That Weird Girl (futa on everything, everything on futa, school setting kinda)

Story by Kuroshio

I actually entered an early, shortened version of this in one of the writing contests. If I recall correctly, it landed right in the middle of the ranks -- 7th out of 14 or 15 entries. Anyway, I kept writing because I use a frantic work ethic to keep the demons from consuming my soul, so it actually got a bunch of chapters on HF and elsewhere. Story is... slice of life, I guess? Contains: futa on male, male on futa, futa on futa, futa on female, school setting, mild underage, anal, oral, vaginal, threesomes, moresomes, awkward pseudo-incest, copious amounts of masturbation, minor size humiliation, rimming, interracial and probably a few other things I'm forgetting.

edit: voyeurism and exhibitionism as well.

“Everybody’s a little bit weird Rocket. Never let it stop you from being yourself.”

For some reason I always think of those words when masturbating, but especially when I’m doing something like sucking a dragon-cock dildo on webcam for 65 dudes while I stuff a dozen sharpies up my ass for strictly personal gratification.

My dad told me that when I was around six or seven. It probably seemed like fantastic piece of advice for a parent to give; sounds good to hear, feels good to say and you’re not actually committing to anything. But I’m willing to stake much on the proposition that had he known what would happen later in my life, he’d have beaten conformity into me like a railroad spike. Not that he’s a bad man, but some of the shit I got up to would have made him turn green. At any rate, he’ll never know the half of it and we’re all better off for it.

I grew up in a small town with a big family, the youngest of five children and the only dickgirl out of the bunch. My sister Bethany was the oldest, but the age difference was too big for us to be close; I remember her mainly as the backup for the mother unit who had the same moods and attitudes towards young shenanigans as Mom herself, with the only difference being she was quicker to anger. I was still young when she moved out though, probably around six or so, so those memories are super-hazy. After she moved out, Dad converted our room into what he called his “study” and Mom called a “man-cave.”

The ones who did stick around were my brothers: the oldest Theo (or Junior), who is four years older, and the twins, Casper and Jasper, who are only a couple of years ahead of me. We were all close, but I was closer to Theo, on account of Dad taking Bethany’s room for himself and leaving me to room with my oldest brother. I’m not sure how he got Mom to co-sign on that, but I strongly suspect it was simply parental fatigue. After four kids, she simply ran out of fucks to give for the youngest, especially since she’d already had her perfect daughter.

Right from the start, I was weird and not just because of my aforementioned dick. Whereas all the other people in my family had proper names, everyone called me Rocket – except Mom, who found the whole thing exasperating. I got that nickname because back when I was two or three, I couldn’t tell the difference between my real name (Raquel) and my favorite toy (a rocket ship). I don’t make any excuses for being an exceptionally stupid proto-human at that age, but in all fairness it is easy for a toddler to mix up Wak-ell and Wak-it – especially when she herself pronounces them both Wak-ka. So Rocket it was.

As I grew older things didn’t go quiet on the weirdness front. Thanks to my surfeit of brothers, I learned to do everything the rough, tough, manly way. If you want to make friends as a girl your first day of kindergarten, it isn’t a good idea to run around putting people into headlocks. But that’s what I did, because I’m weird and nobody had told me different. Dad thought it was funny but Mom was horrified and immediately put them through a crash-course in ladylike charm. It didn’t stick worth a damn though and for years I was “that girl” who showed her panties constantly because she had absolutely no dress/skirt awareness. That lasted until I was nearly a teenager, mainly because I began dressing myself and stopped picking girly stuff to wear.

There was also the area of language, where I was introduced early to swearing and the fundamental truth that the more profanity you packed into every sentence the more adult (and therefore cooler) you were. It would have been fine if I only had the common sense to censor myself but once again: weird girl. That particular personality flaw came to head at the dinner table one night, “Can you please pass the fucking salt?”

Mom, to her credit, played it off as if she’d misheard me perfectly, “Hmm? What was that Raquel?”

Too bad her youngest daughter w

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