First Times: Megan

Natalie Deschain’s
 

First Times Series

by Natalie Deschain

***

Copyright 2014 Natalie Deschain

nataliedeschain.com

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This is a work of fiction, featuring consenting adults in sexual situations.

Megan

I lost my virginity to a band.

Don’t be impressed. You’ve never heard of them. Here’s what happened.

I was just starting my first year of college. I’d enrolled in a state school about a million miles from home, away from my parents and brother. To call them, ah, conservative would be an understatement. I had to fight with them to wear pants, and I lost. I carried a pair of jeans in my backpack and changed in the bathroom after I got to school, then back into my ankle-length skirt before my father came to pick me up. Dating? Out of the question.

You wouldn’t believe what I went through to assert myself and choose my own school. My family hated everything about it. The university itself (a state school) the location (as far away as I could get) my major (biotechnology). I think my mother would have sent me to a nunnery if she could get away with it.

I saved my allowance for years before I left for school. I kept the clothes they bought for me. I kept them in the bottom drawer of my dresser and bought a new wardrobe as soon as I was sure they wouldn’t turn around so my father could launch a surprise inspection of the dormitory. The check-in process was about the most groan-inducing process in my entire life, between my parents moralizing at everything that moved and my brother openly checking out every piece of college ass that walked by (even though he’s married and about ten years older than I am) and they generally made me miserable. So I guess you could say I was glad to be free.

For a while. I was crying my eyes out the first night, silently weeping on my bunk bed, much to the annoyance of my roommate. It was what I wanted, but it was too much, too fast. There was no way to retreat to my comfort zone. I was stuck there.

I could dress the way I wanted, talk the way I wanted, my classes were fun and interesting if a little intimidating, but I was in pure misery until I met Jessica.

She blew into my life when it came time to find a lab partner.

I believe in the devil for a sole reason: His Infernal Majesty inspires college professors to spout the phrase, “Let’s all pick a partner.”

For all my rebellious bravado, I wanted to curl up and die when it came time to pick a lab partner for the semester. I was tempted to demand of the professor why he couldn’t just draw names from a hat or something and had to inflict this kind of social torture on his students. That was when Jessica grabbed me.

She was everything I wasn’t. Buxom, tall, raven-haired (although the tips of her hair were dyed alternating strands of sky blue, indigo and plum) and able to wear her eccentric outfits with a natural ease that came from an excess of self-confidence. She was the kind of girl that wraps everybody around her finger with an imperious look. Boys want her, girls want to be her. That kind of thing. Why she picked me, I’ll never know. She didn’t walk, she strutted, she grabbed my arm and waited for me to gather up my things and follow her to her station in the lab.

I barely managed to squeak out a “Hi” after five minutes.

“Hi yourself,” she smirked. “You are…”

“Megan.”

“Jess. You’re my lab partner.”

“Okay.”

That was it. Portentous, I know.

Lab was twice a week, two nights. It started when she insisted on taking me out after class. Neither of us was old enough to drink, you see, but Jessica had interesting ideas and legality and a source on fake ID’s. I didn’t ask, she didn’t tell, and she turned a small portrait I provided into a astonishingly realistic looking driver’s license, as if by magic. It was from the same state as our school, so it was probably double-illegal. Carrying it around in my purse made me feel like a master criminal. It became a kind of talisman, until the first time I was called on to use it. I was nervous as hell, lucky I didn’t drop it from sweaty palms. Jess took me to a local dive bar, and the bartender carded me, but not her. I guess he knew her. That was where I drank my first booze.

Not beer. She ordered me a margarita and sat next to me at the bar, sucking on the straw and making eyes at the men.

“Loosen up,” she barked, her voice half-carried away by the pounding music. “Quit staring at your shoes.”

To say I was a little overwhelmed would be an understatement. For most of that night I clung to her side, getting drunker and drunker as the evening wore on. By the time we left I could barely walk straight. It was a miracle somebody didn’t drag us off into a dark alley somewhere.

I woke up the next morning in the wrong dorm room. Jessica’s room.

Having slept in her bed in my clothes, I was groggy and cotton-mouthed and my head started pounding the moment I moved. I guess she could better hold her liquor, because she was sitting up next to me in the bed, leaning against the wall, and she was topless. I mean, completely. It did not concern her that she was stripped to the waist.

They were impressive, I had to admit. She had what guys call a huge rack and yes, it made me jealous. From the way I stared and then looked away, it was pretty obvious what I was thinking.

“Airing them out,” I yawned. “Besides, this is good money.”

“What’s good money?”

“Guys stare at my tits on the internet while I do my homework.”

I shied away from the computer. “Can they see me?”

“Nah.”

I let out a long, slow breath. Not like it would matter. I doubt my parents watched camgirls. If it wasn’t for my improved understanding of biology I’d probably still be laboring under the assumption that they only had sex twice, once to impregnate my mother for each of their children.

My brother had about six girls on the side until his divorce. Don’t get me started.

Jessica closed the laptop and stood up to stretch, luxuriating in the sun pouring in through the window. Since, you know, the blinds were open. I snatched at the rope to close them and stumbled to my feet. With a roll of her eyes, she poured a loose t-shirt over my head and guided me back down to the bed when I stumbled. I wasn’t drunk, but everything was all tilty-turny and my head was pounding. As I sat on the bed, she poured me a glass of cranberry juice. Or a red plastic cup of it, anyway. Before she handed it to me she fished a bottle of cheap vodka out of the fridge and poured a little in, swirled it around, and handed it over.

“I don’t want to start drinking again.”

“Hair of the dog. It’ll help. Then drink some water.”

I couldn’t taste any booze in the juice, at least. She gave me a bottle of water after that and drinking and a handful of ibuprofen cut back on my headache to the point there the light seeping between the blinds didn’t feel like railroad spikes jamming into my face.

“What time is it?”

“One in the afternoon.”

At least it was a Saturday.

She was doing homework on Saturday. Huh. I guess if it paid…

I lifted my head out of my hands when she sat down next to me.

“I need to get you home, get you cleaned up and changed. We’re going out tonight.”

I rubbed at my temples. “We went out last night.”

“That was practicing going out. This is the real thing. We’re going to a music festival. I know one of the bands.”

Her tone brooked no resistance.

After she put on something sufficiently decent to wear outdoors, we walked back across to my dormitory. My roommate wasn’t in. I expected her to leave me for a while, but she flopped down on my bed.

“Go get showered.”

I could use one, but I preferred my privacy while I changed. I stood there shifting uncomfortably until I finally stripped down, facing away from her as I did. I could feel her eyes on my back as I slipped a towel around my body, put on my flip-flops and headed to the shower. The hot water and steam cleared out my head. I genuinely felt better by the time I got back to the room. Jess was still on my bed, head propped on her hands, stretched out like a cat in the sun. I knew asking her to excuse herself was futile, so I toweled myself off, keeping as covered as I could. Something about her presence melted all my wannabe bad girl bravado and made me feel a hot itch on my skin whenever she looked at me. By her face, she was amused by the show.

“Put on your sluttiest outfit.”

I swallowed, and pulled on a bright pink thong, hip huggers, and a belly shirt. She nodded her approval.

“Not bad.”

“So where is this place?”

“We gotta get my car. Come on.”

Jessica’s ride was pretty plain, to be honest, but it got us there. For all its size our school was in a pretty small town, so I got a bit nervous when she took a turn and veered away from civilization, out into the sticks. The fringes of town quickly gave way to corn fields.

“Where did you say we were going?”

She had a wolfish grin on her face and didn’t look directly at me. “I didn’t.”

It was maybe a half an hour drive. Jessica paid for us to get in and gave me a glow-in-the-dark armband to put on, and we were admitted entry to, well, a corn field. Or a space between corn fields, anyway. The ground was hard packed and dusty from lack of rain. A crude pavillion was set up in the middle, and surrounded by tents. The extension cords from the stage ran to a generator. The longer we were there, the more people showed up, parking all up and down the highway. Jessica lost me in the crowd and I stood there frozen and terrified until she found me again and handed me a plastic cup. The beer tasted like tin and stung the back of my mouth, but I was thirsty and after I downed one she handed me another. I felt myself loosening up, and silently thanked her for not pushing a third on me when the buzz hit.

As it neared dark, the show started. The clearing filled in with people. Jessica pressed tightly against me, holding my hand tightly in hers.

The group she knew was called The Remainders. There was nothing particularly remarkable about their music, a lot of covers. The lead singer had a throaty voice and the bass from the amps shook its way up my legs.

It was full dark by the time the show was over. The world was a flickering cascade of lights from all the glow sticks and bracelets. I danced in place with Jessica, rubbing against her as we bounced up and down and cheered. I lost myself in it. The next couple beers helped.

By the time it was over, I was feeling pretty good. Jess took my arm.

“Where are we going?”

“To meet the band. I know these guys, they’re great.”

She led me to a big tent at the far end of the field. I had to duck to get under the flap. Jess turned and zipped it up behind us.

There were five guys inside.

I recognized the singer from the stage. He was in jeans, no shirt. Pretty well built, pale with a light, coarse dusting of honey blonde hair on his chest that matched his head. Feeling loose as I was, I imagined how it would feel rubbing on my tongue and blushed beet red. His hair was darker, long, about shoulder length, and the most intense thing about him was his eyes, dark blue eyes that immediately felt sad and lonely to me. I felt a silly urge to rush over there and hug him. Jess grinned and introduced them to me, one by one. The singer was Jason. The drummer, a heavier guy in ripped up jeans, was Kevin. The bass player had his long hair in a ponytail and sat against a cooler, puffing on a rolled up cigarette that smelled weirdly sweet and tomato-y. The guitar players lounged on sleeping bags, a tall dark-haired one and a shorter guy with a shaved head.

Jess told me all their names, but I was too busy making a bee-line for the singer. I sat down next to him, folding my legs under myself.

“Hi.”

“Jessica told us about you. You’re her, ah, lab partner, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s do an experiment. Here.”

He handed me his cigarette.

“I don’t smoke.”

“First time for everything.”

They were all staring at me. I shrugged and took it from his fingers, breathed in a puff, and coughed it back out so hard he patted my back. His hand lingered and his fingers teased my neck before pulling it away.

I tried it again.

This wasn’t tobacco. It was pretty good, though. After smoking the first one down to a nub he lit another one and gave it to me. Jessica sat down next to him on the other side. Everybody was smoking. It made a thick haze inside the tent.

I had a hard time keeping up with the conversation. It wasn’t just me. It meandered from topic to topic, with increasingly random interjections from Jessica as the night wore on and it got darker outside.

“Hey, Megs,” she said, “Wanna see something amazing?”

“Yeah, sure.”

She put her hand on Jason’s chest and pushed him back against the bedroll behind him, and undid his belt. I sat there, staring, my mind trying to formulate a protest, but I felt mush-mouthed and couldn’t do anything other than let out a confused yelp as she pushed his jeans down, spread open his boxers and lifted his cock out.