“Stay right here, I’m gonna grab a towel to clean you up.” I peel myself off of you, our sweat covered bodies clinging together.

You smile up at me tentatively, clearly stuck in your head. Not that I blame you. That was…a lot.

I press my lips against your forehead before making my way to the bathroom. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—I’m a mess. My hair is slick with sweat and messy from when your hands were in it. There’s bruise marks on my shoulders from the force you were gripping me with. And when I turn around—yep—scratch marks down my back.

But I can’t seem to wipe this cheesy smile off my face.

You and I have been together for a few months now, and they’ve been great. Hard, but great. It’s only hard because of the media frenzy that our relationship has spurred. God forbid a 28 year old and a 22 year old are dating. If only they knew the real ins and outs of our relationship.

Like the fact that instead of being a purely physical relationship like they say, I waited 4 months to be intimate with you for the first time.

For your first time.

God, I can’t believe we just did that. That you would allow me to have that part of you.

I snap myself out of my thoughts and start getting everything ready in the bathroom. Since I sort of knew this coming, I had the chance to plan some things to make it extra special. On top of the home cooked dinner I made, I’m also preparing you a nice bath. You’re bound to be sore. This is the least I can do.

I start the faucet and toss a couple rose petals on it, lighting some candles on the lip of the frame. Then I grab that rag I promised you, wet it with warm water, and walk back out into the bedroom.

I spot you, right where I left you on the bed. Though now you look a bit more uncomfortable being completely naked. As soon as I step up to you, I start to wipe away the mess I made on your stomach, ignoring the blood on my sheets.

“I’m drawing a bath for you right now. It’ll help your sore muscles.” You squirm a bit from my touch. “How are you feeling?”