Chapter 01:
How it all began or: first college experience
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We all wear a mask. An image we project to the others, to the people we know and who know us. We wear a mask to fit into society, to get accepted and respected. For them, we are a rising politician, a housewife, a doctor, a cashier at the local Walmart. Those are all good roles, recognized and uncontroversial. We may even have different masks for different groups of people, a diversity of roles for us to play. But most of them are a lie.
Beneath our masks lies our true self. Our true nature is mostly hidden from the outside looks and it only comes out when we are either alone or when we don't fear any consequences. The politician paints D&D figurines in his basement. The housewife reads every book on serial killers, fascinated by their psychology. The doctor is on a life-long quest to try out as many drugs as he can while off-duty. The cashier spends her evenings writing smutty stories which she is too afraid to ever publish.
We all wear a mask, and I'm not an exception. For my family, my friends, my colleagues, I'm Laura Thompson, a successful woman in her late 30's. I have a degree in business and management, a husband, and two kids. I was promoted to deputy head of department in the firm I'm working at, but two years later I decided to leave the career ladder and only work part-time, using the rest of my time to tend to my family and home. I'm an active member of our neighborhood association, always there to help the community. I'm a perfect little cog in the perfect machinery of our perfect society.
Also, I'm a slut. Beneath the suburban facade of happiness and warmth, I'm a cock-craving, ever-horny, leg-spreading slut. I pondered about the right term for a long time and decided that this one fits me the best. I'm not a whore - I don't demand money for sex, even though some guys tip me on their own. I'm not a nymphomaniac - sex itself is not the thing I need, but of course, I'm the first to admit that I want it more than the average woman. No, I'm a slut - I enjoy offering my body to men (and sometimes women) for them to get off and then go about their lives. I don't orgasm from penetration or rubbing alone, I climax at the feeling of being used. I don't expect cuddling or romance after I got fucked - once the guy is satisfied, our ways part.
Does my husband know? Of course, otherwise, he wouldn't be my husband. What does our life look like? Perfect on the outside, even better on the inside. Our relationship includes a free pass for both of us, an occasional 'business trip' by me to another city or even state, and 100% honesty between both of us.
But you're not here to read about my world-views or my own psychoanalysis of myself, right? You want to hear some smut, to read about my adventures. You want to get off while I perform a mental striptease, while I offer you not my body but my memories. In a way, this is another way for me to be a slut.
***
When did it all begin? It's hard to pinpoint the exact time when I first saw myself as a slut, but I know that it was in college. Of course, I wasn't a virgin by the time I hugged my parents good-bye for the next few months and got on a plane to another state. I already had two ex-boyfriends and the according sexual experience that came with being a normal 19 y.o. girl. Still, I never had any sexual contacts outside of relationships. I also had no idea that it was about to change in less than 24 hours, while I looked out of the window at the passing clouds, glimmering orange in the early sunrise.
The journey was as eventless as one could wish for. The plane landed; I hailed a taxi which brought me to the college campus; I found the dormitory and my dorm room; I unpacked my luggage. The clock showed half-past 2 p.m. when I closed the last drawer and looked around. The place wasn't much, but my parents saved enough money to afford a one-person room with its own little bathroom for me. The bed was broad enough for one person to sleep comfortably in, the cupboard offered just enough space for me to put my clothes and shoes inside. A desk with a chair and a small flat-screen on the wall rounded it all up. The bathroom was similarly spartan - a sink, a WC, and a shower all crammed together.
Only then did it hit me. I was alone! This little apartment, these four walls that could awaken claustrophobia - I was alone there! No one would disturb me, no one would judge me, no one would even see me here! Even though my parents were far from being strict, I remember how heady this little gulp of freedom made me. I felt like I had two shots of tequila followed by a shot of whiskey and I did the only sensible thing I could do at that moment - I fell down on my bed and laughed for ten minutes straight.
The rest of the day was equally boring as the journey. After I calmed myself down enough, I walked around the campus and the block to get accustomed to my new life there. On my journey, I discovered that there was a party at my dormitory to welcome the freshmen and immediately decided to attend it.
As night fell down and the sound of music started to penetrate the thin walls of the building, I picked my clothes and looked one more time in the mirror. My slightly curly, jet black hair fell down freely all the way to my waist, with a few hairpins on my head to keep them somewhat under control. I put a minor amount of make-up on my face, mostly to accentuate my green eyes and my lips. My torso was clad in a navy shirt with a rather liberal cleavage, just enough to attract attention to my firm B-cup chest, but not enough to be inappropriate. The skirt a similar shade of blue snuggled around my round hips, reached down to just above my knees and showed most of my tanned legs. On my feet, I put a pair of black stringy sandals with a modest heel, my accurate pedicure visible through them. Some glitter on my fingernails, a bracelet on my right wrist, and a golden thin necklace finished my outfit. I winked to my reflection and left my room, following the music.
All in all, the party was exactly how one would expect a college party is. Bunch of people, bunch of booze, loud music. Since the party was mainly aimed at freshmen, they made up most of the population in the dark room, but there were also a handful of older guys and girls, mixing among the newcomers.
Being a social person, I had no problems when it came to building contacts with others and the alcohol surely helped. I moved from one end of the room to another, exchanged some words with different people, and nodded enthusiastically whenever someone offered to refill my cup. I wasn't a lightweight but I soon discovered that a college party was on a whole other level when it came to alcohol. Even though the wide desk at one wall was full of beer bottles, multiple bottles of harder liquor made the rounds around the room, being passed from one person to another. At some point, I got a bottle with some clear liquid pressed into my hand and took two hearty gulps out of it to the cheerful chants 'drink, drink, drink!' around me.
