Summary: A different take on the D/Jo saga.

Rating: PG-13.

Classification: D/Jo

Feedback: Yes please

Sex: yes plea---oops, I mean, it’s PG-13, guys. ________________________________________________________________

The summer I turned fourteen was the summer I got my first kiss. My best friend Dawson had changed a lot—he wasn’t as skinny or as short as he used to be, and his voice was deeper. He kept showing off about this, and he was all -serious about exercise so he could ‘get muscles’. I couldn’t imagine him with a body like those boxers on TV so I laughed at him.

He and Pacey were so annoying that summer. Always abandoning me to play football, and when I asked if I could play they said it was for guys only. Assholes, I thought. Dawson’s mother said to come in from the sweltering heat and keep her company, as a girl I shouldn’t be sweating like a pig outside. She had started to be all motherly to me ever since…well, my own mother died two years ago. I didn’t mind it. Either way I ignored all things to do with parents anyway. At least I had Bessie to yell at me to clean my room, and to buy me my first bra. (White with a bow in the middle)

I liked talking to Gale about school, and bras (She told me she got her first bra when she was sixteen.) but for some reason I also liked being around Dawson a lot. Not just because we had so much fun together, but also because whenever he touched me I got all tingly inside. Because when we had pillow fights and wrestles he felt nice next to me. I had heard other girls chanting, “Ooohh so and so likes so and so.” And felt embarrassed, so I made sure not to tell anyone about me and Dawson. Well, me, anyway.

However, Ninth grade had becoming obsessed with kissing. Everyone had been kissed except for me. Sally, June, Veronica etc had all kissed Bruce, Chris and Warren at little parties I was never invited too. (A lot of parents didn’t like the fact my dad had been sent to jail for drug crimes.) Whispers about tongues, closed mouths and braces getting caught wafted around the school, and my own curiosity was piqued. I knew who I wanted to kiss, but not how, or when. Luckily, and most surprisingly, I didn’t have to make the first move.

It was a hot Saturday night, and for some reason we were in the backyard roasting marshmallows thanks to his dad’s marvellous mini-campfire creation. It got so hot I was in my bathing suit and a towel, and I kept tipping cups of water down my neck, as I blew on gooey marshmallows.

“Gimme some more.” I complained to my companion who was hogging the bag of candy, who I didn’t notice looking at me strangely. When I looked up and saw his expression, I blushed. He knows. He knows about my breasts, which he can see (I folded my arms) and he knows about my period coz his mom told him. “What?” I said rudely.

Leaning over he placed his warm, sweet lips on mine. “Shit.” I said into his mouth, shocked as he kissed me. Then I kissed him back, and somehow our mouths just moulded together for a moment, and I felt his tongue on my teeth. The marshmallow I was chewing was now in his mouth, and somehow he passed it back before breaking away and laughing a little. “Cool.” Was all he said, than he continued to roast away.

I stared at him, my face completely red. I felt embarrassed, and a little weird towards him. Later, when I lay in his bed staring at him, I realized his hand was on my waist. It was comforting, and I smiled. I was glad the first guy I kissed was my best friend. The summer we turned fifteen we fell in love. But not with each other…not totally. I fell in love with him, and he fell in love with his new blonde, chirpy neighbour, Jen.

I regretted her, and hardly spoke to Miss. Perfect except to insult her. But when I turned sixteen and it became apparent they really liked each other, I left her alone. Dawson was still my best friend, still loved me in his own way. He came to see my father in prison with me, hugged me when I cried, held me that night in the hotel room (Sigh) didn’t laugh when Pacey dared him to kiss me in detention, (All four of us got in strife after we all skipped class) although I swear he used tongue, and for a long time I couldn’t look at him directly when we watched love scenes on TV.

I started to date Jack McPhee for a tiny while that year, but then he admitted he was gay. After that, I felt like a complete unattractive loser. I went over to Dawson’s, sobbing my eyes out, and he knew. (Jen told him) He had hugged me that night, and then said a few words I vowed never to forget. “He was confused. If he was straight he’d be damn attracted to you…” Dawson had blushed a tiny bit. “You’re…a very attractive, um, sexual girl.” Then he had hugged me again and I feel asleep wrapped up in him, dreaming of making love to him.

I started to date Pacey when I turned seventeen. He thought I was hot, and I liked him. He was cute. I started to realize I couldn’t be infatuated with Dawson forever—after all, he didn’t even know I loved him.

The funny thing was, Dawson got a bit pissed. He never said anything, just looked a bit weirded out when he saw us together, holding hands or kissing. He and Jen were still going strong, though. But then—near June, Pacey and I broke up. It basically ended when I found out Dawson and Jen were sleeping together (I overheard Jen at a dance) and I ran off crying.

I knew it was stupid, I was crazy to think he’d save himself for me, but the impact, facing it head on was hard, listening to Jen saying, “God knows we’ve been making up for lost time—if you know what I mean.” Hurt more then just naturally knowing they would’ve had sex after two years dating. Pacey asked me what was wrong, but he knew because he had been there with me.

“Look, tell him you love him.” He exclaimed. “Don’t pretend you don’t. Don’t pretend with me.” We talked a little bit more, and I denied my feelings, but we decided to break it off, for now, anyway. He started to date a pretty, bubbly cheerleader called Christy, then moved onto an old flame, who had moved away but came back for weekends, Andie McPhee. I never liked her. Whiny.

Funny, how they all liked the blondes. Graduation loomed ahead of us, and I freaked, studying my ass off, cramming with Dawson almost every night. But eventually it caught up with us; I turned eighteen, and got accepted into NYC, he got into UCLA, Jen into Wellesley and Pacey decided to take a year off between schools.

The night before I left for New York, I spent the night at Dawson’s. We went out for Pizza, saw a movie, came back to his place, and made fast furious love? No. We sat on his roof and talked. I desperately wanted to tell him that I loved him, but I couldn’t, not when he spoke of Jen so glowingly. And I was scared. What if he laughed? But by the time we were nearly asleep on his bed at around midnight, it slipped out. “I love you.” He was asleep, of course.

The next day he and Bess and my nephew sent me off with a chaste kiss. And I was on my way to New York, scared, excited, and still a virgin. I loved it, however. I met so many new people, and got to have heaps more friends then in boring old Capeside. I went to a lot more parties, gatherings and ‘intelligence’ talks about the world in our dorm rooms on cold nights, snuggled in blankets.

My roommate, redhead Tracey was the only girl I didn’t get on with. (Bossy, cruel, hated me for no reason) I was doing two different courses so I was hell bent busy with Literature and Law. Sometimes Dawson would call me from where he was, doing journalism and editing.

He’d ask me about boyfriends, I’d ask him about girlfriends to which he replied, “Jen…remember…?” laughing. I had two boyfriends in a period of two years. Tony, a nice Law student, (We broke up because he claimed not to have enough time between study to see me.) and Billy, who was very…intense, but very gorgeous. An artist. He kissed me like we were in a romance movie, and I let him do things I hadn’t let the other two do, but then decided not to go further when he asked if I was on the pill. (I wasn’t.) I obviously wasn’t ready just yet, if that question bugged me.

I liked him a lot, and my heart was broken when he told me he was in love with my roommate, Tracey and that Tracy was moving out and into his apartment. I cried for two days, while my best friends Alice and Steffie tried to calm me down with promises of new guys.

For Christmas vacation, it was so icy cold I stayed in the College dorms, alone, while everyone else caught planes to far-off destinations to see families. Bessie said I didn’t have to travel down until the weather got better. So was I ever surprised when Dawson poked his damp haired head into my room! He had said he was coming, but I didn’t know this early. He said he had had to sneak past security so he could surprise me and I considered fearing for my life.

I welcomed him warmly with a too-friendly kiss on the cheek (He was the first person I’d seen in three days!) but he didn’t mind. He had bought up some wine and Pizza, and we sat in front of the TV, laughing at reruns of Sex and the City.

I gazed at his warm, smiling face, and snuggled up to him, feeling incredibly lucky he was my best friend. But then he made it bad by asking, “Where’s Billy…? How’s he doing?” I had spent a whole phone call talking about Billy to him once.

I tried to stop the onrushing feelings of gloom and the tightening of my throat, but couldn’t. I started to cry. He didn’t hold me this time, just stared at me in surprise. “He left me.” I sobbed. “Like everyone else. Like Jack, like Tony, like Tracy, like my mom and dad, and like you.” All my inner feelings kept hidden were just exposed, just like that, in a matter of seconds.

“I never left you.” He whispered, stroking my cheek.

“Yes you did. You never loved me. I love you. I have for ages.” I stared into his greeny blue eyes and tried to find answers.

“I love you too.” He said, quietly, clearly, and I smiled, tears still running down my face. He leaned forward and kissed me. It was the warmest, most passionate kiss I can remember. He held me to him, and we kissed the life out of each other. We were nineteen and finally he had returned my feelings.

“Why? Why now?” I asked him, later on, snuggled up to him in my bed. It was raining outside now, and the icy cold wind was blowing relentlessly, but I was warm, and my cheeks and eyes glowing with the knowledge.

Well, he had taken my virginity. We had made love together for the first time, me, actually for the first time.

“I realized it when you left.” He admitted, nuzzling my neck, then kissing my shoulder. “I missed you too much. And then…I stopped being attracted to Jen. I just wanted to be with you.” We kissed, and he pulled the blankets up over our heads for a giggling, searing, passionate rematch.

He had to leave after two days, (Two glorious days of…um…togetherness) but we both knew that wherever he was, we’d still be in love. I had his promise, he had mine. He broke up with a surprised Jen, and I called her, to awkwardly speak after ages. She took it relatively well, though, and we ended up talking for two hours about the past, and our new friends. She wished me good luck with Dawson. (But she sounded a bit bitter)

Five years later, after a long distance and weekends-only relationship, we got engaged, and married the year after. We now live in New York, where I’m part of a small but successful Law Firm in Manhattan. We’re both unbelievably blissfully in love. I guess I could worry it would all come crashing down on me, and that he might leave me, but then I look into his eyes and I’m reassured about his love for me. I keep asking him when he realized he loved me but he keeps saying the same not very accurate thing, “I always did, just took me a little bit of prompting hon.”

So now I’m standing here behind the kitchen bench, my eyes glazed on the pages of magazine, pages turned to the article, “The best childhood summer of your life…remember?” reminiscing, and he comes up from behind me, surprising me with a kiss on the neck. “What are you thinking about?” he asks me; lifting my skirt up, and inching it up my thighs. He undoes the clasp which holds my stockings up, and I laugh, leaning my head back onto his shoulder. “Oh, just things. Love.”

“You’re gonna love this.” He whispers, sliding his hands way up into my skirt, and I know I will. I’m happy. I’m doing well at work, with my husband, and we’re starting to even talk about having a few kids.

THE END.