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It was nearly half past three as Vincent hopped on the bus. The afternoon commute would be less crowded than the morning, and it hadn’t yet reached rush hour, so he would be afforded a coveted seat on the bus ride home.
At almost 6’5″, Vincent towered over the passengers who got on ahead of him, as they all scanned from side to side for available seats. He initially eyed a potential spot next to an attractive girl who looked like a fellow university student. His eyes lit up.
However, he’d have to ask her to move her backpack out of the seat.
Suddenly, doubt seized him. What if she put the bag there on purpose, to signal she wanted to sit alone?
Vincent quickly began rationalizing. He didn’t want to put anyone on the spot.
After considering approaching the girl (with the motive of scoring a date), he ultimately backed out. Conscientious to the point of overkill, he cringed at the possibility of being seen as a lecherous fiend. God forbid he hit on a hot female, who from the looks of it, probably had a boyfriend anyway.
Vincent walked straight to the back of the bus to sit next to an old man reading a newspaper. “As usual, I’m a fucking chicken shit; no balls whatsoever. No wonder I can’t get laid.”
As the bus rolled along, and Vincent settled into his seat, he remarked that his classes had become pretty grueling lately, and that his professors’ grading scales had been veering towards the impossible. He knew that if he wanted a good grade on his latest assignment, in particular, he’d have to spend considerable time researching the topic, as well as writing and revising his text.
Earlier at the beginning of the school year, Vincent vowed to make a focused effort to do well. So besides eating, sleeping, and showering, he’d have to spend every conscious hour studying. He wasn’t like Colin, who could read a subject cold and understand all its nuances without effort. Similarly, Colin could write a formal piece with little or no preparation, and rarely did he need to edit or perfect his writing; the lucky bastard.
At the present at least, during the brief ride home, Vincent allowed himself the luxury to sit back and relax, if for no other reason than to stare off into space.
Instead of picturing waterfalls, rock formations, and other calm scenery, however, Vincent’s mind quickly flooded with images of his enigmatic yet troubled housemate: Sally’s small pale body engaged in hot steamy sex with her lover in an alley; used tissue, cotton balls, and swabs, thoroughly stained and bloody, all stuffed into the bathroom waste basket; white cotton panties lying on the floor next to a bed in a modest bedroom.
Actually, Vincent had been wondering about those white cotton panties lately, lying there all by their lonesome. Were they freshly washed and ‘sanitized’, or were they recently used and ‘natural’? If they had already been worn, then for how many days, and were they sufficiently soiled? What did they smell like? Was there any trace of laundry detergent or fruity perfume on the underwear? Or did they carry Sally’s pheromones, her pussy juice, her sweat, and even her urine?
Vincent thought an awful lot about Sally’s underwear these days, so often that he even wondered whether she locked her bedroom door while showering down the hall.
The bus came to an abrupt stop and its heavy doors swooshed open, immediately snapping Vincent back to real life. This being his stop, he jumped up, grabbed his backpack, and hurried off.
It was an especially quiet Sunday evening at Mrs. Perry’s boarding house, as Sally grabbed hold of her basket and walked down two flights of stairs, all the way down to the basement. No one was washing, so she had the machines all to herself. First she separated her whites from her colors, and then loaded her clothes into two washers. She then poured the detergent in and pushed some buttons to start things off.
She would have a good 30 minutes to kill until it was time to dry, but at least she had her phone with her. “This would be a good time to look for a job. You need to get your shit together”, she reminded herself.
Sally opened up her browser to continue the job hunt. Without realizing it, though, her mind started wandering. A frequent go-to was her unpleasant childhood.
At 24, however, Sally was starting to feel older and wiser. She reminded herself that she was no longer that sad little girl who felt inadequate every time she was compared to her over-achieving siblings.
She decided to turn over a new leaf, determined as ever to stop feeling sorry for herself.
Sally felt it was time to start putting her painful younger years in the past, and to leave them there for good. She would concentrate on moving forward with her relationship with BDSM, as he was her lover now.
That was when she began wondering, “Could she call him her boyfriend?”
Staring at the basement’s water-stained ceiling and walls, as well görükle escort as all the cleaning products up on the shelves, she concluded, “No, not quite a boyfriend yet, as she and BDSM did not go out on dates. Nor did he buy her presents. Nor did he phone her regularly to see how she was doing. No”, Sally concluded. “He was merely her fucker.”
In spite of her new resolve, Sally’s thoughts reverted back to an experience from when she was in high school, before her parents’ car accident.
One of her father’s business colleagues announced that his son, a brilliant university student, wanted to meet Sally.
“Someone wants to meet me?” asked an incredulous 17 year-old Sally, as she sat opposite her dad at the desk in his home office.
“That’s what Mr. Johnson said”, he confirmed, looking at her sympathetically, for he knew she had been disappointed when it came to boys and dating.
Sally couldn’t believe someone actually wanted to meet her. All sorts of questions swarmed in her head, none of which she voiced aloud, “Why would a normal boy want to meet plain old me? He’s in college, and I’m still in high school. He’s probably got tons of pretty girls to choose from over there at the university. Plus, he hasn’t even seen what I look like. Is Mr. Johnson even serious about this?”
Sally pondered for a few more seconds, “There’s probably a reason he wants his kid to meet me, and judging from my unlucky track record, I should be suspicious about it. Maybe it’s all a mean joke, at my expense of course.” She was used to Trevor and Nathalie making fun of her looks and unpopularity with the boys, so why should this be any different?”
Sally finally came up with an answer to give Mr. Johnson, “Dad, I’ve got finals to study for before Winter Break, so I can’t meet anyone right now”. She was relieved after declaring this, offering up her own version of a polite decline to what she saw was probably a prank anyway.
“Alright, I’ll let him know”, Sally’s father replied understandingly, as he never pushed her into anything she didn’t want to do. Besides, he knew that when her mind was made up, there was no persuading her to reconsider anything.
Weeks passed. Finals came and went.
Now, it was Mr. Johnson’s wife who got a hold of Sally’s father. She was calling from her husband’s phone, “Our Sean really wants to meet your Sally. She’s on Christmas vacation now, isn’t she? Finals are all done with, aren’t they…?”
After hanging up from the call, Sally’s father rolled his eyes somewhat, muttering to himself, “Here we go again…”
He quietly knocked on his daughter’s bedroom door, spotting her on the floor reading a book.
“Sally honey, Mr. Johnson’s son is asking again to meet you. He seems determined. I mean, the boy has waited all this time for your exams to be over. How’s that for persistence, huh? Old Johnson’s boy’s got resolve, I’ll tell you.”
Sally took off her glasses, put a bookmark on the page she was reading, and straightened up a bit. She furrowed her eyebrows somewhat. Looking up at her dad with slightly narrowed eyes, she asked, “Why does he want to meet me so much? Does he even know anything about me? Why me and not Nathalie?” She almost sounded hostile.
In his head, Sally’s father recalled that the Johnsons had never met Nathalie. But he was not going to jog Sally’s memory of this.
“Well, you met Mr. Johnson over the summer, remember? He and his wife came over for our Fourth of July pool party. I think he was impressed by you, honey.” The tiny detail that Nathalie had been away that weekend was conveniently omitted from their discussion.
Sally thought back a few months, “Yeah, I remember him. He was nice. I told him I was thinking of applying to Stanford, and he said he did his master’s there. He even gave me tips on what to write for my essay.”
“Well, I suspect he told Sean about you, and that’s why the young man wants to meet you.”
For a minute there, Sally held out a glimmer of hope. She thought, “Surely, Mr. Johnson told his son about my less than perfect looks. So if Sean still wants to meet me, then I guess it wouldn’t be so bad. And I’ve got nothing better to do for the moment, now that finals are over.” She looked up at her dad hesitantly, “Okay, I’ll meet him.”
Before she could ask for specifics regarding the meet up, her father spoke, “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot, Mrs. Johnson wants to be there when you kids meet. I think the whole set up was actually her idea. Come to think of it, she probably put her husband up to it”. He let out a chuckle and gave her a wink.
“Really? So she’ll choose where we meet?” Sally asked.
“Well, knowing her, yeah. And I think she wanted to see your mother again, too”. Then he motioned closer to his daughter, hand next to mouth as if to whisper a secret, “I think the woman’s a bit of a gossip, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
At the swanky restaurant, Sally didn’t tell anyone, bursa merkez escort but her “Gay-Dar” went off like a crazy buzzer, loud and clear. The minute she met Sean, she realized why his mom was so keen on setting him up with a girl. It wasn’t that he was effeminate or soft in any way; on the contrary, he was shy, undemonstrative, and not dressed especially fashionably. Rather, Sally simply got a “sense” that the young man, for no outward explanation, wasn’t into females.
She remarked to herself, “Mystery solved; that was the reason he wasn’t dating anybody (girl) at college.”
From what Sally could tell, however, the four parents at the table were none the wiser when it came to Sean’s sexual preference. Sally, though, noticed that he looked over at a good-looking waiter across the room at least three times in a span of an hour.
The rest of the evening, the two young people simply went through the motions of Mrs. Johnson’s “dinner party”.
When the ordeal was finally over, everyone got up from the table, put on their coats, and said their goodbyes. Sally’s parents walked out of the restaurant holding hands, trailing behind her as she was plenty glad to put an end to the evening’s charade.
As they were walking to the car, she overheard her mother whispering to her father when she thought Sally was not within earshot, “Don’t introduce the boy to Nathalie, that’ll be the end of Sally’s prospects.”
That night in bed, Sally felt like curling up into a little ball and disappearing. “After all that fuss getting me fixed me up with a boy; a fucking waste of time, that’s what it was. I’m a total waste of space.”
“Yo dude! You in there?” called Colin, knocking loudly on Vincent’s door.
“Yeah?” Vincent answered back, lifting his eyes from the laptop screen. He glanced at the time, almost 7pm.
“Hey dude, let’s go out for a beer. I’ve got to take a break from this studying… I’m getting cross-eyed.”
“I’ve got beer here, in my room”, Vincent offered, hollering back at the door.
“Nah, dude, no warm beer for me. I need to go out and get some fresh air. I’m all claustrophobic up in here.”
Vincent waited a few seconds before yelling back, “Ok, I’ll be out in a minute”. He took off his glasses, rubbed his tired eyes a bit, and put the glasses back on. Then he grabbed his jacket, phone, keys, and headed out.
What started out as a quick beer run turned out to be quite a long visit to the old neighborhood bar, located eleven blocks from the house. It also ended up involving hard liquor on Colin’s part. In fact, it took almost no time for him to get raunchy and crass, as the whiskey he downed served to loosen his tongue a bit. With a naughty look on his face, he directed a question at his pal, “Man, I wonder if Sally ever fucks young dudes like us, huh? She doesn’t just save it for the assholes on the street, right? I bet if we got her drunk enough, she’d give it up real fast!”
Vincent rolled his eyes. It was at this instant that his patience ran out. “I’m goin’ back to the house,” he said annoyingly, as he swiftly rose to his feet, more than ready to head out. “Thank God I stuck to beer tonight, even though I had more than planned”, he thought to himself, for he intended to return to the house and continue doing his research; that is, after this study break had gone awry.
“Wait, dude!” called a slightly taken aback Colin. “Wait up, man”, he yelled, as he grabbed his jacket from the chair and phone from the table.
Vincent hadn’t stopped to wait for his friend. Already out the door, he was swiftly walking down the street.
Colin ran after, “Jesus, dude! What is it with you and that chick? How come you’re so weirded out by her?”
“Cause she’s a fucking psycho, that’s why! Lord knows what the hell goes on in her nasty little mind!” Vincent spat out, disgusted. He was walking so fast with his long legs that Colin struggled just to keep up.
“I’m not talking about marrying the chick, dude. I’m just talking about fucking her, Jesus. You’re way too serious for your own good, man!”
“Dude, you’re not that desperate to get with her, believe me. Can you imagine how dirty and diseased she is, fucking losers on the street? Trust me, bro, like I said before, you don’t wanna go there with that one.”
“Man, why are you so pissed off about her? If you guys didn’t hook up or anything, then why do you give a shit how dirty she is? I mean, a fuck is a fuck, you know? And what do you think they invented Penicillin for?”
“She’s a pathetic nutcase, that’s all. I’m not subjecting myself to that kind of filth and shit, ok? I’ve got some standards”, Vincent announced vehemently.
“Well, I don’t”, Colin replied with his customary cackle.
Not amused, Vincent just shook his head and walked even faster, while his friend trailed bursa sınırsız escort behind, still laughing at his own comment, “Ok, ok, man, let’s drop it. Tons more chicks out there to fuck, right? Even though this one’s living conveniently under the same roof as us; what a waste!”
Fully feeling the effects of the four beers he chugged, Vincent was now back in his room considerably buzzed and struggling to read the news article staring at him from the computer screen. At his desk he sat, trying to stay focused, reminding himself he needed to get this read and understood before he could begin the writing assignment.
Scarcely had ten minutes gone by when he got up to close the windows and blinds. He made sure his bedroom door was locked, as nobody must inadvertently walk in.
In the privacy of his room, Vincent would indulge in some personal, secret pleasure. He would leave only the nightstand light on.
He retrieved the black plastic bag he had safely hidden in the closet. Slowly unfolding the crumpled bag, he fished out the panties. As he was holding them in his hand, he wondered something: if he were to keep the underwear in the closet for a length of time, would the closet eventually retain the scent of the bodily fluids, or the person who had worn them, i.e. her personal scent, her sweat, her urine, her feces, even her man’s semen…?
Vincent walked over to the nightstand for better lighting. He located the panties’ crotch, and stared for a long time, inspecting the beige-white creamy crusty spunk, almost as if he were a detective. Then, he closed his eyes and brought the underwear to his nose. Instead of taking a mere whiff, he inhaled deeply, with all the fiber in his being…
The pheromones of womanhood instantly hooked him in. He found the primal scent of pussy sexually stimulating, and that was putting it lightly. The infectious smell of vagina was nothing short of a majestic and glorious religious experience.
After at least five minutes of unadulterated sniffing, he opened his eyes. For a split second, he forgot where he was.
He dropped the panties on the bed momentarily and shed his clothes, throwing them on the floor. Again, he picked up the panties, lay down on the bed, turned off the light, and grabbed his cell phone. His online browser still had multiple tabs open, including Craigslist, Tinder and Instagram, as well as a website selling underwear previously worn by Japanese schoolgirls.
Holding the panties in his left hand and the phone in his right, Vincent opened up his YouTube app. From his previous viewing, the page still showed a snippet of “Orange is the New Black” season three, in which Piper starts a dirty-panties business from prison. Now, in the search box, Vincent typed in the name of his favorite Radiohead song. He then connected ear buds to the phone. There. He was now ready to indulge in a long-fantasized kink.
With a tinge of shame but not much, Vincent remarked inwardly that he had never stolen anything before in his life, and certainly not a girl’s worn underthings.
He remembered back to one time when he was about thirteen. He had gone down to the family’s laundry room to wash his soccer uniform. The washer was still running, with only a few minutes left, so he waited. He noticed there was a basket of his big sister’s clothes on the floor. Since he hadn’t masturbated that morning, raging hormones had been coursing mercilessly through every vein in his pubescent adolescent body. In fact, the hormones were wreaking havoc on the poor boy, hindering him from concentrating on his chemistry homework that evening.
On the subject of chemistry, coincidentally, he wondered if a female’s pussy juice was made of the same element(s) as a male’s semen. He also wondered if his sister’s pussy secreted much stuff throughout the day.
On an impulse, he rummaged through the basket of dirty clothes and quickly found a pair of Christy’s pink cotton Jockey briefs. He looked at the crotch and marveled at the creamy, buttery crust stuck on the undies. Almost without thinking, he wholeheartedly buried his nose in the somewhat dried yogurt of his sister’s underwear. He went nuts…
A revelation came to him, “This is what they’re talking about when referring to ‘chemistry’; to describe the strong physical attraction between two people; one person’s body ‘chemistry’ elicits a powerful reaction from another person, and when that happens, HOT DAMN!”
Vincent got highly aroused from smelling his sister’s dirty underwear, and suddenly he felt the need to jack off.
He quickly put the cotton briefs back where he found them, ran up to his room, and masturbated to orgasm, in record time; or so it seemed to him.
Truth be told, he had been tempted to steal his big sister’s dirty underwear on that very occasion, but felt too scared to go through with it. Was it the stigma of incest, or just the humiliation of sneaking and swiping someone’s unmentionables that managed to creep him out? Or was it simply the embarrassment of possibly being caught and branded a “sick fuck” by the rest of the family? He had never quite come to a conclusion for why he chickened out. Or maybe that was it. He was chicken.
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