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Their first time is abysmal; he rolls a four on his performance check. But first times are supposed to be sloppy and awkward, right? Things can only get better from here on out.
A three. Five. Two. Seven.
He can tell she's not doing so well either, but neither of them mention the other's poor performance. They just lie there, panting and tired, each hiding their disappointment with themselves. There's no afterglow. They cuddle, but it feels hollow.
He doesn't get it; they have such great chemistry together, whether it's on the dance floor or just out on a date; they're laughing and flirting and enjoying each other's company. So why is it when they get in bed together they absolutely flub it?
One afternoon, as they lie in Fabian’s bed next to each other, staring at the ceiling (another four on the performance roll from Fabian), he feels Mazey shift next to him, so he rolls over to look at her. Her eyes are large, sad. He has a feeling he knows what is coming.
“Fabes… Look, I… I don’t think sex is a good fit for ‘us.’”
He sighs. He knows it’s true. Even if the sex is bad, they should still be having fun and enjoying it for the time they’re spending together. They're young; sex doesn’t have to be mind-blowing at this point. Just… fun. But it isn’t.
“Well… if it isn’t, what is?”
“Something… platonic, I think. Good friends. But… not boyfriend and girlfriend.”
Even though he knows she’s right, even though he knew this was coming after the fifth time, it still stings to hear it. His heart aches at the thought of losing his first real girlfriend.
She sees the hurt and disappointment in his eye and reaches out a hand, placing it on his cheek, and leans up and kisses his forehead.
“I’m sorry, Fabes. But I think we can agree that when it comes to… this… we’re both not happy."
He closes his eye and sinks into her touch. “...Yeah,” he says after a long pause. “I know you’re right. But it still hurts. I… I think I’m going to need some time alone.”
She nods. “Sure thing.” She slips out of the bed and begins to get dressed. Out of courtesy for their new relationship status, Fabian doesn't look. Instead, he sits up on the side of the bed, sheets draped over him in modesty, and stares at the carpet. When at last she's done, she clears her throat.
“We… can still be friends, right?”
He smiles. It’s sad, but it’s genuine. “Of course.”
She returns the same, heartbroken smile. “Good. I’ll call you later, okay? Once we’ve had time to process this.”
“Sure. …Take care… friend.”
“Oh, Fabian…” she whispers, her smile running away and tears filling her brown eyes. She turns away before he can see them fall, and she rushes out of the room. He can hear her choke back a sob as she hurries down the hallway.
Friends. That’s all they are now, it’s as simple as that. He’ll question what he did wrong later, when he has a clear head. He’ll study techniques by watching porn and reading erotic novellas to see what he’s missing. He’ll be better. He’ll never roll another four – no, he’ll never roll below a fifteen – with his next girlfriend. He swears it. But for now, he’s alone and naked in bed. He lays back down and buries himself beneath the sheets and pillows and cries.
It takes close to two weeks before he’s comfortable seeing Mazey again. They meet up for bowling and video games at a local game center and have a blast, laughing and joking and teasing each other. They feel like teenagers hanging out, which is exactly how it feels like it should be. And when she leans against him, hiccuping from laughter, he doesn't go in for a kiss. Instead, he knocks his head next to hers and joins in the laughter. It feels good. It feels right. And his heart no longer aches, because he’s still got a friend.