The gates of New Horizons Christian College were tall, black wrought iron with golden lettering. Beyond them: red brick buildings, white columns, trimmed hedges and students walking the paths, all models of decorum.

Ben adjusted his backpack and stepped out of his dad’s car, heart thudding with anticipation and something harder to name. He smiled weakly as his parents prayed over him one last time at the curb, hands gripping his shoulders, reminding him, again, that this was a place where he would "stay on the path." Where he would grow into a man of discipline. A man of God.

New Horizons Christian College was a university for the devout. Much like the boys’ school he’d attended before, it was built on discipline, routine, and rigid adherence to scripture. The pamphlet has described how there were prayer groups, accountability partners, spiritual advisors, and courses on Theology, Ministry Leadership, Christian Counseling, and a smattering of practical majors deemed “God-honoring”, Education, Business, Biblical Archaeology, even Nursing. There were more secular-sounding programs like English or Communications but they came with caveats: ethics requirements, spiritual integration modules, and mandatory chapel notes submitted at midterm.

And yet what had caught Ben’s eye was that the campus was co-ed. Having been kept separate from girls for most of his life, aside from rigorously chaperoned church events, youth retreats with mandatory daylight curfews, and purity talks delivered with the enthusiasm of fire-and-brimstone sermons.

He had been excited to go but guilty over that excitement knowing that it was not the learning opportunities, or the chance for spiritual development that was driving him. 

It was hotter than expected. Late summer sun beating down on his new khakis, his shirt clinging to his back already. He swallowed, took a breath, and walked toward the registration tent.

There were smiling older students greeting new arrivals, some handing out welcome packets, others giving directions. Ben tried not to stare at the girls. They were modestly dressed, sure, knee-length skirts, blouses with high collars, but that didn’t stop his mind from noticing the curve of a waist, a flash of collarbone. He hated that about himself. He was here to be better.

Mind on your walk, not the world, his youth pastor had said once. He repeated it to himself like a mantra. If he concentrated on putting on foot in front of the other it was easier to distract himself from the sinful thoughts. 

It was working, his mind was settling until a new voice said “You must be Ben.”

He turned, and there she was.

She wore the school colors, white blouse, grey pleated skirt, but they fit her in a way that made his thoughts stumble. Her dark blond hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, and her face was clear, elegant, the kind of beauty that crept up on you rather than shouting for attention. Her eyes were sharp, slate-gray. She took his breath away, his mindfulness shattering. 

Ben blinked, then nodded. “Yeah. That’s me.”

“I’m Claire,” she said, offering a hand. “Third-year. I’m one of the student volunteers helping with orientation. I’ll be showing you around and making sure you don’t get lost in your first week.”

He took her hand and shook it, maybe too fast. Her grip was cool, confident. He pulled away quickly, hoping she hadn’t noticed the flush rising in his face.

She smiled just a little, like she had. “You’re in North Hall, right?”

He nodded again, speechless.

“Come on,” she said, gesturing toward the path. “I’ll walk you over and give you the crash course.”

Ben followed her through the courtyard, trying not to look at the way her skirt moved as she walked. Focus, he scolded himself. This is a Christian school. She's just helping.

Claire walked a step ahead of him, posture straight, steps purposeful. She moved with teasy grace, her voice was calm and clipped, clearly practiced from giving this tour a dozen times, but it didn’t feel cold, it felt precise.

“That’s the main chapel,” she said, pointing toward a white-steepled building at the center of campus. “Daily worship is required of course, there is a morning and evening service so you can go to whichever your lessons allow.”

Ben nodded, watching the way her hand moved as she gestured. Long fingers. Neatly trimmed nails. He told himself not to notice, not to picture them doing something other than gesturing.

“Over there’s the dining hall, the food is great. They’ve got vegetarian options if you’re into that.”

Ben didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. He just kept walking beside her, listening to her voice, trying not to think about the way her skirt brushed against her legs with every step. Or the way the fabric of her blouse stretched just enough when she moved.

“Here,” Claire said, stopping suddenly. “This is your dorm. North Hall.”

Ben nearly bumped into her, catching himself just in time. She turned to face him, folding her arms casually across her chest. The pose pulled the blouse slightly tighter. He looked away.

“You’ll be in room 218. Rules are on the door. Lights out at ten. No girls inside, no phones after curfew, and no exceptions.”

“Right,” he said, eyes on the ground.

“But if you have questions,” Claire added, her voice dropping just slightly, “you can come to me. I live just across the quad. As a counselor I’m allowed to have men visit, I’m in room 101 on the first floor. Most people do, eventually, It can be hard adjusting to this place”

Ben nodded, trying to keep his breathing steady.

“Thanks,” he said. “Really.”

She tilted her head at him for a moment, as if weighing something.

“You’ll do fine,” she said at last. “Just don’t pretend you’re not human. That’s how people crack here. We’re all trying to be saints, but some of us are better at hiding our thoughts than others.”

Ben’s ears burned. He couldn’t tell if she knew what he’d been thinking, or if she just said that to mess with him.

Either way, it worked.

“See you around, Ben.”

She turned and walked away, her presence still lingering in the air even after she disappeared behind the chapel steps.

Ben stood there alone for a long moment before finally heading inside.

He was beginning to realize purity might be a lot harder than the brochures made it sound.

The first few weeks at New Horizons passed in a blur of hymns, lectures, and awkward social niceties. On the surface, Ben did everything right.

He went to chapel. He took notes in every class. He memorized the day’s verses and dutifully avoided the wrong kinds of conversations. He kept his dorm tidy, made polite small talk with his roommate, and smiled through every group prayer circle.

But underneath it all?

He was cracking.

He had come from an all-boys high school. Girls had been little more than theory. A forbidden concept. Something you prayed about but never dealt with.

Now they were everywhere.

And they weren’t doing anything wrong. That was the worst part. They weren’t provocative. They wore what the rules allowed long skirts, modest blouses, cardigans. No makeup. But none of that helped.

Ben found himself looking anyway. Noticing. A flash of ankle. The way a blouse tugged when someone leaned over in the dining hall. The soft whisper of a laugh across the study table. It wasn’t lustful, not at first, it was curiosity. Then it was habit. Then it was shame.

He hated it.

Every night, he went to bed at 10 sharp, like the rules required. And every night, he lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, whispering prayers to shut his mind down. Sometimes he made it. Sometimes he didn’t.

One night, after yet another day of polite smiles and rigid self-control, he caved and reached for himself under the covers. He barely got past the first few strokes before guilt slammed into him like a wall.

“This isn’t what you came here for. You’re supposed to be stronger than this. You’re wasting the opportunity. You are sinning” he told himself

He stopped. Rolled over. Bit his lip so hard it stung. And when he finally drifted off, it was with his hands clenched at his sides and the heat still heavy in his body, unsatisfied and unresolved.

The next morning, he was first in chapel.

Claire didn’t help.

She always seemed to be around. She passed him in the hall sometimes and gave him a nod, or a brief smile. Sometime stopped and asked him how he was doing. In the chapel, at dinner he could always pick her out of the crowd, constantly aware of her presence. 

Each time he saw her he felt it like static along his spine.

One night, two weeks in, he dreamt about her. Not graphic just her voice, low and close, whispering his name. Waking up hard in a dark dorm room, biting his fist to keep quiet, he almost cried with how much he hated his own body.

He doubled down the next day. Volunteered for extra chapel cleaning. Sat in the front row. Skipped dessert at lunch. Replaced his music with podcasts about discipline.

But the thoughts didn’t go away. If anything, they got worse.

He wondered if anyone else was struggling like he was. He didn’t know how long he could keep pretending.

They started the third week. The dreams.

The first time it happened, Ben woke up drenched in sweat, gasping like he’d fallen. His sheets were twisted around his legs. His T-shirt was damp. And the evidence of what his body had done on its own was sticky and undeniable.

He didn’t remember all of the dream.

Just fragments.
Her voice, low and close to his ear.
The press of her body, his hands on her skin.
Her breath catching as he moved on top of her.

Claire.

His throat tightened.

He lay there in the dark, frozen. Not daring to move. Not daring to touch himself, even though every nerve in his body still thrummed with what the dream had started.

By the time morning came, he was showered, dressed, and three verses deep into Romans. But he still felt her hands on him. Her mouth against his skin. His mind filled with lust, guilt and self loathing.

It happened again two nights later.

And again the night after that.

They got more and vivid.

He could feel the heat of her body, the smoothness of her skin under his fingers. He felt her tighten around his cock, heard the sounds she made when he touched her just right. His heart would pound in his chest even after waking, his pulse racing like he’d just run from something… or toward it.

Claire was beneath him, her skin bare where his hands touched, her breath hot against his neck, her eyes half-lidded, dark with want. She whispered things he couldn’t remember when he woke up, only that they made his body react like it had been waiting to hear them for years.

He started sleeping in sweatpants, fully clothed, wrapped in blankets tight enough to restrain movement. It didn’t help. His dreams didn't care what he wore. They undressed him anyway.

He stopped looking at her during the day.

In class, he stared at his notes like they were lifelines. In chapel, he squeezed his eyes shut when her voice joined the singing. He avoided the cafeteria when he thought she might be there.

It didn’t help.

He saw her kneeling before him, lips parted, his cock in front of her face, her gaze lifted to his with a mix of reverence and hunger as she kissed the tip, he thrust his hips forward into her mouth. 

Ben woke with a jolt, half in the dream, half out of it.

His breath was ragged, chest heaving like he’d been running. His hips arched off the bed involuntarily, muscles tensed, trembling. For a split second he thought he could stop it, hold it back, breathe through it, regain control.

But he couldn’t.

It was already happening.

That low, pulsing rush that started deep in his core and spread outward, unstoppable. His body seized, every nerve lit up, helpless under the weight of it. His jaw clenched, his eyes screwed shut as wave after wave rippled through him, hips twitching under the covers as his cock pulsed out the thick sticky fluid. 

There was no pleasure in it. Not really. Just the burn of release, and the crash of guilt that followed like a second heartbeat.

When it was over, he lay there motionless, sweat cooling on his skin, heart still pounding.

His body had betrayed him again.

He prayed harder. Fasted. Memorized scripture until he could recite Galatians in his sleep.

But nothing changed.

Each night he crawled into bed, his mind whispered images his hands weren’t allowed to follow. And every time he closed his eyes, she found him.

Eventually, the guilt hit harder than the pleasure.

He stayed up late in the dorm lounge until his eyelids gave out. He wore a rubber band around his wrist and snapped it when his thoughts drifted. But still her breath in his ear. Her skirt riding up. Her voice saying his name like a secret only she was allowed to know.

Ben didn’t know how much longer he could take it.

It was just after nine. Campus had gone quiet, the only sound is the soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Ben was supposed to be in his dorm but he couldn’t sit in that room anymore. The air was stifling, and he knew that if he fell asleep it would be more sin, more guilt, more pajamas to wash in shameful secrecy. 

He turned the corner into the east corridor, past the back of the chapel and there she was.

Claire.

Walking toward him from the opposite end of the hallway. Alone. Her cardigan was off, sleeves rolled up, blouse slightly wrinkled like she’d been studying. She had a notebook in her hand and a bottle of water tucked under one arm.

Ben’s heart gave a traitorous thump.

He glanced up just long enough to recognize her, then immediately cast his eyes down, tried to veer right, as if maybe she wouldn’t notice him.

She noticed. “Ben.”

He froze, eyes still fixed on the floor. “Hey.”

“You alright?”

He nodded, quickly. Too quickly.

“Because,” she took a step closer, lowering her voice, “it feels like you’ve been avoiding me all week.”

“I haven’t,” he said, too fast.

Claire tilted her head. “You have.”

He swallowed hard. Still didn’t look up.

“You look you’ve not sleeping much,” she said, her tone quieter now. 

Ben’s jaw tensed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

That made him look up. Just for a second.

Claire’s eyes were steady. Not accusatory. But direct in a way that left nowhere to hide.

“I’ve seen this before,” she said. “That look. Like you’re holding your breath every second of the day, just to keep from drowning.”

Ben said nothing. His chest was tight. His fingers twitched at his sides.

“I’m not here to shame you,” she said. “But you’re clearly not okay. And pretending you are isn’t fooling anyone.”

There was a pause.

Claire looked at him closely. Her voice softened.

“Do you want to talk? Somewhere more private?”

Ben hesitated.

He wanted to run. But he nodded.

Claire didn’t say another word.

She simply turned, nodded for Ben to follow, and led him down the hallway. They passed through a side door, up the steps of the old chapel annex, an unused wing reserved for quiet prayer and reflectoin.

The light inside was soft, the end of the day shining in through the stained-glass windows. Pews lined the room, empty, cold.

Claire guided him toward the front, away from the door, and sat on one of the old wooden benches. She looked up at him. “Sit.”

Ben did.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

He sat stiffly beside her, hands clasped between his knees, staring at the floor like it might open up and swallow him whole.

Claire let the silence settle before she finally asked, gently. “What’s going on with you?”

Ben swallowed. “Nothing.”

Claire raised an eyebrow. “Try again.”

His throat worked. His jaw clenched. The words burned behind his teeth. “I’ve just been, tired,” he offered, weakly. “Adjusting. That’s all.”

“Tired doesn’t make you flinch when someone says your name,” Claire said softly. “And ‘adjusting’ doesn’t make you avoid eye contact with me.”

He looked up at her. Her expression was steady. Patient. She wasn’t pressing but it was clear she expected an answer.

And somehow, that made it worse.

The words came before he could stop them.

“I’ve been having dreams.”

Claire blinked once. But didn’t speak.

“About… you.”

His voice was small. Almost silent.

He expected her to laugh. Or pull away. Or stand up and leave.

She didn’t.

She just stayed still. Listening.

“I didn’t ask for them,” he said quickly, as if that made it better. “I try not to think about you like that. I, I pray, I recite scripture. I do everything I’m supposed to do. But I keep waking up like, like,” He stopped, shoulders hunched, burning with shame.

“Like you’ve already sinned,” Claire finished for him.

Ben looked at her, startled. She wasn’t mocking him. If anything, her voice was tender.

“Yeah,” he said. Barely a whisper.

The silence stretched again. Softer this time.

Claire turned slightly toward him, her shoulder brushing his. Her voice stayed low.

“Ben. You’re not broken.”

He laughed bitterly. “Feels like it.”

“You’re a human being. You’re wired for want. No one ever tells you how loud your body can get, do they? They just tell you to shut it up. Pretend it’s not there.”

He stared at her, confused. “You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” she said, almost gently. “You didn’t choose what your dreams did. You didn’t invite them. You’re just trying to survive in a place that treats every urge like a moral failure.”

Ben swallowed hard, emotion catching in his throat. “I feel dirty.”

Claire looked at him, eyes soft. “You’re not.”

He hunched forward, elbows on knees, rubbing his face with both hands.

Claire waited to see if he would respond and then spoke. “Ben. I need you to hear something very clearly.”

He looked up. 

“You’re not the first person I’ve had this conversation with. Not even close.”

That surprised him.

“There are a lot of students, boys, especially, who come here thinking this place will keep them pure. Like rules and scripture will shut off biology. But it doesn’t. It just shames it into silence.”

Ben stared at her. “So what, you just let them be okay with it?”

Claire smiled, just barely. “No. I help them. Quietly. Safely.”

Ben blinked. “Help them?”

“I’ve found a way to take the edge off,” she said, voice even. “To help people find control again. So they don’t spiral. So they don’t feel like monsters for having a body.”

Ben’s pulse kicked up.

Claire leaned in just a little. Not close enough to touch, but enough that her voice dropped lower. Private.

“I don’t offer this to everyone. Only when I know they’re at their breaking point. Only when they need it.”

“What... is it?”

Claire’s expression was unreadable. “A release valve. A safe one. Something that doesn’t break your vows. Doesn’t stain your record. Something that keeps you technically pure. But gives you relief.”

Ben stared at her, eyes wide, breath caught between fear and something darker, something hopeful.

“If you want my help,” she said, her voice just above a whisper, “all you have to do is say yes.”