***Author's note: This is written from a women's point of view. I am not a woman, nor have I ever been. And for those of you who say that we all start out as a woman in the womb, that's not true. We're neuters then. Anyhow, this is for Marxist's story contest, the rules: Under 800 words and set a college. This is my entry. Feel free to psychoanalyze, just send me the results.***
My name is Shannon Seaborne. At the age of 20, now, I've been going to DeVry university for some time now, because my LSAT and MCAT scores were only in the 88th percentile. Yes, the same DeVry that you see when watching 'Charles in Charge' reruns. DeVry was my hell for screwing my way through school and getting bad test scores.
The day was cold, wind rushed against me as I ran to class, entering the building as the bell rang. Damn. Being the last one to enter, everyone looked at me, and I loved it. I could feel the boys' eyes over my full breasts, long legs, tight ass, and long black hair. I flashed them a smile, I loved the attention, it makes me horny.
The lecture began and I began to lose interest quickly, wondering why I even bothered to come to class at all. I looked around the room, smiling back at those whom I caught looking at me. When I turned back to the front, the professor had put up a transparency assigning groups to get together for an exercise. I found my name and looked at the four names paired with me- all boys. I smiled, thinking, "This could be interesting."
A general murmur came over the room as people moved around the room. I waited for these four potential-studmuffins to assemble and wait for me, men always do. I put a little shake in my walk and pushed out my chest as I walked over and interrupted them, "Is this group 34C?"