Consent

Consent
             

              “Yes.”

             
Such a dangerous word.

             
You see, when a relationship begins, there are three possible endings for the couple. Option one: they can end up happily together, forever, but this occurs far less today than chick-flicks would have us believe. I would know. I’ve seen ’em all. Option two, and this is far more likely: the relationship will crash and burn in some fiery wreckage of lies, drama, and hopeless romanticism. Option three: they die. Just saying. Yet, no matter the ending, each relationship starts nearly the same. There are jeans wiped with palm sweat, then a nervous first kiss and a rush of relief when you manage to press your lips against theirs all while keeping down the feeling of nausea and hoping they can’t hear your heart attempting to leap out of your chest. Maybe it’s trying to escape that future pain. Maybe it’s foreshadowing. I hear that death row inmates experience the same symptoms as they are strapped down.

             
When Jenny finally said yes, it was as satisfying as Nick had planned. He’d wanted and had chased her for a year, ever since he’d fallen for her on that indoor mini-golf course, surrounded by eight year olds and their families. Her athletic ability and general coordination were lacking, but a missed putt or slip in high heels was easily forgotten when compared to her wit and beauty. He had to have her. It was, as he told everyone, a rare combination that just had to be locked down. He’d been warned by his friends that no woman was as perfect as he saw her, that a girl like that would ruin him and his perfect track record, but he wouldn’t listen.

             
They sat in his old Chevy, the foggy windows blocking their view of the gravel parking lot and adjacent soccer fields. Muddy potholes and flat ground is hardly an aphrodisiac, but a car with extra room and the perfect playlist is more than enough for any young couple.

             
“Yes, for real?” Nick could hardly contain his excitement. Dating guaranteed sex. Full fledged, all the time, uninhibited sex. 

             
She nodded and smiled.

             
“You can’t half-ass it, get into this and then wanna quit.”

             
Jenny looked at Nick, making sure to lock eyes and said, “That’s why I waited until now. I’m ready to be together.”

             
“And what about Mary?”

             
“She’ll just have to deal. She’s my best friend, I’m happy, so she should be happy for me too, right? It’s been months, almost a year since you guys happened.”

             
Right. And what a best friend Jenny had been to Mary, stealing away the one guy she’d actually liked, actually confided in, and tried to trust. But a naive heart is a fragile one, and Nick wasn’t as innocent as Mary hoped. How shall we describe him...Man-whore? Nick the Dick? Broho?  You see, early in her college experience, Mary had some thin morals remaining and would only hook up with a guy she was dating. This was unfortunate for Nick, but he knew how to play the game and knew how to get what he wanted. One coffee date, two lunches, one dinner and a movie spread out through one week led to an exclusive relationship. They were official. And so they dated, for five days and four lights-off nights Mary couldn’t get back. And then Nick was done, on to the next one, not unlike Jay-Z, leaving the ex-virgin with emotional scarring and a fresh hole in her heart. If you’re paying attention, this would qualify as “option two” of relationship endings. Jenny had been there for the clean up and recovery stage, to assure her friend Mary that she was perfect, that Nick was the asshole, and so on.

             
Of course, girls only become “friends” to keep watch on the competition. It’s why all friend groups look alike. Some may believe it’s because they share a common interest and I would agree. That interest is guys.

             
Just like a class system, girls naturally place themselves into groups based on their physical appearance and potential with guys. Those of average attraction, and I’ll be lenient with who can stay here, has the largest group, while the unattractive has the next largest. The final and smallest bracket contains the best looking. Once arranged into a group, girls will begin to make friends based on their socially assigned placement. Here they grow close, watch, and backstab until a pecking order is created as the girls settle into their ranks. Since humanity is presumably good at the core of their beings, some girls manage to develop some kind of connection that’s not based on ulterior motives. But most are friends out of a need. Deep down, maybe even at a subconscious level or dormant stage (those girls are still single) girls hate each other until it’s clear they’re not a threat. Call it survival of the fittest or natural instinct, but each girl views another as competition. But friends? Well, we all know you keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Jenny and Mary had been close, roommates for two years, but Jenny had won. She held the prize within her literal grasp, clutching Nick close and pressing her lips against his.

             
Jenny was short, half Persian, and from San Francisco, California. She dressed the part, always seen in high heels, designers labels, most of which are unknown to the lay people. She loved the small boutique shops, the exclusive looks, the fact that no other girl could match her scarf or Hudson jeans perfectly. She loved the looks she received from all the guys, thriving with the attention, but never succumbing to their desperate pleas. Jenny was naturally pretty, therefore light on the makeup, heavy on the attitude.

             
Then there was Nick. Tall and wiry, he had been born and raised around Atlanta, Georgia and was proud of it. He wasn’t afraid to wear boots and flannels to the city or play that country music a little too loud in a world that preferred music at 120 beats per minute. And what girl doesn’t like an accent? He was smooth with his tongue, and growing up on the farm, even better with his hands. What he wanted, he got, and it didn’t usually take any asking or prodding.

             
It’s interesting how people come to date. Many relationships start with friendships. Take a second to pause and contemplate. Think about your friend group, specifically those of the opposite sex.  Are they attractive? Would you kiss any of them? Maybe you’d dare get coffee in a that one tacky coffee shop boasting only the “Best Coffee in the World.” Maybe you’d go to a candle lit dinner with that guy who’s always making you laugh. Remember that awkward moment when your eye contact was a hair too long? Truth is, we’re friends with the opposite sex, but only with those that we could have interest in one day. It’s natural. Of course, there are outliers and exceptions, like the token fat friend, but if you assume that every group has access to such a friend...well, then their hook up is then inevitable.

             
Nick and Jenny had been best friends since they met at the start of college, two years ago. They were the perfectly rivaled match. The man-whore and the flirt.  The v-slayer versus the untouchable. A clash of the sexual titans. They say that opposites attract and this situation filled the requirements with ease. The gorgocity and sexual tension had been undeniable, pointed out long before either one cared to admit it. Nick had even lost fifty dollars betting against them, telling a roommate that they would never go on a date, but that, “Hell, I’d hook up with her.” But sometimes, it pays to be wrong and Nick couldn’t imagine a better girl. He’d enjoyed the chase and she was worth the effort.

             
As always, the couple went through their honeymoon phase, that unavoidable and love sick time where the lovers’ friends don’t see them for weeks. Puppy love nibbles at their hearts. Unfortunately, puppies grow up. Have you seen a bulldog puppy? Look it up. Cute, right? Now, search for a picture of the adult bulldog. If you’re in to short stubby legs, drooping jowls, and foreheads worthy of a trip to the cleaners for a press and steaming, then you’re mature enough to look full grown love in the eye and say, “Damn, you’re ugly, but I’ll stick it out. Life expectancy can’t be much more than eight years.”

             
It’s during this puppy love period that opinions on the couple are formed and exes lick their wounds. It’s here that we found Mary, heartbroken and lonely, her two closest friends having run off together. But one lover scorned is dangerous, far more dangerous than an oblivious young couple.

              The first time Nick tried with Jenny, he was denied. This occurred so rarely that he was momentarily shocked.

             
“No? Come on Jen...we’ve been together for over a month,” he said, leaning in to kiss her neck, running his hands down her bare back.

             
“Nope, we’re not doing this, not yet. I want to wait,” she said, pushing herself up off his chest.

             
“For what?”

             
“Well, for starters, something more romantic than your truck would be good.”

             
“Alright, well my roommate is gone right now. Let’s go back,” he said, trying to move out from under her and turn the key in the ignition.

             
“No, stop it. Listen to me.” He stopped fumbling with the keys and turned his attention back on Jenny.

             
She laughed, “No, actually listen. Look at me...my eyes. Look, when we do this it’s gonna be right. Romantic. Special. Memorable. I know it’s cliche and I know it’s not a big deal to you, but it is to me.”

             
“It’s a big deal to me,” said Nick, trying to be as sincere as possible, trying to hold her gaze so as to not let his mind or hands wander. “You’re a big deal to me.”

             
“I’ll pretend that was less cheesy than it sounded. But kay good. Then we’ll wait. And we’ll do it right.”

             
He nodded down at his crotch. “Alright, but I have needs. So...?”

             
“Nope, sorry,” she said, drawing out the “y” and turning her spoken word into song. She rolled onto the passenger seat, dressed, and sat up. “Time to go,” she said, patting his knee, smiling through his misery.

             
This game continued for weeks, turning into months, until Nick grew to respect Jenny’s wishes. Listen up: a girl with a man always had a plan. It’s funny really, how a guy thinks that if he pursues, he can capture the girl, win the prize, and have some sort of upper hand in the relationship process. But please, let’s be objective. Take a step back. Although men view themselves as romantic conquerors, the mightiest love warriors, they refuse to see that they can demand nothing. Women let men win. Men can think what they want, but the woman controls the “yes” and Jenny’s yes had been sealed off. If a man takes without asking, he’ll be rightfully punished. If a man doesn’t ask, well, he has no balls. Which is fine, since he’ll never get to use them. Therefore, men are at the mercy of women, the ones that have the de facto control of every relationship. Control sex, control the relationship.

             
So, a frustrated Nick fell into his role, searching to please Jenny. At first, this was done out of selfish ambition, but through a series of failed, even romantic attempts, Nick came to that realization that many men never find. I would suggest paying attention here. He would please until pleased, serve until served. He began to send flowers for no reason at all, only to “brighten the day of the girl that always brightens mine.” Foot massage? Done. She would drag him to hot yoga, but he’d plaster a smile on his face. As fall approached, he brought her pumpkin spice lattes with soy milk, of course, and no whip cream. And ever so slowly, his selfish ways turned into genuine caring.

             
Jenny could see and feel the shift in Nick. His kiss was sweet, his touch was gentle. The car doors were opened for her, her seat was pulled out at dinner. But mostly, she could see it in his eyes. Those fierce, beady, mysterious eyes had softened into something that she could gaze into, something that she had to tear her eyes away from. On a drive back from a dinner date, she slid, for ladies never scoot, to the middle of the truck bench and grabbed his right hand. He turned to her, smiling because she’d moved closer. She’d never liked the bench in the truck, said it was “too hick” whenever he asked her to ride in the middle.

             
“Guess what?”

             
He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek at a red light. “What?”

             
She looked into his soft brown eyes and said in a childish voice, “You liiiike me. A               lot.”

             
He smiled, thickened his accent and said, “You’re damn right.”

             
Moving closer and in a quiet but certain voice Jenny said, “I think you love me.”

             
Nick stiffened and felt his face flush, but relaxed as she put her head on his shoulder. He could smell her perfume mixed with her hair conditioner. “Mhm, I have for months.”

             
“I love you too, Nick.”