Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I get to see my brother, and then we both EAT like MAD people while our parnets look on and think good god are we next?

Oh how I love the food.

And then there is the working the following days. Many sales! Many cute women to be dolled up!

And the best thing is, I can eat all I want and I never gain a pound.

That’s because I spend my mornings KICKING PEOPLE IN THE FACE!

God I love being me.

Part 4, in which I fuck Kevin silly in morning sex, coming soon.

My brother accuses me of being a bit too calculating, a bit too much wanting to be in control.

There is some truth to that. I like to think, however, that I just like to know everything that I should know.

Soooooo, when I was 15 I called my brother up. At this point he is used to my phone calls. I only call him when I know he’s not in class, and he answers his phone all the time, even if it is to tell me he’ll call me back.

Man, I love that big brother. I miss him terribly sometimes.

So, I call him up.

“Hey.”

“Hey Jessie, what up?”

“I’m going to have sex with a boy. Tell me how to do it.”

“JESSSICA!”

“Wow you sound like mom for sure.”

“I am not going to talk about sex mechanics with my little sister.”

“Please? I just need general things. No need to go into detail, because that would be, um, kinda weird.”

He sighs. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Well, I just don’t want to lay there in a lump, is there more than just humping back?”

“Depends. How old is this wanker?”

“He’s not a wanker! He’s very sweet. And he is 16.”

“Huh, well you might not get to do much before he spooges all in you. Is he a virgin too?”

“Yes. But I don’t care, really. He’s been fingering and licking me silly for almost two months now. I want it to be special for him.”

Silence on the other end.

“Bro?”

“You’re a special girl, you know that Jessie? Whoever he is, you’re too good for him.”

“Stop! And by special to you mean ’short bus’?

“Just like a girl, can’t take a compliment.”

“Sorry.” So true.

“Okay, here is my short speech tailored for you. Resist the urge to be on top…”

OMG that is exactly what I was thinking.

“…spread your legs wide and grab your ankles. Go for it right after he’s made you come.”

“Grab my ankles? Why?”

“Cause you’re a small girl and that will make him go in deep. It will blow his mind. Do you want me to draw and email you a picture?”

“NO!”

“And make sure he wears a condom.”

Uh-oh.

“Jessie?”

“But, if it’s my first time with a boy, I want to feel what’s it is really like. I want it. In me. Up in me.”

Another sigh.

“Are you on The Pill?”

“Yes.”

“If you get some disease, Dad is going to KILL you.”

“I know.”

“Jessie?”

“Yeah?”

“You need to let go. It’s not going to be fun for you unless you stop thinking and just be a woman. And if it doesn’t work out don’t use it as an excuse to swear off boys. Because you and I both know by now that would be a lie, just as bad as some gay guy pretending to be straight to make his parents happy.”

Whoa. Wisdom from the big man on campus. He sounds sincere so I decide not to be a smart-ass. “Okay. I love you. Tell that skanky ho you’re dating that if she ever makes you cry I am GOING TO KICK HER IN THE FACE!”

He laughs.

Grabbing my ankles turned out to be quite addictive. But that’s a different story, and there is already one in progress…

I “came out” of the “bi-closet” to my brother, of course.

The call when like this:

“(sob) (sob) (sob) girls (sob) (sob)!”

“Jessie! What is wrong!”

“(sob)!”

“Are you okay?”

“(sob) (sob)!”

“(sigh) Go splash water on your face.”

So I do. My brother. He so smart.

“Okay I am back (hic-up).” I am so pathetic.

“What’s up Jessie?”

“I… I like girls!”

He pauses. “Oh. Okay. You think you are a lesbian?”

“NO! I like boys too.”

“Well, that sounds confusing.”

“I AM confused. It’s supposed to be one or the others, right?”

“Uh, maybe. When you think about girls, do you think about kissing them or licking their little pink cunts?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, well according to college lore that makes you a lesbo. But when you think about boys do you think of kissing them of having them put their dicks in you?”

“Dicks. In my mouth, in my poufy, in my hands dick dick dick dick dick.”

“Uh. Well, congratulations, you’re bi.”

“I don’t want to be bi! I want to be, um, normal!”

The brother laughs. He is laughing. “Listen to yourself. You are such a retard. What the fuck is normal? If you want the cunt and the dick, go get it!”

“Grrrrr. Look Dorkus, I start high school soon. It’s hard enough hanging around my friends now. They have like cheerleaders and football players and shit. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?”

Okay, I admit it. I was a drama queen. It’s what little sisters do.

“Talk to Dad.”

“Daddy?” I hate it when people repeat things and here I am sounding like a freak’n limp noodle.

“Yes, Dad.”

“Why?”

“You know, for a girl you’re not very people savvy. Or maybe it’s because you’re just young. You are so like Dad. I am so like Mom. We’re wired that way. But there is another reason.”

I can hear the big jerk’s smile even over the phone.

“WHAT?”

“I think… I think before he and Mom got married, he was a slut.”

“ARE YOU SAYING I AM A SLUT?”

“There are what, two cunts and six dicks you brought to the conversation? You tell me.”

He might as well have slapped me.

“Fine.”

“Oh, see that’s what Mom says…”

“Shut up. And, uh thanks. I love you. For now.”

“I love you too Jessie.”

My brother.

He’s smarter than he looks.

I love my parents. I moved out when I was eighteen and never looked back, but really, I love my parents. My older brother, however, moved out way before I did.

He left me with the job of teaching Mom and Dad (insert ominous music here)… computers.

Okies, I am not a big computer expert. I can text with the rest of the emos. I can do email. All the other stuff like blogging is a struggle but I manage. I was able to turn my blog PINK all by myself.

PINK! PINK PINK PIIIIINNNNNKKKK!

Sorry.

My parents shared this stupid AOL email account. Despite my best efforts, she just would not get her own account with her own name. I just really got tired of not knowing who was reading my mail first. Not that I was saying anything worth hiding. Email is bad enough as it is, yanno? I am more than capable of emailing TWO people at once.

So, I like, sent this email:

Subject: Sperm

Hey Mom, is it me or does old guy sperm start tasting bland, yanno, just salty with that slimy texture?

Then the next day:

Subject: Absorption

I think I need to change my tampon brand. This one just doesn’t seem to cut it on day three. Or did you change tampon brands/type just for that day? And what is it with day 3 anyway? Is that the magical must hemorrhage day?

Yup, Mom got her own email.