A shy public reference librarian, and a college dropout who was disowned when she refused to submit to conversion therapy, encounter each other in a bookstore. He's been waiting his whole life for her. Meanwhile, she's starting her whole life over...
I was stupid. I wrote about liking being kissed in my diary, which I had thought was stashed in a safe hiding place. The aide found it and took it to my mother. I didn't mention the circumstances of the kiss when I wrote about it, but the very fact that I had allowed my boyfriend to kiss me was enough for my parents. They made me break up with him. He was no longer "harmless enough." Neither was I. I spent my senior year grounded. My father made me do evening prayers with him every night as if I were a child again, and he made me leave the church choir because I was no longer someone to be looked up to. I didn't understand why my being seen in church wearing choir robes and singing hymns at Mass should suddenly be a shameful thing, nor did the choir director, who had no idea what was going on behind the scenes and begged my father to let me stay in the choir, because I was still the only alto, but my father was adamant.
Actual sexual experience, due to a number of different factors, didn't happen until I was in college on a partial academic scholarship that my parents were too proud of to make me turn down (and I was glad to be several hundred miles away, on the other side of the state – by then I wanted nothing to do with my parents' rules. I think I must have been the only freshman in my dorm who didn't cry from homesickness on my first night away from home). By then I had acquired a different boyfriend, who I'd met when he sat next to me in my Rationalism and Empiricism class and struck up a conversation about Pascal's wager. And yes. By then I knew it was possible to do more with my body than just kiss.
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His mouth is warm and moist against my genitals, his tongue doing insane, almost unbelievable things to me until I fall over the edge into orgasm, screaming out in pleasure and need. He's been at this for a while tonight. Months, really; we've been groping and mouthing each other for months, while I've wrestled with the demons of my childhood religious indoctrination, banging my head against the concrete wall of my boyfriend's dorm room until he begged me to stop before I hurt myself, crying myself to sleep in his arms after every make-out session, or at least trying to cry, for what passionate joy could I have if I did not pay a price in guilt afterward?
It has finally reached the point where I no longer care if I burn in hell for having sex before marriage. I've already been seen naked, all of me, including all the parts normally covered by underwear, and I've had all those parts touched, as deeply as fingers can reach inside; that means I'm not a virgin, by some definitions anyway, right? So, it's too late for me. And I want to, so badly. I want him, he wants me. I'm pretty sure I love him. He's told me he loves me. What more do I need? Maybe we'll marry later, maybe not, but we've been fumbling at each other for all the last semester and the beginning of this one, now, and I don't want to wait any longer than he does. The orgasms he's given me tonight haven't satisfied me, any more than they have before. They've only left me hungry for something more.
