Even when I was younger, I knew that I was a complete freak. Before I was eighteen it was in completely innocent ways, like me being unable to talk to teachers without being sassy or something, but I think something in my hormones just decided to scream, "Ariel is going to become obsessed with sex as soon as the clock strikes 18," like I was some weird sex version of Cinderella.
So, of course, I discovered masturbation once I was an adult but made up for lost time and then some, and from that point on I was set. I had a button on me that gave me good feelings when I pressed it, and the more I discovered about my body, the better the feelings were.
And then I was told about the Holy Grail of it all -- if you got a boyfriend, and he touched it for you? You were set. It felt even better, and you could just sit back and enjoy it. What's more, his dick? Goes inside you. Feels unreal. Best feeling on the planet.
The only problem? I sucked at talking to two people in particular: people older than me - basically any kind of authority figures, which wasn't that bad since I barely had to; and boys I was crushing on. And you needed to have a crush on a boy to make him your boyfriend, and he needed to have a crush back. It was kind of hard to figure out if he had a crush on me if every time I so much as looked at a boy I liked, I'd turn pink, look back down at my desk and start giggling to myself.
Any other girl would be worried about that. They would be seen as a weirdo and their popularity would be in danger. Fuck that. Who gives a shit if you're popular? Once you have your own little circle, you're set. You're good. Wanting to be liked by everyone was reserved for little babies who couldn't handle anyone thinking you're anything less than the little princess you're clearly not. And no one, in all of Hazelwood, understood this better than the Media Gang.
I loved the Media Gang. We weren't really a gang, or even a club, but just the people that took ComTech in junior year and fell in love with it. Anything, from the morning announcements to whatever got posted to the school's YouTube channel, was handled by us. We knew nobody gave a shit, but parents did, and anytime Hazelwood's mouth spoke, parents would shower the school with praise. AKA, they showered us with praise.
I was not the leader by any means, but the Media Gang was such a family that the word 'leader' was just a formality anyway. To the family, I wasn't just another student interested in media, I was just Ariel. And what's more, I didn't just have that family... I had another.
Outside of my career at school, I was crazy interested in two things -- penises and making videos. I couldn't do anything but fantasize about penises, so in my off time, if I wasn't playing with my pussy, I was making videos, usually YouTube videos. I would watch video essays (a type of video where adults talked about how bad children's media was for close to an hour), get ideas, then make my own, and had done that for basically the last three-ish years, and that's what landed me my second family.
There was this group of review YouTubers -- basically YouTubers that liked to review movies and stuff like that -- called The Amazing Channel. It had kind of a dumb name, but they found my channel after only thirty-ish videos and 2000 subscribers and, above all, assumed I was out of high school. They offered me an in on their channel, and offered to pay me as long as I could keep producing 'quality content.'
(I was screaming about how bad NeverEnding Story's editing was for about five minutes straight in my last video. Quality content.)
The only problem was, I obviously wasn't out of high school yet, even if I was eighteen. And who was going to wait months to graduate? This was the internet age, baby. In a few months, these people would forget I existed. I had to do something, anything, to navigate this little problem.
***
Abraham was a complete bro. With a name like "Abraham," he was never going to be popular, so he resigned to his fate and pursued his hobbies instead, which landed him in our little Media Gang family. More importantly though, he was never judgmental. He wasn't the best-looking guy on the planet, but we didn't care about that. We were usually too amazed by the fact he was always picking up new skills in his off-time and talking about them casually.
I leaned over his shoulder as he worked his Photoshop magic. "It's all about making sure it has the same texture," he noted out loud, maybe just to himself, as he made a new layer over this fake ID we were making.
I had to admit, it looked really real. Still, I didn't want to boost his ego too much. "Make the age nineteen," I demanded, gesturing to the age. "They're gonna think I'm lying if I set the age too high."
Abe shook his head. "Trust me," he replied. "If you're nineteen, one, they're just gonna baby you, and two, what if they like to hang out and drink with each other?"
I gave him a weird look. "Um, they're strangers, Abe," I replied. "I'm not going to meet up with them IRL."
"Ugh," Drew groaned from two computers down. "Just say 'in real life.'" He had his computer headphones on, so his fedora sat next to his keyboard. We teased him about it, and I would never admit to him that he's the only guy I met that could actually pull off the fedora look. It helped that he kept his face shaven and cut his hair. Any less dedication to looking clean-cut, and a fedora made you look like a cringelord.
Abe ignored him. "I'm just saying, I bet The Amazing Channel does video calls, and if they think you're too young to, you know, indulge, they're gonna baby you."
"Nobody here babies me," I pointed out.
"We wouldn't dare," Drew laughed, now in this. "Damn Abe, that actually looks professional."
"Yeah, trouble is, we need to print it on a good material," he thought out loud. "Plus there's that reflective stuff that goes over top."
"Does that matter? I'm just gonna be sending a picture of it," I pointed out.
"Trust me," Abe said simply.
"Do you think I pass for a twenty-one-year-old?" I asked Drew.
Drew looked me over, moving his mouth to the side in thought. "I mean, no, but I already know you. If you just say you look young for your age... especially if you've got the ID to prove it..."
***
"Wow, you were not kidding," the guy murmured, looking at the picture file I sent. "You do look young for your age."