Last First Love

by Tatiana Gómez

They don’t know that Lily and I hooked up that summer. But “hooked up”, doesn’t quite cover it—we spent the better part of a month tangled up in each other, full of what is to this day, the best sex I’ve ever had, and so much laughter I swore I’d have a six-pack by the time school started in the fall. It felt electric, as if we were the only two people that existed.

I’d stare at my phone, desperate for a message that never came, only to get one when it didn’t matter anymore—because what doesn’t kill you texts you a few months later.

Unfortunately, painting is tied to my emotions in a way I can’t escape. I can’t simply push through the creative process when I’m struggling—my art is more than a career. It’s my therapy, my silent confidant, the one constant in the storm that is my life.

This is precisely why I don’t date, why I don’t let feelings get involved. First, they give you great sex; then they fuck with your mental health. It’s all too complicated, full of drama.

Listen. That fucking part.

“Sit on my face,” I murmur, settling onto my back, eyes locked on hers. Lily climbs on top of me without protest, and I’ve always loved that she’s such a good listener.

“You have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” I say before flicking my tongue against her clit.

Clara grabs a handful of popcorn and turns to me. “I’m surprised you didn’t scream as much as I thought you would.” Isabella laughs.