'd be embarrassing to admit he's daydreamed about it. "Me too." She whimpers, fingers digging into his skin, almost painful. She's warm and snug, and much more satisfying than a hand or a toy. On the door of the car, her shadow casts a spot.