It was the mornings that Gwen was always worried about.

The nights were easy, the sex natural, even at the tender age of eighteen. Gwen was confident in her body and her ability to control what happened, even with the older guys that she tended to drift towards. Talk kiss bang sleep. It was a very easy philosophy. Sometimes there was less talking, and sometimes there was less sleeping. Sometimes Gwen left in the middle of the night and crashed at Ben's. She was always in control.

But the mornings were more complicated. The men never left her, never ditched her with a note or called later saying sorry, I had to go to work. Gwen wished they would. She wished she could. But, Gwen told herself, I like to sleep too much. Dragging herself out of bed at some ungodly hour to beat these men who were always up early was simply not appealing.

She also knew that she wanted to see if she was still attracted to them when the sun came up.

But the mornings were always awkward and annoying, Gwen trying to sleep while the boy talked to her about the day, what they could do and where they could go. She usually felt somewhat guilty when she left an hour later, amid protests and her insistence of sorry, I don't have a cell phone.

And then there was Ben.

His parents were out for the week, leaving him by himself. The empty house was where the similarities between Ben and the other men stopped.

This is right, was all that Gwen could think when she pushed the sweater off of his shoulders. He studied her, a slight crease in his brow, with his eyes that were so like hers.

Little words were said that night.

When she woke up, Ben was still asleep, and she watched him breathe. She'd already decided that when he woke up, they were going out for pancakes.

I wrote out a whole bunch more of this, but I trashed it because it sucked, and then went for a simpler ending.