Chapter ONE: Get On With Our Lives
Dedicated to Bianca.
This is my first ever erotic story. I had ideas for this series for awhile and decided to finally write them out. These ideas were influenced by my real life, combined with missed opportunities and personal fantasies. The story is complete fiction; however many of the situations are exaggerations based off my life experience.
Feedback is always welcome. Thanks for reading!
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SCENE ONE: You Never Know What Might Happen
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It was 9:15pm. It was a Friday night. I could hear neighbors slowly turning up the music. The latest Top 40 pop-flavored dance track rumbled through the atmosphere. I could faintly hear those dumbasses laughing, yelling, and causing a ruckus.
Awake on my bed, I stared uninterested at my blank white ceiling. I slouched there watching the shadows of the curtains sway as the ceiling fan blew recycled hot air throughout the room. My computer screen is turned on with a blank white screen. I haven't written anything in so long. I loved to write, but tonight I want to forget everything, ever.
Then I gently closed my eyes. The sound of bass music and laughter slowly floated into stillness. A fuzzy feeling overtook my body. Sleep at last! And they say nothing ever happens overnight...
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!*
Four rapid knocks broke my slumber as I open my eyes. First thing I looked at is the time on my phone. It's 9:25pm. Really? Only 10 minutes of sleep? That knocking on the door must be Dylan, my interruptive roommate. I rolled out of bed onto my feet and slowly waddle to the door to unlock it. I slowly opened the door, preparing to see his usual stupid happy face.
"Get dressed. We're going out!" Dylan commanded. He grabbed my left shoulder and pulled me into the hallway, almost losing my balance. "And you smell like shit, by the way."
Dylan was a year younger than me, at 22 years old. He's a tallish, lanky stoner with his blonde shaggy hair slightly covering his eyes. He used to work as a driver at a pizza bar called Italiano's. He got me a job as a cook over there before he got fired for being late three days in a row. Now he's at a community college studying... actually I'm not sure what he's majoring in. Does one have a major at a community college? He's annoying most times, but at least he supplies copious amounts of pot to help relax my boring crappy life.
"Not tonight man. Just got back from my night class and I... I just want to be alone right now. I just want some sleep." I slurred.
I felt like shit. I looked like shit. I wanted this day to end and prayed for a less shitty tomorrow. Every day I felt like this, to be honest. And sadly every day always felt like the same level of shit. Damn, am I being fucking emo or what?
"Enough! Live your life man... Stop with all that wrist cutting bullcrap. What good are you doing locking yourself in your room every damn night?! It's great that you're finally going to school and working, but you come home right after and jerk it or sleep or do whatever you do. Nothing exciting is ever going to happen to you if you don't put yourself out there, man!" Dylan said enthusiastically.
He waited for my inexistent response, and then chimed in again. "You're always on your computer writing your stupid stories that you won't even let me read. Or on your bed with your headphones on. Don't you want to do something else?"
He's usually blunt with me on things like this. He's tried to convince me over and over to stop being a sad sack. This time, however, his words hit me in the gut. I've always told him I lock myself in my room because I'm writing my next short story or ideas for a screenplay. In reality, I can't remember the last time I wrote something creative. I have been lazy with my personal goals and afraid of talking to people about feelings or anything in general. Being unproductive sucks.
"Plus, I guarantee there'll be a ton of hot chicks there!" Dylan added. He smiled as if that would seal the deal. "And not just any hot chicks, super college hot chicks! As in, girls that are way out of your league so you might just be staring at them at a safe distance. Then you'll go home empty handed and jerk off alone. But still, you never know what might happen!"
"What's the occasion?" I asked.
"It's Megan's friend's birthday. She's just throwing a little get together at her place. So you know, a bunch of hot babes, repetitive club music, smoking, drinking..." Dylan paused for a second and turned his head behind him. "...She's turning 21, right babe?"
He was talking to Megan, his off again on again girlfriend. 'Girlfriend' is a loose term I suppose. Megan hangs around the pad a lot. They seem serious when they're together, and strangers when they break up. But they always magnetically and magically reunite on a week to week basis.
Megan answered Dylan's question by raising her eyebrows and nodding. She removed her jacket to reveal her tight white t-shirt, showing off her petite upper-body and a pair of black jeans that hugged her curvy thighs. Her dark ravenous hair twirled backwards as she turned around and walked away from us, with her black knee-high boots clicking on the kitchen tiles. I took a glance from behind as she bounced her round booty, swaying her hips gleefully towards Dylan's bedroom to get ready for the party.
Now, don't worry folks. I'm not going to end up banging Megan. That would be an injustice towards Dylan. A true cold blooded stab in the back if you ask me. I was merely describing my surroundings in depth with eloquent words and stuff. You know. Like how a novel should be.
"Anyways yeah. Let's go dude. Hit the showers, put on a nice clean shirt and let's do this!" Dylan demanded. He followed Megan to his bedroom to get ready.
I stood isolated in the hallway with my undershirt and boxers on, looking into my bedroom. It was a mess. Just like me. What the hell, why not go? Maybe it'll give me something to do for once in my life.
I entered my bathroom and stripped out of my worn out clothes. As I tossed off my last article of clothing, I took a gander at the mirror and checked out my body. I stood before my reflection a 6'0'', 23 year old man with nothing to lose. While wondering if I should shave, I ran my hand across my 5 o'clock stubble and throughout my crew cut shaved head. There was probably no time shave, and I guess ladies like that Zac Efron stubble look. That dude has awesome stubble.
I was overweight through most of my life, but after a traumatic event I decided to pick up jogging, eating healthy and lifting flimsy dumbbells I bought from Wal-Mart. Once 270 pounds, I lost over 80 pounds through a year and a half. There was still some more work to do as parts of my body weren't toned to my liking. Still, I was pleased with the results. However, despite all my physical changes, my introverted personality still emerged in social environments.
I did my best bodybuilder impression and also inspected my cock hanging between my legs. Then I inched closer face to face with my clone in the mirror. I'm a decent lookin' piece of meat if I say so myself. So where's my confidence when I need it? Why am I afraid to engage in conversations with women?
It probably has to do with my ex-girlfriend, Amanda; all the horrific, heart-breaking things she did to my poor gullible soul. She was that traumatic event that led to me losing all my excess weight. Maybe I should just let go of the past and leave it decaying where it should be... but that's another story.
Self-Awareness (Ch. 3)
to be exact.
