Times were sweet as sugar, and lively as Marty Gras. He even agreed to meet my mom, which I was kind of surprised and slightly annoyed because I didn't even ask him if he wanted to meet her originally, and now that meant I had to force my alcoholic mother to behave.

Justin arrived sometime late that night. I can't remember the time through the stress of trying to help my hung-over mother into some nice clothes and making a bad attempt to take the smell of grey-goose and Jack Daniels off of her. I had given up just as the door bell had sounded off.

I'll never forget the way he looked that night, a Kodak-film perfection. He had a dozen deep red roses in hand, and a box in the other. His eyes were brighter then I could ever remember. It was one of those freeze time kind of things, you know? Like in the movies where the lonely girl sees the hottest sexiest hunk-of-man she's ever seen passing through a crowd in double slow-mo. Of course, in all those movies it is most likely oddly interrupted by some fat guy spilling his whole ice-cream cone on you, or you tripping over your own feet. This Kodak-film memory was interrupted by a much more embarrassing moment, the loud bitchy call of my mom screaming for her bottle of Tylenol and a glass of Jack Daniels. At that moment I knew tonight was possibly going to be the best-worst night I had ever had. Justin leaned in and gave me a soft passionate kiss, handed me the flowers, and stepped in the doors.

By that time, mom was downstairs, hitting on my new boyfriend right in front of me. Dinner had not arrived yet, and my patience was running low, to the point of steam almost visibly flying out of my ears. Mom didn't understand that he was here to have a wonderful night with me and her, not a very uncomfortable night with her falling all over him and me stuck in the corner blowing off steam.

Saved by the bell, the Italian food arrived, and mom decided she was going to have nothing to do with Justin's meet-the-parent-night, and crawled back up to bed. I followed her up the stairs, to make sure she could make it all the way up, without falling back down. By the time I had returned, there was a romantic dinner for two set up on the table, with a makeshift vase in the middle, filled with all 12 long-stemmed roses. I stood in the kitchen in awe, never before experiencing such romance in one single night. The night went so fast from there. I remember him taking me up in his arms and setting me down across the table, his eyes with more love then the goddess Aphrodite herself. We ate and talked the night away, and when it came down to it we both crawled up into my bed.

That night I was wrong. I was wrong about it being the best-worst night; it was the worst I think anyone could experience. As we lay down, we started to kiss and snuggle, but the kisses began to go farther down, past my neck and past my chest. I wanted to cry but I kept strong, not saying stop but inviting him in, girls at school say that's how they reward their guys after they do something sweet. He had taken his clothes off, and then mine. That was when I started to have second thoughts about the whole thing. I can't remember what I said first, but all I remember is what he said before I was no longer a virgin. THAT'S TOO BAD.

I remember screaming and crying, as I was hit more then once as the pain between my legs got sharper. As he slowed down, I cried one last time before feeling a burst of electricity going through my body. He laid down beside me, put his arm around my waist, and fell asleep.

I couldn't sleep that night, or much of any night after. The events that had just happened left me with more then ten billion questions, which might never be answered.