First Time by Jim Murdoch

You never forget your first. In truth I remember every one but none is as clear in my mind as my first.

For starters I was scared shitless and I make no apologies for that. Anyone who says otherwise is taking the piss. It could have been a total fiasco. I mean I literally fell on top of her. If I’m being completely honest I tripped (don’t laugh) landed on her and shoved it straight in. No pussyfooting around. No foreplay. No élan if you’ll pardon my French. A single thrust with all my might. Ooomph! Like that. The full length.

I thought she might have been a screamer – she had the look of a screamer (what does a screamer look like? Christ knows) – but, no. I lay on top of her, took a deep breath and shoved it in. She gasped as I did – I must have knocked the wind right out of her, took her breath away if you like – and for what felt like forever we just lay there in the dark neither of us breathing, waiting. She grabbed me – a reflex reaction, I suppose – hung on for dear life, dug her nails into my arms then arched her back pushing herself forward but I was in as deep as I was going to be, balls deep if you get my drift.

There was blood – how could there not be blood? – though not as much as I’d been led to believe. (Just be grateful I’m here to educate you about these things; I’d been led on to expect a ruddy geyser.) It was one of those times, you know the kind, like in a car crash, while your car is actually crashing, one of those times when time slows down to a standstill and you are suddenly, painfully, acutely aware of absolutely everything, like some kind of weird out-of-body experience.

I stared into her eyes and she into mine. She had blue eyes, huge, wide, like a kitten – fuckin’ beautiful, probably contacts – and they had this look, like a deer caught in headlights, you know that injured look. It must’ve hurt – I mean, think about it – but I don’t suppose the hurt had registered. I was too quick, too … efficient believe it or not. She sort of jerked, groaned, slumped and that was it, job done. I wiped the blade on her jacket and swiped her purse to make it look like a robbery gone wrong; that was always part of the plan. All in all a tad anticlimactic and amateurish. I was lucky. You have no idea. Some first timers make a real cock-up of it.

Now, let me tell you about my second time…

© 2011 Jim Murdoch

Jim Murdoch is a Scottish writer living just outside Glasgow. His poetry appeared regularly in small press magazines during the seventies and eighties. In the nineties he turned to prose-writing and has completed five novels and a collection of short stories but he never gave up the poetry. His first novel, Living with the Truth, was published in 2008 and the sequel, Stranger than Fiction, the following year. A third novel, Milligan and Murphy is due out this Fall. You can find out more about him on his blog, The Truth About Lies.

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