Tony asked. “Am I being punked? ... Is Ashton Kutcher outside in a van filming this?”“Who’s Ashton Kutcher?” I asked.He laughed. “Sweethea...t, you don’t want to do this. Just go back home and call one of your male friends and play with him.”“But we can’t.” I complained. “If we do that the guy will talk and then we become known as a slut or a cocksucker all around school. This way we get to do it and no one knows who we are. And we wouldn’t do it all the time, just once a month or so. Please Tony. "Sometimes when I write a letter, I just start off on the wrong foot. Start over, baby. Just tell me what's going on in your head."Maybe he was right. Later after we'd washed up the dishes, I sat back down in front of the damned computer. I moved the mouse and the screensaver flickered away. The opening paragraph stared back at me from the screen. For about the twentieth time, I read it again.I've been a naughty girl and I haven't been completely and utterly honest with you. I have extreme. More

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