Tim had the rare afternoon off from work and football, so he came over to hang out with me. I talked him into watching a romantic comedy as we snuggled on my bed. As we lay there, I looked up into his handsome face and couldn’t resist. I leaned up and gave him a small kiss. The kiss progressed to heavy petting until I couldn’t get us out of our clothes fast enough. It was the first time we had taken things that far, and I was happy to realize that I was ready without hesitation. I knew this was what I wanted, and he was who I wanted it with. My first time was painful. It was passionate, exciting, and enjoyable but painful. Did I mention Tim is a big guy? Well, he is. He stands a fraction over six-foot-five now and weighs a solid two hundred and ten pounds. The rest of my Timmy is in proportion. He is large and thick. Between losing my virginity and the difficulty adjusting to his size, well, it was painful.
I would not change my first sexual experience for anything, despite the pain. That it was also Tim’s made the whole experience so much sweeter.
Tim was gentle and loving, and it was almost perfect. Yes, it was clumsy. Yes, it was awkward. And yes, it was damn near perfect.
It became something we did whenever the stars aligned between my extra classes, his football practices, and his work. I was on birth control, and Tim purchased condoms which we used religiously. His mom became pregnant when she was just seventeen and she continually harped on how her life would have been different if she hadn’t. At eighteen, I didn’t want that experience, so we took the extra precautions.
The more we practiced, the better we got, the more I got used to his size, and the more comfortable we got with each other. I even learned how to orgasm. Woo hoo! We found some instructional sex DVDs my parents kept hidden in a drawer. We watched them and followed some of the advice, including experimenting with oral sex. Tim never hesitated to go down on me, but I didn’t care for it. Something was just off. I told him that, and I know he felt hurt, but I felt comfortable sharing that anyway.
One afternoon Tim convinced me to let him try oral one more time. It was actually pretty good. I became concerned that he might have been practicing with another girl, though I didn’t know when he would have had the time.
“What was that?” I was suspicious of his improved abilities.
“Ah, what?” I could tell he was confused.
“How did you get better at that?” His face reddened. He was so cute when he was embarrassed. “Have you been practicing that with someone else?” I was surprised at how much the thought hurt me.
He stuttered, “Well, ah, kind of. But I haven’t been with anyone else. One of those DVDs was about how to do it better. I’ve been watching it.”
“Really? Do you have it with you? Let me see it.” He went to his car and came back with the video. We watched it together. I wanted to know why he’d picked that video to study and asked.
“You know how you don’t like oral? Well, I — I was watching the video to make it better for you.” He was so damn cute. As always, my Timmy was trying to be a better person, in this case, a better lover, for me. We watched it together several times. I allowed him to try out the new techniques on me. It was better. Much better. Our lovemaking was reaching exceptional heights, and I was reconsidering my occasional dates with Mark. Making it work with Tim full time was becoming more appealing.
Then tragedy struck.
In November of our senior year, Tim’s mom, Katherine, was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. She couldn’t work, and the bills started to pile up. The hospital bills were the worst. Mark’s family and mine helped as much as we could, as did Tim’s relatives. But in the end, they were all alone, so Tim reluctantly dropped out of school to work full-time. He needed to stay ahead of the bills.
He sold his car, which he had just gotten to a sweet place, so it had some value. All his time and effort went into his work and caring for his mother. My heart broke for him. He finished the couple of classes he needed to graduate early at the nighttime alternative high school program. But he lost his scholarship opportunities and his dreams. Not once did my brave man complain.
I held him tightly on a chilly, rainy Thursday as we buried his mother. Mark and our parents were there to support Tim in his grief.
Life isn’t fair.
My parents were planning on paying for an off-campus apartment for me, so I asked Tim to come to live with me. I wanted him to be my boyfriend and my lover when I graduated from high school and moved to San Diego. Instead, he left for Marine boot camp on January 11, 2003. I guess he felt he had no other options. After taking on all his mother’s medical expenses, he was still deeply in debt. I think he saw the Marines as the pathway to paying them off, and then after he got out, going to school under the GI Bill.
He went to boot camp in San Diego and did his combat training at Camp Pendleton, just up the road from us. I missed him terribly. Mark and I saw him occasionally over the next five and half months. He spent several liberty weekends with me. He had grown into a fantastic lover. I still get a little wet when I think of him in his dress blues!
Towards the end of July 2003, Mark and I said a teary farewell to our best friend. Tim had orders to Iraq. We didn’t know a lot about what was happening there. We just knew that it wasn’t a place for such a gentle giant as my Timmy. We didn’t see much of Tim in the coming years.
Mark and I stayed close at school. Eventually, we began dating and moved in together. I wrote to Tim often and told him of our relationship. He replied that he was happy for us. Mark and I graduated in 2007 from San Diego State University. He graduated with a major in finance and a minor in business administration. I received a marketing degree in communications. We had lost contact with Tim; he never came home. I often wondered if it was because Mark and I started dating. I still loved my Timmy and wanted him home with me.
Mark and I married in the summer of 2008 and, with the help of his parents, started a real estate development firm in Los Angeles. We purchased a wonderful condo overlooking the Santa Monica State Beach and pier. I took a position as an up-and-coming star at a marketing firm in LA, and I also helped my husband with his new venture. We prospered, and by the time 2009 came around, we were on our way to being financially secure.
My mom called in early 2009. Tim was home. He was seriously injured and was currently stationed at the Marines Wounded Warriors Center in Camp Pendleton. We met him at my parents’ in San Diego as soon as we could.
I watched out the front window while getting things prepared for his visit. I was apprehensive. Tim never shared details about his injuries with anyone, just that he was home and preparing to be discharged. My fears got the best of me, and I was scared for him. I was scared for the three of us. It didn’t matter that I was now married to our best friend. My love for Tim was as solid as it ever was. I caught a glimpse of a black sedan pulling away from the curb. Tim wouldn’t let anyone come and get him. He insisted on using a car service.