Swish, swish, swish.

Slip, slop, slap.

Sluuuuurp.

Thud, thud, thud.

These are the sounds I hear as I approach my bedroom.

Sex sounds.

These are definitely, and disgustingly, the sounds of sex.

It's like something straight out of a Showtime TV show or an Alexis Angel romance book. Except, unlike in both those delicious forms of entertainment, I'm not the one enjoying the action that is causing these sounds. Even though they're coming from my bedroom.

In Showtime shows, it's likely that the guy causing this ruckus is an asshole that we're somehow supposed to root for anyway. But those damn romance novels are like fairy tales. Setting up girls to believe that a former bad boy turned into our own personal Prince Charming will come rescue our asses— before spanking them until we're writhing around on his lap begging him to make us come because our pussies are so dripping wet from how he’s exerting his dominance over us.

But real life is a lot more disappointing than that. At least, mine has definitely been so far. So, it doesn't surprise me that someone is using my bedroom for a hot sex session that doesn't include me.

My life has never been a fucking fairy tale. This is probably why I’ve always hated them.

As I get closer to the door of my room, muffled voices mix in with the sounds that have already been drifting out since I was further away.

"Oh yeah. Give it to me. Yeah, ooooooh."

Well, that sounds like one of my step sisters— Sheila, to be exact— which also isn't surprising. She's been known to fuck anything with half a brain or half a boner. I'm not even sure if her standards are that high; that's probably giving her too much credit. She'd fuck any guy that shows the least bit of interest in her, although she'd prefer him to be filthy rich and as boringly handsome as a plastic Ken doll.

The question is, though: why is she doing this in my room? The one part of this whole wretched house that is supposed to be mine and mine alone? She has her own room that she's had since she was a tiny spoiled brat— now she's just an older spoiled brat— and that room, predictably, is much larger and nicer than mine.

But who knows what Sheila's up to? I shouldn’t even ask such questions to myself because I know there’s no answer that would make sense to most people. Sheila and my other step sister Gloria are always trying to find ways to make me miserable, because, other than banging random Ken dolls or spending all the money from my dad’s estate on overpriced clothes, they have nothing better to do.

I don’t know exactly what Sheila is doing. But I'm sure it’s some kind of ridiculous ploy to rub it in my face that I'm a virgin.

Yeah, it's ridiculous. I'm nineteen years old and still a virgin and still living with my mean step mom and two step sisters. It sounds pathetic, but I have my reasons. When it comes to my living situation, it's complicated, and too painful to think about as I'm listening to sex noises coming from my bedroom.

But when it comes to the sex situation, well— I just want to make sure the timing is right. It feels like the one area of my life I can control, and I need it to feel magical and perfect. I guess maybe I really do still believe in fairy tales, at least a little, even though I’ve always despised them for being unrealistic.

I have a boyfriend named Paul and we've made out but haven't gone all the way. He's wanted to, of course, but I just want to wait a little longer. Something just feels a little “off,” and therefore, doesn’t fit into my definition of the “absolutely perfect” circumstances that I want to exist before I do the Big Deed for my very first time.

Paul’s told me he understands and that he’ll be patient. I have a feeling, though, that he's starting to get a bit impatient, because he hasn't been around as much lately as he used to be.

That's why I'm at home now— which is a place I usually avoid. I can't go hang out with Paul because I don't know where he is. He hasn’t exactly been anxious to see me, like he was back when we first started dating.

That’s fine with me though. I could use a break from him anyway, because it's annoying me that he's pressuring me for sex when he knows it doesn't feel right to me.

But anyway. Back to the very pressing— and loud— matter at hand.

I'm sure it's just Sheila and some random guy in my bedroom, and that she’s trying to rub certain facts in my face while she rubs her pussy around on said random guy’s cock and picks up an STD or two. She’s probably looking forward to showing me with my very own eyes that although I've never had sex before, she' has sex all the time and is actually having sex on my bed— or probably like my floor or my dresser or something, knowing her.

She’s undoubtedly doing it just to show me that she's better than me, or at least she thinks she is. And that everything here is really hers, and not mine. She wants me to know can take my dad, she can take my formerly happy life, and she can take my spot when it comes to where I would naturally be having sex, if I were in fact having it.

I shouldn't go in. Shouldn't give Sheila the satisfaction of knowing I see her doing the thing which she clearly wants me to see her doing.

But by not giving her her way I'd also be losing, since all I want to do is grab my Kindle that has the Ash Harlow romance book I’m currently reading bookmarked at a really good spot (Crave is my kind of romance book, since it’s definitely not all rainbows and unicorns and fairy tales— more like an addictive nightmare you don’t even want to try to get out of, because it’s so damn fascinating), and head to the bathroom for a bubble bath and some me time.

Hey, I said I'd never had sex before— not that I'm some perfect angel. I certainly imagine all the perfect, outstanding, magical sex I'm going to have, when I have it. I just don't act on those urges or fulfill those fantasies in real life. Yet. Not until everything’s perfect.

I put my hand on the doorknob and decide it's time to take control over my own life. Or at least my own bedroom, for a start. I'll give Sheila a piece of my mind and tell her she can't be giving a piece of her ass to every guy in the world right under my nose, or at least not right in my bedroom.

But as I open the door, prepared to roll my eyes and tell Sheila and Ken Manwhore Doll to get the hell out before I snap pictures of them and post them online— although Sheila would probably like that because she'd think it would make her the next Kim Kardashian or something— I see something I wasn't expecting. Or make that someone I wasn’t expecting.

Sheila's having sex on my bed of course, just as I'd expected. Typical evil Sheila. But I didn't think her evil ways would extend to the point where it would be this person underneath her, currently gritting his teeth during an apparent near orgasm before he turns his shocked face to look at me.

I’m sure you’ve guessed it by now. Because my life is more predictable trainwreck than surprise happy ending. Unless you’re talking about the happy ending that my step sister just gave my boyfriend, which certainly came as a surprise to me.

Yep. It’s Paul that Sheila is having sex with.

He's underneath her, his hands around her ass, her tits still swinging, uninterrupted, in his face as she continues riding him into the ecstasy that I have not yet let him experience. And which will never, ever happen.

Just like that One Direction reunion tour I used to wait around for someone to announce. They’d been my favorites since early high school but since January 2016 they’ve claimed to be still together but on a “hiatus.” At some point, I realized I was waiting in vain for them to do another concert. Or maybe, I just grew up.

Life is full of disappointments, and on a bright note, at least I don’t have to wait around to see how this one turns out. I know right here and now what the future holds when it comes to Paul and me: a big fat nothing. And at least I didn’t let him pop my cherry before he let my step sister motorboat him.

Unfortunately, these small comforts barely make a dent in the huge range of emotions I’m feeling right now. Just what a girl has always wanted to do— walk in on her boyfriend and one of her three least favorite people in the world, getting it on like there’s no tomorrow. I’m beginning to wish there really was no tomorrow, no today, no right this minute— so that I wouldn’t have to face this.

But here I am, face to face it with none the less, all because I was drawn towards curiosity and my love of books and bubble baths to check out the noises coming from my bedroom. They say curiosity killed the cat. But unlike some Disney Princess, I don’t have a friggin’ cat. I have me, myself, and I— and definitely not my boyfriend any more— and that’s exactly who is going to have to handle this, one way or another.