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“You’re not gonna let him fuck you, are you, Traci?”
“Emily Grabble, don’t you ever say anything like that to me again!”
The lithe, young blonde tilted her chin up defiantly, staring at her good friend through narrowed eyes. She didn’t like to hear that word. It made her nervous, unsettling her ordered mental image of both herself and her surrounding world. The two girls were sitting on a large multi-colored beach blanket, watching the high surf smash onto Venice Beach while the sun began to settle behind the ocean. A few male joggers trudged nearby, their heads turned toward the two attractive young women.
“I don’t see why you’re so bent out of shape,” Emily said defensively, brushing back several strands of her black hair the wind had blown in her face. The scent of the damp, salt air was pleasant, even mildly exciting. A fine spray from the surf coated their flesh. Neither wanted to leave the beach. But the conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn for Traci. She was thinking of cutting their day short and packing up. She didn’t want to hear about boys all the time, about what they did in the back seats of cars. Her mother had told her all about that. That was exactly how Traci was born and why her father left. Illegitimate! The word stung her pride even now. No, she wasn’t going to get in the same position as her mother.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.