I didn't want to be a whore.

Ugh. That sounds supes boring and cliche. Who would want to be a whore, anyway? Plus, it sounds like I was forced into it, which I wasn't. So let me start again:

Initially, I didn't want to be a whore. I wanted to be one when I was a kid, then stopped, then relapsed some time at the near end of high school. But the relapse was totally not my fault. If I had anyone to blame, it would be my boyfriend Walter.

Walter, sometimes called by me and my numerous boy friends as Water, was a really nice guy. Really nice. And that's why I was still a virgin for my one-year relationship with him. He almost never kissed me on the lips and touched me as if we were friendzoning each other. And when I made a move so he didn't have to, he went on and on about this piece of crap called abstinence or virginity being a virtue in the eyes of God and whatever.

The main reason I held on to my poor pastor boyfriend was because he was funny, handsome, and helped me with maths homework. Not only did he often help me get at least a B-, it was the only chance I got to be semi-sexual with him. When Walt solved maths, it took up ninety percent of his huge brain, which included the pastor part of it.

It's quite ironic that I became an official whore during one of those maths days. But considering what happened that day, it wasn't my fault at all.

What happened? Well, Walt was teaching me about inequalities and unknowns for the billionth time, and for the billionth time, I wasn't listening. I just watched his lips move and wanted them on me. No, not just them. I wanted his whole body on me. But if only I could get his lips. He never let me kiss him there.

'…carry six to the RHS—'

'What?' I asked.

'Right Hand Side, the place after the equal to sign,' Walt explained.

'I mean what the heck are we taking about?'

Walt sighed. 'You're not paying attention, again.'

'I pay attention to you,' I quipped. 'I noticed your perfume.'

'I mean the lesson, but—'

'Lilac, right?' I asked. 'It's my favourite kind of scent.'

'Oh,' Walt oh-ed. 'I didn't know, but I'm glad you like it.'

I sniffed him loudly from his neck to his armpit. 'You smell really nice.'


Walt stammered when he was flusitered. It wouldn't be too long before I got him hard.

'This smell is so good,' I emphasised as I my hand up and down his back. 'I want it. I want my couch smelling the way you do.'

'Stop it, Eve,' he muttered, not making any physical effort to stop me. I knew he liked what I did, he was just forcing himself not to.

Subtly, I snaked my hand onto his crotch. He was hard, alright. Raging.

'You want me,' I said. 'You want me, but you're not giving yourself to me. I'm willing, Walt. Take me.'

'You're—I—I can't do that to you,' he said. 'You're beautiful and need to be kept pure.'

'I'm beautiful and need to be fucked, Walter. All my friends have lost their virginity.'

'Your friends are gangsters and sons of snakes. They don't care about God or what He hates as long as they feel good.'

Now that was a gigantic turn-off. No one, not even Walt, could get away with insulting my friends. My friends were as good as me. Walt just called me a gangster and a son of a snake.

I stopped teasing him. This was time for serious business.

'God brought us to earth to have a good time, Water. God didn't say, "Blow off thy girlfriend if she trieth to kisseth thee," or, "Act like a sissy and go to Heaven." God never said you should give up your happiness to please him. My friends might not be as holy as you, but they know that God wants them to have a good life. So what if we drink, get high, play pranks, and pick on a few kids for fun? We go to church every Sunday like no one's business. We don't kill or steal. We don't lie—okay, we don't lie to each other. We make ourselves and other people happy. But you? You don't even care about me.'

'I swear to God that I do.'

'Then why won't you fuck me? Why did you insult my friends?'

He didn't speak immediately. 'I can't do that to you. It's against God. And I didn't insult your friends, I just said what I think they are.'

'What you think they are,' I said, 'not what they are.'

'They are bad people who are as far from Heaven as the number seven is from being an even number. Anyone who follows them—'

He stopped himself, but the damage had been done.

'Get out,' I said.

'I'm sorry—'

'No, I'm sorry.' I slammed my textbook shut. 'I'm sorry that a sinner like me fell in love with a literal Jesus like you. I'm sorry that my friends are so demonic that they'll turn everyone who associates from them away from the path of God. And I am so fucking sorry that I don't give a shit. You can leave now.'

He stood up slowly, walked out slowly, but at last, he was gone.

I didn't mind at all, even though I thought that was the end of our relationship. His leaving opened so many doors for me. I didn't need to depend on someone to do my homework, or waste my womanly wiles on someone too holy to appreciate them. I didn't have to make jokes that only he would laugh at. I didn't need to call him at nine to know how his day went…

I did not cry. Sobbing and crying are two completely different things.

There was a knock on the door.

I rushed to it, but froze on the last step. Maybe he forgot something, not that he wanted forgiveness. I dried my eyes before opening the door.

But it wasn't Walt. It was, in fact, his complete opposite. No kidding; we called Walt Water because of his plainess and called Mike Fire for obvious reasons.

Mike was a total demon. He didn't care about most things, even other human beings. I didn't like him too much, but he was one of my alpha boy friends because he was super rich, super dangerous, and super hot.

'You did good there,' Mike said. 'Why're you crying?'

'I'm not crying,' I lied. 'And what did I do? What are you doing in my house?'

'Aye, too many questions,' he warned. 'You know what I do to girls that ask too many questions?'

I crossed my arms. 'What?'

Mike laughed. 'I answer them, duh? You should see your face.'

My spine remained rigid. I might've been one of Fire's best friends, but I was a girl no less. If I let my guard down, I would find myself naked and chained to an armchair before I could think Lebowski.

'I saw you sticking up for the dawgs,' Mike said. 'Serves him right for calling us sons of snakes. Now you're over. He deserves it.'

'You're the only one everything he said applies to,' I said.

'Yeah yeah. I'm a dick, I get it.' He smirked. 'Oh, speaking of major dicks, mine is hard now.'

'What happened to your insane ability to get any girl to sleep with you?'

'What do you think I'm using?'

I didn't need to be a maths prodigy like Walt to add up those unknowns.

'I'm not any girl, Fire. I don't want to get burned,' I asserted.

'Not for nothing, of course.' He flipped out his wallet. 'How much will it cost me? Two thousand? Five thousand?'

'Say what now?'

'Fine. Ten grand. I'm desperate.'

I had no words and no excuse for a hot couple of seconds. Then I finally said, 'Why?'

'Why are you being so tough about this?' Mike asked. 'You said it yourself; you need to be fucked. I'm not gonna give you anything you don't want.'

'Tell me the other reason, you shameless bastard,' I ordered.

He frowned. 'Long story short, I've wanted you for a year and a half. You're the hottest girl I know. Blah blah blah, whaddya say?'

Ten grand. Ten grand.

To be fair, it was a stupid decision. But once again, it was totally not my fault. If Mike could give me what Walter couldn't—and pay me for it, no less—then why the hell not?

'I've got conditions,' I said.

'I've got conditions as well,' Mike replied.

'Ladies first,' I said. 'I don't take birth control, and I know you'll hate using a condom, so I'll give you a blow and handjob so you can get what you paid for. And you have to be kind of slow. I like slow.

'And you?' I asked.

'I like those names you call me. Bastard, stupid, idiot, jackass—those're what made me like you in the first place.' He swallowed. 'And, sure. You might never believe this, but I like slow too.'

'Put the money on the floor and I'm ready.'

Mike counted a few thousand-dollar notes and sprayed them on me.

'You're a silly bastard, you know?' I asked, not thinking of his kink.

'Did I mention that I was hard? I still am, by the way.'

I nodded, then let him kiss me.

To be honest, I didn't imagine kissing Fire before then, and when I did, I hated myself for not doing it at least a zillion times before.

'Shit,' I exclaimed. 'Who taught a loser like you how to kiss?'

'I like that,' Mike said in a throaty moan. He kissed me on the neck to allow me to insult him effectively.

Luckily for both of us, I had a ton of names I'd always wanted to call him.

'Jerk,' I teased softly while he kissed me softly. 'Son of a bitch. You're a fucking snake, you asshole.'

'I've been wanting to hear that ever since I came,' he whispered, slipping my shirt off.

'Slow down, sissy. You think you're man enough to fuck with me?'

'Oh my—' he kissed me on the lips and pushed me onto the couch I just got off.

Mike took his own shirt off and placed my hands on his bare chest. 'Who's the man now? Me, or Water?'

'Fire, dickhead,' I replied.

He stroked my cheek. 'I swear to Satan; I'm gonna burn you alive.'

We went on like that for a while. I insulted him with every move he made, and he put a bitchy smile on my face.

In an hour, we were naked, sweaty, and done. Mike had hugged me closely while I kept calling him names (yes, I wasn't out of ammo).

'How did that feel, weirdo?' I asked.

'You are the sexiest girl I've ever made out with,' Mike said, sleepily. 'But don't expect much. I want you, not love you.'

'You're too heartless for love. I don't need it, anyway,' I said. 'And one more thing, tool-for-brains; don't let anyone outside the gang find out.'

'I won't let anyone find out. I wanna be the only one that gets to feel you like this for a while.'

'Suit yourself, selfish fool.'

Once again, this was totally not my fault.