Six Flavours of Sin

Six Flavours

of

Sin

by

Poppet

A Thorstruck Press Publication

Published by Thorstruck Press in 2014

Copyright author Poppet 2009

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organisations, events or locales, or any other entity, is entirely coincidental.

Warning: the unauthorised reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

This novel is dedicated to Mrs Walker

You're the best friend a girl can have

Until you know better, you won't do better.

This is a tale told in hindsight, an older wiser Stefanie recounts her heartache, the journey into becoming a woman, a journey which started out as a teenager losing her virginity, to falling in love with the wrong kind of man. This is a tale based on a true story, injected with humour and sarcasm to lessen the cut of truth in such a dysfunctional story.

Children who witness domestic violence in the home often believe that they are to blame, live in a constant state of fear. Close observation during an interaction can alert providers to the need for further investigation and intervention, such as dysfunctions in the physical, behavioural, emotional, and social areas of life.

An estimated 1/5 to 1/3 of teenagers subject to viewing domestic violent situations experience
teen dating violence
, regularly abusing or being abused by their partners verbally, mentally, emotionally, sexually and/or physically. 30 to 50% of dating relationships can exhibit the same cycle of escalating violence in their marital relationships.

Grief, shame, and low self esteem are common emotions that children exposed to domestic violence experience.

Children exposed to domestic violence frequently do not have the foundation of safety and security that is normally provided by the family. The children experience a desensitisation to aggressive behaviour, poor anger management and problem solving skills, and learn to engage in exploitative relationships

~
wikipedia

I reiterate: Until you know better, you won't do better.

Chapter 1

Enter Adelle and Gary

The one thing I was always afraid of, in the sack, was being a sack. I have no idea where this notion came from, but it was omnipresent. I was a good girl. I was more scared of teenage pregnancy, than the act involved. But, I'd heard only good things about doing the dirty.

So, I made it almost all the way to twenty before I took the plunge. (
I took the plunge? That sounds wrong.)
Lucky for me, I was a good girl. I had absolutely no intention of having shenanigans the night I did. I discovered a few months later from the girlfriend he had whilst simultaneously dating me -
(nice one, I sure can pick them) –
that
she
caught crabs and vaginal warts from him.
Strike one on the first go.

Thank heavens I didn't keep dating
him. Poor girl dated him for months and caught all of those nasties. Now I know where ‘creep’ comes from. They give you STDs that creep and crawl and freak you out. He was obviously cheating on her too. For months.

Right, so um, I thought this was a normal progression. I'd seen a few dirty movies and there was always lots of heavy breathing involved. Naive me, I had no idea this was caused by the sheer body weight of the male participant forcing the air out of you. Oof, breathe!
Oof, breathe!

Yep, I had morphed into a hefty pair of bellows. I was young enough to care, so I insisted Mr Crabs
‘teach me’. He had no intention at all of doing any such thing. Don't men get that we aren't programmed to be a femme fatale? It's not hardwired. It's something we hone, like a skill. Same with cooking. Don't assume we just know what the heck we're doing.

Oh, and just for the record, nothing I'd heard about doing the dirty was vaguely accurate. So I dumped the cheating, lying, conniving bastard and went on
an ‘I hate men’ mission. They could buy me as many drinks as they liked, it wouldn't make a fudge of difference.

Then .... fate walked through my door. I was in my first employment. Footloose and fancy free. Loving life. It was a huge
adventure. And I was a good girl desperate to break a few rules. My good friend Adelle phones and convinces me that we have to house-sit a home together, not too far from work.

"How did you arrange this? Whose house is it?"

"Oh come on! I can't do this alone. It was arranged for a model Alan works with, but he's got a photo-shoot."

My mind is already dancing the happy dance:
Freedom
.

"How long?"

"Two weeks."

"Okay, but you're buying the booze!"

Wait! Adelle: I must tell you about her. We've been friends since the sixth grade. She was my first friend to smoke. She started in the sixth grade, smoking her dad's cheroots. She and Alan were already having sex by grade nine, bumping uglies as often as possible
.
He would sleep over and sneak out of her bedroom window in the morning - (and they are still together), bumping uglies as often as possible. She was wild. No scratch that – insane! Good thing Adelle loves him; he works with models and she has moments of insecurity. Anyway, he hobnobs in the right crowd, so this house-sitting gig in Fresnaye should be fun.

Day two, called
Saturday!

I waltz into the kitchen, my long blonde hair all over the place. This old house is colder than the morgue at the winter solstice, hence my nipples protrude without subtlety against the white T-shirt I slept in. But that's okay, because Adelle is twice my size and her boobs are the biggest I've ever seen. It's a tiny room for a kitchen. A miniature of the farm-style type. I guess that models don't have to cook. They live on carrot sticks and champagne don't they? Well, no one could serve a family from this little nook.
I know. I've helped Mom cook enough meals.
But the fridge, that's plenty big enough for carrot sticks and champagne.

Hey!

Gulp.

There's a really,
really,
dishy guy smiling at me; he's sitting in the kitchen at the pathetic square called an island. Down girl. Shit. I still have a nipple stand.

Adelle doesn't seem the least bit fazed as her udders jiggle around, unrestrained, in her
loose T-shirt. She grins at me, blue eyes twinkling in a brunette bob frame, and points at the dude, "Stef, this is Gary."

I smile.
What the hell am I supposed to say? This is
girls only!

She hands me steaming coffee in an
amber-hued mug. "He's an old friend of Al's."

Riiigggght!
I vaguely recall meeting him once when we went to play pool. So basically this is the first time he's making an impact.

Hey dude: keep
your eyes on my face! Look out the window. Not fair. You're unannounced.

I decide I should say something. I look at blondie, with the death-by-grin, grin. "So what are you doing here?" Wait, that sounds rude. "So early?" I
add. Gulp.

I’m folding my arms trying to hide these erect nipples that
have nothing to do with his blue hypnotist's eyes. It's called
‘Co
ld as the Mausoleum Syndrome’, okay?

Darn, that smile is naughty
.
He's aiming it at me and he's shooting to thrill.

"I'm looking after you."

Oh I bet you are.
I smile, kinda. "Oh
... Reaaally
?" (Dripping sarcasm.)

I give him the
, ‘I can look after myself just fine thank-you-very-much,’ stare. It's a challenge. I dare you to say I need a man! To quote Adelle. A woman needs a man, like a tree needs roller-skates.

Oh
, be still my rioting heart: he's just pushed his sleeves up. That darn white knitted shirt of his is just clinging to defined arms and ripply shoulders. Those forearms. Phew, hang on, I just need to breathe for a moment; coming over all weird.

Okay, you can stay as
loooong
as you like, handsome.

Wait
. If my mother finds out a guy is staying here I am dead. Dead!
Hung and flogged in public until death do I depart.

He shoots those steaming eyes, brimming with ‘I want to do bad things to you’ at Adelle, "So baby, what are we doing today? It's Saturday!"
             

Swoon
. He makes it sound like it's our last day on earth to do anything: the whole ‘now or never’ vibe. I am losing my will here. If he told me to crawl around and snort like a pig, I'd probably do it.

Adelle is the most conniving, manipulating, best friend, ever!

"Let's have the guys over. Play some coinage or something?"

It's seven-thirty in the morning and these people are already planning our let's get shit-faced day? I need to brush my teeth. And put a bra on, dammit.
Guys? What guys?

They both look at me expectantly. I shrug. Miss Cool.

"Sure." Making out like I don't give a damn either way. When all I want to do is watch this boy for the rest of my horny days. Hang on. I'm horny! How the hell did that happen? And how come I've known Adelle for eight years, and I am only meeting this boy properly,
now
? She and I are going to have to talk.

Aaaah, she's a genius.

"Gary you go out and get what we need for lunch, I'll cook. And get shooters while you're at it."

He stands. Whoa! This is a sin.
No one
is allowed to look that scrummy in plain blue jeans. He's lean
and
muscly in all the right places, with a real gladiator ass. He gives me a cocked eyebrow as he picks up his keys, "Be good while I'm gone."

Gulp.
Ha ha
. I smile. How do I answer that?

I can't breathe. My insides are trying to climb out of my throat. My heart's pounding. (Is it obvious?)

I had no idea, right there and then, I submitted. This boy was going to do very bad things to me. He would turn the sack into his own version of the Pussycat Dolls. And I would wear stilettos and corsets, doing the Kama Sutra,  willingly.