Rachels Lifehack

There were a few sacrifices, I guess. I wasn't going to be a politician. I wasn't going to work with kids, or be a household celebrity. And I decided early on that I should never have subordinates—that I would never be a manager, or a boss. These were the prices I chose to pay for my lifehack.

#

"Hey Rach, can you lend me a hand?"

I was just browsing Instagram, so of course the answer was yes. I drew myself off my bed and swung through the doorframe. Evelyn was in the hall, denim shorts rolled halfway down her hips, watching herself in the standing mirror as she rubbed her pussy. As I approached, she wiggled her bare ass at me and smiled. Her cheeks jiggled indelibly, seemingly fuller than normal thanks to the support from her shorts.

"What are you thinking?" I asked.

Her nipples strained against her pale blue crop top.

"I dunno, just wanna get off."

"I got you, girl. Gimme both hands."

Evelyn complied, and after crossing her wrists behind her back, I guided her toward the mirror, gently pushing her face-first into it with her back arched and her ass raised.

"Mmm," she purred. "I don't mind this."

With my left hand occupied holding Evelyn's wrists, I grabbed one ass cheek and then the other with right hand. They were spectacular, especially with those half-removed shorts. That had to change, though. With a strong pull, I rolled the shorts down further to expose her pussy from the rear. Her breath caught, and I smiled at her in the mirror.

"I'm in no hurry, but what's your schedule like?" I asked, slowly lubricating my fingers between her folds.

"I gotta jet, actually. Dan's waiting for me."

I considered teasing her further—what, she couldn't wait for her boyfriend to get off?—unsure if the joke would enhance the power play of the scenario. I decided against it, though. Why should she wait for her boyfriend to get off? She was horny, and I had a hand to lend. Instead, I just gave her what she wanted. My middle and ring finger found easy ingress to her pussy. Knuckles up, palm down, I fucked her for a few strokes before I plunged as deep as I could and began curling my fingers.

Evelyn panted a little. "Gawwwwd, right there Rach."

I nuzzled the fuzz of her undercut, then kissed her right below the ear. "Let me know if you want anything different." I continued caressing her g-spot in a consistent and patient tempo.

"Ooooh, no, just, yeah, yessss, keep that up," she moaned, shuddering. "You know just what to do."

She was flowing liberally, soaking my hand, her thighs, her shorts.

It was true that I knew what to do. We'd been living together since we were nineteen, and I'd gotten her off countless times over the last seven years, probably gifting more orgasms to her than to any other person beside myself. But people want different things at different times, and preferences change, so I try to stay in communication.

"Just let me know if you want anything in particular," I insisted. "I know you're in a rush."

"Do the—" She gasped. "Do the thing."

Suddenly there was more resistance from her vagina, and she all but forced my fingers out. The thing. I slid back in, with three fingers this time, prying a path between her lips. She gushed and loosened up.

"Like that?"

"Fuck yes Rach. I love feeling you enter me."

I backed off and knelt behind her, letting her wrists fall free. She put her hands on either side of the mirror, supporting herself against the wall. Holding one cheek with my left hand, I thrust again and again into her.

Her moans became quiet whimpers, and then her entire body tensed up. I held my hand inside her as she came.

"Thank you," she said, wiggling her ass away from me and easing off my fingers. She turned from the mirror and smiled. "You're so cool, Rach."

"You're cool," I returned, wiping my hand on my shirt.

There was no lust or love in Evelyn's face. But there was also no guilt. Just contentment and friendship.

"Say hi to Dan for me," I said.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I will."

Evelyn rolled her shorts back up, rinsed her hands in the half bathroom, then grabbed her purse and bomber jacket and bounced. I waved good-bye to her back, then returned to browsing amateur landscape photography on my phone.

#

I get that there are people for whom the illicit is in itself hot. Sneaking, cheating, breaking rules, being bad. Even though we share some common interests, I probably wouldn't fuck those people.

#

"That looks tasty," I said before I could stop myself.

Evelyn spun around, her jaw dropping.

"Rach, what the fuck?"

"Sorry." I rubbed my temples. I'd pulled one all-nighter too many, and my honesty was leaking. "Please forget I said anything."

We were nineteen, in the dorms. She was changing for a date. Neither of us was shy, but that didn't mean I was supposed to comment on her pussy when she bent over to rummage through her underwear drawer.

"Well did you mean it?" she asked. Judging by the expression on her face, she was as interested in validation as she was shocked by her own willingness to continue the conversation.

"I mean yeah." I shrugged.

"Are you coming onto me?" she asked, tone incredulous, making no motions to cover her nudity. Her fists were clenched noncommittally at her sides, as if she was forcing herself to remain on display. Her full thighs, cute tummy, small but swollen-looking titties. The shitty overhead light fixture's flicker played on her soft brown pubes.

"No, Evvie, I'm just being honest."

"Well, thank you, I guess."

#

That night, when she came home humiliated, unfucked and crying, she woke me up and asked me a second time if I'd meant it. I threw my hands up, ready to do my best to explain my pathological obsession with honesty, and she dove between those hands.

She needed release, and I gave it to her.

What reason did I have to hold back?

Who was going to come after me for sharing sex freely with a willing friend?

Scandals matter to some people. To politicians, to teachers, to celebrities, to bosses. I wasn't any of those things, and I wasn't ever going to be any of those things. I wasn't going to trend on Twitter for having unconventional sexual relations. That realization, that dedication, taken when I was still seventeen, made it incredibly easy for me to fuck my roommate without worrying about social consequences.

The next morning, she simply thanked me, as she did just now before leaving to meet her boyfriend, and told me I was cool, as she did just now before leaving to meet her boyfriend. I hugged her and told her she was cool, too, and we had a heart-to-heart about my weird sexual philosophy.

Seven years later, I'm pretty sure my exhaustion-induced honesty was the best accident of my life.

#

Last week, Dan was over for our weekly Game of Thrones night. I was in the kitchen, putting together a tray of veggies to dip in ranch, when he wandered in looking for a beer.

"Evvie's not in the mood," he said matter-of-factly as he popped the top off his bottle. "She's got some kind of indigestion or something and doesn't feel sexy."

"Yeah, she hasn't asked me for a hand in a couple days," I said.

Dan moved next to me and put his drink down on the counter. "Maybe I could?"

He didn't look away, or blush, or lower his voice. Evelyn was in the next room, and could hear everything. He was a good one, not like Trevor who read my signals correctly but lied to Evelyn about acting on them.

"Yeah," I said, "if Evvie doesn't mind waiting a few minutes for us to start the episode."

"I'll live," she called from the other room. "I gotta do my dailies in this stupid phone game, anyway."

Dan flashed me a thumbs up and smiled. When Evelyn first told me she'd fallen for him for his smile I was skeptical, but it was really something else. Dorky, cute, and confident all at the same time.

"Well, how do you want to get off?" I asked. "Want a blowjob? Handjob? Titfuck? Hold on." I lifted the hem of my skirt and ran a hand between my legs. Mmm. "Yeah, she's ready too."

"I mean, if she's on offer," Dan laughed.

I grinned. "You know I only make genuine offers!"

He dropped his shorts and his half-erect cock flopped out, turgid and appetizing. I bunched up my skirt with one hand at my belly and used the other to give Dan's cock a couple strokes in greeting. The shaft hardened at my touch, his head throbbing. I leaned over the sink.

"Shall we?" he said.

"Yeah, fuck me Dan."

With no further ado, he positioned himself behind me, crouched a bit to line his cock up with my pussy, and slid in. There was little resistance, as I was very turned on. Cock usually felt good, and pleasuring others always did, so taking Dan in the kitchen was deeply enjoyable.

Evelyn moseyed into the kitchen and snuck a celery stick as Dan fucked my pussy. I looked over at her as she nibbled on it.

"What about your dailies?"

"Man fuck that game," she laughed. "How's all this stuff coming?"

"He's real thick," I offered, reveling in every thrust and grind. My voice quivered as Dan pulled me back against him, pushing as deep as he could.

"Sure," said Evelyn, "but I meant the snacks."

"Ohhhh." I nodded, then pointed to the carrots. "You could, like, halve those?"

"Cool."

Dan continued to plow me as Evelyn chopped crudité not two feet away.

"I wonder if Arya and that horse will be in today's episode," she said with only a moderate level of interest in her voice. Dan's breath was growing more ragged. "This season has been really wild."

She finished with the carrots right around when I felt Dan's cock beginning to harden yet further. I felt my chest tighten with anxious joy. I still don't know why I love sex as much as I do, why I derive so much excitement from helping others reach orgasm, but I do, and last week when Dan was fucking me next to Evelyn in the kitchen I actually came anticipating his orgasm. I clenched down hard on him, eliciting a string of expletives I don't remember. I only recognized the warmth of his ejaculation in contrast to the cool kitchen air as his crotch pulled away from my ass.

"That was nice," I said, moving too late to catch the semen dribbling from my pussy.

"Sure was, Rach." Dan was breathing hard but smiling, tucking his cock away and reaching for his beer.

"Give me a second to clean up and then we can watch?"

"You're so cool," Evelyn said, purposefully bumping her ass against mine as she carried the tray to the living room. The soft fabric of her pajamas felt so good against my bare skin, tremors shot through my body.

#

I didn't like fucking Dan because he was Evelyn's boyfriend. I didn't like fucking Dan because I wasn't supposed to fuck Dan. I liked fucking Dan because there was no reason not to like fucking Dan. He understood me, and he fucked me good, and he enjoyed fucking me.

I'm not going to ask WHY some people make these things more complicated.

I get it—the family has an important sociological and historical role. Dictating who gets to fuck who is part and parcel of that role. And so we have all these tropes and memes in our society, in the ambient ideology of our society, that we replicate and perpetuate when we agree to pair-bond with our sexual partners. Whatever. I'm never going to own property, and neither are any of my other poor millennial friends.

I'm basically always horny, and so are so many other people. I get why they buy into the tropes and memes, and why they avoid scandal and why they date, but I really think their lives would be easier if they just had more sex.

Preferably, with me.

#

"Do you have any questions about working at Accountico?"

I was at a job interview, just under a year ago. I was in and out of job interviews like you wouldn't believe, back then. The start-up I'd been with had shuttered, and I was looking for a more stable position. I had a great resume, and I nailed most of the interviews. But I was turned down from place after place, because, well, you'll see.

"This is less a question, and more a confession."

Joey and Samantha exchanged quizzical glances before looking back across the table at me.

I took two little red cards out of my purse and handed one to each of my interviewers.

"What are these?" Samantha asked.

"An easy out," I said. I wasn't nervous; I'd done this a dozen times. "I have something important to say, but it's weird, and might make you uncomfortable. I will speak slowly, giving you time to decide how you feel about what I am saying. At any time, please raise your card if you'd like me to stop speaking. I will turn around and leave this office, and never bother you again."

Joey frowned. "Is this some kind of prank?"

"No," I replied. "I want this job, I do. I think your workflow is the best I've encountered in my search, and I believe I would be a great asset here. But you've heard of single-issue voters, and I'm kind of like that."

Joey raised an eyebrow.

"There's one thing that matters to me more than anything else. More than the pay, more than the perks, more than the mission."

"And what is that?"

"I like sex." I said it slowly. "A lot."

Joey was visibly sweating, but he wasn't even holding the red card I'd given him. Samantha looked surprised, but not unhappy. Because I was pausing to give them time to lift their cards, she cut in.

"Your personal life is no concern of ours," she said.

"It is," I insisted, "because I don't want to work a nine-hour day without having sex."

Joey coughed and fiddled with his pen, unable to make eye contact with me. Still, his hand made no move toward his card. Samantha fingered hers, gazing thoughtfully my way.

I continued.

"I believe with some exceptions to your code of conduct, that all parties agree to before I sign on, this can be the ideal workplace for me."

"I don't know if we should discuss this any further," Samantha said.

I pointed to her red card. "I don't want to make any trouble. I'm weird, and I recognize that, and you can send me off with no hard feelings if you so desire."

But neither of my interviewers stopped me.

"I want a walled office, for privacy—mine and everyone's." I paused again. "Within that office, I want the office dress code to be nonexistent." Another long pause. This was further than I'd gotten in any of my previous interviews. "As long as it does not interfere with the duties of myself or anyone else—as reflected in our evaluations—I would like people in said office to be free to engage in masturbation or consensual sexual encounters."

Joey was beet-red, matching his card. Samantha had absentmindedly shredded a third of hers.

"I would be the office's custodian in my off-time, personally responsible for keeping it clean and hygienic."

"Even discussing this is a breach of our code of conduct," Joey finally said, a look on his face like he wasn't sure he wasn't dreaming.

I made to stand. "Is that your reply?"

"This is an absurd ask, to be clear," said Samantha. "But you don't seem like you're pranking us, or trying to bait us in some way, so I'd like to ask you a question."

"Anything!" I said cheerfully.

"Why is this so important to you?"

One week later, I was fucking Samantha in my office at Accountico, enjoying her taste on my tongue as I mussed her labia. She was my direct supervisor, and that might freak some of you out, but I mean, this was my idea, and I signed a document full of boringly lengthy protocols established to protect all parties, myself included, from potential fall-out.

It's not that I specifically had a fantasy about a free-use workplace.

It's just that I wanted to work somewhere where there was no reason not to fuck my colleagues.

#

I wouldn't call myself a slut. I mean, technically, sure. But it's so valenced. No one who calls me a slut is on my level. There's assholes who think it's something bad, and there's creeps who think the badness is good. I know the term is being reclaimed, but it's being reclaimed by sex-positive women who are scrabbling for equal footing with unstigmatized promiscuous men. And that's not me.

#

After Evelyn left for her date, wearing that light blue crop top, those soaked denim shorts, and that bomber jacket, and after I spent thirty minutes or so browsing Instagram, I hiked up my skirt and fingered myself to two orgasms. My fingers were creamy with the juices running down my legs. I couldn't stop thinking of Evelyn's face, the calm and unimpassioned manner in which she thanked me.

What's hotter than embracing pleasure in itself? No strings, no qualms, just fucking and getting off.

I took a few photographs of my swollen pussy, with and without fingers in it. I picked the best one, adjusted the framing a bit, and then went to r/fingering and shared it. This is just another way that I live my best life, waiting for the inevitable DMs.

#

My attitude hasn't always been well-received. I mentioned the job interviews I walked away from. But I've also had bad breakups, especially before that first time I fucked Evelyn, before I learned how to communicate. And when I open my arms, welcoming the world, the world floods in in all its imperfection. I've had encounters with prudes, encounters with perverts. Men who wanted me to feel bad for their pleasure.

But even though it hasn't all been smooth sailing, it has been a wild ride full of great orgasms. I've had so many awesome experiences in the pursuit of my ideal, in pursuit of having sex when there's no reason to not have sex. I've had encounters with friends, bosses, mentors, teachers, retail workers, strangers on the street, even family members. There have been some sacrifices, but I'm largely happy with my lifehack.

What do you want to hear about most?