We borrowed my aunt’s cabin, by the water.
We arrived late with a bottle of wine and I stepped on the back of my wedding dress as we crossed the threshold.
I leaned against the wall, drinking the white, in white, and we were 23-year-old virgins who’d never seen each other naked, had only felt each other’s skin and I couldn’t unzip my dress.
I stalled, pulling out my bobby pins and he helped me, and we made a nice little pile of pins and then he asked if he could help me with my zipper.
And I asked him if he wanted another glass of wine.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to make love with him.
It’s that I didn’t want him to see me. All of me.
(this will be the last post that will run on this blog; you can keep up with me at my personal blog HERE. thank you)