The Virginity Pact

Even as it's happening she is thinking of all the reasons that it shouldn't. Her mother would call it lustful ignorance, but right now it feels like an accident, a freight truck jackknifing down the interstate while a young driver sits upright, frightened, not knowing how to stop the inevitable as she watches the truck, in slow motion, come sliding down the interstate toward her.

"Can you feel me?" She hears him whisper. His hot breath stains her cheek and the dampness creeps into her ear and sends ants crawling down her arms. He squeezes her gently trying to fight the tension in her body. "Relax." He whispers.

She remembers the pact she made with her friends. They were younger then but somehow less naïve. Her actions now proved that. They were untouched then, virgins sealing the promise with a pinky squeeze, some worthless symbol that meant nothing to anyone but them. She stiffens at the thought of it, until she realizes that she is the last of the lot to break it.

It's her mother's fault, she thinks. She knows that her mother is sitting in the living room upstairs, just feet away. She can hear the floorboards creak as her mother passes over them coming between the kitchen and living room. She wishes, for once, that her mother was like other mothers. Her mother is too trusting. She's made her weak.

"You have protection?" she asks, pushing against his chest.

His smile makes her think she's reacting prematurely and she instantly wants to take it back.

"It's cool," he responds, "I know when to pull out."

She keeps her arms hard, her palms still flexed against his chest.

"It's alright," he says, easily easing himself back down onto her, the stickiness between them magnetizes his body to hers. He pushes himself deeper inside her. She can feel the surge in her stomach, the ache that crawls into her thighs, and she gasps under the heavy realization. Even if she stopped it now, it would be too late.