Looking at myself in the mirror I was determined to make a big change. That's why I moved to Boston. I had to get away from my small red-neck hometown in Maine where everyone knew me as the good girl who always did what was expected. Now I was going to let loose, dress the way I fantasized and let the sex-starved woman I was hiding inside of me out. I knew what I wanted and I was going to get it.
In school I hated my shyness and wished I had the courage to be like the girls who wore tight jeans or short skirts with tight t shirts and had guys all over them. At lunch I heard their conversations of how they fucked so and so and liked giving blow jobs in the back seats of cars after school. I liked listening and could feel myself getting hot, but I just sat quietly wishing I had the nerve to dress differently, flirt and have a guy take me for a ride and fuck me.
"Loosen up," my friend, Sally would say. "Molly, you've got nice big boobs and a great body but you cover it up in those baggy sweat shirts and long stupid looking skirts." Sally would look at me at lunch. "Loosen up or you're going to be an old maid. You need a make over," she would add while I listened and nodded.
Sally wore tank tops and tiny tight skirts or hip hugging tight jeans and I would look at her wishing I had the nerve to dress like her or the other girls, but I knew if I did, everyone would look at me like I was crazy. The thought terrified me and I imagined them laughing and saying—"Hey, Molly! What's with you trying to be sexy?"
The thought of the boys looking at me like they looked at the other girls frightened me, even though that's what I really wanted. I wanted to be sexy and hot and to do what they all talked about at lunch. I felt trapped inside my shyness, the image I had created as the good girl who was perfect—the perfect student, perfect daughter, who went to church with her family and sang in the choir—miss prim and proper, that was me and there was no escape.
It was mom who made me dress like I did because she didn't want the same thing to happen to me that happened to her—get knocked up. She got real religious and said to me, "Jesus made you to be a good girl. You're our angel." Dad just drank beer when he came home and rarely went to church with us. I don't think I ever saw them hug.
After graduation, I worked at the Ace Hardware store in town. I could handle the transaction conversation, answer questions but even then I rarely looked at the person I was helping. Most of the customers were fishermen or carpenters and it was just ringing them up or putting things on their account, but a couple of them flirted with me saying things, like "come on smile, cutie," or they would see my name tag on my shirt and say, "Hey Molly. Want to go for a ride after work" and I would feel my face get red and not respond. When they'd leave, I always wished I could say, "Yeah, I'd like that." But that was impossible.
College was out of the question and though I was at the top of my class and could have gotten a scholarship, no one in my family ever went to college. My mom never graduated high school because she had me and my dad was a fisherman with his own lobster boat.
None of the girls that I went to school with went to college either—they all got jobs at the fish packing co-op or cleaned houses for the summer people or waited tables, got married and had their babies. I saw them getting heavier. They looked old and tired even though they were all twenty-two or three. I'd see them at Dottie's Diner in town Saturday mornings or in the afternoon having coffee and gossiping. They had their babies either in carriages or on their laps. When I sat with them once in awhile all they did was complain about their stupid husbands and how they're always broke and too tired to fuck. "Life sucks," they'd say.
I always liked to read and got hooked on these romance novels with glossy covers showing men with bare chests kissing these long haired women with their tits hanging out. I'd read them at night and the hot sex scenes would get me so turned on I'd get wet and masturbate, imagining getting ravished by a man, visualizing all the positions I read about. I was obsessed with these books and was getting more and more frustrated by the emptiness of my life.
One day when I was over Sally's house she told me about this internet site she found where she could chat with guys and have on-line sex. She told me about this guy she meets with late at night when her husband is asleep and it's like nothing she ever experienced. She said I should check it out. I had a computer that I got when I was in high school but only used it for school work and some shopping.
That night I went to the site and got a password and there I was seeing all these weird sexy names. I was nervous but I made up a name—Angel Slut, surprising myself that I had the nerve to call myself that. But that's what I was. Like my mom said-- I was an angel but I knew I didn't want to be. I wanted to be a sexy slut. My new name excited me. It took awhile to get used to the site but I would get a message from someone and at first it scared the hell out of me, but as I got used to it, I found I could say things I would never say in real life.
I remember the first time I chatted with a guy named Lusty Lover. We started writing and after he asked me to describe myself and he described himself, I told him I had long brown hair, blue eyes and a thin body which was true. When he asked about my tits, I blushed but wrote I have big tits—which is also true. But when he asked me what I was wearing I looked down at my loose fitting t-shirt and baggy sweats and I told him I wearing a white thong and a tight tank top.
"Nice and what are you looking for on this site?"'
Suddenly, I took on this other voice and decided to tease him. "What do you think I'm looking for?"
"You want someone to get you hot."
"And you? What are you looking for?"
"Same thing you are—to find someone who likes rough fucking."
"Is that what you like?" I wrote unable to believe what I was reading and writing.
"Yes. Don't you?"
"Maybe. It all depends."
As I wrote this, I could feel myself getting wet and squirming on my chair.
"What does it depend on?'
"How horny I am."
"Are you horny now?"
"Yes. Very."
"You want a big hard cock filling your cunt, don't you?"
"Yes!' I wrote, stunned by what I read.
No one had ever talked to me like that. I pulled down my sweats and panties, lifting myself off the chair, sliding them over my ass, got them down to my ankles. I spread my legs apart as I lay back in the chair and cupped my pussy. God, I was hot.
