Number 85 slides into Third.

Hem's first kill, Hank's first beer
Dostoyevsky's first betrayal
Gabriel's first piece;
they'd all be lying
if they claimed to remember them
perfectly, or even as anything more
than a haze that started them all
on their respective journeys.
So, it's with humble reluctance
that I mention mine now
for fear of feeling fake.

Suffice it to say that I was fifteen
in the foothills of some New Hampshire range
visiting family when my cousin's friend, Meg
took a liking to me, or at least tolerated
my innocent exploration of the female form
for the first time. The frustrations of finding
the finger's true function only served to reinforce
prior failures as I never found many specifics
that fine morning in May after my family
had fallen asleep. I don't even remember if
we kissed or not, just that the movies we'd rented
were over and there seemed only one thing left to do
and not very well, at that. My hand so timid that her
skin warmed mine before I'd crossed that boundary.
My heart churning it's irregular beat at the pace of
ten thousand coca leaves. My mind wondering
if this was really it, the final frontier so many friends
had raved over, a scattering of coarse hair over an
indefinite wetness in the Holiest of Crevices.
I think what bothered me most about the ordeal
was how silently submissive and lovelessly limp
she was, merely accepting it as something
that was supposed to happen next in the script--
probably not the first time for her,
unfortunately not the last
for me.

Like a man knocked unconscious
I'm not sure how long I was under

just that I was.

Retracting my hand as the sun came up
in case someone stirred awake
and found us on the couch under the covers
I knew life would never be the same
even though I'd merely touched upon
its new meaning, literally.
And nine years later I hold strong
that I was right, though I doubt she remembers me
any more than I do her last name
but that's only appropriate
for the crystallization of the fairytale
in my mind's eye
that may or may not have happened
as I like to
or need to
remember it.

(D. I swear it was something British-sounding
starting with the letter D.)