I can’t think of many fates more frustrating than growing up a smart, horny, deeply closeted lesbian in a small town in upstate New York. I took all the hard classes, banged out homework, and remained studiously indifferent whenever anybody brought up the subject of boys or dating. Meanwhile I whacked off furiously to all the girls at school, but Tara Franks in particular. She was in my AP English class: a strawberry-blonde volleyball star, honors society president, presumptive valedictorian, straight as an arrow and totally out of my league.
In retrospect, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t fooling anyone, my parents in particular.
The house across the street from us finally sold. It was one of those awful McMansions, immense and generic, and in immensely poor taste, and it had stood empty for years, a monolithic testament to the recession and the financial crisis.
The people who bought the place were from New York City. Yuppies. Weekenders.
They were a gay couple (which I thought was cool, though I don’t think that has anything to do with this story) and they had kids — two girls, identical twins actually — who were almost exactly my own age. They were cute, in a wholesome Life Magazine sort of way, but they were from an utterly different world. They went to school at some fancy private school down in the city. I rarely ever even saw them, but they seemed nice enough. At least Faith did; Grace struck me as a bit of a twat. Actually, I had trouble telling them apart. But that didn’t stop me from whacking off to them.
Like I said, I didn’t see them very often. But one fine Saturday morning in September, when my parents were at the god-damned farmer’s market and I was home alone in my bedroom, horny and kind of bored as usual, I happened to look out the window and saw one of the twins sitting alone on her white plastic front porch, reading a book. Some combination of boredom, lust, and curiosity impelled me to cross the street and go say ‘hi’ to her.
She closed her book and watched me approach, making me feel self-conscious in the extreme as I plodded across their neatly manicured lawn.
“Hi,” she said, “I’m glad you came over! I’m Faith by the way. It’s OK, people get us mixed up all the time. Do you want to do something? Do you want to go for a hike?”
Did I ever!
“Cool, it’ll be a hoot. Come on upstairs with me while I change.”
I didn’t know why she needed to change clothes – she was wearing jeans and a light sweater – but I didn’t mind. I followed her inside and up the stairs to the bedroom she shared with her twin.
The place was sterile, operating-room clean, far cleaner than our house had been, ever. I felt schlubby and corn-fed in those austere surroundings. We went into a bedroom that looked like a page out of the Ikea catalogue. The door closed behind me, and Faith pulled her sweater off over her head.
Her boobs weren’t all that big, but she was wearing an expensive-looking lacy and frilly scarlet bra, the kind that I didn’t own and probably never would. It looked damn good on her. She flashed me a smile – didn’t even try to hide it – and slithered out of her jeans. Her panties – what there were of them – matched the bra.
“Do you like them?” Faith asked, “Do you want to see what’s inside?”
I just stammered and gaped.
“I’ve been following your eyes,” she said, “Go ahead, you know you want to. It’s no big deal.” She tossed her blonde hair fetchingly. “Practically everyone at our school does it.”
I emitted an unsexy squeak that must have sounded close enough to a ‘yes’. Faith peeled off her skimpy, sassy panties. Her tan lines were starkly defined, and her pussy was shaved just as bare as in the pornos. She looked beautiful.
My own panties were sopping wet, and my clit was at rigid attention. I wanted to lick her cunt in the worst sort of way.
Faith sat down on the edge of her bed and spread her legs apart. Petite lips pouted slightly open. Her labia glistened wetly, and a strand of drool hung tantalizingly suspended in space. She was excited too.
“Go ahead, have a lick,” she told me, biting her lips flirtatiously, just like a magazine model. “I want you to.”
I got down on my knees with my face so close to her pussy I could feel the heat radiating off it. She sighed softly and ran her fingers through my hair. “Lick me,” she whispered. Her clit was fat and pink, and seemed to strain out toward me.
I’d tasted plenty of pussy before: my own. This was an entirely different kettle of fish. I shivered with anticipatory delight. I stuck my tongue out and gently traced the opening of her slit, all the way from the fold of her butt-cheeks to her hooded clit. She was salty and musky and I was immediately addicted.
Faith moaned out loud and gripped my hair tighter as I licked her pussy. I didn’t know what I was doing; I made it up as I went along, probing the depths of her pussy and circling her clit. Whatever I was doing, it sure seemed to be working: she was soaking wet and huffing and puffing like a steam train. Of course, the more excited she got, the wetter that made me.
I slid a finger, then two, up inside her pussy. She was hot and tight inside, and her pussy seemed to gobble me up. She was flat on her back on the bed now, moaning and groaning in a most gratifying way. Her wetness was all over my face as I tickled her bulging clit with the tip of my tongue.
“Put a finger in my ass!” she begged/commanded. Her butthole was tiny and crinkled and sexy. I withdrew one of the fingers from her pussy, slick with her juice, and pressed it against her winking anus. It slid right up inside, captured by the little ring of muscle.
“Oh fuck me!” Faith wailed. Her legs were kicking wildly in the air, her hips were bucking hard, mashing her wet pussy against my face. I kept my tongue glued to her clit as I fucked her pussy and her ass with my long fingers.
“I’m going to fucking come! …You’re going to make me come! Holy shit, I’m coming! I’M FUCKING COMING!!”
I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t much care. I stayed with her all the way through her flailing, thrashing orgasm. When she finally settled down, I came up for air, grinning like a fiend. I felt like Queen of Fucking Everything.
“Well let the whole block know, why don’t you?” Faith’s sister Grace was leaning in the doorway, applauding sarcastically. “Nicely done,” she said to me. “Now are we going to the fucking mall, or what?”
Faith got dressed without a sideways glance at me. I followed them downstairs. They got into their sporty little red convertible, and since they didn’t seem inclined to invite me along, I plodded back across the road to my own house, feeling like a fall leaf tossed and tumbled in the wind.
It was the next Saturday morning, and I was raking leaves. It seemed like a pretty pointless activity to me; they just blew back down again, and they’d all be covered with snow soon anyway; but my Dad insisted, and he paid my allowance.
I was lost in meandering thought, playing back in my head the events of the previous weekend while the rake rasped, when I happened to look up. There she was, standing not six feet away from me, watching me work with an appraising look on her face.
Despite myself, I broke out into a huge, idiotic grin.
“You’re really good at it,” she said. “Or that’s what my sister says.”
Oh fuck. It was her.
Grace stuck her tongue out at me. “You looked really good at it too,” she said. “Only one way to be sure though. Come on over.”
I let the rake fall, the handle burying itself in grass and brown leaves. I’d spend half an hour searching for it later on. I followed Grace blindly across the street, dodging an SUV that was doing at least twice the speed limit.
Inside the house, Faith was sitting by the coffee table with their two dads and some grown up guests. She flashed me a sweet smile as I followed her sister meekly up the stairs.
In the bedroom, the door closed behind me with a click. Good thing. I’m not sure I would have had the presence of mind to close it myself.
Grace turned to face me. She shrugged and brushed the hair out of her face. “You want me? Go ahead and undress me.”
I could hear muffled conversation downstairs. Feeling clumsy and slightly ridiculous, I lifted her pink sweater up and pulled it off over her head. Grace stood passively, barely raising her arms to help.
She stood in front of me in a black lace bra and jeans. I got down on my knees and unlaced her tennis shoes, pulling them off one at a time. When I pulled her socks off, she raised her legs, one at a time, offering me the soles of her feet to kiss. My panties were sticky and drenched, my clit throbbing.
I fumbled with the fly of her jeans while she smirked down at me. I could feel the heat of her pussy even through the denim. Finally I got them unbuttoned and tugged them down around her ankles. She was wearing black panties that matched her bra. My own underwear hardly ever matched.
She sighed dramatically, reached around her back, and unsnapped her own bra, letting it fall on the floor beside me. I gazed up at her tits as she pulled and pinched her own nipples.
“Go on,” she said impatiently. “While we’re still young here.”
I pulled her panties down. They slid down her smooth legs and settled in a small heap around her ankles. Grace’s pussy was bare as a baby’s. Not a single stray hair, no hint of stubble. She was drooling wet, and her clit bulged expectantly out. Even that up close and personal, I couldn’t tell her apart from her sister.
“Lick,” Grace said, squeezing her fat labia with two fingers, making her clit bulge out even more. I licked, flicking my tongue like a kitten drinking from a bowl of milk. She tasted like sex; that is to say salty and tangy, and if not actually delicious then absolutely intoxicating. She seemed to like what I was doing: my lips were covered in her wetness and her juices were dribbling down my chin.
“You look fucking horny like that,” Grace told me. I grinned into her pussy and redoubled my efforts, lapping until my tongue ached.
“I want to feel inside you,” I told her, running my fingers up and down her juicy, swollen vulva, teasing in between the lips.
“Oh no you don’t,” Grace said, grabbing my hand and moving it out of the way. “Not unless you’re rich. I’m a virgin. Bonafide. And I intend to stay that way until I get a suitable offer. Now keep licking.”
I kept licking.
It didn’t take her very long. When Grace came, she grabbed me by the hair and mashed my face into her pussy, grinding my outstretched tongue against her clitoris. She sucked air in through her teeth with a hiss, stood up on her tip-toes, and her whole body quivered. I felt like God. My cunt had never been wetter.
When she was done, she took a step back, pushing me away. I had soaked straight through my jeans.
“You are good,” she said with a satisfied grin. “Now that you’ve had lunch, are you ready for dessert?”
She turned around, bent over the bed, presenting her gorgeous pale ass to me. I swear, it was like she could read my filthy mind. I dove in, sticking my face right between her cheeks and lapping eagerly at her dainty little asshole while she masturbated. It was fucking hot.
Grace came again, with that same quivering hiss, and I almost came right along with her, just from the raunchiness of the situation. My face was slick with her come, and there was a massive dark wet spot in the crotch of my jeans.
She finally pulled away from me, and I fell to the floor, panting. Grace turned around to face me, and ran one lazy finger in between her puffy labia, slowly and deliberately licking her juices off of it. Her sister cleared her throat, directly behind me.
“I came up to see if you guys wanted any cookies,” Faith said. “But I see you’ve already eaten.”
“Honey, your friends are here.”
I’d been upstairs, slogging away at homework, and thinking seriously about ditching it and whacking off instead. Faith and Grace had become my favorite masturbatory subjects of late, though Tana was still a close second.
There they were, framed in the doorway, their sporty little red convertible parked in our driveway.
“You should go out with them,” my mom said. “You’re always so diligent about schoolwork. Go out and have some fun for once!”
Two minutes later I was wedged into the back of that red convertible while the twins exceeded the speed limit by an order of magnitude.
We went to the Blue Stone Tavern, a bar my parents went to sometimes. Nobody seemed to look twice at us as we sat down at a table and ordered drinks. I asked for a whiskey sour. It felt cool and exciting to be masquerading as an adult.
The twins took pills with their vodka tonics; a handful of multi-colored capsules apiece. They didn’t offer me any. The place was dark and musty and the music was loud. Grace deftly unbuttoned my pants.
Faith was on my left, and Grace was on my right. “Pull your panties down,” Grace whispered in my ear.
I did as I was told, feeling wild and totally out of control. I was, of course, soaking wet and slick already.
Grace and Faith were wearing matching cute little schoolgirl skirts. I slid a hand under both their skirts and found out that they weren’t wearing panties. Both of them were slick and wet. They reached across my lap and started touching me under the table, running their fingers up and down my clit, darting inside my pussy, circling my clit. I could feel their thighs pressed against my own. Above the table, we maintained a façade of normal conversation. They were bitching about the allowance they got from their dads, which was about ninety dollars a week more than I got.
A redneck with a denim jacket, a skanky beard, and a faded blue denim jacket sat nonchalantly down at our table. The girls, their fingers buried to the hilt in my crotch, smiled like they’d been expecting him.
There was a transaction. Between the cocktail and the fingers that never stopped molesting my cunt, I was fuzzy as to the details; but Dude handed Grace a rolled-up wad of cash, a lot of twenties rubber-banded together; and Faith discretely passed him a ziplock bag.
“Who’s your friend?” the redneck leered. “She’s awful quiet.”
“She’d love to suck your dick,” Grace said.
“But it’ll cost you double,” Faith put in.
Dude laughed like he was in on the joke, and disappeared into the crowded bar. I squirmed, squelching in a puddle of my own making, aching to come.
“I’ve got to pee,” Grace announced.
“Care to join us in the ladies?” Faith asked.
I hurriedly pulled up my panties and buttoned my pants, and followed the twins to the bathroom.
Thank God it was clean. Faith and Grace snorted lines of what I assume was coke off the sink. Then Faith sat down on the toilet and spread her legs, and I got down on my knees and licked her wet pussy until she came, while Grace filmed us with her iPhone.
They traded places. I took the opportunity to pull down my pants again. “That’s right babe,” Grace said, “Masturbate for us.”
Someone knocked on the door. “Just a minute,” Faith called, as she slipped the tip of one wet finger up my asshole. I lapped furiously at Grace’s pussy.
Grace came hard, kicking her legs and hissing like a cat. I was just about there myself. Faith’s finger was insinuating itself deeper and deeper up my butt.
“Don’t move,” Grace growled, and I didn’t. My face was coated in her tangy, slick juice, my tongue pressed against her slick swollen cunt.
The knock at the door again, more insistent this time. “Just a minute,” Faith repeated, extracting her finger from my gasping butt hole.
Grace urinated right into my mouth. It took me by surprise, so some if it splashed onto my face and shirt, but mostly the warm, salty liquid just filled my mouth like some weird kind of sports drink. I swallowed thirstily. It didn’t taste gross or anything; I didn’t think it was nasty, just super hot. When she was done, I licked her clean, we all three got dressed, and left the bathroom, parading smugly past a line of impatient women.
In the back seat, on the way home, I spread my legs and whacked off furiously while Grace and Faith watched in the rear-view mirror.
“We’re having a party at the house next weekend,” Grace said.
“Our dads are staying down in the city, so it’ll be just us,” Faith put in. “Will you be our guest?”
“You’ll be the piñata,” Grace said.
Of course I would come.
Everyone was there. All the jocks, all the rich and popular kids; everyone I would never hang out with. It was a party I would never ever have been invited to.
Tara Franks was there, looking gorgeous and effervescent in a fluffy pink sweater. Her boyfriend was there too, Cliff Something-Or-Other, the quarterback of the football team and class president.
The music was blastingly loud, Lady Gaga or some shit that I don’t listen to. Everyone was drinking, and the whole house reeked of pot.
They led me upstairs, into the bedroom. They’d shoved the bed to one side and set up the big, class-topped coffee table in the middle of the floor.
I stripped while the twins watched me objectively. There was only one bed in the bedroom, I noticed for the first time. They must sleep in it together at night. The implications of that made me a little weak in the knees.
When I was naked, they had me kneel atop the coffee table. Faith produced a pair of shiny steel chrome handcuffs and secured my hands behind my back. The window panes rattled in time with the bass line.
Grace had a large and expensive-looking bottle in her hand. “Have you ever had a champagne enema?” Faith asked me.
I’d never had an enema of any sort.
“You’ll love it,” Grace told me, and gave her sister’s boob an affectionate squeeze through her shirt. “Bend over.”
I lay my head down on the glass tabletop, with my naked rump thrust up in the air. After a bit of a struggle the sisters got the cork out with a satisfying *pop*, and foamy liquid came bubbling out. Grace proceeded to shove the neck of the bottle up my ass.
It felt distinctly strange. First of all, getting it in kind of hurt, and Grace wasn’t gentle about it. Once the neck of the bottle was in past my anus though, it mostly just felt weird. I felt vulnerable and kind and ridiculous, but my clit was definitely singing. The bubbly liquid stung and cramped as it infiltrated my bowels. I moaned, and Grace giggled. I wished I could touch my clit, but my hands were cuffed behind my back. The position I was in was deeply humiliating, and I felt totally out of control. Grace was right, I did love it.
Without any warning, she yanked the bottle out, leaving my asshole gasping. I went off like a geyser, spraying champagne across the bedroom. Both girls squealed with hysterical laughter.
It was about then that it hit me, like a framing hammer right in the forehead, that I was drunk. Fucked-up, shattered, shitfaced drunk.
Faith opened the door to the bedroom, and kids came in and started milling around. It should have freaked me out to be naked and on display in front of all the popular kids from school, but between the alcohol and my libido, I don’t remember it bothering me at all.
“Everything is free tonight,” announced Grace, “Everything is on the house. You want something to take home, just talk to Faith.”
You know how some people black out when they get too drunk, and can’t remember a thing? Well I remember it all, in glorious living Technicolor, though it has a disjointed quality to it, like someone’s vacation slides where the sequence got all mixed up.
I remember random people squeezing my butt and my boobs. I remember seeing a bunch of kids doing lines off the top of the dresser. I remember seeing Cliff Something-Or-Other, with Faith’s help, shoving a big needle into his muscular forearm. I remember Tara screaming at him, calling him an asshole, and a bunch of people laughing.
Then Cliff got naked and climbed onto the bed, and Faith and Grace stripped down to their underwear and snorted fat lines of cocaine off his erect cock.
I’d never seen an actual erection before, and I remember thinking it looked strangely biological. I didn’t find it disgusting or anything, just odd. What a weird design. I don’t know how anyone kind finds the things attractive. But to each their own…
The lights got turned down, and it got quieter, and I think the mood and focus of the party shifted. I saw Grace and Faith in bed together, tangled up in a 69, while Cliff masturbated.
Then someone tried to stick his dick in my pussy, but came before he could get it inside. Someone else was trying to stuff his cock into my mouth, but it wouldn’t seem to get hard, and he was yelling furiously at me and slapping me across the face like it was all my fault or something.
And then Tara grabbed me and pulled me away and helped me get down the stairs, and we ended up in another bedroom, the Dads I guess, and we were kissing in the dark, and then her clothes came off and I was eating her pussy out like a starving woman.
She had soft fur down there, and she was very wet, and she tasted like some spice I can’t think of, and she came so long and hard and loud that it was kind of scary.
Then I started to feel a little sick, then a lot sick, and then I was dry-heaving, and struggling my way out of the house and across the lawn and across the street and into my own front yard. I crawled the last little way into the house, gagging and sobbing.
My mom, to whom I am forever grateful, didn’t ask any questions beyond “Are you OK?”. She cleaned me up, used a bobby pin to unlock the handcuffs, got some pajamas on me, and put me to bed. I slept long and hard, and felt like shit the next day.
American History was my worst class. It was the only class I had that wasn’t A.P. or honors, and it was painfully boring. I still felt shaky and fragile, and I knew that half the school had seen me naked, and it was only Monday morning and I already wanted the day to be over. Mr. Crowfoot, the teacher, was droning on and on about the Reconstruction, and I was more or less wishing I was dead, when Cliff What’s-His-Name collapsed.
I’d never paid much attention to Cliff: he sat in the back of the class and was kind of a loudmouth joker. The only reason I’d even been aware of him was that he was my primary crush’s boyfriend. Anyway, he fell out of his seat like a big bag of potatoes, and the whole class kind of gasped simultaneously, and then things started happening really fast. Mr. Crowfoot walked over and checked his pulse, and then yelled “Someone call 911!” and started doing CPR, and suddenly there were sirens everywhere and people were sobbing and parents were showing up and grabbing their kids and no-one seemed to know what was going on.
In the end, eight kids died that day, and another thirteen were in critical condition. The word was someone had been selling bad heroin from down in the city. Later that day, every cop car in the world converged on the house across the street. By that weekend, a For Sale sign had gone up. I never saw or heard from Faith and Grace again.
Tara Franks caught up with me in the hall.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m OK,” I said cautiously, “How is your boyfriend?”
“Cliff,” she said. “Ex-boyfriend. He’s still in the hospital. They say he might have brain damage. I’m not sure how they could tell.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be. Listen,” Tara said, and suddenly she was very close to me, and my heart was pounding in my chest. “Listen, you made me feel really good the other night at the party. I’d like to make you feel good too. Do you think you could teach me?”
I took her hand, and she squeezed my fingers. My clit jumped and my pussy drooled. She did not let go of my hand. “I’d be happy,” I said, “to teach you anything you want to learn.”