Graduating from high school marked a distinct change. It was a short high of accomplishment before the questions of what’s next—what’s next for Hannah?

What’s next for anyone?

One week before my eighteenth birthday, I realized I’d accomplished more than I thought in my senior year.

My birthday wasn’t going to be a big splash of anything, not at all. It would be special, but I’ll get back to that.

Let’s rewind the clocks.

Or cocks, whatever you prefer.

Seventeen and virgin. That’s how it started.

My boyfriend, Adam, dropped out of high school in his senior year and started working at a local garage shortly after. That was almost three years ago now. He was a deadbeat, a dead end, but enough to keep my parents justifiably disappointed in me.

Our town was pretty dull, reasonably unattractive, and not enough to keep a horny teenager occupied or satisfied. But, hey, you can’t do much about where you come from.

Apart from moving. Which is the plan.

But before you move, you must ensure you’ve depleted every other option.

Option A was Adam.

I started seeing him, hanging out with him, and being the closest thing to a girlfriend you could imagine just after starting my senior year in high school—last fall, whatever.

It was a Friday. It was probably September or October; it doesn’t really matter. Semantics dwelled on by mothers trying to tell a story just right. He picked me up after school, and we drove to the lake. It was a dreary and chilly autumn day, but it didn’t matter. We had agreed on the plan and stuck to it.

He smelled of oil, grease, smoke, and beer. There was no real conversation—just the twenty-two-minute drive from school to the lake.

He lit a cigarette and looked at me, not really even questioning me if we were good.

I don’t know.

The pictures on my computer somehow promised something more. Having felt him against my thigh had also conjured a different image in my mind.

But as he unzipped his pants, there he was.

I’m not saying he was small. I guess I’m saying I didn’t know what to expect.

The images on my phone in the warmth under my sheets also promised something more groomed and tidier.

This was skin, hair, wrinkles, and a whiff of sweat and urine.

I guess I was supposed to feel more…excited, but it was a cock, and it was hard.

I hesitated slightly, but he put his hand on my head and directed me.

A lick.

A touch against the lips.

He oozed clear, slick, and near tasteless.

And I let him in.

My hair caught in my mouth, so I told him to hold it.

He gave vague directions.

“Yeah, babe. That’s it.”

“A little faster.”

“Oh fuck. A little deeper.”

My mouth isn’t a bottomless cavern. Those girls in those videos must have done a lot of practice.

It was over before I even got the feel of it. Just enough to make me tingle.

He exploded in my mouth.

Salt, sticky, and gooey. I gagged a little and drooled onto his lap. The rest I swallowed.

No big deal.

An utter disappointment.

But enough to make me decide to try again the next day.

Friday night tacos with the family helped wash his taste out of my mouth.

One of those things I did because it was expected.

Life is expectations, needs, and wants.

Okay – I grew up in a small town down south. My mother turns forty later this year, and Dad is forty-two. Heather and Pete Reed.

Then there’s my brother, Sander, who just turned twenty.

Sander is a jock, works in the city, but lives at home because he’s cheap. And to keep the bathroom we share as occupied as possible.

That’s addressing expectations—not my own but my family’s. I’m expected to be the good daughter. I like to think it’s because they have such a disappointment of a son, cruising through school on a scholarship and wasting it. I carefully weigh meeting their expectations through dating Adam.

Needs? Those are entirely mine. I need to sleep in, I need to slouch, and I need to hang with friends.

And I need Mom to do my laundry. At least, my regular laundry.

She doesn’t need to know about my special panties and bras. They’re in the bottom drawer of my dresser.

Together with my shockingly large selection of toys.

A girl must find her fancy, right?

And that’s addressing what I want.

So, yeah, that brings us back to Adam. Why settle for him? Am I too ugly to land a decent stud?

No, he’s convenient. He’s harmless; once I’m done, he’s easily discarded. He has a car, and he takes me places. He pays whenever we do something besides sitting in his truck and has his own place.

All means to an end.

No, I’m not too ugly. I’m fucking hot. Lovely pair of tits, a tiny waist, and a pretty neat pussy. I keep her shaved and slick because presentation matters regardless of the audience.

So, I texted Adam in the morning, telling him to wash and scrub. Make an effort. He looked half decent when he picked me up and smelled nice—besides the cigarettes. If I were going to keep him much longer, I’d have to pick up smoking.

We met up with Lisa and Tony at the diner.

Lisa giggled and whispered how they’d done it in her parents’ driveway the night before. It “had just happened.” One of those things.

I asked her how it was.

She told me it was fucking awesome. Like splitting completely and becoming anew. Pain and pleasure. Then pleasure alone.

Tony is everything Adam isn’t.

I’m not envious. I’m just not ready to find that yet.

Love would come in the way of truly exploring and finding your true self.

We made plans to catch a movie later in the day.

Tony and Lisa probably went to snuggle. That’s their thing.

Love.

Adam took me back to the lake. A haze was drifting across it, so we made a fire in the fire pit.

“What do you think?” he said, “About yesterday?”

I gazed at the horizon hidden behind the mist.

What did I think about yesterday?

What had I written in my diary?

“Too smelly, too sticky, and too soon. He tasted like grease, oil, and stale cigarettes.”

I looked at him.

Adam’s not ugly. He’s just lazy. Or doesn’t care. If he tried, he could be more.

“There’s room for improvement,” I said.

“Oh,” he whispered and stared into the fire.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” I said, shifting between his legs, “Just needs more practice.”

He looked at me.

“Here?” he said, voice trembling slightly.

“Why not?” I whispered.

He wasn’t prepared, and I liked that.

His cock was limp and shrunk against the chilly air.

It smelled clean.

No sweat, no stale beer, no cigarettes.

I liked that.

He jerked back slightly at the warmth of my breath.

Taking a limp cock in your mouth is strange, but there’s something to be said about the power you feel when it starts growing inside you.

I can’t explain it.

You have to try it.

He lasted longer.

And that got me into it.

I let myself absorb the sounds we made, his breath changing and my heart racing faster.

How he clawed at the back of my head.

How my mouth against him sounded just like my toys inside me.

How we sounded like porn.

He pushed against the back of my throat each time I went down on him, and every time he hit that spot, it twitched between my thighs.

I guess Mom won’t be doing my laundry anymore. My panties are starting to smell different.

I wanted to rub the itch, but he tensed before I got to that point.

He grabbed the back of my head, thrust hard against the back of my mouth, and gushed.

He sounded like the guys on my computer.

And I swallowed it all, just like the girls.

It was good enough to make me realize I’d let him fuck me.

Soon.

Adam was perfect because he didn’t fall into pathetic “I love you” or awkward “thank you.”

He just zipped back up and watched the fire die before we got into his car.

We met up with Lisa and Tony and watched that movie.

He tried to touch me, hand on my thigh, but I pushed him off.

Not because I didn’t want it, but a girl must draw a line somewhere, right? Even if she doesn’t want to.

He took me home afterward, and I sat with Mom and Dad for a while.

Sander was in the shower. Of course, he was.

Because I felt like washing off.

So, I rubbed myself until he was finished. I put my thoughts into my diary and showered.

Sundays I spent being the good daughter, helping around the house, but mostly sitting in my room watching porn.

I got the softcore down. That stuff seemed easy enough.

It’s always been the hardcore that intrigues me.

Girls taking girls have such a different energy—soft yet more intense. There are power plays and power shifts.

How you can dominate a girl by eating her out just as easily as you can dominate a girl by having her eat yourself. Maybe that’s what intrigues me the most—the control that shifts with every moan, every twitch of a tongue.

Girls daring more cocks at once is where I always end up. As much as pussy intrigues me, beautiful cocks always draw me in.

Not even the men.

Their cocks.

Anal?

I’m obsessed.

I’m getting the hang of it—one toy in each hole.

I cum every time—hard, deep, shuddering, until my toes curl and my thighs shake.

Sometimes too loud, leaving me gasping, giggling, and holding my breath, ears straining for footsteps in the hallway.

And that makes the afterburn even more intense.

That twisted teenage paranoia between dreading and wanting to be caught. What if I already was? What would or could they do if they heard me?

But I wasn’t just a sex-crazed girl with no inhibitions or control. I could collect myself enough before Monday and squeeze my body into the school’s dress code and behavior.

At least until I met Lisa in the downstairs washroom.

Mondays were always about the weekends. Although we spent much time together on the weekends, there wasn’t room for details in those conversations—not in public with Tony and Adam.

Not for the dripping details of taste of cum or feel of cocks.

I hid my envy as well as I could. She had fucked, and I had not.

She let me finish my tale of cum-tasting, and she laughed through my disappointment.

“It takes a bit of getting used to,” she smirked.

I was far more interested in her tale of riding Tony in her driveway. She said it had been short, intense, and terrifying. Glancing to see if the porch lights would come on and have her caught on her boyfriend's lap.

“I think that’s what made me cum so easily,” she whispered.

I was intrigued.

And Lisa saw it in my face.

“Why do you always have to analyze everything, Hannah?” she giggled.

Because that’s what I do.

I wanted to know more about how it happened. Where was the shift?

Lisa told me, “It just happened,” but I needed to know the shift.

“You said you’d wait for the right occasion,” I said, “How did his father’s car in your driveway turn into the perfect occasion?”

Time, tension, the right touch at the wrong time.

Fascinating.

I imagined my best friend’s face sitting on her boyfriend’s lap in the dimly lit cabin of his father’s car. The way her eyes might flutter shut. The way her lips might part. The moment she stopped thinking and just let it happen.

Who was more active, and how did her face change?

Did she moan?          

What’s the sound of Tony cumming into my best friend?

It was easy to decide.

Adam was going to fuck me on Saturday.

It was just a matter of getting through the week.

School wasn’t a challenge, apart from being too easy. I spent half the time studying everyone else’s struggles.

I’m not detached from people, not really; I’m just trying to understand.

How can they be so preoccupied with mundane struggles, like being, interacting, and exploring, instead of putting that effort into school, education, and understanding? I watch them struggle with feelings, each other, and their place in the world. But why? Wouldn’t it be easier to understand?

Perhaps I’m weird.

But I’m horny, just like them. And I want to make sure I orgasm when I fuck.

So, yeah. Back to plan A.

I sucked him off in his truck on Friday before he took me home to family tacos.

As I jumped out, I let him know.

“Tidy your place up, get some beers. Pick me up at four-thirty. Do it right, and I’ll let you fuck me, okay, babe?”

His eyes.

“Just don’t make a big deal out of it, okay?”

I shut the door and skipped up the stairs.

It was a slight disappointment washing his taste out of my mouth with my mother’s tacos.

Saturday mornings were still family time. Breakfast, the odd questioning about our weekend plans, Sander getting away with hanging with the guys, and the scoffs at me meeting Adam.

But they didn’t complain about me doing the dishes and vacuuming.

They did complain about my short skirt and how my top made it impossible to ignore that my tits were already bigger than Mom’s. Maybe that’s why she minded so much. I admire Mom. She looks fantastic for her age, but being seventeen gives you an advantage. She may know more; I’m just better equipped.

Yeah, Mom still turns heads.

I drop jaws.

I’m sure I’ll sag when I’m close to forty, so I intend to work out and stay fit.

Once I’ve grown into my body.

Once I’ve fully understood how to use it.

Then I’ll make sure to keep it.

I promised we would catch a movie and I’d be home before they went to bed.

It didn’t even feel like a lie.

I knew they were both watching from the kitchen window as I jumped into Adam’s truck. He grinned but didn’t threaten to kiss me in front of them. He waited until the red light just before the bridge.

He tasted toothpaste and smelled of cheap cologne.

He’d made an effort.

His kiss was different, too.

It was breathy, intrusive, and wet.

He wanted this.

I stole a glance at myself in the mirror.

My lips were wet, my eyes unreadable, blue, and lazy.

My tits were perky.                                                          

Of course, he wanted this.

I withdrew and giggled shyly. He responded well to that.

Turns out, so did I.

I don’t know if I got myself tingly, if it was the thought of what we were about to do, or just being kissed like that for the first time. Maybe all of it.

I’d been to his apartment before. Just stopping by. It had always been a slight mess and always smelled of cigarettes.

This time, a thick layer of lemon hovered over the stale cigarettes, and the clutter had disappeared.

I sat on the couch, and he grabbed beers from the fridge.

I’d had beer before. One or two.

These were cheap, the ones that leave you hung over and sick, and they were plentiful.

I drifted into lesser awareness, but he still didn’t take charge.

I needed to find more of an Alpha.

“Hey, Adam,” I sighed, “This is where you start rubbing against my chest and try to kiss me.”

So, he did.

“They feel better underneath,” I whispered.

So, he did.

I helped unclasp my bra, and he groped with more purpose.

And that’s when beer, lust, and lack of judgment finally kicked in.

He tore off my top and slobbered all over me.

It wasn’t perfect, but I needed it. I let myself melt under his touch.

He sucked and bit, and it was intense.

I’ve pinched and sucked them myself in the past, but this was different.

Better.

I felt like grinding myself against him, so I did against his thigh.

He fumbled his zipper open and pressed against me.

He pulled my panties to the side, and just like that…

I was no longer a virgin.

I might have gasped, but it wasn’t earth-shattering.

It was a realization.

He was inside me.

It didn’t feel bad, and it didn’t feel nice.

My pussy was more surprised than anything.

“Slow down,” I moaned. I had the condom in my purse.

But…he was beyond stalling.

He wasn’t gentle.

He took.

It didn’t last long.

He released onto my chest.

It…I don’t know.

Maybe next time would be better.

He took me home.

I hurried upstairs.

And Sander was in the fucking shower.

I grabbed my diary, not precisely where I left it in the top drawer underneath my panties. Maybe Mom shifted it, packing away my laundry.

Maybe Mom reads my diary?

Well, sorry, Mom, deal with it.

I undressed before writing down my day. It gave me time to reflect on how quickly sperm gets crusty and flakes off my tits, apart from what still lay slick and glistening in the crease beneath, and how I could rub my tits together with that slickness.

How that made me tingle more than being penetrated.

I didn’t shower until the morning.

I phoned Lisa and agreed to meet at the diner as usual. Then I phoned Adam and told him to take me there.

I was slightly hungover, but nothing a greasy burger at Adam’s expense couldn’t cure. I studied the stark contrast between Lisa and Tony against Adam and myself.

Their touch, looks, and glances were tender to the point of sickening. Adam and I simply were.

Like a business transaction.

Last night, I was his tramp.

Today, he was my driver.

But more so, I felt like an unfinished business, like a thirst that wouldn’t quench.

I was still horny.

So, when we left the diner, we saw Lisa and Tony off, and I pulled Adam into the alley between the restaurant and the dry cleaners.

I’ve concluded that my judgment is poor when horny. This is a character flaw I need to address.

It was behind the dumpsters, against the wall.

It filled a need. Or at least, almost.

He…came inside me. I forgot about the condoms.

And as I lay in bed, I felt him dripping through my panties, smearing into my sheets.

I need to control this better.

I know about the risk of getting diseases; pregnancy is more of a calculation, so I should be safe. I’d better see Dr. Philips about pills.

The more complex issue, the one my future profession will haunt me to ask repeatedly.

And how does that make you feel, Hannah?

Well, Dr. Hannah Reed, it makes me feel like sex should be better.

The diagnosis is easy: Unfulfilled.

The treatment?

I feel like Adam’s not the right vessel for my journey. He thinks I’ll settle for being a fuck toy without its own needs.

I don’t feel used, doctor, because it was I who took. I’m just disappointed the...