All the trouble began when Nancy reached puberty, and realized for the first moment in her life that she was a sexual being. Although Nancy had often intelligently considered the prospect that one day she would adult enough to do adult things with boys and maybe have a baby, she’d never fully comprehended that the day might arrive before she expected it to.

Thus, Nancy was entirely shocked to learn one day when she was only fifteen years old and still unmarried that when she looked at the farmer’s son sideways, and at the way he sweat with his shirt off while bailing hay, that an excited coursing stirred inside, and she felt aroused in a way she’d never before anticipated. That was when Nancy learned about sex more fully than she ever had from sex-ed textbooks and after-school specials about AIDS, and far more than she’d ever learned from her Health teacher, who after class tended to hook up with a senior boy in the teacher’s lounge and let him finger her.

Ever one to experiment, Nancy met up with the boy one day when a cool breeze made his farm work less difficult, surely, and when he would be more eager to devote time to a curious girl. As soon as she appeared at the edge of a field, her tight jeans showing off her every curve and a blousy peasant-top giving her a false air of innocence, the farmer’s boy knew what Nancy wanted for the first time in her life, and, a man, was happy to oblige.

They met up again at the bar: a small-town establishment that only made enough profit to stay open by refusing to card the high school students who showed up on weekends to drink themselves into oblivion. The cool students were invited to parties, where they’d chug to the tune of too-loud music and sneak off into back rooms to do something they’d regret the next day; only the losers went to the bar, those who dreamt of popularity and played at rebellion by throwing their money away on overpriced glasses of beer and a computer console that would play solitaire using a deck of cards with naked women on it.

Nancy and the farmer’s boy didn’t care about what was cool and what was not when they met up at the doomed bar. They met there because nobody at the bar mattered, and nobody would care if they saw them. Of course, neither did anything that would be regarded wrong, but Nancy had yet to be stripped of her virgin modesty, and the farmer boy would have climbed any mountain to save Nancy from her inner shame.

They didn’t drink or play with the pornographic cards, but instead, when she arrived, the farmer’s boy removed her coat, which would be too warm inside. Then, he removed her shirt and her shoes, her jewelry and her skirt, her camisole and bra, her tights and underwear, and when Nancy stood before him shivering, the farmer’s boy removed her fear and her shame, her uncertainty about what she was about to do and her fears of what her parents would say, caressing each concern before sucking it out with a kiss, and setting them on an overstuffed chair to be adopted again when Nancy needed them.

The farmer’s boy lay Nancy down on his brother’s bed; this bed had been vacated for three months, ever since he’d joined the army and had left to train to someday go to other countries and kill the people there. In his bed, the farmer’s boy and Nancy didn’t kill, but worked to create life, although a rubber wall prevented any children from being born that day.

When they were finished, Nancy rose again, and put on her underwear and her tights, her bra and her camisole, her skirt and her jewelry, and even her shoes and her shirt, but left her fear and her shame behind, thinking she could save them for later. Her uncertainty as to whether or not what she’d just done was right remained thrown carelessly over a lamp, and Nancy allowed it to remain there, as she feared what would happen should she put it on again. She also left her worries about what her parents would say,

When she went home, the farmer’s boy didn’t call Nancy or e-mail her or even send her a thank-you card in the mail. When Nancy woke up, she hurt in some places, but now that she had discovered that she was indeed a sexual being, and capable of things she’d once thought belonged only to adults, she put her hurts away in a drawer, along with new fears that arose about disease and pregnancy.

When she couldn’t take these fears off like the new ones, Nancy walked to the store, where she traded her concerns for a box of pills and a patch. Now she was ready.

Disconcerted by all the unexpected that had come with sex, Nancy resolved to learn all there was to know about it before she concerned herself with anything else. She resolved to have sex with every boy in town, and by the time she was finished she would be an expert on the topic that seemed so mysterious to so many she knew.

Nancy found a cute boy at school, and seduced him in the back seat of his car before he had to go play in the football game. She asked him afterward how often he’d done that before, and when he became uncomfortable, she asked him if he felt that he’d done something wrong. Nancy couldn’t shake the feeling that she had, even though she thought she’d left all her guilt behind in that other room.

Next, Nancy tried the other route, and slept with the boy who always read comic books in the back of the room during science class. When he told her she’d taken his virginity, she asked if he felt the same way she had. Afterward, he’d call her every day asking if she wanted to go on a date, but Nancy ignored him, fearing a steady boyfriend would get in the way of her explorations. Thus, she refused to take his call until he stopped calling.

Nancy slept with the boy who was sleeping with her health teacher, and with her best friend’s father, with the boy who had bragged about “bagging” her since she’d been a virgin, and with the smelly kid that nobody wanted to talk to, and who she’d never really spoken with up until she marked him as another of her victims.

Afterward, Nancy learned many things. She learned that she liked to be nibbled at, particularly around her ear, and that kisses felt nice almost anywhere. She learned that it was easy to believe the words “I love you,” even when she knew they couldn’t be true, and that there were very few people who knew much more about sex than she did. Nancy learned that it hurt to be called a slut, even when deep down she sometimes half believed it was true.

What Nancy hadn’t learned yet was what sex was; was it something magical? Pure base hormones and animal instinct? A gift from God? Every situation she’d experienced had been different, and Nancy was inclined to believe something different each moment. She also hadn’t learned yet if sex could ever make her happy.

Then, one day, Gwen came to town.

Gwen was a student of social psychology from the east coast who came to the Midwest to study the effects of agriculture commercialization on small family farms. She’d studied this particular topic because it would allow her to utilize her minor in business globalization, and to travel to a part of the country she’d never seen before.

Among her various studies, Gwen intended to interview a wide cross-section of Midwesterners, and one segment she planned to utilize was that of high school students living in small farming towns. After discussing her study with the principal and superintendent of Nancy’s school, Gwen was provided with a randomly generated list of students in various grades, various class standings, and from various socio-economic backgrounds. Nancy was one of the common-est students, as a white C-average sophomore whose father farmed and whose mother worked as a receptionist at the small community clinic. She was put on the list.

A speaker called Nancy out of her boring world literature class, and she met Gwen for the first time in the school’s emptied cafeteria, where the mysterious college student astounded Nancy with her giant hoop earrings and expensive manicured nails. Intrigued by the stranger who intruded in her world, Nancy took a seat and watched Gwen with suspicion and infatuation.

The two began by discussing how Nancy’s personal life was affected by her father’s business, and about Nancy’s fears about the future. This segued to discussion about Nancy’s more personal fears, and her experiments with the boys at her school. Gwen answered by telling Nancy stories about her school’s counter-cultural unit, and all of the work Gwen had done as the president of her school’s chapter of the Gay-Lesbian Alliance. Nancy found the stories fascinating.

What became apparent as the two women spoke was that something sparked between them; something indescribable and visceral. Deep in her gut, Nancy felt an attraction that was simultaneously very much like that she’d felt for the boys in her life that had become men in her arms, and yet distinctly unlike it. For the first time, Nancy felt lust that was coupled with a more intimate connection. Nancy may as well have just discovered that she was a sexual being all over again.

In a way, this was a surprise, and Nancy had previously believed she was as intimate as was possible with all those other boys. In a completely other way, everything about the conversation and Nancy’s subsequent feelings was completely inevitable, for in the discussion that transcended mundane friendship and the initial attraction Nancy could never feel for boys she’d grown up with, everything about their meeting seemed orchestrated by fate. Nancy deemed that she would take Gwen home and to bed with her that night, even if she had to use every charm she knew.

As for Gwen, she noticed the attraction initially as well, but tried to ignore it. She’d had her crushes before, but generally tried to ignore them, as she believed the strongest relationship needed to be built on a foundation of past friendship and shared experiences. Besides the fact that Nancy was far too young for her, and apparently strait, based on her discussion of her desperate attempts to find meaning in her various exploit with boys, Nancy wasn’t willing to begin a short fling during her short time in that state working on her paper.

However, when Nancy confessed her sudden blossom of feeling, Gwen appreciated the unusual straightforward attitude, and the way Nancy seemed to never completely sit down, but instead hold herself and her weight just above the seat, as if she were preparing for an attack from an unseen enemy. Gwen was intrigued by Nancy’s jerky, caffeine-high movements, and was flattered by the glassy-eyed way Nancy clearly looked up to her with her college experiences. The woman would have felt pity for Nancy’s humble lifestyle and unlikelihood that she’d ever rise above it, but something about Nancy’s complete sense of self and her deep sense of loss made Gwen love her.

Thus, under the watch of buzzing florescent lights, and as students in Nancy’s classroom began to talk amongst themselves, wandering where their mysterious classmate had gone, Nancy and Gwen leaned across the wide table to share a perfect, intimate, and oddly chaste first kiss.

Afterward, Nancy waited for the guilt that was sure to come, as it always was, and Gwen packed her interview items, thinking of statutory rape laws and the backward nature country folk always exhibited on television. The women agreed to meet at the town’s one restaurant that evening, and parted, both lost in the excitement of the first conquest of a new relationship.

When they met up again, Nancy tried to convince Gwen to buy her a drink, but the older girl refused. Despite the older girl’s concerns about their age difference, however, something about Nancy’s unique brand of warmth served to melt a scared chill deep inside, so that Gwen was able to finally relax with someone as she never had before. They talked for hours, nursing their microwave-heated dinners they’d paid the restaurant too much for, and playing with the straws that floated in their glasses of soda, or “pop,” as Nancy called it.

Somehow, the impromptu date ended with Gwen agreeing to come home with Nancy in order to meet her parents. She justified the act silently by determining that she could interview Nancy’s parents for her almost forgotten paper.

That evening, the house was crowded with voices and feet and pairs of hands, each interested in their own affairs. Nancy’s mother bustled through the kitchen, preparing a meal for two and lamenting that her daughter had failed to tell her she’d eat out that night. As she browned a skillet full of ground beef and slowly heated a sauce-pan of canned corn, she danced to avoid colliding with her husband, who washed grit from his hands and called answers over his shoulder for Gwen’s sake. The guest sat at the kitchen table, notebook before her and pencil in one hand while a tape-recorder sat at her elbow, memorizing all that the gruff man said. Separated from them all, Nancy prepared her room for the distinct honor she would give Gwen; that of having sex in her own bed while her parents slept in the next room.

When night fell, Nancy didn’t need to use any of her tricks to bring Gwen to her bed; the college student had grown so comfortable during her interview and while eating the cheesecake Nancy’s mother had baked, she felt as if she’d found peace for the first time in her life. Gwen’s own home was filled with anger, as her mother and father blamed one another for “turning” her gay, and her brother refused to speak to her until she renounced her way of life. Gwen had always envisioned home as a place of strife, somewhere to rise above in order to enter adulthood. After visiting Nancy’s home, however, Gwen realized what the word really meant.

Thus, drugged by a sense of belonging and real love with no expectation of anything in return, Gwen walked into Nancy’s bedroom, unafraid of what would happen. While Nancy wrapped her in soft blankets and caressed her with kisses, and when Gwen felt most at peace, the pair had sex.

For Nancy, the experience was in many ways a climax of the past meaningless months. She’d never imagined that she might find such joy in the arms of a woman, particularly after she’d found so little with her boys. Nancy had recently realized that she’d slept with every available boy; no one more waited for her, and that Gwen had come into her life at such a time seemed as much orchestrated by fate as it was inevitable.

A miracle took place while they lay together that evening, and while Nancy’s parents murmured to one another, refusing to believe what was evident by what they heard through the walls. When Nancy gasped with unique pleasure and Gwen glowed to see how happy she could make a lover, a small life sparked in Nancy’s belly.

Any scientist or logician would say that children are conceived through a very natural and predictable process. Approximately once every month, the average woman releases an egg into her uterus, which remains there for about three days. If she has sexual relations during that time, the average man’s semen will find the egg and fertilize it, thus creating the first cell that will split and grow into a fetus, and then in a baby.

Anyone will admit that there is at least some credence to that theory. After all, everyone knows that sex leads to children, and in unhappy homes, mothers can trace the conceptions to those events. Indeed, the sterile scientific process has led to the birth of many children before divorces, and children who are subjected to abuse. Much evil has come from this process, but much good has as well, as this theory has led to the process of artificial insemination, and may one day unlock the key to human cloning.

Poets, however, will reveal an entirely different, but far more effective method of conceiving children. For, there are certain, magical moments when a child will be conceived without an egg or a sperm, and this conception cannot be stopped by birth control or any other scientific means, because it is indefinable by science. This means is when a child is created purely from love, as expressed through the rite of sexual contact.

This method of conception is very rare; so rare, in fact, that it may have only happened ten or eleven times in all of human history. This is because that love necessary for a child’s conception is unique, and so rare as to almost be unheard of. It is a love so deep many married couples dream of such connection, but so innocent that some couples who have already suffered from fights and disappointment can’t envision such innocence any more.

Gwen and Nancy experienced a connection unknown to many lovers for generations, and an innocence born only of the fact that they’d known each other less than ten hours. Had they lived four centuries earlier, they would have been the lead characters in an opera, and ten centuries earlier, Aphrodite would have bowed down at the feet of their passion. Alone together in the new millennium, however, the only record of Gwen and Nancy’s only perfect night was the child who came into life in Nancy’s womb as if by magic, with no assistance from man.

When the sun rose the next morning, Nancy awoke sick to her stomach, the rigors of pregnancy accelerated. After she vomited, Nancy prepared for school as she always did: dressed, showered, brushed her teeth and applied the make-up that she believed would make her more attractive to boys, backed her school supplies, and left. She didn’t know that she now carried Gwen’s child, didn’t know such a thing was even possible.

Two hours later, Gwen awoke alone. After she cursed herself for forgetting to set an alarm earlier, Gwen dressed and left, ignoring her daily routine of washing her face and of even showering. The rest of that day, Gwen focused on gathering more interview-based information for her project, and by the time the day was finished, she had enough that she believed she could move on to another state the next day.

At first Gwen considered calling Nancy at school to reminisce about the night before, but after a bit of thought, Gwen determined that discussing the beauty of the night before would ruin some of the ecstasy of remembering. Instead, Gwen decided she should wait until she ran into Nancy naturally over the course of the day, and if she didn’t have a chance to say good-bye forever in person, at least she and her lover could take comfort in the memory of the magic they’d created the night before.

As for Nancy, she didn’t really expect to be called back, and didn’t want to be, at least not right at first. By ten o’clock, however, when Nancy felt a desperate need to use the restroom for the third time since homeroom had begun, she realized that something very out-of-the-ordinary was happening to her. When she asked for permission to leave yet again, the teacher gave her a studied look, and asked if she was all right. Nancy responded that she just felt a bit sick, and left.

In the safety of the restroom stall, when Nancy unbuttoned her pants, she noticed for the first time the slight swelling at her abdomen. The baby, borne of love rather than physicality, fed on Nancy’s joy and matured within the safety of her womb at a pace far quicker than that a physical baby needed. Astonished, Nancy lay a hand on her belly, and felt the heartbeat sing underneath- Thud-dud, Thud-dud, Thud-dud.

By lunchtime, everyone could see the way Nancy’s stomach welled to the point that it peeked out from underneath her shirt. Although none could consciously explain how her pregnancy had progressed so far over the course of the day, each intuitively recognized that the baby had been conceived the way God intended; in perfect love. Consumed by jealousy, however, nobody admitted the truth to themselves or the others.

By the end of the day, Nancy’s belly was like that of a woman four months pregnant. She wondered if she should tell Gwen, and if Gwen would be considered the father in this situation. Clearly, Nancy could tell from the timing that Gwen had played some role in the child’s conception, but Nancy didn’t know what the word for that role would be, or how she would tell her girlfriend (was Gwen her girlfriend, now?) Even if Nancy could find a way to tell the other woman, however, she wasn’t sure how she could even reach her one-time lover. For all Nancy knew, Gwen may have left the state, and she hadn’t even left a phone number.

Meanwhile, rumor flew through town. Nancy didn’t help clear her name, as she was upfront about the fact that she’d made her baby with a woman she’d known less than a day, whose last name she couldn’t offer, and who she’d probably never see again. Jealousy flared among her peers and their parents, couples married for years who’d never known the love Nancy created in one night, and young idealists who’d long ago dismissed Nancy as easy. They all hated her for mothering a perfect child of love, and for doing it with another woman. Why should those lesbians have what good, upstanding all-American couples had been unable to create?

Thus, amongst Nancy’s ex-lovers and her friends and her enemies and people she’d hardly ever spoken more than three words to, a desperate plan was made to take away her perfect love, for if they couldn’t have it, nobody could. Nancy’s parents agreed to it, aghast that their daughter could deviate so far from their morals they’d tried to instill in her, and Nancy completed her school day unaware of what waited for her, lurking like doom in her living room.

When Nancy arrived at home, a dozen farmers and teachers and church-members, all married men who believed that they had Nancy’s best interests at heart. They’d needed to find justification for what they’d do, and because jealousy wouldn’t serve, they’d debated for half an hour before they’d together decided that Nancy wasn’t ready to care for another human being. She barely could control her own life, as evidenced by her sexual promiscuousness, and the last thing she needed to do was ruin a child’s life through her certain maternal ineptness. Besides, nobody knew what sort of child this love-created baby would be, and none wanted to be saddled with the responsibility of seeing to it that the baby would be taken care of through its infanthood, or however long Nancy would keep it before she’d do the right thing and put it up for adoption.

Thus, everyone agreed that it would be for the best for everyone involved: the parents, her family, who’d probably have to use all of their money caring for the child during pregnancy and afterwards, and most importantly, it would be best for the baby. After all, no child should be raised in a home where it wasn’t wanted, and because the pregnancy would be unplanned, everyone knew that this child would be unwanted. Better for it to be at peace now, they decided, than for it to grow up neglected and abused, as everyone assumed would certainly be the case.

Now that they were in agreement, the men waited in Nancy’s living room. In the back rooms, where their beds waited made and tucked, and lamps sat dark, Nancy’s parents waited, aware of the horror that would soon come but too uncertain and scared to raise voice or finger to stop it. All the animals froze in their stalls, hardly daring low in anticipation of the loss the world would soon accept.

When Nancy walked into the living room, she thought she was alone up until she flicked on the light and saw that the dim shapes she’d thought to be her father’s easy-chair and the television were actually the men of her town. Confused as to the reason for their presence, she greeted them as cheerfully as she could, and tried to move on to her bedroom, for the first time sensing that she might be in some sort of danger.

She never had the chance to escape, because one of the men, Nancy’s history teacher, whose name was Greg Johnson but who all the students just called Mr. J, stepped in her way. Without explaining what they would do, he offered their reasoning, reminding her that she wasn’t ready to take care of a baby, and that it wouldn’t be right to bring the child into a broken home anyway. Guessing their plan, Nancy tried to flee, but rough hands seized her before she could get away, and held her down.

When the opportunity for violence arose, each did as he saw fit, remaining within the earlier agreement that they wouldn’t do any further harm to Nancy herself than strictly what was necessary to be rid of the child that grew inside her. Some punched her belly while others kicked her, ramming hard, bony knees into her soft and unprotected abdomen. When Nancy struggled to get free and protect her throbbing stomach, the men who held her pinched her wrists extra tightly so they bruised but she still couldn’t get away from him.

The vicious beating didn’t end until Nancy felt a tug inside like a small explosion that ended with a gush of red warmth that ran down her leg. Now she began to beg the men to stop, to see if she could somehow fix what had been broken, although it was impossible. Her dead child dissolved in her womb, turning to blood and oozing out between her legs in liquid death. Nancy’s daughter didn’t even have the chance to cry out in pain before her soul rushed away.

Blood trickled down Nancy’s legs, and only when it soaked through her pants did the others let off their beating. Fists froze and unfolded into open hands, and the bone-shattering grip on her arms relented. Finally, limp, Nancy slid to the floor, tears coursing down her cheeks and her knees hit the puddle that stained her mother’s clean white carpet.

Later, Nancy’s parents left their room to see if their daughter was all right, but Nancy refused to speak to them. She stared at them, with eyes wide open and empty, until they left, shamed to admit that they’d known what would happen and would allow it anyway.

Nancy waited until she heard the back door close, and she knew that she was entirely alone. Then, she went into the bathroom and stared at her eyes, red from tears, and the bruise on her forehead she’d created by knocking it against the bottom of a chair as she’d thrashed in her attempt to get away from her attackers. Lifting a washcloth, Nancy dabbed at her wounds, but no amount of scrubbing or washing could heal the rift inside. A hole gaped where her child had once lived, leaving her empty physically and emotionally.

Aching with loss, Nancy took a shower, washing away the last remains of her child’s unformed body. She waited until the shower water that flowed down her drain turned clear again instead of red, then finally turned off the water, and, shivering, wrapped a towel around herself and plodded freezing across the house to her bedroom, where she cuddled underneath a blanket until she could muster the energy and the willpower to dress.

Nancy glanced at her clock, and wondered how long she’d have until her parents would return. Although Nancy had only carried another life inside her for a few hours, she suddenly realized how horrible it could be to be alone, and how vast and empty her house felt when there was nobody else in it but herself. She wanted to bring people into her life and home to fill it up, but after the attack, Nancy couldn’t think of anyone innocent of the violence who she could trust.

Maybe she should call a doctor. Nancy didn’t know much about miscarriages, much less about loosing a baby because someone had forced it out of her body. Nancy imagined going to a hospital, where doctors with cold hands would peel apart her legs and look inside and maybe give her some pills that would do little to heal the pain inside; maybe just numb it a little bit. Maybe later Nancy would go to the hospital and let the doctors talk and think and accomplish nothing, but for the time being, she didn’t want to leave her room or her bed or her blanket.

She thought of trying to call Gwen again, but then remembered she didn’t have the other girl’s phone number. Besides, judging from what Gwen had told her the day before, Nancy’s lover had probably already left the state, and was probably busy with her own life now, finishing projects for a school so prestigious Nancy could barely imagining it. Gwen probably cherished the memory of what they’d shared too much for Nancy to stand to ruin it with news of their tragedy.

Shuddering from the cold and her loneliness and fear, Nancy lay in bed, refusing to move or to cry again. She remained there all night, alone.