by Jay McLean
“You remember Mom and Simon?”
I nodded, hugging Claire’s mom and stepfather.
“Hi, Mrs. Gallerson, Mr. Gallerson. Lovely to see you both again.”
“Jenna, you’ve grown into such a little lady,” her Mom gushed, smiling at me. I grinned as she fawned over me. “How are you studies? I hope you’re doing better than little Miss C Minus over here.”
“Mom,” hissed Claire, narrowing her eyes. “Shouldn’t we be getting our table or something?” she added, clearly changing the subject.
“Yes, we’re just waiting on—oh, here he is.”
“Dad, Glenda.”
I turned toward the owner of the smooth, silky voice that had swooped in to kiss Claire’s parents. There was something oddly familiar about him…Oh god, no…But it was. Ryan. My Ryan.
“Ryan, this is an old friend of Claire’s—Jenna. Jenna, this is Simon’s son, Ryan.”
“Lovely to meet you,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss my cheek. His hand slipped into mine as he squeezed it gently. “Close your mouth, Jenna,” he added softly.
I did. I snapped it shut.
My face red, I stood there and acted like I’d never met this person. Or spent a good part of the last day fucking him.
“Well, let’s eat,” Mr. Gallerson declared loudly. Claire and I hung back.
“What’s up with you?” she whispered. “Don’t tell me, you think he’s hot?” she nodded her head in Ryan’s direction.
“Huh? What? No!” I said a little too fiercely.
She rolled her eyes. “Everyone says it, but I just can’t see it.” She shrugged. “Which I guess would be creepy if I could, considering he’s my stepbrother. And barely eighteen.”
“What?” I shrieked, clutching her arm as half the people around us turned to stare at me. Eighteen? I’d not only slept with my best friend’s stepbrother, but he was only eighteen?
Six freaking years younger than me? Oh, kill me now.
We sat down at the table, me conveniently right in between Claire and Ryan. The worst thing was that even knowing who he was and his age, I still felt weak in the knees every time I caught a whiff of that musky aftershave.
Dinner passed in a blur. Literally. I didn’t remember much of it at all. I was just praying for it to be over. My stomach was in knots, and between trying to keep up with Claire’s chattering and the smirks Ryan kept sending my way, I felt sick.
Halfway through dessert, Claire was telling me about her latest beau when I felt the unmistakable feeling of a hand on my bare thigh. I jumped, shooting Ryan a look. He narrowed his eyes at me and smiled, as if daring me to say something. What else could I do but pretend nothing was happening?
I listened to Claire—or at least pretended to, oohing and gasping in all the right places, which luckily coincided with Ryan’s fingers trailing along my inner thigh.
After dinner, Claire dragged me back to her villa—conveniently located next to Ryan’s, demanding to know everything.
“What do you mean?” I stammered. Had I been too obvious at dinner? I felt like a dick, wondering how I was going to get myself out of this one.
“Don’t hold back, you sneaky little bitch. You’ve got rebound sex written all over you,” she accused.
“I did meet someone,” I confessed. “At the bar. Didn’t even catch his name, but we spent two crazy days together,” I said, laughing a high-pitched kind of laugh that screamed deceit. Fortunately, Claire was too wrapped up in me finally getting some to care.
“Woo fucking hoo!” she cheered. She dashed off to the kitchen and returned with two minibar bottles of vodka. “Here. We need to celebrate.”
“What exactly are we celebrating,” I said, still not ready to give all my cards away.
“You! Being free of Ethan. Getting some action.” She waved her hands around and smiled. “We’re in paradise, Jen! Enjoy it, right?”
I guess she’s right. Unscrewing the cap, I swallowed the contents in one hit, the liquid burning my throat as it slid down. I laughed as she threw me another one, but drank it anyway. No more, or I’ll be passing out.
“So, tell me more about this hot, sexy hunk?” she giggled, plonking herself on the floor and crossing her legs. I groaned, and sat down, knowing there was no way out of this.
“Honestly? I don’t remember that much. I was pretty wasted, and so was he.”
“The whole time?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Huh?”
“You said you spent two days together. You must’ve been pretty drunk,” she teased.
“Guess so,” I agreed, my face flaming. I stood up. I had to get out of there before I spilled everything. “I’m pretty beat. Breakfast tomorrow?”
She nodded, yawning. “Yeah, I’m wrecked too.” She pulled herself to her feet and wrapped her arms around me. “Great to see you, Jen.”
“You too,” I smiled, realizing just how much I missed her. I kissed her on the cheek and then made my way to the door. “See you tomorrow.”
Outside, I glanced in the direction of Ryan’s villa. Before I knew it, I was knocking on his door. Please don’t answer. Damn. The door flung open.
“What the hell was that at dinner? Were you trying to get us caught?” I hissed, my face red as he smiled at me, amused.
“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about—but if you’re insistent on not getting us caught, you might want to stop screaming on my balcony. Want to come in?” I pushed past him and waited with my arms crossed as he shut the door.
“You know exactly what I mean. And why wouldn’t you tell me you were eighteen?”
“Does it matter?” he shrugged.
“It damn well matters when I’m si—older than you. By a small amount,” I added hastily. Why did I feel embarrassed about him knowing how old I was? Somehow, I didn’t think it would bother him as much as it did me.
“Jen. We’ve had fun the last few days, right? So who cares?” He stepped closer to me and looping his finger around my drawstring belt, he tugged me up against him. I knew what was coming and I was powerless to stop it.
I groaned as his lips touched my neck. I could get used to this…
***
Opening my eyes, I was almost blinded by the stream of sunlight flowing through the window. Ryan was still fast asleep, his arms around me protectively. I had to admit, I liked this guy. The more time we spent together, the more I liked him.
How the hell I was going to get through the next ten days without Claire knowing, I had no idea. Easing myself out from under him, I quietly dressed and slipped out of the room.
In the kitchen, I fumbled around for a pen and left him a note.
I had fun, but I think we need to keep this to ourselves. H xx
Tiptoeing back to the bedroom, I took one last long look at the eighteen-year-old naked hunk that was spread-eagled across the bed and smiled. If only Ethan could see me now.
I wish I could tell you I wasn’t tempted to take a picture.
Letting myself out, the cool morning breeze hit me and I wished I’d thought to borrow one of his jackets. It was barely seven, the beach was deserted, apart from a few early risers who were taking in the crisp morning air.
I proceeded on the walk of shame back toward my villa.
“Nice morning, huh?” I froze. Claire sat on her balcony, cup of coffee in hand and a massive grin on her face.
“I…I was just out for a walk?” Fuck. Not very convincing when it comes out more like a question. I narrowed my eyes at her. She was enjoying this way too much.
“Bullshit. You’re wearing the same outfit as last night, and you just left my brother’s villa.” She came down the steps, her eyes shining.
Why the fuck was she so happy?
“Jen. I told you that you needed to get laid. Ryan is a good guy.”
Thoughts whirled around in my head, most of them conspiracy theories and paranoia. That night…him on the beach…and her now, so calm…
“You told your
brother to hit on me?” I squeaked, stamping my foot in the sand like a five-year-old.
“Relax,” she laughed. “That was all him. I told him to keep an eye on you until I got here. I knew you were down about Ethan.”
“But you thought he might make a move?” I said, still suspicious.
Claire smiled. “No. I knew that given the right circumstances, you would.” She winked at me and walked back up the steps. “Meet you for breakfast later?”
THE END
MISSY JOHNSON
Missy lives in a small town in Central Victoria with her husband, and her confused pets (a dog who think she's a cat, a cat who thinks he's a dog...you get the picture).
When she's not writing, she can usually be found looking for something to read.
www.facebook.com/MissycJohnson
DAWN ROBERTSON
THIS GIRL STRIPPED
OCTOBER
The music blared in my ears as the lights damn near blinded me. My heels were far too fucking high, and the club was packed. Why did I ever think this was a good idea? Oh, that's right! I’m fucking broke.
I kept telling myself I could do this. I tried to ignore the cat calls surrounding the stage. One drunk in the corner whistled before throwing back a shot. Another man shouted at me to take my clothes off. Twenty-four years old, and instead of being a college graduate or settling down, I’m taking my clothes off for money.
That morning the owner of the small motel I’d been living in for the past three months gave me until the following morning to come up with three hundred dollars, or I would find myself homeless in Daytona Beach, far from any friends or family. I could’ve called my sister, Star. However, that would’ve meant admitting failure and that would never fucking happen. I’m just way too proud for that.
I’m snapped out of my thoughts when some scumbag with a matted beard grabs my leg.
“No fuckin' touching!” My voice failed me. Instead of the authoritative tone I was aiming for, I sounded like the scared little girl I really am. I seductively danced back toward the pole in the center of the stage. I started to untie the barely there triangles of pink fabric covering my tits. I’ve never been shy about being naked, but everything about this screamed run for your fucking life, Paisley!
“Yeah baby! Shake that ass!” The rowdy men get louder, and I moved my thong -covered ass to the front of the stage again. The Buckcherry song, Crazy Bitch was almost over and I wanted to get as many singles stuffed in my crotch before I walk out that door.
I dropped down onto my knees, and thrust my pussy into the faces of three men sitting center stage. My hand slide over my bare breasts, and make their way for the tiny piece of fabric that kept me from being entirely naked. I rubbed my hand repeatedly over my cunt giving them the show of their lives.
When I open my eyes, I meet the most piercing set of green eyes I’d ever seen. His jaw was square. His hair was long and brown, pulled back into a lose ponytail at his nape. Theres a long scar that runs under his eye, and when our eyes meet, he flashes me the most beautiful smile. I forget that I’m on stage in front of hundreds of perverts and focus on him alone.
He was the man that would make my every nightmare come to life. I just didn’t know it yet.
I’m not in Kansas Anymore
A fist crashes into my face and my body is flung like a rag doll across the shitty motel room I’ve called home for the past month. My back slams against the wall and I gasp for air. The wind is knocked out of me, and I panic as I struggle to fill my lungs with my next breath; but it's not coming. The smell of vodka burns my nostrils, and when I open my mouth struggling to scream for help, not a sound comes out.
A rough hand wraps around my throat and squeezes. His mouth presses to mine, but I’m paralyzed. I can't push him away, my arms simply won't fucking move. My brain screams at my body to react. Save myself from the assault that is imminent. I should have known better than to accept a ride home from him tonight. Everything in me screamed to call the bouncers and run as far away as I could get. The other part of me let me think there are actually good people left in the world.
“You deserve this, you disgusting little bitch.”
His words hurt. Cutting deep into my soul that had been so wounded throughout the years. I feel tears pooling at the corner of my eyes, but as many times as I blink they just don't fall. My vision begins to blur when I only want to see my surroundings. The fight slips out of my body, and I am lifeless in his unforgiving grip.
The short plaid skirt wrapped tightly around my waist is ripped from my body just before the room goes black. I can't see or feel anything. I can't hear his words. I’m blissfully ignorant to the disgusting assault. He takes something from me I can never get back. Something I’ve held onto with my life as I watched my sisters dish out their cunts to any man who showed a vague interest. Not me.
I don't know how long I’m unconscious; but when I finally wake from the coma like rest, he’s gone. My room is eerily silent and dark, just the way I left it before I left for the strip club. My bag is packed on the dresser and, surprisingly, my purse is still full of the cash I made during my shift. All four hundred and eight dollars - every cent I have to my name. I roll over onto my side and a surge of pain shoots through my entire body. My hands fly to my ribcage and I hold onto my side as if it will help the pain subside.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. “Something’s fuckin' broken.” I talk like there is someone else in the room to hear my complaints. Stupid, I was so fucking stupid. I swing my legs off the side of the bed and try to blink my eyes. I can see, it is really blurry, but I can see, thankfully. My left eye is swollen almost shut. I try to force it open further to no avail. My face feels like it came in contact with a fucking brick wall.
I limp my body into the bathroom and flip on the light switch. My face looks just as bad as it feels. My cheeks are covered in black and blue bruises, there is dried blood caked to my skin with strands of my fiery red hair stuck in it. I look like holy fucking hell. And it’s all my fault.
I slowly hobble to the shower, pull the curtain back and turn the water on as hot as it can go. Each movement is more painful than the last. I know I shouldn't wash the evidence away, but I want the filth of his touch off of me. I want to wash him away. I want to wash the memory away, even though I doubt that will ever happen.
I pull my ripped white, blood stained t-shirt off, and let it fall to the floor. I kick off the white cotton panties that were placed on my body after he had his way with me. I can feel the tenderness of my womanhood. He was rough.
Dried blood sticks to my thighs and pussy. The remnants of the one virtue I held onto into adulthood. He took it like a fucking savage animal. I’m sure it really got his fucking rocks off knowing what he took. I’m silently thankful I wasn’t conscious for any of it.
I step into the shower and quickly wash him away. The tears flood out of the one eye I can open while I lather layer upon layer of soap. Nothing can get rid of him. The bruises leave behind the memory of what he did, even if I can't remember it.
I wrap the shitty white motel towel around my body and slowly dry off every tender part of my aching, broken body; all while I wish I could wash off the damage to my soul. I can't kick myself over this for long because I’m worried he’s going to come back for me.
I've always lived as an honest person. I've paid my bills, and given what I want to get back from others. Karma ya know? But today, I’m going to run for the first time in my life. I’m going to bail on my bill and pray I have enough money to get to safety. My only hope is that none of my life from Florida ever catches up to me in the safety of Woodstock.
“Seven?” I whisper into my cellphone as if someone is listening in on my call. Paranoia slowly has crept up on me since the moment I fled. Is this what my life is going to become from here on out?
She is loud and commanding on the other end, brazen and bold like always. “Paisley, kiddo! I've missed you. To what do I owe this call?” Seven Jame
s is everything I wish I could be. She is a powerhouse. A business woman. Strong and demanding. Takes no shit from no one. I often wondered how she becamewho she is today with the way we were all raised. Shitty, I know. But, I am jealous none the less.
I can't tell her, so I sit in silence on the other end of the line. I feel fucking foolish. Why did I even bother to call her? Because I need a fucking place to live until I can get my pathetic excuse of a life together.
Just as I’m about to end the call, she yells through the line. “What happened, Paisley? You fuckin' tell me now!”
Like the mother hen she has always been to us, Seven immediately knows that something is wrong. I’m terrified and thankful all at once.
The tears begin. Just when I thought I was all cried out, somehow my body finds a tiny bit of hydration to squeeze out again. I hate crying. I hate my life. I hate the fuckin’ world right now.
“I need someplace to stay for a couple weeks.” I guess this is better than calling my sister. I don't know what Star would do, but she can hardly take care of herself, let alone her fucked up little sister. Jesus, when did I let my life become so fucking tragic? Paisley, it always has been.
“Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”
Yup, Seven is as bossy as I can remember. I’m almost thankful for her commanding nature, because it’s what I need. I need someone to take control of my life. I always have. Looking back, I thought Star would always be there to help me – to guide me - but she can't even do that for herself.
“Seven, I'm in Daytona Beach. I’m going to get a flight today. I’ll call you when I land.” And like that, I finally get the balls to hang up and make a break for it. I grab the small bag I've been traveling with for the past year and call a cab to meet me at the seven-eleven on the corner. Each step hurts. I press the small bag to my chest, while my other hand holds my gaudy black sunglasses in place praying no one can see the damage he has done to my pale skin. As if.
