It isn't easy being easy. I don't care what you hear about the up side of spending a lot of down time on your backside. For women, it's a problem. For young girls, it can be a disaster. I know. I've been there. I've done that. I have the stretch marks to prove it.

Let me jump back to the beginning. Or at least, the first I remember of the beginning.

My earliest memory of the trade offs that are expected of girls was about the same time my older brother must have been going through the change of life. He went from being a dick head to having a dick head that summer. He shared the experience with me in every way he could.

I was about nine or ten at the time and doted on the bastard. I worshiped the water he walked on. For years, he had treated me like shit. I followed him everywhere for the privilege.

That summer, he changed. Sort of.

We were out somewhere on the farm where we lived with parents and one other sister. Parents that were too busy to notice that their youngest daughter had caught the attention of their and recently pubescent son. There are lots of places to slip into out in the boondocks. Fun places. Hidden places. I had one that interested my brother. A place he wanted to slip into. He carefully negotiated me out of my pants. It was just my first opportunity to be easy and I jumped at the chance. We probably didn't do much that first time but I had easily slid over the edge of the slippery slope.

Within a few days or maybe weeks, but certainly by the end of that summer, I was hooked on just about every kind of sex known or dreamt of. I was easy from the start. Almost every day, we found some nook to examine my cranny. Hayloft, weed patch, ditch bank, empty chicken house. You name it, we had a use for it.

We went from looking to touching, to feeling, to tasting, to poking and prodding, to inserting foreign object in all the openings either of us had or could pretend we had. It's a wonder we didn't do harm to some of the places we had with some of the things we put in them.

He found he liked licking my little split. I found I loved it. I found he liked it when I sucked his reason for living. He found he loved me when I would. I was so easy.

It was hot the day we finally did IT the first time. I remember the nightmare like it was only yesterday. We had been working up to it for a long time. Well, he had. I didn't see it coming. If I had, I'd have insisted on something more than spit and sweat for lubrication. We were only a few inches into the experience when the oversight became obvious to us both. Him losing his virginity was just as painful as me losing mine. He lost his hard on when the salty sweat got in a tiny tear in his foreskin and I couldn't get to the water trough fast enough to cool off my cooter. I hope he remembers the fun we had that day.

It wasn't such a disaster to stop me from sneaking into his bedroom a couple of nights later and sneak back into mine an hour or so later with my very first cunt full of boy cum. We were hooked.

The next spring, he blabbed to his best friend what we had been doing together and I had to pay for that kid's silence with free pussy. Hey, it didn't cost me anything and like I said before, I was easy. I kind of liked being the center of attention.

Two more of his friends got lucky over the next few months. Thirteen year old boys don't keep things like free nooky a secret very well. Our little farm was a very popular hang out for a growing number of new ex-virgins.

That's pretty much how it went for a couple of years. Not all that often, maybe twice a week with the other guys. Nearly every night with my big brother though.

One of the other guys that was a little older, got his license and could get his dad's car so I started sneaking out on dates with him. Nothing special. Usually down to the river and into the back seat. Sometimes there'd be other boys there in the dark and I was easy. I pulled a train before I even wore a training bra. I was the first girl in my class to get a bad reputation. The girls avoided me, the boys loved me. As often as they could.

Then puberty struck. One day nothing, the next day more than I could deal with. Tits and hips. Hair every where. Zits and body odor. And PERIODS. Not at all obvious, but on my mind constantly, was the simultaneously lurking FERTILITY. Keep in mind that I had been studying advanced sex education for three years by that time. There weren't many surprises for this little farm girl.

I put my kitty entirely off limits to anything that even resembled a penis.

I held out for nearly a week.

Then I settled for condoms and calendars. And hand jobs and blow jobs. A faggy little guy that kind of hung around talked me into trying it up the butt one night at a beer party in a vacant house in town. He couldn't keep it up to get it in but I was all lubed up and fired up and let one of the other guys do it to me just to see what it felt like. I wasn't all that crazy about it but it became a fall back position when all other forms of weak resistance failed and the timing was too risky.

That all worked real well until just before Christmas of my eighth grade. A crazy mistake, a bad risk, and circumstances collided right behind my belly button.

It was a cold winter weekday afternoon. Between getting home from school and dinner. My brother had changed clothes and done the outside chores. I was still in my school clothes, doing homework then helping mom. We thought she was busy in the kitchen when he pulled me down into his lap across the overstuffed chair next to the old pot bellied stove. A little foreplay and I skinned my panties off and flared my full skirt over his lap as he opened his pants. I told him it was a bad time. He said he'd pull out and shoot in my underpants. It seemed like a good plan in the heat of the moment.

We fit together like the practiced fuckers we were. I was bridged across him, legs over one arm of the chair and elbows propped on the other. Humping my little ass off. I loved the feeling of him deep up in me like that.

Just as he started to push me away to make a mess in my underwear, mom, standing right next to us, asked for me to peel the potatoes. Big brother panicked and froze in place. Balls deep. His prostate gland couldn't see mom so didn't know what the big fuss was all about. It went ahead and did what it did best. I could almost hear the little wriggly tailed sperm cells bounce off my cervix.

Mom was no dummy. She turned back to the kitchen saying something about us tearing ourselves apart and getting cleaned up. She knew.

Morning sickness and no menstrual periods over the next two or three months were a dead give away. She already had my summer planned out when I sheepishly announced my deilicate condition to her and dad late that spring.

The last week of May, I took a Trailways Bus to Spokane to help take care of my "sick" aunt. Mom had arranged with the school for me to quietly complete my classes a couple weeks early. I was just barely starting to show. I wouldn't be fourteen until the following November.

Aunt Matilda, Tillie in the family, was a story all by herself. At the time I stayed with her, she was between her second and third husbands. She had made a similar mistake to mine with a high school sweetheart. Her folks, my maternal grandparents, had thrown her out and changed the locks. The jerk responsible for her delicate condition denied ever knowing her.

She worked the truck stop/casino parking lot out by the interstate until the baby was born then hit the road. She was always vague about what happened to the child but later told me that she's given her to a woman that clerked at the gas station.

When she got her shape back, she polished the brass pole in a sleazy strip bar outside of Fort Wayne for a few months. She hooked up with, and later married, a long distance trucker that pimped her ass for peanuts from coast to coast until she got smart and hid out in Maine surviving on anything that paid the rent.

In Maine, she met and married a nice guy that loved her and took good care of her most of the time. When he wasn't drunk or high. Then he beat the hell out of her for exercise. Then his fishing boat didn't come home one night.

She hit the road again. I got two or three stories about how she eventually wound up in Spokane with a big house and a respectable bank account. Mom thought she'd won a lottery of some kind. I think it was drugs, prostitution, theft, extortion, forgery, or good luck. Pick one.

I had only met her a couple of times before that summer. Nice, conservative woman a few years older than mom. She didn't say much and didn't stay long.

I wanted to get back on the bus when I saw her in the Spokane depot. She was easily the high spot of a lot of peoples day that day. Screaming my name at the top of her lungs.

Imagine.

Mid forties, bleached blond, fifty dollars worth of make-up and perfume, short short white see through shorts, european wedge sandals with four inch heels laced almost to her knees, a crop top that showed boobs below and above the crop. Lots and lots of boob.

It was too late. I had gotten myself into this mess, I was going to have to live with it.

My opinion of her started to change by the time we got my bags and dragged them out to the parking lot. Til, as she insisted I call her, loaded my stuff in the hottest fire engine red Corvette on the planet. Like everyone drove a car like that, she blasted out of the parking lot into a whole new life for me.

"Honey." She said over the sound of the engine and the whistling wind, "The only rules you have while you're here with me, is: "There ain't no fuckin' rules.""