I pretended I was drunker than I was, the night I did IT for the first time. But I can't remember how we got to the parent's bedroom, in their bed, under the covers. Oddly unembarrassed, I directed him. His eyes were fiery with excitement. I was determined to enjoy it. Afterwards, we sat side by side on the swirl of messed up sheets covering smears of blood. He carefully spelled out the names of French rap he thought I'd like. He wrote them on a scrap of paper I saved for several years, trying to be sentimental. Finally, one day cleaning, I threw it out.