4. Seventeen-year-old slut I knew from high school. Hot body, but too insecure to be high value. Being too easy makes it less fun. The conquest is part of the turn-on.
5. Trailer trash, indeterminate age, somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five. Could have been number 4’s mom for all I know. She was all over me at a bar, I didn’t even have to throw any game. Okay sex, but a little too eager to please. She’s still pretty hot now, but I can tell this one’s on her way to becoming a fifty-year-old barfly.
6. Nineteen-year-old skinny, lazy stoner. Loved to fuck all night. Was part of my harem for a couple of months. Ended up in the hospital for a few days with some kind of infection, asked me to visit her. Fucked her in the bathroom when she was high on painkillers. Too doped up to say much, but whatever.
7. Eighteen-year-old blonde from out of town I met online. Dumb as a brick. Nothing special about this one. Did her in the back of my car, then never called her back.
8. Seventeen to eighteen years old. I made the mistake of actually agreeing to be this one’s “boyfriend” for a year in high school, though of course I was still getting tail on the side. She started out hella hot, A+ grade, but got more and more pathetic the longer we were together. Finally got rid of her shortly after graduation. Good riddance to damaged goods.
9. Seventeen-year-old chubby girl from school. I had a girlfriend and she had a boyfriend, but she got drunk at a party when he was out of town and told me she’d had a crush on me since sixth grade. Fat girls are so easy. Mostly a pity fuck on my part. She was so grateful.
10. Sixteen-year-old redhead (whose carpet matched the curtains, by the way). Football groupie who talked too much and would do anything to party with the big boys. There’s something so fun about virgins. It’s so sweet how insecure they are, how they’re so willing to do what they’re told. You have so much power automatically, and they love it.
11. Fifteen-year-old freshman nobody, got her so drunk she couldn’t say no. Kind of messy and mostly just laid there, but busting a nut is busting a nut.
12. Sixteen-year-old who followed me around at school for weeks like a puppy. She was so grateful when I finally kissed her at a party. Didn’t take long to get her upstairs and naked. Boring and needy. Apparently she’s head cheerleader now.
13. Sixteen-year-old hot girl from another school. Got her drunk and she immediately turned into a raging slut. Strung this one along for a few weeks until she started getting clingy and wanting commitment, then I kicked her to the curb.
14. Fourteen-year-old. My first. Watching porn for the previous few years set me up to expect more. Her tits were too small for one thing, and her bush needed trimming. She had no idea what to do at first, but over time I showed her how to please. Her future boyfriends will thank me.
—AlphaGuy541
GRACE.
Grace is not in the mood for church today. For one, she hardly got any sleep last night. What started with reading The Real Men of Prescott blog turned into nearly three hours of torture as she started clicking on links until she found herself deep inside the manosphere, on forums where men exchanged date-rape tips, on websites that suggested men move to impoverished countries where women don’t put up a fight and there are no laws to protect them.
The world is a sick place, Grace thinks. It is a place where people can post things like that, spreading hate and darkness, and no one holds them accountable. It is a place where hurting people is too easy, and where helping them is too hard. It is a place where the darkness is winning, where the darkness will always win.
And Mom’s up there preaching, doing her job, trying to convince this church full of people that there is still light in the world, that it is within reach, that it is within us. Grace doesn’t know if she believes this. She doesn’t know what she believes anymore.
“John was a witness to the light,” Mom says. “He came to testify. He came to tell the truth of Jesus in a world that did not want to hear it.”
She pauses and looks out at the silent, rapt congregation. She smiles like she’s about to deliver the punch line of a joke. “And it was good news,” she says, incredulous. “It was great news. It was news about God’s grace and love and forgiveness!” She throws up her hands in mock exasperation. “But they didn’t want to hear it. They said thanks, but no thanks. They said we’re just going to keep doing things the way we’ve always done them, even if it’s sort of stopped working for us. These guys were the definition of conservative.” A statement like this would have gotten Mom beheaded at her old church. It gets a few laughs from the congregation, but Grace has no energy for humor.
“They had no interest in John’s news,” Mom continues, “because it was new and strange and because they knew it would change things. Because it was outside their understanding of tradition, and the way things had always been, and the way things ought to be. Change was scary. It was something to be avoided.
“Who was this guy leading people to the river and washing their sins away, saying everyone was worthy of redemption? Who was this guy preaching justice, telling soldiers not to kill, telling tax collectors not to steal? Who was this man preaching charity, who said in Luke 3:11, ‘Let anyone who has two coats share with the person who has none; and anyone who has food do the same.’ Who was this crazy guy claiming someone even greater than him, someone even more revolutionary, was on his way, some guy named Jesus, who had the power to wash them, not just in water, but in fire, in the very light of the Lord? The people said to John, ‘Who the hell are you?’?”
A few giggles at her creative paraphrasing of Scripture. She pauses to let her words settle, to give people time to get ready to adjust to a more serious vibe. Her face is earnest; her eyes are kind, imploring. She is electric. Her smile is fueled by a love big enough for everyone in the congregation, everyone in Prescott, everyone in the world. But Grace’s heart aches a selfish ache, an ache that shames her, as she wishes the smile was meant for only her and not all these strangers.
“John 1:23,” Grace’s mom says. “And John said, ‘I am the voice of one calling in the wilderness. Make straight the way for the Lord.’?”
The congregation takes a deep breath.