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The old pickup truck, with two wild-haired young men squealed to a stop ahead of me, just outside of Victorsville, and I started to run toward it. I was running away from my parents. Me – Ginger Lockes – running away! I felt weird! I really felt more than just weird, I felt scared and silly.
My folks had come from the old country, and I was raised accordingly. Up until a month ago it had been fine. I was loved. I went to confession every week, to mass, to communion. I had very few dates, but then I was too busy with my studies and household duties to really care. Oh, I had friends and was popular enough. In fact, the class at the all-girls high school had voted me the most popular girl in the class last spring. Of course that was all girls. The few boys who dated me never called back for a second date. It might have bothered me if I hadn’t been so busy doing other things. But they wanted things from me that I just wasn’t willing to give, so they went to girls who would.
Then I started junior college. Suddenly there were boys everywhere. Boys with only one thing on their minds. I still felt it was horrible. Then I started talking to other girls. What I found out blew my mind. It seemed that every girl I knew, the ugliest, the shyest, my old classmates, all could tell me in detail what it felt like to have a boy stroke and squeeze her tits. The majority admitted that they had gone all the way-many even hinted that boys had done other nasty things to them.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.