Uh—wow. This is—it’s just, my personal life is pretty complicated right now. Not that I’m a slut, but—

Wait, that already sounds bad. Have you ever noticed that certain statements of the form “I’m not X, but,” the speaker really is X? “I’m not advocating censorship, but” always prefaces a call to censor someone. “I don’t want to block legitimate voters, but” is always about voter suppression. And when I say, “I’m not a slut, but” —that sounds like another one.

But I really aren’t a slut. Yes, I like sex, and yes, I like lots of it. Fucking is fun. But I don’t fuck just anyone, anywhere, anytime, just ask. I have a small stable of casual, non-exclusive partners for sexyfuntimes. And not constant sex, either—I mean, there’s days I only have sex twice, or sometimes even just once, depending on who’s available.

Of course, some of them aren’t frequent partners because the relationship isn’t entirely legal, and we have to be careful. Brian Bernard, my calculus teacher, is a prime example. And no, it’s totally not a sex-for-grades exchange. For one thing, we were lovers long before I became his student. Not to mention, everyone knows I don’t need to do that—I’ve always gotten the best grades in the school in math, and tested into calc entirely based on the state exam. So it’s pure sex, no grade-lift for him.

Coach Bailey, I admit, is a bit of an edge case. Having sex with her is not itself a quid pro quo. But she has a rep for hitting on her female PE students—which is well deserved—so the school administrators give her heightened scrutiny. So by way of extra credit, I’ve seduced a couple girls for her—initially as just us two girls in the locker room that turns into a threeway when she “accidentally” walks in on us, leading to her and the girl getting together again later. Well, that’s how it worked out twice, anyway—the other time, Gina was a little squicked by it all and broke up with us both.

I do have one partner that is flat-out sex-for-something, though in that case not grades. I’m actually kinda ashamed of this. Not for having sex with Principal Robins—he’s actually a pretty good lay, and there’s nothing shameful about good sex. It’s just, well, I got caught having sex at school—no, not with Coach Bailey, it was Neil Frobisher, the school handyman. We were caught by his wife, Betty, one of the gals in the front office, and she took me to the Principal’s office to get what for. My explaining to Robins what we were doing was getting me nowhere, so I demonstrated it him, and then he did it with me to be sure he understood—and then we did it again in another position. In return for that, I got off scott-free.

The shameful part, though, is that, well—I kinda let Robins draw this out. It should have been a one-time thing, a round of screwing in return for no punishment. But a month later, he called me into his office again and pressured me into doing it again or face consequences. I should have resisted more, but he caught me on a bad day—I’d had like no sex since the afternoon before and was sorta kinda pretty horny, and let myself get pushed into screwing him again. Which was great fun and all, but it turned a simple transaction into ongoing blackmail—we hook up about once a month, during the school year. I didn’t handle it well at all. Live and learn.

I can guess what you’re thinking, given what I’ve described, but no, not all my partners are adults. In fact, those three (plus present company) are it. The rest are kids my age, or at least teenagers. Or were—Hank has since turned twenty, and I think Heather has as well. About half are kids from my school. Aside from those classmates, there’s Hank from next door, living at home while attending college, and Carole and Rick from across the alley—they go to a parochial school, though, not my school. Heather and Sylvie used to babysit me—I mean, not together, but they did both babysit me at one time or another. John, Jake, and Jane are our pastor’s kids—all my age, they’re triplets. And Pete is the son of my father’s boss.

In case you’re wondering, yes, my parents know and are fine with all this. Mom especially—she actively encourages me to have a healthy sex life. Heck, my first four dates—once I finally was allowed to start dating last year, after I turned 14—she was our transportation, including after we ate, taking us to a local park to go parking. It was, I admit, a little weird at first, getting into an increasingly heavy make-out session with my mother right there and watching. She insisted she officially wasn’t there, and we should just ignore her—but she definitely knew where our hands were roaming, and was fine with Pete and Hank and Ali taking the action further, even offering to take care of my clothes as they came off. In fact, with both Pete and Hank, when my knee ended up on her lap, she trapped it there against the steering wheel, keeping my legs apart so my date could start fucking me. She hadn’t really needed to hold me open—especially for Hank, since I’d already come enough times I was eager to go further—but as a signal that she was fine with me fucking, it was perfect. By my third date, with Ali—this time making out on a blanket on the ground, not on the cramped bench seat of Mom’s stupid pickup—I didn’t need that signal and we went straight to fucking.

And the fucking was good for me—Mom made sure of that, too. All three guys, after he’d cum in me two or three times, she got him hard again with her hand or even mouth, so I’d get another round.

My fourth date with Mom driving was with a girl, Allie, and that wasn’t as good. Oh, Mom helped get me ready to fuck Allie—a little too well. I came harder during their foreplay than I ever had before, so much harder I was kinda out of it for a while, and my date ended up screwing my mother more than she did me. Plus I got mosquito bites! After that, I decided I was done having Mom along on dates, even if she still insisted she officially “wasn’t there.” Ha.