Slut:

Despite being unemployed at the time, I was in high spirits around the Holiday Season. My life was in shambles, but I was determined to find happiness. When Jen, my best and, sometimes, only friend called me, which she often did, she asked if I’d like some company for a week or two. I was elated.

Life in my hometown hadn’t been all emotional abuse, physical bullying, and hellish torture. My home life was actually quite peaceful and serene, always filled with joy and respect. We were impoverished, but that seldom seemed to matter. Simply put, because we were different, I was ridiculed, shunned, bullied, and ostracized. Even in my youth, my life was a collection of B-movie tropes. Despite the daily ordeal of being subjected to such torturous rigors, I did have one close, true friend in Jennifer.

My seventeenth year on the planet was an exciting time for me. I got my driver’s license and all the freedom that comes along with it, I’d discovered my exhibitionism kink and spent many a night furiously masturbating over sluttily displaying my young, nubile flesh, and I met Jen on the first day of school. She had transferred in from the big, Northern metropolises.

Because I was shunned, the assigned seat in my homeroom at school was its own island. I sat in the back corner, two rings of vacant desks around me. Jen walked in, about ten minutes after class had begun, looking like a true, Greek goddess. She dressed stylish and chic, and she was not only a statuesque beauty, but she was so tall that she towered over almost everyone, including the young men.

“Class, this is Jennifer,” Mr. Bobson said, giving her last name. “She just transferred in from New England.”

“Jen,” she corrected. Her face was so sexy to me, and her tone was warm and friendly. “From New Hampshire.”

“Pick any vacant seat, Jen, and that will be your assigned seat for the year.”

The beautiful, brunette, young lady looked around, her eyes scanning over the jocks, the cheerleader’s section, the burn-outs smelling like cigarette and marijuana smoke, and the various other cliques. There were a few other vacant desks near the “cool people” areas, but she ignored their inviting glances and walked up to my lonely section. Jen smiled at me, her deep, brown eyes gleaming, and took the desk right next to mine.

“Okay, class, turn to page one-hundred-and-seventeen…” Mr. Bobson went into his lecture.

“I’m Jen,” she whispered to me.

“Krystal,” I whispered back. “But you probably shouldn’t talk to me. Everyone hates me, even the teachers.” She frowned at that. “You might want to change seats, as well, because it’s that bad.”

“Do they hate you because you’re so hot, and you steal all their boyfriends?”

I giggled, feeling a warm, fuzzy sensation spread through my body. “No, it’s because I’m a pagan.”

“Pagan?”

I rolled my eyes at her, smiling sarcastically, so she knew that I wasn’t surprised she didn’t know the term.

“Witches. I come from a family of witches, and everybody treats me like shit because of it.”

“You’re a witch? That’s so cool! Why don’t you just curse them all, or something?”

I shook my head, negatively, and made a sweeping gesture across the classroom.

“No need,” I beamed, my face lighting up with mirth. “Just look at them. Life’s already done that for me.”

Jen lost her composure and laughed hysterically at my comment. Her robust, cackling laughter was extremely loud, and it disrupted class.

“Jen, I know this is your first day,” Mr. Bobson lectured, “but since you so obviously love to be in school, you can spend the afternoon in detention.”

“It’s my fault, Mr. Bobson. She didn’t do anything.”

“Well, then, Witch Bitch,” he admonished. “since you two are such chums, you can spend detention with her.”

I glanced over to Jen. Her sexy face was red from laughing, and she was struggling to keep herself together.

“That’s a fucking surprise,” I muttered to her under my breath.

“What did you just say, Satan-spawn?” Yes, even the teachers joined in on the fun known as “Bash the Krystal.”

“She said she’s hungry for French fries,” Jen blurted out, laughing hysterically. I couldn't contain myself, and I joined her, laughing until we cried.

“Fine, then! Two detentions, each. One more outburst and you’ll both get a free visit to the Principal’s office.”

“Oooh! Shaking hands of fear.”

“Two! Two detentions, ah, ah, ah, ah!”

Racking up one week’s worth of detention, each, Jen and I bonded over that and became the best of friends. Jen was the iconic, popular, rebel girl. She topped six feet tall in low heels, looked like a model, unsurprisingly played basketball, and always received the highest marks in her classes. She was well-traveled, a grade behind other students her age, due to trotting all over the globe for a year, far more cultured than us local hillbillies, and everyone wanted to be her friend or date her.

Jen ignored the community requisite of loathing my family and using me as the town whipping post. She stood up for me, more or less, telling our peers to go fuck themselves, or that they were small-minded, cruel, and nowhere near as cool as I was. After detention, that very first day, she asked me if I wanted a ride home in her convertible, and she stayed at my house until very late. We just hung out, and it felt magical to me.

No matter what happened, Jen always had my back, and I had hers. She had no qualms about befriending my tormentors, but she refused to partake in their negativity. Even in public, she’d proudly walk beside me, do things with me, and openly be my friend. I finally had a friend, a good, close companion, and I did everything I could to reciprocate. Jen was everything I wasn’t, but it didn’t seem to matter.

She was tall and graceful, whereas I was below average in height and clumsy. Her smooth skin, Grecian complexion, and luxurious, straight hair contrasted with my ghostly paleness, mottled, ugly freckles, and unruly, red locks. Even our lives were opposites. Jen came from a wealthy family, was one of the most popular girls in school, and was beloved. Again, I was the complete opposite.

Our home lives were also a study in contrasts. Perhaps that’s why we bonded so closely and quickly. She put on a great, public front, but her home life was a complete disaster. To contrast, other than my parents being constantly stoned and horny, at home, I was treated with respect and dignity. Over the years, I’d been to Jen’s house less than a handful of times. On each occasion, her mother and stepfather were always engaged in a drunken, violent shouting match. She spent most of her idle time at my house, which I dearly loved. It was such a common occurrence that mom habitually set the table for four, every night.

We were like sisters, or, at least, how I imagined things could be if I had a sister, or any other sibling. It’s quite odd growing up without ever having met any family other than your parents. We called each other sluts, whores, or variations thereof, and we stayed close, through thick and thin, for the rest of our lives. She was my first slut-sister, but not my last.

Jen was also my first lover, and we still play with each other to this very day. We weren’t girlfriends in that sense, just experimenting. We’re also quite close, and either of us would drop everything on a second’s notice to help the other. She made life bearable for me, and without the tranquility—and dad’s constant marijuana cultivation—my home provided, Jen mentioned that she’d probably have slit her wrists over the state of her existence.

Her pending visit was more than welcome. She’d been away, at college, and we hadn’t seen each other nearly as much as either of us would have liked. She didn’t attend my wedding, although I’d have loved her to be my maid of honor, due to finals that week. That didn’t matter at all; what was important was that my best friend in the entire universe was coming down to spend time with me. She didn’t want to stay with her mother and stepdad number four, and I was delighted to have somebody else in my big, empty home.

“Wow!” she said, looking around, “a free mansion. Looks like you’re set. Do you have any of Dad’s weed?” In an odd affection, Jen saw my parents as more parent-like than her parents. She called them “mom” and “dad.” I didn’t blame her; her mother was a verbally abusive, lying, cheating drunkard, and all of her husbands were the same as her. Hanging out with people who treated you with kindness was far superior to voluntarily going back to that sort of scenario.

“I have a little left,” I admitted, “but my parents and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms right now.”

“Let’s go visit them, anyway. First, though, I’ve been on the road for hours. I need to get stoned and grab a hot shower.”

“Need?”

“Okay, want.”

“Is that all you want?”

“We’ll see. Wanna go out, later, pick up some hot studs, and use them for sex?”

Though temporary, having my best friend by my side, once more, was exhilarating. We didn’t go out that night. Instead, I gave her the tour of my house, and we caught up on each other’s lives, drinking ill-begotten booze and smoking dad’s latest hybrid on the back patio, near the fire pit, until Jen threw up; then, we stopped with the booze and doubled down on the smoking.

Over the months, I’d accumulated some personal items, decorating the lavish home to my tastes. That included beds in all three bedrooms and a different decor in every room. Jen chose the bedroom opposite mine, and, after long hours of just hanging out, we retired to bed. She didn’t bring much luggage, definitely no sleepwear, so I let her borrow one of my T-shirts. To me, Jen always represented all the positive traits of femininity. As she was almost half a foot taller than me, my shirt left her sheer panties exposed, and the sight of her amazing, sexy, toned body cavorting about soaked my pussy.

“Good night, slut. See you in the morning.”

“Sleep well, whore. Wet dreams!”

I couldn’t sleep, as I didn’t want the warm, fuzzy feelings of camaraderie to end. Instead, I lay in bed, reliving all the good times we’d had, together. Happy tears streamed from my eyes as my mind wandered in reverie. I remembered everything, including our sexual experimentation.

Jen was both hot as fuck and popular, so she had a constant stream of suitors, which contrasted with my slutty record of four or so souls brave enough to weather the slings and arrows of backward-thinking lemmings. After the titty fairy came and blessed me with round, firm, high breasts, and always-erect nipples, I got a little bit of attention.

Because we were poor, I walked everywhere, so my legs were lithe, but my butt was sexy perfection. When my scrawny hips flared out, giving me that enviable hourglass figure, the male attention I received doubled. Had the young men known that I was always insatiable, so horny that my lust consumed me, I’d have gleefully earned my slutty reputation. Jen, however, was always in high demand. I think half the guys in school asked her to the senior prom. I spent that night at home, smoking weed and playing Dungeons and Dragons with some other, casual friends.

Jen was getting fingered, touching hard cocks, and making out with people long before I even had the chance, yet, I wore the slut mantle. We told each other everything, down to the last detail, and I asked her if the guys she fooled around with brought her to orgasm. Poor Jen believed that she was incapable of cumming.

“You don’t orgasm when you masturbate?”

“I tried it once or twice, and it felt good, but that’s all. Is feeling good an orgasm?”

A bargain was struck. She’d help me experience what it felt like to make out with somebody, and I’d help her make herself cum. We were fully aware of what we were doing, of course, and we laughed ourselves silly. She knew that I’d never betray her trust, and I was confident that she wouldn’t run off to tell everyone else that she kissed and then masturbated in front of the Witch Slut.

As it turned out, Jen was more than capable of having an orgasm. The first orgasm of her life happened in front of my appreciative eyes. She was so pleased with herself, that she had to finger herself to several orgasms at that very moment. Once we discovered the joys of sex, together, it became a regular thing between us. Soon thereafter, we were masturbating each other, then finger-fucking. We’d make out, fondle each other, and generally fool around.

When Jen let a date go down on her, which didn’t result in an orgasm, we graduated to giving one another oral sex. Because we both knew that we were just experimenting, it was no big deal for us to finger ourselves while we went down on the other. Although neither of us knew or felt it at the time, we’d become lovers as well as friends. This continued all through high school, and we didn’t think anything of it. We were friends, that was all that mattered to either of us. Multiple orgasms were just a bonus.

My parents knew all about our sexual escapades. Mom found out by walking in on us one evening when we were supposed to be studying. We weren’t scolded, and Jen wasn’t forbidden to come back to our house. Instead, my mother sat us both down and gave us a long and very embarrassing talk on how women can properly please each other, sexually.

All these thoughts and memories drifted through my head. I listened intently, hoping to hear her fingering herself. Instead, I heard her snoring. Feeling horny for a woman, I lay in bed, my fingers buried in my pussy, and masturbated myself to sleep.

Our relationship revolved around friendship and our close bond. In certain regards, we were each other’s savior. The following week was just one, long party. Jen’s mother, the gold-digging whore, would happily toss money at her instead of parenting, and her multiple step-fathers and real dad did likewise. My bank account balance may have been a meager three hundred dollars and a few pennies, but, that week, we lived like queens.

On the second night, we showered together, and I felt ashamed of my body, as hers was perfection. The following night, she crept into my bed, and we slept side by side, just as we did before. On Friday night, she wanted to go out dancing. I don’t dance well, appearing to move more like I’m in the throes of a seizure, but we went, nonetheless.

At the club, we feasted on junk food and drank ourselves silly, all while dressed like sluts. I was wearing a scandalous, sequined green tube top for a skirt, a black thong, and a cut-off, sleeveless top. Despite the slutty, minimalist attire, I still had a hint of class and style. Jen was dressed in a diagonal-cut, asymmetrical skirt in shimmering blue and a matching, backless halter. She looked like a supermodel, and I looked like a Super-Slut.

“See that guy over there acting like he’s big, Joe Alpha? I dare you to get his phone number.”

“Not my type, Jen.”

“I know, you slut,” she teased. “He’s not your boss!”

“You dirty, fucking skank!”

“If you think I’m dirty now, wait until my head’s between your legs, later.”

“Sounds like fun. I miss that.”

“It won’t be if you don’t get his phone number.”

Feeling confident because we were just goofing around, I strode from our table and crossed the chaotic nightclub. Two other guys approached me, but I waved them off, feeling giddy over the fact that others found me attractive. It didn’t take long to complete the dare. By the time I’d returned, though, two young men, typical lounge lizards, were propositioning my friend. I knew her well enough to realize that she was about to go ballistic on them.

“Sorry it took me so long, baby,” I said. “Miss me?”

The two goons, looking like they used more hair products than all my beloved hair Metal bands combined, stopped their cheesy pickup attempts and gawked.

“Yes, sugar lips,” she responded. “Wanna blow this joint and go home and fuck?”

“You babes want some cock? I have enough for the both of you,” one of them queried. I had to, at least, give him kudos for his effort.

“Whip the little fellow out; let me see,” I countered.

“What? Here?”

The events that transpired over the past few minutes had a profound effect on me. Theretofore, I’d considered being labeled as a slut a major hurdle to overcome. In that club, with my friend there to give me confidence, I realized that Mom had been right all along. My mother’s twisted wisdom and diabolical life lessons always being correct, and my resentment over that fact, are a running theme in my life. “It only hurts because you let them hurt you,” she had told me. “If you don’t let it hurt you, you gain all the power.”

Guido, the phone number dare, and his two, foolish acolytes accosting my friend, saw a vapid slut, easy prey, just another hole. The truth was, they all wanted what I had: a hot, wet pussy and sexual enthusiasm. That put me in control. With my digit-giving would-be suitor and those two human blemishes, I’d solidified my power. My slut-sister had shown me the way by being her usual self, unwavering and unapologetic.

“Yes, here!” I smiled at them. “You, too. The more, the merrier.”

“But, but…”

“What’s the matter, stud? Shy? Come on, pull out your fucking cocks. Do it, and I’ll blow you both, right here, while my girlfriend sucks your balls.”

“Only if you promise to cum on my face so she can lick it off,” Jen added.

We laughed hysterically at ourselves, not them, as the one called us a derogatory term that roughly translates to “lesbians.” They walked off, calling us vile names and judging us insane.

“Just like the day we met.”

“Except, this time, it’s DICKtention!”

Arm in arm, laughing like giddy school girls, we exited the club.

“Hey, slut, no oral for you. You didn’t get his phone number.”

“Oh, yeah, skanky whore? Look at this.”

I spun around, pointing my ass toward Jen, and pulled up my slutty skirt. The people lingering outside saw this and cheered, cat-called, and applauded. I was informed, in crass, banal terms, that I had a lovely posterior

“You fucking hooker! In lipstick? On your ass?”

“Counter-dare. Drive home topless.”

About twenty minutes later, we were pulled over by one of the State’s finest highway patrolmen. We were speeding, because we were two young women on their own. The car was swerving back and forth in the lane, due to a tickle fight; we were told that a sexy brunette driving topless down a mostly-empty highway was indecent exposure.

“My turn,” Jen purred. “Blow the trooper!”

“What the fuck, Jen. That’s so slutty.”

“If you do it, I’ll rim you, too.”

“Huh?”

“You know, lick around your asshole. This guy I was fucking… not dating, just fucking… liked worshiping my ass. It feels so naughty and wonderful. You’ll love it.”

“Put your top back on,” the staring, smiling State Trooper told Jen. “Keep it slow and safe on the way home, Okay?”

Jen turned to me and stuck out her tongue, wagging it up and down.

“Excuse me, officer,” I said. “Are you married?”

“Ma’am, I’m already letting you two off with a friendly warning. No need to flirt.”

“Oh, I wasn’t flirting or trying to get out of a ticket or anything. I just want to suck your cock.”

“Have a good night, ladies.”

“Maybe he’s not into girls,” Jen whispered to me. We had giggle-fits the entire drive home.

Back at home, we quickly stripped off each other’s clothes, not that either of us was wearing much, and went out to the back patio. Getting heavily intoxicated, since we didn’t need to drive anywhere, I outlined my plans to put in a huge garden in the back. I wanted a quiet, peaceful place where I was surrounded by nature and beautiful, growing things.

“Are you going to call that guy?”

“That Guido-looking grease ball? Eeew! I’ll pass.”

“What did you say to get his number?”

“I told him that I might be horny later, could I call him, if needed, to fuck me?”

“So, Krystal is finally becoming the slut I always knew she could be.”

“Jen,” I corrected.

“What?”

“No, Jen is the slut. I told him my name is Jennifer.”

“You fucking whore.”

“Skanky bitch.”

“Slut.”

“You’re a pussy-licking, ass-rimming slut.”

“I will be, soon.”

The night was cold, but we barely felt a chill. The fire pit kept us warm enough, and our arms wrapped around the other’s body as our lips met in a passionate embrace. Her hands grabbed my behind, kneading it, groping with wild passion. My fingers caressed her smooth, muscular back, traced the dimples of her buttocks, and tangled themselves in the soft down of her pubes.

There, on the cold concrete of my back patio, we buried our heads between thighs and lapped at each other’s nectar. Jen had her muscular legs wrapped around my head, pulling me into her molten sex, and her fingers savagely fucked me, getting me off.

“Fucking lick it,” she urged. “You eat my pussy better than anyone else. I need to cum on your lips. Do it. Please, please, please.”

I’d gone down on her many times, so I knew exactly what she liked and how she enjoyed it. We learned our physical preferences together. My lips sucked her swollen clit into my mouth, my tongue whipping around the tip of her sensitive nub, One finger, slowly inserted into her pulsing sex hole until her hips were humping upward to meet thrusts, was followed by another.

“I… oooh, aah…masturbate to you…going to fucking cum… still.”

After we both had intense orgasms, we took a long, hot shower. We made out, fingered each other, and washed the other’s body until the water was only lukewarm. Retiring to my boudoir, Jen introduced me to anal play.

On all fours, my butt sticking up into the air, she lovingly pressed her pointy tongue to my backdoor and began pleasuring my asshole.

“You must love this. You’re dripping.”

I could only moan in response, pushing my buttocks against her face. Soon, she added a finger, fucking my overheated cunt, sometimes pulling out to stimulate my clit.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. I’m going to fucking cum.”

I collapsed onto the bed, my body writhing as impassioned moans spouted from my lips.

“Now, do me.”

I did unto Jen as she had done to me. She really got into it, moaning, begging for more, and gyrating her sexy, perfect ass all over my face and lips. In just a few minutes, she had a screaming orgasm on my tongue and fingers.

Hours later, after serious, intense sex, we fell to sleep in each other’s arms. For a few moments, I wondered if I were a lesbian, or maybe bisexual. However, I settled on calling myself bi-curious and kept the term as an identifier for more than a decade. Now, of course, I realize that I’m sexually attracted to both men and women. A person turns me on, not their equipment.

Saturday was a stay-at-home-and-fuck day. We talked about our life’s desires, sexual wants, and needs, and revisited all the slutty things we’d done. Never once did we stop pleasuring ourselves and each other. Not wanting to drive to get food or cook, we ordered delivery and put on some slutty clothes long enough to tease the delivery driver, then got naked again, fucking and sucking each other.

The following day, Jen wanted to drive the distance to our hometown to see my parents. They were delighted to see her, and me as well, but the fractures in my relationship with my mother were beginning to show.

When Jen walked away, my father doting on her, walking beside her, to go to her car, my mother pulled me aside.

“It’s not our fault, Kryssi,” she began. She always called me Kryssi, unless I was in trouble. Then it was Krystal Samantha Greene. Sometimes, she called me a slut or “stupid bitch,” but those were terms of endearment.

My main problem with my mother was that we understood each other, perfectly. I was too young and immature to see her clandestine guidance as anything other than my mother being a demented, perverted, horny slut. She knew this, but continued on her chosen path, teaching me through her twisted words of wisdom and what amounted to a bizarre form of negative reinforcement.

“What’s not your fault, mom?”

“Your life.”

I broke down, crying. “Yes, it is, mom. You and Dad never even tried to fit in, here, and I paid the price. I’m doomed to be alone and miserable because of it, and I blame you for it.”

“Kryssi, you don’t understand. It's just because…”

“Because, what, mother? Is it because you’re a nympho slut that has to fuck every man or woman that you meet? No, I couldn’t have a regular existence, you had to be different, throw wild orgies, and be openly pagan. If I hadn’t gotten out of this damn place as soon as I could, they’d have probably burnt me at the stake by now.”

“You’ll see why when you’re ready.”

“No Mom. I love you and hate you at the same time. Do you have any clue how that feels? I’m done with this place, done with you.”

“You may feel that way, now, Kryssi, but being our true selves, regardless of the cost, was the strongest and bravest thing Pooh Bear and I could do for you.” she always called Dad, “Pooh Bear.” She waited a moment, letting her words sink in. “Your problem is that you’re afraid to be yourself. You’ll thank me one day, I promise you.”

“No, mom,” I yelled. “My problem is that you’re a fucking slut, a brazen Jezebel whore, and I had to pay the price for your wildness. You weren’t made to feel worthless, stupid, ugly, and like a trashy whore every damn day of your life. To make matters even worse, you raised me to embrace the sexual creature I am, and the stigma of my sexuality has already destroyed my life. I’m doomed because of you.”

“Sex isn’t your problem,” she said to my retreating self. “Look inward, not externally.”

I turned. “You can pretend you’re happy being a whore all you want. I can’t live like this.”

“You’ll see, Kryssi. You’re one of the strongest, most wonderful people I’ve ever met. Not only are you going to touch so many people’s lives, but, when you can re-find your faith, you’ll get your heart’s desire.”

“I’ve lost my faith. Look, Mom, I know the Covens are the most important thing in your life, but I’m empty inside. I don’t know who I am, other than ugly, a slut, stupid, and useless. I don’t know how to live or to be happy.”

“Kryssi, stop being your usual, stupid-bitch self.” That was another term of endearment. “Faith in yourself. I can only show you the path; you have to walk it. Being yourself is the most difficult trial The Goddess ever placed before us.”

“I'm just done with it all. It doesn’t work for me. Nothing works for me, mother. I won’t be at ritual, anymore.”

Despite the strain on our relationship, caused by my blaming my parents for my plight, we hugged our goodbyes. Mom told me, despite me stating that I was done with it all, that she’d always be there for me, and she understood the journey I was on.

“Your parents are still the coolest folks, ever,” Jen commented as we drove away. “I really miss them.”

“Shut the fuck up and drive, please.”

“Dad told me about you and Mom being on the rocks.”

“It’ll be fine,” I said, not feeling confident about my next statement. “You know how things are for me. Once I shed my past, I will finally be able to be happy.”

“You are so fucked in the head, you slut.”

“Jen, you have no idea what it’s like. The slut-stigma and bad witch mojo follow me around like the stench of high school. I just want to be normal, so I can be happy.”

“Trust me, you whore, normal people wish they could be like you. Why do you think all those morons were so mean to you?”

“Walk a mile in my shoes, and you’ll understand.”

“Not possible with your tiny, little, slut-shoes.”

“Whatever, Bigfoot. Does Sasquatch want to watch a movie tonight?”

“Only if we can have some more sex. I forgot how much fun we had, together.”

“Deal.”

I wouldn’t allow myself to see it, then, but, as always, Mother was right. People all over the Northern Hemisphere sought her out for her sage advice. With me, though, her methods were convoluted and insane. She brandished her sexuality, combined with spirituality, as guiding lights before her, and every bit of edification I’d ever received was a lesson on how to either own my sexuality or to be my full, true self. I wasn’t comfortable with either of those, and Mom knew it.

So, rather than face my shortcomings, I let resentment toward my parents grow. Still, my parents continued supporting me, with my mom constantly telling me what a slut and stupid bitch I was. I’d distanced myself from them, from the faith I was born into, and from my true nature. In hindsight, after totally torpedoing my life by marrying Dave, I was determined to lessen that event’s impact by making worse choices.

Unknown to me, my inner glow had ignited. Though it was just a fragile ember, it would eventually flourish, lighting my way and warming my core. I had a long, dark journey before me, but my first steps toward becoming myself had been taken. Those deep, emotional wounds that permeated my psyche had begun to heal a little, and scar tissue is tougher than skin.

To be continued…