___The room was darkened beyond what could be called "intimate;" it did not seem a setting to reveal one's self, but rather to hide. He could smell stale incense covering stale marijuana, old laundry, a musty wan of a place not cleaned often enough nor with sufficient scrutiny. Her bed was a messy tangle of wrinkled sheets and worn comforters, too low to the ground and creaky when she settled down on its lumpy mattress. He could tell from the way she moved to the bed that she was attempting to be seductive, but there was a lazy impassivity to her sashay, like she'd done it enough times to be apathetic.
___Before today, he had never seen a woman nude in person. She did not have the picture-perfect airbrushed body like the models in the magazines; her thighs were pale and striped with stretchmarks, her belly doughy with a dark birth mark by her hip. Her breasts lacked that surgical roundness and perk; they sagged softly, one nipple erect from the cold and the other sluggish to react. It wasn't that she was ugly - merely average, merely real.
___He was nervous when he pulled off his shirt, unbuttoned his pants; the TV virgins were always so suave and sure of themselves. He still had his wool socks on, itchy and smelling like sweat, and his erection pulled awkwardly against the fabric of his boxers. When he knelt down on the matress beside her, he wasn't sure how to start, awkwardly groping at her unfamiliar breasts while she tongued his mouth indifferently. Her fingertips were cold against his shaft as she laid back and he awkwardly positioned himself over her.
___She spread her legs like some sick caricature of those cute Hallmark cartoons with amorous arms opened wide: I love you THIS much! And when he ground his hips to hers, it was the same shallow promise he'd fulfill again and again for the rest of his life: I'll love you until the end of
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