I don't know exactly why, but I invited Cyril to come along to the party. Just to add more randomness, I guess, and maybe to have a bodyguard?
He was the newest guy in the group house. He fit our basic profile of stably-employed weirdo, but a bit more on the spectrum than the rest of us... more materially successful and less socially normal. And in our little world with a lot of tech guys, he stood out as a
tech guy
: undisclosed amounts of crypto money, a patchwork of coding and sysadmin jobs that rarely required him to be anywhere in particular, and a hard-core gaming set-up that occupied a full third of his room, with multiple game consoles, a special chair with cupholders and fans, three monitors, a VR headset, and what appeared to be an artisanal PC with freon cooling. I assume that work and gaming are cover stories, and it's really a masturbation corner... one of those things everyone understands but no one says.
Heavy bone structure, tall, lean almost to the point of stringiness. Cro-magnon brow ridge. Large hands. In a world of uncertainty, he has the morphology that reliably suggests a really big penis. But, even when you think you know, you never know.
Anyhow, some exercise would make him quite the bodily presence. And some sunshine. But he's objectively attractive as is, if you don't miss him under his asperger's invisibility cloak. He still has the brown ponytail of nerdy pot-head youth, a bit too thin on top to go on like that much longer. He probably has to make a decision there... likewise the beard. If it's still scraggly at 28 or whatever he is, it's not ever going to be full lumberjack, but could be a respectable goatee. Or just shave. Anyway, like I say, he has a good jawline under the shrubbery.
Why am I going on about him? Sure, part of my reasoning was that if I take him to this party, maybe I get to see his dick. But in the end, he's not the main character here; I am. Cyril's distinguishing feature at this point is that he was new, obviously attracted, but didn't really know me yet.
Me, I'm MC, which stands for Marie-Constance, which was my grandmother's name. My dad's mom, who was French. I'm kind of short, which I blame on that side of the family. I'm maybe more
cute
than classic beauty, which also comes from MC the elder, since I don't really look like my Scandinavian mother. But I dare say I'm moderately hot. I've been described as
feral
, which I attribute to my bangs, my one proud untamed unibrow, and moderately-gauged lobes. I dye my hair an absolute and unnatural black, and the bangs are short enough to be creepy. It's a look I call
mortician's apprentice
. I know, yes, it's a style that I too may be aging out of, but I don't have another direction yet. And once I make it to my forties I think it'll be okay again, maybe with some clunky jewelry and pale foundation. For now I compensate with an everyday ensemble that's more approachable, basically jeans and t-shirts, low-rise all-stars, little or no makeup.
The thing that new-guy Cyril doesn't know and that everyone else in the house knows, is that I am a giant whore. There are eight of us in the house, five dudes, and all of them know they can pretty much just come into my room and do whatever they want. Now that I'm thinking about it, in the two years I've been there, I've literally never stopped any of them from whatever it is they came for. Partly because they don't sneak into my room so often, and because they don't want anything interesting enough to be a problem.
It's conventional wisdom--and true--that men don't choose sluts for girlfriends. But they also don't seem so down to fuck them either. At least, not the sluts they know personally. John is the housemate in a couple, shares the largest room with moo-cow Helen and, surprise surprise, he's the one who sneaks in the most--when she's out--for some safe vanilla sex, since he's terrified of STDs and being caught generally. I half expect him to put on rubber gloves and a covid mask sometimes.
Eduardo uses AI to generate celebrity-gossip content for, I guess, every clickbait site in the universe, and is generally in some stormy relationship or other. His current
du jour
is Ellie. But his MO with me is to come home drunk, bang into my place without knocking, fuck my ass with nothing more than spit unless I get some lube down there quick. I come once or twice, and then he does too, at which point he either gets strangely chatty, but more often just stumbles out again. It's kind of great, but just so rare, like every six weeks?
The others... well, I've had sex with all of them, but the point is that it's all somehow a secret. Each one thinks he's the only one, or that no one else knows, or really I guess they just try not to think about it at all. The situation is stupid but not without its charms: I get to watch John jitter for days after every visit, in chronic freak-out about being busted, based on nothing but his bad conscience. Or I start a staring contest with Eduardo when he complains about how infrequent and uncreative sex is with Ellie, just to see how uncomfortable he gets. I get my entertainment where I can, but it's also hard to really respect these guys.
But I need to skip some background or I get distracted. More to the point: The party. I got an invitation from an internet guy I hooked up with two or three times, like a year ago. Josh. Shady as fuck but super smooth and charming also, if you know the type. Totally unwilling to talk about his life, especially work. He managed to transmit that, in his world, having only one small facial tattoo counts as being kinda chill. I mean, he has full sleeves, blacked out neck, and somebody's name on his dick. But only one tattoo on his face, so: regular dude, job-interview-ready!
He said some friends of his were having a party, and that basically I was the kind of girl most welcome to show up. And that it would be the kind of party that I always wished I would get invited to but never do. He didn't explain what he meant, but I felt seen.
He explained that it was an edgy scene in a way I would like, but that there was a small but also real chance that someone would roofie my drink. So I should be careful, because, as he put it, it would be a shame if I were to, "sleep through the whole thing."
So the party was out in the suburbs in a bland development of low-rise apartment buildings. We arrived at about eleven, and the parking-lot islands all had leafless trees under halogen street-lights. They made it look like winter, which it wasn't. The trees were just dead. Neglect, I guess, or the wrong kind of tree. Trees that sounded like a good idea at some planning stage but then there's the reality of the property manager and some absentee corporate owner. Anyway, it created an eerie atmosphere, but hey nothing wrong with
eerie
.
So we walked across the parking lot, me aware that the place was a bit lowbrow for Cyril's Tesla, but too nice for a super-sketchy house party. But the actual people that lived there were apparently out of town... did they even know? Again, in some peoples' world, this would be a bad sign. Or even in mine, in another context. But for now:
Hmmm... interesting