The eMail surprised me, to say the least.
I had been posting erotic, sexy stories on the Internet into an old "usenet newsgroup," a system that doesn't even really exist anymore. On occassion, I received comments about my stories, many of them complimentary, and gratifying.
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I hate it when they keep moving stuff around. When it comes to things like fish or produce, I find better quality at the local health food chain store. But the produce department here seems to like to move things around from week to week, I guess to create a more seasonally appropriate display. But I'm a pragmatic man, and I like to find things in the same place.
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I always hated stereotypes. At least, that was my excuse for resenting anyone who assumed I was gay. A guy can be fabulous and into clothes and still be attracted to the opposite sex. And I have been attracted to girls as far back as I can remember--that's no bullshit. Girls love a guy they can go shopping with. "Metrosexual" was what they called me, and I was fine with that mantle. It meant they recognized my good taste, refined appearance, superior grooming, and upscale tastes. It was when people called me "gay" that I got frustrated. I'm not gay. Properly, I'm bi.
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Did I have enough nerve?
After all, we were in my bedroom - just the two of us. We had reached a line. Do I cross it? It had taken a long time to get here as I stood at the foot of my bed with Brian holding a tube of lubrication in his hand he just found in my bedside table. He acted shocked. The question was he really shocked?
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'Should I send him a picture of my ass or my tits?' Kayla thought to herself. She stood and looked to the mirror on the wall between the dorm room beds. She admired her own body, grabbing her breasts over her spaghetti strap top. Chris was definitely a tits guy.
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I had been teaching at the university for some 30 years, and I had never encountered such an intriguing vision as Soleil in all my days. She is a beauty, and an enigma. She was breathtakingly refreshing and very frustrating...beautiful, yet exasperating. I came to be rather obsessed with this 20 year old vixen from the first time I saw her in class, just something about her that caught my attention: she was half Thai, and half American.
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It was a Friday night in spring, prime time for frat parties around campus. My roommate, Shauna, and I were freshmen and often attended one of these parties to have something to do. But we almost always left early out of boredom with the drunken antics of the younger frat brothers. This Friday started and ended differently.
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CHAPTER ONE: ORIENTATION
Wesley Bower looked around the campus, more than a little nervous. He was seeing his college campus for the first time since his visit, and now he was having second thoughts. Why did I pick a school so far from everyone I've ever known? he wondered, feeling disconsolate and alone. Well, no use having second thoughts, he decided, stretching his arms, turning to survey the people around him.
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On the outside I've never been weird in any way. I'm popular, with girls and guys. I have normal interests. I go to parties, get drunk, have fun, have normal relationships. I could have sex, normal sex, and enjoy it a normal amount.
But it is only when I think about rape that I really start to feel that heat like nothing else. A hollow aching inside me, yearning to be filled.
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Living with Paige was pure hell for Ally. Every moment she was around was like slow, agonizing torture which Ally often likened to having dull screws driven deep into her skull while having her heart ripped violently and awkwardly from her chest by hateful vultures. Well, maybe not that bad, but it definitely sucked in the worst possible way.
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