DISCLAIMER:- The following text is sexually explicit and contains depictions of sexual acts that have been classified by the surgeon general as potentially dangerous and unhealthy. You must be a broad minded adult to read the text, and you must not make this text available to minors or to any person who does not wish to view it. Unprotected sexual relations with unknown partners is hazardous and we urge the use of condoms and safe sex at all times.

“No,” Sasha shrieked. The shrill, emotion choked and cracking voice accompanying a horrified look that hinted she was an instant away from puking

You see, while gentle at street level, the wind on the roof of a twenty-three story building blows really hard; so hard in fact, that standing on the ledge, I wobbled backward. Only the instinctive act of throwing my arms out to the side while leaning forward kept me from going over the edge. A bit ironic since that is what I had come up here to do. What I had not planned on was my best friend finding my suicide note only five minutes after I signed it.

“Oh God, don’t,” she begged. “Please, please come down.”

Teardrops dotted the metal at both our feet.

I shook my head ‘no’, flicking a tear from my cheek to the back of my hand. “It’s too late,” I insisted. “I’ve ruined everything and I’m not letting anyone else suffer for my fuck-ups. Not my Mom. Not my Dad. Not you.” I looked back over my shoulder at the street. The distance down made my stomach turn.

“It’s not your fault. I did it, not you.” She inched closer, but at ten feet away, she’d never be able to stop me. “Your Mom and Dad will love you no matter what. You guys will get through this. And me? I’m not worth it. Not this. You jump, and I’ll tell everyone that I did it and that your note is complete bullshit.”

Tears and mascara streaked Sahsa’s cheeks. Wearing only a long T-shirt, she shivered from the cold breeze. Her lips quivered, struggling to form words through her sobs and the lump in her throat. She knew she was about to watch her best friend die. I felt really bad about that. She had done so much for me, more than I would ever be able repay, but things were so messed up that only two options remained: either both our lives were ruined or my life ended and hers went on. “Go home Sasha. You did it for me. I’m already screwed and I’m not taking you down too. Don’t deny my last request.”

Her whole body shook as my words only made the blubbering worse.

“You go along with what my note says. Everything will be fine in a minute, you’ll see.” I decided it was time, closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

“I’ll jump too” she screamed.

Could things get any worse? I opened my eyes. “Don’t do that to me Sash’.”

“To you?” she cried in disbelief. “Don’t do this to you?” Tears were beginning to splash about her feet like rain. “You kill yourself and you’ll kill me too, whether I jump or not.”

I had to stop hurting her. I had to keep from hurting everyone. One moment of pain, for me and for her, and everything would get better. My own tears soaked the front of my green and black Borderfield Junior High Band hoodie. I glanced over the edge again. “Say something nice about me. I’m . . .” I struggled to get the words past the fist sized lump in my throat. “I’m sorry.”

Sasha, arms outstretched lunged for me. I turned my back on her and put my foot over the edge.

At that moment, everything changed.

************************************

Seven months earlier I had been forced to go live with my Dad. My Mom is an ER nurse, and the day before my fourteenth birthday she was notified that she had to serve in Iraq for a year. I guess that is what you get for using the National Guard to pay for college.

When I was nine, Dad and Mom got divorced. Mom and I got the house in the suburbs. Dad rented an apartment on the other side of town and started his own software company. He got rich a couple years later when he wrote some kick-ass security program that everyone had to have. I guess I benefited too. Last Christmas he bought me a 72-inch plasma TV, so I couldn’t complain too much.

From when they split until Mom was shipped out, I only saw Dad one weekend a month plus some holidays and for a two-week vacation every summer. We had been close when we were a family, but the divorce changed him. Maybe it was the other way around. Perhaps he changed and that caused the divorce. Either way, we had grown more distant. My guess is that while he acted like a good Dad, he was never comfortable with the idea of kids and that once he was on his own he no longer needed to act.

With Mom in the Middle-East, our dog went to live with my Uncle Ron while I moved into Dad’s new downtown condo. It wasn’t home, but it was pretty cool. He had one of the really expensive, top floor corner units. From the living room you could see down into the new stadium and watch baseball games. From his bedroom and from the study, which was to become my temporary bedroom, you could see out across the bay, and on a clear day well out into the ocean. Dad was cool about my moving in, but I could tell that he wasn’t really happy about suddenly having a teenager living in his bachelor pad. After he left Mom and got rich, Dad had no trouble getting dates. It seemed like every time I called he had a different girlfriend over.

The study was begrudgingly converted into my bedroom and he agreed to drive me to my school so I wouldn’t have to start ninth grade in a new high school, only to go back when Mom returned. I got to bring my computer and the plasma TV from home, and he installed a private phone line and mini-fridge in the room, so it was kind of like having my own apartment. All he asked was that when he had company, I stay in my room and give them some privacy. Having no desire to watch him make out with the slut of the week, I happily agreed.

The Wednesday after moving downtown, three of my friends cornered me at lunch: Sasha, Lindsay and Angel – Anjelita actually, but everyone in the five musketeers had to have a two syllable name, so Angel and I shortened ours while Leigh went by Leighlee. They expressed their concern about my getting depressed sitting all alone in my new home during the coming weekend. I assured them that my Dad would be there and that I would be fine, but that if they wanted to hit the mall or see a movie, I would be up for that. Smirks and rapidly exchanged glances made it clear they had other ideas.

Lindsay put her arm around my shoulders. “Baby,” she purred. My little group of friends always called me that because I was the youngest of the group by nine months. “This is a difficult time in your young life,” she continued, sounding like a guidance counselor. “Your Mom is gone and your Dad is, well, a parent. You need the support of your friends at times like these. Since none of us are busy Saturday night, what kind of friends would we be if we left you alone. Hmmmm?”

I could see where this was leading. I glanced around at the grinning faces. “You just want to check out my Dad’s condo.”

“Well, not JUST that,” Angel added.

“Sleepover Baby,” Sasha smiled. “Come on, you know you wanna.”

It did sound fun. Given that my father would likely be sympathetic to my losing my Mother to the Iraq war and that I had to change houses the weekend after Easter, it would likely be easy to get permission. I agreed to ask and, assuming success, we made plans for the party.

Playing up the whole “I’m depressed because Mom is gone” and “Please Daddy, don’t you want to make your little princess happy” angles I wrapped my father around my little finger and not only got permission, but some new DVDs, CDs and catering to boot.

Saturday arrived and the girls came over. Dad was really cool about it. He made sure we had everything we needed: soda, juice, pizza, chicken wings, chips, doughnuts and a freezer full of Hagen-Daas and ice cream bars. With five smiling girls looking back at him, he disappeared into his bedroom for the rest of the night, and we got the party started.

We ate our way through a few movies while IMing several friends to gloat and calling a couple of guys to flirt. Between movies we danced and rocked out to the new tunes I’d gotten, ate some more, complained about how fat all the eating would make us, had ice cream and watched Sasha demonstrate oral sex on a HoHo, a banana, and on a cucumber. While we were all in PJs when it was time to hit the sack, Sasha showed us all up by slipping into a matching black silk camisole and panties. We hit the lights, snuggled into sleeping bags and gossiped.

While the rest of us threw out juicy tidbits about a few people, Leighlee knew dirt about everyone, like: how Rochelle Newburg stuffed her bra; that Amber Humphry, or ‘free-hump as we called her, had gotten an abortion ever year since sixth grade; that D’Angelo Marquez had gotten two girls pregnant back in Mexico last summer; how Michelle Matsuoka was a lesbian; that Kelly Wilson claimed she was a virgin even though she had had anal sex with three different guys, and how Junior Pupunu was having sex with Mademoiselle Rodriguez, the French teacher. While I enjoyed all the juicy news, it made me wonder what rumors were being whispered about me and my friends at other slumber parties in the houses around my school.

The second Friday in my new home it was Dad’s turn to party. He brought home some Mexican bimbo, and holding up my end of the deal, I went into exile with three hot slices of pepperoni pizza and two cans of Red Bull in tow. I popped in Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and crashed on my worn, but oh so comfy Mulan bedspread. Despite listening to the movie through wireless headphones I could still periodically hear my Dad and his date talking and laughing.

When the movie ended, I killed the TV and noticed that things in the living room had gotten quiet. I was curious about what was up in the other room, so I grabbed a book, read lightly and listened carefully. When Dad’s bedroom door clicked shut, I just knew something interesting was about to happen. I listened carefully while studying the silence for clues. Grandpa’s old sailing ship steering wheel clock tapped out the seconds, one-by-one-by-one-by-one. I flinched when a poorly stifled giggle shattered the silence. My elbow smacked the precious Red Bull, sending it careening across the desk and into the laundry basket. I peered in the hamper: socks, undergarments, sweats and a towel. The damage was minimal, but that chick owed me a new bra.

A heavily accented voice recaptured my attention. Surprised by the clarity of the sound, I looked up and noticed a vent near the ceiling on the wall that separated my room from Dad’s. Alias wasn’t my favorite show for nothing. With international intrigue next door, I became Agent Sydney Bristow – Super Spy. I tip toed across the deep carpet, leaned on my Green Day poster, tucked a stray length of red hair behind my ear and cocked a pierced lobe toward the open vent.

Her playful reprimands terminated in a fleshy ‘smack’ and shrill “ayie”. The ‘whump’ of a down pillow and wheezed ‘umph’ from Dad punctuated the exchange and told me he’d caught the first blow of a pillow fight flat on the back. “Nice shot chica,” I thought.

Laughter, and ensuing gasps, repeated whimpers and a delighted sigh from Dad’s date spot-welded my attention on the vent. While I was not experienced by any stretch, spin-the-bottle being the limits of my adventure, I was not completely clueless about what was happening next door. Being a super spy, I listened closely for a few minutes. This woman was clearly enjoying whatever my Father was doing.

Unable to just sit there and listen, I grabbed my desk chair and rolled it over to the vent to find out what could possibly cause such a reaction. The vent was high on the wall, but when I stacked two phone books on the seat and stood atop them on my toes I was able to look right through the grates and down onto his bed at two naked people. Shocked by the sight and not wanting to be noticed, I immediately ducked down. I was dying to covertly watch what was going on, so I quietly hopped down, switched off the light and returned to my perch.

The scene had changed a bit. The Mexican woman was nude. She lay on the bed, eyes closed and legs spread, her long black hair splayed about her head like a dark halo. She breathed in long, deep, open mouthed breaths which caused her small breasts, topped by the darkest, thickest nipples I had ever seen, to rhythmically rise and fall. I licked my suddenly dry lips. Between her wide spread thighs was my father’s head. He was licking her private parts the way our dog Moose lapped up the jumbo banana split I dropped on the grass at my eighth birthday party. I’d heard about ‘going down’ on someone, but had never seen it, even on Lindsay’s computer. Her Mom didn’t install Surf-Nanny, while mine had to go and buy ‘Surf-Nazi’ deluxe.

My Dad was also naked, but lying on his stomach. I’d seen him in a bathing suit at the beach when he was still with Mom, but apparently he’d been working out and spending a lot of time in the sun. He was no longer the slightly pudgy, pasty white guy I remembered.

Her heavy breathing, impassioned moans and excited cries seemingly raised the room temperature by twenty degrees, sucked the air out of the room, stirred butterflies in my stomach and sparked a tingling itch deep between my legs that begged for a scratch.

This woman was really into what he was doing; wiggling and wailing something fierce. Her fingers danced over her sausage like nipples. In sympathy, mine jumped-up and begged for attention. I caved, figuring “why should they have all the fun?” A moment later, one hand was under my T-shirt playing with my own stiff nips as the other helped balance me against the wall. Each of my breaths came in time with hers. Sympathizing with her, my thighs squeezed tightly to feed that special, growing feeling between them. Oh, to be shown that kind of adoration.

Just as the woman and I were really starting breathe hard, Dad sat up and knelt between her legs. His clean shaven face glistened with her juices, but my eyes were drawn lower, to the first live hard-on I had ever seen. The boners in Lindsay’s porn didn’t do the real thing justice. I was amazed by its size, shape and color, and marveled at the thought that I was looking at the erection that had created me. I should have been grossed-out, but couldn’t pull my eyes away.

He reached over to the nightstand and fetched a small shiny blue square. Clenching the corner in his newly purchased pearly whites, he ripped open the package and pulled out a rubbery disc. I figured it had to be a condom. The only other one I’d see was in health class, the day they split the boys and girls into different classes for sex education. Old Mrs. Gattenburg showed us a condom package and then the condom inside. All she said was that we should make sure a boy wore one when we had sex because condoms prevent disease and pregnancy. I wasn’t clear how they did that, but she said that they would cover its use in the boy’s class since it was their responsibility. That was the extent of our education on rubbers. She tossed the condom in the trash and rambled on about marriage and feminine hygiene for the rest of the class.

My eyes widened and my mouth hung open as the woman sat up, took the condom from my Dad and popped it into her mouth. As if performing some erotic magic trick, her full, ruby lips parted. Gripping his manhood she lowered her head and the shiny, purple head disappeared into her mouth. She paused, letting out a contented sigh before continuing to swallow his pole, somehow taking every inch of him into her mouth. Then, like a movie in reverse, his manhood emerged, now sheathed in tight shiny plastic, like a jumbo sausage in saran wrap. “David Copperfield, eat your heart out.”

When she lay back down I got a good look at her private parts. They were completely bald. Even I had some crimson pubes down there, but this girl didn’t have a single curl. My Dad must have really done a number on her because she was open like a blooming rose. Now I knew what gynecologists saw every day. The valley between her legs glistened. Puffy lips parted, revealing bright pink flesh that seemed to glow against her cinnamon brown skin. I wondered how my pale pink would stand out against the milky white of my skinny thighs. Would any guys would find my parts as arousing as Dad found this girls bits?

He rubbed his now condom clad penis up and down her swollen mound, making her squirm with a sultry “ummmmm”. My stomach was doing somersaults. I was about to watch my Dad and some stranger have sex not ten feet away from me. She hissed something in Spanish as he pressed his meat into her. Inch by inch I watched him disappear inside this woman. It must have felt incredible, because she wrapped both legs around his waist and tried to pull him deeper. He leaned over her, grabbed her hips and slammed into her. Every bit of him vanished with that stroke, causing her to squeal in delight. The front of his thighs slapped the back of hers as his manhood pounded her opening. I prayed I wouldn’t fall off my chair, but could no longer resist the urge to pull my other hand from the wall to diddle between my legs.

So there I was, balancing on my tip-toes on a swiveling chair, leaning a hip against the wall, one hand up my T-shirt playing with my boobies and the other down my sweats a’ strokin’ as I peered through an air conditioning vent at my Dad having sex with a Mexican hottie. Pathetic way to spend a Friday night, right?

Little shudders coursed thru my body as the woman’s screams and Dad’s grunts grew louder; quicker; more intense. His hips became a blur while her impassioned howls merged into one continuous growl. My father pounded her so violently that she had to grab both breasts to keep them from swinging wildly beneath his thrusts, though she continued squeezing her gigantic nipples, now looking painfully hard, between each thumb and index finger.

All too quickly for my wishes, Dad roared, his body shuddering and taut muscles rippling beneath a sheen of sweat that seemed to glow in the room’s dim light. The woman screamed and began thrashing about on the bed, ramming her hips upward to meet his. There was something in their sounds and seeing them like that that sent a jolt thru my body and put me on the edge of an orgasm that promised to be much stronger than any I’d managed to previously coax out of myself.

As I drew near, Dad shot a glance toward the vent. Terrified he might see me, I jumped off the chair, sending it hurtling back toward my desk, and leaped into bed in case he stormed into my room. They were both crying out at the top of their lungs, finishing their erotic journey in unison. A few minutes passed before Dad’s door opened and footsteps approached my door. I was mortified at the thought that he had noticed me, and was sure he was coming to chew me out. With the covers over my head I held my breath, but the footsteps passed by and headed toward the kitchen. The closing of another door told me he had gone into the bathroom. I relaxed and realized that actually, I had to pee too. I waited until he returned to his room before quietly sneaking out of my room and into the restroom.

As I sat on the toilet replaying in my mind what I had seen, I noticed something shiny in the trash. I looked closer and couldn’t believe what lay before me. There was Dad’s used condom, just lying on top to the trash. I gingerly picked up the small trashcan to examine the fascinating “evidence” I had discovered. It was like a super thin rubber tube, closed at one end and rolled over on itself so the opening was almost touching the closed tip. A gooey, white substance coated the side that faced out and the inside of the part that led to the tip, which had a big glob of the stuff in it. A rush of excitement filled my belly as my pervy little mind concocted a plan to finish the interrupted orgasm I still hungered for.

In my fantasy, tonight I would lose my virginity to . . . . to . . . my mind raced through candidates: Maybe Nate Peterson or Josh Kennedy, a couple of seniors on the high school football team; perhaps the college guy that lived across from my Mom’s house; possibly that off-duty cop who worked security in my Dad’s building; or just maybe both MC Tiny T and DJ Fresh Mike at the same time. God I was wicked.

I quickly finished my business in the bathroom, and despite being alone, looked around to see if the coast was clear. I snatched the condom from the trash smuggled it back to my room, locking the door behind me. Spurred by the fear of getting caught, the depravity of what I was about to do, and the excitement of the act, I was breathing like I’d just run the 50-yard dash.

I gently laid the condom on my nightstand and surveyed my room. Needing a partner for my crime, I pulled my “Seniors without Shirts” calendar from the wall and tossed it my dresser. Next, I lugged “Hugh G. Bear”, my massive, 6-foot tall overstuffed teddy bear, over to the bed. Stifling an excited giggle, I snatched a safety pin, skipped back to the bed and opened the calendar to Mr. September; the swim trunk clad Josh Kennedy. I secured Josh to Hugh’s face and grinned. I suddenly had myself a date.

My heart was pounding. I performed a slow, seductive striptease for Josh, peeling off grey sweats, pink T-shirt and white fruit-of-the-loom boxer-briefs-for-her. Josh was still smiling, though he did look a bit furry. Now naked, I slinked over to the bed, pulled down the covers and climbed onto the warm flannel sheets beside my Joshy Bear. I snuggled up beside him, stroking his fur and gazing lovingly into his eyes.

Spreading my legs, I rolled the enormous teddy bear on top of me. In my mind, my hands became Josh’s hands. They roamed my petite form, across my flushed skin, around suddenly sensitive and seemingly swollen breasts and through the thoroughly wet place between my legs. Fingers danced across the thin, delicate folds, teasing the virgin opening. The skilled lover found my throbbing nub and lavished it with passionate affection. My head swam, but I wanted more.

I wet an index finger with my tongue and unexpectedly tasted my own syrupy excitement for the first time. Realizing this is what my Father must have savored between the Latina’s legs, I drew the finger into my mouth and relished my own flavor as I knew Josh would. My lover would be hungry for more of my nectar, and so the finger became his tongue, dancing with my tongue before tracing a line down my body. Seconds later my body shuddered as the surrogate tongue lapped at the engorged button that had brought me so much pleasure since I had accidentally discovered it at the end of Kayla Del Bozio’s elbow during a game of twister last Halloween.

I felt so utterly bad, masturbating to the thought of Borderfield High’s all-state running back hovering naked above me, poised to lovingly pop my cherry. Now primed for his entry, I was panting like lady in labor and dying to be made into a woman. I reached for the condom, pressed a finger against the tip and slipped it over Josh’s imaginary penis. It appeared to be one of the “lubricated for her pleasure” types, so I figured I’d better find out what was so pleasurable about all that lotion.

Between my own excitement and all the added lubricant, the ‘Josh’ slipped easily inside me. I gasped far louder than I should have. Maybe there was some special chemical in it, because the “lubricated for her pleasure” was no joke, it felt incredible. I pulled the bear closer and wrapped my legs around its hips. In my mind, Josh pressed his manhood into me and pulled out, over and over again, deeper and faster as I rode my condom-clad finger, each stroke in further and quicker.

Aided by the goo, it glided easily in and out of me. With my free hand, I squeezed my nipples harder, alternating from one to the other, bucking my hips against my imaginary lover. Electricity, emanating from the depths of my belly, coursed throughout my body, jolting every muscle repeatedly and forcing whimpers to accompany each rapid and heavy breath.

It dawned on me that while my lover was imaginary, this condom had been on a real penis and inside a real woman; it was as close as a girl could come to having sex without actually having sex. The realization slammed me over the edge, sweeping me into an orgasm more intense than all the others I’d ever felt put together. While my mind plunged into an incoherent chaos, the gentle warmth of the climax embraced and caressed my quivering flesh, filling every pore as it lovingly nourished my hungry heart. I was tripping-out on the natural high, relishing every second as I saw sounds, felt aromas, smelled sensations, heard flavors and tasted colors.

It took me a long time to come down, but I figured I’d better put things back before they were discovered missing; or worse, discovered in my room. I rolled Joshy Bear onto the floor and stretched as if waking from a week long nap. I had to chuckle as I noticed the little rubber circle sticking out of my very wet slit. Apparently my pussy muscles had pulled off my finger in the throes of my orgasm. Sheepishly, I tugged at the condom. It didn’t budge, so I pulled harder. Two or three seconds later my womanhood released it, causing the rubber to snap like a surgical glove from my opening. Thankfully the real Josh wasn’t there, or I would have died from embarrassment.

I hopped out of bed, put the calendar back on the wall, Hugh back on my beanbag chair, and slipped into my 2XL all-flannel State University basketball jersey. Although my butt was barely covered by the red and black material and my tits were constantly threatening to pop out the oversized armholes, it was so comfortable I loved wearing it as a night shirt, especially when I was feeling sexy or nasty. Tonight I felt both. I grabbed the condom and peeked out my door. The coast was clear.

Still giddy, but trying to look nonchalant, I sauntered to the bathroom and closed the door. I placed the condom in the trash, even folding it back the way I’d found it, although all of the lube was now gone. Being paranoid, I squirted some hand lotion into it and rubbed it around until I thought it looked the same as it had when I found it. I flushed the toilet and ran the sink just in case anyone was listening.

When I opened the door, the lights were on. I gulped. Dad, wearing only his pants, and his date, now fully dressed and with her purse over her shoulder, were making out by the front door. Both jumped as I exited, apparently having no idea that I was up. My eyes caught the Latina’s for a long second, seemingly exchanging the understanding that we were now both members of some exclusive sorority.

I composed myself, smiled and happily chirped “goodnight Daddy” as I strolled to my room and closed the door. I giggled to myself as I heard him say “shit” and try to explain me to his date.

The next morning, over breakfast, Dad tried to sniff out if I had “heard anything” the previous night. I played the naive teen and claimed I’d crashed early. It was the answer he was hoping for, so he didn’t dig any further, perhaps afraid in the back of his mind that he would discover that I had indeed heard everything.

I was settling into the routine of my new home: weeknights dad would stay home, making sure I did my homework and got to bed on time. On the weekends, I had the place to myself in the evening while he went out on dates. Two weeks after my adventure with Joshy Bear, I watched a Saturday night ballgame from the living room, ordered pizza and chatted on the phone with Sasha while Dad took a date to see the musical Wicked. I was a little miffed because I wanted to see that play, but three was a crowd and he promised to take me before the production left town.

The game ended around midnight, so I went to my room, climbed in bed and started watching Lord of the Rings. I must have fallen asleep, as I awoke with a jump to the sound of a door closing loudly. My TV and lights were off and a blanket had been laid over me. The clock read 4:00 AM. I rolled my chair over to the vent and peeked into my Dad’s room. It was dark, but I could hear the beeps of him setting his alarm and the rustling sheets of his climbing in bed.

I waited about fifteen minutes and then snuck over to the restroom. Once again, my heart pounded in anticipation of repeating my previous escapades. I saw no condom on top of the trash, but could smell the same unique odor as before, a mix of locker room and burning rubber. I dug through the trash until I found a thick wad of toilet paper that held the prize. This condom was turned inside out, with all the lubricant on the inside. I grabbed it and in a spark of inspiration, one of my “satin teen” tampons, and dashed back to my room.

I was so turned on, addicted to the idea of what I was about to do and in a rush to get there. I hurriedly stripped and hauled Hugh G. Bear into bed. This time I left the calendar on the wall, in part because I didn’t want to hassle with attaching it to my teddy bear, but primarily because last time I’d had my eyes closed for 90% of the time and realized that my imagination more than made up for the lack of a visual aid. It was the soft, hefty mass of the huge teddy bear that did the trick, not what was on his face.

After reversing the condom so the lube was on the outside, I slipped the tampon inside it. With a deep, calming breath, I laid back, pulled the bear on top of me and closed my eyes. D’Angelo Marquez stepped up and knelt between my widespread legs, and once again my hand became my lover’s.

I whispered to him, forcing myself to be vulgar, just like one of Dad’s sluts. I rubbed his penis . . . no, I rubbed his beautiful brown cock across my scarlet slit, teasing my now damp hole as it slid between my swollen pussy lips. His hand caressed my breasts, coaxing from me an involuntary moan when he hit my nipples. He smiled at my reaction, pausing to pinch and roll them. Electricity coursed from his fingertips, into each nipple and straight to my core, forcing my hips to buck in search of penetration. In just a few weeks away from Mom, I had become a dirty girl and adored the new me.

His hands roamed across my not-quite-so-firm thighs and onto my mound, petting the downy curls and stroking the painfully engorged, half-inch long mini-penis that was my clitoris. I was hot and slick with my own desire and my entire belly swirled amid the flutter of butterflies; I was so desperate for release. Remembering my Dad and his date, I reenacted his movements with the condom-clad tampon, running it up and down my mound. I lifted my hips as D’Angelo’s manhood slipped within me as he fed inch after inch into my virginal opening. I paused, adjusting to the massive tool he had buried within me, but my womanhood had other ideas. My hips squirmed, seeking attention and trying to pull my lover deeper inside.

The base of my palm ground into my clit, spreading my pussy lips while my fingers pushed the invader further into me. My breathing grew ragged and my arms began to ache as I imagined D’Angelo taking all day to make love to me, feeding the need boiling deep in my loins. My hips thrust to meet my lover, stoking the warmth from a slow simmer to an all consuming inferno.

I bucked against my hand again and again, biting my lip and grunting as I assaulted my clit and pushed the condom-clad tool deeper into my hole. Mercifully, with a deafening roar inside my head, the orgasm finally embraced me. Tears filled my eyes at the sheer joy of the experience. I could feel my womanhood quiver in slowing waves, my juices soaking my hands and the sheets as my mind struggled back toward reality.

I once again returned the condom to where it belonged and rushed back to bed. Cuddling Hugh, I rapidly fell asleep with a huge, silly grin on my face. I had discovered heaven.

As the end of school drew near, Dad continued bringing home floozies on most weekends. When he didn’t we would usually do something together or I’d have someone sleep over, but when he did and I wasn’t sleeping at a friend’s house, I transformed into my alter ego: Dirty Girl. I got an incredible education peering through the vents, seeing more things than I had ever imagined possible. Dad seemed to like all sorts of women: blondes, brunettes and redheads; white girls, Asians or Latinas; big breasts and small. The only consistency was that he only dated short, thin chicks with long hair.

I think every woman that came over had sex with my Dad; most on their backs like the first woman, many on their hands and knees, doggie style as Kayla called it, and some even let my Dad have sex in their butt, just like that slut Kelly Wilson. They seemed to really enjoy it, but I would think that, like a big turd, something big in that place would hurt. A lot of the women sucked on my Dad’s penis; some licked it like a lollypop, others sucked hard as if drinking a thick milkshake thru a small straw, while a few crammed it down their throats like an emergency air tube on an episode of ER. However, every session ended the same, with my Dad discarding his used condom in the bathroom trash. Being a firm supporter of recycling, I patiently awaited each castoff to renew my perverted little ritual.

When summer finally came, my weekdays were spent exploring downtown, chatting on the Internet, shopping and having friends over to fawn over my new digs, watch ball games and play video games on the big screen. A few weeks into summer vacation I realized that I had totally missed and forgotten about my May period and was two weeks late for June. I had only had nine periods since my first had arrived as a downright lovely gift while wearing a white swimsuit at Leighlee’s swim party last summer. They had always been unpredictable, a couple of times coming only two or three weeks apart and other times waiting five or six weeks, with last December skipped altogether. However, I was a bit concerned since I was now going on ten weeks so I did some research on the Internet and discovered that stress, changes in diet and rapid weight loss could all screw up a woman’s cycle, delaying and even stopping periods.

I reasoned that it was pretty stressful moving to a new home and losing my Mom to the Marine Corps, just so she could dodge bullets in Fallujah while trying to save marines who got shot or blown up. I’d also lost five pounds eating the macrobiotic crap Dad kept in his fridge, so not only did I have stress, I had a change in diet and weight. It was a triple whammy, so with that explained, I didn’t worry much about it. Besides, I saw it as a good thing since I hated periods and the accompanying cramps, bloating and requisite bitchiness. In hopes of keeping them from returning anytime soon, I resolved to down more of the vile bohemian food, read more CNN stories about marines getting killed in Iraq and hit the building’s gym everyday.

I had already skipped May and June and smiled as the curse passed me by in July and August. When the calendar turned to September and my freshman year started, I was looking pretty fine. I’d gone from being a tad pudgy and insisting on one-piece swim suits to nicely trim and worthy of the hundred dollar French cut bikini I’d schmoozed Dad into buying me. My hair had never been a longer, fuller or shinier red, or so free of split ends. Though still whiter than a pale albino, my skin was silky smooth and free of zits, with an almost pearly glow. Best of all, my tiny boobs had grown like freshly baked muffins and now nicely filled a B-cup.

One thing I shared with my Mother was a love of fashion and clothes shopping. I thought we both pulled off the “cute” look pretty well, an image perfectly accented by an Abercrombie & Fitch, Urban Outfitters, Nordstrom and GAP wardrobe. It was Sasha that convinced me I was a poster child for the Goth look with my ivory skin, ice blue eyes and new, sassy attitude. The newly hot bod, desire for a fresh look and the start of school enabled me to coax Daddy into breaking out the plastic for a couple of all day clothes shopping expeditions with my posse of four clothing consultants in tow.

The pastel clothes and preppy shoes were shipped back to my Mom’s house, displaced by the sea of black filling my closet. As I got ready for the first day of ninth grade, I admired my nicely maturing body in the mirror. Watch out boys, the meek little Hillary Duff wannabe from last year was all grown up and stepping out in style.

Dad seemed a bit uneasy with my choice of outfits for a first day of class, but I assured him that while black lipstick, stiletto granny boots, black and grey stripped stockings, elbow length fingerless gloves, a corset and a long black skirt might have been “inappropriate” when he started ninth grade, they were perfectly acceptable today.

While quite striking and chic, I argued that the Goth look was far more conservative than that sported by the hip-hop and dance crowds. I felt vindicated as we pulled up to my school and the first girl he saw was sporting a pierced navel and purple tutu. I leaned over to give him a hug goodbye and with a gentle palm on his jaw I pressed my lips to his cheek just enough to leave a nice, bruise looking lipstick mark. Pulling away, I delivered an innocent smile and cheery goodbye.

High school was good to me. Between my new look and having boobs, both boys and girls definitely noticed me. By the time October rolled around I had made several new friends, lost some old ones and actually went on a couple of group dates. With an increased homework load, somewhat of a social life, and with real guys like Kyle Frances and Junior Pupunu, who was apparently not gay, asking me out, my weekend ritual gradually faded away.

A couple of weekends before Halloween, Sasha spent the night at my place and Dad took his love show on the road. While we worked on our costumes and some drank wine coolers she had smuggled in, Sasha mentioned that she had to hit the store for tampons. I offered her my half-full box since I hadn’t needed them for months. She dropped the cloak she was sewing and stared at me, one eyebrow raised.

“What?” I asked. “It’s not like they’re used or anything.”

“You haven’t had a period for months?” she yelled.

“Jesus, hold it down,” I hissed. “Try texting it if you want to notify everyone.”

“How many months, Baby?” she asked, her eyebrows now narrowed in interrogation mode.

“Um, only five.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” she shouted.

“You really shouldn’t use the Lord’s name in vain like that,” I sarcastically chided.

“Its ok, I’m Jewish. Seriously though, you’ve missed five periods? Have you seen a doctor?”

“It’s no biggie, I looked it up on Internet. Sometimes stress, changes in diet, and weight loss can stop a woman’s period. I’ve had lots of stress this summer; I’ve been eating all sorts of healthy crap, started working out and lost weight. You should try it out. It is so sweet not having to mess with bleeding every month.”

She looked at my belly. “Uh, hon? Have you checked the scale lately? You’ve added a bit to your belly since school started. Haven’t you noticed?”

I looked down. Truth was, I had noticed, but was embarrassed about having temporarily lost interest in the gym. I assumed a few pounds had crept back on and had hoped that with looser clothes, nobody would notice. “I just need to get back to the gym and lay off the Ben & Jerry’s.”

She put a hand on my stomach and started caressing the slight bulge. A moment later, her other hand joined the rubbing as she lowered her face to my belly and rubbed her cheek across my navel.

“Uhhhh . . . you going lesbo on me Sash’?”

“Oh yeah lover. I’m gunna lay you back, spread your legs and make you scream. You just name the place and time.”

“Oh? Something you wanna tell me?” I joked.

She looked up. “No dipshit, I’m checking something out.”

“What? Besides me, that is?” I giggled.

“You know my little sister Esther?”

“Of course.”

“When my Mom was pregnant with her, I used to rub her belly and talk to the baby all the time, from the day she told me until she gave birth. I hate to break the news to you, but your tummy kind’a feels like hers did halfway through, and you have missed five periods, which would also be just over half way through a pregnancy.”

My heart leapt into my throat and froze. I shook my head. “No way, that’s impossible,” I protested. “I’m still a virgin. You can’t get pregnant without having sex.”

“Not true.”

Now I was really nervous. “How?”

“The Virgin Mary and Jesus.”

My shoulders drooped in relief. “I doubt that I’ll be giving birth to the next savior. Besides, I thought you guys didn’t believe in Jesus.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not like we think he’s Santa Claus and made up either. Besides, I’m working on my own religion: Jewicca. It’s a form of Jewish Wicca. Wanna convert?”

I shrugged. “Sure. Sounds like more fun that being Catholic. We have way too much guilt”.

“Unless you have a Jewish Mother, you have no idea what true guilt is.” She paused. “Anyway, quit trying to change the subject. I saw on the news where this doctor was using a syringe to inject his jiz into female patients during exams and getting them pregnant without their knowledge. He’d been doing it for years and only got caught when he did it to some virgin which launched an investigation.”

“He injected what?” I asked in my typical clueless fashion.

“His cum.”

I stared back blankly, now immersed in my cluelessness.

“You know, his baby batter, sploogie, salty yogurt . . .”

I still wasn’t getting it.

“His sperm doofus.”

“Oh,” I replied meekly.

“Just how clueless are you?”

“Guilty of cluelessness in the first degree” I thought, but I had to save face. “I may not look at porn every night like some people in this room, but I do know how babies are made.”

“Do you? Ok, tell me Miss Smarty Pants.”

Sasha could be such a bitch. “Fine,” I huffed. “A guy and girl have sex, and his uh . . . salty yogurt . . .” I stifled a giggle, “fertilizes her egg. They have a baby. The end.” I held my head high and smug.

She didn’t look convinced. “How does the sperm get to the egg?”

“Well,” I began, realizing I didn’t really know. “Osmosis?”

“Oh my God,” she laughed. “You seriously don’t know. How old are you? Like six?”

“Stop it.” I growled, not appreciating taunts from my best friend.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be mean. I just can’t believe it.”

“We’re not all experienced sophomores like you dear.”

She stopped laughing. “Be nice, I’m only trying to help, and I wouldn’t count having sex with only three guys in my entire life as ‘experienced’.”

“Your entire life is fifteen years.”

“Have you ever seen a penis?”

“Yeah, but only in pictures.” I lied.

“Good. So you’ve seen the hole at the top?”

I nodded. “It’s where they pee.”

“Right, but that’s also where his sperm shoots out.”

“Unless they wear a condom.” I confidently added.

She shook her head. “No, with a condom the guy still cums, he just fills the rubber instead of you.”

My stomach lurched, twisting itself in knots as all moisture vanished from my mouth. “Wha . . . what’s cu . . . cum look like?” I nervously stuttered.

“Baby?” Sasha suddenly looked very concerned. “What did you do?”

“What does it look like?” I demanded, my voice cracking as tears formed in my eyes.

“It’s all white and gooey, kind of like slightly cooked egg whites or something.”

“Or hand lotion?” I whispered.

“Yeah, or like hand lotion.” She studied my crumbling composure for a second before speaking slowly. “What did you do?”

I couldn’t control them. An army of tears invaded my cheeks, conquered my jaw and set up a colony on my sweater. Sasha took me in her arms and held my bawling head against her chest, stroking my hair as she played doting mother and rocked me.

When I finally stopped sobbing I tried to explain while hiding the true nature of my secret. “I thought condoms kept sperm from coming out.”

“Go on, it’ll be ok. Whatever it is, you don’t want to deal with it alone. Tell me.”

“Oh God, I’m such a freaking idiot. This is so embarrassing.”

“Hey, were like sisters. We can share anything. You know everything about me. How can I help you if I don’t know everything about you?”

I took a deep breath. Held it, and finally exhaled with a long sigh. I didn’t know what to say, so leaving my mind behind, my lips blurted “I masturbated with a used condom.”

“Woah! Okay, a bit gross, but that wouldn’t have done it.”

“Apparently I turned it inside out.”

“You what?” she shouted. “Are you fucking retarded?”

I hung my head in shame. “I thought the white gooey stuff was the lubrication in ‘lubricated for her pleasure’, and slipped it inside me. It just felt so nice. I had no idea.”

“How the hell did you get a freshly used condom?”

“Just some guy at a party.” I lied again.

Her furrowed eyebrows shouted that she was not convinced, but thankfully she let it go. “Well, it still doesn’t mean that you’re pregnant. I’ll have my brother pick us up a pregnancy test so we know for sure.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out . . . together.”

“Okay,” I sighed “but nobody can know; not Lindsay, not Angel, and definitely not Leighlee.”

Sasha agreed to keep my secret and spent the rest of the night calming me down, trying to convince me and herself that I probably was not pregnant, and bombarding me with a million different topics to get my mind onto something else. After an hour in bed with the lights out I started crying again. She got out of her sleeping bag and under my covers, sliding up behind me and cuddling me tight. I was asleep in minutes. She would make an excellent Mother some day.

The next morning, Sasha’s brother David delivered the requested merchandise, three different tests actually, and left without asking any questions. He was cool and I knew he wouldn’t say anything. Under different circumstances I would have asked him to stay, given the crush I’d had on him since I was nine, back when he was a high school senior. Nevertheless, cute guys were the farthest from my mind that day.

Luckily my Dad was gone playing golf. I opened the boxes, read all the instructions, let Sasha read them, and then read them again out loud. With shaking hands, I peed as instructed, into a cup for one and directly on the test strip for two others, handed the tests to Sasha and then thoroughly washed up. Why did pregnancy tests have to be so gross? I looked in the mirror and realized I looked like shit. I started redoing my makeup, but realized it wouldn’t help and simply sat on the toilet staring into space waiting for the verdict on my future.

Minutes later a gentle knock at the door snapped me back to reality.

“You okay in there?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“You gunna come out?”

“Depends on the results.”

“You can’t hide in there forever.” She quipped, suddenly sounding like her Long Island raised Mother.

“Watch me” I stubbornly huffed.

“I’m sure your Dad will want to pee sometime. Besides, you want him to come home and find a bunch of pregnancy test boxes in his bathroom?”

She was right. It was time to grow up. I put the boxes back in the drug store bag and opened the door. She was right outside.

“Good.” She smiled. “Come on.” She added, motioning toward my room with a tilt of her head.

We walked in. I sat on the bed and she closed the door.

She was frowning. “I’m so sorry hon, its unanimous, you’re gunna be a Mom.”

We both had expected me to just break down and bawl, but I didn’t. I just stared into space. I felt nothing.

She sat next to me, looking concerned but unsure about what to do.

“What now?” I whispered.

“Well, who’s the Father?” She quizzed.

The question smacked me upside the head. “What?” I asked, dazed.

“Whose sperm was in the condom you used?”

“I don’t know,” I snapped. “Just some guy, what the hell does it matter?”

With her face only inches away, she just stared at me with those almost solid black eyes.

I couldn’t look at her.

“I knocked over the bathroom trash can last night and something interesting fell out.”

I can’t explain why, but my hands reached to cradle my belly. In satisfying some idiotic, depraved fantasy I had inadvertently planted my own Father’s baby in my belly; a twisted incestuous monster that would be both my child and sibling. Visions from horror movies flashed through my mind. I could envision the thing emerging from me with a bone chilling growl, the harsh operating room light illuminating its shark like teeth and slime covered scales. Forked tail lashing violently, its glowing green cat eyes would bore into mine as all four clawed arms reached for the horrible girl that had inflicted such an existence upon it. The small bulge seemed more solid than ever, and from wherever the emotions were hiding, they emerged to wash over me like a tsunami. All at once, I was terrified, angry, depressed, lost, worried and horrified.

“I have to get rid of it Sasha” I whimpered.

She nodded. “I’m so sorry Baby. You’ll be all right. Nobody has to know but us. David’s a medical student; he will know what to do. He knows people. Maybe we can get you an abortion without your Dad knowing.”

I started to panic. “No, my Dad can never know” I panted, starting to hyperventilate at the thought.

“Calm down. He will never find out, I promise.”

“Good thing I don’t go to church much. So I choose between burning in Hell for being a Catholic and having an abortion, or burning in Hell for giving birth to some inbred gargoyle? Since I’m screwed either way in the afterlife, let’s at least fix things here.”

Sasha called her brother and explained that I’d gotten drunk at a party and was now pregnant and needing an abortion. I could only hear her side of the conversation, but it didn’t seem to be going well.

“Like five or six months.”
“Fourteen.”
“What do you mean she can’t?”
“No you idiot, her parents can’t know about it.”
“What about Mexico?”
“Are you kidding? I thought everything was legal in Mexico.”
“What does being Catholic have to do with it?”
She glanced at me. “Oh.”

Sasha began to pace.

“There’s got to be some way to . . .”

“Rape or incest? Uh . . .” she grimaced, looking to me for permission.
I almost lost a filling shaking my head ‘NO’.
“Well, doesn’t being taken advantage of at a party count as rape?”
“No. We can’t file a police report.”
“Because we just can’t.”

She listened for a long time, sighed and dropped her head.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I lied. There was no party.”
“She just got pregnant. What does it matter how?
“David, we have to help her.”
“Please. For me?”
“Okay, thanks. I appreciate it. Let me know.”

She hung up, tossed the cordless on the bed and plopped down in the bean bag chair. “Two or three months ago you could have gotten one, but because of state law they would have had to notify your parents. Now it’s too late. David said that with the new law, abortions after four months illegal except in the case of rape, incest, or when the Mother’s life is in danger.”

“If my parents find out they’ll kill me, doesn’t that count?” I meekly joked.

Sasha just grinned and shook her head. “And I can’t fucking believe that it’s totally illegal in Mexico. Jesus, some sailor was drinking shots out of my navel at a bar on Revolucion three months ago, but abortion is illegal.”

“I can’t believe they accept your fake ID, you do not look 18. But back to my problem; technically, I guess this is incest.” I cringed at the thought.

“Yeah, but you would have to either tell your Dad or tell the police what happened.”

I let myself fall back, the pillow poofing around my head as I landed. “So much for that idea.”

Sasha knelt beside me. “It will be fine. David is going to talk to some people. He will figure out a way to fix this.”

The next morning, life went on. I should have won an academy award for flawlessly pretending everything was perfectly normal. I even fooled myself for a time. Life went on as usual for the next few days, until my phone rang on Thursday.

The voice on the end was soothing music. “Hey Sash’,” I beamed.

“Hey. I got some news,” her cherry tone faded “but it’s not good. I didn’t even want to tell you, but David said I should because it is your decision.”

My grin drooped. “I can’t imagine how it could get worse. Go ahead.”

“David knows a guy, who knows a med student that works as an assistant at an abortion clinic. Apparently the guy is willing to perform an abortion on you when the clinic is closed Saturday night; but he wants a thousand dollars.”

I felt dizzy. “A thousand bucks?” I choked. “Shit, I can’t get that kind of money.”

“I know,” she sadly whispered. “It’s that, or . . .”

“Or what?” I asked hopefully.

She gulped. “Or he wants to have sex with you; before the procedure.”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Several seconds passed.

“You still there?” she asked.

“Yeah . . . I . . . I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, for starters you don’t do this. It’s not even an option. Besides having sex. . . ”

“For my first time” I added numbly.

“Yeah, for your god damned first time, with a child molester is not an option.”

“What choice do I have Sash’? I am not giving birth to some troglodyte. This is not West Virginia.”

She laughed. “My god, she still has a sense of humor.”

“I am serious though. I cannot have this . . . thing, Sasha.”

“I know, but please be patient. We’ll find another way.”

“Like what?” Despite her request, I was losing my patience.

“Well, your Mom is a doctor.”

“Yeah right,” I shot back sarcastically. “One, telling my Mom is NOT an option; two, she is in Iraq; and three, she’s not a doctor, she’s a nurse.”

“Okay, okay. We’ll come up with something.”

“I don’t see any other options.” Suddenly, and somewhat thankfully, I was feeling nothing again. It didn’t even feel like my body. “Look, the longer I wait, the worse it gets. Tell him . . . tell him I’ll do it.”

“No, I won’t let you. Please, Baby, don’t do this. You can’t. Your first time has to be special, not at the hands of some pedophile med student with a butcher knife and vacuum cleaner.”

“Thank you for the picture. Now will you tell David to arrange it, or do I have to get a coat hanger.”

There was a long pause, broken only by a solemn yet terse “Fine” before she hung up.

By sundown the next day, Sasha had reluctantly seen to the arrangements. The guy insisted that no adults and no guys come with me, but she wouldn’t give me the address until I agreed to let her accompany me. Saturday evening we took the trolley out east and then a cab to the office. It was dark and a lone pick-up sat in the parking lot.

As we approached the back door, Sasha grabbed me by the shoulder.

“By the way, there’s been a change of plans.”

I was already a nervous wreck, but that practically stopped my heart. “What now?”

“You get to keep your virginity for one more night.”

Things suddenly got brighter. “He changed his mind?”

“No” she replied, “but one of us hasn’t been a virgin for three years. I figure, what does guy number four matter?”

“No way in hell. Not that. Not you.”

“Hey, what are best friends for?”

“Support, shopping, sleepovers . . .”

“Well, those all start with ‘S’, so why not sex too?”

“It’s my problem and my fault and I will pay the price, not you.”

“Too late, I already made the deal. Try and change it now and everything is off.”

I couldn’t let her do that for me. I’d never be able to live with myself. “I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse,” I protested. “Besides, I’m prettier.”

“Not gunna work kiddo.”

“Kiddo? You’re fifteen months older than I am.”

“Look, he wanted to do you bareback since you were already knocked up.”

She could tell I didn’t know what the meant.

“He wanted to do you without a condom, but god knows what diseases this jerk has. The new deal is he gets $250 and gets to fuck a fifteen-year old, but he has to wear a condom. Now shut up and open the door. Besides, we both know that I’m the prettier one.”

I grabbed her and hugged her tight.

She smiled. “I love you too. Now let’s get this over with.”

The hallway was long and dark, but there was a light on in one of the end exam rooms. We both entered. On the exam table sat this completely ordinary looking man in black sweats, a concert T-shirt and a medical lab coat. He was in his mid to late twenties, average height, average weight, with short dark hair and a week old beard. It wasn’t what I was expecting.

He stood up with a huge grin. “Evening Ladies! Doctor . . . uh, McCoy at your service.”

We didn’t say anything.

“So, which one of you is Sasha and which is the pregnant slut?”

Feeling like dirt, I looked at the floor. Sasha stepped forward. “Look, you’re getting your money and you’re getting laid. You don’t have to be an asshole too.”

“I am so, so sorry.” His apology reeked of sarcasm.

“Let’s just get this over with.” She reached in her jacket and put a bank envelope on the table. “There’s your money.”

I was really beginning to feel like shit for letting her do this in my place.

He counted the money and put it in his pocket. “Cool. Why don’t you hop up on the exam table so we can have some fun before we get down to business?” He looked at me. “You’re welcome to wait in the hall babe. I’ll call you when it’s your turn.”

Despite her bravado, I could tell Sasha was scared.

“Actually,” she interrupted; her voice a bit shaky. “I’d love for her to watch us.”

He chuckled. “Damn, you’re a kinky little girl. Sure, fine with me.”

We all stood there looking at one another for a minute, each unsure what to do first.

The doc broke the silence by slapping the leather table. “So get naked and hop up.”

Sasha undressed slowly, trying to show as little of her body to him as possible before she sat on the edge of the exam table.

Regardless, he savored a view I found myself ashamedly admiring: shoulder length, golden blonde hair that framed and partially obscured a beautiful but suddenly sad face with dark, downcast eyes, a large nose and heavy, pouting Angelina Jolie lips; lightly tanned skin contrasted by stark pale bikini lines; long and thin, yet soft and smooth legs that ended in dainty feet with nails painted a dark plum; apple sized breasts topped by nipples like pencil erasers, both in size and color; and hips with a gentle curve that framed a thicket of coal black curls.

It hit me that in the nine years we had known each other, I had never seen her completely naked.

He simply pulled down his waistband, freeing a semi-hard penis that did not belong with his average Joe image. It looked like a bad cut-and-paste job, attaching a foot long section of gnarled pink-brown elephant trunk, bent upward and to the right in the middle like a fleshy, tweaked boomerang. The mutant penis was nothing like perfect manhood my Father sported and only marginally similar to the ones I’d seen on the Internet at Lindsay’s. Size and shape aside, the surprising thing was that it had no head. It was all shaft with a pee-hole tucked inside a larger hole at the end.

“Suck it” he whispered.

She turned up her face, as if being offered dog crap soufflé. “That was not part of the deal. You only said sex.”

He chuckled. “Who are you, President Clinton? It’s called ‘Oral Sex’, now suck it,” he growled.

Long fingers tipped with black polish wrapped around the shaft as she curiously examined it. Apparently she had not seen one like this either.

He wrapped his hand around hers and pulled back. A moist, purple golf ball sized head emerged. “I’m uncut honey” he remarked, seemingly proud of the condition.

“It smells funny,” she observed flatly.

“You’ve just never smelled a real man. Now get to work.”

After a long, slow exhale she took a deep breath, held it, parted her gloss covered lips and took the freshly exposed knob into her mouth. Her head began moving back and forth rapidly, taking a couple more inches in and then pulling it almost all the way out.

His hands grabbed her shoulders, stopping her in mid stroke. “Take it easy. Slow down and watch the teeth. Suck it like you would your own finger if it were covered in sugar.”

She rolled her eyes and started again with slower, more deliberate movements. I hated what was happening, but couldn’t move my eyes from an x-rated show whose soundtrack consisted of her occasional slurps and his periodic groans.

There was no emotion in her actions. She gripped his fleshy pole tightly with one hand as the robotic back-and-forth motion of her head puffed her cheeks like some perverted chipmunk.

He, on the other hand really seemed to be getting off on receiving a blowjob from a tenth grader. Coaching her as her actions slowly grew more intense; he whispered chants of encouragement and advice like: “God, that’s a good little slut”; “Yeah baby, suck that cock, suck it like a pro”; “Cup my balls. Play with them. Roll ‘em around”; and, “Try deep-throating me sweetie, just let it slide down your throat and breathe through your nose.”

His hands roamed her back, stroked her amber tresses, caressed her cheek, and cupped her breasts as his thumbs toyed with nipples that involuntarily stiffened beneath the unwelcome attention. His grunts and moans grew more frequent, his hips gently thrusting at her mouth until he suddenly pulled away, causing his tool to exit her mouth with a loud ‘pop’.

“What’s the matter?” she asked in a breathy, slightly panicked voice.

He paused, catching his breath, his penis pointing at Sasha and glistening with her spit.

“Don’t you wanna finish hun? I’ll even swallow” she purred seductively.

I nearly choked.

He laughed. “Nice try, but you’re not making me pop that easy. This was just a warm up. Now, lay back and put your legs in the stirrups.

Her body slumped a bit in disappointment. With a sigh of resignation, she lay back and spread her legs, placing each on a chrome and leather holder.

He grabbed a large bottle of something and squeezed a clear gel all over her mound.

Her head shot up. “Shit, that’s cold!”

“Just a little lube to ease the ride lover.”

He stepped up between her legs, grabbed her hips and placed his manhood against her opening.

She craned her neck to look between her legs and gasped, “Where’s your fucking condom?”

Faking surprise, he replied “Oh my God, I almost forgot.” He felt his pockets and with a sadistic grin added, “I seem to be all out.”

She propped herself up on her elbows and shook her head. “No fucking way. You said you’d wear one if I gave you two-hundred-fifty bucks.”

“True; that AND to do you instead of her. I’ll be happy to put one on . . . if either of you happened to bring one.”

I jumped up. “I’ll go buy one. There’s a drug store down the street.”

He shook his head. “Look, I’m gunna be seriously pissed if I lose this hard-on. I’m not waiting for you to go buy a damn condom and besides they wouldn’t sell it to a little girl anyway.”

Sasha pointed at his throbbing erection and snapped “I don’t care. You’re not putting THAT in me without one, asshole.”

“Hey, I was just trying to be nice. It’s not my problem if bringing one wasn’t important enough to you. But have it your way.” He stepped back and tucked his dick in his sweats. “No pussy, no abortion; but I keep the cash for my inconvenience.”

“Wait,” Sasha whispered, searching my eyes with a longing look.

I vigorously shook my head and mouthed “no” to her.

She glanced down at my pooch-belly and then lowered her head, exhaled and lay back as if defeated. “Fine, but . . . ” she glanced at my belly again and swallowed nervously, “please don’t cum inside me.”

Her fading spirit appeared to amuse him.

I pleaded with Sasha not to go through with it.

He put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about your girlfriend. I have no desire to be vacuuming my brat out of her belly for Christmas.”

“Hanukah,” she wearily joked, clawing for anything to brighten the situation.

He glanced at her, shouting “L'chaim” as he raised his hand in mock toast.

She rolled her eyes. “Great! Getting fucked over by my own people.”

“Bevakasha!” he cheerfully added.

“You are NOT welcome,” she growled.

Chuckling he looked back to me. “She doesn’t seem to be enjoying this. Maybe you should make things easier on her.”

“How?” I eagerly asked.

“Take care of it for her.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

“No!” Sasha shot back. “You don’t get to touch her. The deal was all me.”

He glanced back to her. “Newsflash, I’ll be touching her sweet little pussy when I scramble her love child and scrape out the arms, legs and piercing blue eyes . . . no, brown eyes. I bet it was a black guy. Redheads love black guys.”

Today’s lunch begged to leap from my stomach.

“Enough,” Sasha screamed. “Why do you have to be such an asshole about this?”

He chuckled again and I cringed as he stroked my hair with the back of his hand. “I think someone is jealous.”

Sasha reached out and took my hand. “She’s my sister dickweed, so leave her alone.”

He looked at her, at me and then back at her. “Right. Sisters. You two look sooooo much alike. You strike me as a lezzie. I bet you sucked the creampie from her pussy after her boyfriend’s huge black cock left her pussy hanging wide open for your sweet little pierced tongue.”

“Stom ta jora!” Sasha snapped.

He smiled but said nothing for a few seconds, seemingly amused yet taken aback with the comment. “Did I say ‘sweet little tongue’? Damn. Yenta has a mouth on her. Good thing your friend doesn’t know Yiddish, or she might not let that foul mouth on her sweet pussy anymore.”

“What is it with guys and lesbian fantasies?” I asked Sasha.

It was nice to see her smile in response, even if it was forced.

“Anyway . . . you can save your girlfriend from getting knocked up by letting me cum in your mouth.”

I stared blankly at him.

“You know, suck me off and swallow it instead of me shooting in her.”

It sounded vile, but Dad’s dates seemed to enjoy it and with Sasha preparing to sacrifice herself for me, how could I refuse? “Okay” I said flatly and sat back down next to Sasha. Still holding her hand I leaned in close to her. “Are you sure you want to go through with this. We can switch places or walk out right now.”

She squeezed my hand. “No. We’ve come this far. You have to get it out of you and this is the only way. Like I said, what’s one more guy, right?”

I clasped my other hand around hers, brought it to my lips, kissed her palm and whispered “Thank you.”

“Now that is touching,” he quipped.

Sasha tensed as he resumed his place between her legs, pulled out his deformed penis and began rubbing the now half-hard dick through the gel and between the lips her womanhood. I continued holding her hand as I watched his penis quickly return to full size.

Apparently satisfied, he positioned himself at her opening, grabbed her hips and pressed into her. Sasha squeezed her eyes shut, painfully tightened her grip on my hand and took a deep breath, which escaped in staccato bursts through large, flared nostrils.

Even after watching my Dad’s penis vanish inside women all summer, I was captivated by the close-up sight of one disappearing into my best friend. I should have stopped the jerk, but could only observe, mesmerized as he pressed the now seemingly huge meat further and further into her passage.

She squirmed uncomfortably, small whimpers of angst betraying pain as she bit her lower lip.

“Man I love it when they’re this tight,” he groaned. “Too bad it’ll be all stretched out for anyone one else.”

He began slamming into her; each thrust jolting her body and shaking the entire table; each plunge forcing a squeal of pain. My fingers began to tingle from the tightness of her grip as a tear rolled down each of her cheeks.

“Stop it,” I cried. “You’re hurting her.”

He quickened his pace, my words seeming to only encourage him. “Shut up or you’ll be sticking a big milk filled tittie in your baby’s mouth on the beach during spring break.”

“Why do you have to hurt her? Why do you have to be so mean?” I pleaded, my own eyes tearing up once again.

He suddenly stopped; every millimeter somehow buried in Sasha’s tiny privates, their pubic hair blended into a single, dark mass. He glared down at me. “Maybe I’m just an asshole that likes it that way. Now shut the fuck up or I walk right now.”

“Its okay,” Sasha whispered, “just be quiet and everything will be alright.”

“Thank god I’m fucking the smart one,” he snorted in disgust as he resumed his assault on Sasha’s supple body. He pounded away at my friend for several minutes; her small breasts swaying obscenely but hypnotically from the power of each movement; his member, far too large for her delicate and still maturing womanhood, dragging the bright pink inner flesh out into the air on each withdrawal; the silence broken only by his animalistic grunts, her pained and impassioned whimpers, and the mechanical squeaking of the table.

When his body started twitching and moving erratically, I knew the end to this horrible part of the night was near and it was time to step up and do my part. When he kept slamming his erection into her, obviously dangerously close to his climax, I gently reminded him to pull out.

He ignored me.

I stood up and took a step toward him. “Remember? You wanted to finish in my mouth.” I dropped to my knees by his side. “I’ll swallow every drop, just like you wanted.”

He glanced at me, sneered sadistically and to my horror began hammering Sasha even harder, with erratic, body twitching thrusts.

“Pull out of her,” I demanded.

“Fuck you,” he grunted. Grabbing Sasha’s hips he buried himself to the hilt and hollered like a cowboy on a bucking broncom “Hang on darlin’, here comes Junior!”

Her eyes flew open with a scream; “No!” She frantically tried to squirm away from him, but between his grip and the exam table leg holders, it was a futile attempt that came far too late.

The “Ah! Ah! Ah! Unnnhhhh!!!” he roared made it clear he was shooting his sperm inside her. Eyes wide, face frozen in shock and horror, Sasha flinched in rhythm with his grunts, apparently feeling every blast he was depositing deep inside her.

He finally pulled out, but her opening did not immediately close. I could see I huge blob of thick, white, foamy semen inside her. Sasha had always been a sassy fighter, so I expected her to leap off the table and attack him, but she simply lifted her legs off the holders and silently curled into a ball on the table.

The asshole picked up her underwear, wiped himself off with them, and got dressed. “That was fucking awesome. Your girlfriend has a really sweet and tight . . .” He paused, glanced between her legs and chuckled. “She HAD a really tight pussy.”

I looked to Sasha, but her face was hidden in her hands. I grabbed an exam gown from beside the table and laid it over her to provide some degree of warmth and more importantly, modesty. She said and did nothing.

He turned to me. “Okay baby, your turn. We’ll let her sleep it off her and go next door for the next act in this play.”

I reluctantly followed him.

The room was identical, but having been dark and unoccupied, was noticeably colder.

“Get naked and hop up on the table like your friend.”

A bit surprised, I asked him why I had to take my top off, given that all the work was being done below the waist.

“Look, I’m getting tired of your lip. Who’s the doctor here? Shit, you’re still in Junior High. I’m pre-fucking-med bitch. Now do as you’re told or no abortion and your friend will have fucked me and paid me to do it, all for nothing.”

He was right. Without a word, I took off my clothes and laid down on the cold table as instructed, my eyes closed. I had no idea what to expect, and while I may have had to endure the gruesome event, I didn’t have to see it.

I felt his hands on my thighs and something warm, spongy and stiff against my opening. Having expected cold metal, I peeked down between my legs. Part of me was instantly thankful I did; another wished that I hadn’t. He had his deformed and once again hard dick in his hand; the head, still shiny with his and Sasha’s juices, was pressed against the opening of my virginity. I had thought guys couldn’t do it more than once a day.

“What are you doing,” I screamed. I tried to force my legs closed, but he had secured my ankles into the exam stirrups and the leg holders prevented any effective movement below the waist.

“Hey!” he shouted, tearing into me like a drill sergeant. “Back there I told you ‘shut up or that the deal was off’, and you couldn’t keep your mouth closed. Well guess what, the deal is off. But tonight is your lucky night. I’m feeling like Santa Fucking Claus and have decided that since God has granted me another hard on, I’m going to give you another chance. Since I have a thing for redheads, I’m wiling to offer you the original deal: I fuck you and you walk out of here with a future free of stretch marks and diapers. If you don’t wish to accept my generosity, then get up, leave and enjoy motherhood.”

I couldn’t just walk out after the sacrifice Sasha made for me, and I couldn’t handle my parents finding out I was pregnant, and I certainly could not live with myself if I gave birth to the incestuous beast infesting my belly.

I gave up. “Okay, do what you want.”

“Aren’t you going to thank me?”

He had won. Surrendering completely and unable to look him in the eye, I meekly whispered “Thank you”.

“That’s more like it. Now, I tend to last longer the second time around, but keep quiet and I just might be willing to be gentle.”

It wasn’t exactly the magical moment I’d envisioned for the loss of my virginity, but gentle would definitely be welcome, so I resolved to say nothing, no matter what happened. Preparing myself, I clenched my lips between my teeth, seized the armrests as if they alone kept me from falling over a cliff, and squeezed my eyes shut so tightly that specks of light flashed behind the lids.

He squirted the cold lubricant gel onto my privates, which caused me to jump just like it had with Sasha. I felt that ugly purple head slide up and down between the lips of my womanhood and while its heat was welcome in the icy goo, I had to fight the revulsion that urged me to run away. I’d heard that if you relaxed the first time, it wouldn’t hurt as much, but when I felt him lodge that thing against my opening, every muscle in my body tightened like piano wire and I said my goodbyes to my virginity.

A loud and mechanical ‘shick-click’ sound broke the silence. Rather than plunging in and stretching my insides while ripping my maidenhead to shreds, the would-be intruder pulled away. It was like a horror movie. I imagined ‘the Doc’ wearing Jason’s hockey mask and wielding some ungodly vagina mangling contraption.

I couldn’t bear to look.

“Put that pathetic dick in your pants before I fucking blow it off,” Sasha growled; her voice shaky but filled with rage.

I shot up at the waist, my eyes flew open and I nearly shit. My still naked friend stood by a supply cabinet posed like some TV cop, bare feet slightly spread and firmly planted on the tiled floor, arms extended before her, two rock-steady hands aiming a small handgun at Doctor McCoy.

The wannabe doctor stumbled back, hysterically yelling as he raised his hands in the air. “Holy Shit! Woah . . . woah . . . WOAH!”

I found myself chanting “Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God” unable to believe what was happening.

Sasha lowered her aim to his groin and screamed, “I said put that thing away!”

He immediately stuffed his rapidly deflating penis in his sweats, lowered his voice and tried to calm her down. “Everything’s cool. Just relax and put the gun down little girl.”

“Oh my God Sasha,” I cried. “What are you doing?”

She glanced at me. “Ending this.” Her wide-eyed fury and ice-cold tone made it clear the matter was not up for discussion.

Taking advantage of the distraction I had inadvertently provided, he lunged for the gun. To my shock and his horror, before he had moved two feet, she pulled the trigger.

BANG!

I’d instinctively shut my eyes, covered my ears and turned away . . . the instant AFTER the shot. My ears rang from the blast, which was incredibly louder than a DVD war movie on surround sound, but through the ringing and my hands I still heard something big thud to the floor. I forced myself to look.

The doc was down. Blood began pooling onto the floor around his legs and waist. I was sure she had killed him. My body started shivering yet I couldn’t move. My eyes darted from him, to Sasha and back to him. I wanted to scream, but nothing would come out. I tried to breathe, but nothing would go in.

It seemed like five minutes, but was more like five seconds until he moved. The instant his he groaned and clutched his leg the air returned, slamming into my lungs all at once.

“Son-of-a-bitch, you shot my leg!” he shouted in disbelief while squeezing the wound to stop the bleeding. “Fuck, you could have killed me.”

Sasha’s face was like stone. Her voice no longer trembled and was terrifyingly devoid of emotion. “I’m tempted, and I could get away with it too.”

His jaw dropped, as before his eyes the ‘little girl’ became his potential murderer.

“After all,” she continued “you left the evidence of rape in me, didn’t you? Who would blame me?”

My voice barely a squeak, I pleaded with her. “Sasha! No! Please!” I knew that all three of our lives would end if she killed him.

During a long blink, she considered my words. She motioned the gun toward the hall. “Get up and get the fuck out of here before I change my mind.”

Clutching his still bleeding thigh, he scrambled to his feet, slipped in his own blood and stumbled down the hall and out the door. Only the sound of a roaring engine and squealing tires convinced Sasha to lower the gun. I was trembling and scared shitless.

“Get dressed” she ordered. “We’ve gotta get the fuck out of here.”

I quickly threw on my clothes, as did she.

We bolted from the place, sprinting down a dark alley and through absurdly bright oasis of the 24-hour Gas-n-Go, before slowing to a brisk walk across the Wal-Mart parking lot and into the dimply lit trolley station. We bought our tickets waited in the damp cold for our ride back downtown.

Sasha looked pissed. Afraid to say anything, I sat silently on a lime green bench. Overwhelmed by the turn of events, and with a few minutes to think about them, I lost the struggle to hold it all in and started sobbing. Sasha did not. She paced like the tigers at the zoo, eyes darting across our surroundings, one hand tucked inside her jacket. I couldn’t see, but I was sure it held the gun.

Thankfully the train arrived within a couple of minutes. Sasha stormed onto the last car. I meekly followed and sat next to her in the half-full car. I wanted desperately to talk to her, but she just stared out the window, her frighteningly grim reflection screaming ‘leave me the fuck alone’. So I did.

By the time we had hit the valley I’d finally stopped crying. Twenty agonizing minutes later we pulled up in front of the baseball park. Before I could stand, Sasha jumped from her seat and ran off the train. I exited and found her standing beside a soda machine, arms folded, eyes glaring, impatiently waiting for me. As I approached, she turned and stated walking toward my building.

I couldn’t bear the silence any longer. “I’m so, so sorry,” I blurted.

“Just drop it” she deadpanned. “It was my idea to get involved.”

“But . . .” I pleaded.

“But what?” she snapped, not looking at me. “You’re fine. Nothing happened to you.”

“I know. I don’t care about me. I . . . Sasha . . . please.”

She stopped. Her head dropped and with a long breath the rage faded and the Sasha I knew returned. “I know.” She sniffled and used her cuffs to dab tears from her eyes. “Like I said, what’s one more guy, right?”

“But he . . . ” I sobbed, instinctively gesturing toward her belly.

“Yeah, well . . . my period’s due any day, so I’m not too worried.”

“Cool,” was all my empty head could think to mumble.

She looked up me. Fresh tears streaked both cheeks. “You know what really sucks,” she began, her voice trembling as she choked back further emotion, “is that after all this . . .” she placed her hand on my bulging tummy, “you’re still knocked up.”

An awkward moment passed between us. Then, although we were both fighting to not openly sob, it suddenly seemed funny. I tried not to laugh, but a very unladylike snort escaped. This triggered a chuckle to slip from lips she twisted in a vain attempt to keep from smiling. Our eyes met. Poorly suppressed giggles erupted as we both realized we were each trying to be sensitive to the other’s feelings.

“It IS pretty fucked up isn’t it” I asked, which caused the giggles to explode into open laughter that had us both struggling for a breath and wiping away tears that sprang from an entirely different and much brighter place. We both tried to stop, but one of us would just set off the other. Finally, after several failed attempts at composure we reigned in the giggles. Secure in familiar surroundings, we strolled around the stadium and toward my building. However, there remained one question I was dying to ask.

“Sasha?” I chirped.

“Don’t get me started again” she smiled.

I fought back a giggle. “No, seriously.”

“Okay. What?”

“Where’d you get the gun?”

“Oh, that,” she smiled. “I got it for my bat mitzvah.”

“Bullshit,” I shot back. “I was there. I think I’d remember a gun with a bow on it.”

“I said ‘for my bat mitzvah’, not ‘at’. Daddy gave it to me at his house. Tom is our little secret.”

Now I was confused. “Tom? Who the hell’s Tom?”

“My Beretta Tomcat,” she beamed.

“You freak,” I gasped. “You never told me you were into guns, let alone owned one.”

The right corner of her mouth lifted with the hint of a grin as she arched her left eyebrow, a trick that, despite many hours in front of the mirror, I had never come close to perfecting. “Oh come on, my Dad’s one of the biggest survival nuts in the county.”

“Yeah, but you live with your Mom.”

“And she’d forbid me from seeing my Dad if she knew he gave me a gun to carry.”

“You said I knew everything about you; but this? You never told me about this.”

A coy grin slipped across those full lips. “Must have slipped my mind. But I totally serious, she cannot know. Nobody can. You have to promise. You tell nobody; absolutely nobody.”

“Even Leighlee?” I jokingly asked.

“Oh God, especially Leighlee.”

I crossed my heart, hoped to die and all that crap, which seemed good enough for her.

“Mom knows Dad has a few rifles for me at has place, but he wanted to make sure his ‘little angel’ was protected, so I usually carry it in my purse, in a boot holster or when I wearing a skirt, on a thigh holster. I even found a bra-holster online last week. Get this, its called ‘The Rack-Rack’. Cute, huh? Ordered three of ‘em: white, black and pink.”

I glanced at her chest. “Must be nice to have a big enough ‘rack’ to use one.”

“Oh shut up.” She poked my right boob. “You’re rapidly gaining on me.”

I frowned. “Baby boobs don’t count”

“Anyway” she continued, “the only time I’m without Tom is during PE, but I’m hoping those bras will solve that problem.”

It hit me. “Wait.”

This time the grin rose on the left as her right eyebrow arched. Curiously, the two always rose on opposite sides.

“You take it so school?”

A sassy, indignant and matter-of-fact “Of course” answered my question.

“Holy crap.” I could not believe what I was hearing.

“Well if I left it at home, my Mom the cleaning fairy would certainly find it. Besides, if you think I’m the only one carrying at school you’re clueless. You really should learn how to protect yourself.” She gave me a wink and added, “I can’t be saving your ass 24/7 you know. If you want, I’d love to have you come shooting with me out at my Dad’s ranch anytime.”

I was in awe. “You are freakin’ amazing.”

She beamed. “Why ya say that?”

“Everything you are. Everything you’ve done for me. Tonight you made an incredible personal sacrifice, for me of all people, and a half hour later you’re chitchatting about packing heat at school in a hooter-holster.”

“I told you, I love you . . . like a sister, ya know? I’d do anything for you.” She stopped, an turned toward me, cupping my cheek in her hand and gently turning my face to hers. The tips of our noses brushed as she caught my eyes with a gaze uncharacteristically intense for the most laid back person I knew. “Anything,” she whispered, the steam from her breath warmly caressing my face as those dark eyes shouted unspoken emphasis to the word.

She paused, her eyes scanned mine for an instant before she turned and continued walking.

I couldn’t move or speak. My lips were suddenly dry and my heart was trying to leap through my ribs as my mind frantically searched for whatever it was Sasha had sought.

She looked over her shoulder and grinned like Alice’s Cheshire Cat. “Coming?”

Her voice jerked me back to reality, pulling me back along side her like a lapdog on leash.

“For me,” she continued, “this was just a really shitty sexual experience. But for you; you’re still a virgin. That is really, really special. I couldn’t let him take that from you. Not like that.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. You didn’t want me to do this. You warned me. I’m just so scared Sash’. I don’t know what to do, but I have to get rid of this thing.” My voice cracked and my eyes threatened to start boo-hooing again. “It’s going to be some hideous inbred freak. Everyone will disown me.”

She put her arm around my shoulders as we crossed Broadway. “I won’t.”

I laid my head against her shoulder. It felt really nice and the tears immediately retreated.

“I’ll take care of ya,” she reassured me. “Trust me, okay?”

“Okay, but Jesus Sash’, I’m over half way toward giving birth to my sister the hunchback.”

She cocked her head like a dog hearing a funny sound. “So it’s a girl?”

I had not realized what I had actually said. “Huh?”

She seemed overly interested in my off-the-cuff remark. “You said ‘sister’. I was just wondering if it meant that you thought that the baby is a girl”

My mind was not prepared to consider that. “No. It is a thing, a hideous, twisted, incestuous thing. I can’t do this. I cannot bring it into the world. Everyone will know what I did. My parents will disown me. Everyone at school will either laugh at me or vomit. It’ll be on every news show. I’ll get invited to Jerry Springer. I’ll . . .”

“Baby,” she cut me off. “Chill. I won’t puke, I won’t laugh, I won’t abandon you and I will not let you down. I’m right here. I don’t know yet how we’ll fix it, but we will. Just give me more time.”

Sasha had volunteered to spend the night at my house, figuring I’d need someone to take care of me after the ‘procedure’. The other Musketeers would be coming over for Halloween the following night, so completing our costumes and staying over to trick-or-treat in my building provided a perfect cover.

We crossed the street and entered the towering black marble building I now called home. I was a bit surprised to find a note from my Dad saying:
“My business partner invited me to fly with him on his private to Las Vegas to see the Drago – Lang fight and attend the after party. I’ll be back before sunrise, you and Ms. Janukowski be in bed by 2 AM.”

Sasha finished reading the note over my shoulder. “Why does your Dad call me by my last name?”

I shrugged. He always had, dating back to when her family moved in across the street when I was in first grade. I’d never thought to ask why, but I decided I’d quiz him about it over breakfast. Trying to put the night’s events behind us, we grabbed some munchies and rented something funny on the pay-per-view before hitting the sack a little after midnight.

At 3:49 AM I was suddenly laying wide awake in a sleeping bag on the floor while up in my bed ‘Ms. Janukowski’ was snoring like lumberjack. It was something that for the past couple of years periodically hit me and something which I’d learned to not fight. When I woke up in the middle of the night, I was awake for at least three hours unless I self-medicated. Not wanting to snooze the morning away while Sasha putzed around the condo, I started warming a small pan of milk on the stove and grabbed a couple of NyQuil cold & flu capsules from the bathroom.

While waiting for my milk to warm up – it never tasted right when heated in a microwave – I switched on the TV. My Dad liked to watch the news, and the TV was tuned to the 24-hour local news channel. The remote slipped from my hand as a reporter stood in front of a mangled pick-up in a hospital parking lot and explained the situation.
“ . . . victim crashed his vehicle at a high rate of speed into the concrete safety barriers protecting the front entrance of Bay General’s Emergency Room. I’m told that the driver had suffered a gun shot to his right leg, which severed his carotid artery, causing massive blood loss. It appears that he was attempting to get medical help, but lost control of the vehicle and perhaps consciousness. Medical personnel extricated him from the vehicle and rushed him to emergency surgery, where he passed away about twenty minutes ago. The victim’s name is being withheld pending notification of relatives. For Channel 19 news, I’m Gil Kirkpatrick.”

I snatched the remote from the floor and shut off the TV, not wanting to know any more. He was dead and we had killed him. I watched CSI and knew that from the bullet in his leg and our DNA at the abortion clinic, the police would nail us for his murder.

Sasha may have pulled the trigger, but it was my fault. Sasha would go to prison for killing him; I’d go to too as an accessory to murder; the doc’s family would sue and take everything from my Mom and Dad as well as Sasha’s parents; and everyone would know everything about the beast in my belly. It was all my fault. My best friend had been raped and a man was dead because of me, but it was everyone else who would suffer.

Sasha had promised to fix everything, but it was into my mind that the final solution crept. There was one and only one way out of everything; only one way to keep everyone from getting hurt. As my mind ran through all the possibilities my body wandered into my Dad’s bedroom. Taking at seat at his desk, I pulled out a nice piece of paper and started writing. I never did hear the microwave ding.

Ten minutes later I was on the roof, building my nerve and pondering whether to plunge back first or face first and whether to jump or simply step off. I was still undecided when five minutes later Sasha joined me.

I told her why I had to jump. She told me why I couldn’t. I knew this was something we would not agree about that night, but since it was for her own good, I decided it was time and turned to leap into the night.

As I told you, it was at that moment that everything changed.

A kick . . . a simple jerk of the knee hat caused a tiny foot to kick me on the inside of my ribs. Then the whole thing moved. It felt like everything I’d eaten that week decided to get up and move four inches to the right. My hands slipped under my hoodie and held my abdomen. She kicked again, and I felt a tiny heel tap my palm. I looked over my shoulder.

Sasha was on her knees, arms still outstretched, with an odd combination of terror and amazement gripping her face. She’d known that she couldn’t stop me, yet here I was.

I was floored, rooted to the ledge , in reverant aew of a simple movement. “She kicked me Sash’!” I squealed. “She booted me right in the palm of my hand.” I reached a hand out for her. “Come here and feel.”

Sasha stood, bewildered at my head-spinning change, and cautiously approached. She glanced nervously over the ledge, having always been afraid of heights, but approached me. I took her hand and placed it on my stomach. Two breaths later she gasped as the little soccer player kicked so hard that I could see Sasha’s class ring wiggle.

Smiles lit up both our tear and make-up streaked faces like a sunrise. Maybe there was another way out of this. . . for all three of us.