Hard

1. Allie-3

That night, I went home to my little apartment. It was a studio with a heavy curtain decorated with a fictional, but gorgeous beach drawn down the middle. That was the “bedroom” which really just meant when Bree was home from the hospital, she could have a little bit of privacy. A studio apartment was small for one person, let alone two. Right now, it was drawn aside, exposing the bed pushed up against the far wall. That bed had been made for the last three months because Bree had spent them all in the hospital.

Tearing my eyes from that sight and the depressing thoughts that went with it, I turned to the kitchen. I deposited the pie in the fridge – there was another one beside it, a six pack of beer that had been there for months, and an old sandwich that might have originally had green stuff on it… or not.

Sighing, I acknowledged that I needed to go grocery shopping soon. I mostly ate at the diner, because we got one free meal and as much pie as any girl could dream of. But I couldn’t live only on that, though I’d tried for a while now. It was probably why my waist was so small. The pies went to my hips and my boobs, thank god, but I was always hungry, it seemed.

Grabbing a beer – because I needed something if I was really going to do this – I headed to my bed. I pulled out my laptop and turned it on. It took a while to boot up, because it was about as old as it was heavy and could likely stop a bullet. It was also glitchy and incapable of holding a charge in the battery. I was firmly attached to the wall whenever I used it.

When the damn thing finally booted up, I was halfway through my foul beer. I quickly pulled up my search engine. Then I just stared. The little bar blinked at me, waiting, but I was having a hard time convincing myself to do it.

Didn’t people monitor stuff like this?

Worrying at my lower lip, I drained the rest of my beer, then quickly got up to grab another. This time I brought the whole pack out with me. At my computer again, I resolved to do it. Don’t be a chickenshit all your life, Allie. Your sister needs you. Grow a pair.

And with that, I typed in how to sell your virginity.

I spent the rest of the night reading about the pros and the cons, the successes and the horror stories. By the time the sun was coming up, I was buzzing with nervousness – and just the smallest, tiniest piece of excitement.

Was I really going to do this?

I was, actually. I just needed to figure out how. Putting it on one of those auction sites wasn’t a good idea, because it drew too much attention. You had to have an account and an address and a bunch of other things that could be tracked right back to your doorstep. I could be arrested for prostitution.

It’s not prostitution, it’s not prostitution. That had been my mantra for the last five hours, but I knew what I was doing. The law wouldn’t appreciate it.

I’d about given up on putting out an ad at all when I remembered Christel talking about those alternative life magazines. Would it be possible to…?

I didn’t think, I just searched. It took me another hour and two slices of pie, but I found a magazine I liked and paid fifty bucks that I didn’t have to put a short little ad in that was the equivalent of “I’ll let you pop my cherry; email me.”

Now, I just had to wait.