Let Me Be Your First (Music and Letters #1)

by Lynsey M. Stewart

  His face was full of intensity. I was willing him to grab me around the back of the neck, to push me against the car and kiss me. The way he was looking at me filled me with a fleeting feeling of confidence that I hadn’t experienced before and wasn’t sure what to do with.

  I understood the scale of the moment. My head screamed at me to make this matter, that this could be the story I tell my children, recite to my grandchildren, and wish for the same wondrous moment in my great grandchildren’s lives when I’ve reached an age where I can just about remember the start of this unknown journey.

  ‘Do you want to kiss me?’ I whispered into his ear. I heard a hard swallow at the back of his throat.

  ‘Yes, get in the car,’ he commanded as he fleetingly brushed his hand down my back.

  In the time it took to move inside the car, we had both lost our nerve. Glancing across, I smiled as I noticed his chest swiftly moving up and down, mimicking the slight tremor I felt through my body. He threaded his fingers through mine and moved in closer for a kiss. He was gentle and slow as he coaxed my mouth open. Our tongues flirted mildly, soundlessly gaining each other’s permission before he reached his hand to the back of my neck and pulled me closer to him.

  His kiss grew intense and fast. His hands were in my hair, lifting it from my neck, until he brushed them lightly down my body to the side of my breasts, locking his hands on the sweet spot of my body.

  I could hear light gasps escaping his mouth as we slowed the kiss down and looked into each other’s eyes. We stayed like that for a while, our eyes studying our faces, profoundly memorising the lines, shadows and freckles that made us so unique.

  ‘I really enjoyed tonight,’ he said, his voice barely a whisper as he caught his breath from the intensity of the kiss.

  I nodded, still resting my forehead on his. ‘Me too.’

  He pulled away first, smiling as he stroked his hand slowly up and down my thigh, teasingly light in his touch. ‘Can I see you again?’ His voice was low and he was breathing quickly. My eyelids fluttered as he kissed my neck softly and rubbed his thumb down the line of my jaw, resting his hands heavily on my throat.

  I wanted to cry out as he pulled away. His touch was addictive and I wanted more.

  His eyes studied mine before lazily trailing to the pout of my slightly parted mouth, eventually dropping to my breasts. I wanted to relieve the ache that was now throbbing and pulsing for attention. I could feel a pool of wetness between my legs and I wanted him to find it with his fingers.

  What was happening to me?

  I slowly felt another layer of myself unpeeling. The sexual layer. The layer that I always kept hidden.

  Luke watched me cautiously, like the thoughts that had taken me away from him for the last thirty seconds had played out across my face. He held on to me like I was a precious ornament waiting to be smashed. He couldn’t possibly know what I was thinking or what I wanted to offer him.

  Luke’s face changed from confusion to understanding. His movements followed sync, causing him to slowly arch his hands down the side of my breasts, moulding and kneading the flesh through the layers of clothes that I just wanted him to rip apart and destroy with his hands. His expression was intense and his hands purposeful, but I wanted him to do more. I wanted him to pull up my top and tease my nipples. I wanted him to feel how wet I was. I wanted to kiss my way along his bottom lip and suck the tip of his tongue, but he slowed his pace and then stopped completely.

  ‘Don’t worry, nothing’s wrong,’ he whispered as he caught the look of confusion on my face. ‘I just need to walk away now before I can’t stop myself.’

  As he got out of the car, I studied the steering wheel, unsure of what to do, how to sit, or where to place my fidgety hands. I tried to steady my breathing into a reliable keeping me alive pattern, which had worked fine for the last twenty-three years, but now I just couldn’t seem control it.

  ‘I’m going to go and take a cold shower now,’ he said, leaning in. I laughed at the words, the words that confirmed he shared it— the same sexual tension that had been running through my body on a thirty-second loop. He grinned as he pretended to adjust himself. ‘Goodnight, Elle.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  I counted to ten in my head to make sure he had walked away before bouncing up and down and banging the steering wheel with my hands, whisking my hair from side to side and whooping loudly in celebration of the best date I had ever been on. The fact that it was the only date was purely secondary.

  The night couldn’t have gone down better than a two for one lap dance at a drunken stag do.

  Four days after our first date, we arranged to meet again. Luke suggested that we go for something to eat. Who was I to disagree? Good food was akin to oxygen to me.

  We had spent the last few days talking on the phone and messaging each other. We had fluctuated between small talk, Twitter feed-like commentary about the TV programmes we were watching, and pleasant observations of the weather. However, as soon as night swept in, darkness took away our inhibitions and decency filters, making us fearless, flirty and borderline smutty.

  I was all kinds of happy that he hadn’t called me out on my rather questionable sexting skills.

  As I walked across the bridge to the restaurant, my stomach somersaulted when I saw him standing outside dressed casually in a pair of blue jeans and a light blue shirt.

  How could this handsome man be waiting for me? I must have been very good in a past life, or the power of karma was finally catching up with me. Maybe the gods of love and romance were starting to take pity on the woman who frequented the corner at parties and had wished for cupid to at least throw his arrow in her direction.

  I had forgotten the importance of Luke in my life. He was my mentor, the person I had looked up to, followed and respected. I’d learned to let go of him when he moved on to another team. Absence forced me to unravel the tangle of feelings and finally allow myself to admit that he would never belong to me.

  I closed my eyes and let the memories I had buried long ago resurface and consume me. Conversations, touches, and smiles explained away as misunderstandings. It was like looking at old photographs that have been hidden away until one day you reach for them and the images awaken your memories.

  The first time I met him was clear in my memory. He was so present in every way possible. Looking back, I realised that the paperwork detailing my placement should have carried a warning.

  You will gain a great deal of social work experience with a practice teacher who will offer everything he knows. However, in return, you will have to give up all common sense, as your crush will begin exactly three minutes in.

  His deep voice shook me away from daydreaming memories.

  ‘Hey,’ he said as he looked up from scrolling through his phone, smiling as I hitched up the sultry swing of my hips and seductive hair flicks. But my breath got caught in the dryness of my throat, encouraging a garbled cough, which happened to be the most unappealing noise in the world. Luke’s head kicked back, and I was sure he winced fleetingly before gathering himself. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, fine,’ I lied, covering my mouth with the tips of my fingers.

  ‘What took you so long?’ His head tipped to the side. I think he was studying me, waiting for another weird noise or body tick. But then his gaze ran across my body, his eyes full of heat. ‘Stupid question; you were making yourself look fucking gorgeous.’

  I smiled at the compliment and reached for his hand. This small gesture would be something I would never take for granted again. I loved holding hands, linking fingers, stroking wrists. I loved having someone to hold hands with. But most of all, I loved holding his.

  As we walked into the restaurant, I heard him state he had a reservation for a table for two by the window. He drew a fine line between confident and cocky, but I chose to ignore that and settle on the fact that he was probably just self-assured, which was the complete opposite of me.

  It wasn’t unusual
for me to have a constant buzz of nerves radiating across my shoulders. It ranged from a subtle buzz that I could easily control, to a deep swarm of pulses that threatened to stop the blood supply to my toes.

  He was much older than me, but age was never an aspect of our relationship. I had never given much thought to it. But self-doubt started to kick in and I found myself panicking. Had he dated younger women before? Would he find me too immature? Could I handle a relationship with a man several years older and so much more experienced? I really hadn’t grown into my face yet and still looked twelve. Everyone told me I would find it fantastic when I was in my forties, but that wasn’t helping me now. I tried to shake the thoughts out of my mind. Yes, I liked colouring books and had a weakness for Snapchat, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t hold my own in a conversation about politics or climate change.

  Read more papers. Be classy. Start with the Independent.

  ‘Have you been here before?’ he asked as he poured me a glass of wine.

  ‘Just water for me.’

  ‘Water? That’s not very exciting.’

  ‘I need to keep my wits this evening. Wine goes straight to my head and makes me do silly things.’

  ‘Really? Good to know.’

  I was officially done for.

  Early evening flowed into late evening, but after a heady mix of easy conversation, subtle touches, and several sexual innuendos, Luke told me that he had to leave. I shrugged and held my palm over the wide opening of the glass trying to hide my disappointment.

  ‘Sorry to cut it short, but I’m travelling to London in the morning for a court hearing. One of my families should be getting their adoption order tomorrow.’ My eyes followed him as he stood up. I was becoming more aware of him and his appeal to other women. Several women had looked over at him during the evening, and several had moved their heads backwards and forwards between us like a game of guess the relationship status tennis.

  She must be his niece. Game, set, and match.

  He oozed sex appeal. I was certain that this was a pretty good indication that he knew what he was doing in the bedroom—and I didn’t mean his decorating skills or dusting regime. This man could handle the mechanics of a female body, and I imagined I would be in safe hands if and when it ever happened between us. Oh crap, I wanted it to happen between us.

  I zoned out daydreaming about his touch.

  ‘Elle?’

  ‘Oh God, sorry. Yes, I’m ready to go.’ I stood and pulled my jacket off the back of the chair, knocking the vase of sweet peas, sending it rocking backwards and forwards before Luke caught it in one sleek move.

  The man was a superhero.

  He took his wallet out of his pocket and gestured for the bill. ‘I was thinking, shall we go Dutch?’

  ‘Dutch?’ I enquired, wondering if Dutch was experienced older man code for sexy times.

  ‘Yeah. Go halves for the meal.’

  Oh, that’s what going Dutch meant.

  ‘Umm, yeah, that’s fine,’ I muttered, unsure of what to say or how to respond as I watched the waiter take both of our cards from the small white plate, navigating his way through the mints that we had left on top of the bill. I was sure he gave me a simpering look of sympathy. He must have been a seasoned reader of people and could easily recognise the signs of a couple in the early stages of dating as much as he could recognise the uncomfortable dating protocol of splitting the bill. Now, I was all for feminism and could get on board with burning my bra if totally necessary, but I couldn’t help feeling disappointed that he hadn’t offered to pay for our meal. I was jumping to all sorts of conclusions about the possibly that I could be dating a tightwad, so I made a mental note to set an actual reminder on my phone to search the internet for acceptable dating etiquette.

  We walked out of the restaurant hand in hand. I hid an inconceivable urge to hold up our joined hands and shout across to the waiter and say, ‘He is a good catch, see.’ I wrestled with the corners of my mouth, stopping myself before I added, ‘I’m winning at life!’ Because I was the Urban Dictionary definition of a true feminist. We split the bill. In your face, waiter.

  Luke moved closer as we walked side by side. ‘Elle, can we talk?’

  Those four words made me feel like he had plunged his finger into my heart and taken a bite, before sewing me up with a bent knife. An ugly scar would be inevitable, but it wouldn’t be visible across my skin, only across my poor, naïve heart.

  ‘What do you want to talk about?’ I didn’t recognise the squeak that came out of my mouth. I was breathless, terrified, and about to vomit the dinner that I had paid for over his light blue jeans and shiny tan brogues.

  ‘I’ve had a good time tonight, but…I’m just…I mean…I’m not sure. I really like you, but where are we going with this? What are you expecting from me?’ He shrugged as he leant against the cold iron of the bridge. I had fantasised about crossing it hand in hand with my love for the last eight or nine years. Speaking lost words, stealing kisses, and promising a lifetime of happiness. The bubble of that fantasy had burst with the words ‘Can we talk?’

  Was he really going to break up with me? I wanted the floor to swallow me up. A giant sinkhole could have appeared between my feet and I would have whooped with relief. How could he dump me after only two dates? My face flushed. Embarrassment was becoming a natural part of my existence. I wore humiliation like a stripper wore sexual confidence.

  ‘Look, I’m just not good at relationships.’

  Stop talking. Please stop talking.

  ‘Neither am I,’ I laughed in embarrassment, the sound slightly too harsh. ‘I’ve not had many before you.’

  More accurately, none.

  ‘It’s not you. I need you to believe that. It’s me,’ he said with a firm nod, indicating that he had spoken and it was time to drop the talking and explaining part of an adult conversation.

  I laughed a single barking laugh. Out loud. Not in my head, but actually out loud. I covered my mouth with my hand in an attempt to stop myself. Luke looked crestfallen as he drew his hand over his forehead and raked it through his thick blond hair.

  ‘It’s not you, it’s me. Isn’t that a cliché?’ I asked.

  I looked straight into his eyes as he watched my smile fade, the pad of his thumb rubbing over my lips. I felt the familiar surge of electricity run through my body. How could it betray me at a time like this? I should be nudging my elbow into his balls and pushing him penis first towards the pavement.

  ‘Yes, it’s a cliché. It’s awful, I know. But it’s true. It is me. I can’t see myself being able to offer any kind of commitment to you. I can’t go there again.’ He let out an exasperated breath and as it lingered in the air, I realised that I was unsure if the deep sigh was aimed at him or me, but I knew that I would probably never discover the answer to that conundrum.

  The look of confusion splashed across my face prompted him to explain himself. He pulled me to an empty bench that was perfectly situated to watch the time tick by on the Council House clock—, the Council House was Nottingham’s equivalent of a city hall, with an iconic 200-foot dome looming above the city, the clock was the centrepiece of the city’s skyline.

  It was only 9 p.m. and I had no idea how we had packed so much into this night. Hand holding, romantic dinner, humiliation, and heartbreak. A cacophony of feelings all woven into one date.

  I caught the eye of a young woman clutching a red rose as she stood nervously leaning her body against a lamppost. I wanted to walk over and ask her advice. I wanted her to reassure me that it was him and not me. But most of all, I wanted to use her as a distraction or interference to stop the inevitable from happening. That idea vanished when an equally nervous guy walked towards her holding a matching rose between his hands like a prayer. They awkwardly hugged, giving a clear indication that they were on a blind date and that they had found each other in the chaos of a night in the city by the symbol of a red rose.

  Luke carried on talking as I watched the p
erformance play out in front of me. I vaguely remembered him muttering something about his last long-term relationship ending badly. Something about how they had fallen out of love but existed together in the same house for a number of years.

  I returned my attention to him when the couple, still clutching the symbolic red roses, walked away across the bridge, stopping to admire the view beyond, and essentially rubbing my face in a romantic ideology that was wilting and dropping its petals across the water, just like the roses still clutched in their hands would eventually do.

  ‘We hated each other in the end,’ he said as I tried desperately to piece together what I had missed.

  ‘Sorry, you need to go over that again. I’m just a bit lost for words,’ I stammered quietly. I held my breath to try to stop my lungs knocking against my ribcage as he proceeded to tell me how the woman he had lived with for six years walked out on him five months ago. He told me how they’d grown apart and how the anger and frustration at their hopeless situation had led them to treat each other like strangers. The experience had damaged him. The way he spoke, so bitter and full of unresolved angst, told me it had shaped his view of not only her, his lost love, but of all women, including the one standing wide-eyed and hopeful before him.

  Was it possible to hate someone you had never met? At that very moment, I hated his ex more than anything. I hated that her actions had affected him so greatly. I hated that because of her, he didn’t want to take a chance on love. I hated that because of her, he didn’t want to take a chance on me.

  ‘I’ll hurt you, and I really don’t want to do that. I’m damaged goods,’ he whispered as he planted his hands awkwardly in his coat pockets in an act of defiance.

  ‘What makes you think I’m looking for anything serious?’ I lied. I wasn’t sure where that had come from. Was he working me like a puppet master flicking the strings? Or was it hope, saving face, or simply desperation?

  ‘You will. You’re young. You’ll want it all eventually. I can’t give you that. I’m sorry.’