I like to think of myself as a master of exploitation. Others will call me a bitch, a whore, or just plain evil. But my interference in the affairs of others is minimal; its victims further extend the problems I cause. Many solutions present themselves, but are neither explored nor realized. I feel no sympathy, and remain far from empathy. I only feel joy for every second of misery they experience. And the best part will always be the transition period; when they realize that the fun I gave them is becoming a great misfortune, and in some cases, a disaster.
Chapter 02 - The Insatiable Sorority
After graduation from high school, I continued my normal way of life sans the normal routine and plus a newfound and greatly exercised sexuality. My final summer was spent as my previous summers were: listening to new music and rarely leaving the house, especially now that part of my new routine included heavy masturbation. I spent the entire $500 that Lyle gave me for my work on my music collection: "Oh No" by OK Go, "Time to Pretend" by MGMT, and so on. Between albums I would think about one thing that led to something else which ultimately brought my mind to sex. Then came the orgasm.
Somehow, amidst every fingering, I never found my mind wandering to having sex myself. I always envisioned other people, never a man (or woman for that matter) pleasing me. I didn't find this strange until halfway through July when my business money had run dry. I found that I could multi-task: masturbate and listen to music at the same time, but only for albums I'd already heard. During that time, the realization had rammed into my mind that somehow I had formed a hypocrisy: I craved orgasm, yet I did not desire sex.
That's when I noticed the random pattern of my sessions and their inexplicable causes. Some women feel the need to masturbate when an attractive man teases at their sexuality and taunts their independence. Some women just masturbate when they feel the need to have sex. I, on the other hand, could feel the need anytime and anywhere without warning or cause. For example, after the revelation, I noticed that while I waited in line for the cash register at the grocery store, without any trigger, I felt the need to strip down and finger-fuck myself hard and fast. Then, when I was stuck in traffic, I actually did end up shoving a hand into my jeans and (admittedly) having one of the best orgasms of the summer.
It confused me to say the least. I felt no need for experimentation, no need for contact or reception. At last, I came to the conclusion that whether I wanted to or not, I would have to fuck someone to get it out of my system. I won't say that thought was my biggest mistake so far, but it most definitely makes the top ten list. This is the story of my second job; the only one so far that I've considered to be personal.
**********
It's true what they say, there's a time and a place for everything and it's called college. Just a few months before the end of school I received my acceptance letter to West Virginia University, a notorious party school where Delta Gamma was about to join the roster upon my arrival.
I, like many others, did not know what I wanted my major to be, and for the time being I didn't care. I'd get through my general ed classes and make my decision eventually, but my focus became my now incredibly undesirable virginity.
On move in day, I met several people I'd rarely speak to again, and one girl in particular that I'd come to know too well. As I stowed my boxes of CDs underneath my bed, in came Helena Bucciarelli, a petite and intelligent looking freckled, jet black brunette. She wore thick-framed black glasses and held her shoulder-length hair in a ponytail with a cute floral scrunchy. She wore cute and reasonable length - but still tight-fitting - jean shorts and a figure-revealing spaghetti strap tank top. She looked both comfortable with her body and intelligent. She wore little makeup, had no tattoos, and looked delicate enough to break with just a hug.
"Oh, you must be Kimberly," she said in earnest genial tone.
I almost corrected her by telling her to call me Kim, but something told me I'd benefit from a small change, so I let her have it. "Yeah, you're Helena, right?"
"That's right! Glad to finally meet you." Helena seemed too nice. I knew that she was either incredibly nervous to be in college or she was hyped up on coffee or espresso. When we finished moving in, she and I sat down and got to know each other.
She presented herself openly, "I'm going to get my teaching credential for math. I like it, but there's no way I'm going to apply it to the real world, haha! So I figured I'd just teach it. How about you?"
"I'm not totally sure, but I'll figure it out at some point," I said casually.
"Are you going to pledge to any sororities?" she inquired. "I've been looking at a few but they're all pretty lame."
"I've never really been part of a group, but I guess I might check it out," I replied, shocked at my own open-minded attitude.
"Haha, maybe we could start our own sorority! Open a new chapter," she jokingly suggested.
"At least we'd know it would be a quality house," I added. She giggled a cute and memorable laugh, causing a contagious smile to spread across my face.
"Do you want to grab some lunch? I'm starving!" she proclaimed.
"Sure, let's go to Sbarro's," I suggested. She nodded and started to stand up. As she did, I noticed the lust color of her panties, just peaking over the edge of her shorts as she was partially bent over.
It was then, as we walked out of the room that I realized my ability to masturbate would be greatly limited by her presence in a shared bedroom. Of course, the thing that brought this to mind was my sudden desire to shove my fingers deep into my pussy.
**********
I'm going to skip a lot of the fluff between meeting Helena and the day everything changed. Instead, here's a quick summation of what it was like:
No sex.
Masturbate while she's out.
Wonder why I don't have the courage to fuck.
Masturbate while she's out.
Go to class. Learn nothing.
Masturbate.
Eat.
Masturbate.
Sleep.
Masturbate.
Masturbate.
Masturbate.
**********
The day everything changed was the first time a class was canceled for the day. As I understood, it was a time when Helena had no class and stayed in to study. I thought I could ask her to get some lunch with me or maybe go see a new movie. I'd heard that Walk the Line was pretty good.
Walking into the dorm room, I found it empty and silent. This perplexed me. Helena, although bubbly and energetic, seemed too concerned with her education for much socializing. I brushed it off as an errand she had to run or maybe she went to get food on her own.
As usual, I found this to be a wonderful time to masturbate. I pulled out my CD of Octavarium by Dream Theater (admittedly an odd choice for masturbation, but as I said, I was a rocker girl) and pressed play, undressing myself to the electronic intro to the masterful progressive rock album. Looking back, it's almost funny that the song playing was "The Root of all Evil".
This was the only time I truly felt feminine. I could feel sensual as I caressed the curves of my own body and smelled the eroticism of my sex. I'd learned to be quieter at home so as not to alert my parents, but under cover of music I could allow myself a little leeway. Now, away from home, I could let my moans echo through the room. Fortunately, the sounds never passed through the walls.
I did my usual thing: rubbing my clit and fingering my hole as I pinched a nipple and massaged a supple, heaving breast. As narcissistic as it is, I could have sex with myself feeling that horny.
Then came the quiet transition between songs. Almost nine minutes and I still hadn't orgasmed. Unusual. I looked around the room for some sort of inspiration, and what I found was a pair of Helena's panties lying on the floor. It was the first fantasizing I'd experienced, imagining her petite and tight body undressing slowly and lightly feeling her own pale and freckled skin. That did it for me.
I came down from the familiar yet unsatisfying euphoria, my sheets once again doused by a small pool of my fluids. As I dressed once again, I looked back at the pile of Helena's clothes. Then it hit me: she was far too organized to just leave her clothes on the floor. Yet in the past week, there had been a growing pile. Her hamper sat on her side of the room, unfilled and untouched.
There was a camera hidden within the pile, pointed directly at my bed. I felt two things: foremost a sense of rage that I was being spied on, but deeper within a sense of eroticism and flattery.
Helena arrived back in the dorm not too long after.
"Oh, hey Kim! Don't you have a class?" she asked.
I replied with a subtle and cold rage, "It was canceled."
"What a relief," she said, "I love when that happens. Do you want to go grab some-"
"You've been spying on me," I interrupted.
She hesitated, possibly trying to think of a lie before she gave in. "You found the camera I'm guessing."
"Yeah. What's the deal?"
"It was just an experiment for my sexual psychology class," she lied.
"You're here for a teaching credential," I fired back.
She knew I'd gotten the best of her before she even walked through the door.
"You masturbate a lot," she said.
"Yeah, I do."
She looked down shamefully for a few moments, before she looked up at me with an undeterminable expression and said, "You really need to get fucked."
I had no response. Her motives were extremely unclear to me, and I felt that asking would only produce a lie. I kept silent, and then she blurted out the next six months of my life.
"Kim, I've been thinking about starting up a sorority like we talked about on move in day. I found out there's no Delta Gamma chapter here, and I've been thinking... I want to start it up with you. I think we can find plenty of other girls just like us who want exactly what we want."
I gave a quizzical look, one eyebrow cocked, arms crossed, and spat, "And what, pray tell, is it that we want?"