Four strokes and he was done. She wiped the expulsion from her thumb and index finger. She thought of the opportunity in the ejaculate and shuddered. There was nothing more horrifying than the thought of tracking the path of convention. Trite and uninviting, her life awaited her. Maybe she was a lesbian. But even that wasn’t shocking anymore. Maybe she should stop waiting for things to happen to her. People loved to recite to her that boldness was the key. So boldly she rose and strode to the mirror. She recoiled slightly at her reflection. A washed out, pale nothing. The boldness leaked from her like the blood on the heaviest day of her cycle. So easily defeated, she walked back to her reality. Resting her head on the dirty pillow, she closed her eyes to the world.