i had never felt older, and i have not felt older since, that summer afternoon when we were sitting in your mom’s van, parked behind some big shading trees, and you reclined my backseat, unzipped my jeans, pulled them to my ankles, and went down on me.

i had that black tank top on, my bare arms behind my head, and i looked down at your playful devotion. my eyes were lazily shut, almost bored – until i came in a soft scream, bringing my arms down so i could pull your knotted hair.

summers were good for us. i was sixteen.

i had never felt older in that moment. i’m not sure why, but i haven’t felt older since. maybe it was the way you were bowed to me, or how i knew you were wrapped around my finger. but it could have been that you were two years older, and and my mother didn’t want me out with you. maybe it was in me – my attitude, my pretentious disposition that would soon fade with high school but at the moment kept me on top of the world.

these days, i’m not sure where i am in it.