Free A Wicked Choice by Calinda B

and wanting all in the same breath. How had this happened?  Was it my upbringing?
    I remember Mother Clarice dropping pamphlets from the doctor’s office on the coffee table when I was about 15. She told me to read them if I wanted to know anything about the birds and bees. I glanced at them but they always made me feel embarrassed. They were so clinical: full of diagrams and illustrations. They made having sexual relations like visiting the doctor – something cold and impersonal to get through with and out the door. As to my father’s input, Frank and his cronies would, at times, lit with drink, whistle at me and howl when I sauntered through the house in my swimming suit. I would hug my towel around me and hurry through the kitchen where they sat, setting my sights on the pool in the backyard. I suppose they thought that was a good way to show me that I was pretty or something. It made me feel foul and violated, though.
    When I became sexually active, it was SO not fun: first, Wesley…then a string of forgotten faces. I’d dress in crop tops, ripped jeans, skin tight t-shirts – whatever got me attention. Mother Clarice would raise her head up from her mixed drink, tell me I looked like a slut and order me to change before venturing out the door. Frank would try to silence her, saying, “Let the girl be, Clarice. She’s gotta have a little fun.” He’d turn and wink at me. I never returned the wink. Instead, I’d sprint back to the bedroom, grab a sloppy sweatshirt and re-emerge, well-covered. They’d never check to see what was underneath my sweatshirt - the same costume as before.
    As I scanned my memories, I could not find the source…the reason I was so confused. I knew at times I was angry about the whole sex thing….sometimes sad…mostly numb. Being intimate with Cam could be fun…sort of.  When he was really tender, and I was able to stop thinking, stop trying so hard, at those times I could feel some fulfillment in it. If I was honest with myself, though, I couldn’t really call it fun.  When Cam and I had fun, it was on the wall at the rock climbing gym, racing our bikes down the street, or going out for pizza and drinking a couple of beers. Clearly, I was quite lost inside when it came to sex.
    I continued my aimless wandering for quite some time. Gradually my thoughts turned in other directions. Remember when I said I was too busy to think of the dark haired guy? I was only fooling myself. When I wasn’t busy, he’d slip in like a silky piece of cloth over bare skin. I’d quickly quash the thoughts when they arose, but arise they did. I felt the strange tingle between my legs and up my spine as my thoughts turned in his direction. Oh dear, this had to stop. Then, I looked up to see a lustrous black BMW with tinted windows all around ease slowly past me. Didn’t I see that car a few minutes ago?  Maybe the owner was lost, trying to find an address.  When I looked directly at the front window of the car, it sped away. That was odd. I watched it, perplexed, as it zoomed downed the street.
    “Are you really that dumb?” a voice called out to me. 
    Where did that come from? I turned around in a circle, but couldn’t see anyone or anything, other than the street, shops, homes, sidewalks, and flowerbeds. I peered through the lush ferns and fuchsias in someone’s yard, in the direction that I thought the voice had come from.
    “Yes, I’m talking to you, dear.” There it was again. The voice sounded like…yes, it sounded like the voice of that old woman who had come to my class. Great. Now, I was hearing things. Without another thought, I ran to my car, locked the doors, and drove home chock full of paranoia.

Chapter 6
    Cameron Delaney Tyson sat at his worn brown desk at the Seattle High Road Recovery building. High Road Recovery provided treatment for substance abuse and DUI/DWI offenders, as well as various programs for women and men. Cam facilitated groups of abusive men, night after