When I was a young girl I can remember my mother bringing me to church. She instilled into my head the values that the church held and forced me to have those same values. When I was older and she was explaining girl things to me I can recall her telling me how boys would want me to do things; Things she said I wouldn't want to do.
She made it clear that I was not supposed to do any of these things that these evil boys would want me to do. She told me some of them would be OK when I was older, and when I got married. She said that even after I was married some of them were still bad. They were things that God didn't want me to do.
Here I am now, away from my mother. She was right about some of what she said. Boys did want me to do all kinds of things. What she was wrong about was the fact that I did want to do them. I wanted to do them very badly. I'd done some of them before and I enjoyed it. Why wouldn't God want me to do something that was enjoyable? I still didn't understand.
Maybe it was because she had brought me up to be such a prude. But as I got older, the desire to do these things was getting stronger. I wanted to be able to stop fighting boys (now men) off, I wanted to stop saying no. I wanted to do what they told me, to do whatever it might be that they asked. I knew, and maybe my mother did too, that I had a slut inside of me. Now, at 25 and living on my own, I wanted to let that inner slut out.
I had been fantasizing about this night for months. Imagining in my head what it would be like. To meet a man, talk to him, laugh at his jokes no matter how corny they were, then be brought back to his place for sex. I imagined how it would feel, to be in bed with someone I barely knew. He wouldn't care about me, or how I felt, so he'd probably be rough and finish quickly. I'd lay there unsatisfied, knowing that there was an inner slut in me. That inner slut would want more and so would I.
I had decided that tonight would be the night. As I looked through my closet I knew I had nothing that would gain the desired affect. I looked around a bit hysterical. Finally I remembered a box of clothing I had worn maybe as far back as high school or my first year in college.
I tore through the box, tossing things nearly across my bedroom as I searched. Near the bottom I found a skirt. It was tiny; I knew I had found the skirt I'd wear out tonight. It was a sand color, made of a thick material that would keep the skirt stiff and in place instead of flowing.
I searched for a blouse to go with it, but could find none I thought suitable. Finally I found a maroon shirt that was cut far too low in the neck for me. I looked at it smiling to myself knowing that this would definitely scream slutty with the skirt. It didn't even really look good with the skirt, but I didn't care. I just knew my chest would half hang out of it.
I ironed the clothes, picked a white pushup bra and a pair of white bikini panties that were at the bottom of my draw. They struck me as very juvenile, having pink balloons with wavy strings printed on them. For some reason they put the mental image I wanted into my head. They looked very innocent, childish even, but under them was a slut waiting to be born.
I put on my clothes and looked at myself in the mirror. The skirt was uncomfortably short. It wasn't bad in the front, but the back barely covered my ass. I bent in various ways in front of the mirror. Bending in the slightest at the waist exposed my panties, and my ass cheeks. Sitting down was also difficult. I had to pull and hold the skirt down so that it didn't ride up my hips and expose everything for the world to see.
I put slightly more makeup than usual on. I didn't want to over do it and look like a clown, but I also was attempting to look younger for the first time in my life. I had decided weeks ago to bring out my slut to a boy in college first. I wasn't sure why at the time, but now I think it's because I remember them as being the ones who most wanted one night stands.
As I put the finishing touches on I decided that it was more important to release this inner slut of mine, than to do it with the best looking guy in the bar. I decided that the first even half way decent looking guy who hit on me would have me.
I called a cab, and while I waited for it to arrive I wondered. How would I make sure that he knew I wanted to go home with him? How would I act? Would I be some kind of air head like the stereotypical slut? Like the girl on Married with Children or maybe how Jessica Simpson acts, I thought to myself.
When the cab arrived I gave him the name of the bar, even though I knew that his dispatcher had told him where I was going when I called. I saw him looking back at me through his mirror quite often; I thought this was a good sign of things to come. When we arrived at the bar, I leaned into the front window to pay him. I knew my shirt was hanging down and he was looking right down my shirt. I looked at him, knowing he'd been "caught" he looked away, but I made no attempt to move as I counted out the fee to him.
After paying, I turned around and did a quick survey of the outside of the bar. I wasn't sure why it seemed so important to look around, but here I was doing it as if it had some significance. I took a deep breath and started toward the door.
Approaching the door, it opened. The bouncer on the other side of it was holding it open for me. I smiled and thanked him as I attempted to walk in. He stopped me by firmly grabbing my arm.
"I need to see some ID" He said.
"Oh" I giggled, "Here, sorry." I said after digging into my purse.
He looked at the ID, then looked at me; Then after looking at the ID and seeming to examine me from head to toe he told me that there was a three dollar entrance fee.
I paid the money and walked to the bar. I noted faces and who was doing what. I returned a few small smiles of the obviously more confident and aggressive guys in the bar. At the bar I couldn't decide if I wanted to drink beer, or "girlie" drinks.
I looked around at the other girls in the bar. It was about an even split between fruity mixed drinks, wine coolers of some sort, and beer. I decided finally to get a beer. I thought that I'd drink that the slowest and therefore not get drunk, or as drunk as I might on something else.
I sat on a stool and turned around facing the crowd. I remembered to flatten out my skirt almost too late, but crossing my legs I sipped my beer, wondering if anyone would approach me.
It was strangely nerve racking. As if I was being tested, analyzed and surveyed. Quite a few of the guys made eye contact as they went from one side of the bar to the other. Some smiled, most did not. I tried to give at least a small smile to most of them whose eyes locked on mine.
I decided to mingle a little bit. I carefully got up off the bar seat and walked toward the area where the pool tables were. I stood and watched as some people played. Some seemed very good. Most didn't seem much better than me, and I'm pretty bad.
As I stood and watched someone came from almost behind me and asked if I wanted to play. I turned and looked at him. He was smiling and holding a pool stick. He was good looking, in good shape and waiting for an answer.
I giggled again, "I'm not very good" I confided.
"That's fine, it's just something to do." He told me.
I thought of my skirt and how it would surely expose me if I bent over to shoot pool. That was my mother talking though, tonight my slut's desire to be released was in charge.
"Sure, why not then. Just don't beat me too badly." I said playfully.
He let out a laugh and said, "I won't, do you want another beer before we start?"
I looked at my still half full beer. "Yeah sure, thanks." I accepted.
After a few minutes he was back. He placed money in the machine and the balls dropped. As he set them up in the triangle he asked my name.
"Jenn" I told him smiling.
"Doug" he told me without my asking.
After setting the balls up, he asked if he could break. After seeing it was fine with me he hit the balls and they spread out. He was pretty good. He got 2 balls in before it was my turn. As I bent over the table I was painfully aware that anyone looking could either see straight down my shirt or from behind up my skirt.
I missed and Doug came to the table to shoot again. Conversation started to flow and we introduced ourselves to each other in more detail. He told me about where he was from, what his major was, what he liked to do, all kinds of things that, to be honest, I really didn't care about. I answered his questions as he answered his own. I would normally enjoy this. Getting to know someone is usually quite fun.
Twice more I shot, once having to bend over the table for a long reach with my back directly toward where he was sitting. I had no doubt that he was able to stare directly at my panties. To be honest it was a bit of a turn on knowing that he could.
He was finished with his beer when he won. He asked if I wanted to play again. I agreed to one more game, and again he offered me a beer. I told him this time that I thought that I was ok, still having about three quarters of the one he had bought for me. He handed me a dollar and asked if I could "rack" while he got himself a beer.
The machine ate the dollar and the balls fell again. I took out the triangle and placed all of the balls in it. I knew there was supposed to be an order, but I didn't know what that order was. I figured he could fix it if he wanted and took the triangle off the table.
The bar was a bit more crowded now and Doug took a bit longer to return this time. When he did come back he was holding out another bottle of beer for me.
"It's getting crowded, I figured you might want another one and not have to stand in line." He told me.
I took the bottle from him and thanked him, smiling at his thoughtfulness.
"I don't think I set them up right." I told him.
"That's OK, it doesn't really matter." He said as he got ready to smash the white ball.
We talked as we played. Again I exposed myself to him and the rest of the bar as I shot the ball. I was aware of people watching during this game but didn't let on that I knew. It was quite a rush I have to admit.
After he got the 8 ball in he asked if I wanted to go to another bar that he knew. He told me that it was a bit quieter and easier to talk. I honestly didn't want to go to another bar. I'd have rather just gone back to his place. After a pause I accepted his offer and we walked out of the bar together. I felt him place his arm around my waist as we walked. I made no attempt to stop him.
He led me to a car and made his way to open the door for me, but instead backed me up against the car door and looked at me. I wondered what went through guy's heads at this point in relationships. "To kiss or not to kiss" I joked to myself in my head. This brought a smile to my face and apparently was the permission that he was looking for.
He leaned into me and kissed me on my mouth. I didn't move away, instead I parted my lips and let him explore my mouth with is tongue as I felt his hand going up my side and then cupping my breast briefly before he ended the kiss and opened the door.
As I sat in the passenger seat I almost couldn't believe what I was doing. I managed to touch up my lipstick real fast before he was able to get into the driver's seat.
He told me the place wasn't far as he turned the ignition. As he drove we chatted and eventually his hand found it's way to mine and he interlocked his fingers with mine. He was quite confident I thought. I began to wonder if he was older than I thought. I didn't remember any college guys being this self-assured.
