“It’s fine,” he said, but I don’t think he meant it.
I had thought over and over in my head how I would say what I wanted to say to him, but it came out all wrong. “Do you want me to get naked so you can . . . I mean, do you want to take a picture of my, of me . . . you know, like the naked girl in the . . .”
He chuckled. “Do you think that’s gonna help my situation, Grace?” He lifted his head and glanced down at his crotch.
I could feel that my face was hot and completely red. “No, I mean . . .” I swallowed and tears began to cloud my eyes. My voice didn’t sound like my own. I sounded so weak. “I’m a virgin, Matt.”
There weren’t many virgins my age at NYU, and I was beginning to wonder if I had missed my window. That’s what happens; as you get older, it gets harder and harder to pursue an intimate relationship with someone. I had avoided it because I was so laser-focused on school and music. By sophomore year, I was literally the only person I knew who was still a virgin. I felt like a joke. And I was scared guys would think I was weird or inexperienced.
Matt’s face was penitent and his eyes were wide. He brushed my cheek with his palm. “I know, Grace. I’ve known since, like, the first day we met. You don’t have to do anything. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”
“You knew?”
He nodded. I guess it was that obvious. Did I have “VIRGIN” tattooed on my forehead?
“I just thought maybe you would want to take a picture of me, like the other girl?”
I could see in that moment that Matt knew it would mean more to me than to him. “I would love to photograph you, Grace. I will always want to photograph you.”
He stood from the bed and took a deep breath to collect himself before grabbing his camera. Looking back at me, curled up in my dress, he said, “I’ll just take the pictures. You do whatever makes you feel comfortable, okay?”
“Okay. Can we have music?”
“Of course.” He changed the CD and put on Jeff Buckley’s “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over.” I moved to the edge of the bed and lifted the dress over my head, tossed it aside, and then I slid my panties down to my ankles and kicked them off, never once looking up at Matt. Holding my hands over my bare breasts, I heard him snap a few pictures while I sat there, very still, looking down at the ground. He walked over to the lamp and put some thin material over the shade, dimming the light. I turned and pulled the bedspread back, revealing the white sheets before lying back on the pillow. I looked up at him finally but kept my body covered with my hands as best as I could.
His head was cocked to the side, like he was studying the composition, while he held the camera by the lens in his left hand. As he walked toward me, I could tell he was trying to read my expression. He stood over me at the edge of the bed and ran his right hand over my propped-up knee before skimming it down my calf. “Try to relax, okay baby?”
I nodded nervously. “My boobs are really small.”
He shook his head and smiled. “Take your hands away, Grace. You’re beautiful.” Something about Matt’s confidence and the way he took photography so seriously made it easier for me to pose for him. When he pulled the camera away from his eyes, I could see the beatific expression on his face. It reminded me of the way I felt when I played music. It was like something transcendent happened to him when he took pictures. Closing my eyes and breathing shallowly, I put my hands above my head and then heard the shutter clicking away as Jeff Buckley promised me that it would never ever be over.
Later, as I lay wrapped in my blankets, I watched Matt scouring the room. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for my shirt.”
I yanked it out from underneath the bed. “Found it. But it’s mine now.” I pulled it over my head. I loved the way Matt’s clothes smelled, like fabric softener and man soap.
“Holding my clothes hostage?”
“Stay with me?”
He stared at me for an uncomfortably long time.
“Matt?”
“All right,” he said, quietly. He slipped his jeans off and came toward me in his boxers. When I yanked back the old quilt, he slid between the blankets. “Come here, Gracie,” he said, pulling me toward him. I passed out in his arms.
Would I ever be able to stop thinking about how it felt to be wrapped up in him like that? Our bodies merged into one. Sleeping alone would never feel normal again. The way he moved was confident. Male. Slipping into his embrace was the most natural thing. Maybe it was because of all of the months we’d been studying each other, waiting for this moment. Or maybe it was because he had done this before.
10. That’s When You Had Me Grace
Matt was gone in the morning. There was no question I was putting his self-control to the test.