A Crisis Pregnancy, Chapter 1

S. J.

No one at the crisis pregnancy center knew that I was a lesbian. Although I was totally out of place—younger than the other counselors, college educated, single, no children and not overtly religious—I was completed accepted when I volunteered. They were impressed that I had volunteered, and that I was a social-work major. My partly out life around campus was totally unknown to the director and the other workers at the center.

In spite of their acceptance, I knew I was an anomaly. I had been a lesbian all my life and extremely proud that I had never been touched by a male. Of course an unplanned pregnancy was never an issue for me.

Ever so easily I helped them to believe that I was a “good” girl—waiting ’til marriage. In my “other” world, in contrast, I was a lesbian who was turned on by straight, young girls—very young girls.

During college, I was a feminist, but not comfortable with the pro-choice line. While I did not totally oppose abortion, I had developed a belief from all my education experiences that girls truly did need options to abortion, options that started with pregnancy support as well as long-term social assistance after girls had their babies. In my interview, I told them what they wanted to hear, leaving out the parts that would raise any concerns they might have about my complicated views.

I had been working at the center for about 3 months when the Director asked me if I would open the center on Friday evenings from 4-10. She has asked the other volunteers, all who declined for fairly obvious family-related reasons. I willingly told her “yes,” since I figured there would be considerable traffic. Oddly enough, all the volunteers preferred shifts that were high volume—lots of girls needing pregnancy tests.

I had never been concerned about being alone at the center even though it was located in a low-income section of the city. There had never been a problem, I was told, in the nine-year history of the center. We were located on a busy street, with parking located in the rear, so that the cars would not be visible to the street.

We advertised that girls coming in for tests would have complete privacy. It was our motto to give tests to any girls, especially those who had not told their parents about their missed periods.

Girls would sometimes bring their boyfriends, but usually the girls would come alone or bring a sister or female friend. On rare occasions girls would bring their mothers, or in a few cases I worked with, the mothers suspected there might me a pregnancy and would bring their daughters. I made it a point, from my very first day at the center, that I would not get involved with any of the girls coming in for tests. There were often girls in for tests who got my attention, but I never made a pass at any of them.

Kids walked by continuously on their way from a large complex of apartments to the local convenience store, and back. The girls kept me amused and fantasizing as I sat at my desk looking out the front window when no clients were present. Even some of the obvious slut girls who were always with a boy and just looked like they would fuck anything with a dick, and I assumed probably did, fascinated me.

One girl, walking alone, caught my attention a week or two after I began the night shift. She looked 14 or 15, although I was never accurate when I guessed a girl’s age. She was boyish looking, short hair and wearing cutoff denim shorts and a white tube top that displayed her braless, small breasts. Nothing on her matched, especially not a boyish girl’s blatant sexiness.

On nothing more than a sudden impulse, as I saw her approaching the front of the center on her way back from the convenience store, I walked outside, and said “Hi.” At first I had intended to pretend to pick up trash, but I decided rather just to speak to her.

“Hi,” she replied. She was even prettier when I looked her up close. Among other delicious features, she had dark skin and her face was beautiful.

I asked her what her name was. “Molly,” she said.

She asked mine. “Traci,” I told her.

In another completely unplanned move, I asked if she would mind going back to the store and get me a soda. I explained that I couldn’t leave since I had to be able to answer the phone. When she said “yes” I went back inside, got a $5.00 bill and gave it to her. I yelled at her to come in when she knocked on the door upon her return.

She sat down on the sofa before I could even make the offer for her to stay. I was thrilled to have her with me, after the least effort possible. I knew she could help me occupy my time until the next client showed up. I was hoping none did.

“What do you do here?” she asked.