The First Girl

The First Girl

By Nada Ahmed


I thought about her that night with a cigarette between my fingers; knowing it would be more than fun to have her around.

I remembered our intimate conversations about spirituality, dreams, adventures, and sex. I had flashbacks of how we used to spend our time together giggling, gossiping, dancing and ordering pizza at 2 in the morning while watching  lame romantic films.

With the full moon in the sky, soft winds teased the Eucalyptuses I had planted on my rooftop, and its aroma caressed my nose with such gentleness that aroused my soul.

My ears were sharp, tracking and analyzing every sound in anticipation. I was waiting for her to call and say she was coming.

Indeed she called.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

My apartment smelled like vanilla and jasmine; thanks to the incense burning for hours. Mazzy Star was playing and candles stood there waiting for fire to burn them away. It wasn’t a night for candle lights, I thought. It was a night of lit weed joints and giggling in a comforting company although my mind deeply yearned for an alone-night.

Trying to put my mind at ease, I grabbed a rug and a pillow and returned to the rooftop. I lied down on the floor and there was the sky spreading before me. The stars, though far and small, felt enormous. My ego was far behind and the moon shone its light down on my true, loving self.

Waves of fresh air arrived softly, caressing that skin longing to be touched.

She arrived.

I opened the door and there she was; standing there in a black, knee-high dress, drunk, smiling at me. Holding a big plastic bag in one hand, she stepped into the kitchen before saying hello. With her shining dark skin and beautifully rounded eyes, she looked at me as emptying the plastic bag on the counter, “I brought us some wine and chips.”

I smiled and walked into my bedroom; she followed.

Lying down on the bed, I watched her as she took off her shoes and dress, making herself feel at home. She voluntarily wore one of my t-shirts that she fetched from my closet. Joining me in bed, she suggested that we should start smoking that weed.

The joints were already rolled, and I even prepared a movie for us to watch together, along with some food I had cooked earlier. But it was merely smoking that got us there, where our bodies felt relaxed and awakened.

Our conversations began and our hearts were open and receptive, taking in what may have come. I was, like the stars, feeling enormous, comfortable in my own skin, and free to let out all that I was restraining inside. We were lucky;  it’s not every day that we get to meet someone with whom we can share so much. Our conversations were crazy and would make no sense to an outsider, yet it made all the sense to us.

She slowly and confidently drew herself closer to me, leaning her head against my shoulder. We were now physically connected as well.

We talked about love. We talked about boys; how we loved them and how they loved us. Boys we had met at night clubs and Downtown coffee shops. Boys whom had broken our hearts and those whose hearts were broken by us. Boys who made us laugh and those who made us weep.

We were still waiting on love to knock us back on our heels and truly heal what was aching inside. We decided we both needed the kind of love that was not in any way limiting; the kind of love that would liberate our wild souls.

We talked about spirituality; and while she believed in God and Islam, I believed in infinity. We were both at peace knowing that, regardless of our beliefs, we still adopted our own principles of unconditional love towards the things we could neither see nor understand, toward our small, vulnerable selves and toward the enormous, unending obscure.

As time passed, she laid her head into my lap, and I approved by playing with her black short hair. We started to feel each other’s warmth and dived into a state of serenity that allowed our hearts to pour out what had been kept inside for years.

She reached out to my hand, and slowly started kissing it.

I didn’t know if friends did that.

She sat up, draw herself closer to me, and gave me a warm kiss on my lips.

I was still wondering if friends did that.

This was a moment of dazzledment.  It took me some brief seconds to understand what was really happening.

I knew friends didn’t do that.

I kissed her back. I kissed her passionately. Our passion was strung in the small spaces between us that neither of us wanted to stop.

And I somehow got the feeling she knew I was unsure about what was going on. She was a smart women.

We stopped for a moment, smiled, and I found her suddenly saying “I know this is weird, but it should have happened long time ago.”

What exactly should have? This? What is this? Is it love? Is it desire? Is it yet another sexual adventure of mine? And why her? Why now? Why is she saying it should have happened long ago? Does that mean she had feelings for me all along?

I thought while her hands sneaked under my shirt, squeezing my waist and violating the vast spaces I had created between my skin and consciousness. Her fingerprints lingered everywhere she would touch, and by the time they reached my breasts I was ready to take off my shirt, and so I did.

She followed. She took off her sweater, then the strapless push-up bra she wore only to serve the strapless, knee-high black dress she wore for the night out. I wasn’t given the chance to help as she pulled down my shorts and underwear; she was in rush. She seemed more eager than I was to go about it.

My desire for her was like me: suppressed and cautious. The wondering never stopped, the dazzelement and astonishment. I was telling myself this was just a dream and I was going to wake up any moment now to find myself where I should be, because that’s what I always do; doubt my own happiness. Though I touched her freely, it was my desire that sought order and control.

My body was shivering-cold, hers was warm and melting like chocolate all over me. Her touch was attaining; it went places on my body where my skin craved to be touched, places I didn’t even know existed.  Her silky black hair followed her body whilst she moved downwards. She sprouted out with desire. She ate me like she’d never eaten anyone before.  She ate me exactly the way I liked to be eaten.

I felt wanted for the first time in a while.

I felt other things deeply, things that came with the heat of the moment. I felt how soft, yet thick, her skin was. I felt how her bodyline was perfectly drawn and how her breasts rested above and shook sweetly in reflection to her shaking in pleasure. I felt pleasure, too, in a way that it redefined pleasure for me. I felt the heaven, stars and the moon scheming and watching from above Mother Earth’s doing of infinite love, water, fire and unison.

We heard them calling.

Closure was abrupt and fleeting as we were interrupted by the sound of heavy rain and thunder outside our door, so we got half-dressed and ran outside. It was surprisingly warm and the rooftop was almost flooded.

Outside, half naked, barefoot, we danced happily under the rain and the sound of thunder felt like it came from our hearts colliding; allowing our souls to break free. We felt every drop of rain landing on our bodies with acknowledgement and acceptance. It coated our bodies as if it was meant to be, or as if heaven had only sewed that rain for its children to wear. We were safe, feeling at home. We could see through to the sky and the moon was there, dressed in blue, watching our wildness reborn from her light; unalarmed and  unbound, just free again.

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