Do you really have a choice?

Not for the first time tonight, you flash back to what had been your most mortifying day on earth. For years, you've suppressed most of the details, including the wicked witch who was behind the whole thing. But now, you can't help but feel an onrush of memory as that day replays itself in your mind.

It was the last day of eighth grade, and you'd finally worked up the courage to ask Karishma out on a date. You figured that if she said no, you wouldn't have to see her again until high school started, and you might be able to avoid her for the next four years.

Sweating profusely, you had slipped Karishma a note during homeroom. You knew you'd see her again in second period, but you figured she'd skip the last class of the day, which you also shared. You completely couldn't concentrate during whatever lame middle school party was happening in your first period class, and when you saw her forty-five minutes later, she was beaming.

Karishma rushed up to you, gave you a big hug and whispered in your ear, "Why wouldn't I want to go on a date with you?" She smiled at you for the rest of the class, and you were just grinning like an idiot. You were pretty sure Karishma knew you had a crush on her, and although she'd always been polite to you, she never really showed much interest in you. Now, though, every time she turned to giggle in the corner with her friends, you assumed she was sharing the good news that the cute kid who'd had a crush on her had finally mustered the courage to ask her out.

The rest of the day flew by, and miraculously, Karishma was still there at the end of the day. She even asked the boy who sat next to you if they could switch seats so she could hold your hand during the movie or whatever that the teacher was showing during your last moments of junior high.

You walked into the hall together.

Kids (well, high-schoolers now) were celebrating the end of the year, packing up their belongings and ready for the long, hot summer.

Karishma stopped you in the middle of the hall and looked you in the eyes. She came close, wrapping her arms around you.

You were deliriously happy, smelling the sweetness of her dark hair and feeling the smoothness of her light brown skin and luxuriating in the feeling of being liked for once.

You remember feeling confused and embarrassed when Karishma tucked her thumbs into your shorts. She still held you close as she gathered your clothing in her hands.

She tilted her head up to whisper in your ear again, "Why wouldn't I want to go on a date with you?" A pause. A heartbeat. Another breath. "Because you're a complete loser!" she shouted and ripped your shorts to the floor.

You were stunned, paralyzed by shock. What seemed like the entire school (but in reality was probably like twenty kids) saw you in your tightie whities and, of course, burst into uproarious laughter. This snapped you out of your reverie, and you instantly pulled your pants back up.

The whole thing lasted maybe ten seconds. For a more secure person, it may have been no big deal. Hell, maybe she was even teasing you because she really did like you. But for you, in your sightly-more-awkward-than-average-but-who-wasn't-really teenage body, there couldn't be anything more shameful.

Obviously, you had avoided Karishma during the summer. You fanned an unhealthy interest in her during your freshmen year, trying to convince yourself that you were lucky not to be one of the string of boys she dated and dumped. You finally dropped your obsession, developed some much more normal friendships and pastimes, and (for the most part) blocked the incident from your memory.

When you'd flashed back to that moment earlier tonight, you'd forgotten that Karishma had been the cause of your humiliation four years ago. Hearing her speak openly about your cock now, though, brought all those memories flooding back.

And now, things have gone much, much farther, you think to yourself. And I have the feeling that there's still more to come.