Every month some girls complain about horrible cramps, having to change their tampon, their bitchy attitudes, how insensitive their boyfriends are to their ridiculous qualms, etc.
I’d like to see them handle my monthly courses.
The week before my period comes, I get turned on by practically everything. The smell of a boy within two feet of me makes me a crazy person. My cheeks get red and hot, my mouth waters, my stomach feels hollow, my boobs feel huge, my breathing comes slow and uneven. And that is just from smelling a boy around me.
A sweaty, shirtless boy from the gym walks by and I nearly fall over convulsing in pleasure need. I catch my breath and keep walking, trying not to pay attention to my surroundings.
I have an arrangement with a boy on the tenth floor of Dixon Hall. He doesn’t know the specifics. He doesn’t know why I suddenly need him. He doesn’t know why I show up at all hours of the night and day and slam him inside me so hard that I nearly pass out in ecstasy. He doesn’t need to know. He doesn’t complain either.
It’s bad today. Worse than I have felt it in a long time. I have been trying to keep it under control. I satisfy myself on a regular basis, I stay away from places like the gym or the pool. But no matter, sex is everywhere these days. Tonight, it was the sound of my roommate in the shower; wet, with soap and shampoo running down her tight, hard body, as she caresses herself in abandon....
Uh, I can’t stand it anymore. I throw on some clothes, leave the dorm and practically run to Dixon. The running helps, it gives my muscles something to do, and shuts my mind up for a few seconds. I reach the doors, swipe my key, and walk inside the warm lobby. Almost there.
The door to the elevator opens and someone walks in. I make the split decision to take the elevator rather then run the ten flights up. The elevator will be faster, and I need fast. I follow inside the elevator.
“What floor?” Shit. Just my luck. The other person on the elevator is a guy. A very, very hot guy.
“Ten.” My voice comes out coarse, while I try not to breathe in his cologne. Damn, he smells delicious. I close my eyes so I can’t see him. The faster this elevator ride, the better.
“Are you alright?” He sounds concerned. I must really be freaking out.
I try to look normal, open my eyes, slow my breathing, take deep breaths of his testosterone in the air. It burns slowly down my throat as I swallow. “Yeah. I just ran all the way from the gym. So out of shape.” I laugh lightly.
His eyes look amused. He opens his mouth, his full, warm mouth as if to say something, but the world drops. At first, I think it’s just me. That my orgasmic shakes have started already. But I see that he looks worried too.
“What the fuck was that?” He looks around the elevator as if the answer would be evident on the inside of the steel box that is the walls of the elevator.
“Shit.” My whisper sits in the air.
He looks at me. “Are you fucking kidding me? No. No. No. No. Why won’t the doors open? Where’s the emergency button? No! We are not stuck in here!” He bangs the doors. “Hello! Get us the fuck out of here! Hello! Can anyone hear me?”
Hearing him say fuck is making my panties wet. I slide down the wall of the elevator and sit on the floor. If I sit down on something hard, maybe I can hold on to what I have left of my sanity.
While he tries desperately to call the emergency line on a cell phone with no service for the next ten minutes, swearing under his breath, I focus on breathing.
“You don’t look okay.” His voice is deep. It is like gravel coated in honey. I want to taste it.
My eyes closed, all I can do is lick my lips and swallow. Speech is beyond me now.
“Cool, stuck in an elevator with no cell service and a girl going through some sort of break down. Awesome.” He says quietly to himself.
Come on, suck it up. Breathe. Focus. I am stronger than this.
“Sorry, I ...” I don’t even know what to say. How do I explain this behavior? “I don’t really feel like myself right now.”
He doesn’t say anything right away. I open my eyes to see his expression. His eyes are so big with shock and he is staring at my skirt. I know I am rather scantily clad as I threw on very little when I ran out but, why the drastic expression?
And then I realize, I am touching myself. Slowly and gently, massaging the outside of my dewy panties.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” I force my hand away and pull my skirt down.
It takes him awhile for him to snap back to reality. He blinks a few times, and clears his throat. “No, umm... okay.”
Silence floats for awhile. He continues to stare at me as he slides down to sit opposite of me against the elevator. I try to look away, but my eyes won’t obey. They are busy passing over his face and his body. His button down shirt is wrinkled and worn. His jeans slung low on his hips. His shoes are dirty and the laces are falling out. His hair, dark and ruffled, begging for my fingers to grab it as I take him inside me. I shudder. Close my eyes. My bra is too tight. Breathe. Breathe. I can feel my liquids drip from my panties down my thigh. I can’t keep this up.
“So, ... umm do you live here?” I attempt normal small talk. It comes out breathy and rough. My hands roam from my face to my hair. I keep my fingers busy twirling my hair as I bite my lip, trying to get a grip on myself.
He shifts, uncomfortably. His pants tighten against the bulge in his pants, letting me see his growing erection, I let out a moan. It slipped out. I really didn’t mean to. His breathing hitches as he watches me.
“I’m sorry. I...I’m so sorry. I can’t...Fuckkk, I’m sorry.” Damn it, I’ve totally lost it. I’m shaking.
“I don’t know what’s happening.” The honey in his voice is rougher. His eyes look as if painfully melting from restraint.
“I need to...umm...” My eyes plead. Please understand. Please. I can’t take it any longer.
