His face hovers above hers. She’s twenty-five and has never done this before. All of her friends did it years ago. She’s afraid and excited.

She doesn’t get fully undressed--only pulls her jeans down as far as necessary, and her shirt up to her bra line.

His shirt is off and she focuses on a tattoo of the American flag he has on his chest.

She met him in a bar. The guy seemed willing enough and most importantly, experienced. She invited him back to her apartment.

He wanted to know if he could bring his friend who wanted to watch.

She thought it sounded cool then, but isn’t so sure now this is how she wants it to be.

His friend sits at the foot of the bed, staring, and she thinks if she moves her left leg an inch, and stretches out her toes, she can touch his knee.

She wants to ask him to move to a chair in the corner, but the guy doesn’t seem to mind, so she decides not to let it bother her either.

The guy holds it in his hand and she says something like it’s much bigger than I thought, a nervous giggle escaping her before she can stop it.

The friend snickers.

She doesn’t know where to put her hands, and places them on the guy’s bare shoulders, but then removes them, her palms moist from his sweat. She instead grips the quilt she’s lying on.

He tells her to relax and she tries to as he inserts it in her.

She squeezes her eyes shut and arches her back a little against the pain.

“Am I hurting you?” He asks, still thrusting it in, sounding annoyed.

She manages to give her head a quick shake, willing herself to think of something pleasant.

“I’m almost done,” he tells her, focused, his breathing matching the quick time of hers.

And then he is done.

Before she can blink he’s already at the foot of the bed next to his friend, television remote in hand.

She lets her hand touch down there and her two fingers come away smudged with blood. I’m bleeding, she tells him.

He shrugs and doesn’t turn around. “It happens,” he says.

The friend snickers again.

She sighs, rises, and heads to the bathroom to clean up, thinking she should have gone the conventional route and just gotten her ears pierced instead of her navel.

Jennifer Gatewood attended Temple University and earned her degree in journalism. She became part of America's work force and writes for a trade publication, but never lost sight of her lifelong goal of becoming a novelist. Her first novel is completed and as she edits it, she also writes short stories and flashes. Jennifer is African American, 25 years old and lives in the Northeastern USA.