Intro

You are Kayla.

You recently graduated high school, and your eighteenth birthday was last week. It’s summer! Unfortunately, your summer is a lot less interesting than that of your older sister, Riley. She’s this amazing soccer player who went off to some fancy camp thing, but the camp was really a training ground for a new TV show… it’s a lot. And even though the show hasn’t really aired yet, even after just a couple weeks of action, it’s getting pretty popular with just its teasers and promos online.

It’s called FUTA: Football Ultimate Television Association, and it’s a gimmicky, all-girl, soccer-themed reality TV closed league with weekly matches and lots of dumb games in the meantime. People love it. It’s lighthearted and fun, and unapologetically horny. People tune in for the soccer, but stay for the games and the sexy costumes and drama.

Your sister is on her way to becoming a celebrity. She isn’t just a great soccer player, she’s also very pretty, so people notice her.

And then there’s you. It’s funny because you used to be the popular one. See, your sister isn’t like most other girls because she A) falls in love with every cute girl she meets, and B) has a functioning penis that seems to make her even hornier than normal people.

So Riley’s childhood has been a little weird. She’s always hidden the penis and generally pretended to be straight, but this resulted in her being kind of a solitary virgin for a long time.

You… don’t have that problem. You’re an ordinary girl with no penis. You aren’t an athlete like Riley, so your body’s a little softer and rounder than hers, and you aren’t as tall. You’re a lot bustier than she is, and sometimes that gives you back problems, but it also makes you popular with guys, so that’s a small perk.

That was you for a long time. You were the one with friends and going to parties while Riley was the one staying home, but then… it wasn’t so simple anymore.

You can’t grow up with someone and not occasionally see things that should be private. You have… seen things with Riley. Obviously the whole family knows about the penis, but she still tries to pretend it’s not there.

It’s there, and you have definitely noticed it. You’ve seen things.

You’ve seen her keeping pillows and blankets on her lap when sex scenes play on TV, so no one sees her boner. You’ve heard the rhythmic noises of her lubed-up fist sliding around it when she jerks off in the next room. You saw her bent over in the shower, jerking it once… and the list goes on.

You think about that a lot.

You’ve dated a few guys and you’re definitely no virgin, but for some reason, you think about those memories all the time. It’s not Riley that’s the problem… it’s just that there’s something interesting to you about the combination of a penis—which you are definitely into—and a girl that seems to flick a switch in you. You never thought of yourself a bi or anything, but you’ve started to wonder about that.

Growing up with Riley has given you a taste of something, and you have to be honest with yourself… you’re thirsty for it. Not for your sister, which would be weird, but maybe for a girl like her. Is that weird? No. You don’t think so.

When FUTA first started up, Riley excitedly called you and your mom to tell you the news, and she talked all about the camp and the girls there.

“There’s a lot of girls like me here,” she gushed, relieved at the time. “Just lots of them. Most of them are pretty accepting. And I’m not the only horny one,” she went on. “It seems great.”

Other girls like Riley? And they’re all horny dumbasses like Riley? It’s an intriguing thought. You hate to admit it about your dumb, older sister, but she’s kind of a genius at soccer. Everything else? Not so much. Not that you’re a rocket scientist, but… Riley’s whole life has always been just having crushes on girls that don’t notice her.

A bunch of girls like that? Like her? All in one place?

You’ve already been accepted to college, but you have a whole summer to kill before you go away this fall.

That’s what you’re thinking about as you lie on the couch in your house. Your mom is at work, and it’s summer… you have nowhere to be. It’s nice. But you have your phone in your hand, and you’re reading the email that you just got.

It’s from FUTA, saying that they’ve reviewed your application.

Yeah, you did it. You couldn’t help yourself. You don’t think of yourself as being particularly slutty. The most adventurous thing you ever did was have sex in the backseat of a car, and that wasn’t with a stranger or anything, it was a guy you’d been with for months. You don’t know why you feel so drawn to this, but FUTA sounds like… just such a party. You feel like you’re missing out. And you feel like if you don’t at least try to dip your toe in, you’ll regret it later. Besides, you’re supposed to do stupid things at this point in your life. Everyone else does it.

The email says that your application to work at the FUTA Spa has been rejected.

Working at the spa seemed like the thirstiest job you could go for… but you have no training as a masseuse or anything, so they hired someone else.

However, the email does say that they still have openings for something called ‘FUTA Associates.’ You aren’t stupid. You know what that means: general **** labor. You’d be cleaning bathrooms and stuff.

They’re offering you the job.

You sit up and look around the living room. You grew up in this nice, suburban house. Your family isn’t rich or anything, but you’ve always been comfortable. Cleaning toilets would definitely be… a change. Taking this job would be leaving for the summer; room and board is part of the deal. You’d be living at the same place as Riley. She’s a star and you’ll be changing lightbulbs, but…

You haven’t told anyone about applying, not even your mom. She thinks you’re going to lie around all summer with your phone in your hands. You get up and wander into the kitchen, then upstairs and down the hall to Riley’s room, where the walls are blue and there’s a pink rug in the middle of the room. She has soccer stuff on the walls, but also a lot of vaguely thirsty posters of women: Salma Hayek, Monica Bellucci, and others… she kind of has a type.

Everything is the way Riley left it, fairly tidy. You have to hand that to Riley: she’s not a slob. There’s the bed, which has never had any guys or other girls in it, but has seen plenty of orgasms. You smile at the thought. Your room is next door. Riley always tried to be discreet, but there’s still just a very… obvious squeaking from her bed that gives her away. There’s a similar squeaking when she’s in her chair at her desk, looking at her computer. She’s… not very sneaky.

You go to her dresser and bend to open the bottom drawer, moving the blanket folded on top to reveal Riley’s thirst stash. In the age of the internet, it’s not full of dirty magazines. She has a vibrator, lots of lube, some kind of… ring that’s supposed to go around her penis, and a big, fake pussy that is called a Fleshlight.

You remember when Riley first got this thing. She must have been really excited for it, because she stayed home from school and made sure she was alone. You came home early to find her on the floor of this room, naked, with semen oozing out of the Fleshlight and also all over her stomach, snoring. Her laptop was sitting next to her with some lesbian porn still playing on it. She must’ve enjoyed her new toy so much that she passed out.

You feel like you were laughing for a week. Then again, that image might’ve entered your mind once or twice during your own solo time. Obviously you don’t touch yourself as much as Riley does… probably no one on earth does it as much as Riley, but you get horny too.

You picture it now, and it still gives you a tingle. Not because it’s Riley, but because it’s such a picture of just… unbridled sexual pleasure, and it’s different. Different from your body, and different from the bodies that you’ve been with. It’s something new.

You shake your head. That memory seals the deal. You put everything back and close the drawer. Your big sister is too hopeless to be left unsupervised. She shouldn’t be on her own at FUTA.

You stand up and type with your thumbs, replying to the email to say that you’ll accept the associate position, starting right away.

Then you switch to texting and text Brett. You and Brett are not together anymore, but he texted this morning to ask if you’d be at a party tonight. Even if you aren’t dating, he’s probably still hoping to get some. You text that you aren’t coming tonight. He asks why. You tell him it’s because you’re switching to girls and running away from home, and you smile at the thought of what the look on his face must be. It’s not a lie. After all, there are no men at FUTA. Zero. The players, coaches, TV people—all women.

You go to your own room and grab a backpack, packing some essentials. Your heart’s beating fast. This is pretty impulsive of you, and… you’re sure that your imagination is getting the best of you. FUTA probably isn’t the utopian, nonstop orgy that you’re picturing.

But you want to see it for yourself anyway.

“Oh,” you say, bopping yourself in the forehead with your hand. Your diary. You go to your dresser and take it out, tucking it into the backpack. You can’t go anywhere without that.

You head out, locking the house behind you. You’ll text your mom when you get there. You climb into your car and buckle your seatbelt, entering the address for FUTA into your phone, then pause to write in your diary.