Chapter 1.
As the plane's wheels lifted off the ground and tucked themselves into the plane's underbelly, she leaned forward and gazed out the window, trying to relax as a torrent of emotions coursed through her body.
"What have I gotten myself into?" She wondered.
The plane's acceleration pushed her back into her seat, and, closing her eyes, she took a deep breath as she watched the verdant farms of northern Wisconsin grow smaller beneath her, eventually transforming into what reminded her of an exquisite patchwork quilt laying softly across the land of the only state she'd ever called home.
Within a few short minutes, the plane broke through the clouds, and with that, her view of Wisconsin disappeared. She peered out of the window again, looking down, trying to catch a final glimpse of home, but all she could see were spires of clouds jutting up like stalagmites from the fluffy white carpet beneath her.
"Well, this is it." She sighed. The sensation of heaviness induced by the plane's acceleration seemed to mirror the emotional gravity of the moment. There was a feeling of momentousness. After spending all 22 years of her life on a farm in Wisconsin, she had decided to leave her friends, her family, indeed, her entire life, to move to California. It wasn't that she didn't love her life in her small town. But for the last several years, even during her happiest moments, there was a gnawing sense of emptiness that would creep up on her. It had taken years for that feeling to percolate up from the depths of her subconscious to the point where she could articulate it; she felt that there had to be more to life than that which lay in the friendly, safe confines of her farming community. The citizens of her town seemed to be so thoroughly enmeshed in the drudgery of farming life that they had forgotten, or never even learned, what it really means to be alive, to explore, to seek out experiences instead of simply enduring whatever experiences life happened to throw their way.
As her thoughts retraced the path that led her to this moment, she could feel a sense of lightness growing within her, a sense of pride that she had been able to transcend, or at least try to transcend, the life that she'd been born into. She was not, she said to herself, simply following the path that had been laid at her feet, but instead, blazing her own trail, one that was guided not by what others told her she should do, but by what she desired to do.
This idea that she would not submit to the weight of her family's expectations and would instead allow herself to be guided by her own internal compass had made her somewhat of a pariah in her town, long before she took that fateful step of buying her plane ticket to San Francisco, the same ticket that she now gripped tightly in her hands and regarded as the key what she hoped would be her new, authentic, fulfilling life.
It was when she reached high school when this feeling of otherness began to flower within her. She would sit in church, listening raptly as the pastor condemned to hell all those who would engage in premarital sex. Not only, according to the pastor, must sex wait until marriage, but so must all sexual pleasure, including masturbation. Sexual pleasure outside of marriage was a sin! the pastor intoned, a violation of God's will and an affront to the divine sanctity of marriage.
Though she couldn't quite articulate it at the time, those words had a false, hollow ring to them, all the more so when, after night fell, she would lie in bed, her thoughts drifting, as they always did, to Scott Hartford, a tall, athletic, supremely confident senior with piercing blue eyes, dark hair, and a worldliness that seemed incongruous with his small-town upbringing. It was this latter quality that seemed to exert a particular magnetism for her, this lurking feeling that, though she hardly ever spoke to him, he sensed, as she did, that there was more to existence than the humdrum routines of those around them. He was, she felt, the only person who
understood
, and it was this feeling, this sense of connection, whether rooted in reality or not, that alleviated, albeit only for fleeting moments, the dull throb of loneliness that seemed to embrace her like a fog as she trudged through her daily existence.
It was more the idea of him that entranced her, but this, in some ways, had its advantages, or at least that's what she tried to convince herself as the bungled interactions with him piled up and her hope of sustaining a meaningful conversation dwindled. Her ideas about him, she told herself, were unadulterated by the reality of him, and as she lay in bed at night, her imagination weaved wondrous tales about the magical life they could lead once they escaped small town life. Each time she allowed herself to indulge in these fantasies, she would notice a heat growing between her legs that, no matter how many times she shifted positions or tried to ignore, would remain, mystifying, exhilarating, and even frightening her.
Even years later, she would always remember that one Sunday in particular, when she answered that warm calling from between her legs. She had returned home from church after a particularly fiery sermon during which the pastor, in unusually florid language, castigated those who gave in to their passions and wallowed in sins of the flesh. As his words rained down upon her, she glanced to her left and was startled when she saw Scott watching her. When her eyes met his, their blue fire seemed to grow in intensity, and she could feel her body respond, almost against her will. His lips turned up slightly at the edges, in what struck her as a knowing grin. Unable to turn away, she felt as though he was not simply looking at her, but transmitting something to her, a sensual energy that flowed through her eyes as though they were gates that he had willed her to open. That energy seemed to course through her body, flowing languidly through her arms, her legs, spiraling around her heart, and culminating in that tender spot between her crossed legs.
Her cheeks reddened and she quickly looked away, but even after she returned her eyes to the pastor, whose sermon seemed to be building to some sort of crescendo of condemnation, she could feel whatever it was that Scott was transmitting flowing through her, as though it had its own intelligence. As it streamed through her hands, she felt her palms grow damp; as it encircled her heart, she could feel it will her heart to beat faster, and it did, which only made her body temperature rise even more. Breathe for me, it seemed to say, and as her lungs filled with air, she became aware of her nipples, which had begun to harden and grow even more sensitive, their tips rubbing softly against the inside of her bra, sending bolts of electricity throughout her body. The deep breath seemed to relax her, and she had the almost eerie feeling of Scott's voice within her, soothing her, urging her to give in to the sensations.
As her body responded, she became aware of the warmth blossoming between her legs. Struggling to resist it, she crossed her legs even tighter, but doing so caused what felt like a lightning bolt of pleasure to shoot from between her legs throughout her body. She breathed in sharply, the sudden intensity jolting her from her inner world and bringing her awareness back to the church where, a quick scan of the room revealed, a sea of parishioners were nodding their heads approvingly at the pastor, who was concluding his sermon with a dire warning to his flock to beware of the devil's infinite disguises.
As she listened to these words, a battle raged within her. Scott's energy seemed to be on the verge of conquering her, stoking the flame between her legs and urging a warm liquid softness to flow from her virgin sex. Yet weren't these the precise feelings about which the pastor was warning? Weren't these sensations among the devil's many disguises? The human body, she had been taught at church, was not immune to possession, and didn't her body, at the moment, feel like it had been taken over, enslaved, by this exquisite pleasure? As her mind grappled with these questions, the pastor abruptly concluded his sermon and the churchgoers began to file out of the holy sanctuary.
Outside several minutes later, exchanging pleasantries and struggling to make small talk with a sea of parishioners, she felt disoriented, disconnected. Was this what it felt like to have the devil within? Was she acceding to the very temptations that, only moments earlier, the pastor had warned about?
"Hi Elise." A male voice said, snapping her from her revelry. She turned her head and saw Scott approaching her, his parents on either side of him. "Did you enjoy the service?"
"Ummm, I guess so. It was pretty, ummm, intense."
