It will be messy. Painful, perhaps, for her. On opposite sides of the bed, we undress hurriedly, flushed and nervous.
“You are very…w-w-well-developed,” I stutter.
“Thank you,” whispers Carrie, “if that’s a compliment.” She gazes at me, wide-eyed. “Do all boys look like that?”
“I guess so.”
“Wow.” She comes closer. “Whoa.”
There’s a clumsy, fumbling embrace. Where do I put my hands? What should I say? Suddenly, doors are opening downstairs; I hear my father’s voice below.
Panicked and relieved all at once, we rush to get dressed. Carrie will never see me again. Not like this, anyway.