*Author's note: This is not a quick spank story. There is a plot that leads into the romping. I've personally never cared much for the stories that skip straight to the sex as it kind of defeats the purpose.*
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"See you Friday, Erik!" my friend Kyle yelled to me across the court.
Waving him off, I gathered my belongings into my gym bag and made my way out the back door.
I was playing basketball for a middle of the road university a few hours from my hometown. Playing it all my life, it was only natural that I would pursue a scholarship through basketball. However, I wasn't exceptionally good and although I did receive a scholarship, it was a modest scholarship.
Playing basketball with my friends across the street were some of my favorite memories and as I grew older it only made sense to try to make something out of the sport. Although I was successful in this regard, basketball had long become something of a monotonous chore. Being close to 6'6", I had my advantages in the sport and it was easier to stand out, at least among the lower divisions of the sport. Now, however, I was simply going through the drill in order to maintain my scholarship. Basketball, to me, was now only being a means to an end: a computer science degree.
For now, at least,
I thought.
It was a Thursday evening close to eight in the evening and I wanted nothing more than to go to my dorm room and play some video games with my roommate and possibly get hammered since it was finals week. Luckily my finals were arranged so that I had no finals on Friday. The semester was over as far as I was concerned.
After making the two story climb to my humble dorm room after my already exhausting two and a half hours of intense basketball practice, I limped into the room. I quickly darted across the room to my bed in the far corner of the room and sat down.
"Give me a warning, Captain Dick, you almost made me lose!" my roommate Robert blared at me from the other corner of the room. He was propped up on the front of his bed staring intently at the TV screen. I snickered at the use of the nickname he gave to me a few weeks into our unplanned pairing.
He was playing
Street Fighter
on the large television between our two beds. Our room wasn't very large and didn't allow for a great deal of privacy. Two beds and two desks were all the room allotted, not counting the closets.
"I don't have any finals tomorrow, wanna drink?" I asked him.
"Sure," he simply stated, still focused on the game in front of us.
Getting up from the bed, I kneeled in front of the small refrigerator that was on the table next to the TV to grab some beers, purposely swaying my hips wildly to block his field of view.
"Dickhead, move your ass!"
"Think fast!" I told him, before tossing a cold beer into his lap.
He hissed at me and let the beer slide in between his curled up legs before finishing his game and cracking it open.
After a few pulls he tossed me a controller and asked me for the "hard stuff." Quickly understanding his meaning, I reached into the back of the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Jaeger and found a couple shot glasses. It had become tradition for us to drink liquor and play video games on Friday nights since I usually had basketball games or practice on those nights and would wait until Saturday morning to drive home. Robert would be around because he didn't have any parents to go back to and because his dorm room was, more or less, his home.
Also, we weren't social butterflies and preferred solitude or the company of a few close friends, neither one of us being frequent party-goers.
With the ruleset set to best of seven, we started. Loser of the set takes a drink. Although often it derailed into both of us taking a shot after each set, the two of us simply enjoying the company of a close friend and drinking companion. After pairing with him my freshman year, Robert quickly became my best friend.
This went on late into the night. After quickly downing my upteenth shot in between sets, I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket. I pulled out my phone, noticing the time reading 12:48 AM. Apologizing to Robert, I paused the game and stepped into the hallway.
"Hello?" I asked.
"Erik? This is Dad," I heard the baritone voice of my father from the other line. "Listen, I don't want to scare you, but your sister tried to overdose on pain medication earlier this evening."
My sister, Chloe, was a year younger than me. Unlike my dark brown hair, her dark hair had a sprinkle of red causing it to look almost black in the darkness and a beautiful auburn in the light. She was tall like me, close to 5'10".
Off my game, in a manner of speaking, I stood silently. Honestly I was clueless how to respond to news of this nature regarding anyone. My currently inebriated brain was also not helping.
"You still there?" my father asked quietly.
"Is she okay?" I asked, fear suddenly rising to my chest and throat. I felt knots in my throat and it came through in my voice.
Somehow sensing my concern, my father explained to me that she would be fine. By chance, my mother was digging around for laundry and found her before any serious damage could be done. She found her laying on her stomach next to a pool of vomit. Luckily, she vomited the majority of the pills. My mom woke her up and took her to the hospital. She was very groggy and unresponsive but she did manage to walk with the help our mother. The ER doctor explained that she had already emptied her stomach so there wasn't any more that could be done and my mom and sister returned home with instructions for Chloe to drink plenty of water and get lots of sleep. They had taken blood tests and made an appointment for a short follow-up the next day.
Unable to bare standing in the suddenly overbright hallway, I tried to quickly end the conversation.
"Okay, Dad. I'm driving in tomorrow, I'll see you guys then, okay?"
"Sure thing, love you kid. Stay safe."
Ending the phone call, I rushed inside the room and made a beeline for the bathroom. Parking myself in front of the toilet, I vomited off and on for close to ten minutes before grabbing a towel and cleaning off my face. I gargled some water and spit it out and quietly returned to the room.
The TV had shut off from inactivity and now the room was in darkness. I heard soft snores coming from Robert's corner of the room, grateful that he didn't hear my violent bodily noises in the bathroom.
Lying down in my bed, I pondered. Even after emptying my stomach, I still felt very drunk. But holding my liquor was never a problem for me. The bright hallway lights must have triggered something within me.
Then I thought back to my memories as a child. The afternoons spent playing house with Chloe in the backyard. The games we played with our pets and stuffed animals. Teaching Chloe how to play ball on the driveway with my friends across the street. Laying on the couch across from eachother, tickling eachother's feet. The arguments we had over nothing--usually spurred on by things as trivial as me humming or singing. Again, I felt the knot in my throat.
Why did she try to kill herself?
