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    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