Polaroid (My First Nude)

I don’t know why I remember my first nude, a Polaroid, so much; I just do. I remember it like it was yesterday. Goth Boy and I were getting ready to go to The Rock Club, and, as usual, I was running late.

“I’ll just put my hair in pigtails,” I said, prancing around the room in just a pink g-string and knee-high striped socks, fluffy hairbands wrapped around my wrist.

“We’re meant to be meeting [redacted] in ten minutes, NotSo. Hurry up!” he said back, waving his arms around as if they might spur me on a little faster.

Being the obstinate little brat that I was back then (and still am,) I glared at him, then climbed on the bed. I fluffed the pillows up for a second, then sat back and slowly braided my hair. Hurry me up now. I dare you.

“Wait there,” Goth Boy said, grinning, then walking out of the room.

I was baffled. Where the fuck did he go? Had he gone out without me? Had he finally had enough of my bratty side? I couldn’t exactly follow him, what with his parents in the house, so I just waited…

Thankfully, he came back a few seconds later, holding a Polaroid camera.

“What are you doing?” I frowned.

“I want to take a photo,” he said. “Of you. Just like that.”

My eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“Yes! You look hot right there.” He positioned the camera in front of his face and hovered one finger over the shutter release. “Yeah?”

I didn’t know what to say. Did people do that? Take photos of each other in states of undress? I didn’t know about any of that yet. I didn’t want to let him down, though. So, I took a deep breath and nodded my consent.

One click and a few whirrs later, he was shaking the Polaroid vigorously and the image was coming to life right in front of us. It was the most nerve-wracking couple of minutes of my life. What if it was a bad photo? What if I looked a mess? Posing awkwardly? Had chunk in places that I didn’t want chunk to be? What if you could see everything? What if everything looked… weird? It wasn’t like a digital camera; you couldn’t just delete the photo and try again. You had a couple of tries with a Polaroid camera, if that. Those refills were costly even back then.

“Look at you,” he said, passing me the now fully processed Polaroid.

I almost gasped when I saw it. He’d somehow managed to make me look… sexy. Beyond sexy. I didn’t realise it was possible to even look like that. My knee-length sock-clad feet were crossed just enough to hide everything that the g-string was barely containing, and the fluffy hairbands at the end of my pigtails were just about covering my nipples. I had a look of pure lust on my face. I recognised it instantly. Brattiness too, sure, but my expression was overwhelmingly hungry for him. How had he done that? How he had captured me in that light, in that way? No chunk. No weirdness. No ugliness. Just… me, looking the sexiest that I’d ever looked (in my opinion.)

Goth Boy leaned down and kissed me. It was a hungry kiss, the type that perfectly matched the expression on my face in that Polaroid. I didn’t need him to take his oversized jeans off to tell that he had an erection; it was evident in the way he wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and kissed me – no: devoured me.

Pulling away from our kiss (much to my dismay) he moved to the edge of the bed, grabbed my ankles, and yanked them. I couldn’t help but giggle.

“We’re going to be late meeting [redacted,]” I said.

“Fuck [redacted,]” he answered.

And right there, on the edge of the bed, he fucked me. Quickly. Furiously. Hungrily. It lasted no more than five minutes, but it was enough to put a smile back on both of our faces. I didn’t come, but he took care of that with his tongue, after the bar, when we were drunkenly laughing on his couch.

As for my first nude, that Polaroid stayed in his wallet for the duration of our relationship, then I let him keep it once we’d eventually broken up. I wonder if he still has it?

Can you remember your first nude?

The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: The First Time I Did Anal.