I always imagined my first time happening after some emotionally charged romantic moment. Like, maybe after a sappy conversation about feelings and going official. Or maybe on a chill night after making out was no longer satisfying. This was not romantic. We were just two thirsty sims insanely attracted to each other, scratching an itch. Our frenzied frolic ended just as quickly as it began. He was pleased with himself, but I wanted more. There was no there there. No spark. No magic. Nothing to scream about like Mommy does. Maybe we were both nervous. Maybe it was his first time too. I refused to believe this was what my parents would run off for every chance they got. Hopefully next time I’ll understand.
