Chapter 11: Thursday Night Confessions

Thursday night arrived with the same heavy anticipation as every other night that week.

I waited until 10:15, listening to the house settle. My parents had gone to bed early, some documentary about coral reefs droning through their bedroom door. I sat in the dark of my room, fingers hovering over the keyboard, the laptop’s glow painting my face in pale blue.

At 10:28, I logged in.

The chat site loaded. My inbox blinked. A single message waited, sent just minutes before.

ProfessorPleasure: I was hoping you’d be here tonight. Did you make it to the show on Friday?

My pulse kicked. I typed back.

CuriousBlonde18: Yes. I went.

The three dots appeared immediately.

ProfessorPleasure: Tell me everything.

I bit my lip. My thighs pressed together under the desk. The memory of Stacey flooded back, her body bent over that vinyl mattress, the way she’d moaned when the tall black man pushed inside her.

CuriousBlonde18: Her name was Stacey. She was beautiful. She looked like an older Scarlett Johansson.

ProfessorPleasure: Go on.

CuriousBlonde18: Three men took her. One in her pussy. Two of them used her mouth. The third, the third one fucked her ass.

I paused, my fingers trembling.

CuriousBlonde18: I didn’t know people actually did that.

ProfessorPleasure: Anal? He lets the word hang in the digital space between you. It’s not just common, CuriousBlonde18. It’s a graduation. A rite of passage. The ultimate test of a woman’s trust and submission. The tightness ... it’s not just about the physical sensation, though that is ... profound. It’s about the surrender. The complete and utter gift of yourself. It’s the difference between letting a man take you, and giving him a part of you he can only dream of. It’s very intense, because it’s very intimate. The men who take that from a woman? They don’t forget her. Ever. Stacey gave them that gift. She made

herself unforgettable.

CuriousBlonde18: It looked painful.

ProfessorPleasure: Pain? Oh, CuriousBlonde18, that’s the wrong question to ask. Pain is just a teacher. It’s a threshold. Every woman feels that first pinch, that burn of being stretched beyond what she thought she could handle. But what happens after the pain ... that’s the secret. The body learns. It yields. And once it yields, it craves. Did she look like she was in pain, or did she look like she was becoming something? Something raw and real and utterly owned? Think carefully, sweet girl. Because the answer tells me everything about how ready you are to take the next step.