First Time Aftermath

The room felt cold. Imogen sat naked on the bed, staring at nothing. She had her knees pulled up to her chest and was hugging them. She’d thought she was about to have a panic attack, but instead she had shut down, dissociated. She was still in that state, outside her body looking in. The boy, Chad, sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his socks. He was nearly dressed. He glanced sideways at her.
A fellow four, Chad was not what one might call conventionally attractive. He was a little pudgy, his brow a little low, and his hairline already receding a bit despite the fact that he was only sixteen. But he wore a kind smile and he hadn’t been rough with her at all. Now he asked, ‘You okay?’
Imogen nodded slowly, but didn’t speak.
‘Was it okay for you?’
She shrugged, still not speaking.
‘I’m sorry. I was hoping it would be good for you too, but it’s not like I have any experience . . .’ He rubbed the back of his neck and made a face. ‘This whole concept just feels . . . weird to me. Would’ve been much nicer if we’d, I dunno, gone on a date first, like in the movies.’
Imogen took a deep breath and let it out again. Chad looked her over with concern. She doesn’t look okay. He felt the urge to apologise again. His sister had told him how she’d felt for her First Time. How scary it had been and how she hadn’t really enjoyed it at all. If there had been a way to opt out of the First Time Programme, he would have. At least he thought he would have. He was willing to admit to himself that peer pressure might have got to him regardless. And anyway, it’s not like it would have made any difference for Imogen. She would probably still have had to go through it.
They went to the same school, and had met before; spoken, even, in the few lessons boys and girls had together. He’d always liked her. Always found her pretty, in her own way
‘Maybe . . . maybe we can hang out sometime,’ he tried.
Finally, the girl looked at him. Then her eyes welled up with tears and she sobbed, burying her face in her arms. Chad reached out, put a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to console her, but she flinched away.
‘Fine,’ he said flatly. ‘Bitch.’ He stood up, then instantly regretted his words. ‘Damnit, I’m sorry. I’m a dickhead, I’m sorry.’ He sat down again, but didn’t try to touch her. He just sat, waited for her to calm, unwilling to leave her in the state she was in. He’d got it over with quickly, not wanting to drag it out, so they actually had the room for another hour at least. He was in no hurry. Noting the goose prickles on her skin, he got up again, found the cardigan she’d been wearing and, as gently as he could, draped it over her, a bit like a blanket. She didn’t flinch away from that, and he sat down at the edge of the bed again, just staring at the floor.
Finally, Imogen stopped crying. Taking a deep breath, she looked at Chad again. She let her breath out slowly. He met her gaze and tried for a smile again. She didn’t return it, but her expression was softer than before.
‘Should I leave?’ he asked.
Imogen shrugged. ‘If . . . if you like.’ Her voice was hoarse. They were the first words she’d spoken to him since the initial ‘hi’. He had tried to make conversation, but it hadn’t really worked and, after a brief kiss, he had decided to just get it over with.
‘Well, what do you want?’ He tried to make it clear from his tone of voice that he actually cared. His dad always asked his wife’s opinion on things that concerned them both. He even consulted with her before voting. Chad had gathered that this was rare. Imogen probably wasn’t expecting him to actually give a shit about what she wanted.
She swallowed. ‘I . . . maybe?’ She sounded questioning, afraid.
‘It’s okay.’ Chad licked his lips. ‘I promise, it’s okay.’ He stood. ‘I’ll go.’ He would have liked to kiss her again, but that seemed out of the question. Any chance of them ever hanging out, spending time together, also seemed out of the question.
Everything he had been taught told him that girls existed to please him; that they wanted to submit, that it was natural for them. But he had a sister he was close to. He had a mother who was afforded respect and love by her husband. He knew it wasn’t true. He knew it was all a lie. And he’d gone through with it anyway. He should have just refused. They could have talked. Made friends, maybe. Gone out on a date, as equals. Chad would have liked that a whole lot more than what had just happened. What he had done left a sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t have a word for it, for this act, but in hindsight, it didn’t feel like sex.
‘Bye, Imogen,’ he said softly. ‘Take care, okay?’ Then he left the room.
Imogen stared down at the white bedsheet. There wasn’t a duvet, just a couple of pillows. They weren’t meant to cuddle and talk afterwards. It was supposed to be wham, bam, thank you ma’am, without the thank you. She felt a bit sorry for Chad. It wasn’t his fault. He’d been gentle.
Slowly, she got up and began to dress, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at herself. She was an expert in getting dressed in the dark or with her eyes closed. Now that she was calmer, she let herself think. Something had changed. Something fundamental. And it had nothing to do with her virginity.
She now felt in her bones what she had really known all along: this body was wrong. It wasn’t her body, or it wasn’t supposed to be. She had never been supposed to be a girl.
Imogen was a boy.