My Summer Job

I unfolded and reread the note, "I saw you naked."

I felt the same chill of excitement.

The plane lifted off the ground and I wondered who wrote it.

The past several days had been a blur. The author would have to wait.

I settled back into the seat. I refolded the note, closed my eyes, and thought about how my life seemed to have changed so much, so quickly.

---

I set my glass of wine down, stretched, and forced myself to focus on reading the online job listings again. I should not have left finding a summer job this late.

This is not what I wanted to be doing right now.

My mind had been drifting. Despite my desire to find a job tonight, I couldn't help thinking about the soft feel of the friction of my tee on my nipples, or the naughty teasing of the looseness of track pants on my panty-free pussy. I hadn't been able to resist just rubbing myself just a little.

I should be in bed ... resting ... alone ... and sleeping.

The sounds of the dorm had quieted down and only the sound of an occasional door closing broke the silence. I had almost finished the bottle and I had lost track of the number of times I had read these job listings tonight. I hadn't started until I closed my textbook at about 11 pm.

Now, the clock in the lower right corner of the screen read 2:17 am. I knew I should be asleep. I should be resting. I shouldn't be letting this get to me. Exams were almost here. But I wasn't and it was.

I knew I was a good student and normally I didn't drink by myself much ... I smiled. I shivered a little as my fingers touched me just in the right places ... I bit my lip gently ... I did play with myself a lot though, and I moaned a little.

"Seriously though Angie, focus," I told myself; I needed to find something soon; I felt like I would scream the next time my parents or anyone else asked me again if I had found a summer job yet.

Exams were virtually here and would be over quickly and if I wanted to return in the fall, I needed to make some money.

I stretched again, and despite my tiredness, that friction thing kept happening.

"Focus, Angie, focus," I tried to tell myself, but my body was telling me, "But, Angie, it feels sooooo good," and with the wine and my ever-present need for sex and relief, I knew my body was right.

Somehow though, the voice of responsibility won and my eyes returned to the screen and I took my fingers out of my sweatpants...

... for now at least.

I had seen or had done all of the same jobs for fast food, clothing stores, cleaning companies, and student summer jobs a million times. They were all low pay, mostly part-time with stupid hours, dull and predictable, no adventure, and totally boring.

Every summer job I had since I had been grade 9 had been one of those jobs.

I was a good worker, I had always done a good job and any of those places would hire me back in a second, but ...

... this year I wanted something different.

I needed something different; I wanted something exciting, something fun, something that wasn't ordinary. I was tired of ordinary. I was so tired of working my ass off all through the school year only to be rewarded with boring summer jobs.

I drank some more wine; I thought about what might be different.

All my life people had told me I was pretty and I knew I had a sporty body, if not a little on the small size, so maybe I could be a model. Wearing lots sexy clothes or wearing very little sexy clothes, I laughed. That would be exciting, travel, exotic places; I let my mind imagine spending the summer doing that for about half a minute.

My fingers were in my sweatpants again, "Mmmmmmmm," I gave into the feelings my fingers were generating and other soft sounds came from deep inside me.

Several moments passed and I my breathing became more ragged ... I enjoyed doing this, I could see myself modelling, I could imagine myself getting undressed by other models, then, like an alarm clock waking me up from a dream, the logical part of my brain reminded me modeling wasn't something you started doing in the middle of finals.

I may have been pretty, even sexy, but I wasn't a size zero, and even at twenty, nobody was going to break down my door and offer me a summer job full of bathing suits, semi-nudity, and photographers.

"Fuck!" My favorite word these days.

My "wine-inspired" adventurous side wasn't going to give up yet, what about being a dancer, the logical and smug voice almost started again when my fun voice cut it off and said, "Not a dancer, but maybe an exotic dancer," to which the logical voice replied, "What, a stripper?"

"Why not."

I thought, there were plenty of clubs not far from campus, I read stories about students like me making a killing studying during the day and stripping at night. I paused, and thought, "Stripping would be fun, naked in a crowded room full of people," my breathing and touching was making me feverish. I moaned again a little as I realized now both sets of fingers were inside my sweatpants now.

I heard my voice say aloud, "Angie, it would be interesting and it would beat waitressing. The thought of being naked or nearly so in front of men and women all screaming at me to strip, tucking money into my G-string ... "Mmmmmm," I could do that.

"Hmmmmm," the money would be good too, what a way for me to indulge my fantasies and get paid for doing it. I enjoyed this momentary image of sluttiness; then my brain seemed to scream at me, "What about your parents, professors, and Ryan (boyfriend)," the voice inside my head was shrill and sounded unsurprisingly like my mother ...

"Fuck."

I said louder than I thought to the empty room.

"Angie, let's just enjoy the fantasy for a few minutes," I told myself, my fingers knowing what to do without any purposeful instructions from me. I thought about some of my professors who might be willing to pay if there was any truth behind their frequent innuendos and non-so-subtle hints made when they made to me when they thought nobody else was listening.

I thought about one silver-haired professor, their lean body, strong hands, and lips that were the subject of many imaginative fantasies as I listened to their lecturing, my thoughts torn between being a good student and wanting to be naked in their arms.

I could just hear my graduation presentation, "This year's scholastic award winner, Angela, is top in her class, whose hobbies include stripping, blowjobs, and being a slut."

A series of small tremors rumbled one after another through my body, I inhaled softly and let several low moans escape into the quiet moonlit room.

Finally, I sipped a little of my wine again. Smiled, and reluctantly forced me to look at the screen, trying to focus on the endless sandwich artist jobs posted online.

I craved adventure, and different people; hell, even if I had to waitress again, I wanted to be at least someplace different.

A little sex would be nice too. Is that too much to ask?

"Actually a lot of sex would be more than nice, I craved it, and except for during exams, sex was what I thought of almost all of the time. I wanted so much sex, the kind of sex that would make it hard for me to walk the next day," I giggled to myself feeling buzzed and horny at the same time.

Another few minutes passed, my little orgasms fading, my fingers were soaked, I couldn't resist tasting myself, my scent hung in the air, I could do this all night ... then responsibility slowly crept into my mind again and I wanted to scream.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, and more fuck."

Collecting myself, I knew this wasn't helpful and I forced myself to keep scrolling through the same boring, name on my shirt, interchangeable online jobs one more time, maybe I missed something.

"FUCK!!!!!"

The empty room, my books, the dark night, none of them responded; they didn't notice or care I was swearing at them. I was just one of thousands of students in the same position, all of whom had left getting a summer job too late.

"FUCK!!!!!!"

Then an idea.

"What the fuc...."

A thought.

Maybe that was it, "fuck."

I liked sex, maybe instead of being a stripper, I could get paid to get fucked, and maybe I could really be a slut, or a prostitute!

More than just a slut; actually getting paid for sex would be pretty awesome, I had read plenty of those phony erotic stories about college women and lonely wives doing exactly that. In my more than slightly buzzed mind, I closed my eyes, seeing myself picking up a businessman or woman at one of the bars near the airport. Me in stiletto heels, and a tight leather mini skirt with no panties, selling my body for sex to pay for my education. I was really good at sex ... so why not?"

Without thinking another louder moan escaped from deep inside me and my fingers were back at work again and I shifted around grinding my hips together.

I thought about it some more, "Yes ma'am, getting paid to get laid, sometimes several times in one night ... "mmmmmm, that would be fun."

Another fifteen minutes ticked by unnoticed as more small tremors rippled through my body and despite how late it was, this line of thinking had me wanting more wine.

More minutes disappeared.

Once again, my responsible self somehow pulled me back from going over the edge; the edge my fingers were pushing me towards again. I could hear that little voice again, this time I listened, or well mostly listened... at least for a while.

I knew if I drank some more wine and just kept fingering myself and didn't get some rest, I would be fucked, but not in a good way or for money either. I closed my eyes and felt the electricity growing inside me, I smiled, mostly but not completely dismissing the idea of being a whore, and knew I had to try and focus again but it was hard.

Responsibility seemed to be winning ... but it was a near thing.

Several pages of jobs later, I glanced at the time again, I could barely focus anymore and I began agreeing with the voice in my head that was saying I needed to go to bed. I got up to put my glass in the sink, the cork in the wine, and returned to my computer, swore again, and started to close the lid on my laptop, frustrated even more than before, at life and at myself for leaving it so late.

I almost missed it.

It just barely caught my eye; I stopped closing the lid opened it back up and looked at a job ad.

"Summer Waitress -- Yukon Territory ... Want more than just waiting tables. Take a chance, work in the wilderness, make spectacular money, and have a summer full of adventures. Experience something unforgettable. Must be over eighteen, previous waitressing experience required, smart serve equivalent required, must have top-flight customer service abilities. The right candidates could earn $25,000 (US) from May 1st to Labor Day. Serious applicants only, four positions available apply before April 24th -- Phoenix_Resources@yukonhoe.ca."

I stared at it.

Why hadn't I noticed it before?

"$25,000 for a summer job was unbelievable, more than twice as much as I had ever earned before."

"What did I have to do, kill someone?"

I read it again, then five more times. Each time it said $25,000 and each time I said, "Holy Fuck!!"

It was the only job on the last page of the website, obviously, whoever this Phoenix company was had not sponsored their job listing, I wondered how many other people missed reading it too. I looked at it, and then I noticed the cut-off was actually yesterday. There wasn't much information, but I figured, I might as well try, sure it was waitressing, but at least it was not around here, and "$25,000 fucking dollars!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

That little voice inside my head was screaming again, this time, "Angie, beware of things that seem too good to be true," but my frustration, the wine, my overwhelming desire for adventure, being tired, and my desperation all drowned out that annoying voice and any other warning signs I may have felt.

"Live a little Angie, it's only for a few months," I told myself. With that kind of money, I wouldn't have to watch every single penny for the entire school year like every year so far had been.

Thirty minutes later, my resume and hastily prepared cover letter were traveling online to whoever Phoenix Resources was.

When I hit the "send" button, all of my adrenaline and energy suddenly evaporated and I felt completely exhausted and more than a little buzzed from the wine; getting some sleep quickly became my focus.

Closing my laptop, I stripped off my sweats and tee shirt and let them fall beside where my bra, panties, jeans, and top fell many hours ago; back when my wine bottle was still full.

Nude in the coolness of the late night, I glanced at my reflection in the patio door.

Despite my exhaustion, I smiled at myself. I loved being nude, I could feel my blood heating up, and my nipples always seemed ready to party as simply being naked was enough to engorge them.

I thought again, maybe I could model, I had long toned legs, a firm ass from hours of exercise and yoga, and a female six-pack, I thought, "Not bad for a science nerd."

I was still looking at my reflection. I didn't consider myself vain, or at least no more than the average twenty-old.

I did think I was sexy and being naked and looking at myself had always turned me on, especially since I had moved into residence, even now despite being exhausted. I looked and posed for several more minutes. My little voice was quiet at the moment for some reason.

"Maybe," I thought.

I thought the only thing that might hold me back from modeling, stripping, or even being a whore, was the boob department, my little 34B's while very sensitive were much smaller than almost all of the boobs my friends had.

As if to prove the point, I let my thumbs and forefingers softly massage the tips of my nipples.

Maybe my boobs were small, but that didn't mean they weren't sensitive to the touch. I imagined pairs of soft lips on each one, a soft rumble of electricity fighting back and overcoming the tiredness of only a few minutes ago.

"Mmmmmmmm."

I knew where this was going.

As my excitement grew, more of my tiredness seemed to slip away, my body knew it, and my little voice decided not to fight it this time.

Thinking about being a stripper or a prostitute, men and women, old and young, paying to see me, to touch me, to fondle me, to ravish me, all had made me feel lightheaded and even more wet than I had been before.

I had mostly been a "good" girl while growing up. People had called me the "girl next door type," forever, even now, nobody who knew me would ever think of me as having the dark desires I knew I liked, of wanting to be bad or being a little slutty. I giggled about being a stripper or a hooker, mostly from the wine but not completely from the wine.

Many nights and even days, I would lay on my bed thinking about being the only person naked in rooms full of other people, of being exposed and vulnerable in front of strangers or people I knew. With my fingers exploring, lightly running over my skin, all adding to my very warm buzz, I padded over to the almost floor-to-ceiling-sized window overlooking the path to my dorm. I was on the third floor, the top one, I stood looking out at the dark university.

I knew I was silhouetted in the window, but I didn't care it was late, I was sure everyone was asleep except for me.

I shivered as I suddenly hoped someone would see me naked. Thoughts and images of getting paid to be naked still filled my tired, wine-laced mind. I looked out at the night slowly flexing and posing my body and closing my eyes as I took my time and masturbated myself in front of the window.

I knew I had to get some sleep but I just couldn't stop enjoying the warmness flooding throughout my body, my little voice telling me I should just crawl between my sheets and me not listening.

The thrill and electricity of what I was doing overcame any thoughts of getting caught, but at the same time, maybe I did want to get caught, I reveled in the thought of the police handcuffing me and parading me out of the building, past my friends and fellow students, of being fingerprinted and photographed naked, and of being put into the collective holding cell, my thoughts alternated between the cell being full or men or women, and of them touching, using, and ravishing me.

My eyes flickered open just as a shadow moved past a streetlight below and caught my eye, who would be out this late at night? My body and mind were fully fueled by adrenaline. I could feel that familiar intoxication and flush as my nipples hardened more and my hot dampness only increased.

I couldn't resist as I let my fingers quietly explore more and more, my mind focused only on my pleasure... I was standing at the glass patio door of my dorm room ... on display ... my breathing becoming shallower ... thinking, imagining someone watching me.

I moaned.

The colors before my eyes swirled and the waves inside my body rose and rose ...