I've always fantasized about viewing a movie in an adult theater just to see if the rumors are true. I fantasize about being approached by multiple men, horny with lust for anonymous sex with me. Men wanting to ravage me, cum in and on me, raw sex, nothing but. I know it sounds sick, nasty and perverted, I don't really give a damn . It's my fantasy. It isn't like I'd ever really do it but the thought of it makes me wet.
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I'm Josh, an 18 year old college freshman attending a small college in Florida. I still live at home for a couple of reasons. My school is close to home and it's cheaper to live with my mother. Dad died when I was only 8 years old and I'm an only child. You could say I'm spoiled rotten, but I'd like to say I prefer to live at home to take care of my Mom.
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Sweat dripped off Matthew's forehead and stung his pale blue eyes. Not the Halloween weather Matthew remembered growing up with in Delaware. Even after four years he had difficulty adjusting to his new home in San Diego. Adults ferried their costumed children through the hot afternoon, trick or treating amidst shops that enticed with free treats for the little kids and costly treats for the bigger ones. Signs posted in bars announced Halloween parties with prizes for the best costume. Tattoo parlors advertised Halloween discounts.
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(Hi everyone! I have wanted to submit a story for years, but have never completed one that I was happy with. So, I decided to just to go for it by submitting this. I really want you to have an enjoyable time with it and feel free to give a first timer some critiques. So, I will stop my ramblings and let you get on with reading!)
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"What a conniving bitch" was all I could think. When I had turned eighteen in June my foster mother could have kicked me to the curb but she hadn't. Relief first struck me then suspicion. My foster mother wasn't exactly Mother Theresa, there had to be a catch. It wasn't obvious at first what was really going on. The condition for my remaining was simple, I had to pay my way. Plus she would need a little for rent. No problem.
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I was sitting at my desk when I heard the familiar tap tap on my cubical wall. Not having a door means you make do with whatever approximation you can.
"Mark, I need you to go to Japan for me," my manager said.
I looked up from my monitor. I had been engrossed in a riveting and fascinating technology brief (not!), and welcomed the interruption. Even so, though, it took me a second to register what he said.
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I breathed on my new chromed nametag and polished it on my sleeve. I had been promoted: Sergeant Lincoln Lovel. I attached it to my blue uniform shirt, checked myself out one more time in the mirror, and walked outside to the police car in my driveway. Life is good. My utility belt gleamed, newly polished; my buttons all glittered; even my service pistol shone like it was gold-plated. And I had sergeant's stripes on my sleeves!
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Thinking back on it, I still ask myself, 'Did I really do that?'
Let me explain. I owned a small house on the north side of Indianapolis, Indiana. Being young, I think I was 23 at the time, I took on a roommate to help me make ends meet. I knew that over a few years my income would rise to let me comfortably make my house payment, until then, leasing a room seemed to really make sense.
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I am a very wealthy, single businessman, who made his fortune in high technology. I have an aptitude for computers and it has made me rich; very rich. So rich in fact that I have great difficulty meeting women. They are blinded by my wealth and cannot see me for myself. This has led to a rather solitary lifestyle, which suits me as I'm am forever working.
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Late July is a time for some serious heat on the I-15 corridor between Las Vegas and San Bernardino, and the temperature was well over 100 F degrees still, even in the early evening. Most people looked at the Dakota pickup full of scrap metal and wondered why the Iowa plated pickup was so far from home and so heavily loaded as the driver exited I-215 southbound for I-10 eastbound.
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