Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.
*****
Author's note: This is a variation of
No Talking
I posted elsewhere. A reader asked I also post it here. The only real difference is the main character is a virgin.
Everyone is at least 18. Constructive criticism welcome.
~~~~
Another uncomfortable college party. Camilla nursed her drink, bobbing her head to the music, feigning enjoyment. She felt like a fool in her skirt and best blouse. Everyone else wore jeans or yoga pants, t-shirts or tight spaghetti-strap tops.
She swirled her drink. This is my third, she thought. Better slow down or I'll find myself in trouble.
Camilla didn't even know whose house they were in, but her friends insisted it would be a blast.
"Everyone will be there," her friend had said. "The guy's parents are away, so we have the whole house to wreck. Great chance to find someone. Maybe finally get laid."
Camilla didn't want to wreck anyone's house, and the last thing she wanted was to lose her virginity to some frat boy. She simply wanted to find a nice guy. She broke up with her boyfriend back home last October when the distance and their changing lives made it seem pointless. Now February, all she did was study, hang out with her friends, and avoid being dragged to parties.
The living room was too bright and the music too loud. She had spent most of the evening with her friends, sipping coolers, trying to talk over the music. Camilla and her friends were all chatty. They joked and gossiped, and when a song they knew came on, they sang along at the top of their lungs. When her friends up to dance, Camilla begged out, feeling self-conscious and wobbly from the booze. She moved to a corner to look for anyone she knew.
Camilla hoped that maybe... yes! He was across the room. How had she missed him? Stuart. Super cute, funny Stuart who sat up front in English Lit.
In class, Stuart always had a smart remark or funny spin on questions he asked the professor. She found herself fixated on him from the first day. Something about how he held himself. He wasn't a walking ego, but wasn't shy either. Maybe it was the soft sweaters, or his big sneakers. She didn't know, but Camilla watched him through each class, straining to hear every word he said. She noticed him whenever he walked by on campus or in a corridor and wondered where he was from, if he really was as nice as he seemed.
Camilla had never spoken to him. Her friend knew one of his friends, and just once they had all hung out in the cafeteria. Stuart had sat at the far end of their table, but she caught him sneaking glances at her. Was something wrong with how she looked? Had someone said something bad about her? No, it was probably just her. She was well aware how poorly she compared to her pretty, outgoing friends.
Why couldn't she be as confident as Stuart looked? Camilla felt like she was still back home in high school—self-conscious, out-of-place, overwhelmed. The only relief then was the times she could sneak away with her boyfriend to talk or for awkward petting sessions in his basement rec room. They had progressed from shy fumblings to oral sex and nearly worked up the courage for actual intercourse before Camilla had to leave for college. Camilla missed those sessions—the thrill of the naughty explorations, how easy it was to please him, the fire his fingers and tongue lit inside her. She especially missed the cuddling and warm comfort of their talks afterwards.
Stuart was in trouble. She saw it. Camilla didn't know many people on campus, but she knew Deirdre. She was large. She was loud. She always wore sleeveless black dresses. And most days she needed better deodorant. Stuart stood in the opposite corner as Deirdre shouted in his ear, gripping his arm. He was smiling and nodding, but his eyes darted, eager to escape.
I can do this, thought Camilla.
She downed the rest of her drink, wormed her way through the crowd and tapped Deirdre on the shoulder. Camilla waved hello and gestured toward Stuart.
"He owes me a dance," she shouted, but regretted it. Her throat stung from shouting all night with her friends. Deirdre was about to object, but Camilla grabbed Stuart's hand and pulled him into the crowd of dancing partiers.
Stuart gave her a grateful smile and mouthed a thank-you for the rescue. When Camilla smiled and mouthed, "You're welcome," he took both her hands and started dancing.
Camilla tried to find the beat and look like she could dance. The alcohol helped loosen her movements. She was nervous. Had she really done that? Did he even remember her? Would he think she was another pushy woman trying to force her attention on him? Camilla wanted to find somewhere to talk.
Stuart looked at her with a confident smile, his warm hands holding hers. When a new song came on, a cheer went up and more people crushed onto the dance floor, pushing Camilla and Stuart together from all sides. He shrugged and pressed himself close, putting his arms loose around her waist with an apologetic half-smile. They stood nose-to-nose, looking at each other and swaying to the deafening beat.
They danced through one more song, and Stuart leaned forward and said "Dwamna... gshh..." He held his throat and grimaced. Camilla guessed he had spent most of the evening shouting too.
He pointed to the hallway with a questioning expression. Camilla nodded eagerly and thrilled when he pulled her out of the crowd.
Camilla rubbed her ears in the relative quiet of the front hall. Stuart seemed relieved too. It seemed neither of them were partiers, but Camilla had already guessed that about him.
Stuart tried to speak but again only a croak and a hiss emerged. He touched his throat and looked apologetic. Camilla tried to reply but had the same results—a hoarse croak that hurt like hell. They both hissed in laughter at their painful predicament.
There was a den or library on the other side of the hall. Camilla took Stuart's hand and led him inside the doorway. It was dim, but she saw it was occupied. One couple lay on the couch kissing and pawing each other. In a corner another girl was bent over the arm of a recliner as a guy stood behind, fucking her.
