LOL, She Called Herself a Virgin

My sister Sarah started bringing her boyfriend Tom home every single night.

And she never used protection.

When I asked her about it, she just smirked and said, "Relax, I use the back door."

I tried to warn her—I told her that part of the body is delicate, and what she was doing could lead to serious problems. I said times have changed, and anyone who truly loved her wouldn't care whether she was a virgin or not.

Sarah seemed to listen, or at least she pretended to.

Later, after she and Tom broke up, Mom set her up with some wealthy guy named Chad.

On their wedding night, Chad completely lost it because Sarah didn't bleed.

By the next morning, the story had spread like wildfire.

Humiliated, Sarah turned all her anger on me. She shoved my head into a pot of scalding water, her face twisted with rage.

"This is all your fault! If I were still a virgin, I'd be a rich housewife right now—no one would dare laugh at me!"

And then I woke up.

It was the day Sarah first told me she never used protection.

"Don't worry, sis," she said, swaying her hips playfully. "I can't get pregnant. Tom and I always use the back door."

A cold shiver ran down my spine. The memory of boiling water burning my throat rushed back. It took everything I had to keep my voice steady.

"Wow," I forced out. "You're… something else."

Sarah beamed, eager to share more of her so-called wisdom.

"Seriously, that area works just fine. Stop listening to Mom all the time. It's the 21st century—live a little! You're so old-fashioned. No wonder you're still single."

I just smiled.

Sarah loved rubbing it in that Tom—her current boyfriend—was my ex.

We'd dated for two years. He broke up with me because I didn't want to have sex before marriage.

Not even three days later, he and Sarah made things official.

I only found out they'd been seeing each other when I went to his place to pick up my things.

Sarah was over at his apartment every day. The sounds coming from his room traveled all the way from the third floor to the fifth.

Pretty much everyone in the building knew.

My first reaction wasn't even anger—it was fear. Fear of what Mom would do if she found out.

Our dad died when we were young. Mom raised us on her own. She worked as a matchmaker and had connections to plenty of wealthy, eligible bachelors.

She knew exactly what those high-society men were looking for in a wife.

And purity was at the top of the list.

So Mom drilled it into us: dating was okay, but premarital sex was off-limits.

"Marriage is your second chance at life," she'd say. "These men might say they don't care, but trust me—they all want a virgin. Don't cross that line. If you do, I'll disown you both."

Walking home from Tom's that day, I thought about telling Mom everything.