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I prepared for Thursday mainly by trying to think of ways not to think about it. In the space of a few days, the woman I love had driven drunk, when she wasn't even old enough to drink legally, and her hormones had raged so hard that she was willing to have unprotected sex. That didn't seem to bother me the first time we fucked in the barn, but it was different now. Why? Because I cared about her, that's why. I tried to forget that condoms aren't 100% effective. When I was in town buying supplies for the animals—and breakfast foods for Fawn's next overnight stay—a bus with one of those advertising banners passed me by, and in my mind I replaced the model's face with Fawn's.

Later I imagined the scene going differently. What if Joan and I had used up all the condoms? The first time Fawn and I made love, I didn't have any at hand, and I didn't know she was on the Pill. Of course, she wasn't screaming about being horny that day. I know there are guys who just promise to marry the girl if she gets pregnant, but I wasn't going to do that unless I was sure, and then I'd just ask anyway. Now I wondered whether her father owned a shotgun. Holy cow, where was this train of thought leading? I started thinking about possible football match-ups and managed to forget the incident for a while.

Things went pretty smoothly on the farm, except for a horse getting out. With my neighbor Bill's help, I got him to slow down and mounted him. Bill drove home, and I rode the horse back to the farm. On the way back, a large truck splashed through a puddle and practically ruined my ...

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