The High School Virgin Boy (A Short Story)

I walked to my next class, focused, determined not to look at the girls butt in front of me.  It's hard.  Her jeans are tight, and I'm very attracted to her.  But I want to wait for sex.  I need to wait.  I have to wait.  I've seen what not waiting did to my mom, my dad, my family.  So much divorce, so much unfaithfulness, so much loneliness.  I have to wait.  So I won't look.

"Come on man," Vincent said.  I didn't notice him beside me.  "I know what you're doing.  What's wrong with looking?  You can look man." About a week ago I was at Vincent's house.  "Hey, Donnie, check this out."  I went with Vincent to his room.  He put a tape in the VCR, and I saw it.  I wanted to vomit.  It was the first time I saw pornography.  Having never had sex, or seen a girl naked, what I saw made me nauseous.  It wasn't what I imagined sex would be like.  The closest I could imagine of course was how it felt to hug a girl, to feel her body very close to mine, the intense arousal.  As far as I knew, that was sex.  But I didn't want simulation or the real thing.  Vincent was convinced when he showed me the tape that I should indulge my desires.  He was convinced on our way to class that I should look at the girl's butt in front of me.

"Just look man.  There's nothing wrong with it.

Of course, in a sense, he was right.  I can't help that I'm a teen aged boy behind a teen aged girl with a nice butt.  I can't help that I like how she looks.  That I want her.  Maybe I should look.  I can't help what I am.  What am I?  A young man, wanting a young woman...wanting a wife...but she's not my wife...that's the issue.  I want to give myself to one woman, and one woman alone.  "Just look man..."  We're almost across the street.  (My school is in two buildings...I have to go from one to the other.)  I had at least a full sidewalk to just enjoy the girl, or I could speed up and walk ahead of her.  "Just look man." 

I sped up.  Vincent followed, of course.  (Why do some teen aged boys feel it their duty to harass other boys about their sexual decisions?)  "What's wrong with it?"  I realized that Vincent must need my approval or something.  I heard in his voice the tone of persuasion, but who was he trying to persuade?  I had made up my mind.  She was behind me.  I was going to wait to have sex...I was going to wait, even to look at a girls' body.

How to resist every temptation (part 3)

they accidentally touched hands, reaching for a straw for their coffee, at the Starbucks's counter with spices and sugars.  he felt fire desire in his chest, breathing faster and harder.  he looked into her eyes after the touch and saw dark brown invitations.  so soft and warm, her fingers melted into his.  her skin and breath are vanilla.  his heart beats as he comes to see this reality:  she wants him, and he wants her.  he knows it.  "Take me if you want me; I want you to take me."  these words are heard in his mind, a translation of her passion expression through physical connection.  her touch. 

if he accepts her invitation, then he will no longer be a virgin. all of these years he's saved himself for "the one." but where is she?  maybe she just touched him.  no.  "the one" would help him wait.  he didn't touch the one.  he touched fire.  he must find water, the escape from his desire.

"what are you thinking about?" she asked with a voice lulling him into a sensuous dream.
"what are you thinking about? he responded.
"you...and me...together..."
the way she said "together" made him want her then and there and now...where was the water for the fire? 

it's all happening so quickly.  all he wanted was to relax and enjoy some jazz at his favorite coffee shop.  he didn't come to lose his virginity.  and he never thought the possibility could happen so quickly.  or maybe it's all fantasy.  he'll test it out.

"what do you mean 'together'?"
"after our coffee, we leave, and we're alone...at your place or mine...on your couch or mine...doing whatever you have in mind."

and there it was.  it wasn't just in his head.  what he felt coming from her was real.

"but we don't know each other..."
"do we need to?  do you need to know me to enjoy me, to enjoy my body?"

if it wasn't explicit before, it is now.
where is the water, the escape from fire? 

water.

fire.

exit.

these three words came to his spirit, his intuition, combined.  each word flowed into the other.  literal and metaphorical.  spiritual and physical.  he knew.  he knew his way of escape.

"excuse me."
he went to the counter...and bought some water.  he took a drink, giving him time to think.
"God, help me."

"is everything ok?" she asked, now with him at the counter.
"yeah.  I have to go."
"are you sure?"
"i'm sure."
"maybe we can hook up another time?"
"i'm sorry. I've gotta go."
"alright.  nice to meet you."
"you too."

he left quickly.
he drove to another coffee shop about 20 minutes away.
sitting.
drinking.
thinking.

God makes a way of escape from every temptation.  Maybe the escape is literal.  When I felt the heat of passion, I drank cold water, which was available.  It literally cooled me off.  I could leave. I could leave her at that coffee shop.  I could literally escape that coffee shop, literally "flee from sexual immorality," like Paul said.  Joseph literally ran away from Potiphar's wife.  He wouldn't sleep with her or be with her.  Joseph wouldn't be with her.  He could leave.  He had a way to leave, a way to escape. 

I actually noticed her coming in...her walk sparked interest...her sway ignited intrigue...what if I left then...what if I prayed right then, "Lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from the evil one?"

Avoidance would've been better than escape.  Next time, I'll avoid "her."  It's better to avoid her than to escape her or flee from her.

after he thought, he felt stronger, wiser, and more secure. 
he finished his coffee and enjoyed the jazz.

click HERE for part four