Page 13 of Finding Hope

My experience pre-Club-188-Guy was with Ernie, my math teacher’s nerdy son in senior year. His dick was smaller than last night’s single finger, and though I was thankful my first time didn’t hurt, it was still quite anticlimactic for a girl who’d waited what seemed like forever to goall the way.

First there was Ernie, then there was my brother’s friend, mygirlfriend’s brother; much bigger dick, he was thoughtful and gentle, but it wasn’t a relationship.

We did it… just because.

It was fun, and I don’t regret it, but it was never going to last, since neither of us were committed to anusenough to lie to my brothers’ faces like that.

Brothers; plural. Two of them, both older,mucholder, both pains in my ass.

The day they find out, is the day the world implodes.

As far as I know, he’s never told them, and there’s not a chance in hell I’ll tell them.

There’s just no need to be the cause of the universe’s downfall like that.

After him, there was my third and final; Shane… Sean? Steven?

He was my first attempt at…random. My attempt at being a little wilder, a little more fun, and a little less the-baby-sister-to-the-two-crazy-overprotective-brothers-and-all-their-crazy-overprotective-friends.

I’ve spent my whole life toddling after them and being the good girl. They shoehorn me into angel status, but I don’t want to be her. I want to be me. So this year, my twenty-third year, is my year of self-discovery.

I can be wild.

I can be fun.

I can attract men a little…manlierthan Ernie Casprie.

If I die tomorrow, I’d rather my headstone read something a little more interesting than ‘frigid good girl.’ Even at the expense of my brothers’ hearts and any potential heart attacks.

Climbing out of bed and tiptoeing across the timber flooring of my upstairs bedroom, I approach the door and pray no one is in the hall.

Technically, my mom and dad own this house, but now that I’m an adult and independent and the youngest of three kids, they’ve basically flown the coop to tour Europe and spend our inheritance while they’re young enough to enjoy it.

But their disappearance essentially makes this my oldest brother’s house now, and that makes him the biggest pain in my ass; I live here, not because I’m a mooch, but because he’s an overprotective bear who sees no reason for me to leave until I’m forty-five and married.

My middle brother left home a decade ago. He was barely out of high school when he packed up and ditched, but his apartment is barely five minutes away, so it’s not like he’s not up my ass three times a day, too.

Our house is basically just a hangout; it began while we were kids, ourfriends came over to play, this is where everyone wanted to be, and now… grown-ups or not, they never really left.

Years ago, the front yard would be littered with bicycles and skateboards, and now, the street’s littered with cars and motorbikes.

I like it.

Honestly, I love it.

I love the hustle and laughter that fills my home.

But today… not so much. Right now, familiar male voices drift upstairs and along the hall and they basically say they know I was a bad girl last night.

I need a shower.

Bad.

Silently opening my bedroom door and peeking into the hall, as soon as I make sure it’s empty, I make a run for it and sprint to the one and only bathroom in this house.

The floral hall runner muffles my steps, and the six million framed photos on the wall remind me of the good girl everyone expects me to be.

Slipping into the bathroom and slamming the door, I turn the lock and lean against the wall like I just ran through no-man’s-land under heavy fire during World War Two.

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