It smelled amazing; I could tell she had washed herself with a vanilla body wash before the dance. I told her to spread her cheeks with both hands so ... could get a better look at my prize. Her hole was perfect, tight and pink, winking at every breath that graced it. I couldn’t take the temptation any longer, and dove in. I began slowly at first, making sure to get it nice and wet. I pushed my tongue deeper and deeper, to the point where I thought I would taste her mouth if I went any further. I. I listened. I listened for God’s voice. I begged him to hear me and give me guidance. All I could hear were my own thoughts. The only future I could see was the one I’d already lived. The look of horror on my boyfriend’s face when I told him I was pregnant. His futile attempt to deny that it was possible. The look of disgust on my father’s face the last time he spoke to me. No, not the day he died—the day I told him I was pregnant. The minister’s lecture during my wedding on the evils of sex. More

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