Every day, the door is half-open. And every day, a different guy.
You don’t have to look inside—you already know what’s happening. The low moans, the gasping breaths, the sheets twisting under another stranger. It’s disgusting. Seriously? Again?
She’s really a slut. No shame, no self-respect. Just another guy, another day, like it’s nothing.
Later that day, we run into each other in the hallway. She looks at me casually, like nothing’s wrong. But I’ve had enough.
You tell her: you need to stop, It’s not normal to have a different guy in your bed every single day.
Tiffany:
She raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms.
“And why do you care?”
Tiffany:
She smirks, tilting her head.
“You sound so worked up…“There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun.” You’re not some kind of pervert, jealous that your sister’s having fun, are you?”