I'm putting the final touches on my outfit for tonight's party when I hear a knock at the apartment door. My roommate, Becky, answers it.

"Hey Alex! Nice costume. Jenny's almost ready--she's in her room."

"Come on in!" I shout. I'm standing at the mirror braiding my hair into pigtails, and I hear him enter the room behind me as I'm finally able to tie off the end of the second long braid. We make eye in the mirror and I say, "Hey, great costume."

"Thanks," he says. He's wearing an embroidered western-style shirt that stretches over his broad chest, cowboy boots, and blue jeans with an enormous, gaudy silver belt buckle. I turn, squint, and see it has a bald eagle on it, then look up at him. "Where on earth did you get that awful thing?" I ask, laughing.

He smiles and shrugs. "Temu. It was like four bucks. I'm actually surprised it's even staying on."

"Well, it really makes your outfit. Are you ready to go?"

"Yep," he says. "I like your outfit, too. Very Americana."

I'm wearing a red gingham button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to my elbows, the bottom of the shirt tied in a knot just over my belly button. The ends of my braids are tied with little red bows to match my shirt. A short denim skirt and cowboy boots, as well as a sparkly cowboy hat, complete my costume for tonight's party theme: "One Last Rodeo."

Our senior year is winding down, and it's going to be so strange in a month when, for the first time, Alex and I will be living in separate cities. We grew up on the same block, so we've been going to school together our whole lives, even ending up at the same local state university after neither of our top school choices panned out. And now he's been recruited by a tech company in Austin, Texas, and there's a job waiting for me at a publishing house in New York. Even though I'm excited to graduate and start my career, the thought of leaving my family and my hometown--and Alex, my oldest friend--after almost 22 years is intimidating.

But finals are finally over, and now we just have a few days until graduation.

"Hey, Becky!" I call as we leave my room. "Are you guys ready to go?"

Becky and her boyfriend Jason appear from the kitchen, dressed like Woody and Jessie from Toy Story. Becky's even managed to procure a red, braided yarn wig from somewhere, and she's drawn extra freckles across her nose with an eyebrow pencil. They look at each other, then wordlessly turn around and lift their left feet to display the soles of their boots, where they've written "AИDY" in black sharpie. Alex and I laugh and clap.

"Wow, you guys did a great job on your costumes!" I say, still laughing.

"Yeah, really impressive," Alex says. "You guys will win the costume contest for sure."

We're still laughing together as we walk out the door.

***

The party is held at a local bar-slash-dancehall that caters to the line-dancing crowd. There are pool tables, dart boards, and a mechanical bull that already has a line practically out the door. As we walk in, a girl wearing a huge Dolly Parton wig gets thrown from the bull, landing on the inflatable base with an audible whoosh of air from her lungs. "Ow, that's gotta hurt," Jason says as we , and the rest of us wince and murmur in agreement.

We split up as we move further inside, Becky and Jason drifting off to make out in a dark corner, while Alex is hailed by a couple of his weightlifting buddies. They greet each other with arm punches and handshakes that look designed to hurt, and I roll my eyes as I walk away to find my own friends. Their raucous laughter follows me and I shake my head, smiling a little.

Alex is a good guy, but when he's around his friends, he has to puff out his chest and pretend to be an alpha. As far as I can tell, "being an alpha" means flexing as girls walk by, wearing too much cologne, and crushing empty beer cans on their heads. I've tried to talk to him about it before, but he says I just don't get it. I suppose I don't.

I find a few of my literary magazine friends and we head to the bar for margaritas. We toast, snap a few selfies, and drink, chatting about our future plans. Paul and Anya are both going on to grad school to study literature, while Hannah, Brennan, and I are all heading into the "real world." We order round after round, toasting each other, our futures, our school, our magazine, getting sloppier by the minute.

It's my turn to get a round of drinks, and I'm standing at the bar--okay, leaning on the bar, struggling slightly to stay upright--when I glance around the room and recognize a familiar silhouette leaning up against one of the pool tables. It's Alex, his tall, barrel-chested frame towering over the girl he's chatting up. She needs to tilt her head nearly all the way back to look up at him, but she doesn't seem to mind.

I turn back to the bar with a sigh, starting to get impatient, when I feel hands on my waist and hot breath in my ear. "Hey, baby, want to show me what's under that skirt?"

I whirl around and a guy I don't know is pushing me up against the bar, his hands on my hips now as he presses against me, flirting with the edge of my miniskirt. He has a buffalo-check shirt on and a blue handkerchief in his shirt pocket, and he looks like Paul Bunyan. The edge of the bar pushes painfully into my back.

"Uh, no, excuse me," I say, giggling nervously. I try to side-step him, but he places one hand on either side of me and traps me between them.

"What, too good for me? Come on, I just want to talk. What's your major?" He's leaning forward, his face inches from mine, bathing me in his whiskey breath.

"No--let me go--"

I try to push against his chest, but the whole drunk weight of him is leaning on me now, and he grinds his hips against me as I strain hopelessly against his bulk. He tries to kiss me and I turn my head just in time, but his lips still attach themselves to my neck like a suction cup, and I renew my efforts to free myself.

"Hey!--What's going--Hey, get off!"

Paul Bunyan is pushed aside, and suddenly Alex is in front of me.

"Hey, are you okay?"

I nod, and he wraps his arm possessively around my shoulders.

Mr. Bunyan is squaring up, ready for a fight, when he sees Alex's arm around me. He looks from me to Alex and back to me, then at the floor, looking chastised. "Sorry, man. Didn't realize--my bad." He slinks away, and Alex squeezes my shoulders before dropping his arm.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah--I'm fine. Thanks for the rescue. You can go back to your girl over there." I nod toward the pool tables, where the girl Alex had been chatting with is watching us, her eyes narrowed. His eyes flick toward her, then back to me. It looks for a moment like he wants to say something else, but then Hannah pops up at my elbow.

"Are you okay, Jenny? Let's get you back to the table. I'll help carry the drinks."

By the time I look up again, Alex has disappeared back into the crowd.

***

The rest of the evening es in a blur of more drinks, and suddenly the lights are coming up as the bar starts chivvying people out. People have been leaving in pairs and groups for the last hour, and I've long since lost track of Alex. We had planned to walk back to our building together, but it seems like he may have left with that girl he was talking to.

I hop down from my stool and sway slightly, feeling pleasantly dizzy, and get ready to walk back to my place by myself. Becky and Jason are long gone, headed back to his apartment with their first-place ribbons, and most of my magazine friends live in the opposite direction.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Hannah asks as we walk toward the exit.

"Totally fine," I say. "I'm only a few blocks away. It's an easy walk."

"Well, if you're sure," she says. I nod, and we hug before parting ways.

As I turn to start walking, I hear someone calling my name. "Jenny! Wait up!"

Thundering footsteps sound behind me and I turn. It's Alex, and he's alone. His cowboy boots click loudly on the pavement, and I stop and wait for him to catch up.

"I thought we were walking back together!" he says, winded.

"Me too, but I thought you'd already left. I saw you talking to that girl and just assumed--"

"Oh, uh, yeah, that was just, uh...that didn't really work out," he says, slurring slightly and grinning despite his apparent strike-out.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," I say, realizing as I say it that I'm not really sorry at all. "Let's get going, you should probably get to bed."

"But whyyyy, it's so nice out tonight and we're having so much fun--" He slings his arm around my shoulders and begins, incredibly, to skip down the sidewalk. I can't help but grin dizzily as he pulls me along, but if he keeps going like this--his strides are enormous and I can barely keep up--we're both going to end up on the ground.

"What--okay--what has gotten into you?" I ask, laughing, trying to slow him down. "You're going to kill us both if you keep skipping like this, I can't keep up with you."

"I'm just enjoying my time with my friend while I can," he says, his voice sing-song. He slows down to a normal walking speed and his arm slips to my waist. His hand is warm on my exposed midriff. "We're friends, right?"

"Wha--of course we're friends, Alex, what do you mean?"

"Just--" He looks up at the sky, then down at the sidewalk, not meeting my eyes. "In a couple of weeks we'll be living in different cities, and it'll be so weird not having you around."

"Yeah, I know," I say. "But we'll both be home for the holidays, so we'll still see each other. And they do have this really great thing called phones where we can call each other and text each other and even video chat."

"Yeah," he whispers. "But..."

"But what?"

"But--I--oh, hell."

I look up just in time to see him swooping down toward me, and he presses his lips to mine.

My whole body tightens in surprise. This is Alex, I think, Alex, the kid I've known since I was five, who I used to make mudpies with, who I learned to ride bikes with, who I ran through the sprinkler with. Alex, who signed my cast when I broke my arm and threw snowballs at me and rode the bus with me. Alex, who can be a big dumb macho jerk when he's around his big dumb macho jerk friends.

And then I think, But wait--this is Alex, who took me to junior prom when my first boyfriend dumped me the week before, who walks me home from every party, who saved me tonight and who's saved me countless other times...have I been missing something?

All of this goes through my mind in half a second, and then he's pulling away.

"I'm sorry," he says, his eyes searching mine. "I've just always wanted--"

I grab a handful of his shirt, pull him down toward me, and kiss him again. My mouth softens, and his tongue pushes past my lips as his arms wrap around me. I throw my arms around his neck and he presses his body to mine, his hands on the small of my back. For the first time I understand what all those girls are seeing when he towers over them, and I melt into his arms.

We part a moment later, panting.

"What was that?" I whisper, looking up at him. A gentle smile is tugging at his lips.

"That is what I've been wanting to do since the seventh grade."

"Really?"

"Really."

"But--why didn't--"

"Because we're friends," he says, taking both my hands. "And I didn't want to mess that up. You're...really important to me. But now...when we're graduating..." He squeezes my hands as he shrugs. "I had to take the chance while there still was a chance. I knew I'd always regret it if I didn't."

I can't seem to form any words; my brain has gone to radio static. He's still holding my hands, looking at me like I'm supposed to say something. I suppose I probably should, but nothing comes, and I just stare at him.

His face changes, just a subtle shift in his eyes, even as he maintains his smile. He drops my hands. "Um, sorry," he says, looking away. "I guess--maybe I shouldn't have--"

I interrupt him. "No, I just--I can't quite wrap my brain around this." I take his hands again and step closer to him. We're still on the sidewalk, still two blocks from our building. "Is this really happening?"

"Yeah," he breathes. "I think it is."

He kisses me again, and this time he doesn't hold back. He wraps his arms around me and lifts me off my feet, his tongue in my mouth, his hands warm on my skin as my shirt rides up my back. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him back, tasting the liquor on his breath, thinking nothing has ever tasted so good. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies his kiss sobers me up faster than ten cups of coffee.

He puts me down and we look at each other again, astonished smiles spreading slowly across our faces. He laces his fingers through mine and we start walking again, nervous and giddy. My heart pounds as we walk faster and faster, sneaking glances at each other and giggling like kids.

We're almost running by the time we get back to our building, and as we walk through my apartment door I'm trembling all over, excitement and nerves still dumping buckets of adrenaline into my bloodstream. With the door closed behind us, we look at each other again and smile shyly, suddenly uncomfortable, knowing we've already crossed a line that can't be un-crossed.

He approaches me slowly and rests his hands on my shoulders. His thumbs play with my open collar, and his eyes drift downward to where my shirt is buttoned. His hands follow, and suddenly they're on my breasts. My breath catches in my throat and he pauses, and as I lean toward him to reassure him with a kiss, he tilts his head up and--clunk--his forehead collides with mine.

We both stumble backwards, palms pressed to our heads, groaning in pain. And then we catch each other's eye, and soon we're laughing, doubled over as we gasp for breath. He's still pretty drunk, and just as I notice him listing to the side, I watch as he loses his balance and tumbles to the ground. We both laugh harder, tears squeezing from my eyes.

I try to help him to his feet, but his dead weight is no match for me and I end up plopping to the ground myself, cackling even harder now. We can't look at each other; every time we do, fresh streams of giggles burst from us. My stomach hurts and I'm starting to feel lightheaded, and I'm grateful I'm already sitting on the ground.

Finally, finally, we manage to stop laughing. He gets to his knees and then to his feet, offering me a hand and pulling me up.

"Man," he says, "I'm sorry about that. I guess we're both--"

"Nervous," I finish for him, and he nods. "I also just kept thinking about the sound our heads made--"

"Me too," he says, chuckling again. "But I can't think about it anymore because I think I might hyperventilate if I start laughing again."

"Same," I say.

Our breathing slows down again as we watch each other. He's still holding my hand after helping me up. I'm trying to be serious, but my face keeps wanting to twitch into a smile.

He steps toward me and takes my other hand, lacing his fingers through mine again.

"Are you ready?" he breathes.

My lips part slightly as I nod.

This time when he kisses me, it's soft and gentle, tentative, patient. He squeezes my hands lightly as he exhales, then lets go of them to cup my face. He brushes a strand of hair from my forehead and kisses me again, this time sucking lightly on my bottom lip. A sigh escapes me, and I feel my body relax.

His hands drift to my shoulders, his thumbs teasing the sensitive skin along my clavicle. As we kiss, I reach out in front of me to find the buttons of his shirt and begin undoing them one by one. His hands slide slowly down my front until he's cupping my breasts again, and we both start to breathe faster.

I finish unbuttoning his shirt and slip my hands inside, touching his bare chest for the first time. He's broad and muscular, standing about eight inches taller than me, and I break our kiss so I can kiss his Adam's apple and the hollow of his throat as I slide the shirt from his shoulders. He groans, the sound escaping as if he was trying to hold it back.

He unbuttons my shirt, then unties the knotted fabric. He pushes the blouse from my shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. Then his hands are on me again, now working at my bra clasp. He unhooks it and slides the straps down my arms, slowly, like he can't believe what he's doing.

The apartment is dark, lit only by the sodium-vapor streetlamps outside the window, and we're still standing in the small entranceway. He cups my breasts again, now bare against his hands. The orange glow of the streetlamp is reflected in his eyes as he watches himself caress me, as if mesmerized. I can feel his disbelief--and his excitement--coming off of him in waves. My heart is hammering against my ribcage, and I wonder if he can feel it.

"Come on," I say, and I lead him to my bedroom.

I leave the overhead lights off, but turn on the string of multicolor twinkle lights I hung around the perimeter of the room when I first moved in. They're not very bright, but they lend a warm, colorful glow to the room as they fade slowly in and out. I press my body to his and wrap my arms around his waist, my cheek to his bare chest. He rests his chin on my head and strokes my hair, and I can hear his heart beating wildly. It makes me smile to know he's as nervous as I am.

I look up, and he bends down to kiss me again. It's more urgent this time, and his hands find their way under my skirt. I'm wearing a thong underneath, and he draws in a long breath when he encounters my bare skin. I smile against his mouth and turn my head to kiss along his jaw, the warmth from his touch spreading through my body. He finds the hidden side zipper on the skirt and tugs it down, and the skirt falls to my feet.

He lowers me onto the bed so I'm lying on my back, and I kick off my boots as he fumbles in his pocket. He tosses a small foil packet onto the bed before unbuckling his belt, the obnoxious bald eagle belt buckle making it difficult to maneuver. He struggles for a moment and then yanks at it, and I watch as it breaks and goes flying in a flash of metal, coming to rest under my desk.

That almost gets us both laughing again, but I stop as he slips out of his jeans and boots and strips off his socks. His boxer shorts do little to hide his tumescence, and it's my turn to watch, transfixed, as he lowers himself to the bed.

Lying on his side, slipping one arm under my shoulders, he looms over me in the semidarkness. He uses his free hand to play lightly with one nipple, then the other as he kisses my neck. He moves slowly down my body and my heart pounds harder, desperate for his touch but so full of nerves that I can hardly breathe. He slides one finger under my thong, then stops. We look at each other as the lights around us change colors, and I kiss him again, nodding as I pant through my excitement.

He slips the thong aside, then draws a finger through the wetness that's gathered between my legs. We both shiver as he touches me, and as he slips his finger inside me, I grasp him over his boxers and begin to stroke him gently.

I feel him swell under the fabric and he groans. When I slip my hand into his waistband and touch his bare skin for the first time, he buries his face in my neck and whimpers. His warm breath on my skin makes me shiver, tingles running through my body.

He pulls away for a moment and slides his boxers off, kicking them to the floor. Naked now, he leans over me and slips his fingers back into the waistband of my thong, then slowly tugs it down my thighs...then to my knees...and then finally to my ankles. It gets tossed to the floor as well, and out of the corner of my eye I see it land on one of my boots.

We pause again, just looking at each other, letting the weight of the moment settle over us. Every inside joke, every sleepover, every time we fought over what kind of pizza to order or what movie to watch--they all led us here, and I can see in his eyes that he's reliving the same moments I am. He smiles again, gently, and I nod.

He reaches for the condom in its square foil packet, tears it open, rolls it on. He lowers his body over mine, ing himself on one elbow as he guides himself to my entrance. I look up into his face, and he looks down at me.

"No turning back now," he whispers.

"No," I breathe. "No turning back."

His lips meet mine as he slides slowly into me, and I moan into his mouth. He kisses along my cheek to my jaw, then down behind my ear, burying his face in my neck again as he begins to thrust.

"Oh, god," he whispers. "Oh, god, it's finally real."

He finds my mouth with his again and kisses me desperately, and I wrap my arms around him. It's finally real, I think, in a dazed sort of way. I never knew I wanted this, but now...now I can't think of anything in the world that I want more.

His strokes begin to speed up, and I hold him tighter to me, wrapping my legs around his hips. He's thrusting deeply now, deeper than I've ever felt before, and the sensation takes my breath away. It's both painful and arousing and I don't know how to process it, so I kiss him harder, cupping his face and holding it to mine. We're both sweating now, and there's a masculine, musky scent surrounding him that I've never noticed before. It's utterly intoxicating, and I almost laugh with the joy of it.

We hold each other tighter and tighter as his thrusts come faster, panting and sweaty, kissing frantically, and now I do laugh, and then we laugh together at finding ourselves here, where suddenly it seems like we've been heading all along. And when he thrusts into me for the final time, shuddering and gasping, he drops his head to my shoulder and whispers, "oh god, oh god, oh god," as he comes. I stroke his sweaty hair and whisper, my lips to his ear, "I know...I know."

***

We spend the next few moments catching our breath, his head still on my shoulder, and I feel a brief moment of sadness as he withdraws from me. My hand is still in his sweaty hair when he looks up at me.

"So...that happened," he says. His bashful smile makes my chest flutter.

"It sure did," I say. "What happens now?"

"Well," he says, "first I'm going to take care of this condom, and then I'm going to take care of you."

"Take care of--what do you mean?" I ask as he rolls off the bed.

"I mean, you haven't come yet, so I'm going to make sure you do."

"Uh--"

But then he's gone, leaving the room to dispose of the condom in the bathroom I share with Becky.

I had assumed that, like the other two guys I'd slept with, Alex would either get cleaned up and bounce, or get cleaned up and then fall asleep immediately, probably trapping me under one heavy leg as he snored away and I stared at the ceiling. (It had happened before.) It hadn't even occurred to me that there was a third option.

Alex comes back into the room and slides back into my narrow bed, spooning me so my back is pressed against his chest. One arm slips under my neck so my head rests on his bicep, and the other rests on my waist for a moment before drifting between my legs. He pulls my hips gently toward him so they open slightly, and his finger just brushes against me when I say, "Wait."

He pauses, but doesn't move his hand away. "What?" he whispers in my ear. "Are you okay?"

"You--you don't have to worry about me," I say. "We can just go to sleep if you want. Wouldn't you rather just go to sleep?"

"No, I'd rather get you off first," he says, as if the answer is obvious.

"Well, I mean, just--don't worry about it," I say. "It's not a big deal."

"Jenny," he says, "I've been dreaming of kissing you since the seventh grade, and I've been dreaming of making you come since...well...not much later than that, if we're being honest." One hand is still between my legs; the other begins to stroke my breast. I shiver in his arms. "Trust me, this is not, like, a hardship for me."

"It's just--" I can feel my face burning with shame, and I'm thankful I'm facing away from him. "It's just that, um, I've never actually..." I trail off, hoping he'll understand without making me say it.

He does; good old Alex. "Jen, are you telling me that neither of those guys you dated--one of whom you dated for like ten months--are you saying they never made you come? You never once had an orgasm with them?"

I shake my head. "We had sex, and it was good--I mean, it was fine--and it seemed like maybe there should be something more, but there just...never was. And it wasn't ever really a big deal," I add hurriedly.

"Well," he says, "there is more, and it is a big deal. And if you'll let me" --he pulls me tighter against him so we're fully skin to skin, his front against my back-- "I'd like to show you."

"Okay," I whisper, my voice hardly audible even to my own ears.

"Okay," he says. "Stop me if it gets to be too much."

I nod, and he nuzzles my neck. I can feel him smiling against my skin.

The hand between my legs begins to move again, one finger stroking me gently open before slipping into me, followed by a second. The other finds my nipple and rolls it gently between his thumb and forefinger, sending sparkles of pleasure through my veins. His lips are on my neck, my ear, my shoulder, my jaw, and his warm breath tickles my sensitive skin.

He alternates the gentle thrusts of his fingers with light circles over my clit, barely touching it, focusing on the sensitive flesh to either side of it. I moan low in my throat, already almost overwhelmed with pleasure. He maintains a steady rhythm, slipping his fingers into me and stroking me from the inside, then drawing them out and circling my clit, until I'm gasping and panting in his arms. My nipples have gathered into points so hard they feel like they could cut glass, and every brush of his fingers over them makes me moan.

There's pressure building inside me, and I don't know what to do with it. I squirm in his arms, trying to get away from it; I can feel my pulse pounding in my throat and between my legs, and still he keeps his steady rhythm, stroking and stroking. I begin to whimper and tremble, and he holds me tighter as he presses his lips to my ear.

"It's okay, Jenny. I've got you. Stop fighting it."

I try to relax, and as I stop squirming, he whispers, "That's it, just like that." He keeps stroking, and finally the pressure reaches critical mass and explodes outward, flooding my body with pleasure. For a moment my whole body tenses; then I begin to shake, my legs trying to close around his hand, but he pulls them gently back apart. He strokes me through it, one hand on my breast, the other inside me, and I turn my face into the pillow so I can scream.

"That's right," he whispers. "Just like that. I've got you. Let it out."

I thrash and shudder but he holds me steady, his strokes slowing but not stopping until I go limp in his arms, panting, "No more, I can't take it, no more, please."

He stops then and just holds me, letting me come back down to earth. He kisses my neck gently, and I feel him smiling again as the last shivers run through me. Finally, I recover enough to turn over toward him, and he kisses my lips lightly.

"How was that?" he asks, the smile on his face making clear that he knows exactly how it was.

"It was..." I can hardly form words. "Indescribable."

His smile widens and he kisses my forehead. "Aren't you glad that we didn't just go to sleep?"

I nod and rest my head against his chest, still catching my breath. My mind is reeling. This is Alex, I think again. Alex is lying naked in my bed. I just had sex with Alex. Alex just made me come for the first time. My brain struggles to rationalize this and can't make sense of it. Did we just make a huge mistake?

I look back up at him, and he smiles down at me and kisses the tip of my nose.

"What--" It comes out in a squeak, and I clear my throat. "What now?" I ask.

"I don't think we have to decide that yet," he says, though he looks thoughtful. "I have some ideas, but I think it's worth sleeping on them first."

My eyelids start to droop at the mention of sleep, and I realize for the first time how exhausted I am. "Okay," I say, and I snuggle closer to him. His arms tighten around me.

"I am pretty sure of one thing, though," he whispers.

"Mmmm?"

"It's going to be a fun Senior Week."

I smile against his chest, and he holds me as we fall asleep in each other's arms.