"Damn, maybe this wasn't such a good idea." I said it out loud, standing by myself in the middle of my new apartment's kitchen. Actually, it wasn't so new, and it wasn't really mine, but whatever. I had my doubts in any case.
It seemed like a cool idea when my mother's friend offered it: A nice luxury apartment off campus, mine for a quarter while she was away on sabbatical. And it was great in many ways - lots of room, a great pool and workout center, and all the privacy I wanted.
Of course, that last feature turned out more of a minus than a plus. I had privacy, all right, but too much. Being away from campus made me lose touch with day-to-day campus social life, and I hadn't met anyone yet at the complex. And when two of my friends took the quarter for study abroad, it just got worse. I had been here a little over a month, and I felt like a bit of a hermit. No, not just a hermit, a celibate hermit. My sex life had gone from very active to essentially nothing.
It was so much easier when I lived on campus. There were always plenty of people around, and parties, either planned or impromptu, that provided lots of possibilities. Plus, the social atmosphere was decidedly liberal and open-minded. College students were far more open to bisexuality and lesbianism. On the other hand, the apartment complex was unknown territory, including people with different backgrounds and different ages, and who knows what else. I simply didn't feel comfortable approaching anyone in a sexual way. So I ended up just doing without.
Unfortunately, after a month of forced celibacy, I was becoming seriously obsessed with sex. By then I recognized the pattern in myself. The first hint came when I noticed myself looking at every attractive woman I passed on the street. And not just looking, either. I started playing a little mental game, imagining how each one would look in the midst of orgasm - the look on her face, the arch of her back, the sounds she would make. It's amazing how even an average-looking girl can seem incredibly sexy when you think of her in that context. And of course, it was just a short jump from there to imagining it was me causing that look, kneeling before her, providing her every pleasure she could ever imagine!
The proof of my mental state hit me when I went to the grocery on a recent Saturday. As had been the norm lately, I seemed to notice every attractive female in the store, but the real evidence revealed itself as I was stooping down to look at some items on the bottom shelf. This girl paused right next to me. She was gorgeous: a pretty blonde in her early twenties, full breasts in her white tank top, nice legs, and wearing tight, form-fitting cotton shorts that emphasized the exquisite shape of her darling bottom. She stood there for several minutes, facing away from me as she tried to decide between two brands. Her bottom was exactly at my eye level, and it was absolutely to-die-for. While she pondered her choice for what seemed like forever, I just sat there, trying to look and not look at her beautiful behind, as it swayed back and forth right in my face. The swaying was a natural result of her constant shifting of her weight from right to left, but to me, it was her response to the long, slow rimming I was giving her in my head. God, how I wanted to pull down those pants and run my tongue between her luscious cheeks.
That did it. When I found myself almost drooling over some stranger's backside, I knew I was in trouble. I could only hope no one had noticed. I quickly finished my shopping and got out of there. In my car, I couldn't clear my mind of the image of those shorts and the delicious-looking butt they contained. I rushed home and masturbated until I fell asleep.
The next day was Sunday and, with a heavy course load, I spent the free time catching up on my studies. I was just finishing up when I heard a knock on the door. I figured it was a friend stopping by unannounced, but when I looked through the peephole and saw the distorted image of a girl I didn't recognize.
Wary, I asked through the closed door, "Yes, may I help you?"
"Uh, well," she started, "I'm selling magazines... for a good cause! Could you help me out?" Through the peephole, I could see her trying to put an appealing look on her face.
Oh boy, I thought, a sales person - just what I need today. "Oh, I don't know," I said. "I really don't read that many magazines. I'm in college... I don't have a lot of extra money."
"Oh pleeeease," she answered, "I only need a couple more sales to reach the next level. I'm sure there's something you could use. Won't you just take a look?"
I felt a little rude talking through the door, so I gave in and opened up. I was greeted with a bright smile and a seemingly sincere "Oh thanks so much!" She offered her hand, "I'm Kelley, by the way." They teach them well, I thought cynically, but I let her in.
She seemed too old to be selling magazines - a couple years younger than me, I guessed. I questioned her about that, and she confirmed it - eighteen and in some kind of rehab program. The magazine sales were part of the "transition" plan as well as a fundraiser for the program. She explained that the top seller would win a weekend in Chicago, and she was in the top three so far. That sounded like pure sales pitch, but I let her proceed.
As I listened, I noticed that she was quite an attractive girl. She wasn't beautiful in the movie star sense, but she was definitely cute. She was a few inches taller than me - about 5' 6", I guessed - and more filled out, especially on top. Full waves of chestnut hair fell halfway down her back, and enchanting green eyes flashed brightly when she talked. Wire rimmed glasses, cut-off jeans, and a white peasant top gave her a sort of neo-hippie look that was very appealing.
On the other hand, I sensed something slightly amiss with this girl. She seemed somewhat oblivious to her surroundings, and just a bit flighty. I wondered if those traits were that got her into trouble to begin with.
I let my eyes run over her body as she continued her pitch. Her baggy top gave only a hint of the curve of her breasts, but her short denim shorts revealed long, lovely legs. Soon I was back to my state of the previous day, lusting after a complete stranger.
"So what do you think," she asked suddenly. I realized I had not heard much of what she'd been saying.
