Two days before Thanksgiving, the campus had already started emptying. The Daddy-boys either drove, cars from dad’s everlasting funds, or flew first class.

Kelly wasn’t flying. Greyhound into small-town anonymity. I caught her just before she entered her bus.

I felt like a girl, so I did something girly. I bought her a card, wrote “Proud of you,” and signed with my name and a heart. I don’t do girly, just with Kelly. Her eyes. Not green. Not brown. Somewhere in between. She hugged me. And left for whatever waited for her at home.

Alica had already left for L.A. We hugged for too long, and perhaps we kissed. It was a secret, just like her boyfriend, but that might even be a forever- secret.

Shavonne lingered lazily. She wasn’t going anywhere; she was born and bred in Boston.

“I’ll catch the bus whenever,” she told me, “I’m already home. Dorchester; learned to fuck black boys there, prefer to stay here as long as I can.”

She saw me off at the bus stop.

“So…fucking your brother the entire holidays?”

No…not the entire holidays. Possibly first thing. And last. But not all the time.

I smiled.

“Whatever keeps you hot at night, babe.”

I had bought my ticket first thing when I got to Harvard, forgotten about it, and remembered before panicking about getting a flight. Boston Logan International. I saw him, New York, there. His name is Chris. I bought him coffee.

“Who are you?” he asked. Not because he didn’t remember me but because he did.

“Hannah,” I said, “And I intend to watch you suck cock before summer.”

He took the coffee, hands shaking, before pretending his flight was called—too afraid to face the truth any longer.

A long-term experiment.

I watched the harbor, the ebb and flow of people: leaving, arriving, and passing through—domestic, international, and Thanksgiving. Harvard’s hopeful reach extending across America.

How many turkeys die to make America thankful?

How different is Cambridge from Madison? At Harvard, it’s not even frowned upon to fuck your professor. Not really. In Madison, it’s not frowned upon to fuck family—unless it’s your brother, your father, or your mother.

But it still happens.

I was getting my turkey stuffed.

I like flying. Planes. Small cities of their own, where no one likes each other. Except for the blonde with the big tits. All the money men liked her. They thought they could fuck her, either at the destination or maybe mid-air. It was a full flight. I sat next to a retired couple. No one accidentally touched my thigh or looked down my top. It was a window seat. Bliss.

I hadn’t been home for almost three months. I’d talked to home; I’d felt home, especially in my orgasms. But I hadn’t been. I wasn’t the same woman—girl—that left Madison. Yet, I wasn’t going to be the one coming home from college thinking I was better than everyone.

I was going to be Hannah.

Fucking Hannah.

I tried to sleep, but I was too excited about coming home. Lisa. Tony. Whatever they had done with their relationship. They still fucked. He hadn’t cheated on her again. Not that she knew. I was going to teach her anal. Why did my schedule always seem so busy?

Plane coffee is disgusting. You drink it anyway. Because you tell yourself it’s a treat. Needed to pee. I thought about Shavonne.

I met him in the aisle—in a suit, tie, and pressed pants.

“Going home for the holidays?”

I nodded, wanting to get by him. He blocked my way.

“Harvard? Me too, a few years ago. Business trip. The world doesn’t stop just because America eats turkey.”

Smug. Confident. Tall and handsome.

“I’ll be in Atlanta. You’re gorgeous. If things get boring, give me a call?”

He handed me his card.

“Sir,” I whispered, “Unless you want my knee to turn your balls into useless pulp… I suggest you move.”

“Bitch,” he snarled.

How preposterously horny do you have to be to want to fuck in a plane washroom? Why would anyone want to cram into such a tiny space to try? The more I thought about it, the more I regretted blowing the suit off. The more he got into my head, the more I realized I’d gotten on the plane horny, not for him, but for home.

I took the wrong way back to my seat and ended up in business class. I still have no idea how his coffee ended up in his lap.

I was very apologetic. Toward the flight attendant.

“Thank you,” she said, guiding me back to my seat, “I wanted to do that myself.”

Time stretches when you count the minutes and keep looking at your phone, only to realize you did the same thing twenty seconds ago. And it still doesn’t register. I was homesick. I’d been sick of home before I left.

Not true. I was sick of my hometown.

Home was an indulgence. Sin, if you prefer. It’s up to your version of morality, I suppose. Mine is easy; you want, they want – let’s fucking go. How much else in life stalls on the pondering of morality? Is it fair to say the construct of morality is the actual clog in the system?

You know how flights are boring, and you can’t wait to land? That short-lived sensation of having arrived? Only to realize that getting off the plane is the real fuck of air travel?

Suit and tie stood talking to the flight attendant as I passed. Complaining.

“There she is! The bitch who scorched my fucking thigh! I want her arrested!”

Then, his anger turned directly to me.

“I’m going to sue you, bitch, for all that your family’s got. And then I’m gonna fucking fuck you all!”

Entitlement.

I put my bag down. He should have seen it coming. A direct hit. Knee to balls. I didn’t stick around for the aftermath. No one seemed to think I should. I can walk pretty fast when I’m motivated. Only minutes away from Mom, Dad, and Sander. I wanted to suck him in the car. I was getting wet as I walked.

Almost there, just through the gates.

Mom, Dad, Sander…and a girl. Henrietta Lawd. A year younger than myself.

Hugs.

Why Henrietta?

Sander saw my confusion.

Everything was wrong.

Riding home—me, Henrietta in the middle, and Sander.

I missed Harvard.

“Harvard looks good on you,” Mom said.

Yeah, Mother, I tidied myself up, washed the cum off, and went home.

“Thank you, Mom,” I said.

It was an hour-and-a-half drive home. It was going to be a long one.

We stopped to eat.

I excused myself. I needed a bathroom break. The look I gave Sander let him know he needed one as well.

We were halfway down the narrow hallway when I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“What the fuck, Sander? A girlfriend?”

He looked bothered.

“She’s…here. Willing. Puts out.”

“She’s seventeen! You’re twenty-one! She’s…Henrietta? What the fuck, Sander?”

He looked down. He never shied away from me before. The confident fuck.

“Mom…Dad—we—talked. We can’t be doing that anymore, Hannah.”

They had talked.

They had decided.

No more fucking family.

“You’ll break before splitting open the turkey,” I whispered, “All of you.”

He grabbed my arm.

“Hannah. You’re the one who left.”

I had thought many things about my brother. But being a fucking pussy? Out of character. Even as he spoke, his whole posture reeked of lies, something programmed. Something decided.

“And Sander, you’re the one who came to me in that bathroom. So did Dad.”

I knew he played the same scenes in his head. I wasn’t arguing whether I’d welcomed them or not; that wasn’t the point. He shifted—twice. He thought about saying something, but he had nothing.

“Even Mom, after reading my diary, offered herself. To all of us.” I tilted my head and tried to find his eyes, but they were hidden under shame.

“Now?, I continued, “What changed? Me going away? You lost interest in each other because I went away? This isn’t about morals, right or wrong. It’s about denying who you are.”

I let it sink. I saw him struggle with his thoughts.

“And that, dear brother, is the ultimate corruption.”

He swallowed.

I let go of him, turned, and walked back. He stood for a moment before going to the bathroom.

I returned to our table and sat beside Henrietta, opposite Mom and Dad.

“How was the flight, honey?” Dad inquired.

“Well, we didn’t crash, Dad, so I suppose it was good.”

I didn’t feel the need to tell them about Mr. Suit and Tie, although I was starting to wish I’d kept his card.

Sander eventually joined us. He took longer than he should getting back. He noticed the new seating arrangements but didn’t argue it. He didn’t say much at all. He sat. Good boy.

We got our meals. Salad for Mom, the rest of us greased out on burgers and fries. Mom stole most of our fries.

I placed my hand on Sander’s thigh. He didn’t flinch, and when I pressed down, he didn’t move. I found his crotch.

Hard.

It was all I needed to know.

“So, Henrietta, how’s school?” I asked with a fake smile, good enough to fool them all.

“Oh, you know,” she said, “Can’t wait to get out. I envy you. Harvard. I can only dream of Harvard.”

Yes, Henrietta. You could only dream of Harvard. And that’s a good thing. Harvard eats girls like you for breakfast. Burps and regurgitate and continue with its day.

“Harvard is just another college. Diplomas with a fancier crest. You don’t learn anything more there than anywhere else.”

I put my hand on her thigh and looked at her.

“So, how long have you been fucking my brother?”

“Hannah!”

Spoken only like a mother could say it.

I squeezed Henrietta’s thigh. A bit harder than I should have, not hard enough.

“Sorry, cutie. How long have you and Sander been dating?”

She swallowed, forced a smile, looked down at my hand on her thigh, and swallowed again.

“Just…since September.”

I let her thigh go. Dug into my burger. Grease spilled down my chin, just like a burger should feel.

I let lovers be lovers.

I sat in the middle seat for the rest of the journey. Rubbed Sander’s cock through his jeans all the way home.

We dropped Henrietta off at her house.

The five-minute drive home was one of silence.

Mom, Dad, and Sander sat at the kitchen table when we got home. It wasn’t breakfast time. The only other time we’d sit at the family table was for family meetings. It’d been a while.

I sat. It was the same chair I’d sat in since I could remember—Sander to my left, Mom and Dad on the opposite side.

“Hannah,” Mother started, “We… talked. About this summer.”

She looked at Sander, then Dad, and finally me.

“We all enjoyed that. But it was just that. A moment. A slip.”

Dad had the decency to meet my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Hannah…” he said, then ran out of words.

“What, Dad? You’re sorry you fucked me? Or you’re sorry you think you won’t fuck me again?”

My eyes shifted to Mom, but she was busy studying some imaginary spot on the table.

“A moment? A slip?” I continued, sweeping my gaze over them. “Like reading someone’s diary for months? Had you fucked me once, Dad, it’d be a slip. You didn’t fuck me just once. Not twice. Never by accident. Nor did Sander, and neither did you, Mom.”

I leaned back. Looked at them. Shrank them in my mind.

“You’re all forgetting one thing. All of you came to me. You pretend to sit on some moral high ground. You decided that someone else’s morals should dictate your life. This meeting is over. I’m going upstairs to masturbate because, frankly, fuck you.”

They didn’t protest. They just sat staring at each other.

I stopped to look at them.

“And if either one of you isn’t already imagining me naked with a rubber cock in me, you win. Otherwise…we all win. Good night.”

I didn’t masturbate. Didn’t fuck myself.

I texted Lisa to let her know I was home and made plans to meet the following day.

I waited for Mom and Dad to go to bed and for Sander to pee and brush his teeth. I listened to him hesitate in the bathroom before going to bed.

I waited until I heard Mom and Dad fucking. Both of them were thinking of me. Both of them wished she was me, both of them muffling their moans in fear of my name slipping out.

It wasn’t even manipulation. It was barely a nudge—a mental reminder for them to work their way through.

What had Solomon said about Shavonne?

I had set their spirits free.

***

Morning broke. I was used to getting up early, but Sander liked to sleep in. I waited, bursting my bladder.

I twisted and started feeling uncomfortable as a full hour passed.

Finally, I heard him enter the bathroom. Peed.

For a long time.

Listening to people pee when our bladder’s about to explode is excruciating. Finally, he was done. I waited for the water to run into the sink. Brushing teeth.

I didn’t look at him as I entered. I just sat down and took care of business.

He stopped brushing. Rested his hands on the bathroom counter.

“You get off on me peeing, don’t you.”

It wasn’t even a question.

He sighed.

I finished. Undressed, and entered the shower.

He lingered. Watched.

Until I was done.

I didn’t bother wrapping a towel around me. I didn’t even bother drying.

“You fancy?” I asked. The exact words he had uttered to me what seemed like eons ago. A distant past, where I hadn’t even understood the possibility of him.

His cock had already betrayed him.

“Too bad you can’t,” I said as I found my toothbrush.

The look in his eyes told it all. I had changed. This summer had been a push and a pull between us, but now? I wasn’t just about receiving. I was about taking. And he knew as well as I that had I wanted to, had I decided to, he would have fucked me.

“Seeing Henrietta today?” I asked, toothpaste running down my chin.

“I…yeah,” he muttered.

I rinsed.

“Fucking?”

He just shook his head.

“Possibly.”

I turned towards him, pressed against him, and kissed him.

“We both know you’ll be seeing me when you do. Try not to call out my name, okay?”

I grabbed my towel, returned to my room, dressed, and headed downstairs.

Mom and Dad were at the kitchen table. Pancakes and bacon are my favorite foods. I sat down. Mom gave me a plate, and Dad served coffee. I lathered my pancakes in syrup and stacked them four high with bacon between all layers. I took a greedy mouthful, let it linger, and savored the sweet, the salt, and the dry.

Swallowed.

“You look…grown, Hannah. Harvard’s changed you,” Mom tried.

“It’s been three months, Mom, I’m still Hannah. Did Dad make you cum last night?”

She dropped her knife to the floor.

Dad picked up his phone. Cleared his throat. Sipped his coffee.

Sander came down. Sat beside me. Silent. Eggs and bacon. Proteins. Chewing. Tension in his jaw. Knife cutting through his eggs a little too forcefully. His fork scraped against the plate—louder than it needed to be.

“Any plans for the day?” Dad asked—a rescue plan.

“I may meet up with Lisa. I may stay here. Was I good, Dad? Did I make you cum?”

Mom bent to pick up her knife. Her hands trembled just slightly as she set it back on the table. She smoothed her napkin, pressing it flat with the weight of something unspoken.

Dad exhaled slowly through his nose, the sip of coffee now just something to occupy his mouth. Anything to keep from answering. His thumb hovered over his phone screen, scrolling through nothing, staring at nothing.

“You’re being cruel,” Mom said, voice carefully measured. Not quite a plea. Not quite a command.

I picked up a piece of Mom’s crisped-to-perfection bacon, bit down, and chewed lazily.

“No,” she said, taking a bite, “I’m being honest.”

Sander’s chair creaked as he leaned back. His arms crossed. He was glaring at the coffee pot like it had personally offended him.

“So, Lisa, huh?” he muttered, voice low. “You gonna fuck her, too?”

I swallowed and tilted my head at him. He was shifting, uncomfortable, like last night was sitting heavy in his jeans.

“She’s my best friend,” Hannah said, taking a slow sip of juice. “You’ve met her. Seen her. What would you do given the cards?”

Sander scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean? You apparently fuck whatever you decide.”

I smiled, letting my gaze flick down—just briefly—to the waistband of his sweats. Then back up. I tilted my head the other way and studied him. He was stuck in his cage. His own construct.

“Yes,” I whispered, “Yes, I do.”

He shifted again.

Mom wiped her mouth with her napkin, pressing it too hard against her lips. A deep inhale, measured and tight.

“We’re a family, Hannah. We’re supposed to—move on.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Move on?” I echoed, tone light, teasing. “I don’t think Dad moved on last night.”

Dad cleared his throat again. Another sip of coffee. But his fingers were tight around the mug now.

“You’re pushing,” he muttered, finally looking at me.

I just smiled. “Am I? Tell me you didn’t see me when you came last night.”

His eyes met mine, not in challenge but in surrender. He pretended to drop his phone. He picked it up and placed it on the table. His fingers trembled on its surface.

Mom closed her eyes for a moment, then stood. Her plate was barely touched, but she picked it up anyway. Carried it to the sink. A deep inhale. A slow exhale.

“We’re having guests tomorrow,” she said, voice brittle. “Act accordingly.”

Dad was still staring into his coffee.

I smirked as I took the last piece of bacon. Teased against my lips before slipping it into my mouth.

“Oh, don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be such a good girl.”

They froze.

“But I’m not sure I can handle Aunt and Uncle as well. You might have to step in and help, Mom.”

And frankly, why wouldn’t I fuck my mom’s sister and her husband? Why doesn’t everyone just fuck whomever they like?

Dad let me have the car. I suspected he wanted me out of the house. Maybe he needed to fuck me out of his system. I’m sure Mom was more than happy to serve as my substitute.

Lisa waited at the diner. No Tony.

“Hey, girl!” I yelled as I saw her, and she jumped up and hugged me.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she giggled, “So much shit’s happened since you left.”

Yeah…I’ve started peeing when I cum; what about...