I pulled into the self-service station at one-thirty, panty-less and falling down from the buzz. I turned the car off and took a long look at myself in the rearview. She was different, the girl who stared back at me. Eyes red, a perfect blend of weed-fog, puking her guts out, and sobbing helplessly. I opened the door slowly.

My phone buzzed; Andrea had finally cum enough on Evan’s cock to check on me.

Wtf, girl?!? Gene’s a blabbering mess, too high to make sense, and you’re gone? Like, for real? Where are you? Get back to me!

It buzzed again almost instantly.

Like, fuck me, girl! I’m worried sick!

I stepped out of the car and put my arms against the roof, letting all my weight fall into it. I couldn’t do anything but sigh deeply, feeling the slow trickle from my cunt. Cum. Mine? Gene’s?

I dialed her up; this wasn’t a conversation for texting. She picked up before I could hear the ring.

“Cassie! What the fuck! Where you at?!?”

Andrea never usually yelled. Not at me. And I didn’t need a yelling.

“Dreay,” I whispered. “I’m fucked.”

There was a pause, and I could hear how she removed herself from the loud music.

“Talk to me.”

“I can’t anymore… I watch you and what you have, and it kills me. He came inside me, Dreay, and I lost it. I fucking can’t with this anymore. I fucking can’t.”

“Cass…”

“No…I’ve cum all over Dad’s car, there’s…God…what the fuck do I do?”

She laughed. The bitch actually laughed.

“I’m sorry!” she tried, still laughing. “God…where you at, girl?”

I told her I was at the service station at the off-ramp to our neighborhood. She gave me giggling instructions on what to get, what brand of wipes worked on leather, and which ones worked on the plastic.

“Uh, and girl? Get a bottle of Febreze while you’re at it. Cunt tends to linger.”

“I’m not wearing panties,” I whispered.

She burst out laughing again. Drunk, high, and not particularly helpful in my state.

“I love you, ginger. And about time you flaunted that pussy in public.”

She paused and swallowed her laughter.

“Are you okay, Cass?”

I nodded at first. My pussy had exploded while I moaned my brother’s name; I had cum trickling down my thigh, and I was both sobering up and higher than ever. High on shame, high on want, and high on angst.

“Cass?”

“Sorry,” I muttered. “I’m okay.”

“Yea?”

“Yeah. I've got to go.”

“Talk tomorrow?”

“Talk tomorrow.”

I sighed, adjusted my skirt as best as possible, and remembered I was still wearing Brian’s shirt. I grabbed my bag from the backseat, pretended to be pretty but road-worn, then headed inside.

The man behind the counter barely lifted his eyes from his phone, but did a half-nod and uttered something inaudible. I bolted for the restrooms. I don’t know what was worse, the stench or the piss stains. I wrung myself out of Brian’s shirt, wiped my cunt as best as possible, then fished the extra pair of panties and a sweater out of my bag.

The sweater was okay, but I ended up staring at the panties for too long.

About time you flaunted that pussy in public.

Andrea was right. It was about time li’l pumpkin aired her cunt.

I found the wipes Andrea had mentioned, then grabbed a chocolate bar and a Coke. I almost forgot the Febreze and had to do a quick turnaround, my skirt lifting slightly, a whiff of cold air teasing my butt. I felt naughty approaching the counter.

“That’ll be all, miss?” the man asked.

He could have been around forty, with a goatee and long, greasy hair pulled into a ponytail.

I’m not wearing panties.

“Miss?”

“Sorry. Yes. Yes, I’m good.”

“That’ll be 24.49.”

I swiped my card and thanked him for taking my money, but he was back inside his phone before I’d tucked my card back in my phone case.

I was disappointed. I’d expected it to be dirtier—a greasy comment, a creeper-stare, but apparently whatever was on his phone was better than a slightly high, slightly confused, and still-horny teenager caught on the outskirts of Lakeville at night.

The air outside the station was less foul. Diesel and gas still hung heavy in the air, but it wasn’t as stale as the one inside. I sighed again as I opened the car door. It reeked of sex, and the seat glistened in a moist triangle—wettest at the sharp point of origin, spreading perfectly outward against the shape my thighs had taken up.

I attacked the steering column and wheel first. Of course I’d smeared my cunt and Gene’s cum all over the wheel, too. Bending in and down, I felt the breeze again as my skirt hiked up.

How much elbow grease does it take to rub cunt and cum off cheap plastic? All the wipes, baby. All the wipes. The seat, on the other hand, required a gentler approach. I squatted down as I pulled the first wipe out, baring my ass to no one, and didn’t care. I wiped carefully, making sure not to rub my mess into the leather, but trying to absorb it. Another wipe, the same slow attention. Then another.

I leaned in, enough to register how my ass stuck out, and sniffed.

I heard the car pulling into the station, but I just didn’t care. I was still trying to discern the smell of wet leather, disinfectant wipes, and the possibility of girl-cum.

There was a low whistle behind me.

“Whoa, baby!”

It tingled.

I wiggled my ass a little extra as I pulled myself out of the car and turned to face them. There were three of them, all a little wasted, all a little brawny, all in their early twenties.

“You lookin’ for a good time there, baby?”

“How do you suppose I haven’t already had one?” I tried to sound sexy, but I felt awkward.

The tallest one grinned, and his eyes moved slowly down my body. He stepped closer. Too close.

“You’re bold, baby. All alone out here with no panties on? Some guys might take that as an invitation.” He took one more step, close enough to catch his breath on my face. “Is it?”

His friends stepped closer too, circling me like wolves on prey. I felt discomfort crawl down my spine, but my fucking cunt whispered yes, please, even as my back pressed against the car.

“You smell like sex, girl,” the short one whispered. “You just get fucked? Or are you looking’ to get fucked?”

Heat rose in my cheeks. My skirt suddenly felt way too short. My pulse raced, pushing embarrassment upward, but an unwanted heat down. I swallowed.

“I’m on my way home…” I whispered.

The tall one pressed against me, hand finding the hem of my skirt, fingers pulling slowly upward.

“You don’t gotta be scared, doll,” he said, voice low. “We can make you feel real good.”

“Don’t…” I pleaded.

“Is there a problem here, Richard?”

It was the greasy attendant. Baseball bat in hand, a scowl on his face.

The guys stepped back.

“No, Henrique,” Richard muttered. “No problem here. Ginger here was just on her way home and—”

“Scram, Richard! I told you before, you and your friends are not welcome here.”

“We just need some gas.”

Henrique just stared back at him until they scuttled back to their car. He stood there for long enough to watch them speed off back down the highway.

“T…Thank you…” I muttered, still not sure if I truly meant it. My mind did, obviously, but my cunt growled in misery.

“You okay, miss?” he asked.

I must have looked the fool. “Aye…sure.”

He looked at me. The same glide over my body Richard had done, but with a different stare.

“What are you doing here? Dressed like that? Go home, kid.”

He stayed put until I got in the car, put my seatbelt on, and pushed start. I still saw him standing there as I pulled onto the road toward suburban hell. Heroes don’t wear capes. They look like Mexican gangsters in a 90’s B-movie.

Eight minutes later, I pushed the remote for the garage, hoping the rest of the house was sleeping. I got out, grabbed all the used wipes and wrappers, then grabbed my bag from the back seat.

I Febrezed the fuck out of that car.

The kitchen was dark, as was the living room. The only sound was the thump of my heart as I snuck up the stairs as silently as the night allowed. Every step sounded like thunder to my ears, but I made it upstairs, made it to my bedroom, and fished Brian’s shirt out of my bag. I stood at my door listening, but the house remained quiet.

There are four steps between my door and the bathroom, but it felt endlessly long. Still, when I locked the door behind me, the only sound was my own breathing. I dropped Brian’s T in his bin, then wrung myself out of my clothes in desperate need of a shower. I turned the water on, then caught my reflection in the mirror.

“You’ve got cum in your cunt,” I whispered.

She looked me straight in the eye. Not cum on a cock yet, have you?

“I’m not in the mood,” I sighed.

You could be pregnant, you know.

She was right. Pregnant with Gene O’Toole. I slid my hands down my tummy, imagining it expanding under my fingers. My fingers drifted lower, examining my cunt as if it were new to me. I had no idea if it was Gene’s mess or my own that made me so slick, and it was confusing that my clit was throbbing the way it did.

She disappeared in the mist, allowing me to step into the shower.

I shampooed, lathered, and scrubbed. Over and over again, but I couldn’t make myself feel clean. A man—half-man, my brain argued—had cum inside me, and it felt grown-up and dangerous. Hot. I’d almost gotten myself railed by three guys at a gas station. It didn’t feel grown-up, but all the more dangerous. All the more hot.

Scrubbing led to rubbing, and I came before I realized, thighs trembling, hands gliding down the glass before I found myself on my knees gasping for air.

No. The shower didn’t make me feel clean.

I stayed on my knees until the water turned cold.

Five-minute showers, Cassie, I heard Dad mumble as I turned the water off. There are other people living in this house.

I stumbled to my feet and grabbed a towel from the rack. I did not squeegee the mirror. I didn’t wanna see her again. I wrapped myself in the towel, then another one around my hair. I just wanted to find my bed, go to sleep, and dream up a lie about the night.

I opened the door and almost crashed into Brian.

Man sweat, musk, and that fucking cologne.

“Cass?” he said. “I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow?”

There was just a thin layer of cotton between my brother and my naked body. There was just a slip of the knot between my nudity and the guy whose name I’d moaned while I sprayed Dad’s car in my cum.

My breath caught. “Uhu.”

God. Uhu? What the fuck, Cassie?

“Okay.”

“What do you mean, ‘okay’?” I whispered.

“I mean, okay, can you get out of my way? I need to use the washroom.”

“Okay.”

I stood frozen, smelling his chest. His bare chest. The hard line of his peck. The tattoo of a mermaid.

“Cass?”

I stepped to the right, and he slipped inside the bathroom.

“Oh, hey, Cass?”

“Uhu?”

“Have you seen my t-shirt?”

I swallowed.

“I can’t keep track of your shit, Bri.”

I bolted for my bedroom before he could get another word in.

***

The next few days were calmer. There were the awkward questions about my early return, there were the awkward lies to cover my ass. No one asked why the car smelled like cunt, I took that as a victory. I half-mended things with Andrea, but we didn’t hang out much. It was one part jealousy issue, one part Gene issue, and a shitload of cock-envy. My period arrived about a week later, making me feel every bit the bloated pumpkin, spots and all.

I barely sniffed their laundry. I sat between them without melting into a puddle of need. I even pictured Evan when I fucked myself.

It was all healthy. Good.

Then a family member I’d never heard of decided to croak on the green isle, and apparently, it was important enough for Mom and Dad to make a hasty trip over the Atlantic. I read it as an excuse for Dad to play out his Irish-kink, all the more apparent by his lame-ass accent developing overnight.

“Behave, lass,” he told me before he got in the car so Brian could take them to the airport.

I watched them pull out of the driveway and waved them off before retreating to my room. In the midst of summer zone-out, I still had decisions to make. I was still undecided on taking the next year off, still avoiding my parents’ questions about it. I could get a deferral and join the next year.

The apples in the garden wouldn’t be edible until September, and I hadn’t appreciated that the year before. Lakeville, as boring as it was, had been my home my entire life. My height is carved into the archway between the kitchen and the living room, up until I was thirteen and refused to indulge my mother.  I grabbed a pencil and measured my height, putting a new mark on the wood. This house knew every version of me, the chubby carrot-top with scraped knees who fought the boys in kindergarten, the girl who secretly struggled because she needed to be the best. The girl who locked herself in the bathroom to fuck herself. The girl who moaned her brother’s name when she came.

My head hurt. I drifted into sleep.

***

I don’t know how long I slept, but I woke from the laughter drifting up from the living room. Stan’s laughter is slightly deeper than Brian’s, but it wasn’t my brothers’ chuckles that caught my attention; it was the high-pitched, giggly shrills of girls too excited to contain themselves.

My parents had only been away a few hours, and my brothers had apparently decided to make the house theirs. They were twenty. Adult enough, I suppose. I decided to read something, something engaging enough to help me ignore being starved. It was strange not having Mom home. No regular meals, no Dad yelling about shorter showers which I’d not taken that day, and no muffled sounds bleeding up from the TV.

I could just take that shower. I could just grab something to eat. I decided to wait until the girls left.

And of course, I had to pee.

I could handle starvation and delaying my shower. A full bladder is a different beast altogether.

“Fuck me,” I muttered as I wiped sleep from my eyes and planted my feet on the floor, grabbing my phone.

It was nine-thirty, and I had no new texts.

I stumbled into the bathroom, wiped the pee stains from the seat, pulled my shorts and panties down, and sat on what used to be my perfect princess’s throne. I had sat there for hours uninterrupted, chatting away with the world, but since graduation, the world had quietly stilled. I really hadn’t paid much attention to my social media, either. It wasn’t that the world had abandoned me—I had abandoned it.

I tried thinking of something to tell Andrea, something to text, but all I could hear was the slow trickle into the bowl, the laughter coming up from downstairs, and my own empty thoughts echoing back in my head.

I wish that was all I heard that night.

There were hurried footsteps up the stairs; my trickle stopped. I couldn’t have peed if you paid me to. It was a stampede of feet, laughter, and…God, I’ve heard that horniness in girls’ voices before. Andrea did the same thing. It’s like wearing a sticky note on the forehead saying fuck me. I hoped I didn’t sound like that. I hoped I wasn’t as obvious as the other girls.

Brian’s door slammed shut, but not Stan’s.

“Oh!” she shrilled right before being pushed up against the bathroom door.

The sound was so close I could almost feel the impact through the wood. She giggled—then moaned—as Stan’s low voice murmured something I couldn’t make out.

Her next word was fuck.

The rhythmic thump of her body against the door started almost immediately. A slow thump matching the music flooding out from Brian’s room.

I sat there frozen, shorts and panties around my knees, my pulse hammering through my veins. Every slow thump sent a jolt through me. I could hear her breath, the gasps, the sound of mouths sucked. The slurp of a wet pussy around a cock.

Stan was…intentional with her. Not rough, but definitely intentional. Intentional enough, I was afraid he’d fuck her straight through the door.

“Yeah…right there,” she groaned. “Fuck me, Stan.”

Then, almost as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. I heard shuffling of clothes and feet, then Stan’s voice, “Come on. My room.”

The footsteps retreated down the hall. A door opened and closed.

All I could hear was the low bass emanating from Brian’s room

And the wet slop of my fingers fucking my pussy.

I got up, pulled my panties and shorts up, but didn’t risk running water. Couldn’t. Out in the hallway, Brian’s music was louder, but the sickening slap of skin against skin and the groans and moans somehow bled through.

Girls sound stupid when they’re fucked.

I closed my door behind me and crawled back into bed, pulling the covers over my head. Stan’s girl was a screamer; Brian’s was a moaner.

And God, did I want to be stupid.

My brothers are resilient.

God…

My brothers can fuck for hours.

I didn’t fall asleep with my fingers stuffing my cunt, but I woke like that. I was still tired and didn’t even bother feeling any particular way about it.

Okay, so I’m a teenage girl with a high libido. It’s normal. They taught us that in biology and sex ed.

The house was quiet, which could mean one of two things. The girls had left, and my brothers were sleeping it out, or the girls had stayed, and they were all sleeping it out. I desperately wanted a shower, but more than that, food.

I slipped into a tired Pantera t-shirt, tits loose, and slipped...