I kicked the dirt like I always did when the fork in the path sent Andrea on her way home, and me off to mine. We’d been friends for as long as either of us could remember, and at eighteen, we knew that this fork signaled something entirely different that day. Yes, there was still the graduation ceremony, but after that, we’d be different people going in opposite directions in life. I think we both feared the same thing: Life pulling us apart until we were strangers to one another.

“So,” I asked her. “What are you doing after the ceremony?”

She grinned her usual toothy smile and brushed a blonde lock from her blue eyes.

“Evan’s taking me up to his parents’ cottage, and we’re gonna fuck like the world is ending.”

A lone tear streaked her cheek. “Because…maybe it is in some ways…”

“Andrea…” I said, still kicking dirt. “It might just be new beginnings?”

I knew she was right, though. The last six months of high school had been a charade, camouflaging the fear behind a false thrill of moving on. I wanted to stay put, and I think she felt the same as we stood immovable, neither one wanting to take the next step up our separate paths.

“You should come, Cassie,” she said. “You should bring Gene. Fuck into the sunset. We’ll have booze, weed…you know, good times.”

I laughed.

Gene. I ended up dating him because he was Evan’s best friend. For something—someone—to do when hanging out with Andrea had become intolerably lonely. He had been my first and my only, and sex never really had much of an appeal to me. I enjoyed sucking him more than I enjoyed fucking him.

It was never like the stories I’d read, never like the porn I’d watched. I never screamed in ecstasy, and my toes never curled. I’d still only ever cum from my own fingers. I didn’t have the heart to tell Andrea I was dumping Gene as soon as we got our diplomas. It’d be easier once we didn’t hang out as much.

“Maybe,” I said, fully knowing my mother would have a shitload of objections to the idea.

“Let’s not,” she said.

“What?”

“Become strangers.”

I kicked the dirt once more, hugged her, and told her we still had graduation before the world ended.

She went her way. I went mine. I turned twice, but she never looked back. Maybe she was already heading for the future.

I was nearly home when Gene texted me.

What you doing tonight?

I ignored him. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, but I didn’t feel like getting wasted on cheap booze and spreading my legs for him in the backseat of his dad’s car. I decided to get popcorn, catch something on Netflix, and rub one out, though.

Mom greeted me from the kitchen as soon as I got home.

“How was your last day, pumpkin?”

Pumpkin. She’d called me that since always ago. For as long as I can remember. It used to make me giggle, but then, standing at the kitchen entrance, it felt like a riddle I was supposed to solve. It could be my hair, it’s pretty damned orange. Ginger. A carrot-top. Pumpkins are orange, round, and bright. And maybe she’s always seen me as this little glowing thing running around the house. Cute, right? My little pumpkin, lighting up my day.

Or was it because I was a chubby kid? Round. Round, harvest-time plump, and cute. Did she start calling me that when I had those toddler rolls everyone cooed over? Had she been low-key roasting me for eighteen years?

I looked at her through the kitchen door, standing against the afternoon sun flowing through the window. No, Mom’s not like that. She wouldn’t fat-shame me and make it cute. But why ‘pumpkin’ though? Why not ‘sweetie’ or ‘honey’? I could have just asked her. I could have asked her a number of things.

Mom. Does Dad make you cum?

I could feel the blush rising; it probably matched my hair.

“It was fine, Mom. A little sad. A little weird.”

“Weird, how?”

Mothers ask the darndest questions.

I hesitated. How the fuck was I supposed to explain to a woman pushing forty that my life felt like it was ending at eighteen? How could I make sense of being horny all the time and never having cum on a cock? How was I supposed to tell her that I was terrified of waking up after high school?

I told her I’d be in my room, that I might take a shower, that I might fall asleep. She reminded me of dinner time and that we had to get up early in the morning.

“Why?” I asked.

She just shook her head and looked at me like mothers do when they expect better from their kids.

“Stan and Brian?”

Fuck. Right. My obnoxious older brothers returning from their first year at college. They’d not done an entire thing separately in their twenty-year lives, so of course they’d ended up in the same college, rooming together.

“Okay. Right,” I said, then bolted upstairs.

I dropped my shit on the floor, like I had been doing all through high school, and took a good look around. The My Little Pony poster still hung tiredly above my bed; I never could rid myself of it. There had been horses and ponies at one time, too, but they’d all been replaced by racket, as my dad called it.

Sepultura. Slipknot. Pantera.

It takes noise to cancel out noise, I suppose.

I thought about picking up my dirty clothes from the floor, but decided to stick to my routine of laundry day panic-cleaning. I sighed at the hours spent at my desk trying to do homework and ending up browsing my favorite porn sites, one hand down my pants, half my brain wondering if cocks like that really existed, the other half still wondering when I’d ever need to be able to figure out the surface area of a circle.

I stripped naked and headed to the bathroom. Mom and Dad’s bedroom is downstairs, and I had the entire second floor to myself most days.

“Habits,” I thought. “They've got to change when lame-ass one and two return.”

I’d made the upstairs bathroom into a girl's haven that year. Well, my kind of girl-haven, anyway. Soft fairy lights were strung along the top of the mirror because the overhead bulb was only good for applying eyeliner and mascara. The floor was decorated with panties and dirty socks, and tucked into the corner of the mirror was Dimebag.

The counter was cluttered in a way that only felt comforting. Everything was in its illogical, easy-to-reach spot. Hair ties and claw clips in their little tray, my favorite scents arranged in order of use. The fuck-me-scent had been my top choice when I first started dating Gene, but that novelty quickly wore off. I should have a Gene repellent.

He texted again, and I repeated the act of ignoring.

I sighed. My brothers' return meant I’d have to give up my haven.

I stared at my reflection.

My dad's Irish. You can tell just by looking at me. Now that June was upon us, my face was covered in freckles and a light sunburn. I’ve a funny nose. It twitches when I speak, and my eyes sparkle when I laugh. Dad used to tell me they glow like shamrocks. He tries too hard; he’s only ever been to Ireland once.

I’ve pretty lips. They’re kind of kissable. I wonder if all girls stand in their bathrooms and pout at their own reflection.

I have nice tits. Pale, like the rest of me, but shapely rounded, and dark, almost brown nipples that perk willingly when I’m horny. I’m not skinny, but certainly not flabby. Maybe my ass is a bit on the heavy side, but my cunt is fantastic.

I grossed myself out staring at the bush growing between my legs. Weed-whacking time. Thank God I rinse my own drain—I don’t want Dad to pull my pubes and girl cum out of the drain cup every three months.

I turned the water on, then opened the bottom right drawer of the vanity. I picked up my shaving kit and the pink faithful. Not that I was horny, but I knew once my cunt was smooth, I would be.

I stayed in front of the mirror and watched myself disappear; my reflection eaten up by the steam clinging to the glass. Maybe that’s how I was supposed to go, fading into the mist. Perhaps it was high-school-Cassie saying goodbye. I winked at her, did a little princess-wave, then stepped into the shower.

I like my showers warm. Too warm, according to Dad; he’s always worried about the bills. I shampooed and lathered, making sure all of me smelled of lavender before I attacked the fire-bush covering my cunt.

I’ve always found it deeply satisfying watching my cunt-hair doing its carousel ride toward the drain—a water slide spinning toward the unknown abyss. My fiery-red against the white tile. I squatted to open myself to the hard-to-reach places, making sure I got all the way in there. Andrea had told me how she had taken up waxing, and how it felt strangely arousing to her having a stranger fondle her bits. Also, she had added, the smoothness is unimaginable.

I wasn’t ready to have some stranger yank my pussy hair off my skin. Besides, I love how turned on I get by the sharp blades caressing my cunt. I stayed squatting as I reached for the pink cock. It is bigger than Gene, naturally, but not obscenely large. I pressed the suction cup against the tile and watched it eagerly as it bobbed invitingly inches from my mouth.

It’s a fantasy of mine. Fingering myself over the edge as I suck a cock. In my dreams, it’s always a stranger. It might be a dirty back alley, or he might pick me up from the roadside, but it always ends up with me on my knees—slobbering, mouth fucking, and cumming from my own fingers.

I slid down on my knees and let the rubber dong caress my cheek. My hand glided between my legs, and I grinned at how slick my pussy felt. I didn’t touch my clit at first; I just teased my entrance, pulling slick out of me with practiced hunger.

Yeah, Cassie, the voice in my head murmured. Be a good girl and finger yourself. Open wide and take my cock.

They’re always soft-spoken and a little older, the men in my dreams. But underneath that gentle voice, there’s a quiet domination. I’m there to do what pleases them. I opened my mouth greedily for my perfect lover and showed two fingers up my slick cunt. I’ve gagged on that pink cock so many times, but that day felt different. There was a surge down my spine, and I knew I would cum almost instantly. I pushed the toy down my throat and fucked my hole raw.

It was shattering.

I was left wide-eyed and shocked at the sensation.

And wanted more.

I let the cock slip out of my mouth, then rearranged its position before spinning around. I wasn’t gentle when I impaled myself on my imaginary lover. I grunted deeply when it bottomed out in me. I pressed a little harder, made it a little deeper as I pressed my face against the wet glass and licked.

My cunt took over, making my hips roll and thrust, but in my mind? In my mind, I was perfectly still, letting him grunt what a good girl I was, fucking me as deep as my cunt allowed.

The knock on the door startled me.

“Cassie! Dinner!”

Dad has the kind of voice that booms through walls. I could feel the heat of shame rise in my cheeks, but my cunt wouldn’t stop fucking. My thighs trembled.

“Coming!” I yelled.

It sounded too breathy, too needy, and all wrong.

“Well, hurry up!”

Good God, Dad…

But it wasn’t the shock of Dad at the door that ruined my innocence. It was the name that spilled over my lips when I broke—wet, hot, and burning.

“Evan…”

I stayed there—impaled—long enough for the water to turn cold. I grinned, knowing I’d set myself up for another one of Dad’s lectures on energy conservation, the cost of heating water.

What are you even doing in there that could possibly take so long?

Cumming, Dad. Cumming.

They were sitting at the table waiting when I got my ass downstairs. Once again, I could feel the awkward heat in my cheeks, as if they knew. They couldn’t possibly know that their little pumpkin had just fucked herself silly thinking of her best friend’s boyfriend, though? Could they? Do parents know these things? Is it a paternal instinct? Do they just know my pussy is on fire for anything other than my actual boyfriend? Does Dad make Mom cum? Do they even have sex at their age?

I sat. Grabbed my glass of water and gulped it down.

“You okay, pumpkin?”

Mom had the ever-worried look in her eyes.

I was eighteen, still in the midst of a hormone cocktail that never seemed to end, my cunt had started bleeding once a month, I’d taken a boy’s cock up there, and Andrea was talking about getting railed in the ass. I still had no fucking idea how to cum from an actual cock, or even if I really wanted to. The end of high school had me choking on a kind of angst no one had fully prepared me for, and for all I knew, every friendship I had ever formed might be over. On top of that, my clit was throbbing stubbornly against the denim of my jeans.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I lied, stuffing my face with too much ham.

“Cassie,” Dad started.

“I know. Shorter showers, Dad. Things are fucking expensive…”

“Language, Cassandra!” Mom yelled, reminding me I was still a fucking child.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “This ham is really good, though.”

Dad’s sigh let me know exactly what was coming: “What even are you doing in there?”

“God! Dad! I’m showering! Jesus…can we just eat? Please? I wanna go to bed early. Like…fuck…”

It was too much, too defensive.

“Cass…”

A mother’s voice can turn from scolding to gently loving in a matter of seconds.

“It’s a lot for you right now, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

The rest of the meal was wrapped in the kind of silence you can slice with a knife. I offered to clear the plates before I headed back upstairs. The bathroom was still damp from my shower, and I hated picking up my scattered underwear from the floor, gathering all my shit, and putting them in my two designated drawers. I reluctantly folded the faithful pink and the slightly larger black one into my clothes, sighing one last time as I surrendered my haven for a shared, family space. Shave stubble in the sink. Pee on the toilet seat. The joys of having two identically sloppy brothers.

I dropped my dirty underwear on top of the overflowing hamper and tucked my dildos in my nightstand drawer. Sitting on the bed, I pulled out my phone.

Gene. Right.

Sorry, babe. Busy day. Wanna go to Evan’s parents’ cottage after my graduation? Just Andrea, Evan, you, and me? It could be chill?

His reply came instantly.

Fuck yes.

I slipped out of my clothes, found something dumb on Netflix, and rubbed myself stupid. I fell asleep wide-legged and dripping. Good times.

***

The gentle knock on my door stirred me out of a dreamless sleep.

“Cassie? You awake?”

I closed my legs on instinct, trapping my hand that had absent-mindedly cradled my cunt in my sleep. Parents can see through walls and doors. I blushed at how warm my pussy was. How slick-shaven I was. How wet I was.

“God, Mom,” I answered, pulling the covers over me. “What time is it?”

“Quarter to six, pumpkin. We've got to get going.”

I found my phone, blinking at me at twelve percent battery. Heh…my entire fucking life had twelve percent left in it, and no way I was driving to the airport having actually to talk to my parents the whole way.

I plugged the baby in the charger, pulled on a t-shirt and panties, and headed for the bathroom.

There was no point in putting on makeup to meet my brothers, but I still did—nothing fancy, just my eyeliner, a bit of mascara, and a warm coral lipstick. There was no point in matching my underwear either, but there I was in my favorite emerald little outfit. I hid it all under my Pantera t-shirt and a decently long skirt that still made my butt pop. I’ve a favorite set of green knee stockings that go well with my black boots. A skull ring that I intended to turn into a tattoo. Hot fire. Might be cute guys at the airport. Right?

As I descended the stairs, Dad was standing in the hallway, stomping his foot, impatiently sipping his coffee.

“Okay, okay,” I muttered. “Lemme grab something to eat. Is there more coffee?”

“Are you wearing that?” Mom asked, popping out of the kitchen and handing me a peanut-butter-jelly sandwich and a steaming cup of coffee.

Shaming me with love. Very motherly.

It was a scorching day outside. The sun was already burning hot, and I could feel more freckles pop on my skin just from walking to the car.

Ginger. It had been my nickname since pre-school, when I was a chubby thing with a snotty nose getting into fights with the boys. You’re so pale, I can see through you was the winter theme, but once the summer sun made me break out, that’s when it got nasty.

Did you go dirtbike racing and forget to wash?

Did you stand too close when the cow farted?

Yeah. I hate my freckles.

“Fuck!” I blurted. “I forgot my phone! I’ll be right back. Sorry. Sorry!”

“Language, Cassie!”

I didn’t hear her. Rather, I didn’t pay her any attention. I bolted back inside, ran up the stairs, and found my phone. Fifty-four percent life. Three new messages.

I didn’t read them until my ass was planted in the backseat.

“You all done?” Dad grunted. “Can we get going now?”

“Sorry,” I muttered.

The first two messages were from Andrea.

What are you wearing tomorrow?

Are you coming with to the cottage?

I answered the last one first. Away from home, away from brothers, a lake,...