Author's Notes: This story is fictional erotica designed to be experienced
strictly
by adults over the age of eighteen. I disclaim all responsibility for the actions of anyone not lawfully allowed to read this material, as well as anyone that may be disturbed by this material.
"No, I'm not an 'Ay-rab', you dolt. I'm IranianâBalochi."
"Balochi... so where you from, bro?"
"I just toldâforget it. See you next class..."
It's difficult to conceive that even after only a few years in the United States, it seems that only about half the population understands English better than I doâforgive me; this is a gross exaggeration. Perhaps a quarter of the population understands English better than I do.
But perhaps I should rewind, a little, and explain things to you.
I'm John. John Baloch.
Well, not exactlyâmy real name's Shajahan Baloch, but I adopted John as an alternative to a given name far, far more likely to be butchered by English "speakers". I'm here to study, and I'm in my second year at a tech school. In another two years, I'll have a degree in chemical engineering under my beltâI'm not sure if I want to head back to Iran, or stay here.
It's not an easy decision, see. Granted, Americans suck at communicating in their own languageâwell, mostlyâbut, God
damn
are American chicks hot.
At home, I've seen women flogged for going around without a head covering on. Here, I can get all the eye candy I wantâmy school's on the Floridian coast, see, so it's more common than not to see girls heading to the beach, after class, wearing "clothes" that would get them shot anywhere in the Middle East.
There are other benefits to living in America, as well. Civil rights, variety in food, less pollution, a shot at a better life, and a generally better standard of livingâbut I'm a horny young guy. I don't think about much
besides
girls.
Maybe that's what's keeping me from getting laid, becauseânot to be immodestâbut I'm a decent looking dude, at least. I'm six-four, and 200 lbsâI guess I could stand to gain a few pounds, but I
like
my build. I'm pretty fit; I run and do pushups every day, so what body mass I do have is predominantly muscle.
My skin's usually about the shade of white oak woodâjust between nicely tanned, and fairâbut after living in Florida for two years, I'm a little darker than that. My eyes are kind of weirdâthey sometimes look greenish, but mostly, they're sort of blue-grey. It's tough to describe.
My hair's black, and I keep it short. Right now, it's maybe an inch long and spiked in the front. As far as how I dress... it's not too involved. Denim or cargo shorts, and graphic tees.
It's been a tough day, so I'm looking forward to a nap before dinner as I head back to my dorm. My roomate's got class for like two more hoursâmaybe I'll rub one out; I got nothing better to do.
After getting into my room, the first thing I do is take my shirt offâdamn AC's broken again. As I do so, I can't help but look at myself in a nearby mirror, flexing my biceps. I smirk.
"I look good..."
"Oh, yes Hell you do..."
What the fuâI'm supposed to be alone! I turn, on a dime, after jumping maybe ten feet into the air, then freeze.
"Oh... Christ, Julia, you almost gave me a heart attack..."
Julia's my roommate's girlfriend. I have a class or two with herâshe's a pretty decent chick, actually. Not too dumb, and probably the single hottest girl I regularly see, and, in coastal Florida, that's saying something. Lemme describe herâshe's five-seven, with a nice hourglass frameâbut it's hard to guess her weight. See, she's got massiveâand I mean massiveâknockers. If I had to guess, I'd say double or even triple Dsâyeah. That big.
Her ass is nice and thick, too. She's on the volleyball team, too, so it's nice and tight, tooâwhat I'd give to take that thing for a ride...
Her skin's about the shade of mine, and she's got green eyesâunlike mine, hers don't change color. Her hair is a really nice light brown, and about mid-back lengthâit's wavy, too; I guess she takes a lot of care of it.
I don't realize that I've been staring at her for maybe two minutesâshe damn sure does, though, because her eyes are locked on my crotch area, and the visible bulge beneath my pants. Embarassed, I sort of fidget, and try to hide it behind my deskâfuck, I'm too tall, it's not really working...
"Is that a gun in your pocket, orâheheheh... did I really do that to you just like that? Or are you
that
desperate and horny, John?"
"Of course you did it to me," I say, shortly. "I mean, look at how you're dressed," I add, accusingly, pointing at her clothingâor lack thereofâwith a finger.
She's not wearing too muchâa pair of short shorts that are oh so tightâthey're stretched to the limit, showing off the shapeliness of her legs. Her shirt's been cut, just below the breasts, so that her nice, flat midriff is showing... fucking Zach, this is his fault. He probably read the day wrong or something, and told her that they could get it on now, while I'm at class. Now I'm stuck looking like a jackass in front of a girl it takes conscious effort to not pin down and rape.
"Oh, these old things? Yeah, I was gonna put on a little show for Zach, but it looks like he's not here... oh well. You'll have to do instead."
"Huh?"