I reached farther down than I ever had and cupped his buttocks, felt them constrict with each thrust and marveled as their soft flesh became hardened with each thrust, each muscular clench. One evening when our parents had gone into the nearby town for a drink I stole into their room, took a quick look at their sheets, and laughed as my suspicions were confirmed. His hand shot beneath the table and intercepted mine, blocking my obvious goal. Sometimes we were up in its loft, naked on its futon, before we’d even started the fires. Only seven days, but it still seemed like a year. By this time our sexual familiarity with each other had not prepared me for this; I assumed a penis us a penis, a vagina is a vagina, and sexual intercourse is sexual intercourse.
