Reading the Obituaries

She was so much to so many. She’d been a loving daughter, aggressive athlete, thoughtful scholar, and later, a loyal wife and mother. She was all of these things and beautiful in every role. So much was lost in the moment of her passing.
 
As my eyes drifted over the parade of relationships listed in her obituary, I couldn’t help thinking one was missing. I smiled, wondering how I should have been listed. First love? Probably not since I couldn’t have come close to the love of her parents. First infatuation? Definitely not that, since several guys in our class had pursued her before she and I got together.  
 
I tried to imagine an obituary where "first fuck" was listed. While it would make interesting reading, it would be no one’s business. I felt bad for laughing, but it was the only description that would do. I didn't become the love of her life. I wouldn’t be there for the birth of her children though I followed from a distance. Tears came to my eyes as I remembered how naïvely we’d stumbled into each other at just the right time and place.  
 
Her smiling photo took me back to the feel of her slender hand holding mine as we walked to her house that memorable afternoon. I remembered her kisses that led to us pressing into one another like two bear cups frolicking. Her thin frame spread over me like a limber cat, and she questioned me with her eyes. What were we doing? they asked over the sounds of our shifting weight on the mattress her parents purchased when preparing for her birth.  
 
My eyes held no answers, and so she tucked her face into the curve of my neck. I felt shallow puffs of air, and I heard only soft whimpers as she accepted her classmate's cum.
 
We tried to pretend all was well and were relieved there was no pregnancy from our actions. But, after that episode, we averted our eyes when passing in the hallways at school. After graduation, our lives went in different directions for fifteen years until today’s obituary.  
 
Looking back, we might have waited and made something lasting, but lust had its way with us, and our bodies voted against delayed gratification that afternoon in her bedroom.