They had ridden several hundred yards into the field, and about the time her front wheel came even with his back tire, Alex slammed on his brakes. His bike skidded broadside to a stop. She braked, too, and a cloud of dust billowed over them. When the debris settled, she could see that they were in small clearing in the midst of the corn. She glanced out over the top of the three-foot high plants. With the soft breeze that tossed her hair, it looked like a rolling sea of gentle green waves spread out as far as she could see.He dropped his bicycle to the ground, caught her eye again with that odd smile, and said, “Well, here we are.”
Her dad was an Iowa corn farmer, so she grew up between the rows. This didn’t look like anything special, just a patch where the corn hadn’t sprouted. “Why here?”
He stepped toward her. “You know,” he said and twitched his eyebrows. His hands slipped over the chrome handle bars of her bike.
A tentacle of panic cinched her throat. She checked the threatening tremor behind her voice and commanded, “Let go of my bike!”
With a sudden twist, he pushed her bicycle down throwing her to the ground. Her knee slammed into the bike’s frame.
“Ouch,” she yelped as she rolled from under it. She stopped on her back and grabbed her knee. “Why’d you do that?”
Before she could sit up or roll away, he jumped, straddled her with his legs, and pinned her upper arms to the ground with his hands. She read the intentions in his face, and felt a scream rise from the center of panic. He had chosen this isolated spot, she realized, so her protests would go unheard, so she choked a cry back. Since he outweighed her by at least twenty pounds, and played varsity football, she knew she would be unable to force him off of her. She watched his eyes as they danced with anticipation.
He slid his hands across her forearms until he grasped hold of her hands, and then brought them together over her head. She tried to resist but he was too strong. He ground them into the dirt and snatched both her wrists in his left hand. With his right, he released the snap on her blue jeans and lowered the zipper.
“I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me lately,” he said as he grabbed for the waistband of her jeans. “I know you want this as much as I do.”
“You didn’t have to attack me, Alex,” she said and forced a demure smile. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know. If you want to do it, why don’t you just ask?”
Alex mouth dropped open and he cocked his head with a “you’re kidding me” expression slithering behind his eyes.
“You think I don’t want it?” Amy continued. “I’ve never been with a boy. Don’t you think I’m curious, too?”
He rolled back on his knees and slowly released her hands.
“Don’t you need to take your pants off?” she asked as she brought her hands down and rested them on his thighs.
Alex continued a wary glare but reached for his belt buckle.
“You can’t take them off if you’re on your knees.”
Alex stayed where he was, finished unbuckling the belt, and then asked, “What about you? You need to take your clothes off.”
“I can’t when you’re sitting on me, Alex.”
She could see his mind was somewhere between “I can’t believe my luck” and “If I move she’ll run away.” He rose cautiously to his feet. She saw that his hands were prepared to grab her if she made a sudden move so, for a moment, Amy stayed on the ground. Once he slipped off his shoes and jeans, dropping them to the dirt, she stood and took a step toward him.
“Can I help you with those?” she asked, and reached for the waistband of his underwear.
He stood motionless and looked to his hips where she placed her hands. As she slipped her thumbs beneath the elastic band, he closed his eyes and rolled his head back. Then, with a swift jerk, she thrust the full force of her right knee into his groin.
“Ah,” he shrieked. His eyes flew open, filled with tears, and fixed on hers with a puzzled and desperate glare. Then, as limp as boiled spaghetti, he doubled over and collapsed to his knees in the dirt. There, he moaned, and rocked, and massaged the injury.
Amy was wroth and glared back at him. She thought Alex was her friend but now to see his true nature filled her with disillusionment. His morals weren’t a step above others like he pretended. He was just as exploitive as the other boys who had so recently begun to objectify her.
“I don’t believe this, Alex,” she said as she snapped and zipped her pants. “You! Of all people.”
Alex struggled to plead, “Don’t…tell…my dad…my mother.”
She shook her head, grabbed his jeans and righted her bicycle. When she pressed her foot down hard on the pedal, the back wheel spun and threw dirt and pebbles into a rooster tail that showered Alex.
“I won’t need to,” she shouted over her shoulder as she tore out toward the corn row. “I think your dad will have lots of questions when he hears you’ve been running around town in your underpants.” Through the dust she could see he probably didn’t hear—he still clutched his crotch and now rolled in the dirt—but that didn’t matter. She had made her point.
Twenty minutes later, as she passed through town on her way home, she stopped just long enough to toss his denim pants on the steps of State Street Church.
_____
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