True Calling

"Hello." says the man in my doorway.

There is a man in my doorway.

He doesn't look like a Jesus freak, but he doesn't look like anyone else who would show up unannounced either.

Maybe door-to-door salesman, but I don't think most companies' dress codes include bright red three piece suits, and it hardly seems like casual Friday wear. Especially considering how well ironed and spotless it is.

There is also the matching top hat. Who the Hell wears a top hat?

"What do you want?" I ask, quite politely, I think, given the circumstances.

"I'm here to show you your calling."

Ah, Jesus freak after all.

I should close the door in his face, but somehow I don't. Instead I ask,

"What calling would that be?"

"A slut." he says calmly.

What. The. Fuck.

I don't say that out loud, I should, but somehow I don't.

Instead an incredulous "What?" is all that escapes my lips.

"A slut, a whore, a skank, a cumdump. A thot, to use more modern terminology, or a town bicycle to be metaphorical and oblique." he clarifies. As though that was what needed clearing up.

Whatever this creep's deal is, I should definitely close the door in his face now, lock it for good measure. Dial 911.

I don't.

"You're living with your parents and two brothers. At 19 you should be off to college, but you're taking a gap year after high school to collect yourself. Your older brother's back from college for the weekend, and your younger brother's about to graduate high school at 18. Straight A's. I'm sure you're proud of him."

Great. Not just a creep, a stalker too.

How the fuck did I get in this mess? Why did he choose me? I'm not particularly pretty. I don't wear makeup. My boobs are, like, average sized. Small even. I've barely even had a boyfriend.

"Your parents are both away at work. A stroke of luck, that. Glad you opened the door. Save me a bit of time." he continues.

"Kelly! Who is it?" my brother Robert, the older one, back from college for the weekend, says. Good. If I can't fight back, maybe he can.

"Hey! Who are you?" He asks as he comes to the door.

"An angel" says the man "or a demon. There's not actually that much distinction between the two. But that's a whole other conversation."

"Alright, mister angel, what are you doing here?"

"Just showing your sister her true calling as a slut."

He just stood there, speechless. Shocked.

The man turned back to me.

"You really should feel lucky, Kelly. Few get to see their true calling. I've guided thousands to their callings before you, as firefighters, politicians, heroes, serial killers. Those thousands are such a small percentage of everyone who has ever been."

"Great, she's very lucky." says my brother "Now leave before I make you."

"I think you will find that it is outside of your capability to make me do anything. The reverse, on the other hand..."

Robert starts moving to, well I'm not quite sure what. Punch the guy or something. Whatever it was, he doesn't get very far before he stops and stumbles back, with fear in his eyes, in a way that tells me he's not in control of his actions.

"It's actually quite fortunate that Robert here came to meet us," the man in red says, "after all, what better way to inaugurate your sluthood then by breaking the ultimate taboo."

He pauses for a second.

"Well, I suppose not the ultimate taboo. You could get a dog. That's entirely your choice though."

My eyes are wide with fear now, as are Roger's. I suspect it's the powerlessness for him, on top of everything else. He's a big guy. He's not often been powerless. Certainly not to this extent.

"Now, let's begin," the man in red says.

He moves his hands like a conductor as he makes me get on my knees and undo Robert's fly. Robert starts to try and voice his objections, but even if the man in red would let him, he doesn't get far. He stops as soon as his member is in my mouth.

It's not just because he's a straight guy about to receive a blowjob from a beautiful woman. And I am beautiful. I realize that now. I may not fit the way supermodels in magazines look, but their beauty is defined by society. They are beautiful because of a world that says they are.

I am beautiful fundamentally. More than that, I am sexy. I am sexy fundamentally. I am so fucking sexy. Those skanks on the cheerleading team back in high school wish they were me. Sexy is a state of mind. No, sexy is a state of being. And it doesn't depend on what you wear, though I will be incorporating a lot more thongs and crop tops into my outfit selection going forward. It depends on what you are.

And I am a Slut.

I realize that as I massage and stroke his dick expertly with my tongue. My brother's dick. The first one ever in me. Won't be the last though. I feel like an expert, even though I've never done this before. I've never seen this done before. I didn't watch porn before now.

Probably won't watch much after.

What's a Marvel flick to a superhero, after all.

And it's not the man in red. He hasn't been in my head since I started this.

I'm just that good.

He comes, eventually. I make it slow, precise. This feels so right. Doing this feels so right. Being this feels so right. Roger knows too. Knows that this is what I am now. What I should have always been. As I take his seed, again, my brother's seed, into my throat, I swallow every last drop. I don't gag. Sluts don't gag. At least not Sluts with a capital S. Not what I am.

The man in red looks pleased at his handiwork, but not hungry or lustful. Not like a man who just forced a brother and sister to engage in sexual activity would, in my estimation, look. More like a skilled carpenter, admiring a chair he's just made. God, I'd like someone to sit on me now.

Despite that, I still ask him, "Want a piece of this, magic man?"

He smiles.

"No, though your enthusiasm does you credit. It's always lovely to see someone started on their journey! Anyway, the rest of your family should be home soon."

And then he's gone.

I don't mean he walks away. I mean he's gone.

Vanished. Ka-poof.

"So, mister big," I say to Roger, using an old childhood nickname, that now has some new meaning, "What'll it be next?"

He surprised me by almost reflexively saying "Handjob."

"You sure?" I say, already stroking his dick, tickling his balls for good measure.

"You can get anything you want here!" I parrot a fast food jingle.

I never took drugs, but I feel high on life at the very least.

Not that I would call my judgement is impaired. No, I'm seeing things clearer than I ever have. I am a sexual being. A sexual object even. But isn't everyone?

I'm here to fuck and be fucked. It's simple as that.

He wasn't exaggerating about that Purpose thing, guy in red I mean, I think as I massage my brother's junk, feeling and tracing all those angry little veins. This is some Zen shit.

My best experiences trying to get into Yoga don't even compare. Except they do. This is that same category of pleasure as meditation, just like it's the same category as masturbation. Only better than either by a hundred.

That's why it never felt right like this before. If my pleasure is only my own, then that's not the work of a Slut. Anyone can enjoy themself. It takes another caliber to be enjoyed.

I would say with no regard for myself, but that's not true. My regard is their regard. I want to do what is wanted of me.

He finishes on my face. His seed is hot and nourishing. They say it's good for your skin. I can tell it's good for my skin at least. That might just be because I'm me though.

God, I am me.

After he's done, I lick what l can off my face, because that's the slutly thing to do, and I am nothing but a slut.

I mean that in the Zen shit way though. Great is the soldier who is nothing but a soldier. Great is the king who is nothing but a king.

All that.

"Hey," says Roger "I get you're having your whole Porno come to Jesus moment, but the parents are going to be home soon, and I'm not sure they'll understand."

"Why not? You did." I answer.

He doesn't have anything to say to that.