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By Alana Church
Artwork by Moira Nelligar
Copyright 2018 Alana Church
~~ All characters in this book are over 18. ~~
I’m horny, Gwen Tollefson decided.
She turned over on her bed and pushed her cell phone aside with an aggravated sigh. Twitter was boring. Nothing but people getting into stupid shouty arguments about politics and stuff. And Facebook was filled with people she didn’t like posting pictures of people she didn’t know doing stuff that she didn’t care about. She needed something to do. Spring break had started the previous day, and she wouldn’t be going back to school for over a week. With less than two months remaining in her senior year, it was a perfect time to recharge her batteries.
And, to be honest, she had caught a severe case of senioritis over the last several weeks. With her acceptance to Stanford University (and two emergency back-up schools) assured, there didn’t seem to be much point to studying hard anymore. She didn’t have to worry about grades, or about extracurricular activities that might look good on her application, or about brown-nosing some teacher so he would write her a letter of recommendation. What were they going to do? Un-accept her? All that was left was to pick up her diploma in May and wait until August, when she could leave this frozen wasteland and head for sunny California.
She scowled as she looked out her bedroom window. It was March, and if there really was a God, spring should be coming soon. But she lived in Minnesota. Nearly three inches of snow had fallen the previous night, and with the temperature rising, the streets and sidewalks were coated with a damp gray slush. As she watched, a gust of wind knocked some snow off the tree branches in the back yard, sending it swirling down to the ground in a fashion that almost seemed to mock her desire for warm, sunny days.
I bet I’d be happy if Mom and Dad had let me go to Spring Break with Ashley and Steph, she thought resentfully. She hadn’t really expected her parents to agree to let her go to Sarasota with Ashley’s parents. But her father, who she had thought the softer touch, had given her a flat ‘no’ before she had said three sentences. Even the fact that Ashley’s parents and aunt and uncle would be there to chaperone hadn’t inclined him to budge. And her mother hadn’t been any better when she had pled her case.
So she was stuck in stupid, boring Minnesota on a shitty Saturday morning, with nowhere to go and nothing to do.
Of course, she could simply drop her panties and rub one out, she thought. That would take up a little time, and might take the edge of her horniness off.
Damn you, Max.
“Hey, Gwen!” Just as her fingers were creeping towards the buttons on her jeans, her door burst open, and her younger sister Mary Jane burst in, jumping on the bed to join her. “What are you doing?”
She sat up, annoyed. “Nothing. And knock next time.”
“Oh, don’t be that way.” She rolled over, hanging her head off the end of the bed. “Want to go out?”
“Want to watch a movie?”
“Do you want to build a snowman?” she sing-songed.
Despite herself, her lips twitched. “No.”
“Are you on the rag?”
“No,” She growled. “Good grief, leave me alone.”
“Well,” her sister said reasonably, “you can’t just stay in here all day. It’s spring break, Gwen! We’re supposed to be having fun!”
“Fun is overrated.”
“You just can’t think of anything to do.”
She bit her lip. She could think of one fun thing she would love to be doing. But she had blown it.
It had seemed so simple. She had been going out with Max for nearly a year, and she had been certain she was falling in love with him. He was handsome, decent, kind, smart, and he made her laugh.
Plus, he was a great fuck.
All she had to do was to somehow arrange for the two of them to go to the same college. She had been accepted to Stanford, her dream school, weeks ago, before Christmas. Max, unfortunately, had not. Stanford had rejected him with a polite letter stating that it was impossible to accept all qualified applicants.
Her boyfriend had accepted the news calmly, especially since he already had been accepted to the University of Minnesota. In his heart, Gwen thought, Max didn’t really want to leave his family for the west coast, and had only applied to Stanford to make her happy. Plus, the campus at the U of M was only a few miles from his home. Gwen, however, had been bitterly disappointed, though she tried to hide it. After thinking things through, she had hit upon a sure-fire stratagem.
And then it had blown up in her face. Her suggestion that they might want to cool things off, since they probably wouldn’t be able to make things work in a long-distance relationship had been accepted by Max with the same calm resignation that he had displayed when the thin envelope containing the rejection letter had come back from Stanford.
Apparently the noble idiot had never even considered asking her to stay in Minnesota and go to the U of M with him. She had gotten in there, too, as a safety school. But no. Maxwell Melton wouldn’t ask his girlfriend to give up her dreams like that.
So now, instead of being able to look forward to four years with Max at the U of M, only a few miles away from home, by which time marriage would be a foregone conclusion, she was stuck with no boyfriend and the slowly-dawning realization that her maneuvering had been too clever by half. Instead of using him as an excuse to not go to a college she had never really wanted to get into in the first place, despite the fact that her mother raved about her four years in California, she was stuck with no reason not to go.
“You know,” Mary Jane continued, with all the wisdom of her fifteen years, “you’ve been a grumpy, bitchy pain in the ass since you and Max broke up. Why don’t you go over to his place and work things out? Then maybe people will want to hang out with you.”
“Die,” Gwen said hollowly. She grabbed a pillow and whacked her giggling sister across the face with it. “Die. Die die die die die.” She pinned her to the mattress, hitting her over and over again, as Mary Jane howled, holding her hands across her stomach. “Why won’t you die?!”
Her mother poked her head through the doorway. “Are you killing your little sister again, Gwendolyn?”
“Yes,” she snarled, raising the pillow above her head, then bringing it crashing down on Mary Jane’s red, chortling face. Bits of down drifted in the air. “And this time I’m going to finish the job. I’ve wanted to do it ever since you brought the rotten little marshmallow home from the hospital.” She turned back to her sister, her voice menacing. “Any last words, boogersnot?”
“Yeah,” Mary Jane giggled. “I rubbed poison ivy all over your tampons last summer.”
Gwen took a long, deep breath. “Mom?”
Her mother, still attractive at nearly fifty, shook her head. “There is no curse in Elvish, Entish, or the tongues of men for this treachery.”
“So can I stake her out on an anthill? Please?”
“It’s March, Gwen. The ants are probably all hibernating.”
“She can wait until they wake up, then. A bit of starvation and frostbite might teach this rotten little spazz some manners.”