Page 18 of Ripple Effect

But I’ve never felt that way with anyone else, and it’s a difficult concept for me to fathom.

Wrapped up in these thoughts, I migrate toward Gracie’s room, my palms sweating. I feel like a nervous teenager seeking advice, but I know Gracie—so calming and nonjudgmental—is the best person to talk to about all this.

Drawing a deep breath, I tap lightly on her door. As she opens it, her expression shifts from surprise to concern. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“I just, I have some questions for you.” I gulp low in my throat. “About ... sex.”

“Well, uh ... sure. Yeah, okay. I mean, I’m definitely no expert on the subject, but I suppose I can try to help.” Her brows arch up, and a smirk graces her lips. But then, as she studies my serious expression, that smile slowly fades. “Wait, you’re not just trying to change yourself because of what Logan did, are you?”

“No, not at all,” I assure her quickly, the mere thought making my stomach churn. “This is for me. I just want to understand a little more about myself.”

“Okay ...” She draws out the word, her eyes reflecting concern. “So, what’s on your mind?”

“I know I’m not ready to have sex with someone else, and I’m not even sure I could do so outside of a relationship. But I want to explore, learn more about my own interests and desires. Do you have any ideas?”

She nods, understanding dawning in her eyes. “There are a few ways you could go about it. I mean, toys are always an option.”

Heat creeps up my neck, and I quickly shake my head. She chuckles and slides an amused hand down her cheek before swiftly moving on. “Alright, that might be a bit much to start. But there are other avenues you can explore. Um, have you ever thought about watching porn?”

“I’ve seen a few things ... But isn’t the whole industry, like, super exploitative and all that?”

“I mean, a lot of it is. But there are subscription sites where sex workers can be self-employed.” She pulls out her phone, scrolling for a few quick seconds. “There’s this one site called AfterDark. It’s supposed to be really good.”

“AfterDark?” I give her a soft giggle. “That’s kind of clever, actually.”

“Mhm, and there are a lot of different types of creators on there. They all offer tier levels based on what you’re looking for. You might find some you like, maybe subscribe to them. It’d be a safe, healthy way to explore your sexuality.”

Her suggestion hangs in the air, not as daunting but more so intriguing. “Um, yeah, I think I might take a look later on. Thank you, Gracie.”

“Of course.” She gives me a reassuring smile and a quick hug. “Take it at your own pace and do what feels right for you. But I’m here if you want to talk about anything else. You know, outside of the sex bomb your ex just dropped.”

“I appreciate that.”

With her reassurance and support, I retreat to my room, feeling slightly empowered. This isn’t about Logan anymore but about understanding myself and my desires on a deeper level. It’s about taking control of my narrative, and in its own way, that feels liberating.

I curl up on my bed, pulling my laptop into the space beside me. There’s a sense of thrill, a touch of apprehension, and a burst of curiosity as I type in the URL: AfterDark.com. It feels almost symbolic, like a key turning in a lock, and it may be silly, but I can’t help but hold my breath as the page loads.

Once I’m in, I click over to create a new profile. I contemplate my username for what feels like a ridiculous length of time before eventually settling on WildFlower. It’s fitting for me, simple but anonymous, and it makes me feel like maybe I’m the one in control here.

Like I’m free to explore this part of myself without judgment or expectation. And despite feeling sad about how things ended with Logan, I’m finally excited to start fresh.

* * *

As the twilight fades,my friends and I huddle together under a dimly lit sky. We’re back on Amber Isle, our beach blanket stretched out on the sun-warmed sand. Sparks dance up from our bonfire, illuminating our small group as the evening grows dark.

The scent of salty sea air and food from the Surfbreak waft around us. I swear, they have the best burgers and beer in the whole state. And it’s a good thing that stuffing my face with junk food always makes me feel better, even if it’s only temporary.

Max, LJ, Gracie, and I sit comfortably in the soft light, our laughter dancing alongside the crackling fire. They’ve planned this evening for me as a midweek distraction, a buoy to keep me from sinking too deeply into breakup-related thoughts.

LJ, her auburn hair glinting in the firelight, wears a mischievous grin on her face. “You know, I decided to try out that shoulder stand pose the other day—the Salamba Sarvangasana, right?”

“Repeat that?” Max interrupts, feigning confusion, his brows raised in an exaggerated arch.

“Come on, Max. Keep up,” LJ fires back, smirking at him. He chuckles, taking the jest in stride, and waves for her to continue.

“So,” LJ resumes, mimicking her struggle with an elaborate hand gesture, “I’m all balanced, legs in the air, thinking, ‘This isn’t too bad.’ And then—”

“Let me guess, you face-planted?” Max interrupts again, his voice laden with amusement.

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