Friday December 18
Done with exams, and I am home for the Christmas break. I love college, and I love my independence there, but dear god, it'll be nice to sleep in a big bed for a change.
This year is going to be a bit different: My mom will be out of town for Christmas, so it will be just me and Dad. Grandma had an incident that convinced the family that she shouldn't be driving any more. One thing led to another, and now Mom and my aunt and uncle are in Colorado helping Grandma sell her house and move into a retirement home.
The lights were out when I got in just now, so I stayed quiet, figuring my dad had already gone to bed. Maybe I was too quiet, because when I walked past his bedroom door, I heard the rhythmic sound of skin slapping. I think my dad was fapping! After a few seconds the slapping sound stopped and I heard a small groan. Then a light came on - I saw it under the door jam - and then there was a flush, and then the light went off.
In my whole life, I never caught - never even suspected - my parents of having sex. Sure, I knew they probably did sometimes. And obviously I'm here. But it's just not a part of who my parents are, to me. Well this takes that to another level. I mean: his wife is out of town and my dad is masturbating? Oh well. Good for you, Dad.
Saturday December 19
"Lexi, hon? Do you want to wake up and join me for breakfast?" That's how I woke up this morning; my dad was calling to me from outside my bedroom door. I put on a robe and went straight to the coffee pot.
"When did you start drinking coffee?" My dad asked with a little amusement.
"We met through a mutual friend," I said as I poured myself a cup. "An Irish fellow named Bailey." I wouldn't have said that if Mom were around. I knew that Dad, however, wouldn't be bothered to hear about my experiences with alcohol. He's realistic about what college life entails.
Dad was looking at me with beaming proud-parent eyes. I'm sure I looked a mess. My normally tame shoulder-length brown hair had been horribly mistreated the night before by two hours of highway driving with the windows down through uncharacteristically humid air. My eyes - normally bright brown and wide even through my glasses - wouldn't seem to open more than a sliver, thanks to waking up earlier than I ever had over the last semester. I guess that's not what a parent sees, though.
We talked about school and plans for the day and the latest news from Mom. We didn't talk about Miles, the boy who broke my heart in October, although I could tell Dad wanted to ask. I'm sure we'll get to it, but I appreciate him giving me a little space for now.
I spent most of the day at the mall. I had finished most of my Christmas shopping back at college, but I just can't figure out what to get for Mom. It was among the mall crowds that I heard an acid-tongued "Bitch!". Looking for the source of the sound, I discovered Becca Rivers and another fourteen year old girl looking at me defiantly.
"This is the girl who turned my brother into a deviant," Becca told her friend.
Becca and I used to be friends. I used to babysit for her, back in high school. Her family started hating me after I fooled around with Becca's brother Ethan. There was a video of me fucking Ethan's ass with a flashlight while giving him a hand job. Becca saw it, and then her parents, and then everyone went crazy. They're a very religious family.
"Becca! Hi! How are you?" I said. "How's Ethan?"
"He's doing better, no thanks to you!" Becca hissed.
"I'm glad," I said. I was keeping my tone friendly and open. I guess I hoped that her anger would burn itself out. "Is he in town for Christmas? I never heard what happened to him," I said.
"Why? So you can corrupt him again?" Becca accused.
When I didn't reply right away, Becca went on. "See this?" She said, showing me the bracelet she was wearing. "My boyfriend gave it to me. He's in college."
I started to speak - to tell her it was lovely - but she went on again. "You know, I bet I've had sex with way more boys than you have!"
I knew that was true. Over the summer I had discovered a club of middle-aged couples who secretly taped their kids' sexual activities. The adults would take their videos to their "bridge club", where they would all watch them together and then fuck each other in a giant orgy. One of the videos had shown fourteen-year-old Becca getting gang-banged by four high school boys in exchange for beer.
"That may well be," I said. "But... is that something that's important to you? Sleeping with the most boys?" I said it with complete, honest compassion. Maybe that's why it bothered her so much. Becca's face got red and she stammered, unable to think of a scathing reply.
Becca's friend came to her rescue: "A girl who dresses like that? I bet she can't even get one guy to sleep with her." I was wearing skinny jeans, a long sleeve tee, and a cardigan; there was nothing wrong with the way I was dressed.
The two teens stomped off, proud of their apparent victory. My god that girl can hold a grudge.
I cooked dinner for Dad and me - fajitas. After a video chat with Mom and Grandma, Dad and I watched Die Hard on TV. Dad calls it his favorite Christmas movie. Then he went to bed. I was in my bedroom reading about Windows network stack vulnerabilities when, ever so faintly, I heard that sound again. My dad was fapping, again!
Okay, I've invaded a lot of people's privacy over the years. It's kinda a thrill. But I've never spied on my parents... until tonight. I reached through the household WiFi into my dad's computer and reviewed his browser history.
Apparently there's a whole section of Reddit - r/gonewild - where women post naked selfies. I'm not talking about just boob shots, here: these pictures run the whole spectrum. There are asses in mirrors, beaver shots, girl-on-girl, and sometimes video clips of dildo insertions. As far as I can tell, the women do it for nothing other than the adoration of horny guys.
So that's what my dad was looking at while he got himself off. He has about two dozen of them bookmarked. That's enough for me to get a feel for his type. Most of them had medium length brown or black hair. Most of them were average height, with B-cups, thin waists, and flat bellies. In other words, most of them looked a lot like me.
Does my dad want to sleep with me? Is that what I'm seeing here? If he does, is that a problem? I mean, obviously neither of us would ever let that happen, but is this normal?
I suppose, to be fair, my mom used to have hair like mine when she was young. She might have had a body like mine. I'm not sure - I've never seen pictures of her from before I was born. Maybe Dad isn't attracted to his daughter, but rather his wife, back when she was young and hot.
And I guess, when you take clothes out of the equation, there aren't really that many types to choose from. Nearly all of the posters seem to be white girls. There are plenty of blonds to choose from, and plenty of girls with big boobs, but there aren't any who are super tall or super short, or flat-chested, or fat. I guess nobody who deviates too far from Hollywood standard white-girl beauty bothers to post their pics.
It is kinda fun to read how many witty ways the guys can think up to say they'd like to come on a girl's chest. And some of these girls deserve credit for being very creative with their cameras.
I'm kinda turned on right now. Maybe it's time to unpack my little pink vibrator. Wouldn't it be funny if its buzzing woke my dad up?
Sunday December 20
"You know what every girl really wants for Christmas?" I prodded my dad over an English muffin this morning. "A four day defensive handgun training class."
Dad raised an eyebrow. "Every girl?"
"Well, maybe just the smart ones," I said.
"C'mon, Lexi. You know I can barely keep your mother from freaking out about your gun hobby as is," my dad said. "Besides - with all the hours you've spent on firing range over the last two years, how much more could they possibly have to teach you?"
"Oh my god! So much!" I exclaimed. "I have zero experience drawing from a holster and firing, or reloading under pressure, or making fire/don't-fire decisions. I've seen videos of women drawing concealed guns and firing while wearing dresses, and I promise you, that's not something you can do without practice."
Dad smiled at me with what I think was pride, again. "You know, if you do go to work for the FBI, they'll teach you those things." His tone of voice said that the conversation was over.
A couple years ago, my friend Marcie had joked that I should work for the FBI, and the idea kind of stuck. Before then I had no idea what I wanted to do for a living when I grew up. Since then I've been regularly practicing at the shooting range near college. And I chose my course of studies - a double major in Computer Science and Accounting - in part because I knew that it would make me valuable to the Bureau. I've also engaged in some amateur sleuthing, although I can only really talk about one of those cases publicly. I've got a newspaper editor who owes me a recommendation, at least.
Dad's right, of course. Taking a class like this isn't likely to affect the FBI's decision about me much. I just want every advantage I can get. They're very selective.
We had another video chat with Mom tonight. She asked me to look in the boxes she had shipped here for a framed photo of my grandfather. It turns out that Grandma wants my uncle to have it.
The box also contained some stuff from my mom's childhood: yearbooks, track ribbons. It contained a bunch of 3.5 inch "floppy" disks. I don't know why they call them that. I asked Dad about the disks. He said mom used to love to make art on her computer, and that she was actually a pretty good. I still haven't come up with a good gift idea for Mom. Maybe I can get some framed prints of her artwork? That is, if I can figure out how to even read them. I don't think I've ever seen a 3.5 inch floppy drive, outside of old movies.
There goes my dad, jacking off again. I wonder if he's used to having sex with mom every night? Or maybe they don't have sex very often, but he jacks off any time they don't? Did their sex patterns change when I left for college?
Monday December 21
I started the day with buying a cheap 3.5 inch floppy drive. After that it was home for a quick change of clothes, and then to Mr. Demarco's house. I had asked him if he could teach me about weight lifting, and he said I could come by this afternoon.
My relationship with Mr. Demarco has had a lot of twists and turns. At first he was just my dad's friend, and then my lawyer. Then last summer, he became the target of my investigation into the "bridge club": the group adults who took secret videos of their kids and showed them at their orgies. I broke into Mr. Demarco's house looking for evidence, and he caught me, and blackmailed me into the best god damned sex of my life. Then I turned things around and blackmailed him and the others into shutting down their secret video activities.
We're actually pretty cool now. That's why I felt comfortable asking him for weight training help. Of course, just in case, I showed up wearing a cute red sports bra, gray gym shorts... and no underwear. Hey - there's more than one way to get a workout, right?
Well, Mr. Demarco did not act on any of the vibes I was sending out, but he was a gentleman about it. That was fine - learning to lift weights really was my main goal.
So we were both doing bicep curls, and my mind was sort of drifting, and I found myself asking, "Does my dad want to fuck me?"
Mr. Demarco laughed. "Not that he's ever mentioned to me. Why do you ask?"
"I stumbled across his browser history," I explained, "and there were all these nudie pics of girls my age, with hair like mine and bodies like mind. I'm just not sure what to make of it."
"Well, look," Mr. Demarco said, "every guy has a small animal part of his brain that is constantly evaluating every woman he sees for the marks of health and fertility, and telling him which ones he should try to impregnate. But every man also has a larger, more evolved part of his brain that tells him to protect his family. So in one sense, yes: if he ran across naked pictures of you and he didn't recognize you, he would definitely think, 'I'd fuck her'. But if you crawled into bed with him and touched his junk, he would chastise you and lock you in your bedroom."
"Hmm," I said, thinking it over. "But what about the bridge club parents? They took secret videos of their kids having sex, and then came here and perved-out to them with the rest of you. I mean, they were getting off on watching their kids."
Mr. Demarco seemed to contemplate the question. Finally he answered: "You know, I think that for the bridge club parents, a lot of it was actually pride. That and probably living vicariously through their kids - the days of innocence and all that."
"Huh," I said.
We were silent for a little while, and then Mr. Demarco forced a new topic. "So what made you want to start lifting weights?"
"Oh! Something I saw on TV reminded me that the FBI has some minimum fitness standards for applicants," I said. "I think I'm set on cardio - I can run or swim laps forever if I want to - but I don't think I'll impress anybody with my chin-ups any time soon."
Mr. Demarco stopped and looked at me with concern. "Lexi... you're never going to work for the FBI."
I stared at him, stunned. He went on: "I'm sorry, but it'll never happen. A background check on you will reveal too many morally and legally questionable incidents."
"But I thought those records were sealed! Everything was settled!" I said with alarm.
"The records are, but the rumors are still out there - for Saint Frances as well as your other endeavors," he said. "There's quite a lot of talk about you out there. The FBI won't accept anyone without a lily-white record."
"But..." I began, without really knowing what the rest of the sentence would be.
"Even if they ignored all of that," Mr. Demarco went on, "Lexi, what would you tell them when they hooked you up to a polygraph machine and asked you if you've ever committed a felony? They do that, you know."
At first I was bewildered. Then? Rage? Despair? I couldn't even tell. I was trembling. I could feel my face getting puffy, ready to release tears. No! This man would not see me cry, ever again! I grabbed my bag and dashed out to my car, and drove home.
My dad found me on the couch a little while later, still dressed like a workout floozy, glasses blurred by tears. "Tim Demarco called," Dad said. "He said you might be upset."
Neither of us said anything - he just rubbed my back reassuringly for a little while. Even through dinner we didn't talk. It was nice to have him there, though.
Tuesday December 22
Maybe Mr. Demarco is right about my future with the FBI, and maybe he's not. Either way I probably owe him an apology. Later. Right now I'm feeling sorry for myself and dwelling on how yesterday should have gone. And I'm drinking. Nothing better to do while I wait for my computer to copy the files from my mom's 3.5 inch disks and their stupid fucking archaic file system.
So, yeah, the way yesterday should have gone. It started just fine. I went to Mr. Demarco's house, he showed me a couple weight lifting techniques. Yeah, good start. And the talk we had about how parents see their kids sexually was just fine, too - although he could have found an opportunity in there to tell me I'm beautiful if he had really wanted to.
But then when I brought up the FBI, Mr. Demarco should have been supportive, rather than shattering my entire plan for the future. He should have told me I showed great initiative. He should have been impressed with how hard I've worked, years ahead of time, for a difficult goal.
And then, maybe, I'd be lying on my back doing bench presses, and every so often he'd glance at my legs. Maybe he could see a little bit up the legs of my shorts and notice that I wasn't wearing underwear. Little by little he'd become more distracted, and get hard.
And so then he kneels next to me and strokes my thigh. I put the barbell down because I know I'm about to be too distracted. And then he slides his hand up my thigh, and inside my shorts, and he touches my pussy all around the outside, exploring delicately. I don't make a sound, but I'm breathing heavily - my chest is heaving.
Then he starts stroking my labia more seriously. I bite my lip and quiver. He isn't even touching my clit, but under his finger tips, everything feels that intense. Then he slips a finger inside me, while the rest of his fingers keep loving me on the outside. It feels so good. I want it - exactly what he's giving to me. I don't want anything to change, ever in the universe, from this moment.
Some intuition tells me to open my eyes. There just outside the door to the exercise room is Mr. Demarco's wife, Carrie - a pretty blond whose age is halfway between his and mine. She's got one hand down her pants and the other up her shirt, and she's watching us with a scowl, muttering something to herself. She's clearly turned on, though. She wants him to make me come as much as I do.
I close my eyes again and moan. He knows exactly what he's doing to me; he knows exactly how close I am to my sexual peak. With his free hand he takes hold of mine, just in time for me to come. It's like he's plugged in: he senses every tingle and every contraction I feel through the squeezes of my hand. My orgasm keeps going on for - I don't know how long - all by his deft hands.
Just when I finish he pulls me to my feet and practically rips off my shorts and my sports bra. He moves me in front of the full-wall mirror and places my hands against it, and then he squats behind me, lowering his disciplined cock enough to enter me from below. As he rises, I feel the exquisite moment of penetration, and all boundaries between what is and isn't an orgasm are shattered. His hands are gripping my breasts firmly as he thrusts upward into me, taking his satisfaction from my body. Our eyes are locked on each others' through the mirror but we both can see Carrie in the periphery, rubbing herself vigorously and biting her lip.
His hands leave my breasts and wrap around my center and then I'm lifted off my feet. His body has plenty of strength left to drive his cock repeatedly into my cunt while I float helplessly, giggling, screaming, moaning.
Mr. Demarco comes like a thunder crack, and my pussy drinks in his sperm. Finally he sets me down and I lean against the mirror, overwhelmed by satisfaction.
"Lesson's over for today," Mr. Demarco says, kissing my cheek. "If you'll excuse me, I need to spend a little time with my wife." As I let myself out a minute later, I can hear Carrie screaming and coming in their bedroom.
That's how yesterday should have gone. I'm still not done processing all of the disks. Fucking FAT16 file system. I guess I'll go pee and pour myself another drink.
I've been thinking over what Mr. Demarco said - not about the FBI, but the other thing. I guess he's probably right that my father doesn't want to sleep with me. But the hypothetical about how he'd react if he saw me naked but didn't know it was me is really interesting. All fathers tell their daughters they're beautiful, of course, but how often does a truly objective test come around?
Mr. Demarco said that pride was part of the appeal for the bridge club parents. I wonder if, among all the yelling, fathers feel pride when they find naked pictures of their daughters on their phones or on the Internet? Did my dad feel pride when he saw the video of Ethan and me?
This is all just a drunken thought experiment, of course. I've read Oedipus. We don't want to go there.
Wednesday December 23
I sent Mr. Demarco an apology text yesterday after I crawled out of my hole. I'm still bummed about the future, but I'm going to try not to think about it right now. I don't want to ruin Christmas.
I was only able to read about half of the disks from my mom's box. They did, in fact, contain some BMP image files that my mom had created with some primitive paint program. Some of them are quite pretty, so I arranged to have a few rush prints made and then shipped out to Grandma's. They should arrive tomorrow evening - Christmas Eve.
The disks also contained some MP3s, some early-web GIFs, and my mom's diaries, written in an archaic word processor format.
The diaries cover from the end of college to shortly after, right before she married my dad. They're pretty patchy - it looks like she went for months without writing anything until something was heavy on her mind. I only skimmed the files - most of it was pretty mundane: jealousy at her sister, doubts about her ability to get a job with an English degree, doubts about whether she was getting married too soon. There was one passage that absolutely floored me, though:
My mother keeps nagging me about the dress, but I just don't feel right about it. I can't tell her why, of course. I need to talk to Father Cooper - ask him whether it's truly acceptable for me to wear white. He told me that what I had done back then didn't count, but I've believed that less and less as the years have gone by.
Am I reading this right? Is it possible that my mother - the woman who took me to church every Sunday of my pre-college life, the woman who sentenced me to prayer when she caught me masturbating with a carrot at age twelve - wasn't a virgin when she got married?
I asked Dad. Flat out, over dinner, "Hey Dad, was Mom a virgin when you guys got married?"
His face turned to stone. "It's not my place to answer that," he said. "Frankly, it's not your place to ask."
It sounds like Mom was writing a diary on her computer since she was a teen, so maybe there's something more illuminating on the other disks. She had an Apple IIGS then, whatever the fuck that is. Finding a way to read from that file system is going to be a real puzzle!
Dad just went to bed. He's going to start masturbating pretty soon. He doesn't make any sound any more - I guess he figured out that he was being too loud. But it's easy to tell based on his browser requests and then the lights-on, flush, lights-off routine. It seems that every night he starts by looking at the new posts on Reddit GoneWild, but he always goes back to a small handful of bookmarked hotties to finish. I'm not judging him, of course. It just raises questions that I never thought I'd be asking about my dad.
Thursday December 24
After I finished writing last night, I started really wondering how I would stack up against the girls in the Reddit forum. I might not be the absolute top, but I'm sure that I'm prettier than a lot of those girls. Just for kicks I decided to sneak into the bathroom - the only mirror available to me - and snap a couple shots. I would never in a million years post them, of course. I just wanted to see what it would look like. It turns out that taking good naked selfies is harder than I thought. I know my body looks good, but the actual photos were bad.
Today I went to my old favorite computer repair store to see if Ted had any ideas on how to read the rest of my mom's disks. This isn't a big chain electronics store where the employees only know the bare basics - Ted has been fixing computers since before I was born. He's known me since I was eleven, so he gave me an honorary uncle's "I can't believe how much you've grown up!" when he saw me. Anyway, he has some antique Apples at home that can probably read the disks. We're going to meet up next week.
Ted asked what I planned to do for a living once I was finished with college. A week ago I would have proudly explained my plans to go to work for the FBI, but now I was dumbstruck. Ted could see that the question bothered me, so he didn't press.
As lunch time approached, I found myself thinking about Martin. In high school, Martin was one of the boys who frequented the Saint Frances Photo Club - a secret website where boys posted up-skirt photos of the girls from school. I hacked the site and spied on them for a while. Most of the boys there were pervy and crass - like teenage boys are, I guess - but not Martin. He legitimately appreciated the beauty - not just of the girls in the photos, but of the photography itself. If anyone could tell me how to take good naked selfies, it was Martin.
I gave him a call, and he was free, so we met for lunch at a Tex-Mex place near the mall.
We spent most of the meal just catching up. Martin is in college studying graphic design. Alvin had a bad experience with pot that sent him to the emergency room, so now he has quit drugs all together. Lynn is engaged to be married. Marcie joined a band and they're getting tons of hits on YouTube. Martin was surprised that I didn't know about Marcie: she and I used to be best friends. I explained that we drifted apart.
Somewhere in there I asked if he knew how Ethan, Becca's brother, was doing.
"He kind of dropped off everyone's radar for a little while," Martin told me. "He seems pretty well adjusted now, though. He's studying philosophy at some East coast university, and plans to enter the Seminary."
"Seriously? He's going to be a priest? Wow!" I said. "Do you know if he's in town for the holidays? It would be cool to see him."
"No, he couldn't make it," Martin said. "Which is too bad. I guess his sister's going through some stuff, and he really wanted to be here for her."
"What's going on with Becca?" I asked, concerned.
"I don't know," Martin said. "Just that she's really depressed but won't talk to anyone about it. Her parents are worried."
We talked about other stuff for a while, and then eventually I steered the conversation toward pictures. "So Martin," I asked, "are you familiar with Reddit GoneWild?"
Martin froze, like I had caught him in the middle of some shameful act. It was adorable. I touched his hand and smiled disarmingly. "It's not trap. I tried taking some pics of myself - just for kicks - but they were awful. I was sorta hoping that you could give me some pointers."
We were done with lunch, so we went out to his mom's SUV and I showed him the selfies I had taken and explained why I didn't like them. He seemed stunned by the experience at first, which is silly - this wasn't the first time he had seen me naked. Martin and I had had a brief physical relationship in high school. I almost lost my virginity to him, but it just wasn't right between us.
Once I started asking specific questions, the artist in him came out. He started giving me all sorts of critiques. "Bathroom incandescents are usually really bad for pictures, because they give off yellow light. You can fix that to a degree with Adobe Lightroom, though. Okay see here how your abdomen is badly lit? That's because you're back-lit. If you lowered your shoulder here, you could block out this light here, and you'd get much better exposure where you want it. Plus it would be really sexy."
I also asked him what to do about the anonymity issue. The pics where I had tried to leave my head out of frame looked, frankly, monstrous. And I wouldn't want anyone to recognize my house.
"Are you dead set on these being selfies?" He asked. "I could... Someone could... If someone else took the pictures, you'd have a lot more control over that sort of thing." He added, "I didn't mean me. I'm sorry to imply..."
He was looking down shyly, but I moved my face into his field of vision. "You would do that for me?" I asked hopefully. I was pretty sure I already knew the answer, but I didn't want him to feel taken for granted.
"Take nude pictures of the prettiest girl I know? Yeah, I would do that."
We made plans to meet up after Christmas, just to satisfy my curiosity.
Friday December 25
We opened Christmas presents while video-chatting with my mom. She seemed tickled that I had revived her old artwork for her. I think that was a good gift.
Mom gave me a pretty white gold cross pendant. "I know that in the past you haven't cared for symbols of faith," Mom said, "but I thought that this one suits you." She's right - I love it.
My dad gave me a really pretty sweater dress, and aunt Patricia gave me a hat. I've never worn hats before, but I like this one.
When we were done chatting with Mom I couldn't wait to go change: dad's red sweater dress, Patty's hat, mom's necklace, and some leggings, boots and a belt that I already owned. I snapped a pic and sent it straight to my friend Juliet before posting to Facebook. She's off in Utah skiing with her family.
Juliet sent a picture. Ash is sexy - Hollywood sexy. I had a brief mental flash of him shirtless on a romance novel cover, with me over his shoulder and a fire axe in hand, walking away from a blazing house.
Dad went out to play golf with his friends for a little while, with my blessing. That gave me some time to try to find out what's going on with Becca.
Obviously Becca is pretty hostile toward me, so calling her up and asking wasn't going to work. Fortunately, the Rivers family haven't changed their WiFi password from years ago when I was using it to spy on Ethan. I had to drive close to their house to hook into it, to find their external IP address, but from there I was able to open some ports on the router to make it easier next time.
Back then, I had created a secret back door account on Ethan's computer. It seems that that computer now belongs to Becca. The hard drive is full of the sorts of things you'd expect on a teen girl's computer: music files, homework assignments, experiments with image editing software. Becca is impatient with her rate of breast growth, it seems.
There were also definitely some things that she wouldn't want her parents to see. The most curious among them was a large image file with the caption, "Art of Sex - September". The image was made up of a grid of smaller pictures. The top left was a very large serif "1". The top middle was a picture of Becca and some guy her age having sex. It must have been planned and then snapped right as the guy was coming, because it's a perfect shot of his "O" face. The top right was a creampie shot of a pussy - presumably Becca's.
The next row was similar: "2", and then a different guy fucking Becca, right at the moment of orgasm. The pussy shot in this row also showed a fresh wad of come leaking out, but it was messier: there were traces of fluids covering her thighs, and a couple little wads of semen in her bush.
It kept going like that for five rows in total. Each guy was different, but the pictures were all taken in the same room, from the same angle. The pussy shots seemed to be showing the changing state of Becca's pussy as she banged these guys, one after the other. By the last one, her pussy was red and puffy, with a couple scratches. Her legs and groin were covered with glistening fluid residue and there were numerous tiny balls of wadded up come stuck to her. Not exactly what I call art, but it looks like she was a willing participant.
Becca seems to use Facebook just for family and respectable adults. Either that or she just has no friends. Her email, on the other hand, contains lots of contact with boys. She saved a couple where they were especially sweet, but she doesn't seemed to have replied to any of those. The other ones are clearly just guys arranging hookups. There's a very strong pattern of Becca putting them off until they say they'll bring beer.
She seemed to be reasonably in control; she seemed to understand what she was doing. There was one email exchange where the guy asked if she would please please please give him a blowjob this time. Her response was, "I've told you before I don't do that sick shit. If my pussy's not good enough for you then maybe you should find someone else.
But then there's the other thing - the suicide note - un-addressed but deliberately saved as a draft.
To whom it may concern,
I'm dead. I'm sure this is what most of you want anyway so good. For those of you who actually care I'm sorry. Mom Dad I'm sorry.
I know that I'm going to hell for this but if I stayed alive I'd go to hell for the things I would have done. maybe even a worse place in Hell if there is one.
I hope God Understands.
Her browser history had searches about pill overdoses and carbon monoxide poisoning.
I'll try to reach out to her. Not today - she won't have any chance for privacy on Christmas Day. Soon though. If I can't make a connection - if she shuns me - then what? I can't tell her parents: too much legal trouble if they suspected I had intruded on their computers. I wouldn't trust them to make anything better, anyway. Then what? Cops? School counselor? Priest? Ethan?
I did some research on the FBI entrance requirements. Mr. Demarco is right about the background checks and the polygraph test. I don't have a chance.
Saturday December 26
I tried reaching out to Becca by text.
It took a while to coax any information out of her. We were sitting in my car drinking smoothies, way far away from our part of town.
"I did some things, and they filmed it. And now they're going to make me do some other things - horrible things - and if I don't they'll show everybody," she said.
"Who? What things?" I asked. She just shook her head and sipped her smoothie.
"Becca, if someone is making you do something against your will, we need to talk to the police," I said.
"NO!" She shouted. "I swear to god, if you tell anyone, I'll..." She didn't seem to have the nerve to finish her sentence.
"Okay, okay," I said, not sure if I could live up to the promise. "But, can't you tell me anything more? With a little more information, maybe I can help?"
"There's nothing anyone can do," she said.
We sat in silence for a little while, sipping our drinks, and then out of nowhere she started to cry. "I don't want to be a deviant! I don't want to be like my brother!" I pulled her into a hug and she cried on my shoulder for two full minutes.
I dropped Becca off near her house, at her request. She agreed to call me if she needed someone to talk to.
I only knew one other person who knew Becca, and that was Ken Hurst. Ken's parents were part of the bridge club that I had investigated over the summer. They had secretly recorded Ken and some of his high school friends having sex with Becca on at least two occasions.
Maybe it wasn't the smart thing to do, but I was angry and I wanted answers. I drove straight to Ken's house and rang the doorbell. "We need to talk," I said when Ken opened the door.
Ken took me to his bedroom. I can't imagine what was going on in his head. He's a couple years younger than I am, and last summer he had a crush on me. "Tell me everything you know about Becca Rivers," I said impatiently
He shook his head, playing dumb. "I don't know who that is," he said.
"Do not fucking lie to me, Ken," I said. I poked his chest hard.
"What are you talking about?" Ken asked with alarm. "Lexi, what's going on?"
Just then Ken's mom opened the door - probably drawn by Ken's raised voice. She's the gorgeous redhead with big boobs who can swallow cock like a python. Before she could say anything I shot her warning glare and said, "You stay out of this."
The redhead was taken aback for a moment - I think she almost recognized me. Then she got defensive. "I beg your p..."
I interrupted her. "Let me put that another way: you should go call Mr. Demarco and ask him why you SHOULD NOT FUCK WITH ME." Her mouth hung open for a moment, and then she turned around and left.
Ken's face showed astonishment: a girl barely older than him had just sent his mom away with her tail between her legs in her own house.
I resumed a calm voice. "Are you still fucking Becca?" I asked.
"No, no," Ken said, suddenly helpful. "That ended a few weeks ago."
"Why did it end?"
"She said she got a boyfriend. I mean, she used to call all of us her boyfriends, but I guess this guy was different to her."
"What's his name? Is she still seeing him?", I followed up.
"Caleb. Caleb Olstead," Ken told me. "He's a junior. I think they're still together."
I couldn't think of any more questions, so I figured I was done. "Thank you, Ken," I said. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. Please tell your mother I'm sorry too. Merry Christmas."
Mr. Demarco sent me a text message as I was driving home.
The deal had been that I wouldn't release my proof of the bridge club's illegal teen porn activities if the parents stopped recording their kids. Mr. Demarco had a video of me breaking into his house, so all of us had plenty of reason to stay quiet. Until today, Mr. Demarco and his wife were the only bridge club members who knew that I was the one blackmailing them. I really shouldn't have revealed myself to Mrs. Hurst, but I was upset and at the time it felt like every second counted.
I called Mr. Demarco and explained the situation. He seemed to accept the righteousness of my cause, and said he'd take care of the Hursts. "But Lexi," he added at the end, "you really need to go to the police."
I texted Becca in the evening - just a smiley-face emoji. She sent one back. I think that's a good sign.
Sunday December 27
If Becca is Caleb Olstead's girlfriend, Facebook doesn't know about it. According to all of the social media I can find, he seems to be in an exclusive relationship with some girl named Catherine Whately, another high school student. I can't find any contact between Becca and either of them in Becca's accounts.
I needed some time to think about what to do about Becca next, so when Martin invited me over for a photo shoot, it seemed like a good diversion. I threw some spare clothes and sexy underwear in a bag and headed over.
Martin had his whole garage set up as a studio. There were backdrop sheets and photography lights, a really nice camera, and a computer with some image software standing by. His mom was home, but Martin said that she wouldn't come into the studio.
I told myself - and Martin - that this was just an exercise to see what it would be like. I wasn't actually going to post any of these pictures; it was just fun to pretend. Truthfully, though, the idea really excited me: competing with those other girls for +1's, and reading all the perverted comments from anonymous men all over the world whom I would make hard.
I quizzed Martin about computer security to make sure he could be trusted with the files. "Really? You don't mind if keep the originals?" Martin asked. "The ones where your face is showing?"
"Of course not!" I told him. "Martin, you already know it's me," I teased. "But they're just for you and me - don't post them or let them get stolen."
We started off trying to take pictures where my face, and hopefully my hair, weren't visible. But there are only so many ways to do that without looking like a headless mannequin.
"This isn't working. Your smile is just too important," Martin said after a dozen pictures.
"Huh. I suppose we can blur out half of my face in Photoshop...," I suggested half-heartedly.
"No, absolutely not," Martin said. I think offended his artistic vision. "Wait here," he told me, and disappeared into the house. It's funny, I hadn't felt the least bit self-conscious about being naked until Martin left me alone. You know what it's like when you're naked at the doctor's office and the doctor leaves the room, but you're pretty sure she wants to examine you more? It was like that.
Martin came back with some ski goggles and a knitted winter hat. I put them on and tucked my hair up under the hat so that nobody could tell the length or texture, or hopefully even color. That felt a lot more natural - we could take all sorts of photos without worrying about how to hide my identity.
We took several pictures of what Martin assured me were classic nude poses. There was the one where I covered my boobs with one arm and my pussy with the other hand. ("That one goes back to the 15th century," he said. "The Birth of Venus.") And then there's the looking-over-the-shoulder butt pose. And there's one where I was sitting on the floor with my knees up in front of me covering my chest. Oh, and we took a couple where I was wearing his mom's down vest to complete the naked ski girl look.
I was lying face-down, propped up on my elbows and smiling for the camera when I noticed - not for the first time - the bulge in Martin's pants.
"Does it hurt when it's like that?" I asked, pointing at his crotch when he seemed confused by the question. "When your penis is trying to get hard but it's trapped and bent by your pants?"
"It does, but only a little," he told me. "And it's a good hurt - the kind that lets you know you're alive."
I rolled over onto my back so that Martin could get some good shots of my chest. I was feeling kind of flirty. "So what lucky girl ended up taking your virginity?" I asked. "Was it anyone I know?"
"Well, no one," he said, embarrassed. "I'm still a virgin. Well, kind of. I'm not sure."
"How can you not be sure?" I asked. "Were you really drunk or something?" I got on my hands and knees and did some cat stretches.
He sighed. "Well, we started to do it - there was penetration - but I couldn't come. I don't know if that counts. It doesn't feel like it counts."
"Why couldn't you come?" I asked. He stopped taking pictures and sat down next to me. We were just looking at each other, talking.
"I think it's this medication I'm on," he said. "It makes it really hard to have an orgasm. Or, I don't know - maybe I broke something by masturbating too much over the last ten years."
"That sucks," I said solemnly. "But hey, on the bright side: lucky girl! A lot of girls would love to have a guy who can keep it up indefinitely."
"Well, no," he said. "After a couple minutes, it became clear that it wasn't working. I started to get frustrated and ashamed, and then I couldn't keep it up." This was clearly a very painful memory for him. It probably wasn't ideal that I was naked while talking to him, but I was touched that he would share it with me.
"You and your girlfriend didn't ever try again?" I asked tenderly.
"No," he said with a frown. "She went home right after that, and then she made excuses every time I tried to see her for the next month. She only officially broke up with me when I forced the issue."
"That bitch!" I exclaimed. "Sex is something two people do together! It's teamwork. She should have stuck with you, trying to find a way to make it work! Screw her for abandoning you like that!"
"Well, she had issues of her own," Martin said.
A moment of silence told us that that topic was done, "What do you say we kick up the naughtiness a notch?" I asked.
"Sounds good," Martin said. "Want to do some where you pretend to masturbate?"
"Fuck pretend," I said.
I lay on my back with a pillow under my head and closed my eyes. I let my mind go back to Mr. Demarco's shower. At first he was washing my hair sensually, but soon I sitting on his lap and being lifted up and down to pump his cock in my ass. And then I thought about the video of Dr. Welsh and Jenny Hu, except this time I was the one tied to the bed, being spanked while my English professor rubbed my pussy, knowing that soon I was going to get fucked by the biggest dick I'd ever seen. And then I was at Malik's fraternity house. All the brothers were in a circle around me, stroking their dicks, getting ready to drench me with come.
I had been aware of Martin moving around me, and the click-click-click of the camera. I opened my eyes and smiled at him, and the bulge in his pants twitched. "Oh god," he said through gritted teeth.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Sometimes it hurts more than just a little," he joked.
Two fingers of my left hand were pumping my vag while my right hand rubbed my clit. I didn't even know how long I'd been doing it - I didn't remember starting. I was nearing the finish line, though. I closed my eyes again, and this time I remembered being naked with Martin in his bedroom in high school. I was straddling him, rubbing my pussy along his cock up against his belly. But this time we didn't call it quits there; this time I put a condom on him and he crawled on top of me and entered my pussy. This time we fucked, and he came, and I came.
That fantasy was enough to make me come. I wanted to call out Martin's name, but I was afraid that he would see it as a cruel tease, so I just moaned instead. My pussy pulsed around my fingers and my legs lifted my hips, trying instinctively to achieve deeper penetration. Martin was snapping pictures as fast as his camera would let him. My fingers on my clit kept my orgasm alive.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had a thought: I wanted Martin to see my face when I came. With my non-clit-stroking hand I ripped off the mask and hat, and I tossed my head left and right while I enjoyed the last few seconds of my orgasm. Martin didn't waste the opportunity: he stood right over me looking down, camera clicking away.
He snapped a few more pictures as I panted and came down from my sex high, but then he sat down, I guess a little worn out from the experience too.
"Think we've got enough for a good first set?" I asked.
"Yeah," Martin said. "You're cool if I go through them and fix them up? Cropping, touch-ups, lighting, and stuff?"
"I'd appreciate that, thanks," I said. "Are you going to be able to do that one-handed?" I added, jokingly.
I don't think Martin got the joke. He got a serious look on his face and said, "Lexi, I would never.."
I gave him a questioning look, so he went on. "I mean, would you be okay? If I..."
"No, Martin," I said with mock seriousness. "I'm going to show these pictures to every man in the world with an Internet connection, but you're not allowed to fap to them." I gave him a playful smile.
Honestly, it would probably hurt my feelings if I thought that Martin didn't jerk off to our pictures.
After Martin's mom fed us really tasty BLTs and gave me a dozen "I hope you're my son's new girlfriend" looks, I went to the computer store to see if Ted could help me extract the files from Mom's floppy disks. What we ended up doing was reading the disks on his ancient computer and sending them over a null modem cable to my laptop. Slow going, but it seemed to work.
So far I hadn't found a way to get at Caleb Olstead's secrets to figure out what he's doing to upset Becca. While waiting for the files to transfer, I decided to try a simple catfish ploy. I started up a conversation using a fake account.
I asked Ted to excuse me and I went into the bathroom. The shop only has a single bathroom, so the door had a lock, which was convenient. I took off my shirt and bra and snapped a pic of just my chest. I may suck at selfies, but it was good enough for this purpose. I sent the pic to Caleb and got dressed again.
So then I asked Ted if I could borrow a marker, and I headed toward the bathroom again.
"What are you doing in there?" Ted asked.
"Flirting with a boy," I said innocently.
Ted laughed. "You know, when I was your age the only electronic pictures of boobs were drawn in ASCII." I giggled.
I suck at art, and drawing on skin in a mirror doesn't help. But after a couple triangles for ears, a couple lines for whiskers, and a couple circles for eyes, my left boob was adorned with a cat. And it did look like a drunk girl had drawn it. I sent it to Caleb.
The power went out at home tonight, so Dad and I just talked. I finally told him about my breakup with Miles and how I felt about it. I didn't tell him about all the losers I had slept with trying to get over Miles, but he may have read between the lines.
Then we talked about my dashed FBI aspirations. Dad took the position that it wasn't nearly as hopeless as Mr. Demarco had said, and I found myself arguing for the other side - that my dream was dead. I couldn't tell him all of reasons, though: Dad doesn't know nearly as much about the laws I've broken and the reputations I've earned as Mr. Demarco does.
I honestly have no idea what I'm going to do with my adult life.
Caleb did send me some dick pics. I don't get the appeal, really.
My battery's about to give out, so I guess I'm done writing for the night.
Monday December 28
I spent the morning reading through my mom's diaries, but there's a lot to cover. They start in her first year of high school, and she was much more prolific in these than in her later diaries.
I'm learning a lot about who my mom was when she was young. For one thing, she was really horny. I guess that's normal for a teenager, but she was also super repressed about it. Catholic guilt in spades. She never directly said that she wanted to get laid in her diaries, but she spent a lot of time pining for this boy or that, and dreaming about marrying them - ASAP.
Even masturbation was off-limits to her. She told her diary about sitting on the washing machine when it started to rumble, and liking the feeling. I don't think she came, but she lingered there, knowing that she wasn't "supposed to." She was wracked with guilt and shame for days until she confessed to a priest. He basically told her that it was no big deal, but she didn't accept that answer. Her transgression gnawed on her.
Aside from the sexual repression, she seemed like a cool person. She drew pictures and wrote stories, and was apparently a computer enthusiast. She had friends. She got along well with everyone pretty well, from the sound of it. She was shy around boys she liked, but I guess that makes sense.
I needed a break, so I asked Martin if he wanted to go out to lunch with me. He said he wasn't done editing the pictures, as if that was the only reason I would be contacting him. I told him to take a break and come join me - I just wanted his company.
It's kind of funny. In high school, Martin and I weren't really friends. We knew each other - everyone at Saint Frances knew each other. And we respected each other. But we just never hung out. Even after our brief fling where I decided he was the sort of guy I should fall for, and tried to force myself to be attracted to him, we didn't hang out. Of course, I was expelled from Saint Frances shortly after that.
And yet here we are now, years later, and it feels like he's my oldest friend. Maybe it's because I'm sort of desperate for friends - I seem to alienate everyone sooner or later - or maybe I've just grown to appreciate him as the years have gone by.
I chatted more with Caleb, trying to earn his trust. I made up a bunch of lies.
Maybe if I can't work for the FBI, I can get a job writing for low budget late night cable porn.
Tuesday December 29
Martin invited me over early in the day. He said he had finished editing my photos and suggested we go over them together.
He had done an absolute ton of work on the pictures. Of the 94 raw shots he took, he had separated fourteen into the "anonymous" album, and six into the "personal" album. The latter were the pics from which I might be identified.
The kinds of editing he did went way beyond just cropping and red-eye adjustment, too. I've got a little red ingrown hair bump on my calf that he dutifully edited out of all of the shots. In some shots there were some barely noticeable wisps of hair that he removed. And then there was stuff like weird light reflections from my skin.
One of the personal pics he took to extremes, just for kicks, giving me Disney-proportioned eyes and body.
"So what are you going to do with them?" Martin asked after we finished going over the collection.
"I think I have to post them," I told him. "I wasn't really planning to, but god, your photography is so good it would be wrong not to show the world what you can do."
Martin got serious. "Lexi, you can't do something like that for me. It has to be for you."
I smiled. "Martin, I don't know if you noticed," I said with a half-whisper, "I kinda like turning guys on." I shrugged with playful guilt.
Martin chuckled. "Well, on behalf of men everywhere, thank you," he said.
I made the post right there from Martin's room, under the username TCPVoyer. I gave the post the title, "I(f) you think I'm worthy, I'd love to help make you come", which is not actually a very provocative name for that forum.
Martin and I spent some time looking at the other girls' photos and the responses they earned. After reading one particularly stupid comment, I said, "Well you know that guy's a virgin," without thinking about it. Martin got really quiet.
"I'm sorry, Martin," I said. I had hit on a really sore spot.
"It's cool," he said. "It is what it is."
"I really don't think it's as bad as you think it is, though," I said, trying and failing to be uplifting.
"Lexi, it's not just about bragging to the guys or something like that," he explained. "There's this whole giant part of the human experience that everyone gets, except me. I'm out of the club. I'm not ... a man."
"Okay, I get that," I said tenderly. "It sucks waiting, but..."
"No, that's the thing," Martin interrupted me. "All evidence suggests that I can't come during sex. I'm broken. It'll be like this forever."
I couldn't think of anything to say that would make him feel better, so I just side-hugged him. After a respectful period of time, I clicked on another link from the GoneWild subreddit, and asked Martin what he thought of the girl's breasts. Martin accepted the change of topic gracefully and pretty soon we were having fun again.
Martin's mom texted us from downstairs, asking if she could make us anything for lunch. We strolled downstairs to the kitchen, laughing, and thanked her for whatever she cared to fix.
"So what have you two been up to all morning in your locked bedroom?" Martin's mom asked while she braised some chicken fillets. She said it teasingly, but you could tell that her curiosity was genuine.
Martin and I looked at each other, which probably was a dead giveaway that whatever we said would be a lie. "Martin has been helping to edit my poetry collection," I said.
"Oh, you're a poet!" Martin's mom said. "Could I read some?"
"I couldn't," I said shyly. "I'd be way too embarrassed for anyone to see it. Martin's the only one I can trust." I fingered my cross pendant to help sell the good girl act.
After lunch I went home and sent a message to Juliet.
I sent her the best picture I could find of Martin online. It was from high school, so he was in a dress shirt and tie. Martin isn't bad looking, but he always looks a bit unkempt: his hair needs a trim, or his clothes are wrinkled, or he missed a spot shaving.
I sent Juliet the link to my naked photos reddit post.
In the evening I worked Caleb some more. I'm almost ready to spring my trap.
I've been practicing, U know...
Wednesday December 30
Holy fuck! I think I just found my mother's secret! Maybe she's punking me, because this can't be real. But how could she have possibly set this up as a joke?
In the summer when my mom was sixteen, she was scheduled to go to a church retreat. She had been to one the year before and loved it, so she was really excited about this one. There would be a bunch of other kids there - ones she got along with well, and there would be games and discussions and activities. One of the boys going on the trip was George, the biggest crush of her life so far. Here's what she wrote when she returned.
I can't believe what just happened. I'm a changed person - changed in the most fundamental of ways - and yet according to Father Cooper, I'm no different at all. It didn't count.
I won't bother telling you about the first two days of the retreat, Diary. You know what they were like. But the third day was unlike anything I could have dreamed!
Father Cooper knows me well: he knows my hopes, my fears, my sins. I've told him about how I picture my wedding, and I've told him about every mean thing Patty and I have ever said to each other, despite loving each other. I trust Father Cooper more than anyone except my parents. Some days I feel closer to him than them.
For that reason, I was neither surprised nor concerned when Father Cooper asked me to come with him one evening for a special project.
Every generation of parishioners is different, he told me once we were alone. While, in broad strokes, man's relationships with man, God, and the Earth remain the same, the church must periodically take steps to ensure it understands the details that make, for instance, my generation different from my mother's.
If I was willing, Father Cooper told me, he would like me to participate in a process by which the church educates itself. They would put me in a room with another person from the retreat, and they would videotape how we interact with each other. We should pretend that the camera isn't there, he said, and behave like ordinary youths. It would be more instructive, in fact, if we behaved like our non-churchgoing peers behave, as those are the people the priests would be trying to understand.
Since this activity would be in service of the church, Father Cooper explained, any authentic action taken would go without judgment - by man or God. If we, for instance, found ourselves taking the Lord's name in vain during this exercise, God would be pleased by our commitment, rather than disappointed in our moral weakness.
I was proud that Father Cooper had chosen me to help with something he clearly took so seriously. And in truth, it sounded like an exciting game to me, although I wouldn't have admitted to anything so shallow to him.
Father Cooper led me into an unused cabin and sat me down on a double bed positioned curiously in the center of the room. He left through a different door and presently came back with my partner for the exercise: George! The Father sat George down next to me and then picked up a video camera from a stool near the wall. He began filming, and the lights went out - all of the lights except the blindingly bright one attached to the camera.
George and I looked at each other, sitting next to each other on the bed. There really wasn't anywhere else to look: we were the only lit things in the room. I was nervous and tongue-tied sitting so close to George. I wanted to help Father Cooper, but I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I don't think George did either.
"George, do you have anything you'd like to say to Erin? Perhaps something about how she looks?" Father Cooper suggested.
"Oh, yeah, um, you look really nice, Erin," George told me. "I like the way you've been wearing your hair lately."
"Thank you," I said, too self-conscious to look him in the eye. Then, with a spark of bravery, I put my hand on top of his on his leg.
"Erin, would it be all right if I kissed you?" George asked.
My heart must have beat a thousand times before I had the breath to answer, "Yes". And then it beat a thousand more times before his lips touched mine. We stayed like that, kissing, with his hands on my back and on my knee.
And then there was a shift: his mouth slipped open, and mine with it, as his tongue brushed past my lips and teeth. His hand slipped very slightly up my leg, and my legs opened very slightly in response.
George laid me gently on my back and leaned over me, kissing me and stroking my hair. The light - and thus the camera - moved to the other side of the bed, just in time to witness George's hand on my breast and the gasp it elicited.
A moment later, George had my blouse unbuttoned and one cup of my bra peeled away, and I could feel the warmth of his mouth approaching my nipple. I was petrified - as if one can be petrified by joy. My one fear in the whole world was that George would stop.
"Oh George," I whispered.
He sucked my nipple, and whole new window to the world was opened up to me. He gripped it ever so gently in his teeth and I gasped again. Soon his hand joined his mouth on my breast, and to my dismay, it was all too much. I needed George to either stop completely, or do more - much more - to me.
I took George's hand and placed it between my legs. "Touch me there," I implored him.
George unbuttoned my pants carefully, as if removing wrapping paper too beautiful to risk tearing. I used that moment to remove my shirt and bra, for whatever future used George had for my chest. When George finally had my jeans pulled down to my knees, he placed his hand between my legs, and my heart exploded.
The sound I made was the most heartfelt expression of hope and desire I've ever produced, but it alarmed George. He looked at my face with worry. I put him at ease with a nod and a moan. For a thousand heartbeats after that, the only sounds were my labored breathing and the faint whir from the video camera, while George's hand moved around over my underpants.
I couldn't wait any longer. I rose to my knees, face to face with George, and peeled his shirt off of his chest. Without delay I unfastened his pants and pushed them down, along with his underwear, revealing his naked penis. It grew before my eyes, awakening, preparing to do its duty. I touched it.
George and I stopped to look each other in the eyes. We were asking each other, and our selves, were we really going to do this? It was a monumental decision, but it was right. The light shifted away from us for the first time, drawing our attention to the end table next to the bed. On top of that table rested one thing: a shiny square of foil; a prophylactic.
The decision was made - a consensus between the three of us. I lay back on the bed and spread my legs with a sense of freedom I'd never felt before. George wiggled free of his pants and applied the latex barrier to his penis. And then he took position over me.
George's body felt warm on mine. The blunt tip of his penis bounced around between my thighs blindly. I was trapped in his eyes. When George used his hand to guide the thing, his penis made more deliberate probes between amidst my blossom, but it was still missing its mark.
"A little lower," I told him, nodding encouragingly. Finally, the head of his penis found my vagina and slowly pressed its way in. My flesh parted to accommodate his inside me. There was some pain, but it quickly faded to a tingling and then nothing at all in the face of the delightful crowding in my vagina.
I found the feeling of being filled up so gratifying that it didn't occur to me that there was more until George started moving his penis in and out. My insides were alive with joy, like a festival. Every time he pushed all the way in and our hips met each other, there was a little extra spark, too.
"Oh George," I whispered repeatedly while he administered the greatest feeling of my life over again with every thrust.
The look of intensity on George's face increased. "Oh Erin, I love you so much! I love you!" He said as he thrust into me even harder than before - giving me even greater pleasure than before. Then he froze for a moment, with his eyes closed, followed by a few more slow, feeble strokes. I knew that he had ejaculated.
Father Cooper gave us privacy while we got dressed. He explained to us once again that while what we had done here, in service of the church, was not a sin, it would be if we were to repeat the act once we left camp. He impressed on us the need for secrecy, and encouraged us not to even discuss this evening with each other.
George and I glanced at each other a number of times on the bus ride home, but we didn't speak.
So apparently my mom had premarital sex with her crush while a priest filmed a sex tape and told her it wasn't a sin. Got it. Wow.
I needed time process all that, so I took a break and made my play at Caleb.
I waited fifteen minutes before sending my next message.
I did post pictures to his Drive account. I didn't want him to know I was playing him. They weren't pics of me, of course: I posted pictures of one of the girls from my dad's bookmarks. After that, I set about reading through his email, his chats, and his files to see what I could find.
For one thing, Catherine is, really, his girlfriend and partner in crime. She's the brains, but her body is off limits. The two of them have been manipulating one girl after another into sex with Caleb and whatever else they can pull off.
When they set their sights on Becca, they knew it would be no challenge to get her to fuck - everybody knew she's a slut. But everybody also knew that she would only do straight sex: not anal, and not even oral. They thought it would be fun to break her.
There are all kinds of chat logs going back a couple months about their plans. Just recently they somehow took a video of her that's extremely embarrassing - although they didn't say how. Since then all the sweet talk has disappeared. Since then it's been "let Caleb do you up the ass, or we will show everyone the video." They've let her make excuses to delay a couple times now, just to toy with her. They fully intend to force the issue soon. These people are evil.
I haven't found the video they're holding over Becca. Catherine has the only copy as far as I can tell. Caleb did have another video of Becca though, from before the mask was dropped, back when she thought he loved her.
It starts off with Caleb and Becca standing, holding each other and kissing heavily. The video is obviously coming from a smart phone being held by somebody.
"Mmm, god, Becca, you make me so hot. It hurts how much I want you," Caleb said.
"It does?" Becca answered demurely.
"Yeah it does. Hey, I got something for you," Caleb said. He grabbed a jewelry case from somewhere off camera and gave it to her. It contained a bracelet - the same one she had shown me in the mall the other day.
"God, Becca, I love you so much," he said, embracing her again. Becca was squirming with the excitement between her legs. "Becca, please, just this once, let me do your ass? It would mean so much to me. We'll turn off the camera and send Ari away. Nobody will ever know."
"No..." Becca whined. "That's disgusting. It's an abomination." Becca started to look pretty uncomfortable.
"Okay, okay," Caleb said. "But then could you maybe do something else for me instead?"
"I guess," Becca said.
"Could you give Ari here a blowjob?"
"No, I don't do that," Becca whined again. "I'm a good girl."
"Please, Becca?" Caleb said, continuing his assault. "Nothing would turn me on more than to see your lips around my friend's dick. You know how much I love you, right? I mean, I just showed you with that bracelet, didn't I?"
"Okay..." Becca said vulnerably.
Ari wasted no time handing the phone off to Caleb and dropping his pants. Becca, for all her experience with regular sex, didn't seem to have a clue about oral. Still, she knew that sticking the dick in your mouth was the first step, so she did that. Shortly after that, Ari put his hands on her head to hold her steady and started thrusting his hips. He was very shallow, which is good for a beginner: just his cock head was moving in and out of her wet lips.
"God, Becca, that turns me on," Caleb said. He moved up behind Becca, at first still keeping the camera trained on the oral action. But then he pointed it at her skirt as he hitched it up and rubbed her ass. He coaxed her up onto her knees and dropped her panties, taking a long slow video tour of her pussy while he rubbed it.
"I don't think I can wait," Caleb said. He passed the camera over to Ari while he dropped his own pants and rubbed his semi-hard dick on Becca's pussy. A moment later he was hard and he invaded Becca's cunt with his cock.
The guys passed the camera around, filming her from every angle they could while they fucked her from both ends. Becca was clearly being affected by Caleb's cock. At first she moaned. Then she let Ari's cock slip out of her mouth while she panted. Ari quickly put his member back in place.
A little while later, Becca released Ari's cock again. "Fuck me harder," she told Caleb.
"Not until you make Ari come," Caleb said.
Becca redoubled her efforts on Ari. With some advice from the guys, she added a few extra techniques like handling his balls and squeezing his shaft. "My face hurts," Becca whined again, awkwardly, but without stopping slurping his crown.
"Almost there, girl," Ari said. "You're doing great." Caleb was fucking her cunt at a steady pace, clearly not wanting to get too excited too fast.
Ari was holding Becca's head when he came, and even though his penetration into her mouth was shallow, she still gagged on his wad. As soon as he let her go she spit it out onto the carpet violently.
"That was good," Ari said as he resumed full-time camera duty.
"Please fuck me harder, Caleb!" Becca begged. "Make me come!" She lowered her head and shoulders to the carpet while Caleb began to thrust harder and grunt.
Becca was moaning and squealing, clearly happy to be back in a more comfortable mode of sex.
"C'mon, Becca, come for me! Show me how much you love me!" Caleb said, slapping their bodies together violently. Becca began to come, crying out unabashedly. Caleb tried to hold back his own orgasm, but it wouldn't be stopped. "Gah!" he exclaimed as he threw his head back. He kept thrusting hard as he spurted into Becca's pussy, and seemingly even longer than that.
Both guys told Becca what a good job she had done. She was beaming with pride when the video ended.
Thursday December 31
Yesterday was just so mind-blowing that I forgot to check on my reddit post. As of this morning there were a respectable number of up-votes and a respectable number of posts. I enjoyed reading their complements - especially the two that suggested that they had come while looking at my body. I spent a little time replying to some of them - thanking them, flirting, and insisting that my photographer deserves most of the credit.
Of course, the real question - maybe the point of the whole experiment - was to see what my dad thought. My gallery did, in fact, show up in both his browser history and his bookmarks list. I guess my dad wasn't lying all those times he called me beautiful growing up. And I suppose it's safe to guess that he would want to fuck me if we weren't related. Interesting to learn. Of course it doesn't really change anything.
I sent a text to check in on Becca.
At first she seemed reasonably happy, and it looked like we might have a nice time. It was all small talk when I picked her up and we drove to the Japanese restaurant.
"Got any New Year's plans?" I asked once we placed our orders.
"My boyfriend wanted me to go to his house tonight," Becca said, suddenly sad.
"And you don't want to?" I asked, trying to bring her out of her shell.
Becca shook her head. "I told him that I had to be with my family tonight," she said.
"This is the guy who wants you to do something you don't want to do?" I asked. Becca nodded.
"Caleb?" I pressed. She nodded again.
"And Catherine - she's part of this too?" Becca nodded again.
"And what they want you to do is have anal sex with Caleb?" Becca didn't reply this time - she just looked down and sniffled. From the look of her eyes, she was getting ready to cry.
"Becca, you don't have to do anything you don't want to," I started to say.
"Yes I do!" she whined. "If I don't, they'll..." She trailed off.
"They've got a video of you that they're threatening to show everyone, right? Something embarrassing?"
"Yes," she said meekly.
"Becca, can you tell me what's on that video?" I asked. "I promise I won't think any less of you."
"Yes you will," she said in a whisper.
"Becca, I'm trying to help," I went on. "I'm trying to find a way to erase that video, or find some pressure to put on them. But it's really hard if I don't know what I'm looking for."
She just stared at the table, not responding. The waitress brought our food and we both began to eat in silence. After a little while, we started talking again about unimportant things - movies, Christmas gifts.
In the car, Becca opened up again. "He said this was the last time," she said.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"When I told him I couldn't meet him tonight, he said that this was the last time I can make excuses. The next time he asks me, I have to... do it, or else they'll show everyone the video.
"Becca, if it's that bad, we have to go to the police. Or at least your parents," I pleaded with her.
"No!" she screamed. "I swear to god, Lexi, if you tell anyone about this I'll kill myself! My parents have lots and lots of pills lying around!"
"You'd really rather die than have people see what's on that video? For real?" I asked tenderly. She nodded.
"I'll figure something out," I told her before I dropped her off.
I think I have to tell the police. She'll hate me forever. They'll probably send her to a psych hospital. But it's better than the chance that she'll carry out her threat.
Friday January 1
After my meeting with Becca yesterday I decided to do some quick recon of Catherine's home network. If I didn't find anything, I told myself, I'd go to the police.
I wasn't starting completely from scratch. I knew Catherine's address from Caleb's emails. I knew that she lived with both of her parents, and that her sister was grown up and living in another city. I knew the house's WiFi password, and even the alarm code.
I parked on the street around the corner from their house, to see what I could learn from their home network. I could see all three family members' cell phones, so that meant they were home. There were two desktop computers, but I couldn't find a way to get at them. There was also a dedicated network-based backup system. I read up on it, but that was pointless - it was pretty secure.
There were definitely no cameras on the WiFi network. After my trouble with Mr. Demarco, I had studied up on all of the popular brands out there and how to detect them. Of course, the fact that I was even thinking about cameras, I had to admit to myself, meant that I was considering doing something very, very stupid.
What if I did break in? What was the best case scenario? The password to Catherine's computer would be on a sticky note next to the monitor, I'd find the file, erase it, and nobody would ever know I was there. Except I'd need to do something about the backup system. In one of their emails, Catherine and Caleb had talked about going to her house to watch the video of Becca, so that suggests she doesn't keep it on her phone.
So what's the worst case scenario? I suppose getting shot, going to prison, and then never being able to get a decent job for the rest of my life. I could certainly kiss the FBI goodbye. But then, that was all a dream anyway. Mr. Demarco is right - they'll never let me in no matter what.
Of course, all that assumed that I even got a chance in the first place. What if the house was never empty between now and the next time Caleb puts pressure on Becca?
I was still thinking this through and reading about their backup system when Catherine and her parents left, dressed for a formal party. It was dark by then, and it seemed safe to guess that they wouldn't be home before midnight, so I thought, it's now or never.
I grabbed my lock picks, my gloves, and my hoodie and snuck into the back yard, figuring I'd attract less notice picking the back door lock. This was to be my second time breaking and entering. I hoped that it worked out better than the first time.
Between the adrenaline and the gloves, I was having trouble picking the lock. It's stupid - I had practiced on that exact model of lock dozens of times before - it should have been easy. But I just couldn't steady my hand enough. That was the first unanticipated problem.
The second unanticipated problem walked up to me, sniffing my pants and wagging her tail. When I looked at her, she rolled over onto her back, begging for a belly-rub. I thanked my lucky stars that she wasn't a barking sort of dog.
The dog had come out of the house through a doggy door near the human door I had been trying to unlock. After a couple more minutes of failing to pick the lock, I decided to go low-tech and crawl inside that way. When I was half-way through, the dog tried to mount me. I desperately hoped she didn't leave any hairs on me that could prove I had been there.
Once inside I checked the alarm panel. It said it was set to "perimeter", so if there were any motion sensors - which I should have thought to look for before entering - they wouldn't go off.
Catherine's computer was already on, unlocked, so it was easy to install my default malware kit. After that I started copying all of her data files, for later review, while looking around for videos.
I skimmed the videos to see which ones involved Becca, but I didn't take the time to actually watch them. Once I had made my copies, I wiped all of the Becca files from the computer securely.
I thought that the backup system would cause me trouble, but it turns out they had never changed the factory password, so it was easy to force it to reformat its drive and rebuilt a new set of backups. Hopefully they'll never notice that their old backups are gone.
I should have left right then, but apparently my voyeuristic urges outweigh my self-preservation urges. I looked around in Catherine's room first, but I couldn't find anything interesting. No vibrators in her underwear drawer, no leather teddies, no whips. In her parents' room I found a pretty racy lingerie collection, some testosterone creme, and what I think was a cock ring. I also found a gun. That convinced me it was time to leave.
Back at home, I reviewed the files I had taken from Catherine. The first two videos I found in the "Fun with Becca" folder were both of Catherine tormenting Becca, telling her that she better let Caleb fuck her ass, or else they would show everyone what she had done. Becca freaked out, cried, and begged, which Catherine clearly enjoyed.
The third video was, I'm pretty sure, the one they've been holding over her head. It started with Caleb leading a drunken and blindfolded Becca to a couch and laying her on it, face down. He lifted up her skirt and started rubbing her ass cheeks sensually, her thong providing no barrier.
"God, baby, your ass is perfect. I'm so lucky you're mine," he told her, and she smiled. "Please, baby, please let me do your ass. You know I love you - I would never do anything to hurt you."
"No," Becca whined, like she had in the video from Caleb's computer. "I'm a good girl. Sodomy is a sin. But you can fuck my pussy if you want..."
"I will in a minute. Right now I can't get enough of your ass," he said. He kept rubbing Becca's cheeks, which she was clearly enjoying. But slowly he started creeping more and more inside her crack. When he put his finger right on her hole she started to grumble an objection, but he stopped her by asking, "Don't you trust me?"
Caleb kept rubbing her all over her butt and she relaxed again, and again she started enjoying it. He made several more passes over her butthole, desensitizing her to the touch, until finally he silently spit on his finger and sunk the tip in, just a little.
Becca started to grumble again, but again he soothed her. "Just my finger, just a tiny bit. Please? You can trust me." Becca grunted what I guess was permission, although she was drunk enough that I doubt it would hold up in court.
Caleb poked his finger just barely into Becca's butt - tiny slow motions, until Becca relaxed again. That's when the camera jumbled around. When it steadied again, Caleb was out of frame and Catherine was the one invading Becca's rear.
Catherine never made a sound, but Caleb kept sweet-talking the still-blindfolded Becca. In time, Catherine penetrated Becca more deeply, and sometimes the tiniest of grunts could be heard from the drunk girl's mouth. Soon, Catherine was fingering her deep and steady, and Becca was moaning softly.
"Do you like this?" Caleb asked.
"No," Becca said, but that was clearly a lie. Her hips started bucking reflexively, which elicited a wicked smile from Catherine. Catherine just kept finger-fucking Becca while her moans grew more needful, until she hit her crescendo, tensed up, and came.
"Oh my god!, Catherine said. "She came so hard she wet herself!"
Becca jumped to her feet and ripped off her blindfold, aghast. Sure enough, he skirt did show a three inch wet spot.
"Be sure to put down some towels when you ass-fuck her, Caleb!" Catherine said with a grin. "You are going to let him, aren't you?" She asked Becca. "I mean, clearly you enjoyed it. Probably too much, in fact. I mean, it's one thing to indulge a guy - but to actually like it so much that you lose bladder control? I don't think that's normal!"
Becca ran out. The last thing on the recording was Catherine laughing and saying, "We're going to have fun with that girl."
Watching that video kept me busy for a few minutes, but after that all I could do was dwell on what I had done and whether there would be consequences. I had committed a pretty significant crime, and I wasn't even sure that I had destroyed all of the copies of the video. If Catherine's family noticed anything wrong in their house, there were about a million was the police might trace the crime back to me.
My body was still hyped up on adrenaline, so I couldn't concentrate on books or TV or anything. I was glad Dad was out at a party, because if he had seen me he would have known something was going on.
I decided to go for a run. It helped diminish my nervousness, but that just left more room for anger. When I realized that I was passing a park near Caleb's house, I decided on another reckless course of action. I sent a message to Caleb saying I was back in town and asking him to meet me at the park.
The park was empty, and the tree he chose to lean against to wait for me was fairly secluded, so I snuck up from behind.
"Don't turn around," I said in sultry voice. "The first time you see my face, I want it to be covered with your come."
Caleb was wearing a hat so I pulled it down to cover his eyes before I moved in front of him. I wasted no time in pulling his pants down to his ankles, and he certainly made no effort to stop me.
"Hey, you know what would be fun?" I said from on my knees, rubbing his balls through his underwear. "We should find some junior high girl, and make her fall in love with you. We should convince her to completely trust you, and then once she does, coerce her into doing something that she honestly believes she will go to hell for."
"Huh?" Caleb said. I wasn't really sure how much he understood what I was saying. He had clearly been drinking, but I didn't know how much.
That's when I hit him in the balls, as hard as I could - or at least I tried. I had never hit anyone before. It doesn't seem like it should be that hard, but on my first try my fist partly deflected off of his thigh. It was enough to stun him, though. My second punch was dead-on. He fell to the ground and curled up, wheezing.
"Listen to me, asshole," I said kneeling beside him. "If you ever speak to Becca Rivers again, I will ruin you. Think of all of the horrible things one human being can do to another - I'm willing and able to do at least half of them to you and your family. The same goes for Catherine. If anyone ever sees that video of yours, you will be lucky if you make it to prison before I get to you. Do you understand me?"
He didn't reply so I slapped him. "Do you understand me?" I repeated.
"Yes!" He moaned.
I ran away, taking a long and erratic path home.
I still couldn't sleep - my body was completely wired - so I messaged Martin and asked if he would come keep me company. I think I woke him up, but once he was convinced that I was serious, and possibly out of my mind, he came over. We sat on the couch talking, and while I wouldn't tell him any details, it felt good to confess to him my fear about being arrested for my night's activities.
I woke up when my pillow, Martin, stood up to introduce himself to my father. Dad had just woken up and walked into the living room to find us asleep on the couch. Martin was dressed just fine, but I was in my sleep clothes: bra-less in a tank-top and gym shorts.
After taking a moment to assess the situation, my dad shook Martin's hand. "Don't do this sort of thing when your mom gets home, okay?"
Dad strongly encouraged Martin to go home, and me to go sleep in my bed.
I skimmed through all of the files I had copied from Catherine's computer, today, but I couldn't find any leverage against her. I really hope that my burglary was sufficient.
Saturday January 2
I asked Becca if we could meet and talk this morning, and we ended up at a pancake place.
"So, good news," I began when it was time for serious talk, "I destroyed what I think was Catherine's only copy of the video they were holding over your head.
"You think? You're not sure?" Becca asked nervously.
"I'm sorry, but I can't be sure," I told her. "But I also sent a pretty strong message not to mess with you. I think they're going to leave you alone from now on."
"What if they don't?" She asked.
"Then let me know right away, and I'll try to fix it," I said. "Please. I need to know as soon as humanly possible if that happens. Seriously - my neck is on the line here. But I don't think it will come to that."
"Okay. Thank you," Becca said quietly.
I touched her hand. "Anything for a friend."
"You didn't... you didn't watch it, did you?" Becca asked nervously.
"I did," I told her. "I'm sorry, Becca, but I needed to be sure I had found the right file. But hey - I don't think any less of you."
"How could you not?" She asked quietly.
"Becca, lots of women come from anal stimulation," I explained. "Men, too. I do - I really like it. It's perfectly normal. It doesn't make you a bad person.
"But, God...?" Becca asked. "It's a sin."
"Well, that's what we've been taught," I told her. "But honestly, hon, I don't think God is that cruel. He made us like this - He made us crave sex, and He made us enjoy it in all sorts of ways. I don't think He would have done that just so that He can laugh at us and and say, 'You're going to Hell'. He tests us sometimes - but does that seem like a fair test? The sort of test someone who loves us would give?"
"No," Becca sniffled.
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do - anything you don't feel right about," I went on. "I just wanted you to understand that it's perfectly normal to enjoy it. There's nothing wrong with you."
"I peed..." she said softly, challenging my claim.
"I don't think you did," I said. "Some girls, sometimes when they come, squirt out some fluid, kind of like boys do. It's not pee. It's not super-common, but it's perfectly normal. Some guys are really turned on by it."
"Has it ever happened to you?" Becca asked.
"No. But a good friend of mine does it," I said.
"She told you?" Becca asked.
"Well, no," I said. "I was going down on her, and when I made her come, she squirted all over my face. I actually kind of liked it." I hoped that the anecdote would put her more at-ease with the idea, rather than alienate her more.
"Anyway: 'female ejaculation' - look it up some time when your parents aren't spying on your Internet usage," I told her.
I read more of Mom's diary. She didn't write as much over the next year, but there was still plenty to read through.
She and George never dated or became friends over the next year. They said hello to each other from time to time, but both stayed in their own circles. She thought she saw him looking at her with fondness once or twice, but she was too shy and too unsure to dare approach him.
When the retreat came around again, Mom was eager to go back. And when Father Cooper asked her to participate in more "research", she didn't waste an instant saying yes. She was apprehensive that she might not be matched up with George again, but she had mentioned him enough to Father Cooper over the past year that she was hopeful.
Once again my errant lover was led into the room by the priest, like a happy ending to Romeo and Juliet that Shakespeare kept only for himself.
The filming began, and George and I kissed on the edge of the bed. His hands were not shy with my body, caressing my face and kneading my breast through my dress. Before long he put his hand under my skirt and rubbed my thigh. I was frozen by the monumental newness of the experience, even though it wasn't truly new. Forever, his hand stroked my thigh, coming so close but never reaching the place I needed him to touch.
The barest whimper was all it took to tell George what I longed for. He leaned me back onto the bed and then hopped to the ground next to it. With both hands, he reached under my skirt and pulled my underwear off. I know it's foolish, but at that moment, I was thinking, "I get to have my wedding night early."
George rejoined me on the bed, leaning over me, kissing me once more. His hand retraced its path under my skirt and up my thigh, mercifully quickly, before he touched my vulva. He rubbed it and I moaned. He kept rubbing and I kept moaning: stronger, higher. My body was building toward something - something I had only read about and seen in movies. George's hand, wet with my secretions and dancing among the folds of my vulva, was about to give me my first orgasm.
He stopped. I should have asked him to continue - begged him - but I didn't. George took off his pants unrolled a condom on his erection, and then he guided me to where he wanted me. Still wearing my dress, I found myself kneeling, bent forward and hanging on the headboard.
One more time, George's hands dove under my skirt, lifting it up to make way for our glorious copulation. He filled me with his penis. There was no pain, just a feeling of rightness and primal pleasure. He thrust into me, over and over, making me feel the bliss I had known once before, but forgotten.
The inappropriateness of our configuration tantalized me. Do farm animals and ally cats feel joy like this, I wondered, when they are mounted from behind by their mates? No, I decided: this is an exhilaration for mankind alone.
I could tell by George's moans that he would be finished soon. I wanted it to last forever, but I had no right to complain. Everything ends.
"Oh Erin, I'm going to come," George announced.
"Mmm," I replied in affirmation. And then with a few final, mighty thrusts and a groan, George ejaculated. A part of me wished that his semen was free inside of me, even though I knew the disastrous results that that would bring.
I couldn't take reading any more of my mom's diaries - way too fucking weird. I mean, that's my mom! And a priest! So anyway I decided to turn on the TV and send a text to Martin.
After that, I felt the need to text Juliet.
I usually like it when Juliet plays the big sister role, but this time she kind of pissed me off. I can't be mad though - I'm the one who brought it up. I don't know - maybe she's right. I just really want to help Martin out: give him his confidence back, and a good replacement memory for his first time.
Sunday January 4
I finished reading my mom's diaries. She went back to the church retreat again the next year. She was really excited about it before hand, but after she wrote very little - just that she had had another "sanctioned tryst" with George.
Her mood was gloomy after that, although she didn't write why at first. When her period was late, she agonized for days, desperately wishing it would come. Finally she faced reality and took a pregnancy test.
Father Cooper was the only person she told. She went to him for hope, wisdom, and a plan. He did give her hope, for a little while: He promised that he and the church would stand by her through her situation. Her panic grew as weeks went on and she began to feel nauseated. All Father Cooper ever gave her were platitudes.
Just before she was ready to break down and tell her parents, she miscarried. She was relieved, of course; but that just made her feel guilty. I think it shook her faith a lot, and it certainly damaged her trust in Father Cooper. As far as I can tell she never told anyone else about it.
She stopped writing for a number of years after that. She only picked it up again right before she was engaged to Dad. By then she had regained some of her faith, but not all of it. She went to see Father Cooper for the first time in years, to ask him if it was all right to wear white at her wedding.
I tried to put myself in her place, to imagine what it would be like to be unmarried and pregnant at eighteen. It would suck, but I guess I could carry a baby to term and give it up for adoption. But then, I was never as devout and proper as Mom. I guess the worst part of it was that she was manipulated into it by someone she was raised to trust, and then abandoned when things went wrong. That kind of loneliness, hopelessness is enough to break anyone, I suppose. I wonder if Mom thought about suicide like Becca had with her recent problem. I think Mom was a stronger person than Becca, though.
I decided I needed to meet this asshole priest. Maybe I'd go and punch him in the nuts, too, for what he did to my mother. And how many others had he tricked into making his private sex tapes? For that matter, what if they weren't private? How many other priests had copies of these videos?
After a little research, I found that my plans for verbally and maybe physically assaulting my mother's priest were dashed. Father Cooper died just last month.
I asked what had happened to his personal effects. I figured maybe he had a computer with a diary, or something to shed some light on his side of things. Maybe he had a hard drive with the videos of my mother.
Father Cooper had been retired for a number of years, but he willed his estate back to the church. They had contracted with an estate sale specialist to liquidate his stuff. The lady in charge of that said than they hadn't gotten around to cataloging and assessing his belongings yet. I sold her a half-truth about how Father Cooper and my mother had been especially close, and that it would mean a lot if I could look through his effects and possibly buy some that had sentimental value to her. She said that would be fine.
On a whim, I asked if Martin wanted to come with me on a road trip. He had nothing going on, so he agreed to come. Naturally, once we were under way, he asked what the trip was about. I hadn't expected that, although I should have. So I told him part of the story - that I had stumbled on to a diary that hinted at more secrets known only to the priest, and that I wanted to see if there were any more clues among the priest's things.
The drive to the consignment shop took about two hours. Once a police car turned on its lights two cars behind me and my heart leapt out of my chest. It turned out that he wasn't after me. I hope I'm in the clear for my recent burglary and assault.
The sales lady showed Martin and me to the storage room holding Father Cooper's things. I was disappointed when I learned that there had been no computer - not even a cell phone. There was a desk that contained some Christmas cards and letters, but nothing that seemed horribly interesting.
It was Martin who found the video tapes, in a plastic bag taped inside of a hollow part of the desk. They weren't the regular video tapes like people used to rent before DVDs, they were much smaller: about 3.5 inches by 2.5 inches by 1 inch. The labels were hand-written, each consisting of two letters with "and" in between them, and sometimes a number. Of the sixteen tapes, three of them were marked with "E and G". Erin and George was my guess.
"Oh my god! I think these might be my parents' lost wedding footage!" I said for the benefit of the sales lady. "Please - it would mean so much to them if you would let me buy these from you! It would be the best anniversary gift ever!
The sales lady looked unsure. I don't know if she was concerned about Father Cooper's privacy, or if she was trying to figure out how much she could make me pay.
"Please? I can give you..." I began as I opened my billfold. "Oh crap, I used all my money on gas to get here. I've got seven dollars. Martin - how much cash do you have?"
Martin pitched in another twenty-two dollars and I gave the sales lady my best pleading eyes. Maybe she was touched by a daughter trying to do something special for her parents, or maybe she figured she could pocket the cash from this uninvoiced sale, or maybe she just figured the tapes weren't worth anything. Whatever it was, she accepted our offer.
Once we were back in the car, I gave Martin a twenty from my billfold. I had lied about how much cash I had.
"Those aren't actually videos from your parents' wedding, are they?" Martin asked with a smile.
"No," I answered. He clearly wanted to know more, and I guess he deserved it. "If I'm right, they're sex tapes," I said. "Now I just have to figure out how to read another horrible ancient media format," I mumbled.
"Oh, that's not a problem," Martin volunteered. "We've got a VHS player at home."
"I thought VHS tapes were bigger," I said.
"They are, but you can use an adapter to play these small ones in a regular machine," Martin explained. "My dad used to have a million of these when I was little, before he transfered them all to DVD."
The whole ride back I kept thinking about why I'm considering sleeping with Martin. He's nothing like the boys I fantasize about, but he's not bad looking. He's masculine enough - I think - to turn me on when it counts. Is it just about the sad virginity story he told me, then? Would I still be considering it if he had had a decent girlfriend and a dozen positive sexual experiences? I don't think I would. I guess I just want to do something nice for him - give him some good memories.
In high school I came close to doing it with him, but the idea bothered me. He picked up on that and let me off the hook. That would have been my first time. Maybe I'm less picky now that I've been around the block a few times, and it's just sex.
Back at Martin's house, we dug around in the closet until we found the video tape machine, and then we hooked it up to the TV in his room with the door locked. I knew I wouldn't be able to show him all of the videos, but I figured he deserved to see what we had made the trip for.
The first video, "K and L", was much like what my mom's diary described: a pair of timid high schoolers making their way through small talk, petting, nakedness, and then going on to brief but touching missionary sex.
The second video showed a girl giving boy a blowjob. The third showed two boys having sex. Martin made jokes to demonstrate that he wasn't interested in that one, but we both still watched it, and I noticed out of the corner of my eye that he kept his erection. All of the participants in all of the videos seemed very inexperienced, but they all seemed to want it pretty badly. None of the guys lasted very long.
"So what are you going to do with these?" Martin asked when I didn't insert a fourth tape.
"I'm not sure," I said. "Go to the police? The church? Try to find the kids who are featured? I have no clue."
"Hey," I added. "You don't have a way to transfer these to computer files, do you?"
"Yeah, I've got an analog capture card. No problem," he told me.
"I think it would be best if we don't watch any more of these," I said. "And I can't let you keep the files. But can we start ripping them?"
"Yeah, no problem," Martin said. He seemed disappointed, though.
We sat without talking for a while, listening to the whir of the tape machine as it played into the computer. Then I made my decision.
"Hey Martin?" I began, "How would you feel about giving that losing-your-sort-of-virginity thing a try with me?" He was stunned so I went on. "Like, let's just set aside a whole day to spend in bed trying things out, and see what happens?"
"Seriously?" He asked.
"Can I ask... why you want to?" Martin asked.
"Well, I mean, your previous experience left you with all kinds of bad memories," I explained. "It's clearly important to you. So I'd like to help give you some good memories instead."
"So it would be pity sex," Martin said, disappointed.
"Dude, it's not pity. It's... friendship. I'm not saying I want a romantic relationship, but sex is fun, and things that you do with your friends are fun. I just thought we could be fuck-buddies.
Martin's contemplation was ruined by his mother calling us down to dinner. The enchiladas were good, and again Martin's mom looked at me like she hoped that I was her son's girlfriend. A devilish part of me thought about telling her what we had been discussing, and getting her opinion on it. Better judgment prevailed.
After dinner we went back up to his bedroom. "Lexi," he began, "I really really want to. You have no idea how much I want to. But I'm not sure I can do the just-friends thing. I've always had feelings for you."
I knew that Martin had been attracted to me back in high school, but the way he sounded now seemed like something more serious. Was this a mistake? Had Juliet been right?
"You might have to break my heart," he told me. "But if you're willing to take that chance, then I'd like to."
So I left. Martin will be coming over tomorrow to hopefully lose what's left of his virginity. He'll be done ripping Father Cooper's sex tapes by then.
Monday January 5
I made sure I woke up early enough for breakfast with Dad. I had to be sure that I would have the house all to myself until his normal 6:00 PM return from work.
After breakfast and a shower, I found myself having a great deal of trouble deciding what to wear. What sort of clothes does a guy want to take off of a girl for his first time? Or more specifically, what does a guy like Martin want? Would he want full-out sexy like a miniskirt, revealing top, and boots? Should I wear my Saint Frances Prep uniform? I decided to go for something in-between: a casual skirt and a low-cut sweater. Of course I wore my dressiest panty/bra combo, and I put on the garter that I had only ever worn on the day that Miles broke up with me.
Martin decided to go somewhat dressy, too: slacks, a dress shirt, and a tie. The tie had a small stain on it and his shoes were scuffed, but I still give him points for trying. As soon as he was in the door, I kissed and then led him by the hand to my bedroom.
We took our time kissing and petting, and slowly shedding our clothes. His body was a little bit doughy, which was sort of a turn-off, but on the other hand, it really did help that he was my friend. I also was impressed with how assertive he was being - I was expecting the same timid guy from high school. We were in our underwear kneeling face to face, his arms around me trying to unhook my bra, when I started on the dirty talk. I figured that I should try every angle available to me to turn him on, to maximize the chance of him being able to come.
"Have you thought about how you want to start?" I whispered in his ear. "I really want you to fill up my pussy."
"Lexi, I can't believe you're real," Martin told me. "You're just too perfect."
"Aww!" I said as I slipped free of my bra. I fell back onto the bed and rubbed his crotch with one foot, while pulling him forward with the other. I licked my lips. "Do you want me to suck you for a while?"
Martin leaned in over me and his face approached my breasts. I thought he was going to suck on my nipple, but instead, for some reason, he just sort of rubbed his cheek against it. It was cute.
"Would it be all right if we went straight to the ... sex?" He asked
I smiled. "You mean the fucking? Yes, Martin, by all means, let's fuck. Fuck my brains out. My pussy is drenched and ready for action."
Martin helped me out of my panties and removed his own boxers. He touched my pussy lips and I felt a jolt of excitement. "Is missionary okay?" He asked. "It seems like the traditional place to start."
"Whatever you want, lover," I told him.
I had made the decision to be extra vocal today with Martin. I don't know what's going on with Martin's orgasm problems, but I figure some of it must be in his head. Any confidence I can give him is a step toward a happy ending, so to speak.
"Ugh! So good!" I said, once he was on top of me and the head of his cock entered my pussy. He stopped and looked me in the eye, as if asking for permission to go on. I nodded and kissed his chin, and then he scooted forward and filled me up some more.
"Your cock feels so good inside me, Martin," I told him as he began experimentally thrusting in and out. His arms were locked so there was some space between our faces - we could see each other quite comfortably. He did sneak a few quick glances down at my breasts, so I decided to give him a better show. I cupped my breasts with my hands and pushed them up and together, while pinching my nipples. I moaned and bit my lip, which inspired Martin to pump me faster.
"Is this working for you?" I asked, running my hand through his hair.
"I guess?" He answered. "Is there anything I can do to make it better for you?"
"Mmm, maybe scoot up a little, if that still works for you," I told him.
Martin's adjustment was a good one. Suddenly my clitoris was rubbing against every centimeter of his dick as it moved in and out of me - or at least that's how it seemed. I began to moan continuously, and I grabbed his ass to pull him deeper inside of me. Sex with Martin was doing it for me.
Martin began to sweat, and one of his arms trembled a little. The position adjustment I had requested had forced his arms into a somewhat awkward angle, and he's not that muscly of a guy to begin with.
"You can put more weight on me if you want," I told him. "You won't hurt me." He was clearly about to ask me if I was sure, so I added, "I like it."
So then Martin shifted his weight to his elbows, and to no small extent, my body. I really did like it though, and the motion of our bodies grinding together took on an ocean wave type feel. That certainly didn't stop my clit from singing or my cunt from drumming.
"Huh!" I gasped. "You ever make a girl come before?" I asked. "Because you're about to."
"Really?" Martin said with genuine surprise.
I couldn't answer verbally - or at least I didn't. I nodded and screwed my eyes tight for the final approach toward my orgasm as I fought for the right to come. "Fuuuu... Oh god!" I gasped as my climax began. "Fuck yeah! Oh god!" I said while I came. My body was shaking under my friend, but not really moving. My thighs and arms squeezed him tightly.
"You just came?" Martin asked. Fortunately he had the good sense to keep thrusting his cock into me.
"Still am," I gasped. "Fuck me, Martin - don't ever stop," I told him. For a little while my body continued to vibrate but eventually my orgasm faded. I relaxed and looked Martin in the eyes. "That was good," I said.
"Should I stop?" He asked.
"No - not unless you want to," I told him. "It still feels good."
"Besides," I added a moment later, "you owe me some semen." I winked.
Martin was getting tired in this position too, so he switched to an upright posture. I kept moaning happy little non-orgasmic moans to go along with the slapping sound of his thighs against my ass. I played with my breasts to give a little more visual impact to the experience. For a while Martin seemed to be going along well, but then out of nowhere he got this worried look on his face.
"Hey! You're doing great!" I told him. That seemed to help him keep his resolve for a few seconds, but soon the face returned.
"I'm sorry - I have to stop," he said as he unceremoniously retreated from my still eager pussy. He went soft within seconds.
"I'm so sorry, Lexi," he said again as he buried face in the pillow next to me.
"Hey!" I told him, "You've got nothing to apologize to me for. You rocked me." He was clearly lost in frustration and self doubt, so I just rubbed his back gently. "We'll figure it out," I told him.
We got dressed and watched some YouTube videos on the livingroom TV, and pretty quickly Martin came out of his funk. We both understood that our sex for the day wasn't over, but some iced tea and cat videos were a welcome break.
"Hey Lexi," Martin began after a few minutes of silently watching some jackasses hurting themselves on video, "you didn't... you wouldn't...." He was clearly embarrassed by whatever he was trying to ask me. He tried a different approach. "I would prefer it if you didn't fake ... anything ... with me."
"I wouldn't do that to you," I said. "I sometimes emphasize certain feelings and reactions with my partners, but that's just a means of communication. Actually faking an orgasm? That would be an insult." I put my arm around him on the couch. "I promise, everything that happens between us is 100% genuine."
After a few more videos I was thinking more about Martin's situation. "So does it feel good, even when you don't come?" I asked. "Like, if it turned out that it was impossible for you to come - which I don't believe, but for sake of argument - would you still enjoy sex and want to do it?"
"Well, yeah. It does feel good," he explained, "but there's also tremendous frustration, you know? I mean, I definitely would want to have sex to at least take care of my girlfriend - er, the girl I was with. But, I don't know."
"I get it," I told him. "But I'm not worried. I still think we can make you come. By the way, I'm cool with anal, if you want to give that a try. It's probably tighter if that would help."
"You've done that?" Martin asked with surprise.
"Yeah," I replied.
After another video, it seemed like Martin's libido was getting charged up again. "I know we're not doing anything right now," he said, "but can I touch your boobs?"
"Anything you want," I told him.
He started off under my shirt, and soon he had it bunched up in my armpits so I just took it off. After a brief moment of full-bra petting, he slipped the straps down from my shoulders and revealed my whole bare breasts that he handled this way and that with his hands.
"Sometimes a light nipple pinch feels nice," I told him when he seemed out of ideas. He gave that a try, and I could feel my blood flowing, getting my body ready for more sex.
"You know you're getting me hot, right?" I said teasingly.
"Should I stop?" He asked. Silly boy.
"No," I said. "But this is a little uncomfortable," I added, unclasping my bra.
Martin had enough sense to suck on my nipple then and he had me squirming with delight. I put my hand on his groin and started rolling his balls around under his pants. He moved his mouth to my other nipple, and the wetness from the first one being exposed to air made it cold and hard. He bit me, just firmly enough, and I squeezed his package in answer.
I was beyond eager at that point. I slipped from Martin's grasp, knelt in front of him, and practically yanked his pants and underwear off. He was fully hard by the time I had the clothes off of his feet, so I dove in, straight to deep-throat on him. He groaned.
I tried humming like I had seen Juliet do a month ago and it drove him wild. I ran my fingernails across his scrotum and it seemed like he would explode. A part of me wanted to see how forcefully I could get him to come with my mouth, but I knew that vaginal was what was important to him right now. Anyway, my pussy was eager to get another turn swallowing his cock.
I stood up and Martin looked at me with please-don't-stop eyes, but then pretty swiftly I dropped my panties. I kept my skirt on as I climbed on top of him and pushed myself down onto his fuck organ.
"You sure know how to turn a girl on," I told him as I moved up and down on his cock. "I love the way your cock fits me." Martin could only moan.
I slammed him hard, and I didn't stop. I loved the feeling, but I knew I wasn't going to come like this - something wasn't right about the alignment of our bodies. But from the look on Martin's face, this was really working for him, so I kept it up.
"I'm almost there - I think I'm going to come," he said so I kept bouncing up and down on him exactly like I had been. My breasts were bouncing in front of his face and he was panting, and I was fucking him as hard as I could, but he just wouldn't come.
"Fuck, I'm so close," he said again. My hands were on his shoulders and his were on my hips. I could see his hair moving as my heavy breaths swept over his head. I pushed past the ache in my legs and kept lifting myself, over and over, so that I could slam down on his pole. I'm no athlete, but I'm in good shape. Nonetheless, that kind of fucking is hard to keep up.
Eventually my stamina gave out - I just couldn't push my muscles any further. "I'm sorry, Martin, but I can't keep it up," I said. Maybe that was a bad choice of words. "Can you do the work for a while?"
I held still kneeling over him so that he could buck his hips up into mine. That went on for a little while longer, and it still felt good, but pretty soon Martin got that worried look again. His thrusting became less intense, and his face more sorrowful, and then he stopped moving. "I'm sorry," he said for the hundredth time. By the time I moved off, his erection was at half-size and fading.
"God," he complained, "my dick is in a beautiful woman's pussy, I'm more turned on than I've ever been in my life, and I can't keep it up."
I hate myself for thinking it, but for a moment I understood his ex-girlfriend giving up on him.
"But this was better, right? You got closer?" I said as I flopped onto the floor and panted.
"Well, yeah," he said reluctantly.
"Any idea why?"
"I'm not sure," he said. "I'll have to think about it."
Martin got a text and began some sort of discussion with his World of Warcraft clan. I took the opportunity to text Becca and see how she was doing.
Martin and I talked plans for lunch. I wanted something spicy, and he said he knew a place with a great buffalo chicken sandwich, but he was hesitant to suggest it. It turns out it's one of those bar/grill type restaurants where the waitresses wear bare-midsection tops with a lot of pushed-up cleavage, and very very short skirts. I found myself wondering, while we were being seated, whether Martin was embracing the just-friends notion, or whether he would be clueless enough to bring a date here.
Our waitress was a girl about our age with dirty blond hair down to her waist. Her name was Amanda. From the waist up, she was very pretty: smooth healthy skin, a flat belly, pleasantly shaped breasts, a welcoming smile, and the kind of arms a guy wants wrapped around him on the dance floor. Her hips, on the other hand, were small to the point of almost looking sickly, and her legs weren't much better. I'm sure most guys would still find her quite fuckable, but she's never going to be a Victoria's Secret model.
Martin's eyes snapped to Amanda's cleavage several times while we ordered, but I gather that's just a reflex with men. It was obvious, though, that a different nearby waitress was at the top of Martin's list - ahead of me, I suspected.
"What's her name?" I asked. I suspected that Martin had been here a number of times.
"Who?" Martin asked.
"The redhead hottie that you can't take your eyes off of," I said.
"Oh, um, that's Morgan," he confessed. "She's waited on me a couple times before."
"I bet she has," I teased.
Unlike Amanda, Morgan's body was perfect, head to toe. She was a couple inches shorter than me, but her figure was reminiscent of a fashion doll. Her red hair hung down straight down just past her shoulders, but a pin held it back on one side over her ear. Based on her roots, eyebrows, and complexion, I figured she was a natural redhead. She had a two-inch bejeweled chain hanging from her belly button, and studs in her nose and ears. She had rectangular glasses with two-tone frames.
Martin was about to apologize to me, I think, when Morgan walked by our table. I touched her on the arm to get her attention.
"I'm sorry to bother you," I said to her, "but I just love those glasses. Can you tell me where you bought them?"
"I'm sorry, I don't remember!" Morgan told me. "I was on vacation with my family in Spokane, and it was some little shop."
"That's okay, but would you mind if I took a picture so that I can look for them online?" I asked. "Oh, crap, I don't have my cell phone with me. Martin, would you mind taking a picture? This is my friend Martin. He's an awesome photographer."
Morgan looked at Martin for the first time, and she seemed to recognize him. "Oh hi! How have you been?"
Morgan made a flirty pose and Martin snapped a few pictures. She sat down at our table and chatted for a moment, but soon she had to get back to her tables. Martin was shy the whole time, but I think we planted a few seeds for future conversations. Martin thanked me and called me a good "wingman".
Somehow Becca came up while we ate, and I ended up telling Martin about her problem and how I solved it.
"You really broke into someone's house and deleted files from their computer?" He asked. "Forget the FBI - they need you at MI-6. That's some James Bond stuff!"
"Thanks. But I think the FBI is out of the picture. I basically have no path for my future any more." I explained about my gray history and the polygraph interviews. Martin was sympathetic.
We talked about other stuff, too, like some of the comments from the Reddit post with my naked pictures. He had been following all of the conversations, too.
Back at my house we jumped back into bed and started messing around pretty quickly. I surprised the hell out of him by touching my little pink vibrator to his balls while tonguing his dick.
"It's okay if you think about her," I told Martin while I worked my lips all over his cock head. "She's tiny. Do you think that makes her tighter than other girls?" Martin groaned and his cock flexed in my mouth.
"I bet she's really flexible too," I said. "Do you think she comes loud?"
"I have to fuck you right now!" Martin said with urgency. Good for him, he didn't negotiate for positions or ask me if it was okay - he just set me up how he wanted me on my hands and knees, and took me from behind.
Martin was groaning and rocking me with his thrusts as I continued the dirty-talk. "I'd really love to have a three-way with her," I said. "Imagine you fucking me, just like this, with her beneath us. My chin is buried in her fluffy orange bush while I suck on her clit. Meanwhile she's trying her best to catch your balls in her mouth. And then when she does, she sucks them hard and won't let go."
"Oh god!" Martin cried out. "If I don't come this time I swear I'm going to die!" He was certainly fucking like he meant it. I couldn't see his face, but I bet he had a pretty wild look in his eyes just then.
"Martin - take this," I said, handing him my little pink vibrator after wetting it with my mouth. "Turn it on and put it in my ass."
Martin did just as I asked. The vibrator pinched a little going in, thanks to lack of proper lube, but I enjoyed the extra feeling of fullness, and the vibrations somehow made his cock feel better inside of me. His hips kept bumping the vibrator, giving me extra little jolts.
"Oh god, I can feel it! The vibrations!" Martin exclaimed. "I think I'm going to come!"
"You mean a lot to me, Martin, and there's nothing I want more right now than your come," I told him. Corny, I know, but I thought it would inspire him. "Please, Martin, let loose and fill me with come."
As crazy as it sounds, I didn't even realize that I was close to coming until it just hit me. I yelped as my pussy squeezed and pushed and pulled his cock, or whatever goes on down there, and I felt myself shaking - cold, hot, and wonderful. Martin finally made it to the finish line, too: he groaned over and over and his hard-on twitched inside my still turbulent pussy as he filled me up with what probably felt like years' worth of semen. He never let go of my hips or stopped thrusting until his dick was too soft to stay put.
Martin and I were naked, asleep on my bed in the middle of a wet spot on the sheets when I heard the garage door. My dad was home.
"Don't worry, Lexi," Martin said as we got up, "I won't tell anyone about this."
"Martin, I want you to tell people," I told him. "If you want to. Just not my dad."
"Nobody would believe me anyway," he said in a self-deprecating way that was a little sweet and more than a little annoying.
"Here..." I said, and I slipped into his arms. I pressed my naked back against his naked chest and handed him his phone, set to the camera app. One of his arms was covering my breasts while the other held the phone at selfie length. I looked back and up at his face and smiled as he snapped the picture.
I made dinner for Dad and Martin while they talked. When Martin brought up video games, Dad started talking about Miles and his streaming career, until he picked up on Martin's discomfort with the topic. If Dad suspected that we had been fooling around, he didn't let on.
I need to wait for my sheets to finish in the dryer before I can go to bed.
Tuesday January 6
Do post-sex hormones affect everyone this strongly? I swear, every time I have sex with a guy who's not a complete jerk, a part of me wants to doodle our initials surrounded by little hearts. It's especially complicated in Martin's case. I've never actually been attracted to him, and I'm sure that I don't want him as a boyfriend. But I sort of want to spend time with him, and when I stop to think, I'm finding myself jealous of that waitress from yesterday.
I suppose it's inevitable that he's going to want to have sex again. I rather doubt that I'll want to. If I do, I certainly hope it isn't so much work next time.
Anyway, I sent Becca a text this morning to check in on her.
Martin called as I was getting ready to pick up Becca. He told me that yesterday had meant a lot to him, and he thanked me. He also asked if we could hang out today. I said no. I could practically hear Juliet's I-told-you-so.
I took Becca to the clinic for her STD tests. She was pretty anxious about it. I told her I was proud of her for doing the responsible thing and getting herself checked out. I was waiting with her for the test results when Juliet messaged me.
I muttered "bitch" to myself.
"What was that about?" Becca asked.
"Oh, just a girlfriend giving me trouble for sleeping with my friend Martin," I responded without thinking about it.
"Martin?! Ethan's friend Martin?" Becca asked with disbelief. I had forgotten that she knew Martin through her brother.
"Yeah," I said. "It's probably best if you don't mention that to Ethan though."
"Okay," Becca replied, "but why would you want to sleep with him?"
"He's a really nice guy - a good friend," I answered. Becca left it at that, although she obviously still didn't understand.
Becca's tests came back negative. The clinic people wanted to send her home with a bunch of condoms, but she refused, fearing what her parents would say if they found them. It's hard to imagine how they can be so clueless about their daughter's promiscuity.
After I dropped Becca off I went home and watched my mom's sex tapes. There's a sentence I never expected to write. The first two happened just like Mom had described in her diary. Mom did look a lot like me, although her breasts were bigger and her hair curlier.
One thing that blows my mind is how out of control her pubic hair was. It was the same for all of the girls in Father Cooper's videos. I know that the 80's were a different time, but if any girl from my generation had shown up in a gym locker room without having a decently trimmed bikini area, the other girls would have torn her apart. I know they were all supposed to be abstinent, but didn't these girls ever wear bathing suits?
Mom's diary had never detailed her third time having sex with George. This time, after some initial kissing and petting, Mom took the lead. Once they were both undressed, she made George lie back. Kneeling over him, she rubbed him all over with some sort of oil that made his skin shine under the camera's light. Much of the time she was sliding one slippery hand up and down his shaft while the other hand worked on less interesting parts of his body. She seemed to understand the need to back off from time to time to keep him from coming too soon.
"Please, Erin, I want to be inside of you," George begged after she abandoned his presumably aching hard-on one too many times.
"Okay, George," Mom said pleasantly.
George's cock was literally gleaming in the camera light when Mom unrolled a condom onto it. George started to get up, but Mom gently pushed him back down, and then she straddled his legs, facing his feet. She grabbed his cock from between her legs and eased herself back, allowing herself to be penetrated. Both lovers shared a gasp at the moment of entry, and then slowly, with numerous wiggles, her pussy swallowed his entire length.
Erin - Mom - started off sitting mostly upright on top of George, bouncing for short strokes. "Oh yeah," she whispered repeatedly while she took charge of sex for the first time in her life.
The camera swung around to near George's head to show his perspective. Just beyond George's glistening abs, Erin's ass was pulsing over his hips. Erin's body had certainly looked appealing when she was undressing and coating George with oil, but something about her new position made her ass look rounder and sexier. Her waist, too, looked thinner from here, so that her overall proportions looked like an exaggeration of the feminine ideal. The slight curls of her hair bounced down between her shoulder blades as she thumped against her lover's hips. Occasionally, during long strokes, you could see her lips gripping the cock as it retreated from inside her.
The camera then moved to George's feet to view Erin from the front. Her breasts giggled as she switched to a faster, smaller movement - almost a vibration. She was moaning, barely audibly, and staring into space, not needing her eyes to enjoy the cock inside of her.
No sooner had the camera captured that view than it changed. Erin leaned forward so that she was practically on her hands and knees. Her front half remained mostly still, with the exception of her swaying breasts, while her hips moved in longer, more energetic strokes up and down on George's cock. Erin's moans, while still quiet, took on a more needful quality.
"God, Erin, you're so sexy," George told his partner. "I don't think I..."
Erin interrupted him. "Please don't come, George!" She said. "Please don't come! I'm not ready for you to come!" That shut him up.
The camera shifted again, back to the side. It showed Erin twerking hard over George's cock, panting and seemingly on the verge of tears. George was gritting his teeth with his eyes closed, presumably trying to last longer for his lady's benefit.
"This is it, George," Erin said. "Father, I'm coming!" She wasn't loud about it, but there was no mistaking from the look on her face - my mother's O-face - that her first orgasm was upon her. George seized the opportunity and Erin's hips, and started driving his cock up into her cunt as hard and fast as he could. That just intensified Erin's unleashed pleasure, so that now she wailing like a porn star. Seconds later George groaned in time with his spurts, and then shortly the two of them came to rest.
Erin climbed off of George. The bottom few inches of George's penis were still circled with rubber, but the top inch and a half were bare, and a loose section flapped about freely. "It broke," George stated with concern, and then the video ended.
So, that was my mother's first orgasm, and her first conception. I guess I've got all the answers I'm going to get. I need to figure out what to do with these tapes. Should I erase them, and let the now-middle-aged amateur porn stars go on forgetting anything had ever happened? Or should I try to get in touch with them so that they can reminisce, or have closure, or sue the church? Would any good come from contacting the church about it? Or giving the story to the newspapers? Supposedly, the church has survived far greater scandals than this one, and I'm not sure that anything ever changed.
Martin texted me again tonight, asking what I was up to. I made up an excuse to preempt any invitation he might try to make, out of a reflex based on what Juliet would say. Now I want to hook up with Martin, and I can't tell whether it's because I really want to, or because I want to defy Juliet.
I spied on my dad's browser traffic as he masturbated before bed again tonight. Weird thing - my nude gallery had disappeared from his bookmarks list. I guess maybe he doesn't find me attractive after all?
Wednesday January 7
My mom came home this afternoon, which surprised me - I didn't think she would be back for another week. It was kind of strange looking at her, knowing what I now know about her, but I played it cool. None the less, she was acting a little weird. She didn't want to talk - she said she had a headache from the plane.
When my dad got home, they went into their bedroom to talk in private for a few minutes, which was also strange, before asking me to sit down with them. I was level on the outside, but in my mind I was freaking out. Had the police finally come asking questions about me? Was I about to go to jail?
"Alexis," my dad began in serious-parent mode, "have you been posting naked pictures of yourself to the Internet?
God damn it. This was sure to be annoying. Still, I was confident that I could convince them to treat me like an adult. "Yes," I responded, "but my face isn't showing in any of them.
"Lexi, you can't do that," my dad said.
"It's no big deal," I said. "There are millions of naked girls on the Internet. What's one more, if nobody knows it's me?" As an afterthought I added, "How did you find out, anyway?"
"That's not important," Mom scolded.
"Sure it's important," I countered. "If my privacy steps are inadequate, I need to know so that I can do better next time."
"There will not be a next time," Dad said.
"I didn't mean it like that...," I began.
"We're very disappointed," Dad said. "I thought we raised you better than this."
"What's the big deal? I'm proud of my body, and it makes me happy to know that guys appreciate it," I argued.
"Alexis, I don't think you realize what men think when they see pictures like this," Mom said.
I laughed. "Of course I do," I said. "They think: 'God damn, she's so hot, I really want to fuck her. Oh look, I'm about to come.' The more introspective ones are probably thankful that there are pretty girls out there willing to take off their clothes for their enjoyment."
I think I pissed them off with that one. This is not at all how we talk in the Green family. Talking about sex has pretty much always been off limits. But I'm not a kid any more. I'm an independent woman - well, sort of - and they had to recognize that.
"No," my dad argued. "They think she's a tramp. They think that her parents never taught her to love herself, and that she'll let everyone treat her like the piece of meat she's pretending to be.
My mom jumped in: "This sort of thing can haunt you for your whole life. It can lock you out of whole careers. It can keep you from marrying a proper man."
"Ha!" I laughed. "Like I would ever marry a guy who's prudish about Internet porn. Anyway, you're both being hypocrites."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Mom asked accusingly.
I probably should have held my tongue. I didn't. "Dad, when you're lying in bed masturbating every night to the naked girls from your browser bookmarks, are you thinking, 'My god, her parents must be so ashamed'? No! You're thinking, 'Look at that ass - I hope she posts some zucchini-insertion pics!'. Those are girls just like me, Dad!"
Mom shot Dad a withering look. He gave her a we'll-talk-about-it-later look in reply. As if I don't know their looks as well as they do.
"I don't have a responsibility to turn those girls into proper young ladies like I do with you," Dad replied.
"What, so this is a social class issue?" I said accusingly. "We of the upper crust are better than those peasant women who are only good for cleaning our house and getting your rocks off?"
"Alexis, you need to be very careful about your tone," my dad warned.
My mom started getting sorrowful: "I don't know where we went wrong. Maybe we should have pushed you harder to be involved in church activities."
"Yeah, right!" I sneered back. "Because all those church retreats really did wonders for your virtue, Mom!"
Mom was silent. I don't know if it occurred to her that I might know about her church retreats. She might not even have remembered them. Dad pushed back. "Lexi, I don't know what you're trying to imply, ..."
"I'm talking about all the sex tapes she made for the priests in her teens, out of wedlock," I said as hurtfully as I could, "and the pregnancy that resulted from them. You didn't think you were her first, did you?"
Mom looked like she had seen a ghost, but Dad didn't notice. "Lexi, what are you talking about?" He asked.
I flipped open my laptop and played the video of Mom riding George reverse-cowgirl. After a couple seconds, Mom slammed the laptop lid closed and ran off to their bedroom, crying.
Dad was furious. "Alexis, go to your room, don't make a sound, and stay there until we come for you."
I wanted to tell him to go to hell - that I was an adult and I'd do as I wished. But old habits die hard I guess, so I caved and went to my room. For the next hour I listened to my parents shout at each other. It started off being about lies and George and Internet girls, but eventually it broadened into not liking each others' friends, money, and every other bullet point on the list of things couples argue about. I guess they had some pent-up issues.
Eventually I just couldn't handle it. I felt trapped. The only thing I could think to do was send a text to Juliet.
The arguing kept going on until I couldn't take it. I called up Martin and explained that I was really upset and needed a friend, and asked if I could come over. He said yes.
Instead of treating me like her hopeful daughter-in-law, Martin's mom reacted to me with a tone of civil disapproval.
"What's with you mom?" I asked Martin once we were alone in his room.
Martin looked guilty as he answered. "Oh, well, she found my computer with the browser open to your naked pictures Reddit post," he explained. "She recognized her hat and vest and figured out it was you."
"God damn it, Martin!" I scolded him. "I thought I could at least trust you to not be a moron about cyber security! What were you thinking?"
"I'm sorry! I really am!" Martin groveled. "But it was just the Reddit post. She didn't see the originals or anything. She only saw what the whole Internet saw."
I sat down on Martin's bed and I thought I might cry. He sat next to me and put his arm around me. We talked about what had happened. He was a good listener, even though I had to leave some details out. He already knew about my dad's girly pics habit, but I wasn't about to tell him that my mother was on the priest's video tapes.
Talking about it helped, and before long I was feeling better - still not great, but better. And to Martin's credit, he picked the right moment to kiss me. Earlier in the evening I had been prepared to say no if he asked me to fool around, but honestly I was so impressed with his move that I just went with it.
"We have to be quiet," he told me while he unhooked my bra, after a couple minutes of kissing.
I let him set the pace and move things along until I was naked, pleasantly wet, and half-way to a tongue-induced orgasm. As surprised as I was with Martin's new-found confidence, a devilish part of me still wanted to show him that I could blow his mind, so I turned the tables.
First I made him put a towel down on the bed, and get naked. Then I stroked his cock while making like at any second I was going to wrap my lips around it. He wanted it bad. That's when I wiggled my finger into his butt. My vibrator and lube had been in my laptop bag, conveniently: the lube made my finger slide in nice and easy.
I had stuck my finger up my ex-boyfriend's ass once while giving him a blowjob, but I hadn't really taken any time to learn my way around. And when I fingered Evan's ass a few weeks ago, my only goal was to prep him so that I could fuck him with my strap-on. Since then I had done some reading, and I had become quite curious about prostate stimulation. Martin, if he was willing, was about to become my test subject.
The look on his face was adorable. He clearly trusted me, but he found the experience shocking and, I suspect, a bit gross.
"Is this okay?" I whispered while I worked my finger straight in and out to get him used to the basics. I kept stroking his cock, too, but only gently. Given his orgasm difficulties, I probably needn't have worried, but I didn't want him to come any time soon.
Martin nodded, so I went on. "I'm new to this, so you're going to have to tell me what feels good," I told him.
"Okay. It's just really weird," he said, somewhat dismissively. That's when I curled my fingers and tried stroking where his prostate was supposed to be. That's when he gasped.
He turned out to be pretty useless at telling me what he was feeling, but I learned a lot from his gasps, winces, moans, as well as the squeezing of his butt and the twitching of his cock. He kept all of his noises quiet: if he didn't want his mother to know we were having sex, he certainly didn't want her to know we were doing this. It was clearly very pleasurable to him as I experimented rubbing and tapping inside his rectum, but I also got the feeling that he would need some time to accept how he felt about it. When I replaced my finger with my little vibrator, his dick throbbed like crazy, and pre-come oozed onto my hand.
"If I sucked you right now, do you think you'd come?" I asked him in a soft, sultry voice.
"Oh god yes!" He whispered.
"Do you think you could come if you fucked me?" I followed-up.
"I don't know," he answered. The desperation in his voice sounded almost painful.
"I bet you can," I said. "Get up. Leave that in place." I lay face-down on the towel on Martin's single bed. "Now fuck my ass," I told him.
Everything was silent except the very faint buzzing sound from between his cheeks while Martin climbed on my legs and rubbed lube all over his dick. "Do I just push it in?" He asked with his tip resting against my butthole.
"Pretty much, yeah," I answered playfully. "Just don't go too fast."
I felt him breaking through the resistance of my butt, filling me up with a sensation that's still pretty new and exotic to me. I quickly remembered how much I liked it when he began thrusting, and I found myself letting out soft murmurs.
Martin was sitting upright on my legs, and while I was definitely enjoying the fucking he was giving me, and despite his cock filling me up and sliding around inside of me, he felt physically distant, in a way. I reached back with my hands, and Martin understood: he took them in his hands and held them.
"Is this working for you?" I asked softly. "It's working for me."
"Uh-huh," he answered, holding back his moans.
It still makes no sense to me that anal sex should feel good, but it did! My pussy was gushing as if it was the one taking the pounding. And something in there - was that my G-spot? - was just revving me up like a race car. I couldn't help but moan, but I caught myself and stayed quiet so that Martin's mom wouldn't hear us.
And then I thought about the judgmental way she had greeted me earlier, after spending the whole winter break being almost creepy-hopeful that her son could get a girl like me. And then I remembered my dad's veiled classism and all the puritanical bullshit from countless years of Catholic school, and I just let loose. I wasn't super-loud, but I moaned every bit as loudly as my body wanted me to. I was pretty sure that I could be heard from most rooms in the house.
Martin didn't say anything about my bad behavior. Maybe he was secretly in favor of letting his mom know that he was getting laid. More likely, though, he was too preoccupied with giving his own body what it wanted to think about it.
When I came, there was no mistaking that there was a girl coming in Martin's bedroom. I squeezed Martin's hands and shrieked while my pussy convulsed and my sphincter clamped down hard on Martin's cock.
Martin began fucking me more vigorously. Once I was done coming he let go of my hands, took hold of my hips and slammed me even harder. "God, Lexi, I'm going to come," Martin wheezed softly. "We didn't talk... is it okay if I come?"
Still in a very heightened state of pleasure, and still feeling ornery, I shouted my reply: "God yes, Martin, do it! Come in my ass!"
He kept slamming me for another minute before he grunted and I felt the warmth of his come spread into my ass in five separate spurts.
We kissed for a little while after that. I didn't want to get lube all over my panties and jeans while I went to the bathroom to clean up, so I covered up with one of Martin's shirts. Martin's mom glared at me from her craft room as I passed by. "We were just playing a board game," I told her, completely straight-faced.
I'm writing all of this from a Starbucks half-way between college and home - or, what I used to think of as home. Classes don't start for another two weeks, but I'm going to stay at the dorm from now on. I'll have to figure out how to get the rest of my clothes from my parents' house.
I wonder if they've stopped arguing yet? If they've noticed I'm gone? I'm not sure what's in the future for my family, but I'm pretty sure it won't be like it was.
I'm wearing the cross my mom gave me for Christmas. I still love it. I can't even begin to imagine what it means to her.