SCHOOL TRAIN, my third (Patreon)

NOTICE - As always, I just want to remind everyone that I was of legal age, eighteen or nineteen or older when this happened, and attending college, which we all called 'school' because it felt like an extension of High School. The 'boys' of the Hockey team as I describe them were also eighteen or nineteen or even significantly older. If I, or some of the persons I describe seem younger or more immature, that's because it was a long time ago and a much simpler and more naive time. We didn't have the internet back then, we had to watch our pornography on VHS tapes. Pioneers like Cindy Lauper and the Divinyls had only recently discovered masturbation and no one was sure whether it would catch on. Anyway, if you decide the me in these stories is younger than I'm saying, that's on you, not me.

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THE SCHOOL TRAIN

The thing with the Black Train was no one knew. My secret. I suppose in a way, that was a bad thing, because I was really conflicted and my self worth took a beating. There was no one I could talk to about it. There was no one I dared talk to about it, I’d just look like a horrible slut.

But then, there wasn’t anyone I could talk to about these things anyway. There was one man, but he was staying well away. He cut me off, which I suppose he thought was the right thing to do, but fuck, it still hurt.

The Shit Game was underway. I’d already been egged, and my name was all over bathroom walls. Someone had gouged “SLUT” on the front of my locker. The Janitor was nice, he painted it over right away, that evening. But you could still see the word gouged under the paint.

I was still okay mostly. Somewhat. I learned to be careful about going into bathrooms at school, or just not to go in most of them most of the time. And I was okay with the stoners, they didn’t mind me. Girls would talk to me, as long as no one saw them. I wasn’t a complete pariah.

I don’t think I’d gotten beaten up in the gym’s locker room yet. I’m pretty sure that was after.

But I was eating alone in the cafeteria. It wasn’t a good idea to be seen sitting with me. And I’d learned to sit way off to the side, back to the wall, next to the pillar. Out in the open, I’d get mashed potatoes or pudding flung at my back. Yeah, it was real fucking funny, especially in my hair.

I was learning to be careful, and to keep to myself. Not that it was helping my reputation at all. Once stories about you start up, they don’t stop. People make them up.

I was lonely.

And needy.

So one day, a couple of the guys from the hockey team came and sat with me. Keith and Mike.

I have to explain: In Canada, hockey is everything. And at school, the top of the food chain was the hockey team. Even high school and college players, they were like heroes. Everyone loved them, they dated all the best girls, they had the best parents, they got good grades, they were handsome, popular. And the worst part, was that generally, everyone agreed, they were nice.

I mean, hockey’s not something you put on some sweats and go shoot hoops on a concrete driveway, or skateboard up and down an empty swimming pool. It’s expensive, you have to get all the gear, you have to practice all the time, ice time. So it came down to, the boys on the hockey team, their families spent money on them, they invested in them, lots of social investment. So good boys, disciplined, no time for fucking around.

I was kind of dumbfounded that suddenly, a couple of them were sitting at my empty table and talking to me. Just making conversation. Like, talking to me! They knew my name. In terms of the social pecking order at school, they were on another planet from me.

Keith and Mike. Keith was the shy one. He was just making small talk. Mike was the one talking to me, asking if I liked parties. Wow. You know, we like parties too. We have some good parties. Maybe you want to come to one of our parties, hang out with us. We’ll introduce you. I’ll be great. We have booze.

There it was. For a microsecond, it was right in front of me. This fantasy of getting out of the hell I’d made of my life, a do-over, joining the social circle of the hockey team, being liked, respected. I’d be Cinderella, going from the bottom to the top.

Yeah, a whole microsecond of a fantasy. But I wanted it so bad, I could taste it.

“Party?” I asked. “Will there be girls there? Other girls?”

"Maybe."

“You want me to do a gangbang,” I remember the way I said. Just flat and dead, not giving a shit. It wasn't a big reach. The story with Peter was all over. I knew it, they knew it. And all they were talking about was a party. Well, what did party mean? It was pretty fucking obvious.

Party? That was such fucking bullshit. It was painful bullshit, because it promised so much more than what I could ever have. Just call it what it was. Show me the respect of not bullshitting me.

Pow.

Stopped them dead.

They just blushed and they didn’t know what to say.

Keith was the first to start. He apologized. He said yes, they had talked about it, on the team. Some of the guys, not all of them. And so they thought maybe they should ask. He apologized again.

And I thought, at least they were asking. And he was apologizing. I mean, that was nice. Keith seemed nice. We’d been in elementary school together for a while. I think his parents moved, so he changed schools. He probably didn’t remember me. But he’d been nice.

Mike was chiming in that you know, I’d done this before and I had a reputation. He wasn’t doing his case any favours. I could tell by the way Keith was looking at Mike that he knew Mike was being an asshole and hating it.

“How many?” I asked.

Not the whole team. Just three or four. Maybe five.

I nodded.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

I think my agreement shocked them. I don’t know, I think maybe they were putting each other up to it, daring each other. They didn’t expect a yes. It was just one of those humiliation dares, that sort of fucking with people, that teenage boys liked to do and laugh about. I think they hoped. But they mostly expected to be shot down.

Or at least they expected to work a fuck of a lot harder to persuade me, all kinds of tactics. I don’t think they expected a cold blooded ‘Fine.’

“But I’ve got two conditions.”

I had more than two. But fuck it, they were hooked. Although I didn’t fully realize it, all the power had shifted to me. They’d do anything I asked. Even not fully grasping, I had some sense of strength.

What?

“You have to be nice to me. No mattress in the woods. A real bed, a motel room, some place nice. And clean. And you have to be respectful. And nice, and treat me... I’m not.... I’m not... garbage.”

Honestly, I got the dialogue wrong probably, that was the gist. But I remember vividly, searching for the word. I wanted to say ‘be nice, be respectful, I’m not a slut.’ But I couldn’t say ‘I’m not a slut’ to them, I was terrified they’d just laugh in my face.

I remember casting around for a word, and settling on ‘I’m not garbage.’

I remember that phrase, and I remember struggling to say it.

Hotel room? Sure. They knew just the place. Real nice place. And they’d bring pizza, and beer. Did I want hard liquor? Pot? They’d have pot. Music. It would be a real party, everyone would have fun, we could talk, we could dance. Mike was still really trying to sell even though I'd said yes.

I think looking back, maybe they’d rehearsed a sales pitch and he didn’t want it to go to waste. They were in new territory, and he didn’t have anything else to say.

Anyway, he was really pushing it. It would be great, a regular party.

Totally, yeah, a regular party, except I’d be the only girl, and they’d all have sex with me.

“And it’s secret, okay," I demanted. "Confidential. Nobody talks about it. Not before. Not after. I don’t want it all over school. If I do it, you can’t talk about it.”

Totally, yes. They promised!

Yeah. You can figure how that went. Teenage boys keeping a secret? Fuck that. That was why my reputation was in the toilet to start with.

“One more thing.”

“What.”

I pointed at Keith. “I want you to take me out. A date, like a real date, not a handjob in the parking lot (I didn’t actually say that). I want to go out. We do that first, before the... party.”

I think that startled them both. And Keith didn’t really really want to agree, but he didn’t know what to do. Mike pushed him and said yes for him, and Keith finally went along.

So I said okay. And they said they’d set it up, and let me know. I said fine. And they excused themselves, because they had practice or something, and they fucked off. I knew that they just didn’t want to be seen with me longer than they needed to. But at least they were nice enough to lie about it.

Yeah, I was living on crumbs by that time.

So they fucked off. And I sat there eating my lunch, and wondering what the hell I’d just done. I wasn’t freaked out, or excited or upset. I think I felt a little sick in my stomach, but I didn’t wholly connect it with what I'd agreed to do. I wasn't shocked at myself for saying yes. I mean, why not. Who else was talking to me? It wasn't like school offered me a social life, my calendar wasn't overflowing with invitations. I went to bars and parties a lot, but that wasn't on a schedule, it was just escaping.

I wasn’t really thrilled at the idea of pulling another train.

So far the sex hadn’t been great. The first two hadn’t been grand adventures, just bad sex and fumbling through. I think maybe I had this idea it would be better if it was something we decided to do in advance, rather than just stumbling into it. But it was not particularly thrilling. Maybe a little exciting, but also a little intimidating.

It wasn’t that it was the hockey players. I wasn’t impressed by their celebrity or status. I mean, there were girls who were fans. They were like heroes. And I think maybe some girls would have loved to gangbang them like they were stars or heroes. Not me, I wasn’t even on the same planet, so it didn’t mean anything to me.

I wasn’t scared of it, just the opposite. Like fuck them, I had pulled two trains already, and I had sucked and fucked a lot more than that. Sex was the one place in my life where I was powerful, where I was strong, and knowledgeable. Where I could walk into a bar, and rule the place. Maybe in agreeing to do it, I just wanted to reach my place of power, the place where I wasn’t a victim or a loser or garbage. Isn’t that so very very fucked up?

I think mainly, my self-respect was really low. I couldn’t even say “I’m not a slut” in a conversation. I had to struggle to say “I’m not garbage” out loud.

Even there, I don’t know that I wholly believed it. It was mostly pathetic defiance to say that, not belief. I think I believed I was garbage. When everyone says it, when you know that’s what everyone thinks... well, you start to accept it.

There was something else.

Like I said, I was living on crumbs, little crumbs of niceness or respect. I’d take whatever I could get. And this thing - they had to be nice, they had to be respectful, they’d agreed to that. That was where my standards were - Gangbang me, just don’t spit on me while you do it. Please. I would fuck the whole room, just treat me with a little decency. Looking back, that's a little pathetic.

And deep down, maybe I kind of had that Cinderella fantasy. That maybe, if I did this, there was a path that maybe something good would come out of it.

There was a movie - Julia Roberts and Richard Gere, it had been out a couple of years - I remember my parents wouldn’t take me to see it. But you could rent it now, video store clerks didn't give a shit. Pretty Woman. We were all, all the girls, totally in love with Julia Roberts. I don’t think we really understood it. But it was basically Cinderella. We all loved it. I wanted my own little Julia Roberts story.

Maybe I just wanted to hurt myself. I was falling into self-loathing a lot those days. That was probably it.

Nothing much happened for almost a week. I wondered. Maybe they changed their minds? But Keith would say hi to me in the halls. I’d say hi back and smile. Mike would too, but I didn’t like him - I wondered if maybe he could be excluded from the train. I got more comfortable with the idea, like I said, sex was my place of power. They didn’t really talk to me or come around, but I understood that, because this was a secret project, and stuff...

Then Keith called me and asked me out. On a date. Like, a real date. A movie. I was over the moon. I mean, okay, I put him up to it. But it was my first real date, my ticket to a normal life.

I made the mistake of telling Mom and Dad about it, and I got the third degree. But oddly, once they’d asked all sort of questions, they were good with it, even supportive. They knew who Keith was, or found out, and they approved. Hamilton wasn’t that big, not really. And the plan for the date seemed pretty normal, get something to eat, go to a movie, come home after a while.

Of course, there were all the rules the parents insisted on: No alcohol, no drugs, no staying out late, no anal, no heroin.

Okay, I made those last ones up.

But seriously, I had no intention of screwing this up. I wanted to be treated like a Princess, or at least like a person, so I absolutely didn’t want to fuck up. It was going to be totally vanilla. Maybe a blow job at the end if we were really connecting, but that was it.

And, oh god, I got the talk. Mom sat with me and walked me through sex.

I think I almost died when she showed me how to roll a condom on a banana.

But... it sort of came from a good place, and we weren’t fighting. There was no ‘where are you going!’ ‘Where were you last night!’ ‘What are you wearing!’

Even school was less horrible. I got egged, but that one was totally my fault, wasn’t watching out. Even that couldn’t kill it.

We went out. I got dressed for it. My parents insisted that Keith come into the house and say hello. God, that was embarrassing. Then we went out for dinner at Burger King, which was a little disappointing, but at the same time it was comfortable. He was kind and funny, and asked my opinions. Then we went to a movie, True Romance, the one with Christian Slater, at the cheap theatre. Oh my god, I loved it, it felt like our story, except for everything being different.

I was ready to blow him right in the theatre. But instead after, we drove out to the park, and sat around on the playground structures and looked at the stars. He talked about what he wanted to do with his life, and it was... He had plans, he had dreams. I didn’t have those, I had anger and despair, and getting drunk and fucking and trying not to get beaten up - my life was all immediacy and reaction, even my actions were reaction. So I didn’t have much to talk about.

But he asked me about my gangbang with Peter, and I told him. It felt like he understood. Then I told him about the other gangbang, and he listened and didn't seem to judge. And I told him about some of the things I’d done, some things, a lot of things I couldn’t talk about. Things I shouldn't have talked about, looking back. I talked about how school was so terrible. And getting egged, he hugged me. We talked about all sorts of shit.

Keith said I wasn’t what he expected. He said that he hadn’t expected me to be so smart, and kind, and funny.

Then after, we drove to another part of the park, and we made out. He got his hands under my clothes, and I got mine in his pants. I was really looking forward to blowing him. Mostly, I didn’t give a shit, a blow job is like a handshake only wetter. But I really wanted to do it for him. He came in my hand as I was stroking and playing with it. I didn’t know my own sexual super-power.

Keith drove me home, and as we parked in front of his house, do you know what he said to me? He said he had a really nice time with me, and we should do it again. He said that! And he kissed me! It felt like my heart grew a hundred sizes and turned into a balloon and carried me off into the sky to an entire orchestra’s music.

That was it. I spotted Mom and Dad watching the truck from the window, so they probably saw the kiss.

But you know what? I didn’t care.

And they didn’t even give me shit, not for anything. It was like a fucking miracle - walking through the door and not walking into a fight.

I was really looking forward to this gangbang. Like, seriously.

I decided I wanted it to be perfect. I decided to dress up for it. I had this blue dress from a couple of years ago, we’d bought it for some family wedding thing in Niagara, we’d all dressed up. I’d grown a little, but it still fit when I tried it on, and I filled it out better. I thought it was perfect. Sexy but classy and sophisticated.

Maybe it was because I had nothing better to do. Or maybe something to focus on.

It was like the calm in the eye of the hurricane. I settled down a little. I wasn’t fucking off to go to bars or parties, and coming home late and half drunk. I was staying home, and I had something to occupy me. I even pretended to do homework. So I wasn’t fighting, we were all getting along. I was even cheerful. Even school seemed to be going all right, like I said, I only got egged once.

I’d told them I was going to a dance, so they were all right with that. And they picked up on how much of a big deal I was making out of it.

Technically, it wasn’t a lie - just not the kind of dancing they were thinking of.

God, I remember debating on and off, whether to wear earrings to my gangbang. Should I? Shouldn't I? If I did, then what kind? Like dangly ones? Or classy little simple ones? No hoops, those were hooker earings. Maybe it was too much? Earrings might be overdoing it. Eventually, I just decided, no earrings, I mean, I could lose them, they could hook on something, I probably shouldn't wear them during sex (I'd had some problems there before) taking them off and putting them on would be a complication. No earrings.

Hair? What to do with my hair? What look worked best? Tried different looks with hairspray, settled on this Veronica Lake, thing, changed my mind. Eventually, just a more refined version of my regular. Paint my nails? Oh god yes! What shade? Agghh, I tried like nine different shades.

Lingerie! What about Lingerie? Fishnets? Too cheap. Pantyhose? Nooooooo!!!!! Stockings? But I needed a garter belt. I had one, but one of the straps was broken. It's not like I could ask for money to buy a new one. A lot of my good lingerie I had to hide because they were gifts from friends.

Also, it all had to match, like, I’d die if I took off the dress and they saw granny panties and a green bra. What about commando? That could be hot. Shoes? Yeah, the black pumps, only choice.

I’d try all sorts of looks, checking myself out, looking at make up in the mirror, debating lipsticks. I was cheerful. It wasn’t scaring me at all. I was looking forward to it.

At night, I’d run scenarios in my mind, ways it might happen, as I masturbated.

Some of the scenarios wwere silly, I had this idea they’d all show up in uniform. Or at least regular clothes and jerseys. But that was too silly, I left that behind.

Even the bad fantasy versions where they tied me up and had their way were sexy.

Some of it was serious, trying to plan out how it should go, what I should do.

I actually wrote down lines to use, so I'd sound clever and sophisticated.

Some of it was just total fantasy, like dirty dirty epic fantasy of all these boys and all these cocks nonstop, worshiping the fuck out of me and cocks in every hole and making me come nonstop... I liked that one.

Yes, I masturbated to the idea that I was going to get gangbanged by the Hockey Team. Fuck you.

Seriously, fuck you. Probably half the girls in school, particularly the ones who could find their clitorises, were masturbating to the fantasy of gang banging the hockey team.

Shocked? Fuck you some more. We were teenagers, we were all walking hormones, we were all horny as hell. It made us crazy. So yeah, I bet all the girls had all kinds of fucked up fantasies, and I bet for a lot of girls, sometimes the hockey team, sometimes the whole team, was in them, I’ll guarantee you.

The difference between all of them and me, was that I actually went out and did it. So fuck you, and fuck your judgment. Maybe I was a slut, maybe I was stupid and delusional and naive and self-hating and self- destructive.

But at least I had the guts.

Fuck. Where did that come from? I’m sorry. Anyway, I’ll go on.

Saturday was coming up. Thursday, Keith asked me out for Friday. Picked me up. We avoided my parents. We didn’t really do anything this time, we just went out to the park like the first time, and I cuddled up against him, and we talked. He let me know I didn’t have to, and I said I was okay, it was something I wanted. I thought then, he was being wonderful and respectful of how I felt and giving me an out if I wanted.

But really, looking back, remembering it in a harsher light, that night was just him coming bymaking sure I would go through with it. I got it backwards.

But we talked, and made out, and this time I actually blew him. When he came in my mouth, I felt elated, it was special, we were connected.

On the way home, I was a little hungry, so he stopped at McDonalds and bought me chicken McNuggets. We ate them inside the restaurant. This was the second restaurant he took me to! Can you believe it! He wasn’t at all afraid of being seen in public with me. I was thrilled. The restaurant was empty, but that didn’t matter. If anything it was kind of romantic. We sat by the window, and tore chicken McNuggets in half and fed them to each other. I couldn’t stop smiling.

Okay, I’ll say it now. Things didn’t turn out the way I hoped. Nothing ever does. And some of it... some of it was hard. And maybe, thinking it over, he didn’t really care, and did some shitty things. But you know what? Keith was a good person. He was kind and thoughtful, in the automatic way that good people are, where it just doesn’t occur to them not to be. I forgive him. I forgave him. There was a period where I hated him for what he did to me, but I didn’t hold on to it. I let it go. We’re all young, we all fuck up, that’s all.

Saturday. The ‘dance.’ Keith came by to pick me up, and I ran downstairs.

Suddenly, I got ambushed by Mom and Dad. But it was okay, because Mom said I looked beautiful and they were proud of me. So they just had to have a picture with me, the three of us together, me in my blue dress, them looking proud and happy, me kind of embarrassed to be there, but I put on a tight little smile.

They wanted Keith in there too for a picture, but I said we were in a hurry and spared him from having to come in and be awkward.

If they only knew what I was planning to do.

Then I was out the door.

Years and years later, when I came home, I walked into the house and stopped dead. There was that picture, right in the living room. After I left, they had it blown up and framed, I suppose to remember me, or to torture themselves. I swear, my guts twisted looking at it, knowing how it had all turned out.

But for them, it was special, it was the last time we’d all been happy together, the last time we’d really been a family, and that girl in the picture, smiling awkwardly as they beamed, to them, that was the daughter that represented who I could be, when I chose - beautiful, graceful, a girl with a future. The daughter they’d loved so hard and lost so heartbreakingly.

Knowing what it meant to them, I just got used to it. They didn’t need to know the real story.

I got in the truck, and Keith said I looked nice. That lifted me up. I wanted to look good for my gangbang.

Okay, I had to stop writing here for a bit.

I’m okay now.

Anyway, we got there, and it was this motel on the outskirts of town. It was actually quite a drive, and I didn’t see any bus routes, so that chilled me a bit. If it didn’t go right, I’d have trouble getting home. Keith had both hands on the wheel, I wanted to hold his hand but I couldn’t, so I just settled for patting him on the thigh and hope he understood the message. ‘Look after me, please.’

They were there already, five of them. Two cars, parked way at the back. They were sitting on the cars when Keith pulled up, waiting for us. You could see they were twitchy, excited. Keith got out on his side, but he didn’t open the door on my side, or help me get out. I felt awkward, trucks are higher than cars, so you sort of, it’s trickier to get out of them gracefully. Or at least that’s what it felt like.

Keith introduced me. We shook hands. The faces and names came and went. All that registered was that they were horny. Well, one guy, Leo, he was super-twitchy, jumpy. I think nowadays, he’d be ADHD. He talked loud, and fast, and he felt unfiltered. I didn’t like him at all. The room was already rented, there was pizza and beer. It was actually two rooms - with a connecting door that was opened. One room was the party room, with the beer and pizza where they’d all wait for their turn to go in and fuck me. The other room was... well, you know.

I didn’t get a single compliment. My god, I must seem so shallow. But one of them should have said what great dress I was wearing or how good I looked in it, or how good I looked period. None of them said how much they appreciated me. Like, maybe a ‘thanks’ or ‘we’re glad you’re doing this’ but not much more. I suppose that was asking too much, they were really fucking horny, and consumed with the idea of what was going to happen. They weren’t looking past that. But I needed it, some affirmation, and I just found myself wishing for it, wanting them to say something. So yeah, I was shallow, I admit it, and vulnerable.

Anyway, we all went in. I learned that this was the Hockey Team’s usual hang out, where they’d go to celebrate after a big win, or just sometimes party during practice season. They’d bring their girlfriends there, everyone would get drunk or get stoned. The motel managers looked the other way, so they always gave them the back rooms, and tried to make sure there was no one next door. And if you got too fucked up, they usually had a spare room you could crash out. I wondered how they could afford it, I mean, renting a couple of motel rooms every other week, that would run you up. But it was the hockey team, half of them had their own cars, bought by their parents. So I guess they had money.

Anyway, it sounded really super-cool, the way they were talking about it. I really liked hearing about it, and said something like wow, after all this is over, I’d love to go to one of these regular parties. And we all laughed and said sure thing. Except for Leo, who laughed too loud and hard, just kind of barking, and the way he sneered the word ‘sure’ made it sound a lot like ‘fuck that.’

I made sure to sit close to Keith, and we all had beers. I was hoping for something stronger. I was already a hard drinker.

Okay, this is silly: I kind of hoped for champagne.

Yes. No. I mean, I didn’t ask for it, didn’t tell anyone that, I didn’t expect it really. But you know, at night, at home in my bed, kind of running what was going to happen, and masturbating over it, I’d fantasize about how it would happen. And sometimes in the fantasy, someone would produce a champagne, and I’d go, ‘oh my gosh, guys! You didn’t have to!’ and then we’d drink some and toast each other and then we’d start. I mean, I wasn’t that stupid, I absolutely completely knew that wouldn’t happen. Would not happen that way.

But, it would have been kind of nice if it had. And deep down, like way deep down where no one could see, I was a little disappointed.

But so far, so good, it wasn’t bad. I was okay so far.

Anyway, we sat around, and they were all undressing me with their eyes. I’d heard that phrase before, like I read it in my Aunt’s romance novels. It didn’t mean anything then. But suddenly, it was real. I actually just felt naked with them looking at me. Like they’d look at my legs, or the way I filled out my dress, and it was like ... yes, like being undressed. All that concentrated attention. It was off putting, but hot at the same time. I felt myself blushing, like embarrassed, but also wet.

And if I crossed my legs, they all held their breath.

I wish I’d appreciated it more. Later, I learned to enjoy that kind of fixated attention. It’s hot. Even to play to it. If you’re hot, you should enjoy being hot.

Actually, I think I was enjoying it, even back then, but at bars and parties with adults. Like I said, I could walk into a bar, and rule it. But this felt different and awkward. I think, when I walked into a bar, well, the bar was the bar, and bar stuff was going on. I wasn't the center of attention, the place didn't stop and it wasn't like everyone was looking at me. At the bar I could look around, scope out, see what people were doing, if anyone was checking me out, decide what to do, how to play it, who to say hello to. Here, I was the absolute center of attention, it was very different.

Anyway, we talked, but really, they weren’t interested in talking much. It ended up being about me. And questions. And then sex questions. And some of it was okay, I was okay. But a couple of the questions were uncomfortable, and some of it got kind of mean.

I remember that fucker, Leo, asking me how my parents felt about me being a slut.

He got shit for asking that, not from me, but other guys recognized it was a fucked up thing to ask.

And some were distressing, sort of ‘what do you want to do with your life’ when mainly I was trying to get through each day. I mean, these guys all had futures, sometimes not realistic if they thought they were going to be playing in the NHL. But they were going to have some kind of future - even if it was going to university and becoming... I don't know, used car dealers, or architects, or working for companies, having houses, kids.

That kind of casual idea that there was such a thing as a future, that you could idly talk about it, that wasn't for me then. I was stuck in my now.

We were drinking, and someone put on some music and I got asked to dance. Slow dance where someone I didn’t know put their hands on me, but I smiled anyway. There was no comfort, they were too eager.

They started asking me to strip, all of them, like they started to chant, "strip strip strip" and I was actually embarrassed, because they were being stupid and vulgar about it.

There was... I don’t know... a mean-ness to them? No. That’s not it. It’s hard to explain. They were making me feel like a cunt they were waiting to fuck. Which was true. But I found I didn’t like it. The more it went on, the more uncomfortable and reluctant I felt. I’d actually been turned on, a bit wet when we’d arrived. Now I was dry as the Sahara.

They weren’t all like that, but that was the general feeling I got, and some of the guys, lead by Leo, just felt nasty - genuinely mean. Like, when they looked at me, I was like gum on the bottom of their shoe. They’d fuck me, but never respect me.

I suppose if you’re a big enough asshole, you’ll be amused reading this - A girl willing to get gangbanged by a hockey team actually wanting them to respect her. If you found yourself thinking that, I have two words: Fuck You.

Everyone deserves respect, every single person out there. And if it’s someone you use, or take, or give, even a girl in a gangbang, they’re still a person - respect them.

Oh, and here’s something that upset me. We talked about condoms, I insisted. But they were all agreeing, some asshole said it was good because they didn’t want to get diseases.

Fucking excuse me?

Did you just say I was diseased?

No, I didn’t say those things to them, but I felt insulted and really disrespected. I don’t know, maybe I overreacted, but that comment struck me as really sour. The whole ‘warm up’ was just more and more insulting and disrespecting. I thought they’d be nice to me. But they weren’t. They didn’t seem to care about me at all. All they wanted was what I was going to do, and they wanted that.

Leo said something mean. No wait, it wasn’t him, it was someone else. It was like, ‘hurry up and start, slut, we’re waiting.’ I snapped at them a little, just feeling the mood die completely in me, feeling awkward, and uncomfortable and resentful.

Not wanting to be there after all. I said I needed to go to the bathroom. I just wanted to get away from them.

Keith asked me if I was okay. I smiled at him and said sure, I just wanted to get ready. They loved that, they took it that I was horny to get fucked. I guess it fitted with the fantasy they had, where I was just a horny mindless fuck doll going ‘fuck me fuck me fuck me.’ A redheaded fleshlight with options. Looking back, I don’t even blame them, they were just boys.

But fuck, they were killing any mood or desire I might have had.

I just shut the door on the bathroom when the panic attack started up. I started breathing hard, panting, and my heart was racing. I didn’t want to do this, I didn’t want to face them. No way. This was a giant fucking mistake. What the fuck had I gotten myself into? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. They set you up. Keith set you up. You’re just a stupid fucking whore to them.

I saw the blue dress in the mirror, and my stomach turned. The blue dress hadn’t worked at all. They hadn’t even noticed. Nothing worked. This wasn’t like I had fantasized about.

Sitting on the toilet, I stuck my head between my legs, and tried to take deep breaths while I figured out what to do.

Not going through with it just didn’t occur to me. I didn’t think of that at all. Didn’t enter my mind.

I don’t know why.

I guess I’d been psyching myself up for it for over a week, I couldn’t imagine backing out. Maybe I could have. Just didn’t think of it.

Okay, the blue dress was a bust, I took it off and folded it on the sink. The lingerie went next, they wouldn’t fucking appreciate it. The shoes. I tried to play with myself but I was still dry, so I used lubricant. I’d learned to make a point of carrying vaseline or vaginal lubricant around all the time, just in case. You never knew, right?

Knock at the door.

Give me a minute.

How long?

A minute.

Knocked again.

Keith: Can I come in for a minute, please?

Keith came in. He sat on the bathtub, while I sat naked on the toilet. He asked me if I was okay. I said I didn’t know. He asked me if I was scared. I said I was. And then I said I wasn’t. We talked. I don’t remember the words. I knew he was there to talk me into going through with it. That was pretty obvious. But he listened too. He tried to assure me that it was going to be okay. That made me smile - he’d been with two girls before me. My body count already exceeded his score for the rest of his entire life, and he was acting like the experienced one? That was kind of funny. How many trains have you been in, Keith?

I asked him to look after me. He promised.

So I said let’s do it, you go first with me, okay?

He said okay.

That was it. We went out. I walked out naked. Fuck! They cheered. They literally cheered. I was so surprised I laughed. Not a funny laugh, a shocked laugh. I blushed so hard. And they couldn’t stop staring at my naked body.

You’re naked, someone said.

Yeah, that’s what we do. I don’t think my reply made a lot of sense. You’re all wearing clothes I said. What are you doing?

I went with Keith into the other room. I wanted the door closed between the rooms, but they said they couldn’t. It was busted. I actually believed that. Not happy about it. But I believed them. Honestly, I had other things to think about.

I laid on the bed and Keith took off his clothes. He had a nice body, and I liked looking at it. Muscular. Really fit. That was one thing about this train - all the boys had really nice bodies. No fat, lots of lean muscle, good physique, the sort of clean grace of athletes, particularly skaters. Oh my god, the asses and thighs on them. If I had it to do over again, I’d make them all line up naked facing the wall just to see those gorgeous asses, and maybe bite each one.

I was nervous about sex with Keith. I’d been starting to have a crush on him, but I’d also just realized he was using and manipulating me.

But then again he had been nice all the way and I really really needed someone to be nice to me. I really wanted to like him, and for him to like me. But I wasn’t sure about him any more.

He was nervous. I guess, first guy right? All his buddies in the next room, door open. Pressure.

I put the condom on him because I wanted to be nice. I don’t know if he understood the kindness of the gesture.

I laid down on my back, and he got on top, hovering above me. I asked if we could kiss, and he said okay. So I pulled him down on top of me, and we kissed. He got one hand on my boob, and I ran my hands up and down his body, along his muscular back and firm ass, down to his thigh. The kiss... It was so sweet, it started with both of us careful, nervous and vulnerable, in this place where the trust between us was cracked and hanging by threads, but there was still a little hanging on. And as we kissed, it came back, we kissed and kissed again, more open to each other. I remember smiling up at him.

As we kissed, our bodies moved against each other, and he slid inside me as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes that happens, like when it feels so natural, not really a choice or a decision, just our bodies instinctively belonging together. I love it when it’s like that. It was absolutely smooth, I was full of artificial lubrication, but I was also genuinely getting aroused.

He started fucking me, nice long strokes. He tried to lift up away from me, to get his weight off me. But I held him close, feeling him thrusting smoothly over and over. I slid one hand between our bellies until I found my clit, and made little circles. We sped up together, I had one hand on my clit, the other on his ass, and when he came I came with him. Not a glorious orgasm, but nice.

If he thought he made me come, that was okay, he was in there somewhere.

After we came down, he let himself rest against me, and we looked at each other. We kissed, not really passionate, just a peck and he asked me if I was okay. It made me happy that he asked that. I said yeah.

After a minute, he pulled out and got off, and went to get his clothes. He left the condom in me, which annoyed the fuck out of me. But I just pulled it out and threw it off the side of the bed, I didn’t say anything. I remember rolling onto my elbow watching him bending over to pick up his clothes. Oh that gorgeous ass! And under it, the scrotum looking silly as it always does.

Then Mike, of course. I didn’t like him, he rubbed me wrong. But I guess he had second place because he’d helped reel me in. I wanted to just lay there and give him nothing. But he had a really nice cock, thick and curved, and he was actually good. It’s not just thrusting. Some guys fuck good, and others... I don’t know, they just poke. I can’t explain it better. But he fucked good, and even if I didn’t want to enjoy him, I did. I didn’t come, but it felt good, and when he came, he kind of went limp on me, and I wrapped my arms around him. Our eyes met, and we both smiled, and I giggled, I don’t know why. You had to be there.

The next guy - redhead like me, tons of freckles. Pale complexion. He rushed in. He was practically hopping as he scrambled out of his clothes, pulling his pants off.

Out in the other room, Leo was yelling, “It’s Ho Time!” Yeah. Okay. I don’t know if it was an official cheer or anything, but there was a cheer or slogan going around then, I don’t remember where it came from, but you heard it a lot. “It’s Go Time!” Like, time for something exciting. Leo was doing a moronic play on words, and I didn’t like it. It annoyed me, but I put it out of my mind.

Redhead got on the bed with me, kneeling between my spread legs, putting on his condom. I was still really lubricated, so I knew it wouldn’t hurt or anything, it would just slide right in. That’s the memory I have. I know he fucked me, but I don’t really remember that part of it - like maybe, maybe not. A lot of it just blurs. But I remember him kneeling there between my legs, his pale skin and freckles, and my pale skin, and his red pubes and my red bush.

The next one, the fourth or maybe fifth was Hey Zeus. I remember him, because he was the darkest complexioned on the team. He wasn’t Greek, like I thought with a name like that. He was Mexican, but his family came up when he was really young. So no accent. Just an olive complexion and this wavy black hair so shiny it looked wet. His pubes were so thick and dark it was like a black hole, no light could escape from it.

Wait! Wait! I just realized. His name wasn’t Hey Zeus. That’s what everyone called him, and that’s what it sounded like. But it must have been Jesus. Shit, I never figured that out. I mean, I saw it spelled Hey Zeus. But it must have been Jesus. I just realized that after all these years.

Never mind.

He had the biggest cock. It was like a log, even with lubrication, I remember grunting as he got it in, leaving me filled and stretched. He wasn’t great though. None of them were terrible. I mean, they were all young and really athletic, and they had enough status that they’d probably all had managed to get laid a few times. So they were better than you’d expect. But they were still boys, and mainly, as I hit the bars and parties, I was used to men.

But they were all beautiful. So I guess there’s that. I found I liked touching them. All they wanted was my boobs and pussy, one track laser focus there. But I’d try to get them to lay beside me, talk to them, at least a minute, maybe kiss them if they wanted (they didn’t want to kiss), and just try and run my hands on their bodies, feel their pecs and biceps, their boy-nipples.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Hey Zeus. He laid on top of me, but I pushed him up so he was hovering, because I wanted to see his whole body, those smooth muscles and olive skin and dark nipples, and the black tangle and big cock going in and out. I reached for my clit, and almost came, but he finished first.

Another, Bjorn. I remember because I couldn’t pronounce it right. Really thick set, super-light blonde, platinum. Natural, his pubes were almost white. He had tan lines. He was probably the best. He was the best, he lasted longest, and he made me come. At first I was on bottom, but after I came, I went on top. Someone called time - and told him to hurry it up. That’s when I realized everyone had a time limit, most never reached it. I felt a bit offended. Bjorn rolled me on my back and started thrusting hard, pushing my legs up over his shoulders. He fucked me so hard my breasts were bouncing and I was crying out, and I almost came again, but he went first. He pulled away so fast, I remember bouncing on the bed.

I don’t remember if he was before or after Hey Zeus, but I remember, they were like back to back together. I remember that, because I liked their contrast and thought a threesome would be hot. I was kind of filing it away for my alone time, if you know what I mean.

Of course the door was open. At first, the first one or two, no one was near the door. But after that, I had an audience, just a couple at first, but more and more, until the door was crowded. Some of them had their dicks out, their shirts off. I’d see them, but I found I didn’t mind too much.

Except for Leo, and his fucking “IT’S HO TIME!” every fucking time. It just got worse and worse. And finally, right after Hey Zeus, or maybe the one after, it wasn't right after Bjorn I'm very sure of that, I just got mad, and got out of bed and marched into the other room, right in front of everyone, and I just yelled at Leo.

“Cut that out! I don’t like it! Stop it!”

Leo, classy asshole that he was, looked startled then angry.

So he said, “What’s your problem, bitch?”

Word of advice: If you’re in a gangbang, like as one of the males, don’t call the girl a bitch.

“Fuck you,” I said, “I’m not a ho.” I was angry, but mainly upset. I remember trembling, my voice on the edge of breaking.

Leo got this expression on his face, really sour, he just rolled his eyes at everyone. I don’t know if he said anything, or was going to say something. But it set me off, just his expression.

“Fuck you,” I yelled. “I’m not fucking you, you can jerk off, but I’m not touching it. You go to hell, all of you. I’m finished. No more.”

In an instant, Leo went from snarky asshole to panic, I think everyone freaked a little as the words sank in. Some guys were going ‘Leo you asshole’ and some of them were going ‘Hey wait! What?’ I was starting to shake, I was so upset. I was hyperventilating. I felt like I was on the edge of bursting into tears.

Keith got me into the bathroom fast, to talk to me. I guess he wanted to convince me to go through with the rest of it. At first he tried to convince me that Leo was really a good guy, and not to be bothered by his assholishness. But I was pretty upset and not having it, so he switched to just promising to keep him under control. And then I said a bunch of upset girl stuff, and sniffled a lot, and calmed down a little. He asked nicely, so I said okay.

Oh, and in the bathroom, I discovered I’d had a condom dangling out of my pussy through the whole confrontation, holy shit, that was mortifying. Oh my god!

Always check and make sure.

The next guy was really nervous. I don’t remember his name. I don’t remember any of their names, except Keith and Leo... And Mike, Mike was there too, of course. And Hay Zeus and Bjorn. But this one, I didn’t know. He had nice eyes though, big brown kind eyes, like a deer. Funny the things you remember and don’t remember.

He asked if it was okay. I guess, he’d just watched me bite Leo’s head off and come within an inch of a meltdown. So he had a dilemma: On one hand: Pussy! On the other hand: Psycho bitch!

But I didn’t have anything against him. I was still a little rocky, so I asked him to just lay beside me before we started. He said okay. I asked if he wanted to kiss, but he said no. I was a little hurt by that. But I decided to just touch him and he let me. I think I touched him the most of everyone, just running my hands up and down his body, feeling his abs and his pecs and biceps and thighs, his nipples and ribs. He played with my boobs and when I gave him a nipple, he sucked it.

From the doorway, I heard Leo go ‘Hurry the fuck up!’ Like really malicious and snarky.

But someone else, not Keith, was going ‘Shut up Leo, before you fuck it up for the rest of us.’ Leo groused, but there were mumbles and you could tell, no one was happy with him.

This guy though, he was rock hard. I reached for his erection, wrapping my hand around the latex condom. For a moment, I thought about putting it in my mouth. Then I asked if I could be on top. He said yes. I got him turned around on the bed so that I could see the doorway. I slipped him inside, he had a real nice curve, so it felt good. I didn’t know about G-spots back then, I just knew certain angles and certain shapes, if you got it right, were really really nice. I fingered myself, working my clit defiantly, and just rode him and stared at them until he came, and I half-faked an orgasm. Like, I had one, it was just little, I sold it. I think this one was more his cock and where it was in me, and less clit fingering.

Then another, he walked right in naked. They were on my side of the door now, but clustering. All I remember was being on my back. I don't really remember much of anything about him. Not what he looked like. Only that he walked in naked.

Then Leo. I said no. He was naked, and hard, and very contrite. He said he was sorry. I said still no. And then of course, he got nasty all over, like I was the bad guy. I was waiting for him to use the word bitch. Keith and another guy came in trying to be peacemakers, but mainly they wanted me to fuck Leo. I got upset with Keith, and I felt outnumbered and oppressed, so I was mad, and pissy and I had tears. I mean, if I wanted people to be pushy and mean to me, I might as well have stayed home and fought with Mom and Dad.

But they wouldn’t let up, and somehow, Keith got me to laugh. So finally, I said, I won’t fuck him. But I’ll suck his cock. Leo wasn’t completely happy, but we agreed.

Of course, I made him put a condom on, because fuck you, Leo. And he made some shitty remark about not wanting diseases because they were mouth transmissible (something like that). Like fuck! Asshole right to the end.

There were two other guys. I think they came late. And hey, I was thinking, in the cafeteria, you said four or five. But it was at least seven, and Leo, and these two? Fucking liars. I was just not impressed. I felt fucked over, betrayed. This wasn’t anything like I’d fantasized about, or tried to make happen. This was grubby and demeaning, and they’d watched from the door, which I hadn’t minded, but now I did. And there was a timer. I was starting to feel used.

I didn’t want to do it any more. I wanted to go home, and I said so.

I ended up blowing the other two. No condoms though, I swallowed. Fuck you, Leo. One guy was nice though, he said thank you really sincerely. I liked him.

Then it was done, and time for beer and pizza. But I had boy funk all over me, so I went to take a shower. I had some offers to join me in the shower, but it was no thank you. It was just formulaic though, not all that serious. I would have gone with Keith, but he didn’t offer, he didn’t even respond to the hint. That’s the thing with boys, like once they come, they’re done with you. They don’t want you around. That’s why I preferred men.

As I was getting fixed up in the bathroom after the shower, I heard them talking, and heard some of what they were saying about me. I didn't get all of it, they were talking at different pitches and talking over each other, so it was hard to follow.

They were happy they fucked me, they talked like they were scoring goals in a hockey game, like doing play by play, recounting moves. Getting their big pucks into my tight little net. That kind of shit. Demeaning, but exciting to them.

But me? Myself? They didn’t like me. The word bitch came up. Leo was particularly shitty. Keith said I wasn’t so bad. But there was a lot of "Where did you find this psycho cunt."

It can really hurt to hear what people think of you. I’d liked some of them, I’d liked the sex, the sex had been fun, not great, but fun, and at times, even kind of thrilling, like an adventure.

But as far as they were concerned, I was just some skank, and that hurt a lot. I felt sick to my stomach. I sat on the toilet for a minute, not wanting to go out. And then there was another fucking knock on the door, and some talk on the other side about whether I’d stick around so some of them could go again, or if they wanted maybe to get me back. Like, fucking insulting -

Is Eve worth gangbanging again, or are we done with her? I don’t know, she’s kind of flaky.

Fuck them. I mean, they weren’t even trying to be quiet about it.

I came out, and someone offered me a beer, so I took it because I was thirsty. And Mike, I think, said I should have some pizza. They were all having pizza and beer, and looking at me, but not in that intense way from the beginning.

I said, and I quote this exactly: “I don’t want your fucking cold greasy pizza. I want to go home. Now!”

You could have heard a pin drop. Suddenly, everyone got this ‘deer in the headlights’ look, staring at me.

Keith put his pizza down, got up and said let’s go. I grabbed a slice anyway, and followed him. I didn’t talk to him at all at first. I just pretended I was focused on eating pizza. But after a half dozen bites, it really was shitty pizza, you’d think if they could afford to regularly rent a couple of motel rooms for parties, they could get decent pizza. Assholes. Anyway, after a half dozen bites, I rolled down the window and threw it out on the road.

Keith asked me if I wanted to talk. He could pick up that I was upset.

I said no.

If I started to talk, I would start to cry. I didn’t want to cry in front of him.

But it was a long drive. Really, the motel was right on the outskirts of the city, and a long way from where I live, and he kept asking questions. So finally I said the sex was okay, the sex was good. And he kept asking, and he asked if Leo had upset me. Finally I said it wasn’t just Leo, it was how they treated me and what they said.

Towards the end, I was just vomiting up bits of feelings, and trying not to cry. I had no anger left in me. Just this vague sense of hurt and loneliness and feeling used.

Instead of taking me straight home, he took me to the park, to our spot by the playground. But I didn’t want to get out and sit on the playstructures. So we just sat in the truck and I cuddled up against him and started rambling. I don’t know that I said anything meaningful. It was half talking about the night, and half talking about my life. He didn’t say anything, he just listened.

I remember at one point, he told me he thought I was a good person. Pow. That got me, right in the heart. I cried a little, and hugged him tight.

Then I think after I was talked out, I offered him a blow job, and he said okay. So we drove to the other side of the park where you could park in private. I asked if we could kiss first, and he said okay. We did, but not for very long. Guys will always want to get to the blow job as fast as they can.

He leaned back against the window, and opened his pants and unzipped. I took his cock in my mouth, holding its base tightly. I couldn’t reach his balls, his jeans were in the way. I gave him art, going slow, teasing and flickering my tongue around the head. Back at the motel, all I did was handshake blow jobs, you know - do it and fuck off. But I really put skill into this one.

Partly, I think I wanted to show him what I could do. And partly, to let him know I didn’t hold the bad parts against him. Partly to show him that I really liked him.

And partly, a big part, because I really really wanted him to like me. That I was afraid that deep down, he really didn’t like me. And maybe, maybe, if I was really good and made it really good, that he’d see past all the negativity and bullshit and the awfulness that was me and see the person I really was, the person that could love him, and maybe, he could like me. Maybe through the magic of an amazing blow job he could see the inner me, the Pretty Woman.

I knew I wasn’t Cinderella, or Pretty Woman, that wasn’t my story. I was Christian Slater’s girlfriend in True Romance, getting beaten to a pulp and not giving up and somehow making it.

I just wanted not to be garbage.

I wanted him to look at me and not see garbage.

That’s all.

That’s all I wanted.

He came really hard, amazingly hard, his hips lifted right off the seat, his legs straightened out like a mummy, he grabbed my head so hard it was like a slap and pushed me all the way down on his cock, but I was ready and took it smooth and he ejaculated and ejaculated, and I swallowed smooth as bourbon.

As it ended, and he sank back and let go, I let it slip from my mouth until I was holding the head, and just let my tongue swirl, giving the right amount of pressure so that it wasn’t overwhelming. I remember his sigh of absolute pleasure at that.

Then, I pulled my head off his cock and kissed him on the cheek, and cuddled up against him again.

I felt like crying, but I didn’t.

I just relaxed, enjoying being there, as he tried to catch his breath.

He drove me home after that. We didn’t talk much. The silence worried me. I felt like I’d fucked everything up, just this dark sensation. I couldn’t even really pinpoint how I’d gone wrong, or think about what I should have done.

What if they wanted me to do another gangbang? Should I say no? Should I say yes? What should I say if I said yes? I mean, to make it better. What if they didn’t even ask?

I just looked out the passenger window and stared at the houses going past.

What would be worse? Them asking? And having to try and decide?

Or not asking at all?

As it went, they never even called me back. I wouldn’t have said yes if they had. Probably. Maybe.

But the thing was, they didn’t. Not a peep. Days and days went by and it’s not as if I was waiting by the phone.

But just... they didn’t bother.

And in morose moments I’d feel like even more of a failure. Like they’d given me a try, but I’d fucked it up, the sex hadn’t been good enough, I was too much of a bitch, whatever, I’d washed out.

Not good enough to gangbang.

Yeah, back around that time, my self-image was in the toilet. I was just this little bundle of emotional need, anger and self-loathing.

We pulled up in front of my house. Lights were on. Mom and Dad were up. Fuck, here it comes.

Keith gave me a peck on the cheek, just like I’d given him after the blow job.

It surprised me. It was exactly like the peck I’d given. What did that mean? Did it mean something? Like, it couldn’t be a coincidence. I remember just ultra-focusing on it and things like that, desperately trying to squeeze some hope.

“See you around,” he told me. I felt my heart give a hopeful little leap. Anything, I seized on anything.

“Uh,” I said, “okay.”

That wasn’t enough. I couldn’t let it end there.

“I’d like that,” I mumbled. There, I’d let him know I was willing. I was open to seeing him around. Anytime. For sure. Yes.

And I went home.

Shockingly, Mom and Dad didn’t want to fight. They wanted to hear all about the Dance, and about Keith. I was too exhausted and fucked up emotionally to want to talk to them. That would involve lying, which I didn’t have the energy for and they never believed my lies anyway. I mean, fuck! They didn't want the truth, they didn't want lies, no wonder we fought all the time. I told them I was tired and just wanted to go to bed.

Amazingly, they let me.

The next day, Sunday, they still wanted to talk about it. But I said I didn’t want to. And amazingly, once again, they let it go. I was down, and that’s usually when they went in for the kill, but this time, they let me off the hook. I was grateful.

“See you around,” he’d said. It was just the standard bullshit, but I didn’t hear it that way. What I heard was that he wanted to see me again.

That somehow, that awful fucking night, that mountain of shit, had produced a rose. I was Cinderella, or Pretty Woman. He wanted to see me again. I clung to that. I knew it was stupid, but I was holding onto it anyway, just a little bit.

We would go out again, and date. I’d be on my best behaviour. You know, he thought I was smart and funny. I could do that. He said I was a good person. He said it. I could to that. I could be that. I could make him like me. We’d be a couple. Even if he had to hide it, just because of where he was and where I was - Front Centre can’t be seen hanging with the school slut. That was okay, it was even romantic, a secret affair.

And sex, that was my secret weapon, my superpower - oh I’d do so much for him, I’d make him feel so good, he’d be addicted to my sex. I’d be a fuck-odyssey for him, a cunt-carnival, a pussy-stravaganza. I’d put a sex spell him, so he couldn’t give me up, me, my pussy, my mouth, hands, ass, everything.

If he thought that blow job was amazing, well just you watch out!

All he had to do was call. I wanted him to call.

He didn’t even have to call, I was okay with him not calling, all he had to do was want it.

If he wanted it, it was his on any terms he wanted.

Maybe he didn’t want it.

But maybe... Maybe he did?

He might?

So I moped around home, feeling shitty. My parents noticed. But I wasn’t devastated. I had hope. It was a fantasy, borne of desperation and need. It was bullshit. But I believed it, somewhat.

I had to. Because if I admitted it to myself, what the fuck was left? If I let it go, then yeah, I had to admit I was garbage, and no one could ever want me for anything, except to use and throw away.

But no matter how hard I wanted to believe....

I knew the truth.

I waited for him to call. Every time the phone rang, I was scrambling down the stairs.

I said hi to him in the halls at school a few times. He didn’t say hi. I stopped.

I made up excuses that even I didn’t believe. The story was getting around, and at first I blamed Leo. But then I heard it was Mike. And someone said Hay Zeus had told someone. But I couldn’t know. Any of them might have talked. More than one of them did for sure. More and more I dreaded school. I could literally feel the rumours passing mouth to ear to mouth to ear. When anyone looked at me, I could tell they knew.

Keith never called, never spoke to me, never left me a note. The one or two times I managed to catch him to talk to him, he was polite, but he’d excuse himself to get away.

I realized I was getting stalker-ish and seeming crazy, so I didn’t press it.

It was pretty clear, he wasn’t interested.

It kind of hurt. All that ‘you’re smart and funny and caring’ just bullshit. ‘You’re a good person,’ more bullshit. It had all been just so I’d do what they wanted and spread my legs.

I wasn’t smart, or funny, or anything. I was stupid, and dull, and the only thing that anyone wanted was between my legs, and they didn’t even want that once they finished. The tides of self-loathing crept up and up drowning me with the taste of my own vomit.

I gave him up. I didn’t hate him. I didn’t want to hate him. He’d been nice to me, even if it was just so his buddies could use me. He’d been nice, even if he hadn’t cared and it had all been fake. He’d still treated me like a person, for a little bit.

I’d take that.

Even if it was lies, it was nice lies.

Maybe, no matter how I tried to give it up, to squash it, to leave it behind, I still had a teeny tiny flicker of... I don’t know... hope?

Of course, the story got all over the school. Teenage boys are not going to keep secrets. Oddly, although I’d dreaded it, it didn’t do the damage I expected. I mean, after the word got around about me and Peter and the Gang, I was the biggest skankiest slut in the world. So I expected this to be ten times worse - more guys, bigger gangbang, motel sex. Like, it had been arranged this time, I’d done it deliberately, it was a choice, not something that just happened. That was certain to be so much worse.

But it wasn’t. Oh, things got worse, a lot worse for me. But not as crazy. I think maybe I got a tiny bit of respect because the hockey players were higher status than Peter and his fuckwads.

But mainly, my reputation was so shitty, it was hard to make it worse. Everyone knew I was a gangbang girl, that I’d suck any cock, take it up the ass, do any depraved act. If they could imagine something awful or sick, there’d be a story about how I’d done it. I’d pulled a train on the hockey team? Just add it to the list of stories about Eve being the biggest whore in school.

That this one was true?

So what? Just another story. There were already so many stories.

It did do things to me. It validated all the stories no matter how crazy - I’d had abortions. I’d done pornos. Sold myself for concert tickets or a sixpack of beer. I'd done all the boys and half the teachers. They claimed I fucked the janitor. Because now, there was a genuine verified encounter with witnesses.

So it was obviously all true.

Also, a new thread in the stories - I was crazy, emotionally unstable, a pathological liar, and I had a drinking and drug habit. And that made for new stories, like I had a dealer and was doing tricks for coke. I was a psycho bitch. I pulled a knife and threatened to stab a guy once. Wait, I stabbed a guy, that’s why I wasn’t in school, I was in juvie. It was my pimp. It was my John.

She’s crazy.

Or maybe it wasn’t all that new, I had a temper, I raged and screamed sometimes when shit got done to me, until I learned to shut my mouth. It may have made some girls wary of confronting me. But a lot who had, kind of been okay with me, drew back. Even if you didn’t mind Eve, and weren’t worried about being seen talking to her, she was toxic, so keep your distance.

She's toxic.

Honestly though, the Shit Game was in full effect, that locomotive had stripped its gears, it was already hurtling towards catastrophe, and nothing could make a difference. It was what it was.

Then one day, after the hockey train story was old news, I was in the cafeteria at school, in my usual place, table to myself, far corner, back to the wall, shielded by a pillar, I looked up...

Keith walked by. He didn’t even look at me. I don’t think he even noticed, really. I mean, he knew where I always sat in the cafeteria. But I don’t think it really registered. He was distracted.

Because he was talking to a girl. Another girl. A popular girl. She was pretty. She was on volleyball, she had good grades and all kinds of friends. The sort of girl that a hockey player would date. They were talking, holding hands, really into each other, you could tell.

I wanted to be invisible in that moment. I wanted the floor to swallow me up and not even hiccup. I wanted to be gone. I felt sick to my stomach, and there wasn’t enough air, somehow, it felt like I couldn’t breath. I went hot. I turned all kinds of shades of red. My hands were shaking, and I couldn’t stop it so I put them in my lap.

I stared down at my tray, thinking please, please, please don’t look at me, don’t look my way, nobody look at me.

I just wanted it to be over. I hunched over, I couldn’t help it. I was staring at my hands in my lap.

When I looked up, I didn’t see them. Everything was normal. No one was looking at me. But deep down, I could tell, they were, they were looking at me and laughing at the stupid little whore. I knew it was crazy to think that. But it kept going around and around in my head, louder and louder so I couldn’t stand it.

I felt like I was going to vomit, just heave my guts out. I couldn’t stand being in the cafeteria any more. So I got up and tried to walk out without anyone noticing. I could feel stares burning into my back.

I went up to the third floor, I was shaking so hard I could barely walk, I couldn’t breathe I kept gasping like a fish flopping around at the bottom of a boat, walking up stairs was a nightmare, but I knew there was a bathroom it was safe for me to be in. It only had two toilet stalls. I went into the far stall and knelt in front of the toilet, having dry heaves for ten minutes. But I couldn’t throw up. I thought I would cry, but except for a few tears, nothing.

I felt so awful, so unbearably awful. Period bell went, and I couldn’t go out. I just couldn’t. So I stayed there, period after period, hiding from everyone in my toilet stall, wanting to be dead, wishing for it. A few times girls came to the bathroom, I’d pull my feet up so they wouldn’t see. One person tried the door, but only once. An hour after classes, I snuck out without anyone seeing me.

I went home, trying to cut through all the parks and back alleys. I didn’t want anyone to see me. If I got egged, I swear it would kill me. It would fucking kill me. I would die.

I just crept into the house, barely talked to Mom and Dad, skipped supper. I just said I wanted to be alone. I went up to my room and laid on the bed. That’s when I started crying. I didn’t understand why my life sucked so hard, why no one liked me, not even my own parents. I didn’t understand why everyone hated me and I had no friends. I tried so hard. I did whatever anyone wanted. But everyone was so mean, and no matter what I tried, my life kept turning to shit.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way, but that’s what it was. And I didn’t understand, and I couldn’t help it. I was so stupid, I was so fucking stupid, and it was all a big fucking joke and I was the punchline. I was a worthless slutty little whore,

I was like kleenex, blow in her and throw her away and laugh at how pathetic she was.

Maybe this is what I deserved. Maybe I didn’t deserve to be liked or have friends or have anything. Maybe I should just die, and then everyone would be happy, and Mom and Dad wouldn’t have to put up with my bullshit. I imagined being dead and everyone forgetting I ever existed and how much better everyone’s lives would be. Then I’d cry some more. No sobbing, just these quiet, gasping little pants, and tears running like faucets.

Later I got angry, and cried angry tears. I tried to tear the blue dress to shreds. All it represented was shame and humiliation. I’d wanted it to be special, and instead they just made me a stupid hole to fuck. I tore it as much as I could, then I got scissors and cut it to pieces. I wanted to flush it down the toilet, but I knew that would just gunk the plumbing, so I made plans to burn it on the barbecue.

Fucked up the barbecue. Don’t burn clothing on a barbecue. I got in trouble for that. Of course.

There was a moment with the scissors, the self hatred just welled up, and I almost cut myself. This urge to do cutting and cutting and cutting. Cut my arteries. That would show them all. And then... but no one would give a shit.

Final score - I don’t know. The sex was good, not spectacular, but on balance pretty fun. I came a lot, just not with them, mostly alone in my bedroom with my fingers, anticipating.

I went in with my eyes open, but I screwed it up and got hurt anyway. There were some good parts, some bad parts, a lot that’s painful in hindsight.

Looking back, it’s painful to relive it, to remember how desperate and pathetic I was, how full of need for even the smallest prospect of validation, and what I was prepared to do to myself for it. I remember pain and self loathing and helplessness.

Somehow, the one thing, the only thing was good at, sex, didn’t help me at all. It just kept making my life worse, and I couldn’t understand that.

I wish, I could reach back to who I was then, and give her a hug.

She needed it so badly.