Wait until someone speaks

The silence is deafening, but you project an air of calm, and cross your legs, waiting patiently for one of the girls to volunteer. Finally, Janet speaks up.

“Well, I guess I’ll go first,” says the cute, freckled redhead. “I guess my big moment — the moment when I realized I would need to get some help to get my — condition — under control was this past summer.”

The others are relieved that Janet took the lead, and they lean in, attentively and supportively.

“I have been sexually active since I was 14,” she continued, “and I had a steady stream of boyfriends — and flings — ever since. I didn’t really start sleeping around big time until I was 17, but even then, I felt like I had it under control. Then, right after graduation, I went with a couple of friends to a rock concert, and ... well ....”

She looks up at you, anxiously. This is obviously hard on her. You lean over and put an encouraging hand on her arm. “It’s ok,” you tell her. “We’re here for you.”

The others nod in agreement.

Janet takes a breath and says, “And I got a chance to meet the band after the concert, and things just one of escalated from there.”

As she was speaking, you were listening to her words, but you were also feeling the warmth of her skin, and you were close enough to smell the soft vanilla-scent of her shampoo. Her emotional state caused her face to turn red, and you found yourself staring at her freckles, seeing oddly-erotic images in them, as if her skin were some kind of Rorschach test.

You become aware of the fact that she has stopped talking. She looks at you, wondering how much detail to share.