"Hazel? Are you awake in there, baby girl?"
I hate it when she calls me that. And I hate it when she asks me stupid questions like 'are you awake in there?' It's so infantilizing. A part of me wants to finally scream at her that I'm an adult, and she should start treating me like one. But I know she'll hate it more if I just stay quiet, so that's what I do.
It's getting dark outside, and I'm sitting cross-legged on a tiny, unfamiliar bed. Right now, my mom and I are on this stupid trip that she planned, because she's sad and desperate and has nothing else going on in her life except for obsessing over my personal business. We're in some stupid nowhere town in Florida. It's hot here, and way too sunny. I've always hated having to go outside, and it's even worse when you add sand, that weird ocean smell, and a million different bugs into the mix. So far, I've spent the entire trip locked up in this tiny cramped bedroom, a book in my lap.
My mom jiggles the door handle. But I locked it.
"I know you don't like the beach during the day. But maybe we could go for a walk together now? It's nice and cool out," she says in that cutesy, sing-song voice she's used on me since I was two. I keep ignoring her, and she jiggles the door again, then sighs.
"Sweetie, please. Just let me in."
"Can't. I'm naked."
"Then put some pants on?"
"Too lazy."
"Hazel, I don't care if I see you naked. It wouldn't be the first time. Please just open the door? I just wanna chat a bit. We don't have to do anything else."
"Ugh, you make everything so
weird.
I just don't feel like talking. I'm reading."
"Maybe we could talk about what you're reading?"
"No."
"Hazel... baby girl..."
My mom just sounds sad now. And I get this awful feeling in my chest. Like
I'm
the problem, even though my stupid dad was the one who left. Suddenly I feel tiny and pathetic, like I always do when she talks to me.
I tuck my legs up against my chest.
My mom waits a few minutes more, then I hear her footsteps on the carpeted floor.
"Well, I'll be out here, okay? I can make some tea, if you want. Or... if you want anything, just let me know."
I want to feel like a normal girl,
is what I want to say to her.
But I'm not going to say anything that embarrassing. So I just wait for her to leave, and then I return my attention to my book.
It's not the kind of book you'd expect a young woman to be reading. It's massive, ancient, bound in crumbling leather and hand-inked. I technically have it on loan from an antique library. And I'm obsessed with it. Somehow, I can understand the spidery handwriting that spills across the pages, even though I'm pretty sure it's in a language I shouldn't know. These kinds of things have always captivated me more than anything else. And isn't that kind of pathetic? I've spent all of my highschool years holed up in my room, pretending I'm a witch. I've never had a boyfriend, never even been
touched
by anyone besides my mom. If I actually let a boy even hold my hand, I think I'd explode.
But I want to change that. No, I
need
to change that.
So I have this completely stupid plan.
I trace my fingers over the page of the open tome in front of me. The ingredients it lists are simple: rose petals, jasmine, honey, a sprig of saffron. I got everything from the grocery store before we left, and now I pull out my backpack and start unpacking all of the ingredients and squishing them down into a tiny glass tumbler that I bought from a gift shop. It still has tiny cartoon dolphins on it and everything. To blend everything together, I pour in some pure, clean spirits.
The end result... is a glass full of random herbs and Everclear. I groan.
I feel so stupid for thinking this would actually work. But ugh, I'm so
desperate.
I don't know how else to say it. I want to get touched. I don't care if it's just handholding, kissing, getting my tits grabbed, or even full-on sex. If someone doesn't put their body on mine by the end of this vacation, I'm going to lose it.
Just thinking about how badly I need it starts to make me ache
down there.
I'm such an absolute mess. And I wasn't lying to my mom earlier, when I said I was naked. Currently, my dirty clothes are piled all over the floor, and my unshowered, scrawny nude form is sitting cross-legged on the sheets. I know I'm not much to look at: I'm bony, with tiny boobs and a bunch of weird freckles all over my shoulders, chest, and butt. My hair is a frizzy brown mess, and I've got permanent raccoon eyes from sleeping poorly.
But I have a way to make them love me.
An entire crowd of boys, all pawing at me, maybe even
using
me...
I start swirling my fingers over my flower. I'm already dripping just from imagining that one scene, and it doesn't take long before my fingers are slick with my own essence. I plunge two fingers into myself, teasing my sensitive folds, bringing myself closer...
closer...
"Nnnngghh... uh..." I gasp.
That was loud. My mom probably even heard it.
I can't stop myself from imagining her sitting on the couch just outside of my room, trying to focus on a book, her face going bright red when she hears her daughter cumming in the room over.
Wait, fuck, why am I thinking about that?
I try to push the image out of my mind, but for some reason it stays. She's out there all alone, while I'm doing such dirty, pathetic things to myself...
I pull my hand away from my flower before I can cum. I do
not
want to risk cumming while I'm imagining my mom. Ew. A thousand times ew.
I hold up my hand. It's glossy with my own love-slick. The moonlight pouring through the window glints on the wetness coating my palms and fingers. This is the last ingredient. I dip my fingers into the mixture of spirits and herbs, swirling my own nectar into the mixture. At this point, I don't really expect anything to happen. But something does.
The herbs dissolve, and the Everclear takes on a deep pinkish color. The same color as the soft insides of my flower. I hold the mixture up and smell it. It smells strongly of
me.
It's a bizarre feeling, and it stirs this shameless horniness in my stomach. I want to run to the mirror, to admire myself, to start rubbing my hands over my own chest, my ass, my feet, even my pussy, to feel every sensitive inch of my own body...
I pull the potion away.
I didn't think it would work! And I didn't think it would be this
strong.
My head is still spinning with arousal, and with desire for
my own body.
I bet that just a few sips of this will have boys all over me! Maybe even multiple at the same time...
I set the tumbler on my desk, then I kick my feet up in the air and roll out of bed.
I need to get ready.
***
"Nnnngghh... uh..."
Hazel's voice. Moaning.
Mona was trying very, very hard to pretend she hadn't just heard what she thought she'd heard. It was normal, she reminded herself. Her daughter was a woman now, and women had needs. Mona indulged in a little self-love too, every now and then. Though she
had
been enjoying her own body less frequently in recent years. It just didn't feel the same, getting herself off, having nobody to hold her.
She wrapped her arms around herself in a pathetic little hug.
Weirdly enough, she found she wasn't grossed out at all by the knowledge that her daughter was masturbating in the next room. It made her feel slightly closer to Hazel. And wasn't that just awful? What kind of a mother was she, if the closest she could get to her daughter was this kind of lecherous voyeurism?
Mona rested her head on her arms.
After a few minutes, in which she heard plenty of mysterious rustling coming from Hazel's room, the bedroom door opened and Mona's daughter stepped out. The two women regarded each other silently for a moment.
Mona was, in many ways, the exact opposite of her daughter. Where Hazel was waifish and slender, Mona was bottom-heavy and slightly plump. Hazel kept her hair long, in a giant adorable mane that framed her narrow face with curls of pretty auburn hair. Mona's hair was darker, and she liked to keep it cut short so that it fanned out around her cheeks. Hazel was pale and covered in freckles, Mona had a creamy tan all-over. And of course, Mona's motherly chest absolutely dwarfed her daughter's own.
Mona brightened the second she saw Hazel standing there, wrapped in a towel and looking haggard.
"Oh! Hey, sweetie. You feel like joining me after all?"
"No," Hazel said. "I'm going out."
"Out?" Mona asked. Her daughter had never been the kind of girl to go
out.
Mona couldn't even remember the last time Hazel had spent a Friday evening doing something other than reading alone in her room. "What do you mean?"
"I... got a text from some friends. I'm going to go hang out with them," Hazel said. Her eyes wouldn't quite meet Mona's face. It was plainly obvious she was lying. Mona's heart ached. She wanted her daughter to have friends! If Hazel would just explain what was going on...
"Oh. Well that's wonderful, baby girl. Maybe we can spend a day together tomorrow instead?"
"Yeah. Maybe."
Hazel turned on her heel and headed for the bathroom, bare feet slapping against the tile floor.
Mona sighed. She collapsed against the couch.
So now her daughter was keeping secrets from her. A part of her wanted to be happy, knowing that Hazel was finally starting to behave like a normal teenage girl. But she couldn't help but feel even lonelier than before. Her daughter would be leaving for college at the end of the summer, and Mona felt like she didn't even
know
Hazel.
She glanced over at Hazel's room. The door was still slightly ajar.
