Her new slim figure drew her closer to her persona.  Instead of being a female pariah, she became a loner-version of the femme fatal.   Fortunately, she had no time for entangling MF relationships.  As soon as a boy made motions to corral her, she bolted into hiding with her online games.  Her diary, however, followed the sketchy outlines of the boys’ approaches to fully articulated conclusions.  When her mother stumbled upon her diary,  the graphic details were so over-the-top larded with porn that she figured her daughter must have been fantasizing.  Though Lucy knew her mother had found her diary—and made nothing of the discovery, she felt free to take her imagination to its outer limits.  She released her inmost diabolical daydreams onto the written pages.  

“Lucy, of all the girls in our class, you are the most likely to become a man eater.”  This offhand comment by Rochelle in PE class drew the witch’s sneer, but it got Lucy thinking.  When, later that day, she sat by Rochelle at Assembly in the school theater, it was difficult for her not to notice the girl’s legs were spread wide, her knees against the seat in front of her.  The girl was clearly in heat, panting as the boy’s head coach stood to speak.  Lucy felt embarrassed for her friend, whose pelvis was rocking forward and backward on her seat.  Rochelle’s face was a mask of ecstasy.  She uttered low and deep moans.  Lucy surmised what had been happening in a flash.  She decided to take notice of details about her acquaintance and the coach.  

Before long, Rochelle was hustled off to New York City for a quickie abortion while the coach was fired and arrested by the police for statutory rape, molestation and a host of other major crimes.  Lucy recorded everything in her diary, but she learned well from the practical lessons of the sordid affair.  Rochelle returned to school a changed person.  Now she had become a man hater since her beloved coach had gotten her pregnant and forced her to have an abortion against her will.  She wanted revenge against all men for the coach’s crimes.  Lucy wanted nothing to do with her or her designs.  Rochelle never criticized Lucy for being an evil witch again.


“I hate them all.”


Lucy’s fifteenth birthday was the first time her parents had gone on an extended second honeymoon vacation to the Mediterranean.  She could not fathom why her parents needed to seek out scenic places to fuck, but she had the run of her family’s house while they were away.  Once every other day, a young woman checked by the house to see whether Lucy was all right.  The looks she gave Lucy were more than curious.  At their second encounter, the woman asked whether Lucy liked to write.  

“I do write.  All the time.”

“Then maybe you can help me.  I have this idea about a squirrel that looks into houses in a neighborhood just like this one.  The squirrel finds nothing but sadness, suffering and cruelty.  The squirrel leaves the business card of a social worker like me on the steps of the places where the need is greatest.”

“And your point is?”

“Children are fearful of outsiders whose job is to remedy situations that are embarrassing and secret.”

Lucy was curious.  “And what would you want me to do about your idea?”

“Maybe you have friends who draw or write or publish things online.  They could help me make my idea into a book.”

Lucy said “I like your idea of helping children, but I don’t know how making children comfortable about an outsider interfering with a family’s secrets could possibly help.”

The young woman seemed to be harboring an idea she was not divulging to Lucy.  “Well, never mind.  If something occurs to you, you can let me know on my next visit.”

“So you’re a social worker?”

“That’s right.”

“And someone has referred you to this house because we have a dysfunctional family?”

“If yours is not dysfunctional, where are your parents?”

“I don’t think I should answer your question if you don’t already know.”

The self-professed social worker seemed miffed by this response.  Lucy was suspicious.   She decided to take down the woman’s license plate and car description.  Online, she found out the agency the woman worked for and its mission statement.  She called the organization and, pretending to be her mother, complained that the worker who was assigned to her house was going beyond her brief.

On the next visit, the social worker was icy cold compared with her earlier demeanor.  She walked through the house and found Lucy in her attic room playing her game of D&D.

“I’ve been thinking about your idea,” Lucy said, interrupting her play.

“What idea?”

“The idea about the squirrel leaving business cards for a social worker.”

“Oh, that.”

“Are you no longer interested?”

“I’m not sure the idea is practicable.”

“Do you want to play with some of my mother’s toys?”

“Your mother has toys?”

“Yes.  Lots.  They’re in a special cabinet in the bathroom.”  Lucy got up from her computer and walked into her parents’ bathroom.  The social worker followed her out of curiosity.

Lucy flung open a hidden compartment under her mother’s sink.  There were pink sex toys of all descriptions.  “I’m not sure I’ve figured out how all these things work.”

“Maybe I can help with that.”  The social worker then waxed eloquent about the vibrators and pumps.  She seemed to know why the contraptions were designed with certain features and when they were deployed.

“This one is called a butt plug.  It is supposed to enhance sexual experience.  And this little gem is a double dildo.”

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