Huddles and Harmonies (p2)

3

Oh-vation

Chapter Rating: NC-17 (for some spicy dreams and self-pleasure)

Sleep that night was impossible.

My body was a bundle of live wires, my hormones like an electric current. I ached between my legs. I had never been so turned on. Reaching down into my panties, I discovered my inner thighs and folds slick with arousal.

I still carried shame over…masturbation. I couldn’t even say the word in my own head, much less out loud. I was taught that touching myself was a sin. Even though I didn’t really believe that shit anymore, the shame lasted.

Shame of what? Having a perfectly functional libido? Enjoying pleasure? Wanting, craving, thinking about sex? I once thought this was only a thing dudes obsessed about. Why else was our culture so adamant on beauty standards and dating apps? But men were the sexual beings, women were supposed to be chaste, demure virgins until marriage, apparently. But then…who were the men having sex with?

I let out a frustrated breath and opened my drawer.

I retrieved the purple vibrator, turning it on to make sure it was charged. It hummed to life and a thrill of anticipation went through me. I laid back in bed, willing my fantasies to invade…

Supine on a bed with a fluffy duvet. I was in a silk nightdress with nothing on underneath. Kiaran was climbing over me, wearing only a pair of low-slung pajama pants. His muscular arms and chest led down to chiseled abs. I bit my lip, staring at him, his body a feast for my hungry eyes. A hairy trail led from his navel, disappearing under the tented fabric. I felt his stiff cock against my hip.

“Oh, I’ll fuck you good and hard in a bit, lass.” he simmered. “I need to get you ready for me.”

Magically, the silk slip disappeared and I was naked under him. Miracle of fantasies.

“Much better…” he murmured, kissing me. “Easier to taste you.”

He pressed kisses down my neck and chest. He gave attention to each breast, sucking the hard peaks and lathing them over with his tongue.

I ground my clit against the vibrator, then slowly slipped it inside my pussy. I could come now, but I wanted to savor this.

His mouth between my legs, tongue working my clit. He was glancing up at me as he ate me out, his solid black pupils overtaking the green. I moaned, hands in his hair as he sucked my clit into his mouth.

“Want you…please, please, please…” I begged.

Seconds later, he was plowing into me, making my whole body shake with pleasure. He whispered filthy things in my ear, nibbling on the flesh there.

“You’re mine…all mine, lass. Let go, I’ve got you…” he panted.

I fucked myself with the vibrator, biting into my arm to stifle my moans. I put my pillow over my face as I reached a massive climax, screaming into the fabric as I came. I turned the vibrator off, enjoying the happy hormone cocktail. My legs still shook from aftershocks.

That was the hardest I’d ever come. I cleaned the vibrator with the special solution it had been packaged with and put it back in the drawer.

Well. I just did that.

With the fantasy of a guy I didn’t even really know.

I didn’t even know I was into such possessive language. Maybe it was just good in the moment, like roleplaying. Trish tried to inform me about BDSM culture and kinks, but I was too mortified by such open discussion of sex.

“You might want to see a therapist about that trauma. Purity culture’s no joke.” she had recommended humorlessly. “I know grown women who went into their wedding nights thinking babies came from kissing. Even worse when the man’s only sexual education is porn.”

Mormons were so weird about sex. The few times we’ve visited family in Utah, I learned about soaking, a practice done by young Mormons with the belief that as long as you didn’t move while having sex, it wasn’t a sin. Masturbation was also considered an unforgivable sin in the Mormon Church. Yet, the stories of teenagers having to confess to explicit details of masturbation to 40-year-old male bishops sounded even worse.

I never officially joined the Mormon church myself. I had heard of the weird ass rituals and garments and refused to partake. Mom was furious when Miranda and I refused to join, but Dad said she couldn’t make us. I wasn’t sure I believed in any deity either.

Thoughts of Kiaran filled my mind once more. The things that man did to me, even when he wasn’t here…

If just looking at him made me this way, how the hell were we going to write a goddamn romance novella together? Also, it didn’t help that I was still a virgin. I didn’t have a hymen – I somehow genetically lucked out in that department. The only reason I knew about sex was watching TV shows, reading erotica, and that one time I got curious online and was subsequently traumatized by too much moving flesh.

At a birthday sleepover in high school, the girls were watching porn online, which was the pinnacle of sin in my warped Mormon brainwashing. Even after I matured, I didn’t see the appeal of porn. The men talked too much and degraded the women. Maybe I was watching the wrong kind of porn, but it wasn’t sexy to me. To each their own, I guess.

My phone chimed.

Furrowing my brows, I checked the digital clock on my nightstand. 12:31am. Trish didn’t text after 10pm. She had late-night spicy livestreams I did not want to know about.

It was Kiaran.

I had a really stupid thought. Did he know? Did he know that I just fantasized about him and got myself off, somehow?

Kiaran: you ok? that fraternity prat just annoyed the piss out of me. Sorry if I scared you

I was touched by his concern. No one had ever stood up for me like that.

Shit, was I crying?

God, I was traumatized, wasn’t I?

Heather: I’m ok. it happens all the time. The bouncer scares them enough that they won’t try it again for another month.

Kiaran: I would like to get to know you better.

Kiaran: was that too forward? God, I suck at this lol

Was he…? Was he asking me out?

I looked around the room as if waiting for a magical dating fairy to appear and tell me what to do. No such apparitions appearing, I had to take my chances.

Heather: like a date?

Kiaran: yes : ) like a date

I was asleep. I was asleep and this was a dream.

Good things didn’t happen to me.

I pinched myself. It hurt.

Kiaran: how bout Friday morning before classes? I’d choose afternoon, but I’ve got practice after 2pm.

Heather: ok, but it would have to be early. I have my first class at 9:30.

Kiaran: that’s alright. I get up to jog around 5am.

Heather: ew lol. Sorry, not much of a morning person

Kiaran: yeah, I get that. Campus Café at 7:30?

Heather: yeah. that sounds great.

Kiaran: sweet dreams until then. Good night : )

Holy shit, I had a date.

I had a date!

With a hot guy!

Forgetting about the time, I texted Trish.

Heather: OMG I HAVE A DATE PLANNED WITH KIARAN

Trish: gurl, it is 1 am. I have rope burns and I’m fatigued. But I’m happy for you! I’ll just be happier at normal hours.

Heather: rope burns? Forget it, I don’t want to know.

Trish: don’t knock it till you try it ; ) I wonder if Irish is into Shabari

Heather: I’m not looking that up

Trish: so innocent. Hopefully Irish will change that ; )

Heather: GOODNIGHT

Trish: night, ho

*

Thursday choir practice was a predicament. For Bella Ciao, the blend was off and I suspected it to be alto section. We had rules in the choir about drinking and hangovers, even if the singer was 21. Still, I didn’t want to be that person to boot them. Trish wasn’t having it, though. She asked Caroline Felton to hang back after practice and told her she was on probation from the choir.

“My daddy’s gonna sue this fucking school! Bitch!” Caroline yelled, stomping out of the auditorium.

Trish mimed crying her eyes out.

After practice, Trish had the hare-brained idea of hanging out in the bleachers to each lunch, conveniently while the football team practiced. I knew her game. She wanted to see sweaty men in tight pants.

(I kept the thought of wanting to see one particular sweaty man in tight pants to myself.)

“He’s number 61, by the way.” Trish informed me.

I glared at her. She smiled, throwing a corn chip at me.

Against my better judgment, my eyes followed the figure donned in the Charlesburg Bear blue and orange. Indeed, the pants were tight and very distracting. I wasn’t religious, but Kiaran was definitely blessed all over. I found myself wishing we had chosen a lower tier of the bleachers to see better.

“Why blue and orange? Strange colors to be called the Bears.” I asked, nibbling my egg-salad sandwich.

“They used to be the Tigers before another school with that mascot started ranking into divisions. So, they had to change to the Bears.” she said, looking at my puzzled face. “Girl, you need to learn this sport if you’re gonna date a linebacker.”

“Do I need to teach him singing and piano in return?” I quipped.

“I don’t know, he seems like the kind of guy who could give you many standing oh-vations!” she said mockingly, doing an embarrassingly loud orgasmic emphasis on “oh”.

Several college guys in the front row turned around to see who made the noise. I turned my face away.

“Do you have to be so…crass?” I asked her.

“’Crass’? What is this, the fucking 1700s?” Trish commented, giggling. “Oooh, they’re taking off their shirts!”

I craned my head toward the field and made a sour face when I realized Trish was baiting me. She laughed so hard, she started snorting.

“Oh my God! You were like a fucking giraffe!” she cackled.

The women in front were watching her, rolling their eyes.

“So obnoxious!” one of them complained.

“I hear she’s a big slut…” the other added.

“Yeah, and I probably fucked your dad!” Trish yelled.

I looked at her wearily, condemning her behavior but also wishing I could be so shamelessly confident in myself.

I watched the football players practice tackling…or something. Then, upon further inspection, two players were actually on the ground, grappling with each other, helmets off.

“Um…is wrestling a thing they do in this game?” I asked, concerned.

“Nope, that’s Andrew Washington. Totally juicing. You can just tell. He comes into the gym and acts like he owns every goddamn machine.” Trish explained. “’Roid rage is terrifying.”

It took three coaches to get Washington off the other player. The other player, who had a 61 on his jersey, stood up and held his gloved hand over his face.

“Oh…he beat up Irish. The hell happened?” Trish realized, looking genuinely concerned.

*

Heather: hey, r u alright? I saw what happened on the field

Heather: not stalking you, was just there with trish eating lunch

That was exactly what someone would say when stalking someone. Too late, it had been read. But he didn’t reply. He didn’t owe me an explanation. We weren’t officially dating. We were going on a date, but we weren’t a thing.

The incident made me remember how dangerous the sport was. One wrong move: a concussion, a torn tendon, a broken leg could end their athletic career. Uncle Rick liked to talk about how he could have gone pro if it hadn’t been for his dislocated knee in his senior year. I looked it up while doing Statistics homework one night. On average, the odds of a college football athlete going pro were less than 2%.

Kiaran: im fine, we just got into a scuffle

Kiaran: it looks worse than it is

Kiaran: I’ve been in Dublin bar fights worse than that

He suddenly sent a selfie. I hissed as I saw his bruised nose, already blossoming into a yellowish-blue contusion.

Heather: ouch. You should put an ice pack on that.

Kiaran: I have a frozen bag of squash. Works wonders lol

Kiaran: I’d understand if you want to cancel our date

Heather: why would I do that?

Kiaran: being seen with a guy with mince meat for a face is embarrassing, so I’ve been told

I wondered what heartless bitch told him that.

Heather: it’s okay, I’m beautiful enough for both of us ; P jk lol

Heather: I still want to go on our date

Kiaran: you are very beautiful.

Kiaran: I’ll see you in the morning then

*

You are very beautiful.

You are very beautiful.

The words cascaded around in my head, lifting my mood like fire in an air balloon. Even Chopin wasn’t pissing me off as much. I could get through two pages of sheet music before fucking up now.

Trish: heads up, Caroline’s father is threatening the college board, saying he’ll stop his donations

I angrily banged my fingers across the keys, making a discordant jumble of nonsensical notes, then turned off the keyboard.

Heather: have prof remind him that his daughter is 19 and could get arrested for underage drinking if he takes this to court

Trish: in a fair and decent world, that would matter. He’s a defense attorney. Pigs love him. he’s infamous for defending scum-sucking cops who batter their wives.

I lay back in bed, fuming. The college board took donations very seriously. How else would they afford vacation homes and boat trips to undisclosed locations?

Okay, I wasn’t being fair. They also funded the Thompson Library and Arts Center programs, which include our choir. We weren’t going to nationals if we couldn’t maintain funding.

All because of Caroline and her drunk, bitch ass.

Sorry, but all feminism left the station when you asked a stuffy old man to fight your battles for you.

You are very beautiful.

Of course, Kiaran never left my brain. He had rooted there like a tree and grew into all corners of my conscience. He was the bridge of a song I couldn’t get out of my head.

That nightly fantasy involved a picnic blanket on the AstroTurf.

There was no picnic, but there was me riding Kiaran without a stitch of clothing on. His hands were on my hips, slamming me down, thrusting his cock into me. Sweat dripped down my chest and he turned us where he was on top, bending his head down to lick up the droplets, sucking a nipple into his mouth while continuing to fuck me. I reached down to cup his ass, digging my nails into the flesh.

“Beautiful girl…” he grunted in my ear, “come for me. Let me feel it.”

I bit into the pillow as I climaxed with a long, keening groan.

Sated, I threw the vibrator back into the drawer. I was only sated for now though. This shit was like a drug. I had never needed to pleasure myself so much before. I had done it out of curiosity and boredom in my teen years.

I was a wreck. The sexual frustration was the last thing I needed. I’d soon get another roommate and I wouldn’t be able to get off, except when they left. The communal showers were out of the question, being, you know, communal. I considered renting an apartment, but that had it’s own headaches.

I needed to take this slow. This wasn’t a race.

I fell asleep and dreamed of nothing.

4

Downfield

Chapter Rating: NC-17 (more spicy dreams and self-pleasure)

I did something I have hardly ever done in my life.

I woke up at 5 am to shower.

The only ones who showered at that hour had 7am classes like the STEM majors. Trish once had Biology labs at 7 am! I guess it wasn’t too surprising, since we had to get up that early in high school.

I washed my hair with my expensive anti-frizz shampoo and conditioner, then put it in a towel and put on my robe. I put on a little makeup. Some concealer for the more noticeable acne scars and eyeliner to make my eyes pop. I had inherited my mom’s muddy brown eyes and sharp, slanted nose. I had my cleft chin and round face from my father, though I had blonde hair. Mom dyed her hair brunette because I think she hated that I looked like her, which is insane considering she was my mother. Mom often projected her own insecurities onto me. She criticized my wide hips and ample backside as “stumbling blocks,” even though she also had the same body type. She was constantly dieting and recommending this or that diet plan, pills, or shots.

I actually liked my figure since I’d been to the gym and walking around campus. I liked to wear tight jeans that accentuated my ass. I did just that, pulling on my favorite pair that fit me like a glove. I slipped my Uggs over them. Yeah, they were basic bitch boots, but they were warm. I dried my hair and styled it with a red headband. I completed the look with a red turtleneck sweater. I stared down at my small breasts, which barely made a bump in the thick fabric. I wish I had been blessed upstairs as well as downstairs.

I headed toward Campus Café where our date was. The crisp autumn morning air was invigorating as I walked. Some students were out, namely the students who were in the military reserve on weekends.

I was early. I ordered a low-fat cappuccino and a low-carb breakfast burrito and picked a table by the window. Like clockwork, Killian arrived right at 7:30am. He had freshly showered, his hair still wet. The bruise was ugly, but he was not.

“Hey.” he greeted me with a wide smile.

My pulse sped up at the sight of those dimples.

“Hi.” I said back to him.

He ordered black coffee and a scone, coming to sit across from me. Close up, the bruise was pretty bad.

“I have some Tiger Balm you could put on that if it’s hurting.” I suggested.

“Eh, it’s fine. Nothing’s broken. Twinges a bit, but I bought a bag of ice.” he said.

“What exactly happened? If you don’t mind me asking…” I wondered, biting in my burrito.

“Andrew Washington is a massive arsehole. Star quarterback and he thinks he’s Christ himself.” Killian explained. “He makes snide comments about everyone, keeps parading around like a peacock, slinging his dick around. I, sorry, that was…” he murmured, his cheeks going pink. “Inappropriate.”

“I’ve heard worse.” I said truthfully. “The middle school softball and baseball teams traveled together for away games. Heard my share of immature locker room talk.”

“What position did you play?” he asked.

“I sucked at softball. A lot. I was a ball-girl. I gathered the flyaway balls and handed out bats. Sometimes, I just played the organ.”

“I bet you met plenty of friends on the team, though.”

“Not really. They thought I was only there because I was the coach’s niece. It was true. If I hadn’t been, I probably would’ve been cut. It was fun though. Got plenty of free food, went to Busch Gardens and Natural Bridge.”

We talked for a while. It grew easier to talk to him and I wasn’t such a punch-drunk lunatic around him. He told me where he grew up and how he’d started playing football.

“My mam was against it. She had grown up in Longford with three older brothers who played rugby. She hated how central the sport was to family life. All the money seemed to go to rugby. Grand-Da spent more time with them than her. She ran away at 16 to Dublin and met an American man from Richmond, Virginia. He had been 31 and groomed her until she turned 18.”

He grimaced at this recollection. I looked sympathetic. Our hands were nearly touching in the middle of the table. I resisted. The moment wasn’t appropriate.

“She moved with the American to Virginia. She became a citizen when they married. No one batted an eye over age gaps like that here, either, I’m guessing. She got pregnant with me and he started preferring drink over her. She was basically his slave for three years until she managed to escape with me. She said we were homeless for a while when I was a tot, but I don’t remember any of it. A kind soul offered her a job at a laundromat. She got a cheap flat. I remember there being a lot of roaches. Then she met Patrick, my stepfather. He was a high school teacher and assistant football coach. He had two sons of his own, they became my brothers. Both played junior varsity and I tried out at Patrick’s request. Played for all four years and now I’m playing here.”

I looked at my phone. Shit. 9:45?!? I was late to Statistics!

“Oh, fuck. I’m late for class.” I said, quickly gathering my empty coffee cup and wrapper to throw in the garbage can.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ve made you late. Me and my big mouth.” he said apologetically.

“No...it’s…” I replied, looking up at him. “This was fun. I hope we can do this again.”

“Maybe dinner next time at some place a bit more…atmospheric,” he suggested with a smile.

“I mean, I’m fine with a picnic outside.”

Shit, why’d I say that? That brought back to mind the racy fantasy I had of him last night, making me flush red all over.

Then, surprising even myself, I reached up to kiss him on his bruised cheek.

“To make it better.” I whispered, high-tailing it out of there before I could do something worse.

*

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, why did I do that?!?

I agonized over it for all of Statistics class, not hearing a word Prof. Anstrom said. I needed to talk to Trish and freak the fuck out. I needed her calming influence, her rationality to soothe my scatter-brained, horny mind.

The second class ended, I shot off a text.

Heather: I KISSED HIM ON HIS BRUISE

Heather: WHY DID I DO THAT

Trish: you sluuuuuuuuut! ; P why are you freaking out? that’s a good thing!

Heather: what if he thinks I’m going too far?

Trish: were you straddling him and grinding on him while kissing him?

Heather: what????? No!!!!

Trish: then you weren’t going too far. Also, kissing his bruise is really cute. Mwah, making it all better! [kissy face emoji]. nurse heather at your service [suggestive lipbite emoji]!

Heather: I hate you

Trish: no you don’t

Heather: ur right, I don’t.

Trish: luv you 2 bitch. now go hop on that dick and do a full split!

I rolled my eyes.

One cheek kiss was hardly a milestone. I remembered the immature conversations of boys assigning stages in a relationship to bases in baseball.

“Dude, first base is just kissing. Second base is French kissing.”

“No, second base is touching over clothes.”

“I thought it was dry humping!’

“No, that’s third base.”

“Wait, what’s fourth base then?”

“Of course, you don’t know that, virgin.”

The obsession over losing one’s virginity. It was weird that guys were obsessing with losing but girls were encouraged and shamed to keep their virginity until marriage. Obviously, not all girls did that or found a loophole. There were honestly couples who had anal sex, but were delaying vaginal sex for marriage.

I almost considered sleeping with Ian Quinn, just to know what it felt like and to have one experience in my roster. He was my lab partner in Biology and he was sweet and goofy. But I didn’t really have a crush on him and that would be using him. I had read some pop psychology article about girls tending to fall in love with the person who takes their virginity, but I think it was purity bullshit. Plenty of girls hopped from lap to lap and were not in love.

My phone buzzed on the way to choir practice.

Kiaran: can’t stop thinking about you

Kiaran: I think your kiss really did some magic on this bruise

Kiaran: sorry, is that corny? Lol

I walked into the auditorium, airily taking my place at the piano. Hiding my phone in my lap, I texted back.

Heather: I think about you too

Heather: sometimes I can’t focus in class lol

I hadn’t realized Trish was reading over my shoulder, so I got the scare of my life when she said, “Whatcha doin’?”

“Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed.

“Please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.” Isolde Giraldi protested.

“Pretty sure going ‘Oh, God, Andrew!’ at 3am while getting railed is using his name in vain. And pre-marital sex.” Trish clapped back, mimicking a nasal voice in sexual ecstasy.

Isolde went bright red with embarrassment and anger and stomped over to the other side of the risers.

“She’s dating Andrew? Steroid Andrew?” I whispered to her.

“Yeah. Surprised he can even get it up. That shit is a major boner killer. Chemically, I mean.” Trish murmured. “It also shrinks dude’s testicles. Not that they needed to get any smaller. Alright, bitches! Let’s get to work!”

Practice was a noted improvement without Caroline Felton’s hungover self. I had a feeling her father hadn’t made much of an impression on the college board. Of course, Isolde the born-again Christian (allegedly) had to make things tense.

“Uh, I think we ought to do Silent Night for the Solstice concert. It’s a classic. Everyone knows it.” she suggested in her tinny, annoying speaking voice.

“Okay, then I will vote that we also sing a Muslim hymn.” Kiya Firrah chimed in, toying with the end fabric of her vibrant pink hijab.

“And a Jewish hymn, for Hanukkah.” Janine McLean added.

“There is a reason it is called the Solstice concert, not the ‘Everybody In My Narrow-Minded Worldview is Christian’ concert.” Trish snapped.

“I am also a Christian, but religious hymns are to be sung in church and this is not a Christian college.” Georgia Waller opined.

Isolde’s face turned sullen, but she didn’t argue further.

*

After practice, I chose to eat my lunch in the bleachers, because I was a lost cause. I even sat on the front tier to see the football players up close.

61 was doing crunches while being spotted by 42. I had filled in the blanks in my fantasies of his naked body. I didn’t really know if he was jacked or not, but he would have to be in pretty good shape to play, wouldn’t he? He stood up and placed his helmet back on. 42 slapped him on the ass. I’ve seen that before during games on television. Was it just tradition, a male bonding ritual? Though I seemed to remember Trish slapping my ass during yoga, but that was just Trish being Trish.

He looked in my direction and did a double-take, waving. I waved back, smiling. 42 knocked his shoulder, probably joking with him as Trish jokes with me about Kirian. He suddenly picked up a towel and lifted his jersey to wipe the sweat from his chest. I fought the urge to bite my lip and make potentially embarrassing noises. He did have a ripped body. He wasn’t scarily muscular like Andrew Washington, whose veins looked like they would burst if he juiced any more. Kirian’s physique was far more supple and I craved to explore it in excruciating detail.

I watched him as he practiced drills. I knew enough about football to know he was playing a defensive position. For all his good-natured kindness off the field, he sure didn’t show it while in the zone. He blocked and tackled masterfully. There was something about the way he threw around the other guys that made me wish he’d throw me like that on a bed. Oh, Lord. If Trish could hear my thoughts right now!

Practice ended and he took off his helmet, jogging over to where I was in the stands. His hair was damp from sweat and he was breathing heavily. I blushed, imagining other scenarios where he’d be doing that.

“Hey, lass.” he greeted me with a cocky smile. “Want to schedule our next date?”

My dorm room bed, 7 pm – 7 am, no clothing allowed.

I ignored my horny thoughts.

“Uh, maybe a movie at the Cineplex? I do have work this weekend, though.” I said, trying to keep myself from straight-up ogling his body. He does really fill out those tights.

“Maybe Monday? 7pm?” he suggested.

“Sure.” I smiled up at him.

He grew closer to me, very close. The scent of his sweaty flesh overwhelmed my senses. Rather than disgusting me, I felt my whole body flush with arousal, pooling in my groin. I wanted to climb him like a tree.

His lips pressed to my forehead in a chaste kiss.

“Until Monday…” he smoldered down at me.

“Yes…” I sighed dazedly as he walked away.

The skin burned where he had kissed it.

*

I came back to the dorm to see that a new roommate had arrived to move their stuff in. The person wasn’t there, probably in the dinner hall around now. But there was no chance I was going to be able to alleviate this fresh hormonal tidal wave of horniness. My only reprieve was an icy cold shower. I shivered as the cold torrent of water washed over me. It didn’t completely get rid of the frustration, but it ebbed significantly enough where I could think.

By the time I got back into the dorm, I met my new roommate.

And her very naked boyfriend.

Who was plowing her like a cornfield about to rot.

If God was real, he was a real douchebag.

I sat on the floor in my robe and towel-wrapped hair and texted Trish.

Heather: new roomie is getting railed, so I’m on the floor outside

Trish: LOL

Trish: I’m so sorry

Trish: we should totally just get an apartment together. Dorm life sux

Heather: yeah

Ten minutes later, the dude left, spotting me on the floor and giving me a wink. Ew!

Heather: fuckboy ken just winked at me as he left the room

Heather: I’m not safe here!

Trish: UGH

Trish: men are trash

Trish: want me to come by and read girlie the riot act?

The girlie in question opened the door, looking down at me. I gave her a withering glare.

“So, what times are you out of the dorm? Write it down for me. I have another date in about thirty minutes.” she said as though I was a secretary, not an angry bitch about to smack her.

“You are not going to kick me out to screw the entirety of the college. I’m going to the RA.” I snapped.

And I did just that.

Elizabeth Briscol was our RA and she did nobody favors.

“I can’t really police a person’s sex life. We are all adults here and adults do adult things. Best I can do is a write-up for kicking you out. If you need privacy, I’d recommend moving to an apartment. I’m sorry.” she said soberly.

“Just forget it.” I muttered grumpily, stomping back to the dorm room.

This time I didn’t even care that she was in there. I took off my robe and changed into a pair of jeans, a black T-shirt, and university hoodie.

I texted Trish.

Heather: let’s just do it. let’s put down a deposit on an apartment. I’m sick of this shit.

Heather: let’s go for some dirty sodas, I need to get out of here

Trish: damn, gurl. I think you’re in a new era.

Heather: yeah, it’s my fed-up bitch era