If I wanted that, I'd pick someone up in a bar.

He could without even trying. He's beautiful.

I'm happy he doesn't do gay bars. "So what are you looking for, then?"

A friend. A partner who I can trust. s.e.x that is more than mutual masturbation. s.e.x that is an outpouring of love.

Up Until Our fourth time together, individual masturbation was the bulk of my s.e.xual experience. There were a few short chapters of "touch me here, I'll touch you there"

in my very slim book of adolescent s.e.xual escapades, but nothing more. I had no idea what to do beyond that.

When I slipped into my fantasies, I always had s.e.x with men. But that day, overwhelmed as I was with desire for Loren, I was scared. Nothing had ever scared me so much, not even knowing my mom was going to die.

Does every person feel like that their first time?

Like what if they do it wrong? Or worse, what if they do it poorly-so horribly their partner laughs?

Loren Didn't Laugh There proved to be nothing to laugh about. Unexpectedly, it all came very easily.

Like, yes, that was exactly how it was meant to be- me, taking control. Before we started, I had no clear idea about our roles. Who's on top and who's not means nothing when you aren't completely positive that you belong in either position. But that night, one kiss and need struck with enough force to erase all doubt, all hesitation.

I didn't wait for Loren to say it was okay, didn't ask him to show me what to do.

Pure animal instinct led me just where I wanted to go.

It wasn't tender. Wasn't pretty. It was a raw, naked joining, energized from years of dreaming about what it could be like, or should be like. I gave, he took, and when it was over, like Adam, I shook at the forbidden taste of new awareness.

Afterward, with his head nested gently against my chest, Loren whispered, Are you sure you've never done that before?

"Never." My voice floated up from a deep haze of contentment. "But I want to do it again." It was a long few minutes before I could.

Since That Day I've grown more and more confident in the part I'm supposed to play. Loren is older.

More experienced. Wiser, in many ways. He is also softer. Pa.s.sive. Anxious to please me, let me have my way. He has become my favorite teacher ever.

I can barely make it through each week, pretending to be the same old Seth at home, when a short drive will allow the new, improved Seth to come out and play. I am torn, wanting to keep my dad satisfied, when I know Loren is waiting to satisfy me. One day soon I'll have to decide which Seth I can live without.

Until then, Improved Seth will have to escape when he can.

And he's escaped tonight.

By the Time I knock on Loren's door, treading a maelstrom of love and l.u.s.t, I have almost made up my mind to leave Dad and home in my wake and move to Louisville before I graduate in June.

I know it's not long, but I'm sick of pretending.

Loren opens the door.

I don't wait for his greeting before pushing inside and yanking him tight up against me. "G.o.d, I've missed you!"

He stiffens, and I finally take a good look at the worry sculpted in his face. I missed you, too. Come on. Sit down.

Something is definitely wrong. I follow him to the couch, afraid to ask what it is. What kind of bad news do I have to hear now? He couldn't be sick, could he? No. Too young.

Too healthy. Unless ... No!

Stop it. Just ask. I search his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Nothing. He takes my hand.

I mean, nothing major.

Relax, Seth. It's just ... He reaches toward the coffee table, picks up a letter.

I got this today. He cradles the paper protectively, like he doesn't want me to know what's there. You know I go to school at Louisville Seminary. ...

Uh-huh. Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary. Studying marriage and family therapy.

I nod my head, but I'm totally confused. "Yes. So?"

A requirement for my BA is three months of "field study." They're sending me to a congregation in New York for the summer.

Something Thick But tasteless rises up my throat, into my mouth.

I break out in a panicky sweat. "Congregation?

You mean, like a priest?"

He manages a thin smile.

More like a minister, but yes. That is my calling.

But you knew that.

He rests a hand on my knee.

"I don't know. I guess ..."

Guess? What else would a seminarian have planned?

But what about me? Us?

"What does that mean for us?"

Time apart. You can't come with me. I'll be living at the church. He lets that sink in. Don't worry now. I don't leave until May.

Don't worry? He hacked me off at the knees.

But it's only temporary.

"You're coming back, right?"

The silence screams.

A Poem by Whitney Lang Scream I whisper and you close your eyes. I speak and you turn away. If I scream, will you finally hear me beg you to hold me close to you, promise you'll never let go? Do my tears upset you? Can you see them fall on fallow ground-the soil of your heart?

Fear is a better friend than you, who feels nothing, beneath the weight of my pain.

Whitney

I Despise Shopping

But it's Paige's idea of heaven, so we're going to Capitola Mall.

Mom hangs out with Paige's mom and encourages our friendship.

She wouldn't, if she knew anything at all about Paige other than that her mom plays a mean game of tennis. But she doesn't, so we're on our way to the mall.

Did you go out with Lucas last night? Paige broke up with her last boyfriend a few months ago and dates vicariously through me. Voyeuristic ho!

I don't mind entertaining her-or making her jealous, either. "Actually, we spent most of the day together.

We hung out down at the Boardwalk."

Uh-huh. And what else? Voyeuristic enough to want details beyond arcade games and carnival rides.

Have you two done the dirty yet?

I swear, she's panting. I could make her day-her month, even- by inventing something juicy. But where would that leave what's left of my reputation? Do I care? Jeez.

My reputation might just improve if people believed I was having regular s.e.x with someone as delicious as Lucas. One thing for sure. Whatever I tell Paige will most definitely get around.

She's not very good at secrets.

Maybe I'll just keep her guessing.

I attempt an air of mystery. "C'mon, Paige. You wouldn't want me to screw and tell, would you?"

We Both Know She would, and we both know the way I've circ.u.mvented her question means I'm still a virgin. Technically, anyway.

It's the "technically" part that has now piqued her interest.

Okay, then. How far have you gone? I want every single detail.

Ah, what the h.e.l.l? "We almost did last week. In fact, we were just about naked. ..." I tell her the story about not quite getting busted, right there on my living room couch. "You've never seen two people get dressed so fast.

I didn't even have time to put on my bra. Good thing Daddy dropped his keys. Gave me time to hide it under the cushion. Things had to look pretty suspicious, though."

Paige giggles. Oh, yeah. Messy hair and smeared makeup.

Been there, done that. But what about yesterday? Did you ...?

"Nah. Everything but. Wrong time of the month and all." Now that was a big slice of truth. I don't usually talk about my periods.

But Paige wants even more.

Did you, like, use your mouth?

Her eyes light up. Is she waiting for a (ha!) blow-by-blow description?

"Why? Need instructions? 'Cause you can get tips on the Web, you know."

I am something of an expert there, because I checked 'em out myself.

She laughs. Nah. That's okay.

I think I've got it figured out.

Just wondering if you have.

Anyway, it's not rocket science.

Now I have to laugh. "Except the part where it goes off like a rocket."

We both bust up, and now she knows I've got it figured out too.

Capitola Mall Isn't huge, but it's big enough.

And, it being Sunday, it's pretty crowded. I don't mind crowds.

People watching is a fun pastime.

Paige cruises the parking lot slowly, waiting for someone to vacate a spot close to an entrance. "There's probably room in the garage."

Probably. But you never know what kind of weirdo might be lurking in a parking garage.

Mom says it's safer out here.

Is there more than one kind of weirdo? Okay, I can't let that one slip past. "How many kinds of weirdos are there?"

She doesn't laugh. Lots. And the worst are the ones you don't suspect. They're the ones you invite inside your front door.