We Promise to Pull Out

We Promise to Pull Out

My older sisters never paid enough attention to me to realize what I was really up to. Harper was 25 and living at home while she saved up a deposit on a house, and Chelsea was 23 and had just finished college. Although they fought, mostly because Harper was a goth and Chelsea was the typical preppy type, they still had more in common with each other than they did with me.

Harper might have been a little rough around the edges, with her all-black wardrobe, blaring metal music, and need to scream at the top of her lungs any time she felt any sort of emotion, happy or sad or anything in between. And Chelsea might have been a little stuck up, tightening her face any time someone said something she disapproved of. But they still had similarities.

The most obvious of which was that they were both futas and I wasn’t. But obviously it went deeper than that. They both went on dates, had big friend groups, and excelled at whatever they wanted to excel at. Harper was the lead singer of a band that got bookings every weekend at exclusive bars in the city. She also taught herself to tattoo, first on herself and then on pig’s skin. And Chelsea was a former cheer captain who took it into college and made the mat every year, eventually winning NCA College Nationals. Now she’d started her own coaching company.

They’d carved out different segments but they were the same. Popular, dominated every room they walked into, and got whatever they wanted.

In contrast, I was shy and awkward, or at least that’s how I saw myself. I didn’t have the huge tits and tight abs my sisters had, and most of the time people called me cute rather than hot. I had a few close friends, but they were mostly online, and I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life.

But being invisible offered a sort of protection. Tonight, our parents were away for a weekend at the lake house, leaving Harper, Chelsea, and me alone. Harper and Chelsea were supposed to be babysitting me, which was a ridiculous concept at 21, but I was the baby of the family, and I think mom and dad worried I didn’t have the street smarts Harper and Chelsea did. That my naivety would get me into trouble or something. So I didn’t get the same freedom they did.

But Harper and Chelsea still had social calendars. The plan was simple. Harper was going on a date with some girl who’d been turning up to all her gigs, and Chelsea was going to a party with the former cheerleaders and football players and whoever else was in her orbit. I was staying home and studying for finals.

They never questioned it, which was the protection. But I was actually going on a date myself with Josh, a guy I’d been talking to on Findr, a new dating app where you have to match on a voice note instead of a photo.

I watched Harper pull on her leather jacket and check herself out in the hallway mirror. She was wearing a black denim skirt with fishnets and a tank top that showed off her midriff. I rolled my eyes and looked away. She always managed to look perfect. A little scary with the purple lipstick and eyeliner, but still.

Chelsea clicked past in her heels and tube dress. It was pink and tight all over, even showing her heavy outline. I blushed and