First Time Amateur College Student Samora

first time amateur college student samora was everything I didn’t expect but absolutely fell for—like, full-on, heart-racing, can’t-pretend-I’m-cool kind of fall. we were at her dorm room, the kind with peeling paint and that one flickering bulb, but somehow it felt sacred, like we were the only two people in the world. she was wearing this soft gray sweater that kept slipping off one shoulder, and she kept tugging it back like she was trying to hide how nervous she really was—except her eyes? totally open, like she was trying to tell me everything without saying a word. i remember the way her fingers brushed my wrist when she reached for her water, how she laughed when she spilled it, and how that laugh turned into this quiet, breathy sigh when i moved closer. the first time she touched me, it was so soft, like she was testing the waters, like she didn’t know if she was allowed to want it. but then she did—she leaned in, her lips barely brushing mine, and suddenly it wasn’t just shy anymore. it was real. it was warm. the way her body melted into mine, the sound of her breathing quickening, the way her fingers dug into my back like she was holding on for dear life. we didn’t rush, not really—we just stayed in that moment, tangled in sheets and quiet giggles and whispered questions, like we were discovering each other all over again. it wasn’t perfect—she was clumsy, I was awkward, we both forgot to breathe—but that’s what made it so damn beautiful. it wasn’t about performance, it was about being there, fully, with someone who was just as scared and just as willing. and when it was over, she just laid her head on my chest, quiet, smiling, like she’d just found something she didn’t know she was looking for.