"I have never said that word before," Emma whispered. "But I say it now. Fuck me. Fuck me now."
"Emma, no..." Michael had said.
“Fuck me!” Emma had said, raising her voice. “Please, Michael. Take me now and fuck me!”
He had wanted to unbutton his jeans, pull away Emma’s lace panties to the side, and plunge his cock deep into her pussy, taking her completely. But Michael had thought of her father, of how he would never approve of Michael, or of Emma dating at all.
He had thought of leaving Emma alone on Sand Mountain while he went away to college.
He had thought of impregnating her since they had no protection.
And he had thought that maybe they should get to know each other first, like a proper relationship.
Michael had stood up.
“I asked you to fuck me,” Emma had said, hungrily pulling him back. "If you don't, I might go crazy. I might just explode. I'm begging, you, please...fuck me."
“No,” Michael had, tucking in his shirt.
He had looked down at Emma. Her legs were splayed apart with her lace panties still revealed, as her dress was remained gathered around her waist.
Tufts of her blonde locks matted to her cheeks. Her face was covered in sweat.
“I want to,” Michael had said, “but we…we shouldn’t…you shouldn’t.
“Go home, Emma,” Michael had said.
Michael had leaned against a wall, wiping sweat from his brow. He cock bulged in his pants and Emma could see it throbbing within his jeans. She had begun to cry, whimpering softly like a kitten in a corner alone.
She had sat up on her knees, pulling dress down to touch the hay-covered floor so it covered her underwear and legs.
She had wiped tears from her face and looked up at Michael, leaning against the doorway, chin down.
“Go home Emma,” he had said, without looking up, in a voice that sounded as if he were shooing away a straying dog.
She had stood, brushing hay from her back and tugging at her twisted panties to straighten them. Michael had looked down, and she began walking away, toward home, still quietly sniffling.
When Emma had reached the fence before the blacktop county road that separated the Denton farm from the parsonage, she had looked back to see if Michael was coming after her.
He was not.
In the barn, Michael had turned to the wall, clinched a fist with his right hand, and pounded it into the timber siding with all his strength.
"Ahhhh," he cried out, falling to his knees.
Michael looked down at his bulging crotch. He unzipped his pants, and pulled out his erect cock with his left hand. Crouched against his heels, Michael had spit on his aching right hand, and then wrapped it around his cock.
He remembered touching Emma's virgin crotch. He remembered the warmth.
Michael pumped his hands up and down, but only a few times, until cum shot from his cock to against the barn wall.
"Until then," Michael thought.
4.
Unless You Repent
The worst kind of evil can come from within a good person who means well, but is driven nonetheless by something they want so badly they must have it. It’s the trauma that breeds from what we feel we can’t have, or what we have but don’t want, that drives one to places of intolerable unrest, if not extreme foolishness.
At home that evening after meeting Michael in the barn, Emma had begun dealing with that very problem: wanting what she could not have, and in the very worst way. She had tried to distract herself from the persistent shock waves of being with Michael in a warm bath. But her body, and mind, still burned like a noonday sun, searing inside and out.
Emma had felt nerves she did not know she had begging for attention by tingling on the ends the way a wailing baby calls out to be held. Emma had wanted to feel bad for pouncing on Michael like an animal raging in lust. She wanted to feel bad for doing and feeling what her father had worked so hard for so many years to keep her from.
Emma knew her father wouldn't approve. She wasn't wed, and she lusted for Michael with all her being. She did not have her father’s approval to so much as sit in the family den with Michael, much less approval to meet him in secret and beg that he take her, completely. And, she had never even touched a man before in the simplest of ways, yet in the barn she had tried to maul Michael like she was a hungry tiger and he was a lamb.
Emma had wondered if she was a whore like those she read about in the Bible – something her father called an abomination of the earth, the type of monster whose otherwise good is washed away completely according to the judgmental by an undiscerning loin.
That would be okay, she had deducted, since the searing burn she felt for Michael felt better than the otherwise melancholy days before she met him that piled up one after another which were neither good, nor bad.