Free Frog by Claire Thompson

passion. He was a decent fellow, though rather short, which Jane didn't like. In her mind, her 'real' lover would be tall, as he looked down lovingly at her. But that was fantasy and Jane was a practical girl. She would take Brian, since he was one of only a few men or boys who had ever noticed her in the slightest.
    Brian was very eager to 'consummate' their relationship by having sex. He couldn't understand Jane's reluctance, it never occurring to him that he would be her 'first.' Jane sensed that Brian was growing

    tired of her protestations, and she knew he would probably break up with her soon if she didn't let him have sex with her. Her instincts told her to let him go. She knew she didn't love him and was even more certain that he didn't love her. They were a convenience for each other – something to do. But a part of her was curious; she wanted to find out what all the hoopla was about.
    And so, one Saturday evening when he made his overtures yet again after they returned to her small apartment from the movies, she didn't push away and say, "No, don't," when he tried to grab her breasts.
    Emboldened, he had slipped his hands into her bra, roughly tweaking and pulling at her nipples. She didn't stop him, though she wasn't especially forthcoming in her response. When he leaned down to unzip her jeans, she only closed her eyes, arching her hips slightly to allow him to pull them down. White cotton panties were eagerly pulled at by sweaty hands as Brian maneuvered himself over her.
    She didn't ask about protection, though she knew she should. She didn't tell him she was a virgin, as she was more ashamed than proud of this fact, at the age of 22. Averting her face, Jane gritted her teeth and waited for the pain she was sure would accompany his amateur thrusts. Instead, she felt his hand, fingers wet with his own spit, probing, opening her, massaging the sensitive folds above her entrance. Startled by the zings of sensation his hand caused, her eyes opened and she saw him intent upon her. She blushed as her eyes were drawn to his groin, where his erection was ample evidence of his desire. She closed her eyes again as he massaged his own cock, rock hard, though not very large, and then she felt him press it against her, slowly at first, attempting to gauge her reaction.
    It did hurt as it pressed in, but not nearly as much as she had feared. The initial slight tearing of flesh made her gasp and, afraid Brian would realize he was deflowering a virgin, she forced herself to smile at him. She moaned a little, like she thought she was supposed to. All of this was wasted on Brian, who was intent on one thing as he began to move, grunting a little as he shifted on top of her. It was over rather quickly. He kissed her neck for a few moments and then rolled

    off her, tucking his cock back inside his briefs, quickly zipping his jeans. He asked her if it had been good for her, and she assured him it had been wonderful. He didn't notice the smear of blood and she felt sure her secret was intact, even if she no longer was.
    After that she felt more confident, and looked forward to their Saturday night dates, which would invariably end with him quickly fucking her and then taking his leave. It wasn't that the sex was especially fulfilling; she never orgasmed with him – but she felt more like a woman. Someone wanted her at least, though she couldn't figure out why. After a few months, things petered out and she decided with her usual fatalistic sensibility that she didn't particularly care.
    Jane was not a person in touch with her feelings. She pretty much let life happen to her and usually had decided in advance that it wasn't going to go her way and there was nothing she could do about it, so she would just get on with things and not think about it too hard.
    Jane was not romantic. But still, there was a boy once, Tom Dillon, in twelfth grade, who had made her heart sing with desire, who had made her damp between her legs. They