So I make the first move by lifting my dress and sliding my panties down my legs. Andrew’s Adam’s Apple bobs twice and his whole body tenses up. He looks away, his jaw clenched. I feel so sorry for him. I feel bad that it’s because of me we’re going through this humiliating experience together.

“Andrew,” I say, pulling his gaze to mine. My face burns as I continue to speak. “I’m going to sit on the desk and pull my legs up, OK? Then you can just… do it.”

He nods once and I bend to pick up my underwear and place it on his desk. Andrew glances at the tiny scrap of white lace crumpled prominently near his bible. A hint of pink tinges his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

He shuts his eyes and shakes his head. I freeze, certain he’s going to back out. But he opens his eyes again, his features resolute. He sinks into his chair in front of me and I take that as my cue to sit as well.

My arms tremble as I lay them flat behind me and scoot my butt back. My bare bottom and thighs squeak across the smooth surface of his mahogany desk. My mortification intensifies.

Andrew made this desk with love and care. He was so proud of it when he completed the project. Will he keep it after today? Or will he chuck it because he doesn’t want a reminder of what happened?

I can barely hear myself think over the drumming in my chest. Slowly, I lift my legs up and prop my heels against the edge of the desk. I hold my legs closed and wait for Andrew’s signal to continue.

He nods once.

Lord forgive us.

I part my legs, spreading them wide open for him to see everything between them.