It is a spring evening in 2000.  

I am twenty-two years old.

We sit across from one another in a restaurant booth.  Meg’s black hair comes just past her chin.  It’s the shortest it’s been since high school.  She’s wearing a white salwar kameez with a green pattern.  Her style is always evolving.   In high school, she was thrift shop chic.  In college she became preppy.  She used to hate traditional clothing.

It’s the first time we’ve been face-to-face in years.

I am leaving in a few weeks.  After graduation, I’m moving across the country to start my career.

“I don’t want you to go,” she says.  “I made a horrible mistake and I’m just realizing it.”  

She smiles nervously.  She takes my hand in hers.  She’s warm and friendly.  

My heart flutters.  I am a ship emerging from the fog.  It’s everything I’ve wanted.  It’s everything I’ve hoped would happen.

“Say,” she says.  “Or take me with you.  I know we belong together.”

It’s a fall evening in 1996.

I am nineteen years old.

We are walking across campus.  Meg’s black hair comes to her shoulders.  It was barely below her ears when we started dating.  She’s wearing a navy corduroy skirt and a white sleeveless sweater over a dark blue bra.

It’s been two months since we last touched.  She’d ended things over the phone after two years together.  She had met a guy while volunteering at the Olympics.

It’s the first football game.  A group of her friends walk ahead of us.  They all go to a women’s college across town.  I got them tickets so they can meet guys.  Meg had called out of the blue to ask for the favor.

She pulls me into an alley between buildings.  Her friends don’t notice.  She presses her back to the brick wall and beckons with her finger.  We kiss.

“I miss you,” she said.

“Does that mean you’re staying over?”  

“Let’s see how the night goes.  But it seems likely.”

Hours later we are in my room.  My roommate is snoring in his bed.  Her friend is asleep in mine.  Meg’s clothes are folded neatly on a dresser.  She’s wearing one of my shirts.  It barely covers her dark blue panties.

We can’t stop kissing.  My hands explore her body.  She’s the only person I’ve ever fucked.  I was second for her.  

We know how to please one another.  We’ve done it so many times.  She rubs my cock quietly.  We don’t want the others to wake up.

“I want to be inside you,” I beg.

“We can’t.”  

I caress her bare thigh. Her silky panties are damp.  I push them aside and find her clit.  She bites my lip to stop herself from crying out.  

We tease and touch one another.  I circle her clit playfully.  She squeezes her thighs.  I know she won’t last long.  

She buries her face in my shoulder and bites down.  She whimpers loudly.  Her body is trembling.

“Do you have a condom?” she asks.

I tell her I don’t.

“Just be careful.  And be quiet.”

We fuck on the sofa with two people sleeping beside us.  We’re not quiet or careful, but they’ve both been drinking and don’t seem to wake.  I’m too excited to pull out. It has been too long.  I’m out of practice

For the first time, I cum inside her. She cums right after me. Her body shakes.

“Did you…?” she asks.

I nod.  There’s nothing to be done about it.  We hold each other until I slip out of her.  We fall asleep.  We never talk about the summer breakup.  We just pretend it never happened.  

It’s a spring evening in 1998.

I am twenty years old.  

We’re in her dorm room.  Meg’s black hair comes to the middle of her back.  She’s wearing a white, short-sleeved sweater dress that stops well before her knees.

It’s been seven months since I last saw her.  We spent Valentine’s weekend in a hotel in the mountains.  The next week we argued over the phone.  She broke up with me for the second time.

She’s struggling in her calculus course.  She needs a tutor.  She’d called out of the blue after months of not speaking. The last time I called she told me she didn’t want to talk anymore.

We sit close together at her desk.  We talk about everything except for school.  She’s flirtatious. I place my hand on her bare thigh.  She doesn’t push it away.

“I need to change into something more comfortable,” she says.

There is a closet and a dresser by her bed.  She takes out a white thermal shirt and flannel pyjama bottoms.

She grabs a hanger. With her back to me, she pulls her dress over her head.  She unclasps her lacy white bra.  

I stare at her brown skin.  I admire her thin waist and the side curve of her breasts.  I’m excited by the way her panties cling to her plump ass.  She knows I’m looking.  

“Why are you staring?” she asks.  “It’s nothing you haven’t seen.”  

“I haven’t seen it in a long time,” I respond.

I don’t know if she’s tempting me.  I’m frozen in place.  I step behind her and place my hands on her hips.  She turns to me and smiles.

I kiss her upturned lips.  I kiss her neck.  I fondle and kiss her breasts and dark brown nipples.  

“I thought you wanted a tutor?” I ask.

She pulls me to her bed.  I pull her panties down.  She spreads her thighs so I can taste her.  I tease and torture her with my tongue. She writhes in the sheets.  Her nails dig into my head.  She cums quickly.  

Then I’m inside her.  I hold her hands above her head and thrust into her tight pussy.  It’s frenzied and quick.  We cum in unison.

Men aren’t supposed to sleep over in her dorm without registering in advance.  Neither of us care.  I’m on my back an hour later. She straddles me.  Her hands are planted on my chest.  Perspiration covers her body.  

She’s in complete control.  She brings herself to orgasm on my cock.  She isn’t finished.  She moves faster. Her cries are louder.

“I’m going to cum,” I say.

“Not yet,” she commands.

She’s so close.  I cum.  She rubs her lit on rocks back and forth to climax again.

We have one more study session at my place.  Then she’s done. She stops returning my calls. She makes sure I know we aren’t back together. It was just having fun.  It didn’t mean anything.  

It’s an early day in 1999.

I am twenty-one years old.  

We are in the student center.  Meg’s hair is long and voluminous.  She wearing black slacks and a pale pink sweater

It’s been over a year since we spoke.  We haven’t seen one another.  We haven’t talked on the phone.  We haven’t communicated at all.  

She is standing with a group of Indian students.  I’m walking alone when I see her.  I pass and circle back to make sure it’s her.  She doesn’t see me.  I don’t approach.  

I circle back a second time.  I find a friend leaving the same class I came from and walk with him.  We pass her together.  I look directly at her.  She glances in my direction.

I know she sees me.  She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t wave.  She holds my stare for just a second. It’s as if she’s challenging me to approach.  And then she looks away like she doesn’t see me.  She talks to her friends.  Or maybe it’s a guy she’s dating.  Nobody looks in my direction.  I don’t exist anymore.  At least not to her.  

It’s a late summer morning in 2020.

I wake up confused.  I don’t know where I am.  I’m confused.  And I realize it's just a dream.  The same dream for twenty years.  There was no last meeting.  There was no last reconciliation.  We never spoke again.

I know she’s married now.  I know she has kids.  I know all this through mutual friends and social media.  

I don’t know if she ever thinks of me.  I do know that I’ll never quite escape her.  I wonder if everyone feels the same way about their first love.

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