Releasing me, he rested that hand on the bed behind him, chin dipped, watching me slide down the front of his shorts and briefs.

“Make it feel good,” he whispered while a grin stole his lips.

My teeth scraped along my bottom lip as I gathered up as much confidence as I could find. My hand wrapped around the top half of his cock while I rubbed myself along the bottom part. It was so much better than the scratchy fabric.

That day, the naked fisherman taught me how to make it feel good for me and for him at the same time while keeping that eighty percent of my virginity.

I knew it was wrong. I just started to care a little less about its wrongness.

While Fisher showered, I ran downstairs to get my computer. I had several important searches to do.

Is oral sex as morally wrong as intercourse?

What does the Bible say about masturbation?

Can a woman get pregnant if a man ejaculates between her legs without penetration?

That last search sent me into a frenzy. I peed.

Prayed.

Jumped into the shower and put the handheld head between my legs to rid myself of any residual semen.

Prayed again.

Checked my phone for my monthly cycle app to see if I was anywhere near ovulation.

Prayed again.

Dressed.

Sprinted up the stairs.

“YOU CAN GET PREGNANT WITHOUT PENETRATION!”

Fisher closed the refrigerator door, popping the top of a beer and taking a swig, eyeing me intently the whole time. “I’m a guy. I can’t get pregnant.”

“Ugh! Shut up! I’m talking about me.”

Totally relaxed, he perched himself atop one of the barstools. “I came on my own fucking stomach, not anywhere on you. Sperm might be fast swimmers, but I don’t think they jump from one person to another.”

“Fisher! I rubbed against you. My…” I motioned between my legs “…I rubbed against you. And it … you … might have dripped. What if all of it didn’t go onto your stomach? What if a drop or two mixed with my … you know? And you can have SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY THOUSAND sperm in one drop of semen. Did you know that? Because I didn’t.”

Still, he didn’t seem the least bit phased by my concern. “I think the odds are greatly in your favor of not getting pregnant. That would be quite the story.” He chuckled before taking another swig of beer.

“No.” I shook my head a half dozen times. “That would not be quite the story.”

“Are you ovulating?” He stole some of my fire.

No. According to my app, I wasn’t ovulating. But … abstinence was the only certainty. And while we abstained from intercourse—well, full, bare penetration—we didn’t abstain from possibly mixing bodily fluids.

It was like he read my mind … my next train of thought.