Cara Rourke flipped her long black hair as she strode with great energy up to the steps of the house. Once a stately suburban home, it now housed a fraternity at the University of Texas at Austin, with jagged Greek letters above the doorway. Loud music pounded inside, reverberating through the glass of the many windows in the red brick building. On the doorstep, Cara paused and took out her phone.
She sighed deeply. She knew her soul was going to Hell for what she was about to do, which was to shatter a heart. A sweet, gentle and intelligent heart. It belonged to her high school boyfriend, Bradley, the valedictorian of their class who had seen past her hand-me-down clothes, bowl-cut hair, and thick glasses to see the thoughtful and sensitive girl inside. He loved her, she knew, but he could not offer her what she really craved.
Her fingers played over the surface, loading up the draft that she had copied from a Literotica story:
My darling,
All things must pass, even all good things. We were destined to go separate ways in life, and so we must romantically, as well. I have changed -- no, I have become more of what I always wanted to be. I cannot be caged by your expectations any longer. Let this little bird free. Thank you for three wonderful years, and I will always think gratefully of you and your kind affectionate ways, but we must no longer be boyfriend and girlfriend. My new life awaits, and I know that you will celebrate me finding who I am, and flowering into the woman I was born to be.
Affectionately,
Cara
Impatiently, she waited for it to load, then hit the SEND button and walked inside. Waiting for her ID check, she remembered how things had been.
"I'll just drive down every other weekend," he had said. Bradley was at Rice in the big flat swamp of a city to the southeast, doing some kind of research in cell biology. He had placed out of a year of classes and gone straight into the lab, and was looking forward to a promising career. Her parents, friends, sister, and grandmother all loved him. On paper, Bradley was perfect. He took her out to nice but sensible places, made love to her like he was handling precious jewels, and was utterly faithful to her.
It felt suffocating to Cara. It was like someone had entrusted her with a priceless antique, knowing that she would drop it. The stress of it got to her, Cara decided. She recalled the moment everything had changed: she had left her last class of the day, and was standing by a tree, wearing a sensible dress with her hair in a practical cut. But then, she looked around. Saw kids barely out of high school, just being kids. Drinking beer, having sex, smoking cigarettes, dancing, running around, smoking weed, and giving the finger to Authority.
Cara sighed. Her conscience yanked her out of that bright vision back to her future: more studying, a degree, marriage, family, and being a trophy wife for Bradley as he traveled the world promoting whatever brilliant technology he was certain to invent. She turned, orienting her feet and feelings toward her lonely dorm room, when suddenly...
ZOT!
She remembered a bright light all around her as she fell, then lying back looking up at the sky. A cluster of red, green, and blue lights hovered for a moment, then ascended and picked up speed, headed toward the red dot in the far starfield. I just got zapped by Martians, she thought, and then the thought flew from her head as she felt a pulsing in her groin. She flushed with heat. Thoughts of penises -- pink, tan, black, and brown -- flew through her head. They grew to enormous size, delectable as an ice cream cone. Her eyelids fluttered.
"Are you okay?" said a voice.
Cara looked up. A girl -- one of those girls: platinum bottle-blonde, a hundred pounds soaking wet, huge breasts barely constrained by her football jersey, dangle earrings, lip gloss -- leaned over and touched her.
"Yeah, I think so," said Cara. "I just got zapped by something."
"Oh! It's your first time? I'm Mandy. You just hit by the Martian slut ray! That's so hot! Just kidding! Listen, we're doing a mixer at Kappa Alpha tonight, and..."
And so it began. First, the makeover back at the sorority house. Next, her first taste of a mixed drink, and a joint floating around the room. After that, loud pulsing music with an ancient beat, and a room full of people, including boy-- men! Men with washboard abs and huge pecs. Large hands, which meant (how did she know this? it was embedded in her mind somehow) they had giant, drooping penises which would awaken if she made the right noises. Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. Cara was on the hunt.
The next morning, she woke up in a strange room. A large man slumbered next to her with ginger hair and a a beard. Football gear covered half of the room. Another girl was passed out in a chair, still holding a bottle of champagne, and on the small coffee table, there were still a couple of lines of coke. She took a bump, not sure where she'd learned to do this so well, and then shrugged. Shouldn't let the other one go to waste. She did that one too, and stood up.
Lingerie hung from the lamps and doorknobs. A few condoms, bulging, lay on the ground like overripe fruit. The smell of beer and sex hit her like a humid wall, so she removed some cum-soaked hot pants from the vent and let the cool air from the central system blow out the stench. A half-smoked joint was in the ashtray, so she lit it, drawing in the fragrant herbal smoke and blowing it in an arcing plume across the room. She kicked a sperm-riddled teddy off the ground, only to see it was covered a large pile of feces with semen leaking out from under it.
Empty beer bottles seemed to have rolled around the room. She pried the champagne from the arms of the girl across the way. It was flat, so she foraged in the fridge and got a beer. Popping the top and taking a swig, she finally felt herself again, like she had come home. Combing her hair, and giving herself a quick squirt of minty fresh breath spray, she gave out a little giggle and say loudly, "I'll call you!"
The male figure waved from the bed, semi-conscious and, she believed, hung over like a 70s rerun. Sprinting from the room, she went back to her dorm.
Her roommates greeted her with shock from their positions huddled around a table over physics homework. "What happened to you?" said Eleanor, her lab partner. "You look like you got hit by...a Martian slut ray or something."
She exchanged looks with the other two nerds at the table, and Cara laughed. They shrugged. Swigging her beer, Cara stumbled into her room and passed out in exhaustion. When she woke, she found that she had missed calls from Mandy, ...and Bradley. She called Mandy back and soon they were chattering away. She couldn't bear to call him, but Mandy had done this before, and pointed her to a web site where she found all the information she would need.
Then, on Mandy's advice, she got herself some Ben-Gay for her aching calves and Preparation H for her throbbing anus. She douched and took a Z-pak in case anyone had, you know, a party disease. Then she hopped out the door, saying, "Bye, nerds!" to her confused lab team. Eleanor shook her head.
WHOMP!
Someone crashed into the wall next to her. "Uh, sorry, hey, what's your number?" said the large male, before his eyes crossed and he passed out in a fog of alcohol, sex, and pizza.
"ID?" said the bored student worker checking. Cara slipped over the new fake she had acquired with Mandy from a friend down at the reprographics lab. The student worker handed over a wristband, and Cara paid the ten bucks entrance fee, then began to mingle with the guests. She was dressed as a slutty Virgin Mary, wearing the wimple over a bustier with a rosary around it, like a Madonna video where no one said "no" or mentioned being tasteful.
She drank from her red plastic SOLO cup, some mixture of random fruit, berry, and mint flavor with a lot of Everclear in it. Within an hour she was out of control, and had been raided in all three of her holes (not to mention an ill-timed blow job that ended up with a linebacker ejaculating in her ear). She reached under her tiny skirt and flung her ruined panties into the bushes outside a window, then cheering with the others pranced onto the dance floor.
Then she saw him... her next conquest. Doe-eyed and muscular, with sharply-angled features and dark wavy hair hanging lank in front of his light brown eyes, he stood slightly awkwardly on the edge of the dance floor, but to her slut-radar, he was the only mountain in the room worth climbing. His manslutty Satan costume was elaborate, she thought: a sweeping red cape, goat horns, and a nine angles pendant. She gyrated and sidled her way over to him and said, "Hello, handsome. Want to dance?"
He smiled then, and she thought she saw first a golden and then a red light behind the eyes, but he seized her hands and as if reading her mind, fit into her limited repertoire of dance moves like a shadow on her skin. He felt like her, like a masculine mirror of whatever occupied the mostly-empty room of her soul, and she swelled with a mixture of narcissism and lust in his presence. She could feel his dense, heavy, and thick tool stiffening in his pants leg, so she chucked the plastic drink cup and said, "Let's go somewhere more private."
She tried a few doors, most of which had socks or an unidentifiable sticky fluid on them, before busting in to a laundry room on the second floor. As he kissed her, his serpentine tongue plunging nearly all the way down her throat, Cara felt her will and energy weaken. Soon she was slipping away, like falling asleep, but fully awake, and paralyzed, lay on the floor. At that point, he removed his shoes, revealing cloven hooves, and his corset, popping free a 38DD set of breasts, and his pants, showcasing a foot-long penis as wide around as a Red Bull can.
"Oh, Jesus..." said Cara, backing away, but feeling as if she were swimming through jello as her brain lagged in exhaustion.
"He cannot help you here," said the creature before her, which she recognized from an old drawing by Eliphas Levy in one of her textbooks as a Baphomet, with the head of a goat, a massive gnarled penis, huge tits, and a dark stare of infinity in its fiery eyes. "He has been dethroned, forgotten, and sodomized by caco-daemons in Hell," said this strange creature.
Cara shrieked and giggled as the mysterious man tossed her backward onto a front-loading laundry machine. Her eyes rolled back into her head as his muscular tongue flicked over her clitoris rhythmically, driving her to a quick orgasm that melted away the world around her like some kind of sexual napalm. Then he pushed her back and, as if by magic, his pants fell away, revealing a twelve-inch penis with the thickness of a Starbucks Frappucino bottle.
