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This is his favorite part of the week, his favorite part of the day, his favorite part of everything. He loves being in this church more than he loves working on the deck in our backyard, and he loves doing that a whole lot.
I love my daddy, but I hate church.
We’ve got spots like this all over town, spots where we can kiss without anyone (Mom) calling us inappropriate, “trying to be grown,” or demons of lust. But Dom’s kisses liquefy me. I am a demon of lust. I am raging hormones cloaked in a church dress.
As much as I want to shed this church-girl image, I don’t want to replace it with that one.
“Could she be leading a double life? Maybe she’s secretly a mule for the cartel, and at this very moment she’s smuggling drugs over the border. That’d be pretty crazy, though, because all my mom talks about is promise me you won’t do drugs, and here she is, smuggling. How hypocritical.” My mom looks at him with parted lips. She has no idea what to say to him, and it’s . . . hilarious. It’s hysterical. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so speechless. I laugh. I can’t help it. Everything he just said is the most ridiculous nonsense I’ve ever heard, and his fearlessness is even more ridiculous.
My daddy might be a pastor, but he’s not cold and unforgiving. Not like my mother.
“You know, her grandma died last year. Maybe she thinks dressing like her will bring her back.”
“I swear, nobody knows how savage you are. You got everybody thinkin’ you sweet or something.”
She’s not sympathetic. I don’t know what that look was, but it wasn’t sympathy. Here I am, broken in pieces, and all she cares about is the ten minutes I was late.
He lets it stop him from entering, because he’s always respected my space and my feelings and my boundaries. And I’ve always taken advantage of that.
“I don’t keep my hair and nails nice for him. I do it for me.”
“It’s a way that I show love to myself. Your dad just . . . appreciates it.”
“And do not leave this house.” I look up then. “No problem. I’ve got nowhere to be and no one to see.” And I’m being facetious, but realizing how alone I am hurts me more than I expected.
My parents help with my sexual education? Sex is something they assume will come naturally when the time is right—that time being after marriage.
“And sometimes it’s because the girl grew up in a home where sex is said to be dirty and bad.”
“So maybe you feel guilty about wanting to have sex because you think it’s bad? Maybe you even feel shame? Or maybe you’re just scared.”
“Like Dr. Marion says, I can’t help anyone who doesn’t want to be helped.”
“That’s not the problem here. It’s illegal . . . I think. Your friend could go to jail. And then we’ll be on the news in front of an adult toy shop, and our parents and our whole town will find out.” “Why would the news care about some kids going into a sex shop?” Reggie asks. “Because it’s scandalous!”
This, vaginismus or whatever, has been ruining our nights—nights that were supposed to be perfect—for far too long. The sooner I get the dilators, the sooner I can finally have sex with Dom, so maybe he can finally look at me and not see a dead end.
In my silence, he looks at me with an unapologetic, infuriating smirk and asks, “You mad?” My eyes widen. When I look at him, my skin catches fire. “I’ll kill you!” I screech, and lunge for his throat.
But it takes him a while to realize that I’m actually trying to murder him. When he finally does, he tries taking off, but his shoes betray him—karma.
“Hey, calm down,” he cries, his voice cracking. “Let’s talk about this.” “I don’t want to talk.” I’m approaching like a lioness on her prey. “Okay, listen,” he begs, “when I decided to prank you, I was . . .” He shakes his head and sighs. “I was young and dumb.” “That was ten minutes ago!” “Yeah, but my growth is exponential. You know, most people’s growth is linear, but I grow more and more each day, each second.”
“Did he break up with you because of . . . sex?” “You mean the lack of? Yes.” “That’s really messed up,” Reggie says. “It’s been two years.”
“So, you think if you can fix your condition, you can get him back?”
I appreciate her sensitivity and her compassion and her willingness to help me, but her carefulness is making me feel even more helpless, and I don’t like it.
It’s in this moment that I realize that “church girls” is me, not Sasha.
The things we resent about other people, aren’t those always the things we hate most about ourselves?
“For the record, I think Dom’s an asshole for breaking up with you over this. You are more than what your body can do for him.”
If they find out the truth, they’ll banish me for sure. Kick me out on my butt. Disown me like they disowned my sister, because I don’t fit into their plans, into their perfect cookie-cutter world.
“Why did you buy one?” “Oh.” Then she slides the book across my center console. “I got this for you.” Reggie laughs. “You bought her porn? I think that’s way worse than me stealing you a bra.” My face tightens. “Erotica is not porn. It’s art.” “It’s totally porn,” he laughs.
“Yoooo,” Reggie howls in disbelief, “say it.” “I don’t need to be able to say it. I need to be able to do it.” “How can you expect to be able to have sex if you can’t even say it?”
I open my mouth and shout, “I want to have sex!” My voice is captured by the wind. Then I laugh, grasp the steering wheel tight, and glance over at Reggie. He lets up his window with his eyebrows rising into his hairline. “Do you? Right now?” He motions to the edge of the street. “We can kick Sasha out and pull over right here.” I push on his shoulder again. “Shut up!”
“Because! I don’t know how I got this way. It’s such a stupid thing to happen to someone’s body. Like I’m so emotionally unstable that my fear is manifesting itself into a physical disorder? I’m so scared that it will hurt, so scared to disappoint my parents, so scared that if I give away my virginity I’ll have nothing left of value. And now my body won’t even let me give up my virginity. That’s so . . . dumb.”
“But, for real, all he did was ask me questions about the stuff I’m interested in.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone just talk to me like that. Especially not, like, an adult. Without them trying to change me or make me better.”
“Mom and Dad have this idea of who I should be, what I should want, and where I should end up. That idea is like a cage. I can’t even think for myself in this house. I can’t make my own decisions.”
“He lets me choose between options that he’s already picked out for me. That’s not freedom.”
“Who are you outside of your relationship with Dom? What are you other than a virgin?”
“I was . . . doing a lot of thinking.” “You couldn’t have done your thinking inside the house? What were you thinking about?” She shrugged. “Who I am, and what I want.”
“I’m eighteen. It’s my decision.” “It’s our money,”
“Can I get a sip of that?”
“You want a sip of my iced tea?”

