Author: ronald87

Janelle watched as the wooden door clicked open and scraped against the linoleum floor, like all the doors did in all the dorms, and Dennis walked in, finishing a plastic cup of coffee, his hair pointing out on all sides. Janelle had put her bra on by now, but she still couldn’t find the motivation to get up from this gross bed. She could tell by the way Dennis paused that he was studying her legs. They were crossed over each other as she lay on top of his mattress with the sheets thrown on the side. She tried to make it look like she’d expected him to bring back food. “I should really leave soon,” she said. “Whatever,” said Dennis. He sat at his desk and turned on his computer. He opened up World of Warcraft. “Um, Dennis? Did anybody ever teach you manners?” Janelle laughed as she said it. “Not really. My Dad was always yelling at me and my sister at inappropriate times. My Mom was always drunk. You do the math.” The sounds of World of Warcraft began. Janelle stared at him. “You aren’t serious,” she said. Dennis took some time to respond. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he said. “Because I can never tell if you’re being serious or not. Everything seems ironic to you. Like a joke or something.” “Maybe I find everything ironic and funny and serious.” Dennis played the game. Janelle looked at the mattress. Perhaps this was the motivation. She stood and took her jeans from the floor. She noticed her right bra strap was twisted. She flipped it around the right way. She pulled on her black panties that she’d been wearing for days. She threw on her blue silk shirt that made her itch. She didn’t look at Dennis but assumed he was watching her out of the corners of his eyes. Before she could buckle her jeans her arms dropped to her sides. She listened to the sounds of Dennis’ computer and felt that she had to say something. “Dennis, are you okay?” Dennis stopped tapping the keyboard. He stared at the computer and looked as if he was trying to control his breathing. Janelle didn’t know what it meant, but there was something imposing about Dennis, something intimidating, even with him sitting in that chair, a foot below her, dressed in a ratty shirt and cargo pants. Janelle straightened her shirt. “Okay, I’m going now. I’ve got homework to catch up on. I…” Dennis pushed his computer down his desk until it bumped against his wall. He stood and strode over to Janelle. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever felt this way about,” he said. Janelle felt like a camera was zooming in on her slowly. “Felt what about?” she said. “This absurd urge to fuck you.” He said it like he was stating an item on a menu. Janelle turned and went to the door. She stopped and stared at the door handle. She heard him approach. She felt his hand slide across her stomach. Her shirt felt like it had already torn off under his fingers. Janelle felt Dennis’ fingers and remembered sucking them the night before. She remembered his tongue swishing from side to side on her clitoris and up and down. His fingers were placed on her lips as if to silence her—and Janelle wasn’t that loud. She wanted to be straightforward in sex as she was in life. She would moan exactly as much as she enjoyed it, and she had enjoyed it moderately. When she felt Dennis’ tongue, it made her feel very strange at first; almost as if there were some kind of fish flopping around on her private parts. But this was because only one other guy had attempted to do this to her before, and he was a disaster. Dennis knew what he was doing. His tongue moved the same way his personality moved; impersonal, energetic, fast, tingly. He rubbed two of his fingers on his other hand at a lower part of her clitoris while he worked with his tongue. Other girls had probably climaxed from the way he did it. But Janelle could only let herself feel pretty good. Nothing more. So she had sucked on his middle finger and forefinger. His skin was rough and the tips of his fingers were calloused. They were these knobby, hard things that had probably been in fights before and had either played guitar or done a lot of manual labor, or both. They had made the tingly sensation circling around her groin decrease. Janelle pried his fingers out of her mouth. But Dennis had already stopped and was staring at her, his mouth ringed with saliva and her wetness. He had stood, taken a tissue, wiped his mouth, wiped his fingers. He crumpled the tissue and tossed it on her chest. It bounced below her breasts and lay there. “If you’re not in to it, then you should just say something,” Dennis said. He climbed in to his briefs and strode out the door, slamming it. She had heard his shower running. Fucking asshole. She fell asleep anyway. Read more »

I wasn’t in to Dirk’s plan. So that night, I ignored him. I got trashed at a bar further downtown in Miami and hit on several groups of girls. None of them were interested. I vaguely remember some big dude stepping between me and some other chick and yelling in my face. I swung at him. He socked me in the face. I remember me throwing a chair. We were restrained by bouncers and I was thrown to the pavement. I woke up in our hotel room the next morning with a white hospital bracelet on my wrist and a bandage on my cheek. I didn’t recall anything. Dirk was, once again, not there. I checked my phone and saw a ton of texts from Anjali. I only knew it was her because the first message said; “Hey this is Anjali.” I drank coffee and rehearsed a plan. I would go to her room and we’d have a quick pity fuck. I wasn’t sure how functional my cock would be after the previous night, but I’d manage. I would make sure that she sucked my cock for at least five minutes. I don’t leave these situations without lips having been around my cock. I’d tell her I didn’t think she was my type, get dressed and go. I made sure to remove the bandage before I left, because despite her insecurity, I didn’t think Anjali would want to fuck a mummy. I arrived at her room and rang the bell. Nothing happened. I rang it again. I thought she probably wasn’t there. But she opened the door and stood with her arms crossed, once again wearing a t-shirt and her underwear. In the background, buck-naked: Dirk. I couldn’t fucking believe it. “Hi Dennis,” she said, matter of a fact. “Hey…” I said. “What!?” There was a pause. “What,” she said, “is you’re a neglectful shit-brain. You promise me we’ll hang out again, and you don’t answer my texts. ‘It’s okay, Anjali, you’re such a special person. Your Mom just doesn’t realize it.’” She pointed a finger at me. “Bullshit. You just wanted to have sex with me. You’re a shithead male stereotype, do you know that? Well, guess what? Two can play at the game you’re playing. How old are you, anyway?” “Nineteen. What does that matter, you—“ She looked kind of surprised. “Nineteen,” she said. “Well I don’t know how many women you play these games with, but I hope you get AIDS before your twenty-fifth birthday.” “Thanks for granting me that six-year window,” I said as the door shut on me. I walked away. The door opened behind me and I heard Dirk call, “We’re still on buddy.” At first, when Anjali had used the word game, I’d thought that Dirk had let her in on the moan game. But I realized she was more likely referring to me being a manipulative douche. But I now saw what Dirk meant when he’d said, “No. Those same chicks.” I bought a coke from the machine downstairs. I took a long swig and thought of how two would, indeed, play at that game. Read more »