I found pizza under a couch. Not a pizza box. No box to be found. Not a single slice, but instead eight slices, composing a whole pizza of what I can only assume was pepperoni pizza, all perfectly arranged under the couch. Like it was being delivered to hungry mice whose ordering reach far exceeds their grasp. Or a bunch of morons with the munchies. Fifty/fifty.
I had been tempted, only briefly, to leave the pizza out as a reminder to my frat brothers to clean up after themselves. But, given the bags of filth I trucked out to the dumpster, this cause was lost. I tossed the pizza in with the condom wrappers, used dental floss, and random crusty Kleenex that so recently littered our floors.
You might think that I would be unhappy, cleaning up after a couple dozen very well connected douchebags. And, on a normal night, you would be right. But this was not a normal night. This was a night in which the mere fact of my association with Alpha Nu Alpha Lambda resulted in me getting the kind of blow job reserved for men with excessive body hair, giant cigars, and private armies. A night in which one of the hottest women I had ever seen allowed me to not only cover a tile in ethnic bingo (Row: BJ, Column: Asian. Bingo!) but also had me paint her face like a drunken Jackson Pollack.
So while I may be the lowest man on a very mungy totem pole, I was also a man who had had my pole waxed. I was in a post orgasm glow, and oscillated between absolute disbelief that I might ever be so lucky, and a profound fear that the best thing that might ever happen to me had already happened.
It was deep into one of these swings into self doubt, and deep into a pile of what I could only assume were once out dishes, that the doorbell rang.
It may seem crazy to you that I did not run to the door. It may seem crazy to you that I did not even leave the dishes behind. But, to be clear, you are three hundred words into chapter two. I assumed I was living in the boring epilogue of chapter one.
So I did not walk to the door. And I did not run. Instead I picked up the next sorry excuse for a plate and started scrubbing.
The doorbell rang again. With feeling. And then again. Eventually I realized that whomever was pushing it was actually tapping out a beat. A lively bossa nova thing. And they were not going anywhere.
No night is perfect. I put the dish down, dried off my hands, and walked to the door. The persistent beat made my feet want to run, but I kept them under control.
I stood in front of the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.
"Welcome to Alpha Nu, how can I help you?"
It was dark outside. But she was very blonde. The kind of blonde that happens when you have hair bleach and a wandering mind. The hair framed a lovely face, ghostly pale. And now I was staring. She smiled, a thousand watt thing.
"You can help me by getting out of my way."
"What?"
"'How can you help me?'" She said. "You just asked. Then you got stupid."
"Right. No. Come in. I'm Cam." I moved out of the way
She pushed past me, pulling a giant roller bag.
"I'm Mary. But everyone calls me Daisy."
"Why is that?"
She hit me with the smile again. "Because I tell them to."
She put the bag down, then spun around like a Julie Andrews on a German mountain. This caused her slightly modest sundress to become much less modest, and gave me a lovely view of a pair of runner's legs. And I was staring again.
"This will have to do. It's funny, because the place looks so classy outside. All bricks and ivy. Then you come in and it looks like someone threw up on the floor." She said.
"Someone does throw up on the floor. Every day. His name is Ted. He calls it clearing his throat."
Daisy looked at me with an expression that I could not place. Something between amused and irritated.
"Let the artist work, dear." She said. "And that is not the visual I want in my head."
She stalked around the room, framing parts with her fingers.
"I want sultry. I want dark. I want something that oozes passion and hunger and need." She said.
"It's a dump. A dump with couches that are so nasty they make crunching sounds when you sit on them." I said.
"It needs lighting. It needs ambiance. It needs to be perfect."
"Perfect for what?" I asked.
"This!" She said. Then she handed me a piece of paper. I scanned it.
"Is this a shot list?"
"Of course. You can't direct without one."
"And everything on this-" I waved the sheet. "Is going to happen here?"
"Of course."
"Who is playing willing young co-ed?" I asked.
"Me. I am the star of all my works."
"And who is playing the hard and ready young stud?"
"Well Cam, I was going to audition the boys," She said. And then that smile almost knocked me down. "but you're the only one here. So... are you up for it?"
I started pulling off my pants.
She put a hand on my chest.
"Hold up cowboy. You've seen the shot list. Not until scene 3. Now help me set up."
You might think a roller bag would only hold a small amount of film equipment. You would be wrong. You might think that setting up lights, area mikes, a camera, and a bunch of shit that I do not have names for would be difficult with an erection. You would be right. But, given the proper motivation, all work can be rewarding.
"I've never seen anyone work so fast." She said.
"I'm a lover of film." I said. "You know, I don't normally ask questions when an absurdly attractive woman asks me to make a porno with her-"
"You get asked that a lot?" She said, as she was draping sheets over the couch.
"More than I'd have ever thought." I said. "But why are we making a porno?"
"Because I am an Omega Mu. And this is our annual scavenger hunt." She said. "This video should be worth 355 points, should you be able to keep your load in for every shot."
"So, I'm just going to ask this." I said. I looked up and saw her fiddling with the camera. It took me a second to refocus from looking down her dress at her very impressive rack. She caught me looking, and smiled behind the viewfinder.
"Why are you doing this at all. This is not me trying to scare you away, I am just really curious."
She stopped for a second, and pulled a couple of wispy blonde strands from in front of her face to behind her ear. I don't know that I believe in any god, but if one exists he must be damn happy with his work here.
"Do you know how competitive Omega Mu is? The girls there are driven to be great. They will walk off this campus and into lives that most people only dream of. And I'm a film major. They don't respect what I do. They don't understand it. Most of them can't even be bothered to stay awake during my films."
She stepped close, so close I could smell strawberries and the faintest hint of excitement.
"But they will stay awake for this one. By the time I'm done showing it to them they'll be sitting in puddles of their own juice, awkwardly fidgeting and looking for any excuse to get back to their rooms and get their stuck up snatches off. That room will absolutely stink of arousal and lust and need. And they will know that I am one hell of a filmmaker."
My dick was threatening to leave my body and go into orbit.
"Is the camera rolling? I need it to be rolling." I said.
She pointed at the red light. "It's been rolling for the last five minutes. Take off your shirt."
I took my shirt off so damn fast I nearly sprained my shoulders.
"I don't have a script."
"We'll improvise."
She close her eyes and leaned in. I laid my fingers on top of her hand, gliding them up her arm, to her shoulders.I traced her collarbone, then ran them up her neck, to her cheek. Her lips parted. I leaned in to meet them with my own. I felt a slight shudder as they touched, and I wondered if perhaps all her confidence masked a delicacy, a pure and innocent nature, uncorrupted by all the debauchery that surrounds her.
Then I felt a firm hand against my chest. It shoved me on to the couch. I fell with no resistance. She walked up to me, put one leg up by my head and pulled up her dress, revealing absolutely no underwear. "You will lick the living shit out of my pussy. If you're lucky I'll let you lick my ass. And If you do a very good job at that I will let you put that monster trying to escape your jeans balls deep inside me."
I am a terrible judge of character.
That delicate flower ground her incredibly wet pussy into my face. I am not the smartest guy. And I am no actor. But I certainly take direction. I put my hands on her thighs to steady her, then teased her outer lips with my tongue, splitting them, letting them close, tasting her mix of sweat and natural lubrication. I pulled the inner lips between mine, tracing them up to the hard nub. I ran my lips against it, lightly at first, teasing it with my tongue. She rocked her hips into my face, grinding her clit against my lips.
