She gracefully opened the door and gestured that I should go in. The lights were dim and the windows of the living room were open, letting in the calm evening breeze.
I smiled and blushed. Said a shy "hello" and walked in, trying to capture that smell of her hair as I walked past.
Everyone was quiet and the loudest sound was that of my shoes hitting the ground. I removed them and someone unknown took them away. She showed me a chair, and placed her hand gently on my shoulder.
I sat and waited.
The walls hypnotized me. The patterns engraved on the velvet seemed to move and dance along with the candlelight and the smoke coming from the hookah made everything twirl and sing. My senses betrayed me and I found myself on the floor, examining the texture of the carpet.
Kind hands helped me up and took me into the bedroom, where I was placed gently on another couch and told to sit up.
They posed me like an art mannequin waiting to be studied. I felt like the outside of me was still life while the inside exploded in Expressionism.
Someone came near my ears and whispered softly "I'm glad I'm your first" while she took off my jacket and vest.
She kissed the side of my neck and said "let the butterflies burst". Oddly enough, that made absolute sense and I saw millions of butterflies burst out of my chest and fill the room with color and the sound of fluttering wings.
She laid on top of me and I felt carried by those million wings into a vortex of lust.
The next day, bright and early, I heard my father outside the bedroom saying "is he a man yet?" while some girls laughed. "Quite a stud", whispered someone while opening the door to the room.
"Son, get up. We got a company to run", my dad said.
But I was still counting the butterflies.
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