My brother came home late one night, thoroughly drunk, and passed out on his bed, totally clothed. We were alone and I did something monumentally stupid. The whole time I was mad scared that he'd come in my mouth, but he never did, me sucking him just long enough to satisfy my craving, and then stealing back to my bedroom. The giddiness I'd felt before sucking him was gone and I laid in bed feeling paranoid, guilt-wracked and scared. What if Jamie woke up, knowing what I'd done? What if he started clamoring for me to do it again? It hadn't been that satisfying an experience to begin with, sucking his limp little prick, not with him moaning and pushing on me with his hands, and trying to turn over. I though for sure he'd sit up, bleary-eyed and wonder what Olivia was doing with her mouth. I was 14 then, Jamie almost 21. I never did it again.

Seething with adolescence and recently educated by the Internet, my mind burned with all the images I'd seen of girls sucking cocks and having their rear ends plugged by guys, and opening their legs to have that part of themselves plugged too. (I thought it odd that a girl would want a penis up her rear end, but what did I know?) The desire to experiment burned in me like a 100 watt bulb, bright and shiny and illuminating all the nooks and crannies of my mind. I had even seen pictures of girls my own age having illegal sex with older boys and full-grown men. That idea made me all itchy and jumpy and terribly paranoid. That's why I chose Jamie to experiment on first.

Appropriately scared, I restricted my online viewing and the amount of time I let myself think about doing things. I used my finger and a lipstick vibrator that I stole from Victoria's mom and it was a lot better than what I had imagined. None of my friends knew about Jamie and I never brought up the subject with them.

In truth, this story began when I was 8 years old. For Victoria's 9th birthday party Mom dressed me in a stupid pink dress and white tights and put my hair in pigtails, and told me I'd be the prettiest girl at the party. I was humiliated and mortified, but forced myself to go because Victoria is my best friend. I stopped hating myself when Victoria's older brother Shawn took notice of me. There was no missing the interest in his eyes, the questioning and the speculation. I managed not to light my face on fire with embarrassment, and even managed an embarrassed smile when he caught me looking. That very same night, he sent me a message via IM.

Hey Olive. What's hapnin?

Who is this, I typed back. And how did you get my sign-on? It bothered me that some strange boy named JJMcFly had my IM address.

I got it from Victoria, but don't tell her. She doesn't know I been in her computer.

Shawn? I typed incredulously. My heart skipped half a dozen beats and I blushed uncontrollably. Why was Victoria's older brother IMing me? I checked the door again to make sure it was safely closed.

Yup. And how are you tonight?

Flabbergasted, I stupidly typed: I'm fine. How about you?

Horny as usual.

I blinked and laughed at the screen.

Sorry. That was rude, I guess. That's just how us guys talk to each other.

I typed: I'm not a guy. I'm also not your age, Shawn.

I guessed that from the pretty pink dress and your cute little pigtails, Olive. Oh, and of course the name, Olive.

My face was red as an apple now. If Mom knew I was IMing a 14-year old boy, Victoria's brother or not, I'd get ... well, the thought of it made me squirm.

It's Olivia, not Olive, and I think its uncool, IMing someone without permission.

Sorry, he wrote. I guess IMing you was a bad idea. Don't tell your mom about it, OK? Someday you'll ... well, someday you'll be old enough to IM. Can I IM you then?

My heart thumped against my ribcage like an angry fist. It was hard to swallow. I guessed adrenaline was flooding into my bloodstream.

Why would you even want to? I wrote.

I waited, but no answer. It was more than six years before Shawn IMed me again.

I saw him a lot, but we never talked. By the time I got to high school I'd all but forgotten about that night, and the inappropriate IMing we did. He was cute, yeah, but he was also Victoria's older brother. He also wasn't interested in me, in the least, me being 14 and him being 20, my brother's age, and in college. Victoria said he might move out soon and share an apartment with two other guys. I looked at my own brother and thought, Yeah, right, that's going to happen.

About a year after the sucking incident I accompanied Victoria home after school and I had on a cute pink top and had my hair in pigtails. I no longer hated pigtails and I also wore my hair in a braid sometimes, ala Katniss Everdeen, though I can't even imagine Katniss in a pink top and white culottes. I walked in behind Victoria and spotted Shawn on his way downstairs to the basement with a basket of laundry--rather, he spotted me. He tried, but failed to hide the shock of seeing me suddenly grown up. He stumbled and banged awkwardly against the stairway wall and finally looked where he should, instead of at me. I turned twice the pink of my shirt and thanked God I was behind Victoria and not in front of her. I got hold of myself before we made her bedroom.

A week later, Shawn was in the kitchen making a sandwich. He ignored me completely, but I was ready for it and ignored him back. To my surprise he palmed a folded slip of paper into my hand when he passed me on his way out the door. That momentary contact and the fact that he had slipped me a communication nearly left me brain-locked. I hurriedly jammed the paper into my pocket and tried my best to act ordinary. Victoria stared at my ridiculous blush. She did not connect it to her brother somehow, though it was absolutely obvious to me. Later, in the bathroom upstairs, I read the note with trembling fingers.

Olive,

I apologize for being such a dumb ass. I know you could care less about me but I'm taking a chance on maybe I'm wrong about that. I also apologize for IMing you way back when, and then pulling a Gilbert Arenas on you. I knew it would get us both in trouble and if I got you in trouble anyway, I'm sorry about that. You are really cute and I really like you, but you are still 6 years younger than me and this is still against every law that exists. But if you want to talk, be online tonight and I'll IM you.

Shawn

PS: Please don't let Victoria in on this. I couldn't stand that embarrassment.

I read the note three times, breathlessly each time, and then jammed it in my back pocket. I should have torn it up and flushed it down the toilet, but no way could I do that. I was so elated. I was also scared shitless, because I was this stupid immature 10th grader and this dreamboat on wheels was in his 2nd year of college. And my mother would absolutely kill me.

Shawn IM'd me at 8 o'clock.

Is it OK to talk?

I'm alone, I answered. I had a separate IM box open for Victoria and a bunch more for my other friends. I had to be careful whose box I replied to.

You OK with me IMing you?

You OK with me having no boobs?

LOL. How you doing?

Horny. You?

Me too. Would it shock you to know I'd like to kiss you?

I erupted in a giggling fit that I could not contain no matter what. I wrote: I've been kissed by every hot boy in school. My lips might be too much for you, Shawn.

I live adventurously. And I don't have to worry that you've been to 2nd base with anyone either, because you don't have a 2nd base, do you?

Smart ass, I wrote. 2nd may be missing, but I have a working 3rd base. And I could even field a home run if I wanted too.

My face was a brighter red than any spanking I'd ever received.

He wrote back: Witty. You make me laugh. You make me something else too, but I can't discuss that with a missing 2nd baseman.

Base-girl, I corrected.

Base-girl. Calling you on your cell would probably be a bad idea.

Absolutely, I wrote. My mom checks it weekly to see what I've been up to. Just like she checks my computer weekly. Good thing IM's are pretty much untraceable, huh?

Good thing, he wrote back. So, would you let me kiss you?

He did, a week later. It was a hard thing to arrange, a 21-year old and me. It took three days of brain storming to set it up. I do gymnastics once a week and he would meet me at school. I thought I could slip away for 10 minutes near the end of the session without causing an Amber alert and we took a chance on that. If you think that's stretching it, you try dreaming up a clandestine meet between a 10th grader and a college sophomore sometime. And live to talk about it.

At 4:45 I slipped outside and met him in the hallway. He immediately snuck me into a side corridor and down the corridor to a locked gate. My heart hammered and I felt like someone in bad need of oxygen, like a mountain climber or a scuba diver running out of air. I had the mad jitters and fought a losing battle with nervous giggles. I felt like an 11-year old fielding her first kiss.

"We have to hurry," I told him in a panic. I imagined everyone suddenly spotting my absence and yanking out his or her cell phone at once. I was scared to death of having bad breath or giggling at the wrong moment or farting or having to pee my pants. I was mortified to be so damned flat and skinny and shapeless in my leotard. I had no business being there.

"Relax, OK?" He rubbed my biceps to calm me down. "It's only a kiss, Olive."

"I hate Olive, and I'm not worried about the kiss!" I hissed at him. "I don't want to get caught."

"We're not gonna get caught," he assured me. His composure was beginning to calm me down. I gulped and let him gather me in a little closer. My body involuntarily went into embarrassment mode and hunched my shoulders, and locked my knees together; I fought the protective instinct to jam my chin against my breastbone. He forced it up gently with a fingertip.

"Make's it kinda hard to kiss you," he scolded.

I was right on the verge of panic. "Why do you want to kiss me anyway?" I almost whined. "I'm the flattest, skinniest girl in school." Not to mention the braces and the horrid outbreak of acne I was currently suffering and the fact that I was a lot cuter at 8, than I was now.

He laughed softly, tilted up my face and my lips instinctively knew what to do even with my eyes and my jaws locked shut. I breathed through my nose and felt like someone had a hammerlock on my diaphragm. I just couldn't breath. He began to kiss me harder and I became a little stone statue with bunched up fists and curled up toes and a violently clenched butthole. I never had to pee so badly. I gasped when he finally pulled back.

"You really are tense, Olive."

I was shivering uncontrollably. My problem was that I wanted more than kissing, more than any 15-year old should want in a corridor of her high school. I couldn't speak because I knew my teeth would chatter and I didn't want to show him that. Instead, I just nodded.

"I wish you were my little sister," he said, sighing wistfully.

His little sister? I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

"You know, so that you could be underfoot all the time and deserve my undivided attention after school?"

That thought sent a shiver down my spine, like being touched by an icy fingertip. In a good way though. He laughed at my doubtful expression.

"Would you like to have an older brother?" he asked.

Though I already had one, I nodded unevenly.

"Would you let your older brother kiss you?" he asked.

I nodded again, thinking of what I'd done to Jamie, and what Shawn had just done to me. "I'd let you do other things to me too," I confessed softly.

"Like what?" he asked.

I gulped painfully. "Like anything you wanted to do."

He laughed, a husky laugh that sent another shudder down my spine. "There is no end to what I want to do to you, Olive," he whispered in my ear. And then he enumerated them for me.

That night, I had a total meltdown. Sometimes I found myself sitting perfectly still, staring straight ahead until the burning of my eyes from not blinking brought me around. Other times I'd spasm when unexpectedly touched as though someone had gouged me with a fingertip in my ticklish sides. I jumped at any loud noise and every time emitted a humiliating little squeak of embarrassment. My insides itched and the area around both nipples tingled maddeningly. Every time thoughts of his hands playing over my body occurred, I whimpered pitifully. I wanted an older brother all right. Finally, at 7:00 PM, I was allowed to retreat to my room and immediately opened my iBook and started iChat. He IM'd me before I even finished signing on.

RU OK?

My hands started shaking again and I couldn't hardly breath. I answered in teen-text: IM OK. U?

IM sorry about 2day. I freaked you out pretty good

No U didn't, I lied. He had freaked me out totally. IM glad ure there.

I thought U mite have changed ure mind.

No. Do U still want 2 do those things 2 me?

Yes, but I don't want to kill you B4 UR even 16. When RU 16?

1 wk exactly. Next wed.

I liked kissin U 2day, Olive.

I typed giddily. I liked it 2.

It was hard 2 tell with U shivering so hard.

Embarrass me more, I wrote. Didn't get enuf 2day already.

LOL. I meant it bout been sister

I wish I was, I wrote.

I wish U were 2. Ud get a visit from me 2nite in bed

A shiver the size of the last Japanese earthquake ran down my spine. I gasped and my fingers refused to type anything for a moment. I knew what I wanted him doing to me and it wasn't legal anywhere on earth. Not with a 15-year-old.

Mom knocked on my door then and put an end to my IMing. She didn't like how I'd acted tonight and insisted on taking my temperature and feeling under my jaw and prodding in various embarrassing places. She looked down my throat with a penlight and Popsicle stick substitute tongue depressor. She asked me for the 10th time how I felt.

"I don't want to say this Olivia, but you show all the symptoms of a teenager in heat."

"Mom!" I complained, horrified. "I'm not!"

"Did something happen at school today? At gymnastics practice?" She very deliberately peeled my t-shirt off over my head and examined my chest, ribcage and back. "Stand up," she instructed, spinning me around. I wondered what she was looking for. "Take off your jeans and underwear, sweetie."

Now I was horrified. "Why?" I squeaked.

"Because I'm examining you, that's why."

I vehemently shook my head but obediently undid the button on my jeans and unzipped and worked them awkwardly down. She eyed my thighs carefully as I kicked out of them. Then she dropped to one knee and pulled down my underpants herself.

"Mom," I wailed, feeling totally violated.

"I've seen you naked before," she said. "Don't make a big deal of it." Mom was a pediatrician and examined naked children every day of the week. She'd made a habit of examining me monthly when I was younger, but not since I was 12, and certainly not like this horror. I covered my exposed chest but she patiently moved my arms back down to my sides. She had me spin in place for another inspection.

"No more Internet for you," she decided. "Your bedtime is 10 o'clock from now on, in bed with the lights out"

"Mom!" I wailed again. "I didn't do nothing!"

"You didn't do anything, and that's to be determined yet."

"What are you looking for?" I demanded.

"Signs of sexual activity," she answered matter-of-factly.

"Mom!" I gasped. "I'm 15 years old!"

"15-year-old's have sex. 14-year-old's and 13-year-old's and 12-year-old's and 10-year-olds. I won't be one of those mothers I have to explain the facts of life to. Lie down on your bed and spread you legs. I intend to examine you."

I shook my head fiercely and feverishly. "That's not what I meant! I'm 15 years old-I'll be 16 in a week--and your treating me like I was 11!"

She dipped her head and eyed me over her expensive designer eyeglasses. "Are you having sex, Olivia?"

I shook my head in defiance, not negation.

"I'd know immediately by checking your hymen. Do I have to?"

Appalled, I shook my head again. My arms were back over my chest and my knees clamped together. She considered me a good long while, then sighed and backed away. "I don't believe for a minute that you're not sexually active mentally. You are, aren't you? Don't lie to me; I'll know it in a minute."

Dismayed, I gave her the tiniest of nods. She nodded and then said to me in a firm voice: "I know you are one second away from doing something really stupid. You have to promise me something-and I'm telling you this as a pedestrian first, and your mother second: you are to use protection when you do. You are not to have intercourse with a boy without using a condom. You know what they are and what they're used for. If the boy doesn't have one with him, you say no. You kiss him, or you let him touch your body, but you don't let him put anything inside you unprotected. Do you understand me, Olivia? I don't want you contacting a venereal disease or have some stupid buy give you AIDS." She adamantly shook her head back and forth. "This goes for oral intercourse too. Do not let him-"

"Mom!" I objected stridently. "Please!"

She continued to shake her head. "You're my baby girl. I don't want anything happening to you."

I was silently crying now, tears rolling down my cheeks. I'd never been so humiliated-or mortified. I breathed through my mouth and resisted the impulse to wipe my nose with the back of my hand.

She foldied her arms. "Get into your jammies and get to bed. I mean it about your bedtime. 10 o'clock from now on." She relented, seeing my look of humiliated injury. "OK, 11. But not a minute later. And no Internet after 10 PM. This is ironclad. You'll lose your privileges for a month if I catch you online." She eyed my closed IBook. "The second time results in no more iBook. Are we clear on this?"

I nodded miserably.

"Why aren't you dressed then?"

I scrambled into my pajamas. My top was reversed and inside out and I sobbed quietly pulling it off and slipping it back on again. I slumped before her like a defeated convict. I guess I was.

"Olivia?"

I raised my eyes.

"I haven't spanked you in five years."

I moaned inwardly, a whimper really, and needed to go pee. I fought not to squirm like a 2-year-old.

"Do I need to say more, Olivia?"

"No, ma'am," I murmured despondently. She rubbed my head and slapped my rear end.

"Bed. Now, young lady."

I crawled in and pulled up the covers. "It's not 11 o'clock," I protested.

"Go to sleep."

I turned over and closed my eyes as she turned out the light, kissed me on the head and told me she loved me.

"I love you too," I mumbled. A minute after she left the room I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Until I woke up in bed with Shawn.

He hushed my cry of surprise with a hand on the mouth.

"Shhhhhsssss! What's the matter with you?"

I stared at him with bug eyes. "Mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm!" I protested into his palm.

"What?" He lifted his hand a millimeter and I demanded shrilly: "What are you doing here?"

He furrowed his brow at me, confused. Shifting my eyes, I discovered we were not in my bed after all. "Where am I?" I keened. He clamped my mouth shut again.

"What are you doing? You'll wake everybody up!" Worriedly, he looked at the bedroom door--in the wrong wall. A window was where the door should be, and another wider window was above my head. The room belonged to another girl, pink and white like mine, but even more girlishly furnished. It looked like Victoria's room rearranged. Or a blend of her room and mine. The furniture was hers, as was the TV set and the 21" iMac on the table. I had always loved her iMac with the huge screen.

"What am I doing?" I was incredulous. I smacked aside his hand and tried to sit up. I was naked. Or might as well have been with just socks on my feet.