Faye*

This has to be the craziest thing I’ve ever done. I mean, it’s not the most original idea. Girls and women of all ages sell their virginity, so it’s not like I’m doing anything shocking, not really. I’m twenty years old.

I’ve dropped out of college because the money is needed for my young sister. I’ve gotten sole custody of her, and she’s sick, really sick. I have to do this for her so that we can get away and also so he doesn’t try to get her back if for whatever reason they give him parole or something like that.

Our stepfather decided he couldn’t keep his hands to himself and has been abusing Kerry for years. Our mother died after being run over

by a drunk driver, and our stepfather kept us

with him. I didn’t know what was going on.

It fills me with guilt to think he was able to get

his hands on my sister and I didn’t even see it. Not that he needed to worry about that. He’d been manipulating her so she didn’t really have a choice in saying no to him. He made it so that she had feelings for him.

The doctors said a lot of things were needed for her. How she was at a critical point and I had to make sure she got the best care possible because she’d attempted suicide and she was brainwashed by our stepfather to love him, to accept his brand of “love.” Either way, there is no way I couldn’t do this.

I love my sister, and I’m not going to lie, the guilt eats at me, knowing our stepfather went to her room most nights.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I focus on the room around me. The room that would serve

for a cherry stripping.

It wasn’t that big of a deal. Just a thin piece of skin, really. A pain that was going to serve to bring me the most money. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I wonder what to do. Finding this place hadn’t been difficult. Just asking a few of the girls at college had led me right here, to Cherry. Yeah, it’s so cliché, right,? That is the name of the nightclub. Cherry

What I didn’t know was the owner, Malcolm Cherry, had a side business of auctioning off girls’ virginities. Yep, that he certainly did.

Kind of scary when I think about it.

Strange too.

Meeting him had been a surreal experience. I sat in his office while he stared at my body, assessing me like I was a piece of steak. At first, I didn’t think he’d go for someone like

me. I’m not exactly on the slim side but have curves, from big tits to huge hips, rounded

thighs with just a hint of cellulite. He’d made me stand up, turn around, look this way and

that, and he’d actually seemed impressed.

There were two options to pick from on how to sell my virginity. At first, I thought he meant either online or in a room full of men.

Nope.

My two options were this; I could have the

fairytale deflowering, which is all kinds of weird in itself. I guess that is why Malcolm is so popular though. He caters to most people.

The fairytale deflowering is where a man buys

me, we have a nice date, it ends with sex.

Something beautiful for the first time. For me, it sounded a little too personal, too intimate, and besides, I needed more money. Malcolm had been clear that the cost of the date and experience would come out of the final

payment.

Intimacy.

Feelings.

Emotion.

I didn’t want that. None of it. Also, I needed more money, and I wasn’t going to waste it on

a date I didn’t need or want.

So, option two. I don’t get the date or the fairy tale. The guy doesn’t give me the time of my

life. I stay in a room and wait to see who has decided to purchase my very precious cherry.

From there, we f*ck. There is no niceness. No

pleasantries. Just s3x. A business contract, signed and sealed, and finished with a d*ck.

They have a portfolio of women who want to make money off their first sexual experience.

All I had to know was which one paid the most. Malcolm takes his cut of ten percent, but after that it varies with the customer. He told me that some girls had sold for over six figures because the demand had been that

great.

He wouldn’t accept anything less than ten grand. After all, we were offering something of a lifetime. Not only that, his clientele were wealthy bastards who enjoyed paying for something exclusive.

It would seem virgins are hard to come by these days.

Rubbing my hands together, I see the small blue braid bracelet my sister made for me a few years ago. She told me that she’d put a special spell on it so no one would ever hurt

me. Damn it. I should have been the one protecting her, and while she’d been hurting,

I’d been oblivious.

Batting away my tears, I stand up and pace.

My nerves are shot.

Tonight, I’ll be having sex with a stranger, and it won’t be giving me the fairy tale either. I’m quite happy about that actually. I don’t want the fairy tale. I was never one to love a prince.

I loved the beast and always felt ripped off that he didn’t turn back. Why would anyone want a weak prince when they could have that incredible beast of a man?

See, weird. Totally weird.

There are no windows in the room. Just one door. A large, four-poster bed dominates the

room, and they have a thing about mirrors as well.

So many mirrors that no matter where I look, I

see myself.

My brown hair is a mess from running my fingers through it. My eyes are wide. I’m a little afraid. Terrified, really. The clothes I’m wearing are nothing sexual. Malcolm told me I didn’t have to dress up, that part of the charm of option two was the realness of it all.

Why did I opt to just get fucked?